Editors are awesome people.

They have minds that work utterly unlike my own. They notice such pesky details as, "Manhattan doesn't have a 54th Avenue" and "Whatever happened to the glass of iced tea Ellie was carrying around?"

To which I respond airily, "I write my novels in accordance with the Carrell principle of truthiness, truth unencumbered by the facts."

Generally, I am then rewarded with a laugh and an instruction to do a little research and make my book agree with consensual reality. Did I mention that I hate research? Yet I never stint on it. I took a trip to NY when I was writing Guide. I made notes, visited all the locations I intended to use in the book. Clearly I didn't get everything right, though. That's why editors are so great!

I've done the wackiest things in the name of research. There was the great diet experiment and sperm taste-off of '06, for instance. Just recently, I read a study that listed lavender and pumpkin pie as having the greatest effect on penile blood flow in men (40% increase!). So I did what any sane author would do. I went to Sensia and ordered a bottle of each from Demeter. Last night I put on both scents in place of my usual CK Escape. It's a bit strong, so if you repeat my research, use it sparingly. I'm going to log how it affects my man and if it affects random passersby for that matter (although judging 40% penile increase by crotch-staring may earn me a weird reputation). Still I think it's worthwhile. Anything for science.

What's the weirdest thing you've done in the name of research? This question isn't just for writers. Think back to your college days.

Labels: Workshop Wednesday, writing

Ordinarily I don't double post because it makes me feel like a lack-life wanker, but since Bam asked me to do this, I must cooperate.

So here we go.

What is in your refrigerator right now? On your bedroom floor? On your nightstand? In your garbage can?

First, I would like to say this is one fucked up invasive question. Duh, my fridge has food in it, I have kids to feed. Four kinds of juice, two kinds of milk, three kinds of cheese, two bottles of wine, iced tea, a lone Coke, carrots, salad, apples, kiwi, yoghurt, a roast chicken, steamed rice, sushi, butter, flavored butter (one with chipotle, one with Italian herbs), two kinds of jelly, sliced ham, strawberries, and all kinds of condiments. I have nothing on my bedroom floor except a cat. This is subject to change. My nightstand has... my Ipod, a bunch of DVDs, and about a hundred books. No joke, they're piled up three feet high in a single stack. I use the wall to balance it. Not toppling this pile when I am hunting a book is a professional-level skill. My trash? Are you kidding me? Nothing. The maid took it out earlier.

Look at your feet. Describe what you see there.

Bare, short, and sun-reddened. These are a peasant's feet. I don't wear shoes unless I'm forced to.

When you think of your childhood kitchen, what smell does she associate with it? Sauerkraut? Oatmeal cookies? Paint? Why is that smell so resonant for you?

Pickles. Every summer my mom would bring in an assload of cucumbers from the garden and we'd spent forever and a day canning those mofos. I can't get sweet pickles here and I miss them.

You are doing intense spring cleaning. What is easy for you to throw out? What is difficult for you to part with? Why?

Nope. Not happening. My maid comes three days a week and she would be way pissed if I started messing around with her cleaning supplies. The woman does a sterling job and I am not about to rile her by infringing on her territory. However, I do throw out junk mail and food containers. I almost never part with books -- they have to be electrician-sweaty-ass-bad for me to donate them or give them away.

It's Saturday at noon. What are you doing? If you're eating breakfast, what exactly do you eat? If you're stretching out in your backyard to sun, what kind of blanket or towel do you lie on?

I've been woken up by a kid or a cat. It's probably a cat. Nine times out of ten, I will have a mixed Siamese kitten biting my nose and crying piteously because he's lonely. His name is Don Quixote (Don to his friends) and he is way needy. He wakes me three times a night to pet him, wailing his heart out because he needs my attention RIGHT THEN. He's worse than a baby because he can jump in bed with me and nip me. Depending on how tired I am, I either get up to make a big ole country breakfast (pancakes, bacon, scrambled eggs) by 10 or I tell the kids to eat cereal and leave me alone for another hour or two. No sun for me, I'm scared of the skin cancer.

What is one strong memory that has stuck with you from childhood? Why is it so powerful and lasting?

When I was eight, my mom sent me to a neighbor lady with some cookies. I delivered them and then bent down to pet her dog. Big English sheepdog went postal on me and chewed half my face off. The neighbor lady then got a wet dishtowel and SENT ME HOME. I showed up at my front door bleeding all over. My dad was asleep (he worked midnights) and my mom was out with my sister. I wake my dad and he almost shit his pants. He rushed me to the hospital, where it took 32 stitches to sew my face back together. I remember being strapped to the operating table watching them sew my face back together. Needle in and out of skin... they strapped me down because they couldn't anesthetize my face, as it was close to my brain and I was small (or something). So I felt it every time they sewed my face back together. (Yes, I have a fear of needles.)

The worst part of all that? I wound up looking like Bride of Frankenstein with a bunch of black stitches starting at the corner of my eye running down to my upper lip. And the next day, it was square-dancing in gym class. I begged my mom not to make me go but she said I was fine and sent me off to school. See, you had to have a boy partner you for that and the fookin' boys got to pick. Nobody picked me and I had to dance with the gym teacher, Mr. Rawlings. *sniffs* Everyone comfort me now. As to why it's lasting... well, duh!

You are getting ready for a night out. Where are you going? What do you wear? Who will you be with?

Hm. It might be with my whole family, the whole extended family or just my husband. And we're probably going out to dinner, a party, or to the movies. If it's one of the first two, I wear my Liz Claiborne slacks, a sparkly top that shows some boobage, and my favorite perfume, CK Escape. Not big on makeup because I have good skin. For the movies I wear old jeans and one of Andres's shirts cos it's dark, who's gonna see me? (I could run with the JR Ward brand-dropping thing: Then we get in our Infiniti and we roll to Fogon do Brasil and order some Bailey's Irish Creme while checking the time on our matching Piaget watches and wait for our friends to roll up in their Mini...)

There, I'm done. You guys feel closer to me now? Group hug? Anyone?

Labels: fuckin' memes

random link -- Don't get enough Dr. Phil in your life? Need to sound superficially wise but on deeper consideration, make no sense at all? Check this thing out. My favorite quote was, "You don't need shingles to throw a brick at a turtle" but "You don't need orange sherbet to treat yourself to a tasty shake," runs a close second because it sounds like something Dr. Phil would actually say.

*author's note* This thing eventually spat out the following gem: You don't need to think clearly to do the wild thing. *author considers her checkered past* Truer words were never spoken.

random update -- Finished initial edits on Guide. Senior edits came back Sunday night and I'll get started on them tomorrow. As of 2:30 am, I finished my story for the Samhain antho, I DREAM OF DRAGONS. It's called THE TEMPTATION OF TERESA and it rocks. I still have some refining / editing to do, but the core is complete and it is fookin' lovely. As it's not due til Friday I have time to make it shine. (Gogo writing 9K in one day!) I worked up a complete soundtrack for this project, something I usually don't do. I may post it when the story comes out.

random funny pr0n e-mail -- I get the best ones. Last night I deleted one that tickled me: SEXUALLY EXPLICIT - Hardcore lesbians rampage in prehistoric costumes! I swear someone is spamming me these as a joke. First Santa and his secret sluts, now cave-lesbians? Is this a big fantasy?

random endorsement -- Remember the Numa Numa guy? Adorable cherubic kid lip-synching to O-zone? Well, you may not have known the behind the scenes story. Gary Brolsma started mugging for his camera to cheer himself up after his dad's death. (Awww.) Everything snowballed from there. I'm linking him because apparently he has his own garage band in his hometown of Saddle Brook, NJ, and they're kinda good. I'm all for indie artists, so I'm pimping The Nowadays here. I dig the song Motionless, which they recorded in his bedroom (amazing quality!) so I'm gonna buy it.

Final note, Death Cab for Cutie's song I Will Follow You into the Dark owns my ass. It's also Dev and Teresa's theme song from TEMPTATION. Go have a listen. If it doesn't move you, then you're all shriveled up and wrinkly inside. There's no Botox for the soul, beotch.

Labels: Random Tuesday

Okay, I'm not in Seattle but I am rantless. You know how a special story obsesses and consumes you absorbs your intensity, leaving you spent anytime you work on it? Well, I'm writing one of those in real time. 21K in 7 days 5 days! And I am utterly obsessed.

You will be too when you read it.

That means I have no energy to spare for anything else, even ranting.

So the best I can offer are some peeves.

1)Being cut off in traffic. Here in Mexico City, people don't obey traffic signals or drive like they do in the US. If you're patiently waiting for your turn in the left lane, don't assume it will come. People swing around into the middle of the intersection, two and three deep, because why should THEY have to wait their turn?

2)Never finishing the laundry. No matter how diligently I work on it, it will NEVER fucking be done. Because even if I wash every stitch we own, what is resting upon our bodies will always be dirty and be thrown on the floor at the end of the day.

3)Being woken up from a good dream. It never fails, as soon as I hit REM sleep and interesting stuff starts to happen, either a kitten or a kid rattles me awake.

I showed you mine, now you show me yours.

If you didn't find the man of your dreams last week on Hot Prison Pals, don't despair. You can always go to work for Hana Bank in Korea, where they will subsidize your blind dates through a matchmaker service.

"This trip will offer them a chance to easily meet men," said Yang Jae-hyeok in charge of the bank's division offering life services for employees. "As our bank tries to help our employees balance their work and personal lives, we are putting more effort into improving their personal life," Yang said.

Read the full story here.

I round out Odd Friday with my favorite search engine entries that led people to my blog this week. (Man, people Google some weird shit.)

the absurdity of sexuality
I hear you on this one. I mean, have you seen this? The faces people make are pretty damn funny.

little anal annie
Please tell me there's not a porno out with this title, a pedo-spoof of Little Orphan Annie, where she sleeps with Daddy Whorefucks? I'm not even gonna Google it. I'm backing away from this one slowly.

anal annie and the willing husbands
Hey! You're getting a little personal now. While I'm sure the husbands are more than willing, Annie is NOT into anal.

butt plug in the ass
What is it with my butt this week? You can't resist because I told you no? Geez.

harry potter raps "i like big butts"
Forget Equus and the full monty, I would totally pay to see this. You hear that Sir Mix-A-Lot? Daniel Radcliffe is comin' for you! Totally old school. (Do not ask me how this led to my blog. I cannot even hazard a guess).

nepal's pimp
Nepal has an official pimp? Sweet! Now I know where to go to buy boy-whores. I'm guessing it's not the grouchy old bastard who lives next to me, though.

kenneth cole + pimp my ride boots + olives
Okay, I tried but I got nothing. Though I'm familiar with Kenneth Cole, I don't know what 'pimp my ride boots' are. I also don't know what olives have to do with it, but it sounds kind of kinky.

stupid shit to read
*blush* Thank you. I try.

if it's wrong to love you dean
*again, blush* If you're to the loving-me stage, you can call me Annie. If this refers to the dirty Sam / Dean Supernatural slash fan-fic that Mrs. Giggles lists as a guilty pleasure, then yes, it's way wrong (but oh-so fun to read).

sholto + tentacles
I'm sorry, I don't have any LKH fan-fic sex on this blog. You must get your hentai fix somewhere else, my friend.

the dum persons way to make a marx gene
I got nothing. What the hell is a marx gene? I will, however, concur with the searcher's self-assessment.

the king is called 'dude' in the book
King Lear meets The Big Lebowski? It could work!


And that's it for Odd Friday. Have a great weekend, ya'll.

I pleaded illness over at It's Not Chick Porn, so there are no reviews today. However, Bam posted some funny shit, which weirdly dovetails with the story I'm racing to complete in time for a March 2 deadline. Dionne suggested I write something for Samhain's I Dream of Dragons anthology, but I intended to pass because I didn't have a unique idea and I didn't want to do some retro-fantasy thing where woman falls in love with shape-shifted dragon and then finds out he's a dragon. Difficulty ensues (which is quite different than sexin' ensues TM), and then they live HEA.

If you want to know how I thought of it, check the comments on workshop Wednesday where I added my own "genesis" moment. Right now I'm writing a story that may appall conservative readers. I'd like to blame Bam, but I had the idea before she wrote up her "I want to hit Jesus" post, which just proves our minds work scarily alike.

Tomorrow there will be a new chapter posted for Mercy, my fantasy serial. Recently I received an e-mail from a reader who writes: "Really like Mercy! Your serial novels are very addictive!" This one features a heroine in man-drag, a mysterious knight, lots of action and hints of things to come. If you like such things, check it out because, well, it's free, and let's face it, you don't really want to work while you're in the office.

I skipped random tuesday yesterday. How random is that?

Actually I'm feeling poorly. The virus that laid my inlaws out a week or so ago has finally gone Rambo on me. Made chicken soup last night for dinner but it didn't help.

So, uhm, list how you come up with your story ideas, huh? Maybe you'll spark someone else's process. Thanks. I'll try not to die of an ague.

Since I've been reviewing ebooks, both for Bam's site and RRT, something has become clear to me. I said this on Bam's blog in the comments:

The mistake a lot of authors make is putting stuff out that just isn't ready. It either needs a lot more revision or it needs to be scrapped as a practice project. The proliferation of epubs means that just about anything can find a home somewhere, but that doesn't mean it should.

I stand by that comment. I wish epublishers were a little tougher in their criteria, even if it means I get rejected more. I'm not against epublishing, quite the contrary. I love ebooks. In fact, that's what I buy most of because I live in Mexico and I don't have a BN or a Borders nearby anymore. So if I want some fresh reads, I go online.

Epubs offer a chance to stories that are too edgy or too far off the beaten path to have a chance anywhere else. I love the variety. Gems like FINDING HOME by Lauren Baker and Bonnie Dee and NOBODY'S HERO by Diana Bold (I'll be writing a review of this for RRT) simply shine.

However, the main bone I have to pick with the industry as it's developing -- and Mrs. Giggles already touched on this, though her focus was publisher-hopping -- is prolific authors who publish twenty short stories a month. Many belong in an anthology, and some shouldn't be read outside a critique group. As a reader, I don't feel I'm getting my money's worth for $3 / 14 pages.

There's no story. In general it's 2 pages of infodump backstory and twelve pages of boinking. I have nothing against boinking. I love it, but I want an actual story, complete with plot, motivations, conflict, characterization, setting, all the bells and whistles. What remains is porn, if badly written. If it's elegant, then call it erotica. Honestly, though, I don't need to buy wanking material. Literotica has tons of free sex stories and some are just as well written as what certain epubs sell. That's a problem.

Maybe authors will line up to prove me wrong. Maybe there are tons of stories out there that are fully fledged in 14 pages. I just haven't found them.

Labels: SBD

I made a book teaser for Guide. I have no idea if it's any good, though I'm pleased with it. Then again, I just found out I have a thing called "Movie Maker" on my computer tonight. Tell me, book teaser experts, how much does this suck for a first try?


Note: I've been emailed a critique of my teaser, so down it comes while I implement these excellent suggestions. Thank you!

Those wacky Norwegians. This sketch is from a show called Oystein & Meg (Oystein & I) produced by the Norwegian Broadcasting television channel in 2001. Hilarious, so watch it. Yes, it has English subtitles. All computer noobs will ROFL, I swear.

Looking for a man? I can totally hook you up -- and they can't run away either. Check out these prisoners of love, just waiting for you. Did that pique your interest? You can find your soulmate here.

Seriously, I don't mean to sound snarky. My imagination is running wild. Some of those bad boys are looking mighty good, I must say. All they have to do is read, workout and dream about women they can't have. Maybe a mousy, repressed academic type contacts an inmate doing some research, yeah? Turns out he's a hardcase who came from the wrong side of the tracks, but he can't resist our girl. Damn but I love me a rough, tough bastard who talks with his fists to other men but is oh-so gentle with his woman. (For this reason I loved Marv from Sin City.) They fall in love through letters... and then he gets out... (swoon!) I could totally write that.

So Lainey tagged me with a "6-10 weird things about you" meme, and what better way to round out Odd Friday? (In celebration of odd, ya'll should read the "Odd" series by Dean Koontz. I love Odd Thomas.) Anyway. Here are the weirdest things about me.

10) The TV show Sightings did a study on me.
9) A psychic once told me I'm a lightning rod for the paranormal, but she didn't know the half of it. I can tell when I walk into a building whether something otherworldly lives there.
8) I can put my right foot behind my head, but not my left. Only double-jointed one on side?
7) I've been run over by my own car when no one was driving it.
6) I've seen dead people. Dean Koontz is right, they don't speak. At least the ones I've seen haven't.
5) I grew up in a haunted house.
4) It's not safe for me to touch a Ouija board.
3) In 1997, I died for twenty seconds. It didn't take.
2) Once when I called a spirit and asked for proof of its presence, every crystal candle holder in the room shattered.
1) I'm afraid of clowns. The summer after my freshman year in college, I got a job at a service station, intending to be a clerk. They gave me a costume instead and sent me to grand openings to entertain children and pass out balloons. As a clown.

Almost forgot, this is meme stuff is viral, which means I am supposed to tag four people. So Jacqueline, Michele, Cora and Terri, work your weirdness!

Author's note -- I no longer mess with the paranormal. As I have two lovely children, it would be reckless and irresponsible to invite things into our home that I might not be able to banish and that might harm them.

Labels: fuckin' memes

I have a review over on It's Not Chick Porn today, so head on over for some snarky goodness.

Up to page 211 in Guide edits. I never realized you could get sick of a book you've written, but I am way tired of Ash and Ellie. I'm longing to get back to Corine and Chance in Good Touch. I left them hanging when I received the edits. Like a good, conscientious writer, I went straight to work.

Corine, I miss you! Here's a little something to make you miss them too.

If Wishes Were Candy

He sucked in a breath like he had a hole in his chest. "Something I haven't known in a long time, Corine. A little peace." Then he seemed to read my misgivings because he sighed. "Not sex. I'll even sleep in my socks."

An inside joke -- and I heard him laughing at Coupling all over again: no self-respecting woman would ever let a naked man in socks do the squelchy with her. I ached suddenly, missing that shared context, maybe not with Chance. God, I was bad at people coming back into my life. But I wanted it again with someone. Someday.

How that was possible when I lived as I did, I had no idea. I couldn't see myself doing PTA meetings and car pools, cheering at soccer games. What would I talk about at a book club? I imagined myself inadvertently searing my palm over tea while handling a charged object. Maybe my only chance (no pun intended) lay with him or someone like him. Someone who existed on the fringes, who defied probability and made normal folk a bit skittish. Well, I was all over that.

I remembered something he said, years ago. "Sometimes when you meet someone, there's a click. I don't believe in love at first sight but I believe in that click. Recognition." He'd kissed me then and whispered: "Click."

It was supposed to make me feel less alone, grouping us together, but I'd had my fill of the us and them mentality, even if it contained a grain of truth. Recalling that moment, though, I softened toward him. Perhaps fatally.

"Okay," I said, dropping the sheets onto the couch. "You can sleep in my bed."

Once the words were out, I felt like the blonde in every horror movie who hears a noise in the basement and goes to investigate alone. Sometimes you smell the stupid all around you, but you step in it anyway. This was one of those occasions.

"Thank you." He held my look a beat too long, but that was all. No suggestion in it.

I don't know what I'd have done if he gloated or used a pet name. I like to think something appropriately horrible, like handling his underpants and advising him he'd soon be castrated in a gardening accident. To give myself a little distance, I sent him upstairs to rinse off some of the road dirt. I joked about not wanting his grubby butt in my bed, but we both knew it was pretense.

Chance could be made of Teflon for all I know; he never looks less than perfect. While I waited for Senor Alvarez, I puttered around the apartment and tried not to imagine the man lounging in my bathtub. "What kind of place doesn't have a shower?" he shouted.

I glared, though he couldn't see me. "Mine."

If nothing else, Alvarez was prompt. An hour on Mexican time could mean anywhere from sixty minutes to six days. "Buenas noches," he murmured, accepting the key.

"I appreciate this," I said in Spanish. More verbal stroking as I explained the basic bookkeeping system, and we did business in flattery. I came away slippery with it.

If I didn't trust him, though, I'd have no other recourse. The life I've built here doesn't offer backup plans. I have no failsafe because I didn't expect to leave. I bought gewgaws, for God's sake.

Before he left, I paid him a week's wages in advance, a thousand pesos. Sounds like a lot, but in the exchange it averages to a hundred bucks, but he'd make a decent amount in commission. I hated losing even thirty percent of the big sales, but it was better than missing them entirely with a closed shop. Alvarez was a salesman, as well as my buyer, so he'd take good care of the place.

We exchanged pleasantries and I asked him to water my garden on the roof. He said he didn't mind, didn't ask how long I would be gone and excused himself with the queer formality I found endearing. I supposed from his perspective, it didn't matter if I came back. If I didn't, he inherited the shop, as possession is nine-tenths of the law, so maybe he was hoping for natural disasters as he departed; it was beyond me to interpret the thoughts swimming behind his eyes.

His face held a certain impassivity; you see it in all waiters and valets. They might want to jam a knife through your left eye socket, but you'd never know it from their expression. Working retail, I've acquired a similar look myself.

Then there was nothing left for me to do but climb the two flights of stairs to my aerie and face Chance again. I reflected on my idiocy while I did so, unable to believe he'd maneuvered me into letting him sleep in my bed. Part of me tingled and refused to stop; my pussy didn't believe the business about the socks.

"Down, girl," I muttered as I headed for the bedroom.

It wasn't late, but if I knew him, we'd make a start at first light. So I scrubbed my face, moisturized with oil of Olay (yes, I'm that old), and then brushed my teeth. Hesitating for just a moment, I changed into a seldom worn nightgown. The nights are warm here, and I generally sleep alone. You do the math.

Maybe it was cruel, but as my final act in preparing for bed, I touched up the frangipani on my throat.

I found him sitting on the edge of my bed, wearing striped boxers, a white t-shirt, and yes, his socks. The sight made me smile, though not as much as seeing him in my boudoir. What a wonderful word. My room definitely rose to the challenge, done in rose, lavender, and handmade lace. It bordered on brothel burlesque, especially with the balcony overlooking the street where I might show my bosoms to prospective clients.

"All set?"

Nodding, I threw some clothes in a bag while fighting off the memory of other occasions where I'd done exactly that. Chance told me we were leaving and I began to pack, no questions asked. Right up until the last, I would have followed him through fire. In the end, I did that too -- and that was why I had to leave him.

Is that love? It seems like a pale word, too easily tossed about by people who don't know the meaning of it, who twist it for their own ends. I'm afraid of it now, right up there with clowns, close spaces and open flames. On our second date, I had a panic attack when Chance ordered Cherries Jubilee. After that, I felt sure I'd never see him again.

Shows what I know.

As I came around the bed, he shivered visibly. Oh, I knew he was scent-sensitive. More than most people, an aroma carries him back in time, makes him relive the associated memories, feel the emotion of that moment. The way it affects him, I'd call it a weakness, but how could I pass up the opportunity to torment him a little? How heady that I still have the power; I wouldn't have guessed that he was the steadfast sort.

I mean, just look at him. I noticed the glances we attracted when we were together. Someone generous would call me an endomorph, but I'm well-aware I'm round and squat, not sleek and long-limbed like Chance. If I try to wear crop pants, I grow cankles, and there's always a bit of kitsch about me, no matter how hard I try.

In the last year and a half, I gave up on elegance and worked on developing my own style. It generally involves flowered hats, gypsy skirts that show off my rather cute feet and peasant blouses. Luckily these things are readily available here.

He inhaled deeply as I got in bed, his eyes fixed on the decolletage of my undeniably demure gown. Swear I felt the heat of his look tracing the satin trim along my breasts. "You grew a mean streak, Corine."

I recognized his tone. The perfume had been a bad idea, because we were both remembering the last time we'd been together. Christ, the sex was good that night. Looking at his mouth, I began to forget all the reasons why I shouldn't get naked and roll around with him. Determined not to give in, I lay down and pulled the sheet up to my chin.

As if he knew, Chance touched my hair where it spread on the pillow beside him. "Red looks good on you."

"Thanks."

I'd never been a redhead while we were together, and for him, my changing hair acted as a quiet kink. He said it was like making love to a different woman every time. And why was I thinking about that now? Rolling onto my side, I killed the lamp and the room gained the soft luminance of distant streetlights. City noises came to us, cars and conversation.

"Giving me your back?"

"I'm not giving you anything," I said, glancing over my shoulder. Mistake. In the half light, he looked as sad as I've ever seen him.

"Not anymore," he agreed softly.

"Christ. What do you want from me?"

Propped up against the headboard, he smiled then and I saw the silver glimmer of his coin, rolling along his knuckles. "Only what I always wanted. Everything."

Labels: Ebook Thursday

This is gonna be a quick one.

In manuscripts (or real life), what techniques do you use to keep your love scenes hot? Do you like it red-hot and explicit or a little bit of misty romance obfuscating who's doing what? How do you keep your sex from becoming mechanical, tab A to slot B? (trust me, readers can tell the diference)

Post your tips here!

So it's random Tuesday again. I'll try to make very little sense. Luckily that comes easy for me.

random link -- Check this shit out. (Corine, from Good Touch, finds this way useful.) Planning something shady? Need to know what to get that pathological liar in your life? You won't believe me if I try to summarize what this thing does (it even carries a disclaimer!) so just go look for yourselves and then come back. No, seriously. We'll shake our heads in disbelief.

Back? Okay, so if you're ever on the run, you'll know where to look. Then you just need to find a good forger to cook some papers and you're good to go.

When I run away from my life of toil and hardship (snort), look for me as:

Madison Banks
32 Hampton Court Rd
SL4 3GU
SPITAL

Phone: 077 0748 8104
Mother's maiden name: Welch
Birthday: September 27, 1975

MasterCard: 5229 6152 7221 1797
Expires: 2/2009

Pretty sweet, huh? I picked British because I can do the accent and I already speak English. It'd be embarrassing to claim to be French and then have someone find me out because I only know how to say, "Mon crayon est grand" and "Je t'aime". Maybe that combination would get me somewhere if I was a guy, I dunno. So what's your on the lam ID?

random update -- I'm ass-deep in edits for Guide, so I won't be emailing people as much or posting on blogs. It doesn't mean I don't love you. I'm just tied up right now. (No, not literally. I expect that'd be more fun, if done right.) If it's urgent, just put URGENT, answer me, you ass! in the subject header of your email and I'll get back to you right away. Don't jerk me around, though. I swear I have gypsy blood, so I'll hex you. Heartbreak of psoriasis, here you come.

more random updates -- Regarding the blog-data thingie, I'm happy to say I now have three readers in Australia. Woohoo! I also added someone in Shanghai and they love me San Antonio. I've got eleven readers there. (I hope they don't get pissed that I set Good Touch in Laredo instead.) I'm sort of mad at San Antonio, if you want to know the truth. When we drove across country from Indiana to Mexico, we tried to stay the night in San Antonio and they told us the city was full. No shit. We stopped at like six hotels before I finally believed they weren't shitting us. City being full, whoever heard of such a thing? It's okay, I still love you, San Antonio, even if you wouldn't put out. I mean, put us up.

So here's the top three most interesting keyword web searches that brought people to my blog lately: thighboot video (bet he was disappointed), stuffed armadillos (collecting them is actually a hobby, who knew?) and shitty poser art (bet they loved my cover art posts).

still more random shit -- Got this weird pr0n spam email, right? It was called SEXUALLY EXPLICIT: Santa and his secret sluts. I didn't open it, but it got me thinking. Is there a huge market for Santa porn? "We put the ho in Ho ho ho!" Maybe I'm just too innocent for this nasty ole world.

random endorsement -- Saw Blood Diamond tonight. This movie rocked my world. Djimon Hounsou is a rocket and he's heading for super-stardom. Loved him in Constantine. He made Eragon worth watching. Not only is the man smokin' hot, he can act. Christ, in this film he is magnetic. I haven't seen intensity like that since...shit, I don't know when. PS DiC(r)aprio is crap no longer. He's gotten better with age and he's earned the right to share the screen with my new boyfriend. Move over, Samuel L. Jackson. In parting I leave you this. Try not to drool.

Labels: Random Tuesday

It seems to me there's a particular disconnect between what readers want and what publishers are willing to risk. In romance, there's a certain formula and woe betide any author that writes something edgy. You might find yourself rejected by agents / publishers who claim your work "isn't romance-y" enough. What, no burning loins? No heaving breasts? No dewy-eyed soulful looks?

Last time I checked, a romance is about two people falling in love. I'd hate to hear there's a certain formula as to how that must take place: this many hair-flips on her part, that many yawn and stretch moves on his, ten kisses, two instances of oral sex, missionary, femme dominant, and (lately) the obligatory anal scene. Well since when? Why didn't I get the memo? I thought a romance was girl+boy+sparks+sexin' ensues(tm shuzluva pending)+drama/angst+HEA. Beyond that, I thought there was a great deal of latitude.

What about readers who want it a little darker, grittier, and more intense? In my wanderings of the www, I've seen I don't know how many variations on: "I feel like I'm seeing the same story, over and over again." Readers are tired of these vanilla pudding books and adding a menage a trois isn't going to fix it. (Just ask Mrs. Giggles.)

But then we find readers whining about, "I don't want to read about divorcees" and "I don't want to read about women whose past lovers weren't very good in bed". Add to the list virgins, women who have been sexually indiscriminate, people with self-esteem issues... I find myself asking: well, what the hell is left?

This. You want the perfect romance that speaks to you? Buy it. They've got your cowboys and tycoons, and you can even give the heroine your name.

I'll just drive myself crazy wondering what readers want. Half the time I don't even know what I want. Certainly my tastes mature and evolve as I read, so the stuff that once worked for me isn't working any longer. Stuff this nonsense. Ultimately, all I can do is write and hope somebody enjoys it.

Labels: SBD

The new Loser's Waltz chapter is up, and sizzles a bit. Next month I might have to put a disclaimer on it.

If you're not reading it yet, you should be. So check it out and let me know what you think.

This says it all, really. Bon chance, lady. I'll light a candle for your little girl.

Labels: Odd Friday

I was listening to Leonard Cohen last night. If you don't know who he is, listen to The Future. He's a spoken word poet turned musician who has this amazing, gravelly voice that makes my toes curl even though I know he's like 75. That does not, however, stop him from being a total pimp. Somewhere back in the 90s, when he was in his 60's he went on some talk show, maybe Letterman, and arrived with Rebecca DeMornay on his arm. They were engaged, no joke. I don't think they actually got married, she woke up one morning and said, "Dude. He's 65, even if he has the voice. Maybe I better not go there."

Imagine if some old lady was sporting a boytoy on her arm, some 35 years younger. Would we think she was a pimpette or a dirty old lady? I totally want to be as cool as Leonard Cohen, even when I'm old. You ever notice that some people age and others just get old? I really don't want to turn into some old bat that talks about (a) people's gall bladders and (b) my own gall bladder and (c) how many people I know that have died. And then old people wonder why relatives never come see them. I hope somebody has the heart to shoot me if I ever get like that.

This is pertinent because of the cranky old guy who lives next door to me. We live next door to the Consulate of Nepal. Yes, he's actually a government official and he handles the complaints of Nepalese citizens living in Mexico. He's like the embassy, only smaller. There has to be a certain population to support an embassy. Otherwise you get a cranky old dude as your "Consulate."

So I'm totally in an old school vendetta against this guy, even though I didn't actually start it. Apparently the cranky old dude who lived in my house (before I moved in two years ago) put the trash basket too close to his front gate as a mortal insult. (We have high-off-the-ground wrought iron baskets, very decorative, hung on posts, where you put the trash because there are a lot of wild dog packs in the city that roam the street and will get into the bags if you let them.) Since the pole the basket hangs on is rooted in the ground on a cement block, old Mr. Nepal had best get over it because we're not moving it. Our failure to move said basket (even though its lodged in the ground on a cement block!) seems to have sparked Vendetta No 2. Now he bitches at me anytime he catches me outside, sometimes in his drawers, usually regarding what's IN my trash basket. Honestly, I'm not in charge of the trash in my household. My maid takes it out and the garbage guys collect it on a daily basis.

But old Mr. Nepal will come out of his house to bitch because it's not tidy enough. I'm like, "What the hell, it's TRASH. You want a ribbon on it?" Then he will further cheese me off by saying, "Have your girl take care of it." That makes me want to sock him in the jaw because my "girl" is probably fifty and she's a very nice lady who works twice as hard as anyone else I know because her husband is disabled. The lack of respect in his tone makes me want to kick him. So I put out a bunch of really stinky meat the next day since I'm not allowed to go around starting international incidents with the Nepalese Consulate.

This glimpse into my life serves as a segue, believe it or not. See, I put this Google code on my site, and now I know where my readers are. And to my amazement, I have a BUNCH of them. They must lurk because they don't comment, but wow, was I excited. I am international, baby! The keyword is "international." Say it with me, boys and girls.

So here's a shout to my readers, worldwide. Yo, I got people in Tokyo, Seoul, Kampong Bujit Hijau, Aalsmeer, Galway, York, and of course all over the US, Canada and Mexico. What, no love from Australia? Damn. I gotta work harder. So here's the thing, my sweet lurking friends. I want you to say hi, even anonymously cos I'm happy as hell you're here.

PS - If you came here looking for Ebook Thursday, check on Bam's site. I've got a review over there.

Labels: Ebook Thursday, random

My queries rock. I am the Queen of Queries. Between the great agent search '06 and its cousin in '07, I've worked out a formula that I guarantee will receive a request for pages if the actual writing is good. I can't cure bad writing (not that my smart, wonderful readers suffer from it) but there are those folks that my query formula simply cannot assist. Here's the letter I used recently:

Dear Ms. (Name),

I'm looking for a new agent, and I know your agency is highly effective, so I'm offering you a look at my hot new science-fiction romance, FALLING. I haven't queried it widely yet, as the thirty day notice with my former agent completed not too long ago, but two agents are looking at the full at this time. They requested it just a few hours after reading the query and first chapter, available here. This manuscript is complete at 86K words.

RITA-winning author Linnea Sinclair stayed up until 2:30 a.m. to finish this book and said: "FALLING is a top notch SF/SFR winner that Anne Groell of Bantam would love." Linnea also offered to blurb me when it sells and ask Mary Jo Putney, Susan Grant, and Robin Owens whether they have time to read and blurb as well.

Currently I live in Mexico City with my husband and two children. I hold a degree in English Literature with a minor in Humanities. I've been writing for years, and my writing was nominated in 2002 for the RT Best Small Press Romance Award. I have a novel coming out with Loose Id in May and a proposal for a paranormal series under consideration at Juno Books. Now let me tempt you with a little information about this project.

Sirantha Jax is a spoiled nav star, a J-gene carrier. She can hear the beacons calling, and they let her navigate in grim space. As a result, she can have anything she wants from the Corp, and she usually receives it. With the man she loves at her side, her life is golden. Until the disaster on the Sargasso. She's the sole survivor, and she can't give her bosses the answers they need (or want?) regarding what went wrong. Maybe she's paranoid, but when they start whispering she should confess, she takes the first ride off station, though it means giving up the only life she's ever known. Rescue comes in an unlikely form, a brusque, hard-faced man named March with secrets of his own. She doesn't want a pilot bond with him, but amid laser fire and pursuing Gray squads, she has little choice. So they jump for Lachion, a waystation along the Star Road, where she finds out what these unlikely allies want with her. Maybe she was better off in her cell...

The truly unique thing about the manuscript is the juxtaposed roles and an anti-heroine who still manages to be endearing. I hope you're interested in reading more. Thanks for your time, and I look forward to hearing from you.

Best,

Ann Aguirre

Now that you can see what I did, I'll break it down for you. First paragraph should include genre, word count, and hook. (That's the essence of your book, boiled down to 200 characters or less). Another workshop covered being able to pare your hook down like that. Alternatively, if you have some demand for your work establish it, as I did in place of the hook. This makes the agent sit up and say, "Someone else is reading this. It might be better than average" and it pushes your query a little further along the queue. If you have the first chapter on your site, that's also good. An agent is likely to follow a link. Maybe they'll even rummage around your site if they're bored or on hold, so make sure it looks good. If they like what they see, they may skip asking for a partial and request the full manuscript. (And that's how I do it.) I know some authors caution against putting a link in a query, but I don't see there's a downside, provided your website is ready to be viewed professionally. Taken realistically, if they aren't interested enough in your material to click a link, how likely are they to ask for pages? Just ensure the excerpt on site is error free and polished to a high sheen. (Sidenote -- the agent who asked for a full this week also wrote, "And may I say, that you have just about the coolest website I have ever seen. I totally love the look of it." So big props to Deena for making me look good.) Doing this, you can often cut through the partial requests and head straight for fulls, and I'm all for efficiency.

Next, the second paragraph should tell what's special about your novel, any prizes or awards it's won or author endorsements you have. If none, then move straight into your biographical info. It should be short and sweet, related to writing credentials. No padding. If you don't have a lot on your writing resume, do not pad it by talking about your kids and your collection of stuffed armadillos (unless you've written a book about collecting same).

The next paragraph should be the "back cover copy" of the novel. For each book I query, I write a blurb, 250 words or less. This is quite different from a complete synopsis, and this is where most authors go wrong. The agent doesn't need to know the whole story in the query letter. The trick is making her want to read on.

The last paragraph states what's unique about your book, expresses hope for future contact, thanks the agent for his / her time and closes. That's it.

Using this formula, I guarantee you will get some requests for pages. My average is 50%. Final thought, keep the letter lean. 500-600 words is ample. Agents want to know you can self-edit; it gives them hope that your novel will be tight as well. I always e-query, so I go by words. 600 is max. Just checked that query -- it will fit on one page and it's 439 words.

And there you have it. Plug your specifics into this letter and it will work for you. If it doesn't, I'll take a look at your version and fix it. That's a promise.

Labels: Workshop Wednesday

random link -- Do you want to write really bad poetry, but just don't have the time? Are you too busy putting on makeup and fishnets to think up really terrible prose? Well, fret no more! Check this thing out. (The sad bit is that I wrote poems like this in college and wore the makeup / fishnets too. I'm glad I can laugh at myself now, it means I don't mind as much when everyone else does too.)

random update -- No news on agent search '07 yet, but I received another request for a full yesterday. I can't count the number of times I've received "Hi, Ann, this looks great!" from an agent this time around. I'm officially the Queen of Queries. I've graduated from partial requests to fulls, just from my initial query, and I'll show you how to skip that step tomorrow in Workshop Wednesday.

Today's weirdness -- I got a spam e-mail from Chance Crowley, called Thighboot Worship. That wouldn't have been so weird, if my WIP didn't feature a hero named Chance, and if I hadn't just written a chapter last night related to the hermetic practice of magick (ie Aleister Crowley). Weird, no? Uhm. So... 'scuse me while I go all mad author for a minute.

Chance, if you're real (like in Stranger than Fiction) and you're trying to convince me to include some kinky femme dom shit in your life, this is the wrong book, dude. You know perfectly well Corine has issues related to S/D. Now I'm tripping on the idea of narrating a stranger's life...

random endorsement -- I'm really into the Fray. I bought the album How to Save a Life and I'm totally digging it. Like Coldplay, I enjoy every song on the CD. I'm going on record to say, "This is a band to watch in 2007."

Labels: Random Tuesday

As requested, I'm reposting this for Karen. Hope it helps.

Racism In Publishing, How Does It Affect You?

Are you an African American author who's been published for at least one year? If so Karen Scott wants to hear from you.

She's conducting a survey based on the racism within the publishing industry, and whether or not it's as prevalent as some believe. She's looking for black or African American authors who have been published for at least one year.

She would like to know about your specific experiences within the industry thus far. She wants to know how AA authors feel about the current shelving policies, and niche marketing. She wants to know who you feel is to blame for the problems that you face. She also wants your suggestions on how things can be improved upon.

In all, there are twenty questions in the survey, and all that she asks is that people be as honest as possible. Confidentiality is assured if requested, but for the findings to yield more weight, she would request that she be granted permission to directly quote from the answers given by the authors.

She's hoping to poll at least 100 AA authors, in an effort to ensure that a fair representation is achieved.

If enough authors agree to partcipate, (and depending on the findings) the results may well be sent to representatives within media and press. No promises that Oprah will hear about it, but all efforts will be made to get the message out.

If there are AA authors out there interested in participating in this poll, please e-mail Karen at hairylemony @ gmail. com (without the spaces) with the subject header ‘Please send me the survey'.

The deadline for the survey to be completed and returned to Karen is March 1st 2007.

This preempts my regularly scheduled rant because other people have more important things to bitch about. Like this. Next week I might rant about how writing is a waiting game or how subjective it is, but for now, I'll let it rest. I'm damn privileged and I know it. We had a wonderful time this weekend and when I can figure out how to get my pics off the digital camera and into a slideshow, I'll put it up so I can bore my readers just like I had invited you over to view vacation slides. But without the bad coffeecake.

Doctor gives stripper a hand -- literally

NEW YORK (Reuters) - A doctor pleaded guilty on Thursday to stealing a severed hand, which he gave to a stripper who displayed it in her New Jersey apartment.

Ahmed Rashed faces five years probation for stealing the hand in 2002 from a cadaver at a New Jersey medical school, an assistant prosecutor for Middlesex County said on Thursday.

Rashed practices medicine at a hospital in Los Angeles and stole the hand while studying in New Jersey, the prosecutor said.

The woman kept the hand in a jar of formaldehyde in her apartment where it was discovered by police during an unrelated investigation.

Doesn't that just ask all kinds of questions? Why the hell did a stripper want a hand? It has really grisly story possibilities.

I believe the awesome Carrie Lofty answered my question about the sludgy Indian dish I want. I'm pretty sure it was mushroom saag. Mmm. Now I've run down a place called Restaurante Tandoor, but it's in Polanco, which is a fair drive from my house. However, the VDH only sighed a little bit when I said I really want Indian food. He's home with me today because Monday is a national holiday and his family all left the city today for the Superbowl. They go every year, and he figures if nobody else is working, he gets an extra day off too.

He looked at me for a minute. "Today?"

I gave the puppy eyes. "Yeah. Please?"

Since he knows perfectly well what time of the month it is, he put on his happy face. "Right. Today. We'll go today."

I heard the sigh as he went up the stairs. I'll let you know how Indian food fares in Mexico. But it almost has to be today because we're heading out of the city for the weekend and my craving will have past by the time we get back. We're leaving tomorrow morning for Puebla, staying at the gorgeous Camino Real. It was built in 1542 and used to be a convent. It's been gloriously restored and I can't wait to explore. We're taking the kids to the Safari Zoo, located near Puebla, a totally open safari / zoo experience. Me, I'm more excited about the hotel. Check this out.



Simply gorgeous. I've never been to Puebla, so I'm excited about that as well. I understand there's a good amount of handmade silver jewelry, probably from the mines at Taxco.

So that's what I'll be doing this weekend. What about you?

Labels: Odd Friday

There's been an exciting development for Ebook Thursday. I'm working with Bam and will be reviewing an ebook on her site now and then. I read the first book last night and wrote up my review, but I'm not sure when it's going up so keep an eye on her site (like you didn't do that already).

Interesting sidenote. The book I reviewed had m/m sex in addition to straight sex, which I've never really read before. It wasn't something I'd have picked up on my own but I ended up liking it. Not the m/m sex, per se, but the book. And that speaks to something I said on Kate Rothwell's blog last night. (I know, I'm a jackass for quoting myself, but I have a point, I promise!)

I guess I don't understand the mentality of saying you can't "handle" something without ever trying it. If you hate it after you start reading, never buy that author again. But if you never try, you're limiting yourself incredibly and restricting your own experiences in a way I find incomprehensible. Then again, I'm the person who will take the bite somebody offers me, even if it looks gross and I don't know what it is. I fell in love with a sludgy looking Indian dish that way. It's spinach and mushrooms, looks utterly disgusting, like a dark green slime, but it's way tasty.

So that said, I'm going to widen the net regarding the whole "how do you know you don't like it if you've never tried it" thing. I think, at base, human beings are inherently bisexual. (At this point, people are going to come out of the woodwork to tell me that they've never tried jumping off a building but are sure they wouldn't like THAT so the same thing must apply to sexual exploration). Nonetheless, I think before society influences people with preconceived gender roles, human beings instinctively possess the potential to be attracted to either sex.

Why? Well, in prepubescence, it's common for both boys and girls to experience "crushes" on the same sex. Experimentation is common too. Sure, it's hormones to some degree, and they grow out of it, but how much of that stems from truly not wanting to repeat the experience and how much from assimilating that it runs counter to the societal norm? On another site, some smarter poster said she thought human sexuality runs a spectrum, like bi with tendencies toward the male. I think that's probably true and more reasonable than black and white classifications. I also tend to think people who are so frightened and revolted by different possibilities may have some shadowy places in their psyches that they're afraid to delve.

Feel free to disagree with me.

Also, I'm dying for some Indian food. Can anyone remember the name of the sludgy mushroom / spinach dish? I want some and I wouldn't know the name right now to order it, even when I find a restaurant that offers the cuisine. Maybe some of you mad Googlers out there could help me out?

Labels: Ebook Thursday