Word-Whores

Old School SmexyTimes

2012-02-23T09:00:00.000-05:00

by Allison Pang

I didn't really read romance books growing up. I'm sure I stumbled across a few of my mother's books here and there, but for the most part the stories I read (mostly of the epic fantasy variety) either had very little by way of sex or it was glossed over.

Of course, the majority of the books I was reading were also by men, so maybe that had something to do with it. Come to think of it, there wasn't much by way of romance in most of those books either. Not that people didn't have relationships, but it certainly wasn't the focus in the all-consuming war/defeating the dragon/rescuing the princess/trope trope trope.

In short, sex was mostly an afterthought.

At least until I turned 12 (1986 time frame for those of you keeping track) and stumbled over a certain Piers Anthony anthology, which had a story that dealt with a planet who kept supermodel-looking women as...cows. Milkcows. Bred them. Kept them in barns. Didn't feed them enough protein as babies so their brains were sorta stupid and didn't develop right. Cut out their tongues so they couldn't talk.

And had tits the size of watermelons. Which they milked. With big machines.

Also? They were naked. All the time.

To be honest, I can't even remember what the premise was for the main character, except he was looking for someone and ended up in one of these barns, pretending to be a stableman.

At which point he fucked the hell out of one of the "maiden" cows. And then took her to one of the "bulls" and let *him* fuck the hell out of her. (And by fuck, I mean punch her in the stomach until she doubled over and he then assaulted her. Also? The cow *really* enjoyed it. Of course she did.)

As a first sex story experience it definitely blew my mind a bit. I look back on it now and I know it was really nothing more than a misogynistic rape fantasy. (And a horrifying one, at that. Although rape and odd sex did seem to happen more often in these old school sorts of books than romance - a la White Gold Wielder or the Cenotaph Road series which I think had some chick rubbing up against a giant spider to get off. And hump a sword pommel. And watch a big robot orgy. And sit on a bucking unicorn animal. The horn part. Oh Christ, *this* is where Phin came from, maybe? Sad thing was this *wasn't* a porn book - it was an honest-to-god sci-fi/fantasy series.)

I also find it ironic that my mother wouldn't let me read those "trashy" romance novels - the ones that actually had characters that cared about each other - but bought me the anthology, because I was reading the Xanth novels at the time and oh, hey, I'll bet she'll like this one too.

And of course, I never told her.

I don't know if things were written that way simply due to an issue of story/plot priority (NO TIME FOR SEX, MUST SLAY DRAGON) or specific to the genre (eww, we don't want VAGINAS IN OUR SCI-FI) or just the whole male vs female gaze issue. (BEWBS)

What I *do* know is that I enjoy writing sex scenes, but if the above story hammered anything home in my pre-teen state, it was that the sex has to mean something. I cannot write sex for sex's sake. (And I've tried. I can't really read it either.) If I don't have an emotional connection to the characters...if the characters don't have at least something that makes me care about their relationship, then I just can't get into it. Even when I try to write something short and smutty for fun...I end up adding pages of setup, just so I can get into the characters' heads. Just can't do it any other way.

For writing purposes, I know that if I'm not emotionally invested in the scene, the writing comes out flat. Which is probably true for just about any type of scene, honestly - action, dialogue, whatever. But sex is one of those things that really needs to be done right. Word choice and "camera" angles, dialogue and tension - it can be a fine line between sizzle...and ridiculous.

I know plenty of readers who skip the sex scenes completely when they come across them. They find them boring, or unnecessary and that's their prerogative. But I think that does the story a disservice sometimes, because how characters react to each other in bed often can give the reader greater insight to who they are as a whole.

I've been known to take completely random characters that I don't know all that well (from a new story, for example) and throw them into bed together and write out a scene. Even if it's never used, from my own perspective it definitely opens up a new window in how I view them, and also sometimes helps me determine their own motivation. People blurt out and think the oddest things sometimes when they're feeling vulnerable, and characters aren't much different.

Rambling On About Writing Sex

2012-02-22T06:00:00.002-05:00

Rambling On About Writing Sex

by Linda Robertson

There is no sex in my first book.

Why?

Was I embarrassed or ashamed? Was I concerned that people I knew like my parents, my friends, co-workers, or teen-age children might read it?

Nope.

There’s no sex in VICIOUS CIRCLE because it takes place over one week and that just isn’t enough time for my main character Persephone to decide that she’s ready to be intimate with Johnny.

There ARE sex scenes in every book after that.

Why?

Because sex is a natural part of relationships. When there is attraction, sexual tension follows. There can be bonds forged on that attraction, what people will do—and won’t do—because of those bonds reveals their character. When you have characters in scenes that are already tense, if they are attracted to each other it adds a whole new level of subtext to play with in order to make that scene scintillating—so why wouldn’t you?

Movie Examples:

The Matrix. If not for the relationship budding between Neo and Trinity, do you think Neo would have felt there was something worth fighting for?

Star Wars 4-6. So good at looking-out-for-himself Han Solo would never have stuck around hanging out with the political rebels if not for Princess Leia.

The Mummy Returns. Here you have Evie and Rick who, after years of marriage and the birth of a

rambunctious son, have their love still burning brightly. You also have Imhotep who has been brought back from the dead twice, fighting for the love of his life Anck Su Namun. (Can you FEEL the sexual tension in that picture??) In the end, we see both men struggling to keep from falling into the abyss as stalactites fall from the ceiling. Evie braves this danger to save her love. Anck flees to save herself (though she fails at that too and the beetles eat her alive—hey, wouldn’t this be better if the Beatles ate her alive? Har har), leaving Imhotep to hurl himself into the abyss broken without her. Love wins. Yay!

I know what you’re thinking, there’s no sex in those movies! But there was plenty of attraction and sexual tension that propelled them. Okay…here’s a couple WITH sex scenes.

Underworld. I admit, I love the vampire-girl-saves-boy-in-distress twist here. But you KNOW they’re gonna do it. It seals their relationship, committing them to a willingness to fight tooth and claw together. And they do that too.

Terminator. “Come with me if you want to live.”

Yes, sir. *salutes*

Reese was hot. Making love in a cheap hotel while running for their lives may seem like they were taking a terrible risk (In spite of the large windows, I’m sure they kept one eye on the well secured door…) but they were sooo stressed they needed a release. You knew he was in love with her, and you knew he was going to give his life for her because he had risked so much for her and he wasn't in her "future." No one else would have fought that hard, taken those risks, and given her the inspiration she needed to stop being a "normal girl" and become a soldier. The fact that he was the father of her son who did all the remarkable things…ah…this time travel sexual twist literally made the story. Without the sex, there was no story.

Why? (I hope you heard that one in your head in a whiny three-year-olds voice.)

Why does that spark of attraction between couples add something appealing to the story?

There are more reasons than these, but here's a few:

1.) Because everyone wants and needs to be loved. (If they say otherwise they are lying to themselves as much as they are to you.)

2.) Because sex is fun. Duh.

3.) Because there is a sense that life will go on when the happy couple wins the day. i.e. Han and Leia/Michael and Selene/Rick and Evie.

A-HA!, you say. But that's not so much the case with Neo and Trinity/Imhotep and Anck/Reese and Sarah.

Why?

Why does the happy couple sometimes get torn apart by death?

Another partial list...(Can you say Titanic?)

1.) Because the reality is that happy endings don't always happen.

2.) Because there is great, great power in a character giving their life for another--it is the ultimate expression of love, isn't it?

Don't you feel there is a difference in Reese being struck down and dying as he fought to save Sarah and the self-sacrifice of Jack staying in the water so Rose could stay warm in Titanic? (And those of you who would have preferred he put her whiny ass in the water and save himself, just hush.) There's a HUGE difference between both of those and the young couples slain shortly after having sex in Friday the 13th flicks, right? Some characters have done something to build love and it resonates with us. Some characters are just horny so they can be 'punished' by the evil 'scary movie' slayer.

So, are you sensing a theme, here? That writing about sex boils down to (forgive me for using the word boils right after the word sex...cracking myself up again...) the reason we as readers/viewers are shown the sex.

What is your intention as the author? What kind of impact are you trying to have? Titillation or character development? Is the smut scene a plot point, or the whole point? Either of the answers have value when placed properly, but when you can combine just the right amount of both, balancing the need of the scene, the story, and the characters...there you have gold. For me, finding THAT balance is what writing sex is all about.

Nobody Farts During Sex

2012-02-21T09:31:00.000-05:00

by KAK

Hilarious Cards from The Oatmeal

Certain natural bodily functions are universally omitted from fiction. 90% of them are things we do behind the closed door of a bathroom.

When was the last time a romantic hero disappeared into the loo with a newspaper?

Ever been grateful certain bodily truths never appear in sex scenes? Ever notice you willingly -- nay, happily -- suspend disbelief because you don't want to know that much about the sex? No matter how graphic and detailed the sex scene may seem, writers could make it more detailed.

Believe it or not, bedroom TMI is something of which writers are aware.

Here are my top five sex-scene omissions:

1. Halitosis -- No protagonist pairing has any kind of bad breath, morning breath, coffee breath, garlic breath, beer breath, blood breath (for you vamp-lovers out there), etc. Our hero and heroine are a perpetual Scope commercial.

2. Smelly Pits or Naughty Bits -- Beat up a bad guy, race ten thousand miles, dash through a wall of flames, slay a goblin, and nobody, nobody, has B.O. Anywhere.

3. Hair That Ought Not Be There -- Even were-heroes don't have hairy backs. Heroines never have leg stubble or pit fur. Everybody is always baby-smooth no matter how long they've been separated from their toiletries.

4. The Wet Spot -- Wherever the sex happens, there is no jizz left on the sheet, the car seat, her skirt or his pants. It's like salty disappearing ink.

5. Gas/Air -- Nobody farts. No girl queefs. There is nothing but the dulcet tones of their mutual cries and passion-slicked bodies. No body ever expels anything save for the sweet culmination of their love. Not before, not during, not after. No matter how much lube may have been involved.

The next time you read a sex scene, remember how much the author loves you.

Are there moments in a sex scene that you've wished you could un-read? A bit of TMI that no brain-bleach will purge from your imagination? Do tell.

PUTTING THE OOH IN THE OOH-LA-LA

2012-02-20T14:42:00.005-05:00

I know this isn't a writing blog, it's a blog by writers and I think more than a few of y'all are writers yourselves.

So while this may be a bit short it will be an actual writing technique post.

Writing sex scenes.

Now, I'm not going to go into the specific tips and tricks such as pay attention to all the senses in the act of instead of focusing on just the sights and the sounds. Or using clever fresh words to describe things. (Slick being one of my faves) Or how using a lot of soft sounding words such as slick will make the scene flow. S sounds, C sounds, Z sounds roll off the tongue like....well, that's about enough of that. lol

I'm not even going to talk to you about varying the tempo of your sentence structure so that longer sentences build the tension, making it climb, building pressure as the sensations are spilled out onto the page for the eye to watch until you switch. Using shorter and shorter sentences. Quickening the pace. Moving faster. Doing. The. Deed.

Nope. Today I am going to speak, really quickly, on making the sex scene matter.

You should never write a gratuitous sex scene. Not even in erotica. If you do then you have failed. I know that sounds harsh but it's the truth. Sex is important and it means a lot of things. It can be a sign that your character is moving into a new phase of emotional growth. It can be a sign of healing. It can signify how damaged your character is. (Which is what George Pellacanos is doing in DRAMA CITY which I am reading now) But it should matter. It matters in real life and it should matter to your character and to your reader. It's not enough to write a hot scene, you have to make it serve a purpose in your character's emotional story.

There is a great book that I recommend if you need help writing that pesky lovemaking scene. It's by Stacia Kane and it's called: BE A SEX-WRITING STRUMPET.

See, here it is. Click HERE to go read more about it and where to get it. It's cheap.

She will put it all in perspective for you. LOL.

And that's all for me. Sum up, buy Stacia's book and make your sex scenes matter.

I had a great time at Con Nooga this year. Thank you to all the fans who came out to see me.

Til next monday Loyals and True Believers.

We'll Always Have Paris

2012-02-19T10:04:00.007-05:00

by Jennifer Paris

My first published fiction effort was an erotic story. Petals and Thorns is a BDSM take on Beauty and the Beast. I felt a need to create a division between the fantasy work I hoped to publish (Shameless plug: Rogue's Pawn coming out July 16!) and this more explicit erotica. So I created the Jennifer Paris pen name.

Since then, I've discovered a few things:

1. It's a pain to have a pen name.
2. Because Petals & Thorns continues to do well and be recommended, I really wish there was a better connection to my Jeffe Kennedy books.
3. Writing sex is writing sex and there just isn't the divide that I thought there was.

I spent most of January on developmental and line edits on Rogue's Pawn, revisiting that novel in great depth. I found many of the same themes as in my more erotic works. Certainly, sex is a strong theme in Rogue's Pawn, but it's far from being an erotic story like Petals and Thorns.

For the record, I think the difference between an erotic story and one with erotic elements is that an erotic story is about the sexual journey as the main plot arc.

Still, regardless of plot arc, sex scenes all serve a similar purpose. An idea that emerged during our week-long discussion of writing action scenes. An effective sex scene should be no more a blow by blow than an action scene should. It's not all "insert tab A into slot B" as some literary writers have snarkily pronounced. (That kind of talk always makes me want to take the person aside and gently inquire as to whether maybe they're missing the point.)

Sex at its most brilliant, in both fiction and reality, is about the coming together of human beings. It's one of the few ways we can reach out of these fleshy shells that encase us and actually merge with other human beings. Sex scenes show how where the characters hold their emotional boundaries - and when they relinquish them. Through sex, the characters reach into each other, intertwine, deepen intimacy and understanding. Characters can express things to each other through sex that they can't articulate.

I think those things hold true, regardless of how detailed the sex is, or the overall arc of the story.

Tab A in slot B, indeed.

The Crush

2012-02-18T10:09:00.004-05:00

This topic has been nagging me all week, nattering at the back of my head in a most annoying manner, suggesting I might want to think of something to write. I did a fine and wonderful job of ignoring it, and now here it is Saturday morning and I've got nothing. Zip. Nada.

Maybe because it's been years since I had any sort of crush on a celebrity, and even then I'm not sure the emotion I experienced was worthy of the word "crush." I have had, at times, a special appreciation for Harrison Ford, Viggo Mortenson, Brad Pitt and Robert Redford. I still like them, but I don't feel the need to follow them or do online searches, or even to watch all of their movies.

I'm sitting here asking myself this very important question: what exactly constitutes a crush?

So, just for fun, I asked Google for its opinion.

Google directed me to The Urban Dictionary, which tells us that a crush is "a burning desire to be with someone who you find very attractive and extremely special." Hmmmm. If we go by this definition, then no - I have never had a crush on a celebrity. There have been a few stars whom I found very attractive and extremely special but I honestly never had a burning desire to be with any of them. I was always quite contented to worship from afar.

Google images likes Orange Crush a lot, and also gave me this:

While Crush is cute and all, I think he's probably way off topic, unless you're a turtle, or have an obscure turtle obsession. So, moving on.

Google helps us out again by recommending an article on WikiHow which points out, just in case you're not clear on this, how to tell whether you are having a crush or not. 32 points in this little article, including such gems as: Notice if you get a sudden thrill when you hear his name. Notice if you think about him in the most random moments. You can't sleep. Notice how many times you've Googled his name.

Again, by these standards, I fail the crush test.

Google also directs me to a restaurant, a movie, and several bands named Crush.

While all of this is informative and interesting, it isn't all that helpful. And I fear I shall have to include that, since Google is the God of research, I do not now, and have never had in the past, a crush on a celebrity.

Alas.

Music Crush

2012-02-17T08:08:00.000-05:00

Like Allison, I had to wrack my brain over the celebrity crush thing. Maybe it's the fact that I don't have a TV anymore, or that I don't go to the movies because the flicker rate means a killer migraine. (In fact, my husband and I have a unique movie rating system - Is it worth a migraine to see it on the big screen, yes or no? FYI - the last movie that was a 'yes' was the first Sherlock Holmes movie. Ironman was, too. Hmm. Perhaps I should consider crushing on RDJr.)

Had you asked me about celebrity train wrecks, I'd have been all over that. There's something stupidly compelling about watching someone shoot themselves repeatedly in the feet. In public. It's a bit of 'how not to do it' education, right? BUT. That wasn't our topic.

So. No TV. Few movies. What do I crush on? Music. And I do mean the music - very rarely, since I aged out of my early twenties, do I develop crushes on actual people. It's the rhythm and a band's particular sound that I return to again and again like a junkie jonesing for a fix. Yeah, okay, so it doesn't hurt if the band members are cute. You already know about my Pendulum fixation. Well. There's a new kid in town.

Delhi 2 Dublin is a band out of Vancouver, BC. They are exactly what their name suggests - a mash up of Indian and Celtic music. They are an eclectic, international blend of musicians and their music brings instruments and sounds together that I never imagined could work out to so much fun. I won't link in any of the YouTube vids of these guys because every single one I've looked at has horrific sound quality. They have a couple of albums out. But this group is at it's best and most dynamic when they're playing live. They're playing relatively small venues right now, but that is going to change. My music crush on this band has reached the point that I've decided I need to make enough money writing that I can hire them to play an RT Readers party one year. But no pressure.

Image Source: http://www.delhi2dublin.com/

D2D's website: http://www.delhi2dublin.com

Crushing

2012-02-16T09:00:00.000-05:00

by Allison Pang

I've been thinking on and off about this topic for the last few days and to be honest...I'm at a bit of a loss. I mean, it's not that I don't crush to celebrities - I do...but not as much as I used to. (Maybe I just don't have time.)

When I was younger, crushing was easy. All a young girl had to do was get the latest issue of Bop or Tiger Beat or whatever fluff piece of crap mag that was out. And it would be full of little pull outs and pin ups of hottie teenage superstars, along with cute little nuggets of information guaranteed to make our pre-teen hearts swoon.

"You mean Hottie McHotterson likes kittens and long walks on the beach too? OMG we're SOUL-MATES!"

And of course, this was all before Twitter and Facebook and all that fun social networking stuff that so many celebrities have embraced, so the most we could do is send off a letter to a fanclub address somewhere and be ecstatic when we got a signed print 6 months later.

And that was about it. You watched them in your favorite TV show or movie and dreamed your little dreams and off you went.

And maybe that's all it really should be about. Because these days it's all too easy to get more than a casual glimpse into a celebrity's life. And while we're usually only seeing one facet of their personality, sometimes that's more than enough to break the illusion of who we thought they were. (And it really can get depressing - drug use, explosive tempers, conflicting political views, whatever.)

At any rate, to stay on topic here, I don't know if I have any celebrity crushes at this point. And those of you who know me are going to wag your fingers and say "what about *that* guy?" And you'd be right...except I've met him a few times and the reality doesn't live up to the hype. One of the dangers of actually cutting through that fourth wall, I suppose. (And no, I'm not naming names.)

I'll admit to liking a fair number of the people listed by my fellow word-whores this week - Viggo, Hugh Jackman, Johnny Depp - but as I analyze who I find myself crushing on, it's pretty obvious to me that it's way more than just a pretty face. As has been pointed out earlier, for celebs, they all seem to have their heads on straight, with stable family lives...and who often march to the beat of their own drum.

And if I want to go super deep, I'll admit to myself that it's not even the celebrity I that I might be crushing on, but the character they play. Two totally different things (and a rather unfair comparison...because really, Hugh Jackman *isn't* Wolverine, no matter how much I might wish it. Although it does crack me up to learn that his wife made him keep his X-men costume for...personal use. And if it was me? I'd do it too.)

My Celebrity Crush...

2012-02-15T06:00:00.001-05:00

by Linda Robertson

There's something about certain actors that just appeal to me. We've blogged about hunks here before...I know I did a top ten list once upon a time.

http://word-whores.blogspot.com/2011/05/man-candy-with-photos.html

I gave Viggo my #2 spot, allowing Jason Momoa to snag the top honor as a shirtless sword-slinger. "To that I hold," but...I keep coming back to Viggo. :-)

Maybe it's the chiseled jawline. He has unique features, and one would think that means he has the same distinguishing look in every movie, but he has melded into many roles with startlingly different appearances. Not all of them are particularly handsome, either. (I only put a few good pics here, though.)

Perhaps its the soft-looking, longish, slightly messy hair. I definitely dig long hair on a man. Probably a throwback to all my teenage crushes on rock stars.

Or, it may be the manliness of that jaw when it's rather scruffy.

It could be his dreamy blue eyes. I generally like dark eyes best, but he's certainly an exception. If the eyes truly are "the window to the soul," then I like imagining that his soul is lounging in a watery locale, like a warm sunny beach with a white sand that's soft like powder underfoot.

Sigh.

Crushing on the Character of Celebrities

2012-02-14T10:32:00.000-05:00

by KAK

Do you really want my crush, celebrities? Let me know. Cuz if you really want my fangrrldom, I suggest you learn to manage temptation. Ain't got no respect for silly games, it ain't even worth a Like on Facebook.

Okay, okay, okay, so I completely destroyed Salt-N-Peppa's masterpiece...

The point remains -- I have a thing for celebrities who have character. Not a persona. Not a scripted state of being. I mean moral fiber. The sort of personal attributes that should be celebrated. Respected. Emulated.

Yes, yes, I'm aware my perception of them is mostly controlled by what third parties choose to report. Yes, I take it all with a bucket of salt. Yes, having someone like Tuck tell me of the respect Nathan Fillion shows for his fans means a lot more than a report from E! News.

Now that you know my criteria, here are my top 3 Celebrities with Character crushes:

1. Hugh Jackman -- He's a classic triple threat without being a Diva. He is a mighty fine piece of eye candy who doesn't take himself too seriously. More importantly, he's been married for 15 years, has two children, a dog, and respect for his family. You don't hear about him stepping out on his wife. You do see pics of him playing with his kids and the delight on their faces. His most recent charity effort is LaughingMan Coffee.

2. Trace Adkins -- I have a thing for dudes with deep voices and ponytails. He has a wicked sense of humor and is quick to call bullshit. Sure, he's tall, tall, glass of 100% hick. There is no denying the craycray that went along with his youth. What redeems him is he owns up to it. He stands accountable for his failures. He is devoted to his family and his country (I'm referring to the US Armed Forces). If you support our men and women on the front, even when you don't support the politics that sent them there, you have my respect.

3. Dolly Parton -- Oh yes. I have mad love for Dolly. It goes beyond her talents as a singer, songwriter, and actress. It's more than the fabulous wigs and devotion to rhinestones. I adore her self-deprecating humor. She can throw down a quip as easily as doll out a compliment -- and she's not stingy with either. She earned my undying devotion when she created steady employment for thousands of people in her community. She didn't just toss money at them and say "good luck with that." No, she's not out there locking down the roller coaster, but she still does shows there. She made a commitment to her community and she delivers.

So, my dear readers, which celebrity's personal character attracted you?

I AM A VERY SECURE MAN. (or in which James discusses his man-crushes which are not few in number)

2012-02-13T01:05:00.009-05:00

Celebrity crushes. Well, pull up a chair kiddos and let's talk about my celebrity crushes. Being the only man 'round these here parts I bet you thought you were gonna pull up a bunch of pictures of pretty ladies.

Well, you would be wrong. lol.

Keeping in the spirit of my fellow word whores I am gonna share with you my man-crushes. Yep. I have man-crushes on some celebrities.

Now let's preface this all with a brief aside and a bit of an explanation. I am not a pretty man. I know this. I have a lot of look going on with my size, the tattoos, the shaved head, the goatee. I look like a thug. I am just fine with this. The Missus likes it and I have no problem with my appearance. No low self-esteem at all. So while I am not actually attracted to other men I do have a measuring stick for if a man is attractive. I look and I say:" would I trade places with him in the looks department?" If the answer is yes, then he is attractive. If the answer is no, then he isn't. Some of this is based on the actor's appearance, some on their personality, and some, truthfully on the roles they play.

So here is the list of the man-crushes currently going on, along with an explanation for each.

4) Timothy Olyphant

This one is directly tied to his role as US Marshall Raylan Givens. If you aren't watching Justified then shame on you. This is a badass show and Olyphant is acting his ass off in it. Damn his character is cool. This is the level of quiet badassery that little boys strive for when they are trying to be cool. Like Gregory Peck in TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD, Marshal Raylan Givens just shows up and does the work.

3) John Barrowman

Not only is John Barrowman the "straight version of Tom Cruise" (Thank you Joan Rivers) he is one charming sonnuvabitch. He is funny, clever, and witty. Watch him host shows on the BBC, sing on stage in musicals, or kick alien ass as Captain Jack Harkness on Torchwood and he does it all with style. He still holds resentment for being turned down for the role of Will on Will and Grace for being too straight (John is openly gay and has been in a long term relationship with his partner Scott for EVER) and then having the role given to an actual straight actor. He has the movie star good looks and winning personality to make the list. Whenever I am famous and doing a UK book tour I want to meet him and Scott and then me and The Missus can go to their house for dinner.

2) Nathan Fillion

The Missus and I had our picture taken with Nathan at Dragoncon. That is one charming bastard. Seriously. It's not so much the looks, but all that charm he oozes in Castle, that's the real deal. At the photo thing he was tired, bone tired, you could see the dark circles under his eyes and he had the world's biggest coffee, but he was still full of energy and cracking jokes.

And finally

1) Dwayne Johnson

Okay, admit it. Dwayne Johnson is the pinnacle of male perfection. Seriously. He's not even a sexual object as much as what an artist would draw if told to design the ultimate male physique. The sonnuvabitch is carved from marble. Plus he is a pretty good actor and has more than his share of charm. He can swing from ass-kicking action to charming and tender-hearted, to downright damn funny. He's the person I had in mind to play Deacon Chalk if a movie is ever made.

Ya hear that Dwayne? Do you smell what the Tuck is cookin'?

An BTW, thank you all for all the books you have bought and all the reviews, posts, and comments you have made for my new book BLOOD AND BULLETS. I am truly grateful for just how supportive you have all been.

Crushing on Neil & Amanda

2012-02-12T10:09:00.004-05:00

by Jeffe Kennedy

I'm not hugely into celebrity crushes. Some of the blogger gals do boyfriend of the week. Sister bordello-occupant Allison Pang has her Midnight Man Candy. There are actors I particularly like, but looking at the pretty pictures just doesn't do all that much for me.

I need a story.

I know, I know - I'm such a girl.

See, even this meme with Ryan Gosling doesn't really light me up. They are funny, with the "Hey Girl..." followed by some sort of impossible female fantasy. There's even one on Twitter now for the Gosling Literary Agency, with the profile tag line: Hey Girl, your manuscript made me cry. I can see how they're amusing, with lines like Hey Girl, gonna negotiate your contract now. No, no, you go get a coffee. I can't...I don't want you to hear me raise my voice.

But this is the one that grabs my little writer-girl heart:

I admit it: I have a total crush on Neil Gaiman. More, I have an uncharacteristically bi-crush on both him and his wife, Amanda Fucking Palmer. If you know nothing about her, watch this video at least. It's not entirely safe for work, though it's all suggestive with nothing really showing.

I love that these two very different, creative and off-beat artists found each other. I think that it's great that they managed to put together this marriage where they're both off intensely doing their own things.

I confess that I worry about them.

This is the true celebrity crush, I think, where I feel like I know these two. Like they're already my friends. And, like the worst of nosy friends, I worry about them. I want to ask if they spend enough time together. Are they happy? I want to invite them over for wine and dinner so we can all dish about our latest projects.

I read their blogs and mentally respond.

When they were in Santa Fe visiting George R.R. Martin and I didn't find out until afterwards, I felt irrationally hurt. I mean - they could have called!

Still and all, I don't think this kind of this is particularly unhealthy. It's good to have people who embody certain goals for us. In the past, it used to be the nobility, the kings and queens and descending royals who we admired and emulated. Or the church elders or great philosophers. Today the pundits snark that our new royalty are the Hollywood stars, implying that these are empty people to look to.

I'm not sure it's wrong. It's all part of the fantasy, crushing on the hot guy, fantasizing about being as beautiful as Keira Knightly, thinking that Johnny Depp would probably totally fall for me, if he only just took the time to get to know me. That Ryan Gosling would make the best literary agent ever.

And, you know, if Neil and Amanda had just called me, I would totally have had them over for dinner.

It would have been a wonderful evening, too.

TV: The Love, the Hate, the Meh

2012-02-11T09:32:00.006-05:00

By Kerry Schafer

Growing up a long, long time ago in small town British Columbia, our TV viewing options were pretty limited. Two channels - CBC or something else which I've now forgotten. Even if we had been blessed with such a thing as cable or satellite back in those days, our TV viewing would still have been limited. My mother was very strict on this. For the period of at least several years of my childhood there was a limitation to one hour a week.

A difficult choice ensued. Hogan's Heroes was my favorite. There was something about that group of POWs and their clandestine (and funny, definitely funny) activities that appealed deeply to the childhood me. I loved watching Hogan pull things over on Colonel Klink. Loved Schultz and the fact that he knew what was going on but pretended not to. One hour a week, meant the possibility of two episodes.

The other sitcom choice that vied for my love was Get Smart. Not the new movie, young whippersnappers, but the original goofy series. Loved this show nearly as much as Hogan and his crew. Max was a lovable idiot who always won out in the end.

Difficult choice, but a simple solution could have been one of each during the week to make up my TV viewing, right?

Not so simple. Because on Sunday nights at 6 pm there was The Wonderful World of Disney. A good Disney night was pure bliss. My brother and I would have cereal for dinner that night, and watch together. If I'd chosen to watch something else, he got to watch without me and that was torture. Disney pretty much trumped the weekly half hour shows, no matter how beloved, except for the problem that bad Disney nights sucked. I wasn't much into the Donald and Mickey and Goofy scene, and certainly wasn't likely to voluntarily sacrifice my favorite weekday shows for them. Here's the problem - you didn't always know for sure what was going to be on Sunday night, and if you bypassed Hogan for Disney, and then Disney turned out to be Donald Duck, that was bad.

Very unfair of my mother, I fervently believed, to put us in the situation of having to make these difficult choices. Now, I thank her deeply, because with the TV off the obvious solution was to dive into a book and I'm pretty sure my limited TV viewing combined with a voracious love of story had a lot to do with the fact that I was reading well above my expected reading level from an early age.

Over the years I've had other favorite TV shows, things I looked forward to every week and hated to miss. The Muppet Show. Grey's Anatomy for the first couple of seasons. ER for the first couple of seasons. Burn Notice. NCIS. But for the most part these days I just don't care that much about any TV show. I rarely watch unless the Viking has it on, and then only to hang out and spend time with him.

As for shows I hate? The one show that inspires total ire and outraged wrath on my part is Toddlers and Tiaras. I've been in a room when this show was on a couple of times, and either it goes OFF or I walk out. My blood pressure rises, I begin to rant and if one of those mothers walked into my presence I'm not sure I would be able to maintain any level of socially acceptable behavior. Just writing about it is getting me all ranty, so I think it's time to wrap up this post and move on to other things.

Television Guilt

2012-02-10T12:45:00.000-05:00

Lump me into the 'no TV' category. No room for one on the boat. More than that, though, about a decade ago, while we were still land-based, we realized we were using the television to anesthetize ourselves. We talked about it and decided that we didn't want to spend our lives being spectators. We wanted to DO. So the television went to family members and we axed the cable.

Entertainment shifted over to our computers and Massive Multiplayer Online Role Playing Games like World of Warcraft and Star Wars the Old Republic.

However. Both my husband and I found that after the initial TV withdrawals subsided, there were still shows we missed. Netflix resolved his issue. It couldn't accommodate my craving for spurious science. Oh yes. That's my great love. I'm a science show junkie. Even when there's no *actual* science involved in a show. My father likes to give me a hard time about the number of mummy shows I've seen. Fellow Word Whore, Jeffe, likes to give me a hard time about watching all of the over-dramatized conspiracy theory based pseudo-science shows (Brad Meltzer's "Decoded", I'm looking at you - science? Not by a longshot. But I adore you anyway.)

I go up to http://www.history.com/ and find entire seasons of shows of dubious scientific content and I binge. I don't care about actual science - though when I get it, I'm thrilled (Ancient Discoveries does a nice job of inserting science into the show - all the better because the science is usually flamable!)

Photo source: http://www.flickr.com/photos/nationalgeographicchannel/with/2511045253/

You Can't Do a Little, 'Cause You Can't Do Enough

2012-02-09T09:45:00.000-05:00

by Allison Pang

I've been home most of the week with a sick sproglet. (And to be perfectly honest, I'm feeling a bit like warmed over garbage myself. He's got strep, and I've apparently been fighting something off for weeks that includes burning eyes and cotton head. Makes for lousy days, particularly when I have a ton of things to do.)

It also means we're watching a lot of TV together, simply because we can. Which includes a fair bit of Spongebob, among other things.

But I've been thinking a bit to the days when I was a kid and I got sick. (I actually had mono in 4th grade, so I was out of school for over an entire month...and with mono you're not supposed to run around at all. Meant a lot of book reading and TV watching.)

Of course, back in the 70' and 80's we didn't have much in the way of cable, so we were stuck with three or four channels and that's about it. There might have been a few cartoons in the morning - basic kid shows like Sesame Street or the Electric Company or whatever. Rocky & Bullwinkle. The Great Space Coaster? (Which I freaking hated with all the fury of a thousand suns. No Gnus is Good Gnus be damned.) The New Zoo Review? I was all about a little Freddy the Frog action. Games shows like Press Your Luck, The Price is Right, $25,000 Pyramid.

And then it was all soap operas, which I disliked intensely. But mid afternoon, the awesomeness of the Sid & Marty Krofft shows would pop up. H.R. PufNStuff. The Bugaloos. Sigmund the Seamonster. Land of the Lost.

Looking back on them now, I kind of have to wonder at my fascination with those particular shows, but I'll admit to a bit of fond nostalgia when I show my own kids the wonders of the Sleestaks.

Which I can do, since my mother-in-law bought us the entire Land of the Lost collection on DVD. I'm both horrified and grateful.

But really, H.R PufNStuff was my absolute favorite. When I was five, I was completely in love with Jimmy, although to this day I couldn't tell you why. I still really dig PufNStuff's smoking white cowboy boots, though. (And yes, I realize the lyrics are probably a huge reference to drugs, puffing on magic flutes and all, but still.)

Oh...and the Bugaloos too. All about groovy faeries who were probably also high.

Actually, if you wanted, you could just skip my post entirely and watch this - because this is pretty much everything I was trying to say. (Badly.)

MOST LOVED/HATED...

2012-02-08T06:00:00.001-05:00

by Linda Robertson

We don't have any particular direction to take our love/hate week. Could be as basic as our favorite colors or as complex as our favorite part of quantum physics.

Ahem.

There will be no brainiac facet to my post.

LOVE:

Since Valentine's Day is fast approaching, let me tell you about my discovery of a certain CHOCOLATE confection that I just LOVE LOVE LOVE!

Sure, Hershey's is fine. Ghiradelli and Godiva are better. I know some folks who are connoisseurs of the stuff. To me it's not just the chocolate, it's what you do with it.

Pause.

Now stop it, just because I said 'what you do with it' and I mentioned Valentine's Day does not mean I'm talking about the fun things you can do with Hershey syrup.

I'm talking about the glorious awesomeness that is chocolate ganache. (Apparently that weird word is a French term meaning the smooth and velvety texture of chocolate mixed with cream.)

I love this stuff. I first had some at a bed and breakfast, and when they sat this thin slice before me I thought, "Wow, they better bring me another cause that little bit just won't do it." I carried my dessert plate with the half-eaten sliver of ganache to the kitchen and asked the chef what the heck was in it--I'd never had chocolate that DEFEATED me (as in I could not finish consuming what was served me) ever before. She told me it was chocolate, cream and butter. So simple? I scoffed. I pressed her to know what brand of chocolate it was...I had to know. She showed me the bags of chocolate chips--it was a non-brand name generic chocolate.

I shit you not.

(Picture me stupefied...go on, it isn't hard.)

The internet is laden with recipes. Go check 'em out!

HATE:

Is there a chocolate that I hate?

Indeed.

I loathe cream-filled chocolates, especially ones with cherries, coconut goo, or some kind of fruity flavored filling. *cringe* Leave my chocolate alone...unless it's peanut butter mixed with startling amounts of butter and confectioner's sugar that you're snuggling inside of it.

BONUS: NON-CHOCOLATE LOVE AND HATE ITEM:

I used to own a guitar MOSTLY like this one.

It's a B.C. Rich Ironbird. I love black guitars. I love the shape of this one. It screams bad-ass...

Unfortunately, mine was an NJ series, which means it was made cheaply and the tremolo mine had SUCKED. Couldn't use it--or barely touch it for that matter--or the damn thing would go out of tune.

I loved that guitar. But it took only a few short months to come to hate that guitar.

So I sold it.

It's about Blood & Bullets ... and maybe a train

2012-02-07T10:24:00.000-05:00

by KAK

Buy at B&N

Today, Monday Word-Whore James R. Tuck loses his novel virginity. (Yes, take that in as many ways as you'd like.) Today, his Urban Fantasy novel BLOOD AND BULLETS hits shelves -- tangible and virtual. Check out yesterday's post for a glimpse into the life of Deacon Chalk: Occult Bounty Hunter. I warn you, these vampires are not the creatures of wet dreams.

James R. Tuck

Should you spot his book in the wild real world, Take a Picture & Tag It! Seriously, my lovely readers, we'd love for you to upload and share your pictures of any Word-Whore's books over on Facebook and tag them so we know they've been spotted.

Don't worry, any similarities between Deacon Chalk and the author are purely ... the result of a vampire using mind control. ~evil laugh~

Speaking of control and vampires... ~fishes TV remote control from under left butt cheek~ This week's topic is TV Shows That I've Loved or Hated.

Growing up, "The Wild Wild West" with Robert Conrad and Ross Martin owned me. I wanted to live on a train just like they did. I had a thing for Arte. This show was the first to introduce me to the value of the quip (quip, people, not quirt ... though I think one of the villainesses wielded one of those). I remember Arte knowing Jim was in deep trouble, because the bad guy was in disguise -- yet Arte knew it was the bad guy by shape of his ears. EARS! EARS! Man, I miss that show.

No. We will not discuss the tragedy that was the 1999 movie. We will not discuss any show that has anything remotely related to "Reality TV" for that matter either. ~shudder~

OMG! TOMORROW! TOMORROW!

2012-02-06T10:28:00.005-05:00

Holy crap.
Tomorrow I will be a published author.
Holy.
Crap.
Actually, I am already a published author. I have a short story in One Buck Horror's special issue (One Buck Zombies) called "He Stopped Loving Her Today." That came out in October. I also have THAT THING AT THE ZOO the e-novella prequel to the Deacon Chalk series. It's available everywhere ebooks are sold for less than a dollar and you should buy it.

But TOMORROW I will have a real, physical book on the shelves of your local bookstore!
BLOOD AND BULLETS A Deacon Chalk: Occult Bounty Hunter novel is released into the wild on 2/7.

It feels good. Real good. I have been blessed with a lot of support from my fellow writers, including my bordello-mates here at the Word Whores. Most reviewers have liked it, more than a few loved it, a couple were blind to my genius. (That last one was sarcasm)

It feels good. I love being a writer.

Here is what some kind folks had to say about my book!

BLOGCRITIC

MY BOOKISH WAYS

LOV-LIV-LIFE REVIEWS

LOVE VAMPIRES

Missives from the Land of No TV

2012-02-05T11:10:00.006-05:00

by Jeffe Kennedy

I might be the worst possible Word Whore to kick off our week on most loved and hated TV shows, because this is my TV cabinet.

Oh, there's a TV in there, but it's usually hidden away unless we're watching a movie. We don't have cable, satellite or even an antenna. We not only don't watch TV shows, we really can't unless we get them from Netflix. Which we do from time to time, especially if people really wax on about one show or another.

I know this annoys people, when I say we don't watch TV. It makes us sound like douchebags. But we made a deliberate choice many years ago (around 15 years ago) to disconnect the cable and only watch what we made a considered choice to watch. I viewed it as breaking a habit. We were also paying off bills at the time, so throwing that considerable chunk we paid each month for TV at a debt instead made good sense. Without TV, we spent our time in other ways. We watched movies we rented and when they were over, we read or worked on projects. After a while, we didn't miss it at all.

We never went back.

This was a fairly easy choice for me because I'd been trained early on to minimize TV-watching. My mom only let me watch an hour each day, which I nearly always used up on the 4pm reruns of Star Trek. Oh yeah, baby. Star Trek and the later reboots will always be among my most loved TV shows.

So, now, we sometimes Netflix shows, which can be a funky experience because I'm always a season behind everyone else. When people are tweeting spoilers about this season's Castle (a show I do enjoy, thanks to sister Word Whore KAK's suggestion), we've just gotten last season's on disc. We followed Californication all the way through - David just loves some raunchy David Duchovny - and United States of Tara. We liked Glee, House, Nurse Jackie and The Tudors. A few others we've tried and bailed on pretty quickly. However, since I let all of you filter for me, I rarely see a show I hate.

Lately I'm hearing I should watch Downton Abbey, so it's in our queue.

So, you all tell me: what am I missing?

Can't We All Just Get Along?

2012-02-04T06:00:00.001-05:00

By Kerry Schafer

Sooner or later in every novel the inevitable "Oh, shit" moment shows up, the one where I cannot avoid the demand to Insert Action Scene Here.

I've got nothing whatsoever against a good action scene if somebody else is writing it. At least as long as it doesn't go on for pages in excruciating detail. But writing action scenes? See, that's a problem.

I have no personal frame of reference from which to choreograph such adventures.

Once, when I was in middle school I sort of got in a fight with another girl. We rolled around in the snow shouting. I don't think anybody even got hit. This is about the extent of my experience with a physical altercation, although I slapped a boy once and one of my girl friends slapped me. I have never held a sword. My experience with knives is limited to a Swiss Army Knife with which I am capable of peeling a willow stick to roast marshmallows over a campfire.

I'm a little better with guns, in that I have had the opportunity to shoot them. Not at anybody or anything other than a tin can or a cardboard box, or once, in my adventurous youth, a rotten egg.

So when I run up against a character who must engage in offensive, defensive, or evasive maneuvers, my first thought tends to be - really? Must we? Can't we all just get along, avoid the violence, sing a round of Kum Ba Yah and go out for dinner?

Obviously that would make for a boring book. Also, for some reason, I delight in creating characters who should know how to do these things, and enjoy fighting. So what then? How to write a fight scene with any degree of realism? I'm not about to go out and get myself beat up to find out what it feels like. Don't have time just now to take a martial arts class, or study fencing. (I am familiar with the other kind of fencing - the one involving post hole digging and wire stretching. Not a lot of need for this in Urban Fantasy, unless the cows are getting zombified).

So I must make do. I pay attention to the choreography in movies - and yes, I know it's all probably wrong. But I'm not aiming for total verisimilitude here, just to be close enough to accurate that nobody will fling my book across the room in disgust. I have watched YouTube videos on knife fighting techniques. I've asked writer friends who know things. My eldest stepson is always more than happy to help me choose which gun a particular character should be packing. And the Viking advises on firearms and points out the problems when I get it wrong. If I can get a scene past him, it's probably not going to make anybody twitch. At least not too much.

Action? Sex? What's the Difference?

2012-02-03T11:50:00.000-05:00

Right up front, let me say, I've long preferred writing action scenes to sex scenes. Partly, this was due to me having absorbed some remnant of Puritan social conditioning - you know the one: Nice girls don't know anything about sex, much less talk about it? I have no clue where I picked up this nonsense. But the fact remains that to this day, writing gun fights, hand to hand combat, sword fights, explosions and assorted spaceship battle scenes is easier than writing a sex scene.

But it doesn't make sense for one scene to be easier to write than the other because a sex scene IS an action scene.

No. Not that kind of action - well - okay, yes it is *that* kind of action, but you know what I mean. Look. A fight scene arises out of the external conflict of a story, it may be fueled by a character's internal conflict as well, but usually a fight comes when our heroes have been backed into a corner by the bad guy. The action of the scene will either reveal something about the hero(es), the villian or the core external conflict of the story. The fight will probably propel the hero(es) closer to some kind of doomsday confrontation - not just with the bad guy, but also with themselves - this proves they've completed their character arc, learned their lessons and now have the wherewithal to triumph.

A sex scene arises from the internal conflict of a story. The external conflict may provide a sense of urgency, or heighten whatever is driving these two people together, but the sex scene serves the same purpose a fight scene does - driving story arc, character arc and plot. It's another case of proving that the characters have learned enough about themselves that they can risk trusting someone else. It's also likely that these people will emerge from the encounter either shattered or strengthened - which is usually how a fight ends, too.

A good fight scene can utterly disarm your character, leave him or her stripped, defenseless. So can a sex scene. A fight scene can empower a character, girding him or her for the final battle. So can a sex scene. From a staging standpoint, there's no difference at all between how a fight scene and sex scene must be directed - only the anatomical language changes subtly - unless the sex scene is a fight scene. Combat is a contest for physical supremacy. A sex scene (not talking rape here - which is 100% violence, not sex scene) can be as well, and while a story wouldn't likely be a romance at that point, there can be an element of competition to a sex scene - who makes who climax first.

Regardless, knowing what limb is doing what, where, when, and knowing that all parties have an appropriate number of limbs is the same whether you're writing combat or sex. The differences in emotional content can be huge or subtle - depends entirely on your characters and on the story. But ultimately, there's no much difference between the scene types. They both require the same set of skills.

Just a Flesh Wound

2012-02-02T09:00:00.000-05:00

by Allison Pang

Sex and violence are so often intertwined in writing and movies. I'm sure we've all seen the scene where two people survive some horrible battle...and then immediately shag against the wall. Though as KAK pointed out earlier this week, that sort of thing would probably take a stronger stomach than most of us have, depending on the particulars.

For me, I suppose I don't mind reading or writing either sort of scene, as long as there's purpose behind it. I like them of middling and realistic length. (The exceptions being erotica, maybe -where the sex *is* the plot.)

When it comes to action scenes I think it can become a fine line between what's necessary and what becomes excess. (Sort of like those big epic battle moments in Braveheart - one on hand, they're realistically brutal, but there's a certain "It's just a flesh wound" mentality that hits me when I watch them. It's probably not a good thing if I start laughing at the spouts of blood gushing from decapitations.)

In either case, there are a few things that tend to have me skipping pages or rolling my eyes.

1) I get that they're needed sometimes, but endless descriptions of bivouacs and triangular battle formations, Calvary and caltrops, archers and catapults and Greek fire, etc. It's all very impressive when you're looking at it on a map or via movie, perhaps, but after a while the details all begin to blur together. Most of us aren't schooled in military tactics or the arts of war, so...yeah.

This tends to be my reaction too. Though my husband assures me that tactics and battles may be more of a guy thing. Perhaps this is true. I often wonder if the male/female gaze becomes the issue with writing as to why a book or movie becomes popular. Particularly with love scenes, for example - I can usually tell if it man has written it, just based on the descriptions and focus on certain body parts. On the reverse side, I know there's also been quite of a bit of discussion on why many men don't read UF/PNR or fantasy novels written by women - and much of that has to do with the female gaze and a certain amount of discomfort on the way men are written and perceived.

(Not saying one is right or wrong and it's a bit outside of the scope of the post, but still interesting to think about.)

2) Hand to hand battles that also become ridiculous. I know in UF in particular, we're a bit conditioned to accept that our characters have preternatural skills - they have greater strength or stamina, special fighting abilities, whatever. Which is fine, but even so, nothing pulls me out of a scene faster than something that is glaringly wrong. Incorrect firearms terms, for example. (If you're going to write with guns, make sure you know the details of what the characters are using.)

Also, intricate fight scenes can be fun to watch, but the truth of it is that most fights end up on the ground. You can have all the pretty jumping, spinning crescent kicks you want, but if you don't know how to grapple, you're probably pretty screwed.

And sometimes, the direct path is best. (Rumor has it that this particular scene was ad-libbed because Harrison Ford was suffering from dysentery at the time. He was supposed to do something fancy with the whip, but was rather tired and feeling like crap...so chose something a bit more forward. Frankly, it works better from a character perspective too.)

3) Wounds. Again - I know it's part of the whole fantasy of writing thing, but just...there have to be repercussions. I mean, if I stub my toe hard enough I want to pass out. Am I still running after the bad guy after he shoots my kneecap out? (Again - rules and things, but sometimes I'm just like WTF.)

Like Batman on a Unicorn

2012-02-01T10:53:00.003-05:00

Hey folks, our Hump Day Word Whore Linda had a bit of an emergency and won't be posting today. Don't worry - I hear she'll fight her way out of that vampire den eventually. In the meantime, please welcome guest poster Christine d'Abo!

Why hello there! The Word Whores were kind enough to let me snap-kick my way into their action week! That’s right, the coffee queen knows a thing or two about action. A little wine, a few candles. I hone in on my man in a slinky little number, showing off (what little) cleavage, doing my best to entice him into my—

(Jeffe leans in to whisper)

Yes…It’s not…oh…so I have to… get dressed?…OH! Action scenes. Gotcha!

I’m actually a big fan of action scenes. I know several others this week have compared them to sex scenes and how some people tend to like one over the other. For me, I feel they are both critical in giving us a feeling of who our characters are. The way a character handles situations in a physical manner is usually an indicator of their emotional state.

And sex is similar to fighting in so many ways. The grunting. Sweating. Nakedness.

Or is that just me?

The best part of an action scene has to be the emotional cues we get from the characters involved in the action. It’s one thing to fight an opponent with an axe/blade/gun/fists and come out the winner. It’s something completely different when that character is also fighting their inner turmoil. Each step or swing becomes a deeper battle where they must fight off their personal demons, while making sure they don’t die. Lots to handle.

I write both futuristics and contemporary erotic romance. I tend to use action scenes in both, though in very different ways. Futuristics are easier to incorporate in many ways. The fights can be bigger, the emotional stakes for the characters deeper, all while they get to screw in zero-g. It’s good times.

But I find the action sequences in my contemporaries to be more challenging (and in the end) more satisfying to write. They tend to be smaller in duration, the emotional stakes a lot higher. There is more action foreplay, or the taunting that leads a character to take that first punch/pull the trigger/jump out the window. It makes that first action scene almost as sexy as the first sex scene.

A good action scene will leave you questioning not only the physical safety of the characters, but also the emotional security. We need to keep reading to know that everything is going to work out in the end, and with luck, get to see the characters kick some major ass.

A bad action scene will feel like Batman on a unicorn. Pretty damn useless.

Multipublished author Christine d'Abo loves exploring the human condition through a romantic lens. She takes her characters on fantastical journeys that change their hearts and expand their minds. A self-professed sci-fi junkie, Christine can often be found chatting about her favorite shows and movies. When she's not writing, she can be found chasing after her children, dogs or husband.

Christine is published with Carina Press, Ellora's Cave, Samhain Publishing, Cleis Press and Berkley Heat. Please visit her at www.christinedabo.com and come chat with her at Twitter Christine_dAbo.

Aaaaannnnd ACTION!

2012-01-31T08:42:00.000-05:00

by KAK

Judith Beheading Holofernes

by Artimesia Gentileschi

In real life, I'm not a violent person. I don't enjoy watching UFC matches or boxing. It's probably why I'm far from pro-hockey's biggest fan. I always figured school bullies needed to meet up with a Master Sergeant for a year of boot camp.

However...

When it comes to action scenes, I'm past liking them and squarely into the "highly obsessed" camp. As a reader, I consume every word the author wrote -- for better or worse. Sex scenes, fight scenes, what-just-happened scenes. I don't skip sentences. I don't skim pages. If the author thought the words were important enough to include, then I'm reading every last one of them. This is why, when an author glosses over an action scene, I get annoyed. "He swung the battle ax and beheaded the monster. He turned around and kissed his girl. Together, they headed to the next locked door."

Are you kidding me?

I want to know how the weight of ax threw the hero off balance. How the reverberation of the strike against the monster's scaly hide sent pain from hand to nape. I want him to react to the warm spatter of blood blinding him. Of the ax getting caught in the partly severed neck. What? No one beheads a monster in one blow. Well, unless the monster is made of cotton candy...then maybe. His girlfriend has either fainted or barfed. There is no kissing. There is no skipping down the hall to the next challenge because there's a big fucking corpse oozing all sorts of ick. When beings die, they shit and piss themselves. How's about that for a romantic moment?

Details, people, details.

I love to write action scenes, battle scenes, fight scenes, whatever you want to call them. I write them in detail because conflict by its very nature changes everyone involved. People get hurt, people hurt others. There should be physical and emotional reaction to that -- from the gals swinging the punches to the bystanders hiding in the trees. If the action scene doesn't provoke change in the characters and their relationships, then what the hell is it doing there hogging up precious word count? I want the reader to know if and when there is hesitation in either party, but I'll let the reader figure out why. I want the reader to know the heroine will accept an injury if the move lets her inside her opponent's guard to deliver the fatal blow. Details like that are important statements of the character.

How people fight tells you a lot about them.

What about you, dear reader? Can you recall an action scene that really gave you insight into a character? Share the moment and the story below.

ACTION!

2012-01-30T11:39:00.004-05:00

The black keys sit beneath outstretched fingers, white letters mocking in their tiny square borders. Micro muscles pull the phalanges in tiny jerks and spasms of anticipation. Pull, relax, pull, relax, a dance of contraction.
The fingertips gently stroke across the keys in a wave of language. The response is immediate. One tentative word splashed across the white screen. The fingers pull back, waiting for the eyes to catch up.
The mind clicks. Unspoken orders fly through nerves, setting them on fire. The fingers react with flash and fury. Dive forward. Strike. Pull back. Strike again. Pressing harder each time, driving down, trying to push the mocking letters through the other side.
The fingers dance around each other, circling with purpose. Darting in and out, barely missing each other. Words spill out across the screen like blood on ice. Stark and quick, laid out in an ever growing puddle of hot, sticky language. The keys cry out, clacking for mercy, but no mercy will be given. Not this time. Not now. Not until the final word is torn from them and left lying among its fallen brothers.
.
.
.
Okay, that may have been a bit of a gimmick and I'm not going to obsess over that. LOL.
I LOVE action scenes. I love writing them and I love reading them. Hell, I love watching them on tv too. When I am writing the Deacon Chalk series I find that if I go too long in writing without an action scene I start to get antsy. I begin to go back and count to make sure that not too much time has passed without one.
But action can be hard to write. You have to find the rhythm of it, the ebb and the flow that makes it exciting and not a hot mess a reader has to wade through.
But I find that I can tell a lot about the character in how they react to a fight. You never really know how you are going to react to a violent situation until you are put in it. Reading about a character the first time they have to make the choice to fight for something they want is a great way to know them. Action scenes lay the character out to their most basic desires, giving us insight into the things that matter most to them. Do they fight to save others? Are they trying to save their own skin? Are they just being cruel to someone weaker than them? What is the one thing they are willing to not only risk themselves for, but also to hurt someone else for?

It can get deep quickly in an action scene. See, my fingers are willing to hurt the keys in order to get words done. They are merciless in this pursuit, uncaring of how much the keys protest. Their clicking and clacking falls on the deaf ears of my fingers as they continue to pound away.

So what does this say about my fingers?

(Okay, this post officially got weird.)

So, dear reader, do you love action scenes and if so why? Are they just mind candy with all the pretty explosions, or do you look for the depths of the character in them?

Writing Action Scenes

2012-01-29T09:29:00.003-05:00

by Jeffe Kennedy

A little while back, I made a remark on Twitter about reading action scenes.

Yeah, yeah - I'm forever making remarks on Twitter. Shut up.

THIS particular remark started a conversation, as opposed to all my remarks that go unread, unheard, like a tree falling in a forest where not even the least bunny is squished. I said that I tend to skim the fight scenes because I find them generally dull. She swings her vorpal blade, he ducks and fires up the light saber. She spins, kicks, falls. He punches, grunts, dives.

I pretty much skip to the end to find out who wins, so, with plot point in hand, I can continue the story.

Other people - with surprisingly virulent opinions on the topic - said that no, they skim the sex scenes and the fight scenes are the interesting, exciting bits.

Hmm. See, I come from the side of the campfire that just can't see how a fight scene could be more interesting than a sex scene. Not that I haven't read some bad, boring sex scenes. They're out there. But they're hardly the Tab A into Slot B descriptions that detractors like to drag out.

I suspect part of it comes from a fundamental discomfort with sex for many people. The cultural norm that lets kids see brains blown out but not naked breasts. Movie censoring is predicated much more on parsing what sex is shown, as opposed to exactly what kind of dismembering. And isn't it interesting that sex acts are private but violent ones are public?

With both sex and action scenes, where the danger is falling into stage direction rather than storytelling, the key is the emotional changes that transpire. They're both about interpersonal interaction, not just "they fight" or "they have sex."

But then, I'm a girl.

I expect those of you out there who love to read and write the action scenes will tell me that a great, big explosion is reason enough. Marcella insists that explosions are plot points.

For me? I stick to what I know. The golden rule of writing. Yes, that's me above, performing my amazing umbrella trick at a demonstration. I studied internal martial arts for some years and this was a neat little bit of deception and side-step. An aggressive man approaches, she turns away. He pushes into her space - she pops open the umbrella and, under its cover, snaps a kick to his balls.

That's my action scene, quickly over. I'd always finish by strolling away with a smile while I twirled my parasol.

Love a happy ending.

I Want it All

2012-01-28T06:00:00.000-05:00

By Kerry Schafer

My wildest dreams for my writing career?

Interesting topic, since the dreams that I've been holding onto for the last twenty years or so all just came true.

Some validation for my hard work from a professional in the publishing industry. An agent. A publishing contract. A book, my book, that I could hold in my hands and put on a shelf in my library.

When I dared to dream extravagantly, I'd fantasize about being one of those lucky people who found an agent or a book deal online without going through the process of querying. I wanted an agent to tweet something about how she was reading this awesome manuscript that she couldn't put down, and to know that she was talking about something I wrote.

Apparently my fairy godmother was feeling extraordinarily generous the other day, because the agent, the validation, the publishing deal - these things materialized over the course of a couple of weeks. I have yet to hold my book in my hands, but the process is underway. I was literally walking around singing "bibbety bobbety boo" one afternoon. Unbelievable.

Anyway, now I need new dreams. And since my wildest dreams have already come true, I figure this time I'm going to dream really big. I remember saying somewhere along the line that I didn't care if I was a bestselling author, I just wanted to publish a book. Okay, it sounded good at the time. It made me feel better about not being published at all.

Now I want multiple books on multiple bestseller lists.

I want a movie - a good movie - made out of Between. With somebody like, oh, Jason Momoa playing Zee. I would of course have to meet him to offer some character insights.

I want to make enough money so the Viking and I can both quit our day jobs and pay off the mortgage on our property. I'll write full time, except for when I'm traveling and teaching and speaking. The Viking will be my business manager.

I want to be interviewed by Letterman. Yes, I know I'm supposed to be thinking Oprah, but I've always had a thing for Letterman.

I want blurbs by Guy Gavriel Kay and Ursula LeGuin and Stephen King.

Probably I could go on long enough in this vein to bore everybody, so I'll let Queen finish this up for me. That's right - I want it all!

Grandiose Dreams Masquerading as Plans

2012-01-27T08:00:00.000-05:00

I could tell you that my great dream is to develop my writing career to a point where I can support myself and my family. It’s true. As far as it goes. The problem is that I’m much greedier than that. I want more. Much more.

The movies, comics, games, action figures based on my stories and characters– sure, those would be nice. But you know what? Those are the means by which my most secret (to this point) dreams may be accomplished. What are these lofty imaginings? Here, in no particular order, they are.

1. Donate 10% of everything I make to the charities I support. Granted. I already donate to the organizations that are close to my heart, but it’s not from my income. So far. Also, no, I won’t say which orgs right now. I kind of feel like charity should be like religion – between you and whoever’s getting your money.

2. The Great Walk of Africa - 110 miles of hiking across Tsavo National Park. I would want this to be paid for 100% with my income. No pressure. I only need about $30,000 to pull this off for me and my husband. <cough>

3. Macadamia Nut Pancakes. Yeah. This one takes a little explanation. During a weeklong vacation in Kailua, Hawaii, a storm wind blew in. It bustled through and whispered to me as it passed. “Home,” it said. And I decided that living in Hawaii would be just fine. It didn’t hurt that in Kailua is a restaurant called Boots & Kimo’s. They serve killer Macadamia Nut Pancakes. The rest of their food is yummy, too. There’s also a great burger joint in Kailua. Not to mention the fine art of shave ice in flavors you’ve never heard of. At any rate, I know living in Hawaii is expensive. Islands are just like that. So if I was going to make it a goal, I might as well go for broke, right? Why not aspire to one of the huge, gorgeous homes that dot the area? I’d turn it into a writer’s retreat. The family and I would live in one, smaller part of the house. The rest would become B&B style writers’ rooms. Sign up, fly out, and shut yourself away in your private space to write, or join others in the common room for writing time, tea time, wine, brainstorming sessions – whatever. Of course, I’d have to name rooms after Word Whore novels or something, though notably, for the darker books, I’m not likely to carry the theme over to the room décor. Naturally, we’d provide shuttle service to the Macadamia Nut Pancakes. And to the beach. Until then. Here’s the closest I’ve come to owning a piece of paradise.

Writer Dreams

2012-01-26T09:00:00.000-05:00

by Allison Pang

This is probably going to sound rather shallow, but I don't know if I have specific writer dreams.

Wanting. Longing. Desire for THINGS to happen? Absolutely.

But not specific dreams.

I mean, on one level there's still a part of me that sort of gapes at the fact that I'm paid to write at all. But I guess the long and short of it is that I equate dreams as being somewhat passive. That may not be a fair assessment, but I don't really give myself much time to dream.

I plan.

Or I suppose I give myself goals I think I can accomplish. Which is not always easy. The market is such a fickle thing for publishing. Sure, I might sell movie rights, for example...but in reality that doesn't mean anything - and it's nothing I can really influence once they're sold. A production company could sit on them for years, but until a project actually gets greenlit by a studio? It's dust in the wind. (Exciting dust in the wind, but still.)

And I blame my mother for this bit of uber-practicality, but I also think there's a bit of a defense mechanism going on for me. I dislike setting myself up for disappointment. Hell, even during the initial round of phone calls from agents and editors a few years ago, I sorta clamped down on all the excitement, terrified the rug was going to be yanked. I *still* haven't actually celebrated it properly yet. I probably won't, at this point.

Some of the things others have talked about this week - fan art, comic books, action figures - awesome things to want. I want them too. And frankly, I fangirl myself all the time. I do get some fan art...and I commission others, simply because I can.

I've got a comic book proposal out there for BoD. It may never happen, though - and that's okay. But I'd love to write for comics or graphics novels in general- which might be hard without experience, so I found an artist and we're putting together an online graphic novel that will go live in the spring. (Free, of course - but we're having a blast with it, and we're both getting a good learning experience out of it, and that's all that matters.) Yes - I'm plugging myself here, but that's okay. The site isn't officially up, but we've got a few sketches up at our SSD tumblr. More to come as we progress.

I'd love to write for RPG games. I entered a writing contest for a popular gaming company - which might not get me anything. But it might also get my writing seen by the head writers over there. Do I expect a job out of it? No - but it's a chance to leap over the slush pile and that's all I want. For now. ;-)

I'd love to write children's books. (Seriously, I've got book half-written in my head about a Pangolin and his Violin. I should probably put it down on paper just to make it go away.)

I guess what I'm getting at is that for me, I want to do more than write novels. Will any of these things happen? Maybe. Maybe not.

But what it comes down to is that I don't want to just dream.

I want to do.

IN MY WILDEST DREAMS...

2012-01-25T06:00:00.001-05:00

When I checked the trusty calendar this week to see what the topic was I saw:

Wildest Dreams For Our Writing Careers

The fine point those last four words put on the topic totally changed my first impression...and saved y'all from what could otherwise have been a strange little rant. Heh heh.

Well, since our Monday Man Whore nailed the movie op

tion dream with all the zeal and glee of a carpenter with a fresh-from-the-box pneumatic nail gun--and included pictures of hunk Dwayne Johnson, for which I am very grateful--I can't even /attempt

/ to steal Tuck's thunder.

So I've been pondering, exactly what writing related dream would just rock my world?

Well, audio versions of my books...

VICIOUS CIRCLE as read by Leonard Nimoy

HALLOWED CIRCLE as read by Wiliam Shatner

FATAL CIRCLE as read by Patrick Stewart

ARCANE CIRCLE as read by Ian McKellen

WICKED CIRCLE as read by Viggo Mortensen

SHATTERED CIRCLE as read by James Earl Jones

That would kick some serious ass...

But if, just IF, there was ever a movie or tv series of my books, it would be an incredible thing...but if HANS ZIMMER wrote the score/themes for it, I'd be such a pain in the ass because I'd HAVE to hang out at the studio going all fangirl on him... There are a few composers I really, really like, but Hans is far and away my favorite

and it would mean as much to me to have him writing those melodic themes for my characters as it would for such a film to even be made.

WHY? Because when a master composer is at work, there's no doubt what melody belongs to which characters...they attach sound to a character and you will remember that song forever. Think Darth Vader. Indiana Jones. Superman. Optimus Prime. Jack Sparrow.

This song has all the characters themes meshed into one beautiful four minute piece.

I HAVE SOME PRETTY WILD DREAMS

2012-01-23T16:14:00.005-05:00

Well, being a published writer is a wild dream in and of itself. I am grateful that I can do this and, so far, it seems to be going rather well.

I have a lot of dreams that have to do with being a writer. Win a Stoker award. Win an Edgar. Be published in multiple countries and languages.

But my wildest?

I want a movie.

I would take a TV show, but I want a movie from my Deacon Chalk books.

Now, it's not outside the realm of possibility. Thousands of books are optioned by Hollywood every year. My book is an action-packed, blockbuster style book. It is loaded with cool stuff that Hollywood likes in it's summer movies. So let me clarify.

I want a GOOD movie made of my books. I want a big budget, star-laden, well directed, true-to-the novels, runaway smash of a movie.

And I want this man to play Deacon Chalk.

Yes that is Dwayne Johnson. He is Deacon Chalk. It will be his biggest movie ever. And I want a cameo. I want Deacon to walk through a door. We meet face to face, do the slow look up and down to each other and then pass on by.

That would be awesome.

I don't want to be an actor. I just want that one small thing.

I have other dreams. Dinner with John Barrowman and his partner. Andrew Vachss saying: "I read your book. It was good." Sharing a panel with Laurell K. Hamilton. Sharing a pizza with Neil Gaiman. Hosting my own convention for authors and readers to meet each other.

But I think the movie is the wildest.

Well, except for maybe the gold swimming pools full of cash.

My Wildest Writer Dream

2012-01-22T11:26:00.008-05:00

by Jeffe Kennedy

First off, little plug for my friend Veronica Scott's debut release, Priestess of the Nile. It goes on sale tomorrow, but you can pre-order it on Carina here or Amazon here or Barnes & Noble here. Ancient Egypt for the win!

So, when I see the topic of what is my wildest writer dream, the first thing that pops into my mind is that scene from Bedazzled. Yes, yes - the movie with Brendan Fraser and Elizabeth Hurley. For one of his wishes, he's a famous writer. I tried to find a still of the scene, but apparently everyone thinks a still without Elizabeth Hurley in it is a waste of kilobytes. Actually, I'd be hard pressed to argue with that.

At any rate, he strolls into the fancy restaurant/club and everyone flocks to him, hanging on every witty word. He's wealthy, famous and admirable.

For some reason, this is, in the dark, narcissistic corners of my heart, the nucleus of my writer's yearning.

When I separate the dream from this emotional component, I come up with different stuff. After all, I know that writers, even famous, wealthy and admirable ones, are just never rock stars. I wrote about this before on my personal blog, about how even Neil Gaiman isn't a rock star. But defining what success is can be a daunting task.

Naturally, I made a spreadsheet.

Yeah, you all knew that was coming.

I tried to be completely honest with myself, to parse out the dream. I made columns for the different aspects of success. I hope you all appreciate that I'm sharing this, because now you'll see just how silly I am. I titled my columns Practical, Financial, Artistic, Ego and Altruistic. Under those, I listed everything I could possibly want: riches, fame, nobel prizes, being celebrated by posterity.

Yeah, it's all in there.

Then I prioritized and looked at which things were really most important to me. After all, Jane Austen is a celebrated writer, but died never knowing it. Is that really worth wanting?

So, my goals are staged, with steps to reach them. Getting enough money coming in to support myself through writing is the first and foremost dream. Others, like the white house overlooking the Mediterranean, come later. I decided that having a theme park built around my characters is not something I need. I would love to see a movie made of one of my stories. Most everything in the Ego column I consider stuff to be wary of wanting. That chocolate-covered heroin for writers.

Still, if you see me in the bar sometime, feel free to run up and exclaim about how witty, wonderful and admirable I am.

I'll definitely buy you a drink.

Don't Panic and Always Carry a Towel

2012-01-21T05:00:00.000-05:00

By Kerry Schafer

I have been a crisis worker for about five years now. When I first started this job I ran into a lot of situations where panic seemed to be the most viable option. I've learned a few things since then, some of which, with a little bit of stretching, do carry over to the process of writing.

1. Always carry a towel. You may think I'm kidding, but towels are very handy both in my career and in my writing. For example, coffee can easily be spilled when you're driving down a windy dark road to a crisis at 1 am and a deer decides to take the opportunity to play Dodge Car. Coffee can just as easily be spilled on a desktop at 1 o'clock in the afternoon. Spillable stuff, coffee. And towels are absorbent and washable. It's a partnership made in heaven. A towel can also double as a pillow, so long as it isn't soaked with coffee. Which leads us to number two.

2. Never miss an opportunity to eat, sleep, or go to the bathroom. This is the crisis worker's mantra, and was chanted at me by my mentors on numerous occasions before I learned its value. You never know when you're going to get called out to a crisis, and there are places I go where there are no bathrooms. Or bathrooms I am not planning on using anytime in this lifetime. Ahem. That one probably isn't relevant to writing, but the food and the sleeping are. It's tempting to skip sleep, fill your veins with caffeine and write obsessively, not to mention forgoing healthy meals and snacking on items completely alien to any of the known food groups.

For a short term, the body and the mind can tolerate this. But novels are a long term proposition. Mind and body require regular sleep and healthy foods in order to be at their best. The smart crisis worker doesn't stay up all night for fun during a call shift, because there is no guarantee of sleep. I think the smart writer also makes some allowances for basic needs like sleep and nourishment.

3. There is a solution to every problem. Sometimes there is no good solution, only the lesser of many evils, but even those evils are solutions of a sort. A crisis can only last for a limited duration of time. Humans are built to return to baseline. I've seen this play out over and over again, and when I find myself in what seems like an impossible situation I'm learning to breathe, to wait, to explore all of the options, to breathe some more, wait some more, and something always works out sooner or later.

If you write, you most likely know that moment of horror when you recognize that an enormous black plot hole is going to tear apart months or maybe years of work. You look at it in shock and terror, possibly clutching your towel, and know that you will spend the rest of your life listening to Vogons reciting poetry that makes even Vogons shudder. This is where Don't Panic comes in. There is always a solution. I might not like the solution, or it might be something blissfully simple. It could mean a massive rewrite, and it might even mean scrapping those years of work, walking away a sadder and wiser writer, and starting on another book.

Either way, the world doesn't end.

Oh, and about the original topic of the week, which is Foo Foo drinks? Forget those. Nothing like a simple glass of wine at the end of a hard day.

(My apologies to Douglas Adams)

Nothing Personal

2012-01-20T08:00:00.001-05:00

Because I seem to be missing the gene for alcohol appreciation, I'll leave that topic to those most suited to it. I'll delve straight into 'what I learned from my day job'. Or, in my case, two day jobs, the SQL Database Administrator gig and the acting thing.

The DBA job taught me to recognize priorities, to operate on an interrupt-driven basis and how to remain calm while putting out potentially catastrophic, if metaphorical, fires. In that series of jobs, I learned that I have a reliable, predictable pattern of response when someone challenges a decision I've made. In this case, we were talking about the ideal build out of a datacenter. Perfect world build outs are always insanely expensive. Inevitably, management tells you that you have to find a way to build a stable, secure server farm on a quarter, possibly an eighth of the budget your design called for. When that happens, I discovered I get angry and claim it can't be done. Then I go home. And my brain starts popping up 'what if' scenarios for ways to do exactly what I'd said couldn't be done.

The writerly analog: Edits. Dev edits. Critiques. Beta readers. Whoever. If you write, you're going to hear that not every single word is brilliant. You'll be told that entire sections of your work don't make sense. When that happens, you'll react. It's human. It's instinct. But once I recognized my particular response pattern from the day job, I learned something very important: Shut the F*ck Up. Listen. Take notes. Feel anything I want to feel, but keep my yap shut. Because as wrong, wrong, wrong as all the critiques are, once I get home, it's going to happen again. My traitorous brain will start in. "You know, your CPs had a really good point on this bit...you could try..." And those awful people who just didn't GET what I was trying to say? They turn out to have been 100% right. I make the changes and end up with a much better story.

The point is that if you can identify your reaction pattern and short circuit the defensive portion of it? You can make your changes - or not make your changes - but because you didn't get all defensive and whiney, you can masquerade as a professional. I can pitch a complete toddler-inspired fit on the inside without looking like more of an idiot on the outside than is completely necessary. Bonus.

Acting pounded an equally important lesson into my head that applies as much to writing as it does to acting. It's not personal. Rejection isn't a rejection of *you*. Writing and acting may be about art to you - but to the people buying your product? It's a business. It's about money. When you're work is rejected, it could be for a reason as simple as your hero reminds an editor of her ex. She can't tell you that, and it isn't something you can control, but it isn't about you. Now. This isn't to say there aren't some publishers out there who send some truly crappy rejection letters saying specifically that the writing just isn't good enough when a 'thanks, not for us' would have sufficed. Only you can decide if you want to work for so callous a business. But again - even though that sounds personal, it isn't. Or if it is, it's not personal about *you* - a rejection like that says more about the person it came from than about who it's sent to. If that makes any sense.

So what's the take away on this last bit? Just this. Rejection happens. Yes. I meant to do that, because the thoughts are synonamous. Remember that it isn't you being rejected and wait for specific, actionable information before you begin revising. Your baby isn't ugly until someone points out the cowlick or the pigeon toes. People can intimate and hint all they want, but until someone gives you a specific, resist attacking your work in reaction. By all means, whine, mope, phone a friend, eat a box of chocolate, but don't touch that manuscript until you have an agent or editor say 'I had a problem with x'. Then and only then do you have enough information to act on - and even then, I'd argue that you shouldn't operate on your manuscript without a second opinion.

Does it help? Knowing it's not personal? Or does that make this business all the more crazy-making?

I'll Drink to That

2012-01-19T09:00:00.000-05:00

by Allison Pang

...or not really.

Not to be a killjoy,but even if I *could* drink, I have to admit my palate is rather dead when it comes to wine and champagne and the like. It's just not my thing.

Which is probably why when I mentioned on Twitter that I was going to make mimosas for Danielle Poiesz with the bottle of Dom I received for Christmas, Jeffe begged me not to.

Apparently that's a bit of a sin in the champagne world. (Yes, I am aware of how much it costs...but what else was I going to do with it?)

But...since Danielle actually agreed with this, I found a bottle of cheap stuff. Some form of Brut. And actually the second bottle I chose and chilled turned out to also be a $150 dollar brand. Yeah, okay, I'm clueless.

But in the end, mimosas were made with the third choice and enjoyed, along with banana chocolate chip pancakes.

Which sort of segue-ways into Jeffe's topic earlier this week about drawing lines in professional relationships. For those of you who may not know, Danielle was my editor for A Brush of Darkness. She left to pursue a new career with Book Country, but we always kept in touch.

It's kind of an interesting place to be because I've been on both sides of the line with her. As Jeffe pointed out, a writer's relationship with an editor or an agent has to be professional. Obviously you want them to believe in you and your work and encourage you as needed...but they have to be able to give you the tough love side of things too. A writer depends on her editor to help her write the best book she can. A good agent helps navigate the potential pitfalls along the way.

Being too close to either one, particularly at first, can be a detriment to your professional growth. I say at first, because we do hear from authors who indicate their editor or agent is their best friend - but usually if you dig a little deeper, you discover they've had a deep working relationship for many years. They've worked out the personal space issues and know what works for them to keep the team running smoothly.

I do think that new authors need a little distance - particularly when they're processing everything that's coming at them for the first time. Contracts, deadlines, social networking. There are so many things crawling out of the woodwork - having someone behind you who will tell you what you need to know and give you an honest appraisal of your options is refreshing and much needed.

To put it in perspective - I'd go out to lunch with my editor or agent at the drop of a hat...but would I invite them to my house for the weekend to make unicorn poop cookies?

Probably not.

I'd break out the Dom, though.

FOO-FOO

2012-01-18T06:00:00.001-05:00

I'm not sure what the topic is this week, if it's colleagues or foo foo drinks, but guess what I'm running with?

Ok, don't any of y'all tell Captain Morgan this, but when I'm in the mood for a sweet, sippin' adult beverage, I leave my handsome pirate behind. (Sorry, cap'n.)

That's right, when I crave something decadent in the liquor department, I call up the reigning Queen of All Foo-Foo Drinks... KAHLUA.

Mix Kahlua, Bailey's, Hershey syrup and (maybe) a splash of milk or heavy whipping cream...and you get the yummy yummy MUDSLIDE. Add a scoop of Breyer's vanilla ice cream in the summer and hit the patio and swing while the sun sets and the crickets sing and the fireflies come out.

*cue the John Travolta/Olivia Newton John hit from Grease:

"Those suh-hummer ni-hites...."

Did I really just invoke JT & ONJ? Do I have to relinquish my official rock-n-roller membership card now?

Of course if you know anything about Kahlua, you know about the White Russian... Kahluah, vodka, and milk. I'm willing to bet that the Whipped Cream flavored vodka would make this even more kick ass.

Oooo and with a splash of Razz-ma-tazz on top...wow.

Now I'm hankering to try these mixes.

And since I am a fan of the mixture of Kahlua, peppermint schnapps and milk(tastes like a York Peppermint Patty, I swear), of course the PEPPERMINT MOCHA variety of Kahlua must be mentioned.

And since it is the season of snow, and since I received 3 bags of Kahlua flavored coffees for Yule, I would be remiss to not mention that a splash of Kahlua in my java--or my hot cocoa--is always a yummy addition.

There's so much you can to with Her Highness the Kahlua. What's your favorite way to indulge this royalty on your palate?

Drinks...and something about colleagues

2012-01-17T12:32:00.000-05:00

by KAK

I'm not sure how this week's topic of "Drinks" became about work, or is it colleagues? I'll chat about drinking with colleagues. It's funny how the type of booze consumed at business functions tells a lot about the people behind the business.

Note: I said consumed not served.

It's an important distinction. Once you move past "Mom & Pop" sized businesses, what is served is decided by the event planner. Really big businesses have corporate regulations on what sort of libations are acceptable. Oh, and let's not forget the rules and astronomical mark-ups on the booze courtesy of the place in which the event is being held. I've been an event planner. I have sobbed as I have read the pitiful "Top Shelf Options" in venue contracts.

Now, any self-respecting booze-hound will bypass the house white wine and make his way to the bar -- the real bar. Not the five liquor cash-bar. If there isn't a real bar in the venue, BYOB happens back at the hotel. As an event planner, you know you've screwed up when only a quarter of the attendees remains after two hours.

Beer and hard liquor: Once upon a time, I used to work in the regional sales office for a big-time oil company. This office oversaw the corporate-owned and franchise gas stations. Once a year, all of the station owners would get together and ... whooooeee. There were no raised pinkies, umbrella drinks, or Veuve Clicquot. It was all whiskey, beer, and back-slaps.

Local Beer & Local Wine: Local Chamber of Commerce Meeting or Dot.com Start-Up? Yes, yes to both. You won't find Chateauneuf du Pape at a "Start Local, Go Global" meeting. What you will find are the best and possibly most obscure libations your neighborhood has to offer. You won't have to wait for the "annual drink fest" either, this stuff is consumed at every "offsite" luncheon, birthday bash, and "1,000 Customer" mark.

What about your business, dear reader? What is your preferred work-drink?

THAT THING THAT I DO

2012-01-16T09:03:00.008-05:00

I have a terrific day job. Really, it's one of the most awesome day jobs in the world.
I get to work here:

This is my tattoo shop. Family Tradition Tattoo in Marietta, Ga. I've been tattooing now for over 15 years. I love it. I opened my own shop about 3 years ago and it is exactly what I wanted. A quiet place where grown ups come to get nice tattoos. No crowds of 'hanger out-ers' to wade through, usually we have blues or country or pop playing on the stereo, and we stay drama free. I have great artists who work there with me and I like them both as people, so work is a pleasure.

And I get to do stuff like this to people....and they PAY me for it!

Now in my day job I do run into a LOT of people. You will see some of these people show up in my books. No I never tattooed a Were-spider, but I did tattoo a lady that reminds me of Charlotte. In my day job I also get to meet people who are experts in weird stuff that I wind up using in my books. I have tattooed on police officers, undercover officers, military folks, firemen, and "contract security specialists" (read that last one as mercenaries). Yes some folks are full of BS, but not all.

And I learned the patience it takes to write a book. Sitting there slogging through the fifth hour of someone's seven hour tribal sleeve where I am just packing black, endlessly making little tiny circles with my machine and staying on task was where I learned to sit down for 4 hours to get out a few thousand words on an 80,000 word manuscript.

I am thoroughly enjoying both of my jobs now. See?

Lines Between Friends and Colleagues

2012-01-15T10:24:00.005-05:00

I've been running a series over on my own blog about lessons I've learned from my day job that have trained me for my writing career. There have been a lot of interesting discussions, so I thought I'd challenge the Word Whores this week for their own working life lessons.

This weekend my friends and sister Word Whores Laura Bickle and Marcella Burnard have been visiting me. They are also my critique partners. It's a multi-layered relationship. We talk about writing a lot. We know each other's books nearly as well as our own, so it's easy to wind into conversation at random over some plot point we're mulling. They're also good friends, so we talk about our lives. We can invoke the Cone of Silence and save all our writer rantiness for those conversations with each other, that we trust will go nowhere else.

They are both my friends and colleagues. They, along with a few other writers, form my first circle.

Now, I am also friendly with both of my editors, and one of the executive editors. We have easy relationships where we exchange emails and and tweets. There are several agents I'm also friendly with and I enjoy those relationships.

However, I never forget that these are professional relationships.

At my day job, my immediate boss is someone I've been working with for over ten years. Laurie has been with the company a few years longer than I have, she's a few years older than I am. We have a close and rewarding working relationship. Because we travel extensively together and because we naturally mesh well personality-wise, we have become good friends. One of my closest friends, in fact.

However, I never forget that she is also my boss. I can make jokes about various things, gripe from time to time. But would never discuss with her something that would put her on the spot. Like if I was surfing the internet instead of working, for example. (Laurie - if you're reading this, I would totally NEVER do that. :D ) I know where the line is and I'm careful to observe it.

My presses have authors' loops that the editors also participate in, to greater or lesser extents. They're meant to be discussion forums for us to help and support each other. The editors wade in on questions from time to time, or to banter on various topics. But sometimes authors get ranty and the editors are forced to put on their corporate hats and explain the rules. Those things are based on business - that's their job. Still, sometimes the writers get offended.

This is blurring the lines.

The upshot is, the relationships between writers and those in the publishing industry are professional ones, first and foremost. Being friendly with and enjoying the people you work with is one of the great bonuses of a good professional life. But the line should always be clear.

And the Cone of Silence is the place for venting. No exceptions to that.

Winter Sports - I've done that

2012-01-14T08:42:00.005-05:00

By Kerry Schafer

These days, my participation in winter sports pretty much consists of sweeping the snow off of my truck and bringing in firewood. But it was not always so.

I grew up in Canada.

You may begin the hockey jokes immediately and I'll have to admit that you're probably not far wrong. I will also point out that the official National sport of Canada is actually Lacrosse. If you don't know exactly what that is, don't worry - most Canadians don't either. I have never seen a game and don't know anybody who played it or followed it.

As for hockey? Well, that's a different story. When I was a kid, every Saturday night the music for Hockey Night in Canada would play from the TV and my Dad and my brother would be engrossed. And I would go off to read a book or do something else, because I really didn't care to watch. I did get into watching later, though - I was living in Edmonton during the time of the Great Edmonton Oilers Dynasty. Hard not to get sucked in when the home team is full of characters like Gretsky, Kurri, and Anderson, and they're winning every game in sight. But then my beloved team split up, and I had a problem: it turned out I was in love with the individual players, not the team itself, and what's a girl to do when her favorite players are on opposing teams?

As with so many other things, I found hockey much more fun to play than to watch.

We made a skating rink every winter. Well, technically, my brother and my Dad made the rink, but I took my occasional turn at helping with flooding it. For those of you who have no idea, flooding the rink means standing around in the freezing cold with a garden hose, running water over the frozen surface of your rink. Back yard rinks don't have a Zamboni.

In all honesty, I wasn't totally crazy about playing hockey - I've never been much for any sort of team sport, mostly because I'm just not that good at anything. Messing up on your own time is one thing, letting down the team is another. However, I pretty much idolized my big brother, who was three years older than me, and developed an "anything you can do I will definitely try to follow" attitude pretty early on. So, on cold winter afternoons or evenings when I was lost in a book in front of the fire and my brother's friends all showed up to play hockey, it would often go like this.

"Kerry, we're a player short."
"I'm reading."
"Come on, you can read later."

Really, it didn't take much convincing. I was a teenage girl. I mentioned my brother was three years older, right? And I was being begged to come out and play with the boys. Yeah. My arguments were feeble and few.

I could more or less handle a hockey stick, but I lacked the passion for the sport that would have made me really good. So mostly I got stuck playing goalie. If you're really good at the goalie thing, this is a challenging and very important role, so please note that I'm not dissing any goalies out there. For me, the philosophy was more that my team would do their damn best to keep the puck away from my net, and then hope like crazy that I'd manage to stop anything that got by the defense.

If you've never experienced it, by the way, it is quite intimidating to have a large male on skates converging toward you and your unprotected net ready to slapshot a puck at you. Pucks hurt.

I know this by experience. I managed to stop a fair number of pucks, many of them with my shins and once with my thumb. I don't suppose I mentioned that for the most part we played without equipment. Skates and a stick were the only real requirements. Yeah, we had rules that prohibited hard checking and puck raising, but there's only so much you can do. People get caught up in the game and pucks will fly, no matter how good the intentions.

The time I stopped the puck with my thumb? Yeah, it was probably broken. And yes, I finished the game, and no I didn't go to the doctor. But I did get a little bit of special attention from the really cute guy who shot the puck, who happened to be somebody's cousin visiting from out of town. Always, there are rewards.

And now, in honor of my youth and my Canadian roots, I leave you with the following tribute:

Winter Wonder

2012-01-13T08:15:00.003-05:00

Winter --- sports. Huh. That anyone is talking to me about sports amuses me. So lets broaden this out and call this a post about winter activities. Snow is no stranger to me. I was born in Alaska in December. Some of my earliest memories are of building snowmen with my father. I seem to recall a few snowball fights and snow down my back. Dad broke his leg in a couple of places skiing in Alaska. The doctor told him he was lucky to be able to walk again. That was the end of skiing in our household. I've never even tried it.

Winters in Las Vegas centered around rock hound trips into the hills. Snow wasn't an issue there. Yes, the high desert gets freaking cold, but it rarely snows. We just went on riding bikes, breaking open rocks to see what might be inside, and playing hide and seek with the other kids in the neighborhood.

Hands down, the winter sport of choice in Arkansas was going out with my grandfather on the tractor and pushing hay bales off the trailer for the cattle. Good times and great skill on grandpa's part - turning a necessary daily chore into great fun for the kids. All he had to do was drive the tractor and yell, "Now!" every once in awhile. We thought it was cool, because the cows would see us coming and start mobbing up. It was a game of chicken between the kids and the cows. Would they grab a mouthful of hay from the slow-moving trailer before we could pitch it to the ground? Or would we get to send the bail tumbling for the cows to have to dodge? It was pretty clear the cows thought of it as a game, too - until the bail hit the ground. Then it was all business.

The real winter games came in Iceland. Sledding was huge, yes. But the big thing was a game a bit like curling. You stood on one curb and tossed your bookbag, sending it sliding across the icy road. The bag would hit the opposite curb, rebound, and if you'd gauged the strength of your throw just right, the bag would slide all the way back across to you. If you didn't, you had to toddle out into the icy road to fetch your bag. We perfected the art of snow forts and several front wars out there in the snow and dark. The problem with Iceland is that winter can be deadly. Several days a year, we wouldn't be allowed out of the house or out of school at all because of the severe, dangerous weather. At those times, winter activities meant dressing up and going into Reykjavik. There was an enormous greenhouse heated by the geothermal springs. They had green, growing things, a restaurant inside, birds and other animals throughout - it was a warm, colorful and alive place to hang out when the weather was terrible. And the Northern Lights. It was a great game, watching the cloud cover for a break to see if you could spot the moving lights in the sky. Granted. The aurora can be active year round - and frequently is - but the extended hours of darkness during winter at the Arctic Circle gave us more opportunity to see it.

At this point in my life, snow is something to be dealth with rather than enjoyed and that's too bad. At least Seattle doesn't *usually* get dumped on. When we do, activities all center around making sure we have enough fuel and food to wait until the stuff melts. This winter, which has been just brilliant in terms of weather this year, we've sailed. We've hiked. Most winters, which involve lots of rain and wind, we spend indoors playing computer games. Not this year. I've sent more time chasing cats around the docks than I'm spending inside. That might all be coming to an end, though. The 's' word is being mentioned for this weekend...Wonder if there will be enough to build a snowman on the end of our finger pier?

Winter Games

2012-01-12T09:00:00.000-05:00

by Allison Pang

Much like my fellow Word-Whores...I'm not much of a winter sports person. (Unless reading by the fireplace counts.) I mean, I went to school in New Hampshire for four years and lived in Massachusetts for a year after that and...never went skiing once. Or ice skating.

(Hockey games? Went to them *all* the time. Seriously, it's the only sport I can bear watching for longer than 5 minutes. Probably because it's fast. As opposed to football, which is complete snoresville.)

And really, the thing about going to school in New England is that there's usually a ton of snow. Or it's freezing. All the time. So while there was plenty of sitting around and drinking warm things, there were also lots of random events involving snow.

Like impromptu snowball fights.

The sort that involved hundreds of people. Wandering around at midnight. Chucking snowballs at each other. And dorms. (One actually got out of control enough that authorities told everyone inside to the dorms to stay away from the windows. Peeking pretty much guaranteed there'd be an ice ball hurled at you...there were a fair number of windows broken that night, unfortunately.)

The occasional dorm-room sledding shenanigans involving a hill, mattresses or a dining room tray and lots of drunk people? Yes. (One of my friends took a drunken dining hall tray ride...right into the mostly frozen stream one night...kinda killed the vibe since it was probably at least 10 below. And yes, I said mostly...he broke through and got soaked.)

And quite honestly, nothing beats walking home from the bars at 2 AM and catching campus police doing donuts in the empty commuter lots.

Good times.

A FREEZE BABY’S TAKE ON WINTER SPORTS

2012-01-11T06:00:00.000-05:00

First, I’ve got to tell y’all that I got to be the opening speaker at the Cleveland Area Witches and Pagan Ball last Saturday night, and, while I’m still a bashful public speaker, I had fun. Thanks to Roger for inviting me to the event!

Second, my birthday was yesterday, (actually tomorrow as I write this, but yesterday as you read this) so pardon me for my brevity this week. It’s not the subject matter. Really. Cause we all know how sporty I am. **falling out of my chair in a fit of laughter…** It’s just that this week has been busy on a level that is not common. (Computer issues, kids having strange math homework, freezer section of garage fridge isn’t freezing for some reason… alas, too many fires to put out at once.)

My take on winter sports:

SKIING:

I skied once a few years back. Layered in warm clothes and ski pants, a heavy coat, and thick gloves, I can honestly say I liked it. Even managed the ski lift no problem. I’d do it again.

ICE SKATING:

Never tried it. I used to roller skate very well—on the kind that was NOT inline wheels. In those my skating ability is pitifully neutralized. I think that attempting to ice skate would only end with me on my ass on frozen water which I would dislike very much.

SLEDDING:

I’ve done some sledding. The downhill part is fun. The uphill trek…not so much. If they put in a ‘ski lift’ version to get you back to the top, maybe I’d go sledding more.

SNOW BOARDING:

Looks like fun....and an emergency room visit waiting to happen.

Have I mentioned that winter sports (Jeffe’s winter sports not included) take place outside in the cold, and that I’m not a fan of polar temperatures? I’m a freeze baby. I even prefer mittens to gloves because my fingers are warmer when they are all together.

Winter Fun -- In A Mug!

2012-01-10T09:49:00.000-05:00

by KAK

I love winter ... as long as I don't have to go out in it. Watching the snow fall as I sit beside a crackling fire with the bairy heast snuggled beside me and a balloon of Yulitide Brandy catching the glow of flames? Perfection.

Taking said bairy heast out into the blizzard and sinking up to my girly-bits in the snow? Erf. Watching same bairy heast frolic in the snowmageddon? It'll make me smirk and laugh ... and be utterly grateful I'm not a musher.

Cribbage Tourneies? Quiddler Bouts? Clue Parties? Name the board or card game and I'm in ... inside. I'm all about the inside and the warm and dry. Inside is closer to the bar. When else do you have Hot Toddies? Mulled Wine? Hot Buttered Rum? Hot Hairy Cider? Irish Coffee? I could go on...

But I'd rather you did, dear reader. What is your favorite cold weather libation?

Winter in Dixie

2012-01-09T15:10:00.003-05:00

Winter sports. Well, truthfully in the South, there aren't many sports we can do only in winter. Take today for instance. IT'S 64 FRAKKIN DEGREES OUTSIDE!
Yep, January, when most of everybody else is enjoying cold temperatures and snow, we have 64 degrees. Now there is a saying we use here in Georgia. Don't like the weather? Give it five minutes, it'll change. We did have temperatures in the teens overnight just a little over a week ago.
But today? Today you can wear shorts.
So we don't have "winter sports" here. No ice skating (other than indoor rings) and no skiing.
But this is fine with me. I am not a sports guy. I don't watch football or baseball. They just don't hold my interest. You can talk me into watching MMA matches and even professional wrestling (I know, not a sport, but I grew up watching it with my Dad) but nothing like hockey, soccer, or ugh, God forbid, golf. (Although Happy Gilmore is a great movie.)
But I do love a good football movie. Hell, I sometime love a bad football movie.
I guess this post is a bit of a ramble, and for that, Dear Reader I apologize. To make it up I leave you with this great scene from one of my favorite football movies, VARSITY BLUES.

Love, and Other Indoor Sports

2012-01-08T10:12:00.003-05:00

by Jeffe Kennedy

I grew up in Colorado so, yeah, I know about the winter sports. Even though I was never much of an athletic girl, I skied and ice-skated. I made snow-forts and snow-tunnels. In high school, I was even a member of the cross-country ski club, which is far less competitive than it sounds.

I still have my own set of cross-country skis. In our early years of dating, I taught David how to cross-country ski and we went most every weekend.

I think that's part of living in a heavy winter-weather climate. You either embrace winter sports or you spend the winter going slowly crazy indoors.

Now that I live in Santa Fe? Not so much.

Oh we get snow, as you see above. Then, in a day or two, it all melts away. But there's the ski area above town. And Taos and Angelfire. We could totally go skiing if we wanted to . Do we?

Oh no, no, no.

I remember back in Girl Scout camp, a girl I met signed everything "Love, and Other Indoor Sports." I didn't quite get it and she informed me that it was dirty. This was around the same time that another girl told me the song "Afternoon Delight" was dirty. I didn't understand why. She said "rubbing sticks and stones? making sparks? rubbing YOU?" I was still confused. Not that I didn't know all about sex at that point - but the metaphor totally escaped me.

"Love, and other indoor sports," has likewise stuck with me. Now I get the implication, that the love is making love, and it can be as athletic as you like, etc. But I've found I've discovered the joy of indoor sports. I love to cozy in and write and read while the snow flies. I'll save my enjoyment of the outdoors for gentler weather.

Love,

(and other indoor sports)

Jeffe

Stupid Human Tricks

2012-01-07T05:30:00.002-05:00

By Kerry Schafer

Oh dear.

I've pretty much got nothing in either the stupid human trick or party trick department. I used to be able to recite Did I Ever Tell You How Lucky You Are? by Dr. Seuss from beginning to end. I was also pretty good at speaking the ever popular Double Dutch and Pig Latin languages. And, I could sing all of the permutations of There's a Hole in the Bottom of the Sea really fast.

Which brings us to tongue twisters, and the closest I ever came to any sort of party trick. There is probably a really good reason why I don't seem to go to parties anymore. Ahem. Anyway. Without further ado, and for lack of anything better, I offer up a selection of twisters for you to play with. Oh, come on. Forget you're an adult. Let your inner child out to play. Have some fun. It doesn't work unless you say them out loud, so speak out.

As Shakespeare would have said, "Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you, trippingly on the tongue."

1. How much wood could a wood chuck chuck if a wood chuck could chuck wood? (as is the usual rule, you must say this five times in a row, as fast as possible)

2. Rubber baby buggy bumpers. (yep, 5 times fast)

3. She sells sea shells down by the sea shore.

4. Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers. A peck of pickled peppers Peter Piper picked. If Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers, where's the peck of peppers Peter Piper picked?

And last, but not least, from the incomparable Fox in Socks by Dr. Seuss:

5. Through three cheese trees three free fleas flew.
While these fleas flew, freezy breeze blew.
Freezy breeze made these three trees freeze.
Freezy trees made these trees' cheese freeze.
That's what made these three free fleas sneeze.

Ah, Glory Days

2012-01-06T12:16:00.000-05:00

Okay. Stupid human tricks. I have 'em. The days of performing all but the simplest are past...but here. Try this.

Stand with your feet flat on the floor. Now, squat down without lifting your heels from the floor. Sounds simple, but a significant portion of the population can't do it. This isn't so much a stupid human trick as it is a trick of genetics. You're either born with hyper-open ankles or you're normal. This is the one I can still do.

The real trick was a blip corresponding with my three years at an acting conservatory. I was in the best physical condition of my life. It was nice while it lasted, so don't ask to see this in person. Someone'll just end up having to call 911.

Start in lotus position. Slip your hands through the gaps in your folded legs. Using the strength of your abdominal muscles, bring your knees as close to your shoulders as you can. Now. Hike forward and up on your hands. Walk. Climb stairs - this is the easy part. Now, turn around. Go back down - this is the bitch. But yes. I could do this. I DID do this for a show while still at Cornish. It amused my classmates. They already thought I was pretty hopelessly strange, so it was no big deal to confirm their suspicions in this fashion. Besides. It made the object of my unrequited affection at the time laugh, so I was all about it.

IMAGE SOURCE: http://www.photoincome.com/stock-portfolio/yoga-lotus-position-stock-image-published

Party Tricks. Or the Lack Thereof.

2012-01-05T00:30:00.000-05:00

by Allison Pang

I'll be perfectly honest - I'm not much of a party goer.

Part of this is because I don't really drink. (Mostly for medical reasons.) Makes it a little hard to get into the scene sometimes.

Also, I'm really a bit of an introvert overall. Parties just aren't my thing. (Or maybe I'm just going to the wrong sorts of parties. The last few were work related and...I just can't get into those at all.)

However, this picture is fairly apt. If I'm at your party and you have animals, then I become the god damned cat and dog whisperer. I have a gravitational pull for the furry and the small like a small collapsing star.

Now, in my younger days (before all the funky back stuff), I could have probably entertained you with my odd double jointed jenga back and the sort of flexibility that allowed me to stand on two full sized yellow page books and still flat palm the floor when I bent over. (Not too bad for someone who was not a gymnast.)

Or wiggle my ears so that my entire scalp moves back and forth.

Or fit my entire body through one 1/4 panel of a window. (Did that once when I got locked in a bathroom - the doorknob fell off the other side and I couldn't get out. Window was painted shut, but there was one pane out and I managed to get through that and onto the roof.)

And yes, I can still put my legs behind my head. (Back in the day I could walk on my hands at the same time...but that was probably like 20 years and 20 lbs ago? Yeah. >_<)

Alas, these days, if you're wandering around said party, you'll probably find me in the quietest, darkest corner alone with my crippled back. And the cat.

My Useless Talent That Is Fun At Parties

2012-01-04T06:00:00.000-05:00

At parties I have been known to display my great strength by holding up walls.

Ahem.

If I don’t really know people at a party, I have serious difficulty being the

one to strike up a conversation. I figure I’ll say something dumb, or worse I’ll say “What brings you here/How do you know the host(ess)?” and I’ll get caught nodding politely through someone’s two-hour answer. Or, my simple friendliness will be taken as “give me your phone

number” interest.

However…

Once other folks lure me into their conversation, I’m comfy and cool. I’m ready to listen and add things as I can without dominating or being all “me, me, me.” But like a 7 Degrees of Separation master, and totally skipping the whole Kevin Bacon thing, I run everything back to Star Trek or Star Wars (the older ones, anyway.) I remember odd facts like who Bossk was, or which Stormtrooper was TK-421. I liked the Rancor monster and I always wanted a Tauntaun. I even know what AT-AT stands for. (All Terrain Armored Transport, which, actually, would be handy for winters in Ohio.)

And I know a shitload of Chuck Norris jokes.

* Did you know Chuck Norris won American Idol using only sign language?

* Did you know Chuck Norris has a farm? He does. His sheep are the ones that give us steel wool.

* Did you know that every night, before going to bed the boogey man checks his closet for Chuck Norris?

Ok, it’s fun for ME at parties. Y’all do remember I have a bunch of boys, right? Boys, oh yes I’m so thankful, boys. Else I might know obnoxious stuff about Barbie or the Bratz.

Party Shifter

2012-01-03T09:48:00.000-05:00

by KAK

Useless talent I have that is fun at parties...

Dudes, I'm a total shapeshifter.

Nope, wasn't caused by an arachnid run amok in chem lab or by a raucous night in the deep dark woods. My specialness isn't hereditary. There's no magical ring. No illumination of any celestial body is required. My useless party talent?

Jackass on Demand.

No, no booze is required. I can shift in record time. Nanoseconds, really. Whatever insanity possessed the host or hostess to invite me to the fête will be rewarded with my glorious instantaneous transformation. It doesn't take much to transform. Glowing examples of my party prowess:

Valet parking: Sorry, Speed-Racer, I don't have anything smaller than a $20. No tip for you.
Hostess gifts: Twin bottles of Twisted Titty Merlot? Shattered in the entryway as I tripped over a spec of dust. They did leave a darling Rorschach test on the back of Mrs. Drownwhenitrains, so we'll have a game to play should there be a lull.
Black-tie affair: Everyone knows stilettos shatter ceramic floor tiles. Why else would I have thought the husband had agreed to a kitchen redesign?
BBQ cookout: Little monsters will be encouraged to deposit gooey fingerprints on random passersby. Games of Tag are always better with evidence.
Singles Soiree: I'm happy to teach every gal to belch the alphabet. It's much better than the gas blasting out the other end.
Wine tasting: A lady never spits. She swallows...and then she falls asleep at the table and drools.

I could go on, but I see you've already shredded my invite. It's quite all right. I tend to leave before anyone tries to pin a tail on this donkey.

How about you, lovely reader? Do you have any reoccurring fête foibles?

IN WHICH I GOT NOTHIN'

2012-01-02T16:08:00.004-05:00

Stupid human tricks. Man. I have wracked my brain for something. . . and have come up blank.

Seriously. I have no tricks. I mean, I can snap my fingers freakishly loud, but that isn't really a trick as much as it is a terrific way to get my kids attention when they were young.

I can't juggle. I can't balance a lawnmower on my chin. I can't ride a unicycle.

But it's okay, I don't feel bad about it.

However, I can tell you about my favorite stupid human tricks that other people do.

I love, love love watching strongman stunts. Seriously. You want to bash your skull into a flaming stack of concrete blocks? I'll watch. Want to huff and puff until you blow up a hot water bottle and make it burst like a mouthful of Hubba Bubba? I am in. Roll up that frying pan, I can buy another one. Rip a phone book in half, nobody uses the damn things anymore anyways. lol.

I don't care if you are the World's Strongest Redneck or one of the many, many strongman teams who destroy objects for the love of Jesus, make a video and put it on Youtube. I will watch it. I will share it.

And I watch the "serious" ones like the World's Strongest Man competitions, but my true love comes from the more lurid stuff. Forehead to brick. That kind of stuff. The dangerous stuff.

I wonder what that says about me?

(The same thing it will say about you after you watch this video and you enjoy it. lol)

Stupid People Tricks

2012-01-01T11:29:00.003-05:00

Happy New Year! May 2012 bring health, happiness and the best life has to offer. This is the moon grandly setting at midnight in Santa Fe. It was eerily gorgeous, so I take that as a promising omen.

Because KAK, our Calendar Whore, is didactic about not doing the usual thing, our theme this week is all about Useless Talents that Are Fun at Parties. Not a resolution post in site on THIS blog.

Frankly, I'm delighted.

Otherwise I'd have to post about why I think resolutions, like charity, should be private and anonymous or they mean nothing. And I'm sure I've ranted about that before.

None of you wants to hear that again. You want to hear about my personal Stupid People Tricks.

Remember that bit? It was on, like, Late Night with David Letterman or some such. (Those shows tend to blur together for me.) People would come on the show and demonstrate something they could do. It was hilarious.

Yes, I thought about doing it.

Not to demonstrate that I can tie a cherry stem with my tongue, which I totally can - if the stem is long enough - and, if I've had a drink or two, I'm sure you could get me to show you. Especially if you buy me said drink. I'm cheap like that.

And it's not that I can lace my toes together like most people lace their fingers together at rest. Though that feeds into it. In fact, that's when I discovered people like my Stupid People Trick.

I was at a sorority rush workshop (now they call it "recruitment," which sounds so... sanitized to me). If you never did the sorority thing, then you don't know how long and excruciating the preparation for rush could be. Days long for days on end, a full week before classes started. Plus this was St. Louis in late August, so it was hot, hot, hot. I sat on the floor of the soror suite in my sundress and bare feet, listening to something, with my legs stretched out, crossed at the ankle and my toes laced together.

One of my sorority sisters noticed and was amazed. I told her how, back at home, my stereo cassette deck (dating myself) was about a leg's reach from my bed. I'd perfected the knack of kicking my leg out from under the covers, hitting the eject button with my toe, grabbing the cassette between my toes, flipping it over, closing the door and hitting play.

I tell you: laziness is absolutely the first mother of invention. Screw necessity.

She wanted to know if I could tie shoelaces with my toes. I'd never tried, but she offered her own sneakers for practice.

So, we sat there, listened to our workshop (really!) and I learned to tie shoelaces with my toes.

Yes, I can do this at your party. But it has to be before the drinks.

After that, I'm only good for cherry stems.

Celebration - Catching Our Breath

2011-12-31T08:50:00.004-05:00

By Kerry Schafer

The Holidays for me are an odd mix of bustle and relaxation, celebration and winding down. I love Christmas - the light, the color, the music, the secrets, the food, the family. Pretty much all of it. And we had it all this year, in abundance. Between us the Viking and I have four sons - we've never had them all here for Christmas before, and this year we did. In itself, this was a celebration - nothing like having all of your offspring together under one roof.

But Christmas is over now, New Years is waiting in the wings.

It's a quiet space for me where the tree begins to look a little sad and I have nagging guilt thoughts that I should maybe take it down, which is just so much less fun than putting it up. The last few dark mornings I forgot to turn the tree lights on. Denial at work - if it's dark in that corner, maybe it isn't really there requiring my attention. A few random packages still linger beneath it, things that need to be put away, and I'm not ready to do that yet either.

It will keep until after the New Year, which is the next round of celebration. Not that we do much with it here, I'm afraid. The Viking and I, who seldom sleep past 5 am no matter how late we stay up, have a tendency to fall asleep before the New Year rolls in. We don't have a party, or go to one. The kids like to set off fireworks in the snow, which is actually really cool to watch.

The real celebration for us is in having time off work to be together, gratitude for the blessings of the last year, and in wondering what awaits us in the year ahead.

I wish for all of you a year full of goals achieved and dreams come true.

Floating Celebration

2011-12-30T07:01:00.002-05:00

The holidays this year were a great unknown. It was our first winter living aboard the boat. We'd always been in a condo or a house to this point. We had no clue what to expect. Here's what we got:

The lighted dinghy parade. Liveaboards throughout the marina (and this is a BIG marina with lots of people living aboard their boats) gather, deck out their dinghies and then parade through the marina, up and down all the water ways, blasting Christmas carols, waving and hollaring up to the rest of us who aren't in the parade about 'where's your dinghy?' First: no motor. Not rowing the entire marina. Second: no battery in our dinghy - see the first excuse - we'd have no lights or visible decorations without those things. Third: I'd have had to inflate the silly thing to make it sea worthy again. That's gonna have to wait for spring.

Boaters throughout the marina, regardless of liveaboard status (though mostly the liveaboards do this) light up their big boats, too. Here's a selection of Christmas Eve photos when we went walking the docks to look at lights.

Christmas light strung up the mast on the sailboats.

One overachiever wired a lighted Christmas tree to the top of his mast - that's the bright blob. I liked the lighted circles someone else has run up their rigging. Nice effect.

This one ran his lights along his rigging and spreaders so the lights formed Christmas trees. That's a prelit star at the top of the mast.

And this is our boat with LED snowflakes around the lifelines and red LEDs going up the backstay. The blue LEDs are a boat across from us. It's been festive - especially since darkness gathers at around 4pm in our area. Lots of hours to look at the pretty lights. Naturally, now that the season is over and I contemplate taking down the lights, I find the box insert for the snowflake lights. "Indoor Use Only" it says. Uhm. Oops. I do not want to celebrate by being a short, horrifying reel of cautionary footage on the evening news. Perhaps I'll unplug those very, very carefully before I take them down. Wonder if those lights have anything to do with why the electricians came around today load testing all of the power sockets on the dock...

What's the saying? It's not a celebration until someone blows something up?

Needless to say, all of this holiday lighting (let's make the marina visible from SPACE!) is compensation for our lack of traditional decorating options. Few of us can swing the space for trees - with the exception of the guy wiring one to his mast...A few people wired trees up on their foredecks, but a tree out in the marine environment which means seagull poop and otters doing obscene things to tree branches? I'll pass.

We made up for it with food. Each week in December, we picked a holiday favorite and made it. Crab dip. White chocolate, Clementine and Croissant french toast, Cherry Ring for Solstice and cinnamon rolls on Christmas Day. We spread out the holiday. Had to do that - I have a two burner stove and an oven the size of a bread box. For holiday baking, my mother and I scheduled a bake-a-thon weekend at her house. Between us, we went through 10lbs of sugar and way too much butter and flour. It was fun. It was contained to a single weekend and then, we were done. Worked beautifully. So how does one decorate a boat for the holidays where there's limited power and space?

We strung Christmas cards along the bulkhead and hung our stockings from the hatch handles. Naturally, no holiday is complete without a geek setting up his World of Warcraft characters for their holiday presents in game. It was fun. All of it. Even the wind storm that blew in Christmas morning just as we were washing up breakfast dishes. We were able to catch a ferry across to go visit my family and have Christmas dinner on dry land. Everyone was tired, but happy. And ultimately, that's what counts.

Christmas Aftermath

2011-12-29T09:00:00.000-05:00

by Allison Pang

This is one of those times of year I have a love-hate relationship with.

On one hand, I do tend to get fairly jaded with the commercialism of the time. (I feel that way about most holidays, I guess - being obligated to act a certain way simply because we're supposed to. And yeah, that's probably me being a bit more grinchy then I should be.) And some years are better than others - the moment just clicks and it's all Silent Nights and O Christmas Tree and there's snow and lights and it's fun.

But sometimes it's more just like feeling the holidays are a hassle. They "get in the way" of everything I have to do. (Or just pile onto the load - whether that's having to clean or cook or wrap or whatever. And shopping for the kids is both fun and sometimes hellish - if you've ever been to a Toys-R-Us in that last week before Christmas, you know what I mean. Between the lines, the overpriced toys, the extra batteries, etc, etc. - it can be a nightmare of monstrous proportions.)

And family. Great if you all get along, but not so much if you don't. (And being married to a cop - well, let's just say there's a lot of domestic disputes that get called in around the holidays. Probably more when there's snow than not, but get a bunch of family all squished in and cranky with cabin fever/mixed with alcohol == someone's getting a frying pan lobbed at their head for cooking runny eggs.)

But maybe that's really the more important thing about these moments in time. Maybe it's less about what they're "supposed" to be and more what you make of them...whatever that happens to be.

This year it was all about the Air Swimmer. (Trying to get some video footage of me flying it around.) And sure, Santa brought it, but thus far? I'm the one grinning like a mad idiot and flying it around my living room.

And yes, the irony that I'd be playing with something that I often have nightmares about isn't lost on me, but maybe there's something to that too.

** artwork was a gift from Aimo (it's Dragon Age fangirl foolishness, but I lurve it.)

CELEBRATION

2011-12-28T06:00:00.002-05:00

The celebrating in full swing and shows no sign of stopping. I love it!

As the pre-season preparations were in the works, I had the pleasure of spending some time in the company of good people and good beer. On one occasion I tried SAM ADAM's BLACK & B

REW COFFEE STOUT and their CHOCOLATE BOCK. Both very nice.

On another fine evening I tried MAGIC HAT's HOWL, a black lager. Very tasty. So much so I went and bought some to keep on hand at home.

For the kick-off, I hosted a Winter Solstice gathering and my friends made it fantastic and

beautiful in spite of the swampy condition of my yard. (Held the party in my detached garage with the wood-burning stove.) I want to think my chili helped make the event yummy, but there were sooo many goodies that made the evening especially delicious.

***Yes, that picture is upside down. I don't know why and have tried to fix it. I am not techy. I will ask for that skill next year for Yule. :-)***

Follow that with the jolly old fat man's big day: Christmas. My boys, my family, the food...it's impossible for Christmas day to be anything but awesome in every way.

Then, WICKED CIRCLE's official release day was yesterday. SQUEE!

Congrats to my pal LUCY SNYDER on the release of SWITCHBLADE GODDESS as well. :-D

I'm planning to spend New Year's Eve celebrating with the band, friends, and fellow musicians kind of having our own mix and match jam night. I can't wait. Then there's the Cleveland Pagan and Witches Ball January 7th. Oh, yeah, and my birthday.

Maybe I can rest up after that.

This time of year is always full of celebration, but this year has highlighted what the season means to me, Spending time with those you care for most. Even without our customary snowy blankets of white on the ground, I am grateful for this.

Joining friends for festive dinners out across the season has, so far, held some marvelous surprises. It's the unexpected kindnesses that have the most impact. When you don't see it coming, it's more memorable. I've been a blessed recipient and I hope I've managed to give back unexpectedly as well.

May all of you be the recipient of kindness and love this season--and may all those you give kindness and love to appreciate it as grandly--because that's what's really worth celebrating.

Wicked Celebrations at the Zoo

2011-12-27T09:31:00.000-05:00

By KAK

The end of the year brings the lull between Christmasallmighty Chaos and New Yahoo’s Debauchery. These five days of the work week are the most quiet of the year … unless you work in a “save the Stupids from themselves” business. (I’m looking at you customer service reps, law enforcement, and health care professionals.)

On the home front, we’re scraping charred gravy off the burners, washing red wine out of the curtains, sorting recyclable wrapping paper from plastic wrap, and watching “Best of 2011” shows. Some of us are headed back home from the holidays, some of us are extending our leisure.

This week, we sneak in the final gluttonies before committing to dreaded New Year = New Me resolutions.

However you say goodbye to the time that was, be certain you greet the time to come with today’s fabulous releases by two of your beloved Word Whores:

James R. Tuck’s new eNovella “THAT THING AT THE ZOO"
Shredding monsters is his stock and trade. He sniffs them out, tracks them down, and corners them. End of story. But when the tables are turned, expect the unexpected.

Knowing his enemy is a rule Deacon Chalk swears by. But he's never seen anything like whatever is leaving the Atlanta Zoo's most dangerous predators bloodless, skinned, and hanging high in treetops. And he’s only got till sunrise to keep it from turning the entire city into a slaughterhouse. Now Deacon is in zoo lockdown with a handful of staffers to save. His zookeeper backup has more guts than monster-hunting experience. And the only chance Deacon has to run this thing to unholy ground is to risk unleashing his darkest, most uncontrollable instincts.
Click here to read yesterday’s post for an excerpt.

Linda Robertson’s WICKED CIRCLE, Book 5 in the Persephone Alcmedi series:
Is a little time alone with the man you love too much to ask?Well, it may be—when you’re Persephone Alcmedi, Lustrata of the witches, and your lover is Domn Lup of the wærewolves. For once, however, the disturbance is not Seph’s foster daughter, Beverly, her wacky grandmother, or her newly rediscovered mother. This time, it’s the ancient and incredibly sexy vampire Menessos, bearing bad news: because the vampire council fears he is plotting a power grab, Menessos is being hunted by a trio of truth-seeking vampire sisters so dangerous they are usually kept locked in stone.His dreams imperiled, Menessos needs Seph more than ever . . . and she needs him. Now, Seph has magical promises to fulfill for the wæres, multiple mundane family challenges to meet, vampire politics to confront . . . and into the bargain she’s balancing two sexy supernatural males. It’s enough to drive any woman insane, especially when you throw in a dragon and—even worse—a government investigator. As danger threatens, Seph isn’t sure she can stay alive for the rest of the day . . . let alone long enough to accomplish all that needs to be done.

Buy at BN.com Buy at Amazon.com

Go forth. Purchase. Imbibe. Do all those naughty things whilst you can before the New Year Infant demands constant attentions.

I have spice balls and Yuletide brandy to savor whilst I read.

AN UNEXPECTED SUPRISE

2011-12-26T11:54:00.006-05:00

Well, I certainly hope that each and everyone of you had a very Happy Holiday, whichever of the multitude available you celebrate. It was a very nice Christmas and Hanukkah around the Tuck house.

So here was a little surprise that I discovered just 3 days ago.

Apparently the E-novella prequel to the Deacon Chalk series I write goes on sale TOMORROW! This was supposed to come out later in January, but I guess the good folks at Kensington moved it up so that folks could use their gift card and new devices for it.

It's called THAT THING AT THE ZOO and it is up now for preorder on Barnes and Noble. It was up on Amazon, but there was a glitch. I am sure Kensington will fix it today and when they do I will drop the link here. But for now, you Nookies can preorder it. (see link below)

So here is what THAT THING AT THE ZOO is about:

Shredding monsters is his stock and trade. He sniffs them out, tracks them down, and corners them. End of story. But when the tables are turned, expect the unexpected.

Knowing his enemy is a rule Deacon Chalk swears by. But he's never seen anything like whatever is leaving the Atlanta Zoo's most dangerous predators bloodless, skinned, and hanging high in treetops. And he’s only got till sunrise to keep it from turning the entire city into a slaughterhouse. Now Deacon is in zoo lockdown with a handful of staffers to save. His zookeeper backup has more guts than monster-hunting experience. And the only chance Deacon has to run this thing to unholy ground is to risk unleashing his darkest, most uncontrollable instincts.

And now for a handy excerpt.

I moved away from the wall. My legs made long strides across the grass, the smell of piss fading as I walked. Jimmy the zookeeper hustled to catch up with me. He was breathing hard by the time he did, doing a jog-step to keep pace.
“What the hell are you doin’ now?”
“We need some bait. This thing likes to swoop down and grab its victim.”
“But you had me lock up all the animals so they would be safe from it.”
Listening to the night air, not looking at him, I drew out the Bowie knife. “I know.”
“So what are you gonna use for bait?”
“Us.” The silver edge gleamed in the full moonlight as I laid it against the skin of my forearm. I keep my knives sharp so there was only a thin flash of burn as I drew it across my arm. The tattooed skin parted, blood welling up behind the slice of the blade. I didn’t cut deep, but it bled freely, running red rivulets down my arm, filling my palm, and dripping off my fingers.
A flick of my hand sent droplets of my blood arcing out onto the grass around us. I try to keep my blood. Too many things out there can use your blood to harm you, but once it hits the earth its magickal properties are grounded out unless it is being used in ritual. This wasn’t ritual; it was bait. Chum in the water so to speak. The cut stopped bleeding, so I wiped the blood off on my jeans.
I turned to Jimmy the zookeeper. “Get ready. I don’t think it will be long.” No, not long at all. The hair on my arms was standing on end, static electricity crackling between each one like tiny Tesla coils. My ability to sense supernatural stuff was wide open and I could feel something coming closer. In my mind’s theater I felt leather and fur rub along the inside of my skin. A crunchy taste filled my mouth, sucking out all the moisture, like eating too much roasted coconut. Whatever we were after was headed our way.
Something flashed into existence over the scent mark on the wall, moving so quick and silent it seemed to appear from thin air. It was black against the white-washed wall, hanging by a hooked claw. I heard it draw a long inhale through its lungs. It snorted and shook its head, not liking that its scent mark had been desecrated. One inhumanly quick pull swung it to the top of the wall where it squatted, a dark shape against the low moon.
Its head swung slowly from the left to the right, mouth open, breathing in the night scent through glistening fangs. Large triangular ears ran from cheekbones to the top of its flattened skull. A low screech followed the turn of its head, like the rusty screen door on Hell. Its face came around to our direction, low cry vibrating my skin with sound waves. They passed over me as it continued to turn its head. Immediately that monstrous face snapped back towards us and snarled. Red eyes glowed with a satanic light, throwing ruby highlights across a flattened snout and curving wet teeth.
The beast rose, standing on the wall. Clawed arms whipped over its head. The moonlight glowed through thin membrane wings that stretched from knotted hands to cadaverous waist, black veins traced through in relief. One wing was torn, a rip in its center that the moon shone through. It was covered in patches of greasy rat fur, glistening in the night. Where it had skin, it was bare and mottled gray. Anatomy showed it was female, breasts hanging pendulous in a mockery of womanhood. It once was human. It once was alive. Now it was neither. I knew exactly what we were up against.
Nos-fer-fucking-atu.
Pulling down on the slide, I checked the shotgun to make sure there was a shell in the chamber.
Bring it on, bitch.

FOR MORE GO BUY THE E-NOVELLA FROM OH AND IT IS ONLY $.99! Less than a buck gets you a great slice of kick-ass urban fantasy!

HERE

And don't forget that my fellow Word Whore Linda Robertson has a release coming out tomorrow also! So pick up THAT THING AT THE ZOO by James R. Tuck (me) AND grab a copy of WICKED CIRCLE by Linda Robertson!

Celebrating

2011-12-25T05:00:00.001-05:00

by Jeffe Kennedy

I get Christmas Day??

Somehow this sums up my whole year. So many good things have happened. So many awful things have happened. It's far from my usual Christmas that I'm sitting here, at nearly midnight, writing a blog post.

And yet...

I'm celebrating.

Had tonight gone as planned, I'd have been out late and tumbled into bed, hopefully to fling this post up in the morning. Tonight, though, my mom wasn't feeling well enough to go do what we had planned, so we stayed in and opened gifts instead.

I was glad.

Glad because ten days ago, she nearly died. She had pulmonary embolisms and the doctor said if she'd been any less healthy, she would have dropped dead. She didn't.

And so we celebrate.

I think of all the years, all the Christmases she made special. Every Christmas morning filled with magic and love came so much from her. And now, thanks to the technological miracles of clotbusters and blood thinners, she's alive and well. A little tired is just fine.

Christmas gets a bad rap, and maybe it should. For the commercialism, the tawdriness, the bottom line. But it's also about the love and togetherness. It's the bright lights and the colorful ribbons. The thoughtful gifts. I took this photo of the tree with my amazing new camera tripod from my thoughtful aunt.

I may also have a new telephoto lens that goes up to 600. For reference, my previous best lens went to 140. Oh yeah - I'm gonna be rocking this new lens from my mom and stepdad.

Most of all, though, it's planning menus with my mom. Shopping the store and making the food.

Every time together is a celebration.

As it should be.

Merry merry!

Hot Fudge and Home Made Ice Cream

2011-12-24T08:00:00.001-05:00

By Kerry Schafer

So many chocolate recipes, only one blog. I've spent the week running through recipes in my head, trying to choose which one to post. Most of mine aren't fancy. I went through a phase as a teenager where I spent my weekends making 10 egg cakes. Hey, we had chickens and a surplus of eggs, and it was sort of magical to blend ingredients in just the perfect way and produce some light and fluffy concoction that would melt in my mouth. Cake for breakfast? Yes, please.

But I'm a whole lot busier now. Eggs are expensive. And I'm trying not to eat the things that make me grow in the wrong direction. So the recipes that tend to stay with me are my childhood classics. One of these is homemade hot fudge sauce, invariably paired with homemade ice cream.

When I think of making ice cream, mind you, I'm not picturing any handy dandy high falutin' electric no mess process. Here's what I remember:

A house full of friends on a dark winter Saturday night. My brother taking a feedsack and the axe down to the pond, where he'd break up ice to fill the sack and lug it back up to the house. Hammering it into little chunks of ice, which then filled the hand crank ice cream maker. Tons of rock salt on the ice. Kids spelling each other off turning and turning and turning the hand crank until it got so stiff we could turn it no more.

And then. Toasty warm house. Deliciously cold sweet ice cream topped with thick and gooey hot fudge. Yeah. Oh, and then the pleasure of sneaking into the fridge later and eating that fudge by the spoonful.

So, without more ado, the recipes.

Hot Fudge:

1 1/2 c. canned milk
2 c. sugar
4 oz. unsweetened chocolate
1/2 tsp salt
1/4 c butter
1 tsp vanilla

Heat milk and sugar to a rolling boil, stirring constantly. Boil for 1 minute. Add chocolate and salt and stir until melted. Wire whip until smooth, then remove from heat. Add vanilla and butter.

Ice Cream

1 can Eagle Brand
1 1/2 pints cream
add enough milk to make 5 cups
1 Tbsp vanilla
small pinch salt.

Mix well. Pour into the compartment of an ice cream maker and freeze.

Whatever you eat or don't eat, whatever you celebrate or don't - I wish for everybody warmth and joy over the holidays.

Molten Lava Chocolate Cake

2011-12-23T08:01:00.002-05:00

Chocolate is a little like wine. Every year, growing conditions turn out a different crop with different flavors. Some shops, like Boehms in Issaquah, WA offer varietals - chocolate from specific growing regions. All with different nuances of flavor. My favorite, when I could still eat chocolate, was the stuff from Hawaii.

Every year, many of the major cooking magazines (Fine Cooking, Cooks Illustrated, Chocolatier, etc) review chocolates. They rate the best baking chocolate (dark and milk) and the best cocoa powders. The winners vary year to year depending on how the manufacturers blend their product and depending on how the growing conditions affected flavor for the year. Yes. Once upon a time, until chocolate abruptly became a migraine trigger for me a year or two ago, I took cooking with chocolate very, very seriously. I can honestly say that spending the time and trouble to acquire the year's best chocolate makes all the difference in the world when you're looking for an overwhelming chocolate experience.

Since the tragic day I sort of redefined 'death by chocolate' (when that initial migraine hit along with the awareness of what had caused it, I admit to spending an hour wishing I were dead...then the meds kicked in and I got over it), everyone has been very considerate about not asking me to make chocolate goods for them anymore. Except at Christmas. My beloved husband wouldn't dream of asking me to make chocolate when he knows I can't indulge...but he also knows he won't have to, because the rest of my family will. So here it is. The one recipe I cannot escape.

It's a pull out from Food and Wine Magazine.
Molten Lava Chocolate Cake with Chambord Truffle Center
Truffle Center
3/4 heavy cream
8 ounces semisweet chocolate, chopped (chips are fine, but go with the best quality you can find - it really makes a difference)
2 ounces Chambord

Cakes
2/3 cup all purpose flour
1/2 cup Valrohna cocoa powder
8 ounces semisweet baking chocolate, chopped
5 ounces unsalted butter, cut into pieces
3 large eggs
2 egg yolks
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1 vanilla bean pulp

Truffle center: Heat heavy cream to a boil and pour over chopped chocolate. Let sit for 2 minutes. Whisk in Chambord until smooth. Pour onto a sheet pan lined with parchment papger. Place in the freezer for 10-15 minutes until set. Once set, portion into twelve 1-ounce portions (about 1 heaping tablespoon). Round into balls, using your hands. Freeze until cakes are ready.

Cakes: Preheat oven to 325. Grease a 12-cup nonstick muffin pan with butter (or cheat like I do and use Baker's Joy - brilliant stuff.) Sift flour and cocoa together and set aside. Melt the chocolate with the butter over a double boiler. Place the eggs, yolks, sugar and vanilla pulp into the bowl of a mixer fitted with a paddle attachment. Beat at medium speed until mixture is slightly frothy. Add the melted chocolate mixture at medium speed and mix until combined. Continue to mix at low speed, adding the sifted ingredients until smooth. Portion into the prepared muffin pan evenly. Bake for 5 mintues. Remove pan from oven and place on truffle into the center of each cake about halfway down. Return pan to oven and bake for 15-17 minutes. Check for doneness in cake, not truffle center. Allow to cool slightly and unmold.

CAUTION: that molten goo in the center will be HOT. These things are rich. We serve them with a dollop of whipped cream on the side.

Also note that this recipe is worth checking chocolate reviews for and then getting the best chocolate you can find. You'll likely have to order Valrohna cocoa powder from an online source in advance, so plan ahead - but the flavor difference is huge. With as much semisweet chocolate as is required for this recipe, you'll be happiest with a super good quality chocolate there, too. Some of the magazines post their reviews online. Happy chocolate!

Minty

2011-12-22T10:40:00.000-05:00

by Allison Pang

This is going up a little later than I originally anticipated. Been waiting on a family recipe that hasn't come through yet, so I'm going to have to wing it a little. And by wing it, I mean blatantly find what I'm looking for online and post it here.

But anyway, one of my favorite Christmas treats growing up was Andies Candies. Which I realize is a pretty common after-dinner mint - but we only ever seemed to have them around this time of year. (And for some reason, candy always seemed to taste better in the "special" holiday wrappers.

And there's plenty of things you can make with them, though to be honest, I always just like them in their little simplistic form.

However. Every year, my aunt makes these mint fudge brownie square cookie things...that are basically like eating a giant version of the candy. She gave a us a pan last year and it probably only lasted like 6 hours because I *really* like them.

*ahem*

Lifting this version from the Joy of Baking, in the meantime...

Chocolate Mint Brownies: Preheat oven to 325 degrees F (160 degrees C) and place the rack in the center of the oven. Have ready a 9 x 9 inch (23 x 23 cm) square baking pan that has been lined with aluminum foil across the bottom and up two opposite sides of the pan. Set aside.

Brownies: In a stainless steel (heatproof) bowl placed over a saucepan of simmering water, melt the butter and chocolate. Remove from heat and stir in the sugar and vanilla extract. Add the eggs, one at a time, beating well (with a wooden spoon) after each addition. Stir in the flour and salt and beat, with a wooden spoon, until the batter is smooth and glossy and comes away from the sides of the pan (about one minute). Pour the brownie batter evenly into the prepared pan.

Bake in the preheated oven for about 25 minutes or until the brownies start to pull away from the sides of the pan and the edges of the brownies are just beginning to brown. A toothpick inserted in the center of the brownies will come out almost clean. Remove from oven and place on a wire rack to completely cool.

Mint Layer: In the bowl of your electric mixer, or with a hand mixer, beat all the ingredients until smooth. Add a few drops of green food coloring if you want the frosting green. If the frosting is too thick, add a little extra cream. (The frosting should be just thin enough to spread.) Spread the frosting evenly over the cooled brownie layer. Place in the refrigerator for about 5-10 minutes or until firm.

Chocolate Glaze: In a heatproof bowl over a saucepan of simmering water, melt the chocolate and butter. Spread over the mint filling and refrigerate for about 30 minutes or until the chocolate glaze starts to dull.
To Serve: Remove the brownies from the pan by lifting with the ends of the foil and transfer to a cutting board. With a sharp knife, cut into 30 squares. It is a good idea to wipe your knife between cuts with a damp cloth. These brownies can be stored in the refrigerator for several days or else frozen.
Makes about 30 1-inch (2.5 cm) squares.

Brownie Layer:1/2 cup (113 grams) unsalted butter, cut into pieces
4 ounces (114 grams) unsweetened chocolate, coarsely chopped
1 1/4 cups (250 grams) granulated white sugar
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
2 large eggs
1/2 cup (65 grams) all purpose flour
1/4 teaspoon salt

Mint Layer:2 tablespoons (28 grams) unsalted butter, at room temperature
1 cup (115 grams) confectioners (powdered or icing) sugar, sifted
1 - 1 1/2 tablespoons heavy cream
1/2 teaspoon pure peppermint extract or 1-2 tablespoons creme de menthegreen food coloring (optional)

Chocolate Glaze:3 ounces (90 grams) semisweet chocolate, chopped
1 tablespoon (14 grams) unsalted butter

And for an alternate version with actual Andies Candies, try this one I found on Glorious Treats.

A Recipe for Evil...

2011-12-21T06:00:00.001-05:00

First, HAPPY WINTER SOLSTICE!

Second, WICKED CIRCLE will be released in 6 days!!! SQUEE!

Third, (for the charm...) Recently (read as: a few years ago) I traveled to a dangerous haven of malcontents (read as: my mom's house for the holiday get together). There, after many harrowing trials and tribulations (read as: conversations with family in close proximity to said family), I unearthed a recipe for something so wickedly, decadently rich I have obliterated the previous name, struck it out of time and space and have renamed it:

EVIL

Now I KNOW you'll read this and think, "So simple," or, "So innocent," or, "No way," but I SWEAR the words of the ingredients and instructions are deceptive. I am certain that somewhere in the process of this something straight out of the X-files happens. Time stops, a portal opens up while your world is frozen and demons appear with gum-drop fairies ensnared in some bizarre and tiny version of a torture rack and when the demons squeeze the poor little fey they weep and tiny little tears that fall into the mixing bowl dooming all who eat of the confection made to be slaves to the "just one more little piece" sweet tooth.

If you dare to make some for yourself all you have to do is this:

Set your oven to 400 degrees. (EVIL likes the heat.) Take out the 10x13 (or thereabouts) pan--NOT a cookie sheet. (Recommend sturdy pan, NOT foil.) This has to have at least short sides.

Grease the bottom and sides lightly. (Also ok to line pan with foil and spray the foil lightly with non-stick coating. Because, EVIL needs to be convenient to the way YOU like to roll.)

Line the pan with saltine crackers. Yes. Regular, ordinary /crackers/. (I said it was deceptive.)

Get out a small saucepan, melt 2 sticks of butter with 3/4 cup of brown sugar. Boil that mix for 3 minutes.

Spoon mixture(or carefully pour it) onto the crackers making sure to coat them all.

Bake for 5 minutes, remove carefully and scatter some almond slices (1/2 cup or more if you like)on top, then cover withchocolate chips (2cups; minis works best but regular chips are fine. Chocolate can be sinister in any size).

Wait a few minutes for the chips to melt, use a spatula to spread it around and let cool. (If you have space in the freezer, this cools it FAST.)

Cut 'em, break 'em...whatever, just eat 'em and discover that you can't leave 'em alone. That's the EVIL part.

Cherry Chocolate Chip Cookies

2011-12-20T08:53:00.000-05:00

by KAK

I'm all about tweaking traditional recipes. Sometimes it's intentional, sometimes it's accidental, and sometimes it's a result of staring into my parents' pantry of things that are just ... odd. (Can of dehydrated egg whites. Why?) Such an adventure as pantry-exploration led to the following modifications to the traditional chocolate chip cookie. I'm expected to make these every time I visit the family.

The Wet:

2 sticks softened/room-temp unsalted butter (unless you like salt-lick baked goods, always use unsalted butter)
3/4 cup granulated sugar
1/3 cup Splenda Brown Sugar Blend (This adds a nice tang to the cookie. I know it sounds odd, but trust me. If the thought of artificial anything curls your lip, use 3/4 cup brown sugar -- light or dark, up to you.)
2 eggs
1 splash/tablespoon artificial vanilla flavoring or 1 splash/teaspoon real vanilla extract
1 splash/teaspoon rum flavoring or 1 splash/tablespoon vanilla, butter, nut flavoring

Throw butter and sugar in a bowl and mix. I use my stand mixer with the whisk attachment. Beat it low/medium. Add eggs. Beat. Add flavoring. Beat. Remove whisk attachment. Put the paddle attachment on your mixer & standby for adding dry ingredients.

The Dry:

2 1/4 cups whole wheat flour (Yep, whole wheat flour. No, these aren't biscuits. Trust me.)
1 1/2 teaspoon baking soda (the wheat flour needs a little extra help)
1 teaspoon salt

Put all the dry ingredients into a bowl, mix it with a spoon, spork, whatever. Do not skip this mix step, otherwise you end up with a clump of baking soda in one cookie and another cookie that is all salt. I've made the mistake for you. You're welcome. Now, turn on the stand mixer (with the paddle), set it on low. Slowly add the mix of dry ingredients to the wet. Slowly so you don't blast flower all over the kitchen like the Swedish Chef (yurda, gurda!).

The Delish:

1 cup dark chocolate chips or rough-chopped chunks (best if frozen for an hour or so beforehand to prevent them from turning into syrup)
1 cup dried and pitted cherries (if you have the huge bing cherries, rough chop them first. Again, best if frozen pre-mixing to keep them from clinging to everything except the dough.)

Toss these into the mixing bowl (still with paddle attachment). Mix on low until "folded" into the dough. It's less than 10 secs if you're using an electric mixer, so don't wander away.

Logging (optional):

Bowl of Dough
Saran Wrap

Now, the part I despise about cookie baking is the endless "scoop by tablespoon onto cookie sheet." I wanted cookies, not an experience in being chained to the oven. Thus, I take the Saran Wrap and cut a sheet a little longer than the depth of fridge. *Messy Warning:* Stick your washed hands into the bowl of dough and form a tube of dough the diameter of the cookie size you want (bottom of a coffee mug size-ish or the "O" of the "okay" hand-signal). The length of the tube is determined by your cut of Saran Wrap, just make sure to leave an inch of wrap on either end so you don't get cookie-spooge all over your fridge. Slap the tube against one edge of the Saran Wrap, roll it up (refining the shape as you go), twist the ends of the Saran Wrap, and toss that sucker in the fridge (on a solid not slatted shelf!). Refrigerate for an hour or until the dough is hard (or keep in the ice-box for up to five days).

Once the dough is hard, unwrap and slice into 1/2 inch rounds. Place on cookie sheet, leaving space for some cookie expansion during baking. I suggest using parchment paper instead of cooking spray, since both cherries and chocolate like to linger on a naked cookie sheet.

Bake:

Preheat oven to 350. Bake 10 mins (for chewy) 12 mins (for cunchy). Keep in mind you've used wheat flour, so these cookies will come out a tish darker than AP flour cookies.

Happy Holidays from your Tuesday Word-Whore!

Ahhhhhh Chocolate, welcome home for the holidays.

2011-12-19T08:28:00.006-05:00

It's Christmas, the most wonderful time of the year. One of the reasons that sentiment is true is this little chunk of wonderfulness.

The Terry's chocolate orange. Dark preferably, just because I ALWAYS prefer dark chocolate. But this little gem is available in milk chocolate and (shudder)white chocolate also.

They used to only be available here at Christmas which made them all the more special. (Now you can get them year-round.)

For the unfamiliar, these are globes of orange oil infused chocolate that are divided in wedges so that they look like pieces of an orange. Wrapped in an orange foil and about the size of your fist they are perfectly engineered to perform the best part of the Terrys orange when you are a kid.

See, if you just unwrap the foil then you are presented with what looks like a solid chunk of chocolate (which is just fine in most cases lol). But no! The magic of the Terry's orange is that you take it in your hand and you WHACK IT ON THE TABLE LIKE YOU ARE TRYING TO BREAK THE DAMN THING! Seriously, just pick it up and slam that little bastard on any hard, flat surface like it called you bad names.

Then peel back the foil.

VIOLA!

Now enjoy the best thing you ever had ever.
(Oh, and for me they are the BEST when they have been in the refrigerator for a few hours. Then they are refreshingly crisp.)

Y'all have a Very Merry Christmas. I hope you and yours are truly blessed this holiday season.

Triple-Chocolate Cake with Chocolate-Peppermint Filling

2011-12-18T09:53:00.005-05:00

by Jeffe Kennedy

Today feels like a bit of a slam-dunk topic, but hey - I just work here. If the topic says "chocolate - recipes, faves and more," then that is what I shall deliver.

This is Triple-Chocolate Cake with Chocolate-Peppermint Filling, which I discovered in an actual Bon Appetit magazine ten years ago now. I say "actual" as opposed to the virtual version I just looked up online here.

Ever since, I've made this most every year for some Christmas event or another. My recipe is written out on a tattered and stained index card, but you can print a pretty version from the Bon Appetit site. Or here's my tweaked version below.

As with most cooking, the quality of the ingredients you choose is what makes the difference between fab and eh.

Ingredients

Filling

8 ounces milk chocolate, finely chopped (milk chocolate is, by my definition already sullied, so I think you can get away with a Ghirardelli-level chocolate here)
1/2 cup whipping cream
1 tablespoon light corn syrup (it's worth it to get the good kind)
1/2 teaspoon peppermint extract (be sure to get actual extract, not flavoring. ALL the difference in the world)

Cake

1 cup sifted all purpose flour (I never sift flour any more. "They" say we don't really have to. I don't know why all the recipes still say it.)
1/3 cup unsweetened cocoa powder (I think it's worth it to get a good kind here, too. The Mexican unsweeteend cocoas are particular strong and wonderful)
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon baking powder (I use the pure kind, without aluminum)
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
3/4 cup (1 1/2 sticks) unsalted butter, room temperature (Don't you dare use margarine. I use organic and no, you can't substitute salted butter. If you do, don't add the 1/2 teaspoon salt, but the balance will still be a little off.)
1 cup sugar
1/3 cup (packed) dark brown sugar
2 teaspoons vanilla extract (again - it's SO worth it to use real vanilla extract, not flavoring)
3 large eggs (warm to room temperature)
1/2 cup buttermilk (also bring to room temperature)
1 1/2 cups miniature semisweet chocolate chips (If you can't find the mini cc's, which I can't a lot of the time, you just buy a candy bar and chop it up. It's worth it to get a good imported chocolate here.)

Chocolate Glaze

8 ounces bittersweet (not unsweetened) or semisweet chocolate, finely chopped (I can't always find bittersweet either, so I've used dark chocolate candy bars with very high cocoa content - look for 80% or more and I think you'll be very pleased with the flavor.)
1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, cut into pieces
1 tablespoon light corn syrup
3/4 teaspoon peppermint extract

Red-and-white-striped hard peppermint candies, chopped
Fresh mint leaves

Preparation

Filling

Place chocolate in medium bowl. Bring cream and corn syrup to simmer in small saucepan. Pour hot mixture over chocolate; add extract and let stand 1 minute. Whisk until mixture is smooth. Let filling stand at room temperature while cake is baking and cooling.

Cake

Position rack in lowest third of oven and preheat to 350°F. Butter 9-inch-diameter cake pan with 2-inch-high sides. (I have one of those cake pans with the rounded bottom and I like to use that because it makes a pretty dome-shaped cake.) Line bottom with parchment paper. Butter parchment. Dust pan with flour. Whisk first 5 ingredients in medium bowl to blend. Using electric mixer, beat butter in large bowl until light and fluffy. (This is really important - fluffier is better.) Gradually beat in both sugars, then vanilla. Add eggs 1 at a time, beating well after each addition. Beat in dry ingredients alternately with buttermilk in 2 additions each. Mix in chocolate chips.
Transfer batter to prepared pan. Bake cake until tester inserted into center comes out clean, about 1 hour 5 minutes. Cool cake in pan on rack 5 minutes. Turn out cake onto rack. Peel off parchment. Cool completely. (And they do mean COMPLETELY.)
Using electric mixer, beat filling until fluffy and lightened in color, about 30 seconds. (You'll be amazed how it transforms.) Using serrated knife, cut cake horizontally in half. (This is why it has to be completely cool - or it can fall apart here.) Place 1 layer, cut side up, on rack set over baking sheet. Spread filling over. Top with second layer, cut side down. Chill filled cake 20 minutes. (Or overnight. Really you just want it to set up nicely.)

Prepare glaze

Stir chocolate, butter, and corn syrup in heavy small saucepan over low heat (I use a double boiler - safer) until melted and smooth. Mix in extract. Cool glaze until just lukewarm but still pourable, stirring occasionally, about 20 minutes. (You have a wider window here than they make it sound, so don't obsess.)
Pour 1/2 cup glaze over center of cake. Spread over top and sides of cake. Chill until glaze sets, about 15 minutes. Pour remaining glaze over center of cake, then spread quickly over top and sides. Chill until glaze sets, about 1 hour. Sprinkle candies around top edge of cake. Cover with cake dome; chill. Before eating, let stand at room temperature until softened, about 4 hours.
Garnish with fresh mint leaves. (I never do this - I always forget, it seems.)

Here's my version!

Gasp! What Do You Mean My Mother Will Read That?

2011-12-17T09:49:00.004-05:00

By Kerry Schafer

The topic for this week - how do you feel about your parents reading your sexy scenes - was purely theoretical when the week began. I read Jeffe's post on Sunday, comfortably contemplating the fact that since I have no books published, nobody is reading anything unless I hand it over. Since I had no intention of handing over drafts of sexy scenes to my mother, the problem was distant, classed with thoughts like "someday I'm going to die." Yep. Sooner or later. Not today. Nothing to be done about it, no need to worry.

On Wednesday, things changed dramatically. I accepted representation by the fabulous Deidre Knight of the Knight Agency, and that changed my perspective dramatically. (You can read the story here, if you wish.)

All at once, the idea of a published book is something within reach. I have an agent who believes in the book, and that we can get it published. This once theoretical idea of my mother reading my sex scenes is real and in my face like a hungry cat on Saturday morning. If the book is published, people will read it. Maybe (hopefully) lots of people. My mother. And all of her church friends. My own teenage children. My co-workers, potentially my clients, and maybe my old high school friends.

Cue panic.

Let me be clear that I am not prudish, just private. I love to read a book with good sex scenes, and writing sex is easy enough for me, but the idea that somebody, particularly my mother, is going to read it? Alarming.

All I can say is, I'd better get over it. I'll warn my mom, and I honestly think she'll handle it fine. The kids? That one is a little worse. Kids don't like to know that their parents even think about sex, let alone read what they've written about it. Again, I'll warn them, and then they are on their own. Old enough to make their own decisions.

I guess when it comes to writing sex scenes it's like writing anything else. Get it on the page, make sure it belongs there. What happens after that is between the words and the reader.

You're Writing What, Now?

2011-12-16T14:00:00.000-05:00

First, allow me to confess that the holidays are eating my brain. It was as I was stepping into the shower so I could rush off to an appointment that some more aware portion of my mind shouted, "Hey, dummy! Blog post!" So here I am on a borrowed laptop, feeling like a moron with a hangover - that last part is from staying up until the wee hours of the morning reading through the last novel I wrote prior to being published. Wow, that book sucked. It is notable, however, as the first book wherein I'd managed to write a detailed sex scene.

No one but the critique group got to read that. It wasn't until Enemy Within and Enemy Games were published that I had to face the notion of anyone in my family reading the sex scenes I'd written. I'll be frank. I do my best not to think about it. My folks haven't said a word about the sex scenes. There have been a few comments about how often my heroines swear...but the sex? Not a word. Not a word about the bloody, horrific (to me) torture scene at the end of book one, either. At least not from my parents. I've had a few 'concerned about how you came up with all that' comments from extended family.

The two novels have been relatively easy because the sex scenes are pretty pedestrian as far as sex scenes go. Writing them is no big deal. Reading them aloud to the critique group? Damn, I hate that. I do it anyway. Or - I did. But this summer, I switched gears briefly. I wrote an erotica novella. Never had to read that one aloud, which is good. I do not know that I could have...That piece was critiqued via email. Now, Berkley is publishing it as an e-special in April of 2012. It'll be called Enemy Mine. It is set in the same universe as the novels.

I can be blase about that story because neither of my parents owns an e-reader. Yet. I'm not quite sure how I'll handle it if Mom or Dad decides to get one just so they can download and read the story. True. All my life, my folks have tried to be very open about sex. They wanted to make sure that their kids could talk to them about anything. They did a good job. "It's a natural part of life," they liked to say about love and sex. "It's just a body, everybody has one," they'd say about nudity. So I have some hope that if either of them reads the erotica, they'll just nod and go on. I mean, this IS fiction we're writing. I try not to get hung up on the notion that someone will think I actually do the things I write about - but I don't wander around shooting bad guys or flying spaceships. I'm comfortably certain my audience knows that. It naturally follows that I'm not necessarily into the BDSM elements that may have snuck into that erotica. Right? Right?

Nice Girls Don't Write Smut. Except When They Do.

2011-12-15T09:00:00.000-05:00

by Allison Pang

Before I get into my post here today, I just want to give a shout of massive congratulations to our fellow Word Whore, Kerry Schafer! Kerry's accepted representation by the fabulous Deidre Knight (and I'll let Kerry tell you all about it on Saturday after she's had a little time to let it all sink in.) Congrats Kerry!)

*ahem*

And now back to our regularly scheduled post, aye?

I've actually been a tad envious at some of these earlier posts this week, namely when it comes to sharing writing. Since my mother passed away 10 years ago, she's obviously never had a chance to read anything I've done (not since the early days of high school maybe?) And to be honest, her mindset was always far more practical than fanciful - writing was a hobby, not possible job potential.

I'd like to think she would have read my books, though.

My dad? I had to laugh about that because smut is not his thing. He's read A Brush of Darkness. Bought it in bulk and handed it out to his law interns. (When I found out about that, I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "Dad. You're a judge. And you're handing out books that I wrote. To your employees. With demon sex scenes in them.")

*sits back to wait for the sexual harassment lawsuits to start up.*

To be fair, I did warn him there were smutty scenes involved.

"Oh, like Catcher in the Rye?"

No, Dad. Not like Catcher in the Rye. But points for trying.

On a good note, I actually got hit up by a fair number of the interns who did, in fact, read it and liked it, so yay for that.

But as far as the smut scenes themselves go? We don't talk about them. Maybe it's that Irish Catholic upbringing. Maybe he skips them completely. I don't ask. His overall opinion was that sex sells, so it's perfectly fine for me to have it in my books. (Although, I have to admit that when I mentioned I'd gotten dinged in the Huffington Post a few months ago (Worst Paranormal Sex Scenes) for using "turgid magnificence" (in a tongue-in-cheek way, mind - bleah for context), his only comment on the matter was "Well, you don't really want to be *good* at writing that sort of thing, do you?"

And I think that's sort of the line in the sand for him. Okay to write about it, okay to have it in the books...but don't smut it up TOO much, because...what? People will think I'm into it? I have no idea. Maybe it's a father/daughter thing.

Other family members? I heard from one aunt who loved it - but otherwise, I haven't heard a single peep out of any of them. Except for that through the grapevine type of thing. "Where does she come up with this sort of thing?" "She's got a good imagination, anyway." "It was...uh...interesting."

To be fair, a lot of that may have been less about the smut and more about the fact that it's Urban Fantasy. It's not their thing, and that's okay. It may also have been the whole first person thing. I think for a lot of people, that writing voice sounds an awful lot like *me* and that becomes a tad too personal for them to want to relate to. (Don't even get me started on the co-workers...)

"If you were actually sleeping with demons, I'd be concerned..." (Yeah, I got that one too.)

(A few certain very religious family members have basically been told not to even pick it up. The ones who think reading Harry Potter is cause for damnation? Yeah, I'd probably be disowned because of demon peen.)

Although the best thing? Getting hit up by a much older 3rd cousin who I've never met on Facebook. He read it and was totally scandalized by the language and smut...but enjoyed it anyway. (And was probably the ONLY person who got/commented on the King and I reference I threw in there.)

Is a puzzlement, indeed.

Mom, I wrote a smut scene in that chapter...

2011-12-14T06:00:00.002-05:00

by Linda Robertson

FIRST: Interview with me and contest to win books at: Books and Barks.

Yes, there is smut in all my books except the first one.

Yes, my mom reads my books.

VICIOUS CIRCLE had a couple of kisses in it, but was very much sans smut. When HALLOWED CIRCLE came out … I asked my mom, do you want me to tear out the smutty pages, black marker them or leave them? She said to leave them.

Color me surprised.

When I gave her a copy of FATAL CIRCLE I warned her it too had smut. With ARCANE CIRCLE I didn't bother to give her the heads up. I figured she'd caught on.Though I have made the verbal effort to prepare her, I never promised her that she would find standard “missionary” style scenes.

In fact, there’s a standy-uppy sex scene in HALLOWED CIRCLE; oral followed by impromptu use of a kitchen countertop in FATAL CIRCLE; the insinuation of fellatio and a doggy style scene in ARCANE CIRCLE.

As for WICKED CIRCLE… (since it’ll be released in 13 days SQUEE!!!) here’s a brief excerpt from one of the smut scenes (slightly modified for this post):

He was climbing the steps inside the wærewolf den fast. She was keeping up, but was panting with the effort. It resonated erotically in his ears. “That was an impressive transformation,” she said.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah? That’s it?”

He didn’t want to tell her how he was struggling with all that was new. He squeezed her hand then released her, hoping it wasn’t too abrupt. He was aware that he had to give her some kind of answer, but like a bad joke, her mom had actually given up her right arm in the process of unlocking his tattoos; he wouldn’t dare complain, but neither would he say anything that might make him sound ungrateful or imply that Eris’s sacrifice hadn’t garnered all they hoped for. “It felt easier. Much more fluid.”

Emerging onto the ninth floor, he guided her toward the small guest chamber at the rear of the hallway.

"It was your first change since breaking the binding,” Persephone added. “Did it feel more powerful to you?”

“Yeah.” He opened the door of the small studio apartment and hit the switch for the lights, twisting the knob to dim them. “I guess.” He opened the door wider so she could enter.

“You guess? I was out in the hallway and I felt it.”

“Really?” Instead of letting her acquaint herself with the space, as soon as he shut the door, he seized her and held her against him. “I’ve got something else I want you to feel.” He pressed his lips to hers roughly. “God, I missed you.”

Seph kissed him back and buried her fingers in his hair.

It felt like he hadn’t seen her in months, not mere days. His body thrummed with energy and ached for a release.His tongue pressed between her lips, wishing it was another part of his body. Her lip gloss tasted like sweet berries. He reached under the sweatshirt, pushing up tank tops to touch her skin.

That enticing resonance played across his fingers again, dripping into his palm and rippling through his body.

“Mmmm. I missed you too,” she said, arms winding around his neck. Effortlessly, she hoisted herself up and wrapped her legs around him.

He carried her toward the bed in the corner and she wriggled just before he heard the thud of her shoes dropping to the floor. He laid her on the mattress and, beyond the want or need of foreplay, unfastened her jeans.

This scene was atypical because it’s using an actual bed. Off the top of my head, there’s only one other instance in previous books where Seph is actually having sex in a bed.

That might explain what my mom said to me.

You see, in prepping for this post, I called my mom and, to put a twist on things, asked her what it was like to be the parent reading the child’s smutty work. She, who has read many a
Harlequin romance, said, “Aw, I’ve read stuff like that before.”

*Note her use of “stuff” and the omission of words like “smut,” “sex,” “porn,” or “premarital fornication.” *

However, she admitted that, “…it is different when it’s your books.” She laughed nervously before adding, ”I figure it’s fiction, so I tell myself that you don’t actually do stuff like that…you just make all that stuff up.”

She’s so awesome! She cracks me up while making it not weird for me.

Some Things Daddies Don't Want to Know

2011-12-13T09:54:00.000-05:00

by KAK

A lot of kids, when they go off to college, get a lecture from mom and dad on responsibility, attaining goals, or how a telephone works for more than just texting. My father, a man more Victorian than Victoria, gave me the most valuable piece of advice.

Some things daddies don't want to know.

Sound, sage, advice. Advice I definitely apply to certain genres I've written. Those erotica novels burning up my hard drive? Handing one of those to my dad? Nay, nay. No, no. Nein, nein. The high fantasy with a protagonist who has a penchant for blood play? Yeah, sure. Why the difference? Because erotica is 93% sex. Dad can't "gloss over" that. The high fantasy? The tawdry bits are maybe 15%. We can sit around the holiday dinner table and discuss the other 85% of the book without embarrassing either one of us.

Mom's a whole different sort of story.

My mother is very frank about sex...often in a cover-your-ears and scream "TMI" sort of way. Mom wouldn't be remotely offended by a vanilla sex scene. She'd read it and move along. Thing is, I don't really write vanilla sex. So, while she'd read all about hunchbacking happening, there'd inevitably be the point and time at which she would close the book, set it on her bedside table, pick up the phone, and call me. Not to discuss the mechanics of whatever acrobatics went on, but to have a heart-to-heart about the psychological ramifications of what the characters are demonstrating and how that's being reflected in my real life.

There are some things daughters don't want to discuss.

My folks are incredibly supportive of my writing aspirations. They eagerly await the day they can buy the first 1000 copies of whatever I manage to get published. They are standing by ready to be my mobile marketing machine. Mom & Dad the Street Team. The day I can put a book in their hands, they will be off and running. That book will just happen to be a High Fantasy.

Erotica? There are some things I only want you, dear readers, to know.

So tell me, would you ever gift your parents with an erotica novel? Why or why not?

Oh! Eek! When your folks read your naughty bits.

2011-12-12T00:29:00.006-05:00

FROM: James R. Tuck

Hello, hello, hello. It's me, the new kid on the block. Proud to be the first Man-Word Whore 'round these parts. I promise to try and do the wonderfully talented ladies here justice in their choice of including me.

So my first topic to post about is when your parents read the sex scenes you write.

Well, it hasn't happened yet since the book isn't out until Feb 7. 2012 (BLOOD AND BULLETS from Kensington. End shameless plug.) but it should generate a conversation at least. That is, if my mom makes it to the vampire brothel/strip joint much less to the actual naughty scene.

See, I am a Southern boy. I was born and bred in Georgia. I grew up going to church. (In fact, for a very short window of my life I was a Church of God youth pastor.) My mom still goes to the church that I went to most of my young life, from 13 until my early 20's. She is morally conservative. She was only ever married to my father and to my knowledge has never really even dated anyone but him, not even in the decade plus he was taken by the cancer. She is your typical, Southern, religious, totally awesome mom. And she is proud that her son wrote a book, but I am trying to think of a way to let her know that my book, well, it ain't for her.

I wrote it because I wanted a DARK, violent, thrill ride of a kick ass book. I had hit a streak of reading books in urban fantasy that were supposed to be dark and violent but wound up being really tame IMHO. I set out to push the edge of Urban Fantasy. To not treat it like a nice safe thing. And I think I succeeded, I mean I put some really crazy shit in my book.

So, I guess I'm not so much worried about the racy bits with my mom because I don't think she'll get past the bloody violence and the four-letter words that I used like it was my job. I mean, is a vampire handjob all that shocking after you blow a hole clean through someone's chest?

I still feel I should give my dear mother a heads up though, before she runs out to buy the book. Hmmmmm, maybe I should call her. (I know, when in doubt you should always call your mom and say hello.)

If you have any advice on how to break the news leave it in the comments!

Keep the faith until next time,

James R. Tuck

When Parents Read Your Sex Scenes

2011-12-11T08:38:00.003-05:00

by Jeffe Kennedy

No, I'm not reading a sex scene to my folks, here. It's a poem I wrote for their wedding ceremony - my mom's third wedding, after being twice widowed. And yes, they totally asked me to write and read the poem for them.

I'm very blessed this way, in the support from my family. Not only has my mom always encouraged me, but so does Stepdad Dave.

So, do they read my very naughty books? (Sapphire and Petals & Thorns are both BDSM erotica and Feeding the Vampire is a very hot short. Speaking of which, Feeding the Vampire is up for Book of the Week here, if you feel like voting.)

Yes. Yes, they do.

I even dedicated Sapphire to them, because they were both so great about Petals and Thorns - talking it up to their friends, and never once acting like what I'd written was offensive in any way.

This makes my family unusual, I think.

My mom has always been very open about discussing sex or "making love," as she called it when I was growing up. She let me watch it in movies, because she always thought it was ridiculous to let kids see violence and not love. She told me that love-making is intense, powerful and full of joy, if you do it with the right person.

Oh, yes, yes, yes.

Enter Stepdad Dave, who is retired Air Force and far more conservative that us, in our frivolous party ways. But he's fit right in. My mom occasionally mentions that they bribe each other with offers of "unnatural sex." No, I have no idea what this entails.

There are some things even I don't want to know.

I think that's the key: openness without excessive detail. At least it works for us.

On a final note, this is an exciting week on Word Whores, as we are also opening up, expanding and adding our first MALE Word Whore!

Meet James R. Tuck.

He'll be our new Monday whore, so you'll be seeing a post from him tomorrow. We'll see if a man can be just as much of a Word Whore as we can.

Feel free to heckle.

It Only Takes a Spark

2011-12-10T08:00:00.004-05:00

by Kerry Schafer

There was this song we used to sing around the campfire. Well, technically, we sang a lot of songs around the campfire. Including Kumbayah. Hush - it was lovely and magical and there were boys -

Anyway, this particular song, sung around the campfire and in other places as well, began with this line:

"It only takes a spark to get a fire going."

Now, I'll admit that these words do seem to hold true for forest fires and grease fires and a huge array of disasters natural and unnatural. Apparently one random spark can indeed set a whole forest on fire. But it's a different song in the case where you do actually want to start a fire. I don't know if you've ever wondered about this, but it's a conundrum that frequently occupies my mind.

Maybe this is because we own a wood stove, and we use said wood stove to supplement the electric heat in my house. So, in the chill of the pre-caffeinated pre-dawn, while I am strategically placing dry kindling in a stove optimally designed for the encouragement of fire, and watching one spark after another totally fail to get anything going at all, I think about things.

I think about the way we only burn candles when somebody is watching to make sure they don't somehow tip over and light the counter on fire. I think about the way we keep blankets away from the heat registers and towels away from the space heater in the bathroom. I think about how careful we are with fires built outside, lest they accidentally set dry grass or trees on fire. I think about fire stations and fire engines and firemen, and the huge conflagrations that nobody wanted and somebody has to try to stop.

And then I look again at the fire that has failed to burn, despite kindling and coaxing and blowing and muttering and liberal additions of newspaper, and I wonder about the ironies of life.

Some things are fated. That's the only answer I can come up with, but not the end of the matter at all. Because here's the thing - if I keep on trying, sooner or later I will succeed in lighting a fire in the stove, as long as I've got dry wood and matches and maybe a little bit of paper. I guess my meandering point is that life is like starting fires.

Sometimes, while we are busy working our asses off to accomplish something, that very thing just happens for somebody else. Like magic, it seems. Precious little effort on their part. The right timing of people and events and "poof." Fire. Meanwhile, we've got a little heap of shavings and a string and a stick. Maybe a match or two, if we're lucky. It's hard not to be discouraged in these circumstances. Jealous, even. It's tempting to give up and curl into a ball under the blankets and just be cold and miserable.

Of course, if you do curl up into a ball and lie there, it's very probable that somebody else's magical wonderful fire will turn into a fire storm and blaze right over top of you and burn you to a crisp.

It seems to me that it's best to keep an eye out for random fires heading in your direction, but keep most of your focus on your own little heap of fire and wood and kindling. Maybe refine your fire building skills. Invest in some fire starter. Make some shavings. And maybe even sing a silly song or two while you're at it. I'm not sure why, but it seems to be helpful.

Fire Inside

2011-12-09T12:37:00.000-05:00

Word-Whore Jeffe mentioned Prometheus early this week - the poor guy who dared defy the Greek Gods and who brought fire to humans. Do you suppose he was really strung up as a sacrifice to an eagle simply because he wanted to teach humans how to scramble an egg? (Refresher - he was bound to a rock for all eternity. An eagle comes each day and tears out his liver which subsequently grows back overnight so he can undergo this torture again the following day. That's more than an annoyed God.) No. The issue is that we're not talking about simple fire - the fires with which we cook, or with which we heat our homes. Fire, as it's spoken of in this myth is something much bigger, much greater than a few seared pieces of rabbit or deer meat.

Fire in the metaphysical traditions equates to Will, to the power within each of us to embody Fire. When used consciously and carefully, each of us is capable of channeling Will (or Fire, if you prefer) to shed light on some part of ourselves or our lives. We can use that Fire within to burn away and release those things that no longer serve us. In this aspect Fire equals transformation, the burning away of the old and out dated. It's a controlled burn, clearing space for something new, and laying down a nourishing ash base from which new growth can arise. (There's some discussion in metaphysical circles that this is the original concept of Hellfire - not punishment per se - but transformation.) The problem is that if you get carried away, if the Fire takes you, the focused laser turns into a raging inferno - think of some of the horrifying forest fires that have scarred the US recently. In this aspect, Fire becomes the Destroyer, like Kali or Sekhmet angered by Her people. You burn up everything in your path, including you.

Because Fire is equated with Will, which is the drive within each of us to destroy and to create, it is the element most closely associated with the Divine spark in each of us. THIS, I suspect, is what Prometheus actually stole from the Gods on Olympus. That's the Fire he delivered to humans - that tiny destructive/creative spark that drives us to achieve whatever it is we're each driven to achieve. That's what drove the Greek Gods to sentence Prometheus to an eternity of liver laceration. Not that I'm against the odd explosion or three. Or nicely seared meat or a cooked egg. I just don't think cooking our food made humans competitors to the Gods. But that Divine spark thing? Oh yeah.

(Image Source: http://www.nightingail.com/fractals/g1sekhmet.html

Fire Within Me

2011-12-08T09:00:00.000-05:00

Fire Within Me

by Allison Pang

I had actually intended to write more about hearth-fires and the like, but this is one of my favorite pictures out there, both because it reminds me of one of my characters...and the whole violin fetish I have.

But the picture itself is rather indicative of the whole creation process. I know most of us have been in that place, where an idea or *need* to create something just threatens to consume us until we get it out. And then we type away and the pages just pop out like nothing.

But it seems like such a fine line really - I mean, looking at the picture there - she's playing so hard, her instrument is literally aflame.

Which is both fabulous and awful. On one hand, it's a lovely representation of what it feels like to be driven to create...but on the other hand? What happens when that violin is gone? (Hello, writer burn out?) I think many of us have been there too - sometimes it's probably better to pace yourself. Burning the midnight oil, burning the candle at both ends - so many metaphors warn us of the end result - but there's a difference between rushing to finish something and truly being inspired to do it.

Deadlines not withstanding. *ahem*