Saturday, September 10, 2011

My sick idea of romance

Lies somewhere in this story...

“What about a household accident? You know—Death by Toaster, something like that?” My best friend asked, chewing on the cap of her pen. Her husky voice, barely a whisper, held a hint of laughter. So it had come to this—we had finally resorted to guerilla tactics.

I sat on the black leather sofa that took up most of my living room. A painting of a bridge resembling the one from Beetlejuice hung behind me. Every time I looked at it, I expected to see Michael Keaton staring back at me.

“No, too domestic. I need something fresh.” I stood and walked to the bay windows that covered the wall facing the street. The windows gave me a perfect view of the front yard and the porch swing I’d purchased last week. The cool wind blew what leaves remained on the trees, sending a flurry of red and orange dancing across the lawn. Street lamps illuminated the block, showing an array of family vehicles and children’s toys in every yard but ours. Staring outside usually calmed me down, allowed me to think more clearly. Today it just depressed me.

The clichéd suburban atmosphere leaking from every town house and minivan in the area was one of the reasons we chose the neighborhood. It was common to see the local kids playing a game of street hockey in the evening, bellies full of a home cooked meal, completely oblivious of what lived next door.

Before we moved in, the most nefarious entities to visit the block was the barrage of Girl Scouts who would attack out of nowhere with their sinful Caramel DeLites in tow, promising bliss for the small price of your soul.

As I stared out the window, I could imagine a troupe hiding in the bushes across the street, waiting for the next poor, unsuspecting person to happen by.

Elle’s voice thankfully broke through just as my mind was manifesting a shape in the shadows.

“Okay, let’s see…you can have him accidentally fall down a flight of stairs. Gruesome, but tasteful, you know?” Elle took the pen out of her mouth and made a quick notation in her blue and green spiral notebook.

The notebook she carried was filled with information similar to mine and was separated into sections for each of her husbands. They contained short backgrounds, habitual activities, and pictures from the weddings and honeymoons. Unlike mine, hers also included dossiers on various other men who’d caught her eye. Where I was more spontaneous with my picks, Elle insisted on researching her prey four or five at a time, just to help ensure a successful mission.

“Oh please! That’s never been done before!” I began to pace around the living room, mindful of the cat lounging on the rug. The black and white tabby stretched to reach my legs in a playful movement. She followed as I made my way into the kitchen. Surely a room full of sharp objects would lend some sort of inspiration.

“Well, fuck. You can always use my favorite—Man Killed by Pack of Wild Feral Children. It’s creative, innovative, and appeals to people of all generations.” She flicked her auburn hair and batted her too-long lashes, adding to her innocent appearance.

I lit another cigarette and poured another round of coffee. It was your typical Friday evening at the Reed residence.

Picking up my little pink notebook, I slowly skimmed through the pages. The most important pages of the book held my husbands’ obituaries, each dated a short time after the nuptials. Near the back of the book was the section for my current husband, Marcus Reed. It listed all of the standard information: birthday, parents’ names, siblings, education. Where the obituary should have been, there was one word scrawled across the page: FAILURE. After three months of marriage, Marcus was still amongst the living.

Trying to kill my husband had become a game of sorts. Elle and I would plot for days, perfecting our plans until we were sure of success. Then the unexplainable would happen. For example, the week Marcus and I got back from our honeymoon, Elle and I decided to repeat one of our easier methods of disposing of husbands: we’d sabotage his car. We’d first used this method a few years ago with my second husband, Zane Reynolds.

Zane was a Mechanic. I don’t mean he made a living by fixing vehicles—I mean body and soul he was a Grease throw-back Mechanic. He slicked back his short black hair in true T-Bird fashion and even kept a pack of cigarettes in his rolled-up shirt sleeve. At first it was cute. What woman didn’t want a piece of John Travolta after seeing that movie? And it was fun role-playing as a Pink Lady. Of course that was a few pounds ago, when the sight of me in black leather didn’t blind strangers and send children screaming for refuge.

After a few months, though, it started wearing heavily on my nerves. Zane would throw a bitch fit if I didn’t dress the part when we went out or if we were around his delusional friends. That’s probably why he didn’t last longer than a day after the honeymoon. It was a bit of poetic justice that we had used his beloved car against him. I wanted to do the world a service and take care of the other T-Bird fanatics, but Elle said that would be excessive and draw far too much attention to us. Not doing it is one of my few regrets in this life.

The steps we used to send Zane to the big garage in the sky were repeated meticulously to ensure the same results with Marcus. He always kept his Firebird in the garage, so no one could see Elle and me tinkering in the wee hours of the morning, loosening the bolt attached to the steering column. Imagine my surprise when I awoke to a phone call from Marcus. Apparently he’d taken my Corsica to get the oil changed and wanted me to swap cars at the garage.

“Remember, Jill, the spare key is in the tool chest in the garage.”

So much for that bright idea….

Surely there had to be a fool-proof way to kill my husband, I just wasn’t thinking clearly.

Who was I kidding? There were thousands of ways to take Marcus out of the picture. I was just too chicken shit to go through with any of them. I’d broken the cardinal rule, and had actually fallen in love with my husband. It was purely accidental, of course. Love wasn’t something I was interested in. There was no plausible reason I could think of to waste my time on such a useless emotion.

Now hate, hate was an emotion you could sink your teeth into. Changes have been made because of hate. America became a country because a group of people hated being ruled by someone else. Women clawed their way out of the kitchen because they hated being told they couldn’t do something. Jehovah’s Witnesses don’t come near my neighborhood because they hated being doused with water as I screamed, “The power of Christ compels you!”

My breath escaped in a loud sigh. I took a seat and huddled against the arm of the sofa, hugging my knees to my chest. “My brain is starting to fry. I think we should call it quits for a while. Marcus will be home from poker night any minute.”

Disdain showed itself proudly on Elle’s normally stoic face, causing her ice-blue eyes to shine even brighter. “Do you remember when we used to stay up until four, five o’clock in the morning, brainstorming? It’s only eleven, Jill! Suck it up!” She puffed out her cheeks and squinted her eyes, trying to look put-out but only making herself look constipated.

“We’re not kids anymore. I need my beauty sleep.” I did my best Scarlet O’Hara impression, laying my hand limply across my forehead.

In retort, Elle chucked her lighter at me. “Not yet. I have a surprise for you.”

Interest newly piqued, I slowly let my hand fall away from my face. “If it’s not Gerard Butler wrapped up as the sexiest late Christmas present ever, I’m not interested.”

“Psh. What makes you think I’d give him to you? He’d be my Scottish sex toy. Mmm…Gerry…” Her eyes glassed over for a moment before she shook herself out of the same X-rated day dream she had every time we mentioned His Godhood. “Where was I…that’s right! Know what I found today? The Merry Widow’s Handbook. It was buried at the bottom of my chest underneath the Rainbow Brite collector’s sheets.”

My head snapped up, all thoughts of Marcus and Gerard slipping to the back burner. “Tell me you brought it with you. Dammit, woman. Why are you holding out on me?”

The Merry Widow’s Handbook was Elle and my first attempt at serious writing. Unfortunately neither of us were focused enough to keep it that way. It started off pretty good—methods of reconnaissance, effective ways to guard your heart against love in all its forms, and different manners of avoiding family ties. Then we just got silly. Elle wrote a poem called Ode to a Butcher Knife and I wrote a heart-warming chapter on farewell sex. We decided—nix that, hoped—there weren’t enough sadistic fucks who would want to read it, so it became a creation for us and us alone.

The last time I’d seen it was when Elle had visited me in Chicago almost seven years ago. She told me she had burned it. I don’t blame her for lying; after what I did, I deserved it. I deserved worse. But now was not the time for self-martyrdom. It was a time for celebration.

“No, but I’ll bring it with me to coffee tomorrow.”

And that was the conclusion of the shortest celebration in recorded history.

“Just remember to bring your notebook with you. IHOP, 1:00. Don’t be late.” Elle gave me a peck on the cheek and started the process of gathering her notebook and various other papers. She had a serious problem with organization—loose papers lay sprawled across the floor at her feet, and more were hung out of her notebook. It took her a while to gather it all, dropping pictures and notes as she went, throwing them into whatever free space she could find. I don’t know how she did it. Constantly reordering everything would drive me insane.

By the time she had everything piled together; the headlights from Marcus’ Camaro were shining through the window. Elle gave me one last wink before she was out the door and whistling at my husband.

“It’s about time you got that sweet ass home.” Marcus blushed at Elle’s cat-call. He waved good-bye as he stepped into the house.

Saying he stepped in was a bit of an understatement. At 6’ 2” and 235 lbs, Marcus towered through the doorway. He was a formidable sight. His jet black hair was worn shaggy and was greying at the edges. A former boxer, his body showed signs of age, but not many. His nose was a little crooked from being broken one too many times, adding to the character of his face. Crow’s feet were developing at the corners of his eyes, giving his smile that much more depth.

Though it annoyed me to admit it, he was worth keeping around for so long. Hell, I’d spent most mornings during our marriage limping out of bed, unable to walk let alone kill the man. Maybe that was his plan. Maybe he knew my intentions and was purposefully disabling me with phenomenal sex.

“You know, sometimes I just don’t know about that girlfriend of yours. I think she might be a bad influence on you.” He leaned in front of me, hands resting against the couch, a devilish smirk plastered on his face.

A sound very similar to a giggle escaped my lips. He tended to have that effect on me. “Yeah, you could say that.” I closed my eyes and leaned in to kiss him. My hands reached up to grab the back of his neck, fingers itching to run through the silky smooth curls that lay there. But there was no neck to grab. I opened one eye slowly, then the other, and found the space in front of me unoccupied. As I turned to the left, I caught a glimpse of him disappearing into the hallway that led to the bathroom. The little shit. Leaving me hanging definitely deserved a bullet to a very specific piece of his anatomy.

I leaned back and sighed loudly for the second time in under an hour, staring longingly at where his form had passed. My mind reeled from the emotional switch it had undergone. Going from plotting his death to wanting to rip his clothes off was almost as tiring as the sex would have been.

As sick as it may sound, joking about killing my husband didn’t bother me. The fact that I actually had to do it, though, weighed on my mind. It’s not like I hadn’t known when the vows were spoken last October they wouldn’t be forever. They never were. For me at least.

“Hey, Jill, I ran a bath with those bubbles you like. Hurry up before the water gets cold.” He poked his head out of the bathroom door and wiggled his eyebrows at me.

Oh, so now he wants to get friendly. I see how it is.

As soon as the bathroom door closed, I crept into the kitchen, grabbed a chair, and carried it into the hall. Propping the chair against the door handle, I smiled, hand flying up to my mouth to stifle the building laughter. I skipped into the bedroom and jumped onto the queen-sized bed.

Cuddling up with my pillow, I stared at the door in giddy anticipation. Pushing Marcus’ buttons was an excellent distraction. I couldn’t think about Marcus dying anymore. It made that nasty “l” word wriggle around in my conscious. Pissing him off was much better than crying over him.

Before long I heard the triumphant sound of the door smacking against the chair. A confused, “What the…” quickly followed, and then came the serious banging. Thwack! Thwack! “Jill! What the fuck is going on?” Bang! Bang! “Goddammit, open this door right now!”

It reminded me of the old Batman series. During the fight scenes, you never really saw the violence. You just heard the sounds and saw spinning words on the screen like Kapow! and Zonk! In this episode, instead of battling the Penguin or the Joker, the Caped Crusader was up against a most formidable foe: a kitchen chair. Holy warped oak, Batman! Inside my head I envisioned Marcus wearing a yummy pair of black tights, amplifying his natural…assets. Where, oh where, do you get those wonderful toys?

The image was just too much for me. I curled into a ball under the covers and tried to remain quiet. Small whimpers of laughter escaped, but I didn’t fully succumb until I heard Marcus break free of his prison and storm out the back door, muttering what sounded like, “It’s not like I asked for head.”

He could sleep in the garage for the night. I had a dream-date waiting with a certain actor in a kilt on a very windy day.

Saturday, February 19, 2011

Congrats to Juliana Stone and a contest for Sable Grace's Ascension

You still have the rest of today to enter my contest on Off the Fang (at Bitten by Books, where we have the postests with the mostest! lol wow...that was bad...) for a $20 gift card to the online book seller of your choice. Go here, talk about luuuuurv, and I'll toss your name in the hat.

In other news, big congrats to Juliana Stone for signing on for a new contract!! Her new League of Guardians series will be a spin-off of her Jaguar Warriors series, and I hope the boys make an appearance. : )

To celebrate, Juliana is having a contest for two e-ARCS of Sable Grace's Ascension. Blurbage:

The gates of hell have opened, and one woman will stand in the crossfire as the Dark Breed — vampyre, demons, shape shifters — and mankind fight their last battle for survival.

Kyana is half Vampyre, half Lychen… And the last of her kind. Determined, dangerous, and damned, she has no love for the mortals who have imprisoned and misused her. But when the Order of Ancients entrusts her with a mission — to find the key that will send the Dark Breed back into Hell for eternity — Kyana has no choice but to accept.

She is furious to learn her assignment comes with an escort… Ryker, a demigod and fierce warrior who long ago found a way under her skin and stayed there. In a shaky alliance, they discover an ancient cult with dangerous motive and a god who seeks to destroy all others. And as Kyana begins to feel the heat that threatens to bind her to Ryker, she knows she has to resist. For it could only mean the undoing of them both…

Monday, January 31, 2011

February 1st Releases: My Head Might Explode

It's another massive release day meant to make your broke ass even broker (more broke? meh. I'm not going to worry).

Kate Pearce - Blood of the Rose (The Tudor Vampire Chronicles): When vampire slayer Rosalind Llewellyn had to join forces with her enemy Christopher Ellis to defeat a rogue vampire threatening Henry VIII, their alliance led to a surprising passion. Reunited after a year's separation, they now face a new threat that could destroy their last chance at happiness.

Yasmine Galenorn - Blood Wyne (Sisters of the Moon): The D'Artigo sisters have just turned in their badges to the Otherworld Intelligence Agency. Now that they're free agents they're hoping things will be easier, but when you're half-human, half-Fae, things can go astray at the most inopportune times...especially if you're attempting to go undercover and penetrate the underworld of a vamp society on the brink of war.

Dianne Duvall - Darkness Dawns (Immoral Guardians): Once, Sarah Bingham's biggest challenge was making her students pay attention in class. Now, after rescuing a wounded stranger, she's handed in the middle of a battle between corrupt vampires and powerful immortals who also need blood to survive. Roland Warbrook is the most compelling man Sarah has ever laid hands on. But his desire for her is mingled with a hunger he can barely control...In his nine centuries of immortal existence, no woman has tempted Roland as much as Sarah. But asking her to love him is impossible - when it means forfeiting the world she's always known, and the life he would do anything to protect.

Lauren Oliver - Delirium: Ninety-five days, and then I'll be safe. I wonder whether the procedure will hurt. I want to get it over with. It's hard to be patient. It's hard not to be afraid while I'm still uncured, though so far the deliria hasn't touched me yet. Still, I worry. They say that in the old days, love drove people to madness. The deadliest of all deadly things: It kills you both when you have it and when you don't.

Kimberly Frost - Halfway Hexed (Southern Witch): First, there are the local residents who form a scripture-spouting posse and kidnap Tammy to "defend" Duvall, Texas, against witchcraft. Next, someone saddles her with a secret package chock full of dangerous visions, just as the president of WAM-the World Association of Magic- arrives with his entourage to investigate her. And who worse to examine Tammy's entanglement with off-limits and drop-dead gorgeous wizard Bryn Lyons than his ex-girlfriend? Not to mention that the clash between the locals and the magical visitors leads to a series of unnatural disasters that may doom them all.

While the fate of the town hangs in the balance, one thing's certain: this would-be witch is ready to rumble, Texas style.

Joy Preble - Haunted: Anne Michaelson is trying to forget everything that happened last year. But it's hard to do when her heart aches for Ethan and there's a wild-haired woman stalking her...

Ethan Kosinsky is embracing his newfound mortality. But something is drawing him back to the girl he left behind-back to Anne and back to the magic...

A mysterious stranger is hunting Anne wherever she goes. No one sees her but Anne. When she searches for the woman's identity, Anne exposes secrets about her own life- things that will change her life forever. And when the gorgeous Ethan returns, her life gets a lot more complicated.

Anne thought her journey with the Romanov family had ended, but it was just the beginning...

Ben Aaronovitch - Midnight Riot: Probationary Constable Peter Grant dreams of being a detective in London’s Metropolitan Police. Too bad his superior plans to assign him to the Case Progression Unit, where the biggest threat he’ll face is a paper cut. But Peter’s prospects change in the aftermath of a puzzling murder, when he gains exclusive information from an eyewitness who happens to be a ghost. Peter’s ability to speak with the lingering dead brings him to the attention of Detective Chief Inspector Thomas Nightingale, who investigates crimes involving magic and other manifestations of the uncanny. Now, as a wave of brutal and bizarre murders engulfs the city, Peter is plunged into a world where gods and goddesses mingle with mortals and a long-dead evil is making a comeback on a rising tide of magic.

Sophie Renwick - Mists of Velvet (Annwyn Chronicles): Hidden from mortals, Annwyn, the Otherworld, is home to shapeshifters, wraiths and dragons. Rhys MacDonald, the mortal great-grandson of a banished prince races to Annwyn to offer help when his ancient homeland is threatened by a dangerous Dark Magick. There he encounters a young goddess and shapeshifter, who thinks he is the mate foreseen in her dreams. Bound together by the flames of desire, they discover that destiny-and the Dark Magick- has other plans for them...

Michelle Rowen - Nightshade (Nightshade): Jillian Conrad never believed in vampires-until she was unwillingly injected with a serum that was supposed to act as a deadly poison to them. Now, tormented half-vampire Declan Reese wants her blood to destroy the undead kingdom. Unfortunately, the serum has also made her blood irresistible to all vampires-including Declan, whose desire for Jillian is more than mere hunger.

Anthology - On the Hunt: New York Times bestselling author Gena Showalter, Shannon K. Butcher, Jessica Anderson, and Deidre Knight present a steamy collection of all-new novellas featuring sexy paranormal hunters. With shadowy creatures, intoxicating magic, vivdly imagined worlds, and sizzling passion, this is an anthology no fan of paranormal romance will want to miss.

Anya Bast - Raven's Quest: Branna ta Cattia is the Raven, a high priestess who has come to Numia to defeat its tyrant. It's a journey made on the strength of her prophetic dreams, visions of ancient rituals, sacred spells, and of a handsome stranger destined to help her.

Devyn Quinn - Siren's Surrender (Dark Tides): Never embracing her mermaid heritage, Gwen Lonike lives in the human world as the owner of a Maine B&B. But when the gateway to a lost mermaid kingdom is opened, freeing its dangerous queen, Gwen can no longer hide, nor keep her secret from covert agent Blake Whittaker, who's assigned to trail a strange thread of paranormal activity.

How long can Gwen and her sisters remain safe from a destructive queen, and from Blake's superiors, whose ultimate mission could prove the greatest threat of all?

Ashlyn Chase - The Werewolf Upstairs (Strange Neighbors): Public defender Roz Wells moves into a Boston apartment building filled with odd inhabitants, including shapeshifters, a couple of witches who make a noisy living with their phone sex business, a vampire, a ghost, and other paranormal beings. Roz’s new neighbor, the tall and exquisitely built Konrad Wolfensen, who sports flowing golden locks, is friendly and kind, sympathizing with her over her disappointment in her career choice. He claims to work in security, but they meet up again when he is assigned to her caseload for allegedly lifting a fully loaded commercial freezer, something beyond human capabilities. When Roz and Konrad start a steamy relationship, they decide to try out a series of possible careers, from bartending to jumping out of planes, but something always goes hilariously and catastrophically wrong. Then, when they try to help a neighbor witch and a ghost who is haunting the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, Konrad’s freedom and secrets are put in jeopardy. Readers who like play-by-play sex scenes and don’t worry about plausibility will enjoy Chase’s romp. --Diana Tixier Herald

Rachel Caine - Unseen (Outcast Season): After Cassiel and Warden Luis Rocha rescue an adept child from a maniacal Djinn, they realize two things: the girl is already manifesting an incredible amount of power, and her kidnapping was not an isolated incident.

This Djinn-aided by her devoted followers-is capturing children all over the world, and indoctrinating them so she can use their strength for herself. With no other options, Cassiel infiltrates the Djinn's organization-because if Cassiel cannot stop the Djinn's apocalyptic designs, all of humanity may be destroyed.

Regan Hastings - Visions of Magic (Awakening): In the ten years since magic has reemerged in the world, witches have become feared and hunted. For weeks Shea Jameson has been haunted by visions of fire. When she unintentionally performs a spell in public, she becomes one of the hunted. Her only hope is Torin, a dangerously sensual man who claims to be her eternal mate.

Darynda Jones - First Grave on the Right: Charley sees dead people. That’s right, she sees dead people. And it’s her job to convince them to “go into the light.” But when these very dead people have died under less than ideal circumstances (i.e. murder), sometimes they want Charley to bring the bad guys to justice. Complicating matters are the intensely hot dreams she’s been having about an Entity who has been following her all her life...and it turns out he might not be dead after all. In fact, he might be something else entirely.

Katharine Kerr - License to Ensorcell: Psychic Agent Nola O'Grady isn't sure returning to San Francisco, and living near her unusual family, is a good idea. Her job, with a psychic agency so obscure even the CIA doesn't know it exists, can be perilous, and she's afraid of the relatives getting involved.

Then the Agency saddles her with Israeli secret agent Ari Nathan, and she has a bigger problem on her hands, because tact and compromise are not Ari's strong points. Their mission is to track down a serial killer obsessed with werewolves. He sees them everywhere and shoots whenever he thinks he has one in his sights. Ari assumes the man's psychotic, but in truth he's murdering actual werewolves. Nola should know. Her younger brother Pat, a lycanthrope, was the first victim.

Can Nola's psychic talents and Ari's skill with guns keep them alive long enough to unravel the greater mystery behind the killings? Can they save the werewolves and the world while stopping Nola's family from running headlong into danger?

Thursday, January 13, 2011

The Case for Falling in Love

Today is a day for mass sarcasm. A good friend forwarded information about a new "anti-rules of love" book titled The Case for Falling in Love: Why We Can't Master the Madness of Love - and Why That's the Best Part. I know, quite a mouthful, isn't it? Take a moment and breathe.

The blurb: Are you tired of hearing that men and women come from different planets? Are you sick of the idea that men and women live in separate emotional universes? You’re not the only one.

Following these rules, you "will have lived like a true lover". (Please hold the laughter until the end of the post) Well, being twice divorced by twenty-seven, I should be one of the top candidates for an "anti-rules of love" book, right? Let's see what this book has to offer...

1. Stop trying so hard (I can see this one...after all, I try really hard to force conversation, leave the house to meet people, smile when someone says something nice...no more! If he tells a bad joke, I'm going to go with my gut and stare at him like he suddenly sprouted a talking zit.)

2. Stop being so cautious (Um...if I were an actual reader, I'd have to stop right here. Erecting an electrified fence around your heart is one thing, but you should always be cautious. This is tantamount to okaying the practice of drunkenly bringing men (are you sure he's a he?) home from the bar. I don't think so, Sparky.)

3. Stop analyzing your every move (Okay, this is a good one. Sometimes we women take a conversation and dissect it into teeny tiny sections so we can use a magnifying glass and find the context hidden within the hidden context. Or is that over-analyzing the rule not to over-analyze? Is it too analytical?? Am I breaking an anti-rule by dissecting the anti-rules?? TELL ME, DAMMIT!! TELL ME!!)

Ahem...

4. Stop expecting your guy to act like a caveman (I know, ladies, this one might be hard. There's nothing I like more than being clubbed in the head and dragged back to someone's lair, but if it's a detriment to the relationship, I guess I can give it up. Seriously, though, what does this mean? I expect my guy to not act like a caveman. Am I really that abnormal??)

5. Stop apologizing for being so strong (Again, I'm confused - women do this? I know it doesn't mean physically strong because I haven't seen any reports of angry women ripping the arms off their husbands and beating them with said arms...though it would be funny...but really?? Are we talking mentally strong? Emotionally? Intellectually? Let me put it this way - if you're apologizing for it, YOU AREN'T THAT STRONG. This is a bit of an oxymoron, I believe.)

6. Stop being afraid to have needs and vulnerabilities (Perhaps only the second valid "anti-rule" so far. I was guilty of this just yesterday. I put my needs/vulnerabilities on the back burner to make sure a friend was able to attain his. In the short-term, that's fine, but in the long-term, it will fuck you up.)

7. Stop running after guys THAT don't want you (Had to capitalize THAT because if you're running after a GUY and not an inanimate object or ZOMBIE, it is WHO. Gah. Anyways...running after a guy is fine. Sometimes they need to be clubbed in the head to realize what they want. It's when you catch them, tie them up, and keep them in your basement as a sex slave that things get a bit sketchy.)

8. Stop looking for a guy without issues (Because honey, there aren't any. Period. No snark needed.)

9. Stop manipulating the guy you love (...how does the author think you got him to love you? Being honest? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Moving on...)

10. Stop regretting very (I THINK THEY MEANT EVERY) false step you ever took (I'll give the author a point for this one. Regretting them will do you no good, but remembering them and LEARNING from them? Totally necessary. Sins of the past, and all that jazz.)

11. Stop thinking of loss as a pure loss (...I have no words...)

But wait! That's only eleven! Aren't there twelve?

Why yes. Yes there are. Number twelve? STOP TRYING SO HARD! Yeah...again, I'm going to have to call bullshit on this one. I hate to say it, but you HAVE to try hard in the beginning. I'm not saying be fake and reinvent yourself as something you're not - but you definitely have to put yourself out there and make yourself available. By definition, that's trying, and in this bubbling dating pool of malformed genetic mistakes, it can be VERY, VERY hard to do.

Overall thoughts? If you really wanted to stop trying so hard, you'd quit reading self-help books and get your ass out there. Just my opinion.

Tuesday, September 28, 2010

Book and Jewelry Giveaway at Bitten by Books: Crescendo by Becca Fitzpatrick


Once again, I'm on my ass with some sort of bronchial infection, so I'm going to keep this short but sweet.

Contest:

One grand prize winner will receive:
A handmade gold angel wing and labradorite lariat and a copy of
Crescendo!

Four additional winners will receive:
A copy of
Crescendo!

The contest ends Friday 10/1/2010 at 11:59 pm CDT. Open to US and Canadian entrants.

Crescendo – Available October 19

The sequel to the New York Times Best selling phenomenon, Hush, Hush!

Nora should have know her life was far from perfect. Despite starting a relationship with her guardian angel, Patch (who, title aside, can be described anything but angelic), and surviving an attempt on her life, things are not looking up. Patch is starting to pull away and Nora can’t figure out if it’s for her best interest or if his interest has shifted to her arch-enemy Marcie Millar. Not to mention that Nora is haunted by images of her father and she becomes obsessed with finding out what really happened to him that night he left for Portland and never came home.

The farther Nora delves into the mystery of her father’s death, the more she comes to question if her Nephilim blood line has something to do with it as well as why she seems to be in danger more than the average girl. Since Patch isn’t answering her questions and seems to be standing in her way, she has to start finding the answers on her own. Relying too heavily on the fact that she has a guardian angel puts Nora at risk again and again. But can she really count on Patch or is he hiding secrets darker than she can even imagine?

To enter, go to Bitten by Books here: http://bittenbybooks.com/?p=31078. Go forth and be merry.

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

My heart will never belong to romance

This is the anti-romance rant I was BORN to write. ::snicker:: Okay, so it’s the two divorces, but still.

For the longest time, I refused to read romance novels. They’re more fictitious than the most bizarre paranormal. Why? Because there’s always a happily ever after. I’m sorry, but that’s total bullshit, and this is why.

You meet a guy. In a very short period of time, you fall in love. Quickly thereafter you get pregnant, have the baby, get married. This happens against all odds because he spends time in jail, has an ex who won’t go away, and your parents don’t like him. It’s a true love story because you overcome adversity, have the most beautiful baby boy in the entire world, and buy an amazing house to share your life in.

And that’s where the romance novel ends. Literally and figuratively. Novels don’t generally venture past this point in a relationship because it is at this point reality sets in. You realize you don’t know each other well. You like to stay home, he wants to go out all the time. You hate his friends, he hates yours. He goes out with said friends all the time. But you know the truth. None of his friends where that scent of perfume…

No one wants to read that shit. They don’t want to read how the love is beaten, bruised, and battered until someone stands up and screams ENOUGH!!!!

And that’s where the next romance novel begins. Two lovers, torn apart by adversity, raising a child in separate homes. They still love each other deep down, still dream about making their family a full one, no replacements, just the real deal. Pretty words are spoken. Hope blossoms. But ya know what? It’s still bullshit. You can’t. Change. People. Once a hermit, always a hermit. Once a cheater, always a cheater. Don’t give me this, “I changed for you!” bullshit in real life or novels. It’s cheap. If your characters have a sordid past, they have to change for themselves, not each other. Otherwise, it’s more unbelievable than an angel falling from heaven and falling madly in love with me.