Saturday, October 30, 2010

Blog Rest Stop. And Story Time!

First, if you haven't already entered into the contest or whatever we're calling it for a free copy of both Shades of Gray and Shades of Desire, time is running out! If you haven't commented on a post by midnight on Halloween/Samhain, you'll have to fight for another time. If you've already received a copy, understand that you've got to share the wealth. And understand that I just wrote a big check for rent, which I 'm not ashamed to admit is more important than buying books.

Second, if you haven't made your way to either or Quackers & Tease, then you've missed the first two stops on my blog tour! There was a stop planned for today, but complications arose, and so we're back here. Tomorrow I'll be at The Bookish Snob, and the final stop will be on Tuesday the 2nd.

But, since we're here--story time! Break out the candy corn or the caramel apples or the pumpkin seeds (I think that last one is a Yankee thing, because just the thought of them weirds me out).

There's a house in New Orleans, on the corner of Royal and Ursulines, that has minimal security. By which I mean there's a padlock on the door. And even though it's come up for sale a time or two, nobody can track down the owner. Interesting, right? It gets better.

At the turn of the previous century, a man named Jacque St. Germaine occupied this house. He was cultured, sophisticated, threw amazing parties, fabulous conversationalist--this guy was the schznitz. He did, however, have a little bad habit. Actually it was more like a big bad habit.

One evening, an, ahem, lady of the evening comes hauling booty into the police station. She informs them that after purchasing her services, St. Germaine attacked her and bit her. Bit her severely enough that she died later that evening in Charity Hospital. The police decide that it might be a good idea to have a little talk with St. Germaine, a longer one than the little touch base they'd had after first finding out about the incident.

Problem. St Germaine done left town. After doing a walkthrough, they seal the place back up--but not before grabbing a few bottles of primo wine. Imagine the cop's surprise later when he pours that wine into a glass, takes a sip, and finds out it's liberally laced with blood. I'd be brushing my teeth for a very long time after that.

Legend says that St. Germaine still pops up in the city now and then. You'll be out on the streets after dark and a well dressed man will approach you, ask you for a light. If you don't have one, his response is usually along the line of "That's too bad. It's a nice night for Jack." People talk about a great feeling of unease when around him. Others have reported stranger, more frightening results of running into this man that may or may not be St. Germaine. Since it's after dark on the Devil's Night, you'll have to do your own research if you want to find out more--I'm a little too superstitious for that kind of talk.

Thus concludes story time. Join me tomorrow at The Bookish Snob for another story and to find out what happens when you throw me on a grill!

And of course--HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

Friday, October 22, 2010

And Now A Personal Message....

I'm going to break form here, what form I have, and talk about completely non-writing stuff. Maybe it's because I'm tired. Or maybe it's because I'm feeling a little out of sorts. Or maybe it's just that it's the right time.

This may get a little maudlin. I'm warning you now.

I've never been a real demonstrative person, at least in the way of emotions. Well, true emotions. It's relatively easy to say "I love you, you big idiot" to a friend or even a work acquaintance. Why? Because it's not real. It is, but it isn't. It's something that just rolls off the tongue, the same way a dirty joke or the latest gossip on the latest scandal does.

I'm not going to analyze why someone who writes emotional scenes is to some extent closed off emotional. This isn't therapy. I think.

There's a guy. I know, I know, it always has to start that way (or with there being a girl, but you get the point). He wasn't supposed to be The Guy. Matter of fact, he wasn't supposed to be any kind of guy, other than off-limits--and not because either one of us were involved with others, but for other reasons. But somehow, someway, we went from being non-involved to being involved.

And then we went from that into the L Word. Which really wasn't supposed to happen. It was supposed to be just sex. On both our parts. And somehow everything got twisted.

Two years later, it's still twisted. I don't know if we can ever get it untwisted or if the twistedness is just part of whatever normalcy we have.

We're so unperfect for each other, it's almost like it was planned. He's Republican; I'm registered Democrat ( I vote however the hell I want, but that's neither here nor there). He reads heavy, dramatic stuff or sci-fi things; I have bookshelves overflowing with Nora Roberts, Laurell K. Hamilton, and other such authors. He drinks beer; I drink vodka. Actually, that last one really doesn't have anything to do with it, but I had to throw it in there.

We are unperfect for each other. And yet, it's perfect. He's the only person that I've ever given serious thought to spending the rest of my life with--I mean, beyond the wedding spend the rest of my life with. He's the only person I've wanted to have kids with. He's The Guy.

If I never saw him again, I'd still never forget what he looks like, or feels like, or tastes like. He's as firmly imprinted in my sense of being as breathing is.

He asked me recently why I've never written anything about him, about us. At the time, I said it was because I really hadn't written a lot of that material ( helps me think--don't judge). That's part of the reason.

The bigger reason is that I can't put into words what I feel for him. I'm pretty sure that I don't do a good job of showing it sometimes, either. Again, I'm just not that demonstrative.

So this is me, putting myself out there. This is me, trying and hopefully succeeding in saying how I feel and what someone means to me. This is me.

Next week, we'll return to our regularly scheduled program.

Tuesday, October 12, 2010


First, the contest is still alive and kicking. I'm probably going to extend it for a week to try and get more entries/participants. Same rules are still in effect--throw your name in the comment section and away you go.

Moving on--I'm not entirely certain what to blog about. My options are by no means limited, I just don't find myself sufficiently intrigued enough by any of them to devote numerous paragraphs to them. So I'll just wander at random and see what happens, hence the title of Potpourri. Although maybe it's more like putanesca. But then again I'm not entirely certain what putanesca is, either. I just like the word.

I both love and loathe it. I love it because I get to read a story I'm interested in (obviously. I wrote the dang thing) but I loathe it because it's monatanous. And it seems to be never-ending. I know it's not and I know it's a necessary evil--but it is evil. Editing is one of those moments where I'm always reminded of the quote/answer to do you like writing--I like having written.

Yes, I'm aware of the strangeness of that subtitle/bullet point, but bear with me. Quite a bit of my reviews are from independent readers. That is, they said they were willing to do reviews and I sent them free copies, usually in PDF (it's cheaper and it's greener, both of which are awesome things). Thanks to the back and forth e-mail, I get and hopefully they get a more in-depth experience. This isn't to say that it's all been hearts and flowers. Is there a negative review? Kind of. Does it bother me? Kind of. Am I questioning their opinion or stating that it's wrong? Nope. Because it's her opinion. She's entitled to it, she paid money for the book. I'm inclined to believe that by neither praising a good review or apologizing for a bad one, I'll be benefited in the end. Why? Because my readers (and I'm vain enough to say that there will be multitudes--hopefully) will be able to comment and discuss without fear or worry that myself or a site moderator will swoop down from the Internet heavens and flog them for daring to have a difference of opinion. So readers--do your thing.

New Design
Finally (because that last paragraph was really long--longer than I meant for it to be), I'll close out by saying--Look! There's new stuff! You can now read the first chapter of both Shades of Gray and Shades of Desire. Awesome, right?
Yeah, I know. It is awesome.

Friday, October 1, 2010

Promotion--Otherwise Known as Talking A Lot

This blog will be short. Why? Because I'm both tired and hungry. I'm tired because I am once again playing substitute manager and I just pulled a close/open. I'm hungry because, well, it's dinner time. And I think I'm entering the carb crashing part of Atkins, but I digress.

First, I'd like to thank all the reviews I've gotten recently. Amber at, Neil Kirby at, and the reviewers from goodreads and Amazon. Slowly but surely the word is being spread. I've just sent out a slew and a half of review requests and I hope to hear back from those soon.

I'm also in the middle of planning a blog tour (which hopefully some of those reviewers will help with). I'll admit, I'd never heard of a blog tour until recently, but as someone with both limited time and limited funds, it's appeal is massive. If things go well, I'll spend the last week of October talking quite a bit. And while I love to talk, I think it's better that it's being done via typing--my boss gets angry when I get laryngitis.

In the spirit of promotion, I will be doing a give-away. Yes, I'm giving things away. One random reader/commenter will receive a copy of Shades of Gray for free. But wait--it gets better. They will also receive a copy of the sequel, Shades of Desire, for free. Two for the price on none. It doesn't really get any better than that. And if it does, you should ask yourself where the catch is, because there probably is one.

Rules are simple. Leave your name in a comment. If you're a fellow author, you can link to your blog or book. The contest (although there really isn't a competition per se, but that's the word that comes to mind) will run from now until October 24. I'll announce the winner on the 25th, and ship the books as soon as I get an address.

Now--let the game begin!