It’s been tough with the daughter away–and unreachable. We race for the mail and jump anytime the phone rings or beeps, hoping for word from her. The letters we have gotten from basic training are all positive. Wait, she said basic training was fun. Maybe SHE’s the crazy one.

As for me, I’m working, doing the normal housey things and trying to enjoy a little outdoors time in the evening after the baking sun is low on the horizon. Been writing–for a short book, my current project sure is kicking my ass! and also doing a little reading.

I’m on book four of a semi-popular para/sci fi series and have decided I’m not going to read any further. Aside from the Janet Evanovich series, I have never been a series kinda girl and although I tried with this one, and I really do like the characters, I can’t do it. I keep thinking the author is going to make things bigger and badder and weirder and of course the worse case scenerio ALWAYS happens to put the main characters in some kind of mortal danger and of course they get pulled out at the knick of time. While it’s not the same, there’s still a repetition to it. Four’s enough. Plus, there’s a bit of romance here and there that has on more than one occasion left me rolling my eyes, because, again, it’s another extreme.

On my next trip to the bookstore I”ll be trolling for some para/sci-fi’s that aren’t series’d out the yang. One or two works for me. Even if it’s not romance, and my reading appetite has been light on the romance in the last month or two, I still am ready to say goodbye to the characters after a book or two. I’m probably in the minority (aren’t I always?) but that’s my take.

Told you I was crazy.

Eh, who cares, this book is for all those girls, naughty or…not so naughty! Available November 18th (but listed as available now at Amazon.com) you can get into the holiday spirit with this Christmas themed anthology.

For as long as she can remember, Kenna has had dreams of one man whose touch filled her soul and ignited her passions. When her life crumbles right before the holidays, Kenna decides that as a Christmas present to herself, she’s going to finally learn if what she feels is real, or if it’s just a figment of her imagination.

Seth feels the presence of the mystery woman who comes to him in visions and dreams—offering her body and soul to him. He’s spent a lifetime looking for her and tonight he’s going to find her. When he rescues a stranded Kenna, he feels the attraction, but wonders if she’s “the one”.

Stranded by a blizzard in a mountainside cabin, Seth’s and Kenna’s passions ignite. Their hearthside sex leaves them breathless, but the heat they generate isn’t enough to burn the memory of the dream woman from Seth’s mind, or convince Kenna she hadn’t simply imagined the man she knows only in her dreams.

But at Christmas, magical things happen. And sometimes dreams can come to life.

It’s a little nice and a lot naughty and sure to warm those cold, winter evenings…
Check it out online at Amazon.com or at a bookstore near you!!!

This features my Christmas story, WHEN I CLOSE MY EYES, which is an erotic, romantic paranormal story about finding the one who speaks to your heart.

It’ll be available in November, but you can pre-order it NOW!

Yeah, I haven’t crowed much about it for a couple of reasons. Most of us are barely over last Christmas, who’s thinking ahead to next? And I wanted at least a solid, stickable title. Looks like this is it, since it HIT the Amazon page already. Whoo hoo!!!! I won’t be able to stop talking about it once it gets a cover!

I’m wicked thrilled to be in an anthology with two phenomenal authors, Lacey Alexander and Shelby Reed. Santa’s Naughty List is one of those you’ll want to put on YOUR list–to pre-order now, and maybe even buy it for a few friends who want to heat up their cold November nights.

Anyway, I’ll post again when I get a cover. And keep your eyes out at the bookstores and at Amazon. There’s a great Ellora’s Cave/Pocket books anthology hitting the shelves each and every month through this time next year, I believe. Yummy!!!

But, whoo hooo!!!!
I won!

I can’t wait to get it, devour it, then blog a review.

Stay tuned!!!

On a good note, I’ve been able to type in more handwritten stuff, so far I’ve deleted only a teensy tiny bit that was repetitive and I’m almost 1/4 of the way done with this book.

Angie wrote a refreshing post at Romancing the Blog–deviating from all the hoopla that’s going on an any given day in the romance-blog world and talking about why she–and the rest of us–love to read a romance. (It’s not genre specific, so if you have an opinion, stop in and say so!)

Dear Author has a post about E-books that has made me think a lot in the last 24 hours or so. (maybe it was the flu coming on, I dunno), but in a nutshell, it talks about the….concept of e-book branding as a whole and how many share Jane’s way of thinking when she says:

I admit that while there are many e-publishers out there, I mainly identify epublishing with erotic romance.

Hopefully this post will make others aware of some great non-erotic reads at various e-book publishing houses.

I wish my head were clearer so I could easily voice my opinion, but these flu meds really fog the senses. I just think it’s a circle. Erotic is buzzed about, more authors and publishers jump on board, it becomes more popular. Authors talk, realize pushing the limit might help sales, even more erotic goes out. Word gets out menage is the “it” thing, wham, publishers and authors feed the mass’s demands. Supply and demand and all that jazz. Isn’t it similar to the way paranormal became so widely popular and historicals waned? What happened to chick-lit? Not to say I think erotic is gonna go anywhere. I think once you open the bedroom door, you can’t exactly close it. Right now I think the focus [of e-publishers and non-erotic authors] is/should be to educate readers about their non-erotic offerings and break the branding or stereotyping or whatever you want to call it.

Okay, enough medicated babble for one afternoon. I might try a nap.

I was reminded of it today when talking to a co-worker about the meteors we’d witnessed over the weekend. I totally smiled when I remembered Jill and Benny out at the edge of a field staring up at the stars. What else could I do then, but share it with you!

“Where have you been?”
“Out,” I responded, searching Benny’s face. “I had a date. Did I have a curfew?” Was I missing something?
Benny wasn’t normally pacing the floor at quarter after midnight. In my house.

Then I realized something. “Hayley? Is she okay? What’s wrong with her?”

Benny shook his head and turned to look out the window. He wasn’t glad to see me. In fact, now that I stopped to look around I realized that he seemed quite miffed to see me. This did not make me happy.

“Uh, Ben?”

He whirled on me like a hurricane on Florida. “We had a date, Jill. An agreement to meet here at ten to have coffee and then check out the meteors. Or did you forget that in your rush to see Mr. Perfect?”

I was checking out the meteors all right, they hit me like giant flaming balls of guilt. “Benny, I’m so—”

“Can it. You can’t shove your friends aside just because—”

Just twist the knife, Benny. Thanks. “Well, is it too late? I’d love to go. Just let me change.”

He stopped and stared me. And blinked. “Didn’t figure you’d want to, now.” Stony voice, eyes as dark as the night outside. And his temper, obviously.

Someone make up my mind. Any remaining residue of the ego boost of saying “Thanks, but no thanks,” to Isaak had been blown away. Now I was off guard and off balance. I wanted to take my dear friend Benny by the shoulders and shake him.

It was my fault. I’d damn forgotten that I’d said I’d wanted to see the meteors. And I had wanted to go, still did. But I didn’t want him to think I was going on guilt. Nor was I ready to deal with a sulking Ben. Not that he was, but well, I half expected him to start.

“I do want to go. I’m sorry I didn’t get back earlier. It really is my problem, my fault. But let’s not let it ruin our friendship or tonight’s show, okay?” Uh, was that me talking? I turned and dashed to my room before I really said something I’d regret. I’d just talked to him like he was a junior high school nerd asking me out.

I shivered, then shed the black hipster pants and flouncy shirt. I needed my Levi’s for this. And a long sleeve T-shirt. I pulled out the one that said, “Shoot!” across the chest and had a picture of an unwound roll of film on the back. Easy, comfortable. Like second skin.

“Ready!” I announced as I jogged back down the steps.

The living room was empty.

Oh, nice. Not that I was surprised or anything. I deserved it. I did.

“Benny?” I called out. Not very loud. Didn’t want to wake Hayley. Lord knows she’d be on to me the in the morning for this. She protected Benny like he was her Mr. Perfect. Hell, he might be.

So why was it me, not Hayley, that was going out to stare at the heavens and contemplate life?

“Benny?” I checked for his car. Well, hell. It was still there, sitting right behind Hayley’s Volkswagen Bug. I wondered why he didn’t have his pickup. I’d have recognized that. But then again, it hadn’t even registered there was a foreign car in my driveway.

Great. I pushed open the front door. “Benny?”

“It’s starting,” came the voice from the corner of the house, the darkest recess near the lilac bushes.

“Starting?” I stared to see what he was talking about. I couldn’t see so much as a shadow. “Benny?”

“Too much light here, too close to the city. Let’s go out to Grandpa’s. We can go out in the field and get a big-screen kind of view.”

It took me two seconds too long to catch what he was talking about. He grabbed my arm and led me to his car.
The engine purred to life and I heard the telltale click of the locks into place. Excuse me! “Wait!”

He applied the brake and looked over at me.

“I don’t have my camera.” Not that I really expected to set up tripod and everything. Somehow I’d never been very good at those nighttime exposures anyway. Me and the moon shots never worked, so it was likely the stars wouldn’t cooperate either.

“Do you really need it?” Despite his apparent hurry, I couldn’t detect even an ounce of impatience in his voice.
What a guy.

“I guess not.” Ben was my friend. I could do this, even without my security blanket. And Hayley, for whatever her excuse was, didn’t need to worry about Benny in her absence.

The farther we drove the more nervous I got. Why? I wasn’t sure. Must have been the whole coming in late, forgetting thing. Getting tossed off balance. I liked my balance. I’d be okay once I got there and got familiar with my settings.

I had no idea Benny lived so far out. He drove all this way just to come visit Hayley and me? But then again, he was like me. If I found someone worth it, I would.

Ben was worth it. I trusted him immediately—I knew right away that he was one of those “what you see is what you get” type of people. I was damn lucky he popped into my life when he did.

“Where are we going?” I asked as he turned on the exit for the expressway that led out of town.

“To my house.” The low throaty answer stole my breath. Funny, I’d heard Benny mention his grandparents and that he’d lived with them, but never actually pictured Benny as having a house. Well, to the extent that I tried to imagine it or anything. For the first time I really thought about what he was like.

I’d known that’s where we were going, however, I was fishing for the town, street, something. But I didn’t think about it. I already knew it was practically in a different area code. I tried not to think of the fact that Benny would have to drive me home, then drive all the way back. Not that there were many options. I highly doubted cab service would be an alternative.

“So, how was your date?” His voice reached out through the dim yellow light and jolted me back to the here and now.

“Not too bad.” I’d never thought to feel weird talking about my dates to Benny, but somehow all that information seemed to be corked up in my throat.

“Where’d you go?”

I took a deep breath and tried to relax. Somehow, being away from my own house with Benny and without Hayley made it seem more like a date. And you didn’t talk about a date while on one. But I couldn’t ignore him, regardless of this inner war. “Dinner show. The entertainment was better than the company. We had nothing to talk about.”

“Then I must not be good company either. You’re sitting over there in a little cocoon all silent like.” He laughed. “Usually you get home and can’t wait to spit out all the juice of your date. Who was it tonight? Leather skirt, feather boa, maybe rubber catsuit?”

I forced the laugh. “Mr. Leisure Suit actually. He looked good, but acted like a total dweeb.” I had to giggle at the wimpy way Isaak acted when the waitress gave him the wrong meal. The dunce was too chicken to bring it her attention and appalled when I did.

“What am I, by the way?”

“What do you mean, what are you?” My friend, my confidant, one of my anchors to reality. I wasn’t keen on voicing those things.

“What outfit am I? If this were a date, what would you be trying on?”

Here was my cue to crawl under the floor mat. I stalled. “It’s not that easy, Ben, I know you now, so it’s not like you’re any one outfit.”

“So what am I at this moment?”

“Pajamas.”

Ruh-ro, George. My mind talked to me in Astro of the Jetsons style. Kind of how I felt—like this scenario was straight out of a cartoon. I can’t believe I blurted that out.

I saw the little muscle in his jaw flinch. “Pajamas?” he whispered.

“That’s a good thing,” I rushed to tell him. “Honest.”

“Pajamas?” I really wish he’d look at the road and not at me. “Gee. Thanks, Jill.”

Forget hiding beneath the floor mat, just toss me on the highway and let the big trucks roll over me. What was I thinking?

I didn’t know what to say. I opened my mouth to apologize. But when I did, he barked. “Don’t say another word. At least as it stands I can imagine I’m one of those little lacy things rather than a long flannel nightie like Grandma wears.”

My smile threatened to burst forth at that. “Uh, yeah, no long nightgown, okay?”

He flashed a grin so brilliant that I forgot for a moment he was Benny, my friend. He bared his whole fragile soul in his smile.

I took his advice and kept my mouth shut, or at least otherwise occupied. So the radio got cranked and flipped to a place that played Eighties music in the late night hours. We both sang off-key about “Tainted Love” and bragged about being “Born in the USA” until we reached his house. I finally relaxed.

The barn was probably red in the daylight. But now it was giant and almost shapeless. Except the little rectangle of light in the upper window.

“Do you want to come upstairs?” Benny asked as he half loped toward the access door on the main floor.

No. I still hadn’t recovered from “pajamas” and I didn’t really want to see where Benny slept. Friends didn’t need to know that kind of stuff. “I’ll wait out here. It’s beautiful out.”

I stared up at the sky, but the halogen lamp at the curve of the drive and the bright porch lights on the white farmhouse cast a gray haze that prevented me from really seeing much above me.

“I’ll be right back.”

And he was. With a backpack and two blankets. I wondered if Benny and I needed to talk before we did this. But no. I’d already opened mouth and inserted foot once tonight. I didn’t know what he had in mind with the blankets, but I couldn’t see Benny as a crazed rapist. I’d be fine. Just fine.

I followed him up over what looked like a gentle slope…and caught my breath. From that viewpoint it seemed we were standing on the top of a giant hill. Just enough light filtered down this far, plus Benny had flicked on his flashlight. Barely outlined below us I could see the rolling hills and open fields.

“Awesome, isn’t it? You’ll have to see it in October when all the trees down below are changing colors. Or in the winter when it’s all white with snow.”

I shivered.

An arm slipped around my shoulders.

I turned out of it. Friend or not, I wasn’t going there. “So where are these mete— Oh!” A white streak arced above us. My breath caught.

“You want to sit here?”

“Uh, I guess.”

“Or we could go down a bit away from the house.”

I was venturing into the darkness with Benny. This would be interesting to tell Hayley about. I just hoped she didn’t read way too much into it.

He traced an invisible trail down the side of the hill. There ground leveled to a natural plateau. A perfect place for a picnic, or a chance to look up at the falling stars.

Benny had lain back and laced his arms over his head. He smiled up at me as I pushed my hair behind my ears and sat down. I really didn’t want to lay down next to him. That was too much an invitation.
But sitting up was also too much of a neck strain.

“Lay down. That’s why I got the blankets. It’s the best way to do it. Let your body and your mind relax and enjoy.”

He made it sound so simple. But I struggled to stay well in control. Why? my brain, the ever-wise one, asked me. This isn’t one of your “work” dates, it’s Benny!

So I listened. And relaxed.

And fell asleep staring at the white flashes overhead.

The first touch was…like a feather. But I knew it wasn’t. All my blood revved up and started racing around my body, waking it up. My brain was the last to become conscious, and then it was too late. I was being kissed. And damn, I liked it.

Clothes stuck to my body from the heat of the moment and the humid air that blanketed us. I reached up through the darkness and fisted whatever I could find. Thin cotton slid through my fingers until I met with the firm flesh beneath it. I felt him quiver.

Teeth claimed my bottom lip for an instant before his tongue slid between them. Sweet pressure, not demanding, but not asking either. Those meteors I’d been watching overhead were imprinted on the back of my eyelids and now exploded like a fireworks display.

His hand slid over the curve of my hip and onto my waist. God, I needed him to touch me, I needed to feel the warm skin against me. He wasn’t close enough. Couldn’t get close enough. He drove me to the brink with just a kiss.

I never expected Benny to kiss like that.

Oh my God. Benny!

In case you’d like to read Brand Name Dates, you can get it in ebook here, or in print from Amazon or the Cerridwen Press store.

TAMING ELIZA JANE
by Shannon Stacey

When a man sets out to tame a strong-willed woman, he’d best hang on to his hat.
Will Martinson, the town doctor, already has a heap of troubles on his plate, what with a pregnant whore, an ailing friend and a sheriff with a bad habit of shooting people. The last thing he needs is a strong hankering for a woman who think it’s her duty to turn a man’s life upside-down.

Eliza Jane Carter is a woman on a mission. She’s going to improve the lives of the women in Gardiner, Texas before moving on to the next town. But when her finances take a turn for the worse and her chaperone heads for the hills, Eliza Jane is stranded in a town full of riled up menfolk, a gun-happy sheriff and one handsome doctor who makes her question everything she ever believed about the love between a man and a woman.

Taming Eliza Jane, by Shannon Stacey, is now available from Samhain Publishing

Excellent Western Historical. Made me laugh, made me cry. Shan was a little worried about the second part.

I think her reaction was something like… it did what? It was that bad? Er, no, that GOOD.

I hear a lot of clamor for more historicals. If you’re one of those people, who, like me, grew up reading those “bodice rippers” set in centuries past, don’t read any further. Get thee to buy this book. (handy link here) Shannon Stacey hasn’t disappointed me yet, and I’m not just saying that because I’m lucky enough to be her friend. (If she wasn’t my friend, I’d hate her for her talent). She creates characters that are real, flawed, motivated and ones you want to befriend. They remind you of people you know, and deal with real issues. She is a true storyteller. She often told me how much she loved this book, and it shows. Enough of me gabbing, go get it, read it for yourself.

I’m writing this… actiony, guns and…fighting and well, without giving away too much of the story, it’s one of those in which the plot threatens to become some giant, mutant pacman and gobble up all the allocated word count without letting me get in much more than a kiss and hint of the romance to come.

But it never comes.

This has made me think about a couple of things. Don’t mind my rambling or seemingly unconnected thoughts here, I *Am* still on cold meds…

I’ve read for as long as I an remember. As a kid of it was the Black Beauty and Trixie Belden series, but before long I was begging to buy books (I found my parents rarely said no to money for books, bless them) and grabbed every opportunity to visit the library to explore the shelves there. By the time I was 13 or 14, and my best friend was 16, I was reading more and more adult books and less of the YA’s. I was lucky enough to grow up when Harlequin/Silhouette did a YA romance. There was also an abundance of YA historicals, some big thick books I latched onto immediately that were about 60% a young girl growing up in a particular setting and 40% romance–usually with someone other than what her family would have chosen for her. They were rich, fullfilling and even educational. But always very evenly balanced.

During those teen years, my grandmother realized my love of reading. She’s an avid category romance fan, but will read anything romance, really. She was in a circle of ladyfriends who traded off books by the boxful, initialing the inside front cover after they’d read it to avoid duplication. My grandmother would lend me those, and I’d easily spend my summer devouring a few a day, along with some Stephen King, Mary Higgens Clark and others.

What happened there was the molding of a lifelong romance reader.

So why’s it so hard to remember the romance while writing this particular book?
Beats the *bleep* outta me.

Here’s where I go off tangent…There’s all this discussion that started with the Samhain/Kensington print announcement and the expansion of the Ellora’s Cave/Simon & Schuster anthology program. I’m getting all this from Dear Author, so check out this post for links…

It really has less to do with these arrangements/agreements/etc than it does author branding and the concept that each book an author writes is better than the last. Anymore, I call it the big reprint riot. Authors are panicked their “old” books are going to be picked up and put out there for the world to see. I’m really on the fence here, because what can be good for one can be bad for another. In the case of one author, she’s concerned that her new fans–fans of her mainstream romance (hot but not erotic) will suddenly see new paperbacks with her name on them and “assume” they are similar, and wow–they are not. Could this turn off some fans?

Readers aren’t likely to look at the copyright date and recognize that it is an old book.

Says one of the 2 Ja(y)nes of Dear Author. There couldn’t be a truer statement.

The same author above is also concerned that reprints will hit the shelves around the same time as her new books. Will she be…literally…competing with herself for sales? Ouch.

On the other hand, some pretty damn good ebooks are going to hit the shelves and be available to reader who might not have otherwise picked them up. Who’s gonna argue with that?

And here’s the bit that ties this in to the initial part of the post. I don’t know Iris Johansen and cannot confirm whether I’ve read anything of hers. (If I did, it was back in those devour everything I could teenage years when, sadly, I paid more attention to the story than the author.) But to see the statement within the post about this author denying she wrote romance. Gah! They suggest she wouldn’t want her backlist reprinted because she’s completely jumped genres. When she did have something brought back she edited out the romance. OMFG. Give it to me! I need it. My story NEEDS romance.

In a haphazard way, I’ve come to this conclusion. Don’t sign the contract if you think you’ll EVER, EVER regret it. Be proud of your past work, it’s proof you’ve done better. If you’re getting reprinted, embrace it, EDUCATE the fans best you can with contests, newsletters and an online presence–website/blog whatever to try to avoid the confusion for readers on what’s really new and what’s new to them. (In most cases there’s little more you can do)
Above all, embrace the romance. It’s the HEART of the story, even if it’s not the focal point.

Now, back to writing for me. I promise. I’m getting my hero/heroine out of the line of fire (temporarily) and gonna let them fall in love. (then back to the line of fire and let them test their love… of course!)

Note: I *Did* warn you about me and cold meds, remember?

I warned you before, me and the family are POTC nuts and I’ve recently run across several sites with things like interviews and production notes. I’ve devoured them, learning a number of things–little hints and tie ins from the previous two movies and a defnitive answer on how the whole trilogy ends.

In the interview found at Box Office Mojo Ted Elliott makes the following statement:
[warning-the interview contains mucho spoilers, don't read if you haven't seen the film!]

Ted Elliott: A lot of friends of mine who are writers said there were so many plot holes—but it’s still fun. The thing is there are no plot holes but what there isn’t is tell-it-three-times, signposted exposition.

YES!

YES!

YES!

Now, the critics are having a field day calling this movie (and the prior two) complex and messy and all over the map, but that’s not the case at all. I think the critics of this movie are just upset the writers expect them to THINK. Dear god, the horror.

A brilliant movie–and likewise a brilliant book–will have layers of information that will become clearer with each perusal. I want something that will engage my mind–force me to think. I don’t want chapters or wasted screen minutes where the whole backstory or layout is being explained to me in boring detail. I want to discover as I go. I want SHOWING and not TELLING.

As a writer, it’s hard not to want to put it all out there, at times be repetitive to make sure the reader “gets it”. But that can be as destructive as not telling enough. It really does depend on the story, the author and the approach. It’s a balance, really.

I don’t wanna lay too much exposition about it. Please share your thoughts on it!