In search of the frog bead

I feel that there should be ominous music with a video of some gorgeous woman in a trench coat sneaking around shadowy doorways when I read my title. It may come to that before it's all over. I am determined to find a frog bead. Why? Well, listen to my story...

In the spring, I will be attending an author's convention. Several of my fellow authors and I share a lovely editor who established a chat loop just for us. It's called the frog's pond. My editor is a frogaholic. Anyway, quite a few of my fellow frogs will be attending the author's convention--some of them traveling astonishing distances to get there--and I wanted to make a little momento for each of them.

Enter the frog bead.

Beading is one of my hobbies so I thought what could be better than making each of them an item using beads? And what could be cooler than using a frog bead in that item? Right? Well, it would be a fine thing if I could actually find one... or two.

I've searched the local craft stores.

I've searched the local bead shops.

I've searched the internet.

I've found fish, leaves, turtles, hearts, flowers...but no frogs. However, I will persevere. I have six months to locate the frog beads and when I find them, you may be sure that I will snap them up to the last bead. Who knows when I'll need a frog bead again? I believe in being prepared.

So while I go off in search for the elusive frog beads, I'll leave you with my episode of the Blog Saga for entertainment.

When last we saw Jonas, Rafe, and Shade, Rinalda had just informed Rafe that she was going to have his baby...

Jonas looked her over with a connoisseur’s eye and snorted. “Not in this lifetime, I bet. Rafe, you’re a feeble-minded jerk if you fall for that one. That’s the oldest trick in the book. Ask her for proof.”

Shade shot him a nervous glance. “Proof? What kind of proof?”

“DNA. Pregnancy test. That kind of proof,” Jonas retorted impatiently. “What kind of place is this, anyway?”

“DNA?” Queen Zahara seized Jonas by his ear and dragged him closer. “Tell me of this D-N-A!” she demanded.

Jonas shrugged. “It’s a way to tell for sure if the baby is really from one of them.” He pointed to Rinalda. “First of course, you have to find out if she’s even pregnant. My money says ‘no’ and I’m usually correct. I think it’s a ploy to get something from you, Queenie. What do you have that she wants?”

Queen Zahara glared at Rinalda in sudden comprehension. “The kingdom! You witch!”

Rinalda grabbed Rafe’s arm and tapped him with the peeler. With a poof of smoke, they vanished.

“Now see what you done,” Zahara snarled. “She’s taken Rafe!”

“I didn’t do anything,” Jonas protested. “I saved your kingdom!”

Zahara looked at him with an arrested expression. “That is true.” She released his ear and circled him, taking in his muscular figure and well endowed package. “Hmmm.” Leaning closer to his neck, she sniffed and then licked his neck. “Mmmm. Yes, I think you just might be the one. I’ve looked a long time for the right one…”

So what does Zahara have in mind for Jonas? Where are Louella and Emmeline? And Where did Rinalda take Rafe? Stay tuned to find out what new territory Kelly explores on Monday at http://www.kkirch.blogspot.com/ and of course if you missed yesterday's episode drop by Amarinda's blog at http://www.amarindajones.blogspot.com/ to catch up! Actually, drop by there and look at the yummy man on the cover of her upcoming book, Last Man Standing. Yes, yes, I know he's too young for me, but he is pretty and that dragon tattoo...

Anny

Contest winner, Word List, and the Were-Tick Story

It's Friday the day I promised a contest winner and the complete list of words submitted for the Scrabble contest. The winner (scientifically decided by husband drawing names from a hat) is Georgie! I'm offering an e-copy of any of my current releases--Dancer's Delight, Traveller's Refuge, or Chrysanthemum. Georgie e-mail me with the title and format you would like!

Word list--in no particular order--a lot of "q" words:
ai, aa, qwerty, onyx, quiz, leeward, knout, mewing, zax, qat, imp, pi, pate, spate, haj, toxic, quetzal, queazy, quartz, muzjik, onomtopoeia, plethora, pukeable, haiku, quark, zenon

If you can't confound your Scrabble competitors with some of those, get back to me. We'll run another contest, maybe.

Yesterday, fool that I am, I undertook to write a story about a were-tick. In case you don't know what a were-tick is, don't feel bad. No one else does either. Of course, that's the beauty of the thing because I get to make up the rules as I go along. Remember earlier this week I wrote about making up rules?

Well, here's where that's going to come in handy. A were is a being who can shapeshift from his animal shape to a human shape. So first of all, I've chosen for my were-tick to be a male whose name is Titus. Titus the tick. That's pretty much how far I've gotten at this point, but never fear, I have the story of Titus the were-tick percolating in the back of my brain. I should have something ready for prime-time by next week. I'll keep you up-to-date.

There is also a rumor going around that I'm probably part-alien, possibly with blue skin and pointy ears and fangs. To this, I plead the fifth. Good thing I live in America, eh? Why do you think I picked here when I beamed down from the mother ship. Imagine, I could have picked somewhere else like Amarinda. Or I could have decided to live all over the place like Kelly, but no-ooo. I settled on the ocean. My flippers are more comfortable in the water, you know?

It does make it difficult to go to the laundromat or shopping, but hey! Nothing much keeps me down. Not even dealing with a blog story that morphs with every episode. Today was Amarinda's turn. I tell you the woman has a fascination with that weird Queen. If you haven't read it yet, hop over there at http://www.amarindajones.blogspot.com/ and see what she's done now. Kelly has a great interview with Silhouette author Michele Hauf at http://www.kkirch.blogspot.com/ so check that out.

Pop in tomorrow to see what new twist I put on the blog saga. Until then,

Anny

No rules, just fun...

Yesterday I talked about world building. There is an important facet of world building that I left out. That is the laws or rules. Without rules you have chaos. All of us know that's the way it works in our everyday world. Its also true for the fantasy world the author creates. There are rules. The author decides what is allowed and what isn't. And once the decisions are made, then the author must stick to the rules.

When there are no rules... well, when there are no rules, you end up with something like our blog saga. Basically, we have two rules. No foul language and no blatant sex. That's because this is a public blog. Other than that, almost anything goes. Our universe is a place where a peeler can accomplish almost anything... where zucchinis explode and multiply... where Emmeline has glowing green laser eyes and Shade and Rafe can't seem to die. Its a place of multiple dimensions, dreams, tv shows, and nymphomaniac Queens. Every day people tune in to find out what new off the wall thing we've dreamed up, but the truth is that the blog is short. No one would want to read an entire book like this. Not even to find out what's in the purple box.

If you didn't read yesterday's episode, I truly recommend that you go to Amarinda's blog at www.amarindajones.blogspot.com and zip through it before you read mine. And then tomorrow of course, make sure you read Kelly's take on it at www.kkirch.blogspot.com and in the meantime you might want to catch the second half of her interview with the smoldering Lord Marcus. Yummmy. Always did love those lordly regency types.

Now that you've caught up with Emmeline, Louella, and the rest, here's what happens next:


Before she had time to answer, Jonas and Sam appeared behind her in a cloud of purple smoke. “Give me the box, Louella,” Jonas demanded advancing on her with determination in his eyes.

Emmeline stepped between Louella and the men, waving her peeler menacingly. “Back away! How dare you approach a woman!”

Jonas sneered at her peeler. “What the hell is that? A kitchen gadget? You’re threatening me with a kitchen gadget?” He threw his head back and howled with laughter.

Sam edged away, shifting so that he was behind Louella. His mama hadn’t raised any stupid boy children. The warrior woman looked quite capable of wiping the forest floor with Jonas and having enough energy left over to take on the rest of the Brotherhood.

Abruptly, Jonas leaned forward and snatched at the peeler. There was a stinky sizzle and a puff of black smoke and then he was gone. All that was left was two steaming sneakers. Sam regarded the warrior woman and her kitchen gadget with utmost respect.

Emmeline glared at him for a moment as though trying to decide if he was dangerous. Then she nodded curtly and motioned for them to follow her. “I see you’ve been raised properly,” she said to Sam. “Always follow three steps behind a woman.”

Sam bobbed his head in agreement. He was determined to stay with Louella as long as she had the purple box, no matter what he had to do. No matter what.

So what will happen next? Will the purple box explode? Will Sam forget to walk three steps behind Louella? Tune in to Kelly's blog tomorrow to find out!

anny

And now, a demonstration of the rules from Traveller's Refuge. In this scene, Wrenna's younger brothers have taken something that doesn't belong to them. Justice must be served especially in the valley where all boys are raised to be warriors with a strict code of ethics. Theft is against that code of ethics.

In the kitchen, Arturo was refereeing a three way conversation between Llynx, Panther and their teacher, Samara McCrory. “The boys brought this item to their calligraphy class with them,” she was explaining to Arturo. “I don’t believe it belongs to them but whether it does or not, it definitely doesn’t belong in my classroom.”

Arturo picked up the object and studied it intently. “It’s a photograph. I recognize Dancer and Traveller.” He shot a stern glance at the boys and inhaled sharply. “It definitely doesn’t belong to either one of you. Where did you get it?”

Panther stared down at his tightly clenched fists resting on the table and remained mute. Llynx scowled mutinously at Samara and muttered, “We found it.”

Undeterred Arturo questioned, “Where did you find it?”

“Around.”

Unknown to the boys, Bishop and Wrenna had been observing the scene from the hallway. Bishop decided to take part in their discussion. “Around—perhaps that would be around Trav’s belongings in our room?”

Vigorously, Llynx shook his head, sending his shiny black braids clinking. “No-oo.” He exchanged looks with Panther and then dropped his head so that the others couldn’t see his face.”

“Let us be clear about this,” Arturo said crisply. “Anytime you lie to get out of trouble, that is worse that the thing you did to get into trouble. Is that not what Mama and Papa have said before?”

Panther ducked his bright auburn head and nodded. “Yeah.”

“So. Where did you get Traveller’s photograph?”

“In Traveller’s pack,” Panther muttered, close to tears.

Bishop pursed his lips in thought. “When you take something that doesn’t belong to you that is theft. What is the penalty for theft here in the valley?” he inquired idly.

The other adults stared at each other in dismay before Samara said quietly, “The judgment seat.”

Now openly crying, both boys jumped from their seats and rushed to Arturo, burrowing against him. “No! Don’t let them take us!” they wailed in genuine fear.

Bishop was astonished. “What’s going on? What is this judgment seat?”

Wrenna shook her head. “When an individual commits a crime, they are bound and taken to the peak of Needle Rock and left there. It is the Judgment Seat. The Valley judges their guilt or innocence. If innocent, their bindings are dissolved and they go free and exonerated. If guilty, they are consumed in a flash of fire. That is not an appropriate punishment for a child.”

“No, of course not!” he declared, appalled at the very idea.

“There must be punishment, however,” Arturo said firmly. Guiding the boys back to their seats with a little nudge on their shoulders, he directed them to sit. “Now! Enough of the caterwauling. Certainly, you will not be taken to the judgment seat but you must make restitution.”

Panther and Llynx scrubbed the tears from their faces with grubby hands and hiccupped.

“Okay,” Panther whispered miserably while Llynx nodded agreement.

“This is my judgment,” Arturo announced. “As your morkert I pronounce this judgment.” His formal tones were solemn and weighty. “You will surrender your chinkas for a period of two eight-days and wear your hair unbound that all may know of your punishment for lying. You will not attend the Mid-Summer Gathering but will sit in the doorway of Wrenna’s pottery so that all may see you and know of your punishment for theft. This is my judgment. Do you stand as witness, Bishop?”

“I stand as witness,” Bishop agreed gravely.

Arturo held out his hand and the boys reluctantly pulled the chinkas from their braids, one by one. Wrenna brought a clear bowl from the cupboard and Arturo deposited the carved white chinkas with a sound that reminded Bishop of glass pebbles. Silently, Arturo waited as they loosened the tight braids and completely unbound their hair. Then he quirked a dark eyebrow and said, “I think I hear your room calling you.” Both boys scrambled from their seats and rushed down the hallway to their room.

When they were gone, Bishop sighed and shakily found a seat. “Okay. Now I have a few questions.”

If you would like to know more check out Traveller's Refuge at http://www.ellorascave.com/productpage.asp?ISBN=9781419910593

The ring of authenticity

I write fantasy romances. That's a minor sub-genre in the vast romance category. There are a few people who believe that fantasy is the least difficult of all writing. After all, you make everything up...right? So your characters can do anything you want them to. Your world can be anything you want. How tough can that be?

I suppose it depends on whether you want the reader to be able to suspend belief or not. That's the ability to become so involved in the story that you "suspend" your belief in reality for the duration of the story. And that my friends requires some heavy duty world building.

I was recently interviewed for an e-zine (electronic magazine) and some of the questions were about the world building in my Mystic Valley series. How did you decide this? Why did you decide that? Those are the answers you come up with before you start writing a fantasy.

Decisions range from clothing and character appearance to culture, government, and monetary systems. What type of housing and furnishings are there? What type of occupations? What do they eat? How sophisticated are the sanitary arrangements? How do they get around?

And how does the author keep track of the details? Every fantasy writer has some type of system to keep track of decisions they've made along the way as they write. Sometimes you hit a point in the story where you have to stop and consider what long range consequences the action will have on the world you've spent so much time building. Then you have to go back through your notes. How will this change what you said back in book one?

The bigger the cast of characters you have, the more details there are to keep track of. My primary family in Mystic Valley, the Llewellyns, have sixteen children, each unique and special in their own way. In the early books, the younger children have cameo spots where they walk onto the stage briefly, but eventually all of them will take center stage, so every single one has to be thought out carefully.

There are villagers, out-valley people, in-laws, out-laws and what I call the incidental people that walk on and off the stage for one short scene. Readers are sharp-eyed. If you use the name Bob for that incidental person in book one, they'll notice if you use Bob in book three--especially if Bob has a different occupation in book three.

What about climate? Does it snow? Rain? Is it hot in the summer?

What about holidays? Religions? Education? All of those have to be accounted for one way or the other. Plants and animals have to be considered. Will the author use familiar animals from earth or will they make new ones up. What will the plants be like?

I had a wonderful time inventing the world of Mystic Valley. I hope you'll have a wonderful time discovering it, too. Just to give you a little taste, I've posted a bit from Dancer's Delight. Enjoy!

The path that led to the village wandered through a new section of woods. Immediately, Dancer knew that he was in a fantasy forest. As they walked along the trail, he took note of the plants, both familiar and strange. Unlike the last stand of trees he’d encountered, most of these were very strange, indeed. There were huge trees with odd dark blue leaves. One lonely tree had smooth, glittery black bark. Back from the path, he saw a pair of trees with orange bark and triangular purple leaves. Occasionally, he spotted pine-like trees with shiny red needles. The undergrowth was a multi-colored riot of prolifically flowering shrubs and a bright blue runner vine. Suddenly, without warning, the path took a sharp jog to the right and they stood at the edge of a thriving village unlike anything he had ever seen.

Circular adobe cottages with smooth, domed adobe roofs were arranged in concentric circles around a cluster of larger square stone buildings. The cottages ranged from small, one circle buildings to a very large compound of multiple joined buildings. Without hesitation, Eppie headed for the compound. Following on her heels, he observed as much as he could, noting the neat yards and gardens enclosed with low stone walls. Some had blue or green birds similar to chickens pecking at the dirt. In a couple of yards, enormous long-haired creatures that vaguely resembled dogs, silently eyed them as they walked by.

On the front steps of the compound, two huge cat-like animals were curled up, sleeping in the sun. The long-haired orange one’s ears twitched as they went by and it opened one green eye before settling back into slumber. The chocolate and cream animal opened both eyes, yawned mightily, revealing a mouth full of sharp teeth and stretched before curling back up and snoring lightly. “Those are Tyger and Llyon’s packits,” Eppie commented briefly before opening the door and entering the cool darkness of a wide foyer.

Dancer merely nodded and followed her inside, completely resigned to the odd and amazing. It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the shadowy hallway, but when they did, he observed a entryway like he had never imagined. A huge exquisite woven tapestry covered the wall on the left. The deep jewel colors shone vividly, even in the dimness. On the right, three unframed landscapes were arranged above a long narrow carved table. There were no artist names on the paintings, but it was obvious the same individual—in a style reminiscent of Goya—had painted them all. Bold bright colors portrayed life in the valley. The table below them had elaborately carved legs and skirt. When he bent over to study it, he saw the carvings were leaves and flowers.

Eppie barely paused before leading him into a larger room with an empty fireplace and a large varied collection of chairs. Standing in the doorway, he stared around in amazement. Every chair was occupied. Near the center of the room, he picked out two people he thought must be her parents. After focusing for a moment, he realized the rest were probably her siblings… and there were a lot of them. Every single male, from the youngest through the eldest, was dressed in the skirt-like garments. Some had on loose over-wrapped shirts, but most were bare-chested. And all of them had their hair neatly arranged in the narrow braids ending with the tiny jeweled clasps.

The man in the center stood and came forward, offering his hand in a gesture that was the first familiar thing Dancer had encountered. They shook hands as the man said, “Welcome. I’m Merlyn, that’s my wife Jade,” he nodded toward a very youthful looking red-head, “and the rest are our children, who I won’t overwhelm you further by introducing.”

“I appreciate that,” Dancer replied dryly.

“Come in and rest,” Jade invited with a lovely smile. “Arturo, please bring tea and wafers. The rest of you may satisfy your curiosity later. I’m sure you all have someplace to be. If not, I’ll be happy to find something for you to do.” In seconds, the room echoed with emptiness as they quietly vanished.

Unable to help himself, Dancer began to laugh. “I’ve never seen a room empty so fast.”

Want to read more? Go to http://www.cerridwenpress.com/productpage.asp?ISBN=9781419909566 to check out Dancer's Delight.

Anny

Don't forget to stop at Amarinda's blog to check out what she's done with Louella, Sam and Jonas...and Emmeline at www.amarindajones.blogspot.com and then pop over to Kelly's blog where she's interviewing one of her characters, Sir Marcus, at www.kkirch.blogspot.com

Winds of Change

Today is our day of rest from the ever-changing saga with Louella, Jonas, and Sam. But don't let that prevent you from stopping by Kelly's blog at http://www.kkirch.blogspot.com/ to see who she quoted this week. And then roll on over to Amarinda's blog to get her take on online job applications at http://www.amarindajones.blogspot.com/


IMPROMPTU CONTEST FOR LABOR DAY! Leave a comment on either of my blogs or on my webpage at www.annycook.com with your favorite legal Scrabble word by midnight EST on Monday. I'll draw a name or two out of the hat and award a couple of prizes. And on Friday this week, I'll post the entire list. Maybe you'll find some new words for your next Scrabble game.




I'm an inveterate, nosy reader. Post an intriguing title and you have me snagged. This is especially true on the internet. This is why I spent time reading a long article on the congress returning to a lot of work.



Returning from where? Ohhhh. It seems that they had a month long vacation (with pay). I don't know about you, but I don't know anyone personally that gets a month long vacation. Actually, most of my acquaintances are lucky to get a three day weekend. The article was all about the difficulties of accomplishing their agendas now that they're back at work. Hmmmm. Maybe they should have skipped the vacation and worked on the agendas instead?



Coincidentally, last night I chatted with my neighbor about politics. This is not a normal conversation for us, but occassionally we get caught up in the ins and out of politics and government. We talked about how things needed to change and how unhappy we were with the way things are going. I said, "We need to fire them all and start over." She agreed, but pointed out that it wasn't likely to happen.



It could.



It would require the desire for change on the part of every voter. And this is how it would work. Don't vote for a party. Vote for the new guy/gal regardless of party. After all, what has the party system accomplished? N-O-T-H-I-N-G! There's a Scrabble word for you.



How long has your Representative or Senator been in Washington, D.C.? F-O-R-E-V-E-R! Well, don't you think it's time to retire him or her? Think about it. Some of our congressmen have been in Washington since before the majority of voters were born. That's right. Think about that.



This election, I don't plan to vote for any incumbent. If we voted out the incumbents every election, then there wouldn't really be any attraction to the office except the will to represent the constituents. Lobbyists would have to work with an entirely new group every election. Fat cat congressmen would have to find a new feeding trough.



Whoever ends up being President would have to work with the Congress instead of wasting our time and money fighting party battles that have nothing to do with governing and everything to do with territory and power.



Of course, everyone would have to vote. Everyone. My friends in Australia are amazed at the way Americans feel about voting. We're sort of wishy-washy about it, aren't we? What if we lost that right? It could happen, you know. Maybe the reason we have fat-cat congressmen is because we're too lazy and apathetic to do anything about it. Maybe.



So here's my challenge. Think about it. Think about how different things would be if we had a mostly new congress along with a new president. And think about what would happen if we actually fired them when they didn't work.



We have that right. They work for us. And if they're doing a lousy job and we continue to let them work for us, then that's our fault. Most of us live in a real world where incompetent workers are fired. I don't know about you but I'm ready for the winds of change.



Anny

Scrabble words...

Scrabble is one of those board games that you either love or hate. If you're good with words, if you are a speller, then Scrabble is the game for you. If you're competitive and think quickly, then Scrabble is the game for you.

There are a host of people who can't spell, hate words in general and are deliberate thinkers. In a weird quirk of fate, they're usually married to the word lovers that can spell anything. And in that case, a Scrabble game between them is a recipe for disaster.

My husband is one of those who struggle to write a complete sentence. Learning disabilities and inadequate schooling before learning difficulties were recognized and remedied resulted in poor writing, spelling, and even reading skills. Now envision, if you will, playing Scrabble with him. For a while it was "What am I supposed to do with a J?" Now, we've worked it out just fine. He plays using the Scrabble dictionary and I play without it. And the odds are about even.

Certain accomodations in life are necessary sometimes. We've been married almost forty years. He has a tendency to ask me the same question twenty times. That, too, is a function of the haywire learning. I've learned to make sure I have his complete focused attention before I provide an answer. Then there's usually a much longer gap before he demands the answer again.

In the meantime, I collect unusual and interesting words both for my writing and for the occassional Scrabble game. After all, you never can tell when you might need an odd word to fill in the corners of life. Such a word completes a space for Sam in todays blog episode. So read on...

Sam silently contemplated the board while he considered the new information. Louella’s dossier indicated she was both telekinetic and telepathic. He suspected there were other talents as well. As for Jonas, the Brotherhood council had plans for him. His wavering loyalty was going to prove extremely useful when he absconded with the purple box.

With a quiet sigh, Sam lined up his tiles. L-U-C-K-Y. Triple word score.

Louella frowned. That wasn’t supposed to happen. She bit her lip as she studied the board. Her left eyelid twitched, distracting her from the opening in the corner. With a triumphant glare she slapped the tiles in place. Z-L-O-T-Y.

Calmly Sam acknowledged her hit. Then without even a flicker, he dropped his tiles in place. T-R-A-I-T-O-R.

Jonas’s shoulders hunched slightly. As he moved around behind Sam, he drew his gun and gently placed it just below Sam’s ear. “Don’t move.”

Keeping very still, Sam willed Jonas to take the bait.

“Louella, get the purple box from the corner. And don’t bother with the innocent act. We’ve known about you from the beginning.”

She flounced over to the corner and seized the box. “Now what, mister macho man?”

“Now we leave. Get your bag.” Jonas snatched the box from her hands, checking to make sure the seals were intact. “Hurry.”

“What are you going to do with Sam?” she demanded sulkily when she returned with her bag. Nothing was working out like she planned.

Jonas laughed. “Good old Sam is going to bite the bullet.”

Don't forget to check Kelly's blog at http://www.kkirch.blogspot.com/ to find out about her new interest. And then go to Amarinda's to find out about her monster vacuum cleaner from hell at http://www.amarindajones.blogspot.com/

Tomorrow is our day of rest, but on Monday Kelly will continue with the perils of Louella, Sam and Jonas. And we may even find out what's in the purple box.

Anny

IMPROMPTU CONTEST FOR LABOR DAY! Leave a comment on either of my blogs or on my webpage at www.annycook.com with your favority legal Scrabble word by midnight EST on Monday. I'll draw a name or two out of the hat and award a couple of prizes.

Do you need a map?

A young lady recently attracted a great deal of attention by flubbing her answer to the following question at a teen pageant: One fifth of Americans can't locate the United States on a map--why do you think that is?

Only one fifth? I would have put it much higher. I read a study one that stated that more than on half of all American college graduates couldn't correctly locate even the general area for our national capitol on a blank map. So what are we teaching in schools and colleges? Perhaps not geography--at least not geography as I learned it back in the "good old days."

The year I was eighteen my husband and I (yes, I know, eighteen is young!) went on a delayed honeymoon. We married in the winter and then went on a road trip to Arizona in the summer. When we were down the road a piece--maybe two hours or so--he was appalled to find out that I'd inadvertantly left our atlas at home. I couldn't quite figure out what the problem was as I am one of those people that you can set down in the desert, turn me around six times and then ask me to point some arbitrary direction and I can... every time. My husband on the other hand is one of those individuals who need a map to get across the street.

Well, with my directions we drove straight to my grandparents house outside of Phoenix without even one detour. I don't think he ever recovered from the stress. Ever since then, I'm the official keeper of the directions, maps, etc. Maybe I should have let us get lost.

Through my years of giving directions, it's been my experience that the average person cannot read a map. Most don't understand the four compass directions. Most don't understand the symbols. And most don't have any idea of how to judge distances. I don't think that this is an inherent problem with most of the population. I think that map basics aren't taught anymore in school because we too busy teaching testing skills. Maybe we're testing the wrong thing. Maybe we should be teaching survival skills--the real map skills of living.

Anyway, I've been asked why on earth I would put maps on my website. The maps are there for those readers who want more information or a clearer picture of where the characters are going, have been, or currently live. Some people just like visual aids. I know I do. Geography in its purest form is the "lay of the land". My maps are designed to convey the lay of the land for Avalon (Flowers of Camelot series) and Mystic Valley. There's even a map of Lost Market, the main village in Mystic Valley.

I like maps. I have a couple that are framed. I have books of old maps. And I have books about maps. They give me a way to connect with the explorers that searched out new lands. Without understanding a map, it's difficult to understand the explorers immense accomplishments. The next time you look at a map, imagine the number of hours that it took to accumulate all the information on that piece of paper. Its a living work of art.

Anny

If you haven't already checked out Kelly interview with Teri Thackston hop right over to http://www.kkirch.blogspot.com/ and of course you'll want to find out what Amarinda is up to with the Louella/Sam saga and find out who hit Amarinda in the face at http://www.amarindajones.blogspot.com/

Reading til the wee hours...

When is the last time you sat up until the wee hours reading? You know what I mean--it's so late you may as well not go to bed?



I finished Swift of Heart at 3:30 AM this morning and I'm still not quite awake. Swift of Heart is a book written by my friend/blog partner, Amarinda Jones under her alter-ego's name of Janet Davies. You're probably wondering what kind of story could keep anyone up until 3:30 AM. Well, I have to admit that it's a pretty unusual premise.



The hero, Mac, shows up after a year long absence with no word to the heroine, Stephanie, and when she demands to know where he's been, he tells her he's been away fighting a war in his home country... in another dimension. Of course, she immediately believes him and all is forgiven--not!



Anyway, I made the mistake of starting this book while I was waiting for Yahoo to get it's act together yesterday afternoon. Janet/Amarinda had a chat scheduled that she was gracious enough to share with a few friends. In case you don't know what this is, author and friends post excerpts from their books and chat about them. Maybe there are some questions and answers from authors or readers. Everyone has a good time. As long as Yahoo is working properly!



Yesterday, however, Yahoo had a meltdown about five minutes before the chat began. No posts showed up. Frantic efforts on the Hostess' part were for naught. So once I posted a few things and waited for Yahoo to fix whatever was wrong, I thought I'll just begin this book and read for a while. Reading time is precious when you're a writer so you grab whatever time you can find to read.



Uh-huh. Never start a good book when you're going to have to keep putting it down... or since this was an e-book, I kept having to switch screens to check on the chat. Then my royalty check came and I had to run out to the bank to deposit it (no it wasn't that big, but every penny counts so rush out and buy one of my books!) Support your local author.



Then I had to stop and feed the ravening beast (my husband). Haven't quite figured out why he insists on eating every evening, but there you are. Some things are cast in stone after forty years.



Back to the chat which was hopping by then as Yahoo suddenly "fixed" whatever was wrong, though I know there were a couple of posts I sent that still hadn't showed up when I signed off at 10:30 PM. That's because our hostess extended the chat so we could still chat and post.



Ah-hah, I thought. Now I'll get to read the book. Nope. Had to deal with a couple of emergencies and a long dog walk.



Midnight. Okay, now I'll get back to Swift of Heart! The computer decided it was time to run a scheduled scan. So I puttered around while that happened. I should have done the dishes, but was too impatient by that time to mess with it.



1:00 AM. Finally, back to the saga of Mac and Stephanie. By this time, I'm determined to find out how they defeat the bad guy and win. Of course, they'll have a happy ever after--that's required, but how will they get there? How many bad guys will they have to defeat? What will it take to convince Stephanie that Mac won't disappear again?



What? You think I'm going to tell you the answers after I sat glued to my computer monitor until the wee hours? Not a chance. I will however tell you where to get your very own copy of Swift of Heart.... http://www.cerridwenpress.com/productpage.asp?ISBN=9781419908255 by Janet Davies from Cerridwen Press. Don't delay as the sequel will be out in September.

Finally satisfied that all was well with Mac and Stephanie, I toddled off to bed. This morning I dragged my sorry ass around the house, yawning and trying to remember what I had to do today. As is my custom, I booted up the computer to check e-mail and stuff. Imagine my complete lack of surprise when I discovered that Yahoo seems to have misplaced several of my chat loops--including the one from yesterday. Guess it wasn't quite fixed, eh?

Well, that's a job for later on when I'm actually awake. In the meantime, go read what Kelly did to my sexy Scrabble story at http://www.kkirch.blogspot.com/ and then stop by Amarinda's blog to read her take on the entire chat to-do at http://www.amarindajones.blogspot.com/

I think I might go take a nap.

Anny

Saga of Louella and Sam

As usual, Amarinda shifted gears and changed the blog in startling ways. Here was her take on it yesterday...

“Oh for heaven sake I cannot watch this Emmeline crap any longer. Fangs, peelers, yellow quills? Turn the television off!” Louella had seen more than enough. “How much longer do I have to be here?” If she had to stay a moment longer Louella knew she was going to puke.

“Until the danger passes.” Sam Patterson watched the woman with interest. She was cranky as hell but deliciously hot to look at.

“It’s been two bum numbing weeks!” Witness protection? Witness boredom more like it.

“Duh, remember your life is in danger.” She was hot but thick…like something else he could think of.

“I’m in danger of being bored to death.”

“Hey I’ve done my best to keep you busy.”

“How? By watching schlock 1960’s television shows about warrior women who carry humming potato peelers and men who don’t know their phallax from their foot?” Louella snorted in disgust.

“You are a hard woman to please.”

“You have no idea” Louella licked her lips and looked at him thoughtfully. “We could have some fun together Sammy.”

“I am not doing that again.” He liked adventure but there were limits even with a beautiful woman.

“Come on you liked it.” Louella remembered vividly how it felt and tasted. She moved towards him

“It made me too hot.” Sam knew he had almost lost control last time and that was not on. He was there to protect this woman.

“But it was worth it.” She placed her hand on his chest. His heart beat wildly. Good to know she was not the only one excited.“Oh yeah but…”“No buts,” Louella slid her hand down his body. “Let’s do it again Sammy boy.”

Sigh. What's a girl to do? Well, I suppose I should give Louella what she wants...

“Oh, all right,” he grumbled. “But I get to go first and you have to make the popcorn this time. Not too much butter, either! It’s bad for my cholesterol!”
“But I like butter!” she pouted.

Ignoring her snit, he went to set up the table and game board. He was pretty sure she was cheating, which was something that always lit his fuse, but he couldn’t figure out how she was doing it. The chances of drawing the j, z, q, and x but not one u or blank six times in a row had to be millions to one. He set the bag of tiles on the game board and went to get a pad of paper and pencil. This time he was going to win!

In the kitchen, Louella pulled the steaming bag from the microwave and ripped it open. Taking a ecstatic breath, she smiled and dumped it in a bowl, sprinkled it with extra garlic salt and grabbed a soda from the refrigerator. Sam was so easy. If he ever found out that she was the premier cheater in the world, he would never play with her again.

She scowled at that depressing thought. Until she was placed in witness protection for squealing on Vinnie the Gun, she had been hard pressed to find anyone to play with. If Sam quit playing with her… maybe she should let him win this time. After all, there was always next time.

Once they were seated, Sam drew his tiles from the bag and set them one at a time on his rack. S… E… X…

So tune in tomorrow to see what bold new direction Miss Kelly takes us in.

Anny

www.amarindajones.blogspot.com for Amarinda's interview with Rita Sable.
www.kkirch.blogspot.com for Kelly's interview with Sexy Seth.

What If?

My sister-in-law and I were discussing science fiction and fantasy versus reality in fiction. She finds that the impossibilities or improbabilities stop the narrative flow for her so she doesn't enjoy the story. I've known quite a few people like that. My daughters prefer non-fiction inspirational material. My second son prefers westerns. Fortunately, my oldest son enjoys playing the what if game. Other wise I would feel totally isolated as their father (and my husband) is the most literal minded man on earth.

Even as a kid, I was always attracted to the fantastic and futuristic. When other kids were reading Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys, I was devouring Tom Swift and Gulliver's Travels. Perhaps that was because I had enough grim reality in my life already. I know that books were my solace through lonely, difficult times. Books don't walk away or reject or make fun of the reader. They're loyal companions, always there when needed.

I used to think that all people were like me, but now I know that there are a lot of people who are uncomfortable with the uncertainty implied in what if. They cling to the concepts and places they are familiar with because the fantastic makes them feel insecure. That's okay. Fortunately in the world of books, there's something for everyone.

My brain is evidently hard-wired for the what ifs in life. Instead of assuming the most logical string of events, my mind hops out there to peer at the most far out what if. I used to fight it in my writing, but finally I conceded that was just the way I am. The book I'm currently working on opens with a small plane flying through a storm. Two possibilities--the plane crashes or it doesn't. But of course in my story, it crashes. Two possibilities--the people die or they survive. Of course they survive. Otherwise there wouldn't be a story. Now what? There my brain took a sideways hop and my characters ended up back in BC with natives throwing rocks at the shiny beast that suddenly appeared in their formerly pristine meadow.

See? That's just the way it is. In the blog I'm writing with Amarinda and Kelly, our readers think I deliberately tossed in a peeler. Not so. That was just a normal brain glitch. It could have easily been a bottle brush or a nail clip. I reached into the grab bag and pulled out a peeler.

The what if gene is both a gift and a curse. It makes it very difficult to write a straight romance. Goodness knows I've tried. Everytime I begin a perfectly normal story line, it jogs off into the brush where I need an off road vehicle to follow along. Witness the plane crash story. What should have been straight forward has gotten lost in the mists of time. Ah, well. The research should be interesting. I learn a lot of new things by playing what if...

Anny

Speaking of jogging off the beaten path... Amarinda has dragged us off into la-la land. Check it out at http://www.amarindajones.blogspot.com/ and if you missed Kelly's set up for this, hurry over to http://www.kkirch.blogspot.com/ and catch up.

I'll leave you with a small peek at Traveller's Refuge:

When Bishop woke, a very old, smallish blue man was leaning over Traveller. He had both hands spread out over him and was slowly moving them along Trav’s body as though he could see through the skin with them. The man noticed that he was awake and nodded to him. “Your friend is badly hurt,” he announced. “I’ve called for help to move him.”

“Who are you?” Bish asked in puzzlement. He had never seen anything like the strange man. His long silver hair, arranged in a multitude of small braids, each finished with a jeweled clasp, pooled around his knees as he knelt next to Trav. When he moved, the clasps clinked together like a delicate wind chime. Bishop squinted in the cave’s dim light, unwilling to accept the hint of fangs and delicately pointed ears he could swear the little man had. His face reminded Bish of a withered apple, except for those bright, twinkling green eyes. They brought to mind bird eyes. The little old man had some sort of cloth wrapped around his lower body and soft leather sandals.

“I am Dai.”

“Uh-huh. And who are you when you’re home, Die?” Bish’s brows rose in query.

“I am Dai. A healer.” He looked directly at Bishop. “Your friend is in need of a healer.” His head came up as he heard people approaching. “Good. Help has arrived and soon your friend will be more comfortable.”

Shoving the blanket away, Bish clambered to his feet. No one was going to move Trav until he talked to somebody that made more sense. Several people appeared on the pathway behind the waterfall shielding the cave, carrying bright light wands and all talking at once. When they saw Bish, the babble stopped abruptly as though cut with a knife.

The oldest man in the group tilted his head to one side, smiled widely revealing definite pointed fangs and said calmly, “Hello, Bishop. Fancy meeting you here.”

Bish knew that voice though he hadn’t heard it in many years. He sat down so suddenly he had bruises on his backside for a week. He shook his head very slowly and then just stared. “Baron.” His eyes grew round with shock as he really looked at him. Baron’s black hair, shot through with silver streaks now, was arranged like the old man’s hair. He wore the same soft skirt-like garment with matching vest and the soft sandals. And in the light of the wands they carried, his skin was indisputably blue. Almost absently, Bishop noted the gently pointed ears, pierced and decorated with multiple gold rings. After a minute, he realized that he was opening and closing his mouth like a goldfish but no sound was coming out. He tried again but it came out as a hoarse croak. “Baron.”

Merlyn came and squatted down next to him, with his arm across his shoulder. “Bish, I’m glad to see you.” He gestured for the others to come closer. “This is part of my family. Llyon. Tyger.” Two tall young men with blinding red hair arranged in tight twists on top of their heads. “Wrenna.” A tiny young woman with locks the color of glorious sunrise streaming down her back. “And two men from our village, Jonas and Mali. And you remember Jade, don’t you?” Yes, he remembered Jade but she looked quite different with her glowing auburn hair bound up in some kind of braided coronet arrangement sprinkled with tiny jewels. He had never seen her when her hair was this neat. And they were all blue…

End of Summer and Episode Thirty Five

Summer is nearly over. Where did it go? It was only yesterday when I was looking forward to warmer days and maybe, just maybe some time at the swimming pool. This last week was the final week the pool was open and guess what? It rained all week. Next week with the beginning of school, the pool will be closed. I bet it's hot all week.

And then it will be open Labor Day weekend. Done. Does anyone else remember when school didn't start until after Labor Day? Am I the only one? And school used to be finished by Memorial Day. Summer was June, July, and August. Now the kids get out of school in late June and go back in August. Early August in some states. What happened to summer?

Soon the shift over to year round school will be complete.

I used to work for a school district so I know the back story of summer. Summer is when the custodial and maintenance staff have time to paint, remodel, repair and all those other things that need to be done to make schools safe and clean places for our kids. If there are never any summer breaks, when will that be done? Floors are stripped and cleaned, sometimes rooms are rearranged or relocated. And there was never enough time to finish all the work.

Well, I wish all of the teachers, staff, and parents good luck this coming year. Summer is over.

Anny

It's my turn for the Emmeline saga, so here's episode thirty-five. Enjoy!

There was a low booming roar followed by a tremendous explosion in the Galactic Dimension Port. As the dust settled, Reginald bellowed, “Emmeline, where the hell are you?”

Rinalda peered at the pilot’s desk. “Rafe and Shade are gone, too. What happened?”

Floyd straightened up and pointed at the picture revealed through the huge hole in the wall. “That’s what happened! Queen Zahara’s been playing with the Universal Remote Buttons again!” he stalked over to the hole and glared at the queen. “You idiot! What have you done with them?”
* * * * *

Emmeline writhed helplessly in the soft gelbed as Shade moved around the small dimly lit cell, soft whistling through his teeth. Rafe sat in the control room monitoring the perimeters for unwanted visitors while he intently studied Emmeline’s peeler. At last, there would be no more waiting. The bonding was assured.

When all was ready, Shade joined Emmeline on the gelbed, cuddling her in his strong arms against his broad chest. The golden quills running down her spine rippled wantonly beneath the gentle caress of his hands.

She brushed her mouth over the hard contours of his chest, licking and nibbling at the flesh, savouring the delicious scent of chocolate that oozed from his pores. Yes! This was what she needed and wanted!

Holding her close, Shade rolled with her until she was sprawled on top of him skin to skin with her soft green quills cushioning his scaly phallax. She moaned. He groaned. The barbs on her quills pierced his phallax.

With a final bellow of pain, Shade fainted.

As you know, Amarinda is out of town, but she'll be back tomorrow at http://www.amarindajones.blogspot.com and if you missed yesterday's episode introducing Queen Zahara, go right over there for a squizz.

Today Kelly is posting an excerpt from my book Chrysanthemum on her blog. Trot right over to http://www.kkirch.blogspot.com for a look-see.

Heart of the Storm

The the past few weeks, the lead stories in the news have been about the weather. No rain. Too much rain. Cold. Record heat. Hurricanes. Tornadoes. Stormy, stormy weather. In Baltimore, it's been rainy/cloudy for a week now. Last night when I walked the dog it was misting, barely there rain, closer to heavy fog.

I thought about how that mist was like most difficulties in life--barely there--so that we hardly notice them as we go through our day. Not quite enough money, a small headache, a cantankerous child, a scorched dinner. It's only when the accumulation of water drops is so great that it interferes with life that we really take notice.

Then there are the times that we encounter the huge raging storms, when the thunder and lightning and downpours and wind deafen us to the friends and family around us. In the heart of the storm we are positive that we're alone, that we're the only one out there in the crash and blast of life. It's only after the roof collapses, the great tree falls, the house blows away that we understand that we were all together in the storm.

Sometimes we are the survivors, the unlikely ones who escape against all the odds and crawl battered from the wreckage, amazed that we're still alive and uncertain of the future. How will we go on? Other times we're the rescuers and comforters, the ones who offer a helping hand and a warm embrace. We're the encouragers who urge the survivors on with our listening hearts because we know they must talk first before they can heal.

Across the land, we have friends and family who are in the heart of the storm whether literally, physcially, or emotionally. Trouble is on every side. Overwhelming lose and destruction are facing them. Will we stand aside? Or will we offer a helping hand? Will we embrace them with an attentive heart, holding them until they can stand again on their own? In our hurry, scurry lives do we understand that none of us are immune to the storms in life?

It takes only moments for life to change, for disaster to strike. In my life I have rarely had warning before trouble came crashing through the door. Today life is good. Tomorrow that may not be the case. Tomorrow I may find myself in the heart of the storm.

Anny

Amarinda has Emmeline today at http://www.amarindajones.blogspot.com and if you missed it yesterday it's at Kelly's at http://www.kkirch.blogspot.com

Moving on

I just returned from walking the dog. While out meandering around at the end of her leash as she sniffed her way down the street and back, I noted several moving trucks, including one in the parking lot for my building. It is the twenty-third of the month. Not the first which is traditional moving weekend so I tried to figure out why anyone would be moving on the twenty-third. Then it hit me. No one wants to move on a holiday--Labor Day is coming up--and of course rental moving trucks will be at a premium.

Moving is something I know about as I have moved over forty times in my lifetime. I have lived in six states. Now I know that military people are moved around like chess pieces, but my parents weren't military and neither is my husband, so that was not a viable reason for relocating as often as some people change their underwear.

All but three of those moves were the "self-serve" type of move. You know the one I mean. You, the mover, scrounge the dumpsters behind grocery stores and liquor stores looking for clean, sturdy boxes. And then you beg, borrow and steal newspapers from all your neighbors to wrap up your worldly goods when you pack. When you run out of boxes, you use large plastic trash bags.

On the "day" all of your nearest and dearest--friends and relatives--gather around to carry out your belongings amidst much muttering and cursing--depending on the religious persuasion of your nearest and dearest. Hours later when you are installed in your new digs (which just means that the bed is set up and there's toilet paper in the bathroom) you provide the standard payment of pizza and the beverage of choice. Everyone eventually goes home, leaving you with the monumental task of unpacking which usually takes a few months.

Now if you happen to have professional packers and movers for your move, things are a bit different. No one tells you that you should go through your dwelling like a dose of salts and get rid of everything you don't want to take with you. Unlike when you self move, there is NO opportunity to sort and toss. One morning bright and early, the packers show up with boxes, tape, and paper. They begin at the front door, packing the nearest thing at hand and just move around the wall until they get to the next door.

You say you didn't want your pictures packed with the TV remote and that stack of outdated magazines? Toooooo bad. Should have had them all together before the packers arrived. You didn't want your garbage packed with the dishes? Ah, well, you should have made sure it was carried outside before they showed up. The damp towels you used after your quick shower this morning? They're going to smell wonderful after three weeks in storage. Trust me on this. I've been there.

Depending on the moving company some packers empty your dresser drawers by dumping them into a box. Some tape the drawers shut. Some pack your glassware with enough tissue to paper a stadium. Some just separate the layers of glasses with a thick mat of paper and then line them up. One mover asked me what I considered the most valuable possessions and those were packed like they were going on a space oddysey.

After experiencing long distance moving with professional movers, we learned to pack up and move our own computers and smaller fragile belongings. There is nothing like experience to get the message.

I want to say here that I truly admire and respect professional packers. In a matter of hours, they arrive, pack, label, and prepare all of your household goods for the movers. Movers are a separate group of people. And packing a moving truck is a true art. They fit furniture, boxes, and odd shaped belongings such as bicycles and patio furniture in a truck with the finesse of solving an intricate puzzle.

I have moved in the muggy heat of summer and I've moved in the middle of an ice storm. As far as I can tell, there isn't a good time to move. Twice I've moved across the country with only a city as my destination, not knowing until I arrived where my family would live. Once we spent four weeks in a hotel with four kids in the winter, waiting for paperwork to be finished so we could eventually move into a permanent place.

I'm sure that everyone reading this has at least one horror story about moving. And yet, as a nation, we continue to relocate with astonishing frequency. Or maybe, it isn't so amazing after all. Our forefathers all were movers. Deep down, it's part of our heritage. Otherwise, we would live in some other part of the world generation after generation.

My ancestors arrived in Maryland in the 1600s and proceeded to relocate every single generation to the newest frontier. That made for interesting research problems when I was working on the family history. So I guess it's in our blood--this urge to pack up and move on.

Anny

Kelly has of course put a new twist on the Emmeline saga at http://www.kkirch.blogspot.com after all my work to pull it back from the edge. Tomorrow Amarinda will no doubt turn it on its side again at http://www.amarindajones.blogspot.com leaving me to straighten it all out once again. Sigh. Being the oldest elder is a tough job, but somebody has to do it.

Writing around the block and Episode Thirty-Two

For some time now, I've been struggling with my current work in progress. It's sort of like wading through quick sand. I've almost reached the point where I would like to throw it against a wall. Of course, when your manuscript is on a computer hard drive, that's a bit difficult. Can't afford a new computer at the moment.

So the next best thing is to move on to something else for a while. I have the first chapter of a time travel story. That might be something to drag me out of my funk. Or I could work on the next Mystic Valley story. I left Bishop working with the woolies (a species of sheep) and I'm sure he would like to get out of the barn. My friend wants me to write a story for Nanny Anny, a character from Honeysuckle. That would liven things up a bit.

As you can see, the block isn't about a lack of story ideas. It could be that there are too many stories churning around in my tiny mind. Too many stories with not enough time or energy to write them down. Actually, time probably isn't the correct word. Probably I should have used impetus or drive. Yep, that's it. I'm not driven to write. I'm plodding along and I hate plodding.

Look at that. I never knew that about myself before. I knew I wasn't a plotter, but never thought about also not being a plodder. Huh. Of course that would explain why I enjoy writing the Crazy Blog so much. There's no time for introspection...no time to worry over plot points and whether this or that turn of events is realistic. It's just a matter of sitting down and writing, hoping that your crazy entry somehow makes sense with the crazy entries before.

It may just be that I slacked off from my self imposed deadlines. That's the very worst about working for yourself alone at home. No one's looking over your shoulder telling you to get cracking and quit screwing around with the plot. No one is tapping their watch and asking where the next chapter is???

Well, I must get back to the story and finish the next chapter. Perhaps I'll reward myself. When I finish the chapter, I'll have a Tim Tam with a cup of coffee and then go work on Bishop's problems. The Tim Tam alone would be worth it, but I have some possibilities churning in my brain. Bishop is so in trouble. Yep, that's what I'll do.

In the meantime, Amarinda and Kelly left me in the lurch, what with their blue pens and double phallax's and Wardoverian Ambassadors! What to do? Well, I think I turned things around quite neatly. See what you think:

Emmeline leaned back against the pillows and thought furiously. Obviously, she had little time to rectify the approaching collision of forces. Too many dimensions to juggle. Too little time to set it right. Wearily, she stood and surveyed the room sadly. This didn’t seem to be a bad place to retire, but she had work to do. With a snap of her fingers, she disappeared. It was the work of mere seconds to blink in and out of the kitchen after retrieving her peeler. With a sad shake of her head, she appeared in the control room of the Galactic Dimension Port.

The captain frowned at her precipitate entry. “What happened?” he demanded abruptly. “You’re supposed to be in dimension thirty-two.”

Emmeline shrugged angrily. “Well, I’m not, Captain Reginald, and do you know why? I’ll tell you why! Your Commander Fleetfoot’s counterpart in dimension twenty-eight dragged me into dimension twenty-nine, where incidentally, you’re an incredibly ugly red creature!”

The captain was taken aback at her impatient explanation. “Then what?” The twin science officers, Shade and Rafe, moved closer so they could hear what she had to say.

She gestured toward the twins. “For some reason, in the thirtieth dimension, those two turned into women--and they had a blue pen.” She squinted thoughtfully. “I think somebody has a dimension interrupter. I bet it’s the two younger elders back in dimension twenty six. What were their names?” She tapped her chin thoughtfully.

Wide-eyed, Rinalda looked up from her computer screen. “Oh, I think you must mean Amarinda and Kelly. If they truly have a dimension interrupter, we’re in big trouble.”

Anny

If you missed yesterday's installment, check with Amarinda at http://www.amarindajones.blogspot.com/ and of course, drop in at Kelly's place tomorrow to check out what she does now! http://www.kkirch.blogspot.com/

Tossing out the Baby...

There is an old expression--"Don't toss out the baby with the bath water." In other words don't discard the good parts with the bad or used. Publishing is a funny business. Since publishers don't have a reader survey similar to what television networks use, they have to guess what readers will want to read.

A few years ago it seemed that every other book was a regency or historical. Now you're hard pressed to find one. Seems that the market was totally glutted and no one wants to read regencies. (If a good regency is your thing, then check out the line up at Cerridwen Press. http://www.cerridwenpress.com/index.asp )

Then came the romantic suspense. Personally, I foresee a swiftly approaching end to them as there are a limited number of likely scenarios that will place the woman in jeopardy. And for some reason no one has been willing to share with me, it's never the man in danger. Why is that?

Then there is the proliferation of "I'm an alien from a planet with no women so I'm here to kidnap you..." or the other twist "I'm an alien from a planet to retrieve you because you just happen to be an alien living on earth to keep someone evil from knocking you off before you become the queen on our home planet" and of course my favorite "heroine has a crash, tornado, other disaster, and ends up in an alien environment with no way home". All of those are interesting innovative story lines the first thousand times. Then they get old.

The category romances have recently gone through a rash of "secret baby" stories. I've been pregnant four times and believe me, it's not easy to keep a baby a secret. Somebody knows about that baby. Trust me.

Then there are the "I'm a CEO looking to have a kid, marry me and have my baby." Not likely. Not impossible, but not likely in this day and age. And again, if all the CEOs in the country--excluding the female CEOs--wanted you to have their babies, it would not account for all the books about this subject.

In the field of erotic romance, you would think that there would be few limits, but you would be wrong. Just as in any other genre there are things that are forbidden--not because they are offensive--though they might be for some people. No, they are forbidden for one simple reason. Dollars. Publishers buy what they can sell to readers. Sort of. As I pointed out at the beginning, they don't really know what readers want. And of course, what sells this week, may be a dud next week. Or it might be because the last three books by that author were duds.

Much of erotic romance in particular is about women's fantasies. Author Nancy Friday did ground breaking work years ago on women's fantasies with a book titled, My Secret Garden. Basically, what she found was that all fantasies could be categorized under a few headings with variations within the various categories. A lot of those categories are sub-genres in the erotic romance genre.

Yesterday I had a conversation with a woman on a chat loop regarding the dearth of F/F romances. There is an enormous wave of M/M romances--mostly written by female authors, but few F/F romances. Why? One simple reason. Dollars. They weren't selling so publishers quit accepting them.

A recent movement to eliminate babies from the erotic romance equation is afoot. Seems that babies aren't selling. So when you start hunting around your favorite sites for that HEA (happy ever after) ending that includes children--hunt no more. They're not considered sexy. On the one hand, I'll be happy to see the "secret baby" go by the wayside along with the "marry me and have my baby, even if we can't stand each other" story lines. I've always thought in the best of all worlds a baby ought to be the end result of love between two committed people. Call me old fashioned in that respect.

On the other hand... I personally feel cheated if I get to the end and the couple walks happily into the sunset with no mention of family. That, too, is no doubt because I grew up in the era when girls grew up, worked for a while, got married and had babies. They still do. Now they may have to deal with divorce, working outside of the home, military service, and a host of other issues, but the constant in their lives is children. That jingle, "Cindy and Johnnie sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G, first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes a baby in a baby carriage," pretty much summed up female futures in my day.

It is a particularly feminine dream to have children. Girls still grow up knowing that nurturing is part of their future--whether or not they bear children. And that knowledge is inextricably interwoven with desire and the sex act itself. I'm not saying that pregnancy is sexy in and of itself although I have known many women who found their desires were sharper during pregnancy. I'm saying that the "idea" of creation is sexy. Somewhere deep inside our psyches men and women know that each time they make love there is the potential for creation. That potential kickstarts both the heat and the tenderness level during sex. That's the ultimate pay off when a couple finally walks into the sunset hand-in-hand.

So I will miss that final confirmation of their commitment--that final scene when the reader knows that they really, really will live happily ever after because they are confident enough in their love to begin a family. Somehow I get the idea that it's an indication of things to come.

Anny

Amarinda has done it again. I have no idea whatsoever what I will do with this tomorrow, but trot on over there and read what she's done this time. http://www.amarindajones.blogspot.com/ and then drop by Kelly's site to read her book spotlight for the day at http://www.kkirch.blogspot.com/

Nettleflower by Terri Beckett and Chris Power - G

It's Monday again and I'm privileged to have two authors today--Chris Power and Terri Beckett, co-authors of Nettleflower. Chris and Terri live in Great Britain, Terri is North Wales and Chris in southwest England. Nettleflower takes place in the area in between where they live so that worked out well! Well, we'll get to the book in a moment. In the meantime, let's get to know the ladies, shall we?

1) If you could start over with your writing career, what if anything would you change?
(T) Technology. Wish we'd had computers sooner!
[C] Oh, God, yes! I second that. Ah, the Good Old Days, when writing a novel meant playing hunt-and-peck on a manual typewriter. Now that was a real test of creative staying power!

2) What was the best piece of advice you received regarding the life of a writer?
(T) Just write. Doesn't matter if anyone is going to read it. Write!
[C] I agree - write, and then read through and polish it. The first draft is just that :)

3) If you could meet anyone, living or dead, who would it be?
(T) Alexander the Great. Charismatic, brilliant, all-round superstar...
[C]...Paranoid megalomaniac, and tasty as well... For me it would be Richard III, a much maligned king who seemed to have had a fascinating mind and no political savvy at all.

4) If you could meet any fictional character, who would it be?
(T) Really tough to pick just one.. Okay, I'd love to meet Rhiow, from Diane Duane's 'Cat Wizards' series.
[C] Duncan, the principal human character in C.J. Cherryh's Faded Sun Trilogy - stubborn, honorable, proud, confidant and loyal.

5) What do you want to be when you grow up?
(T) Which will be when? I want to be a writer people remember. Rich would also be nice, but I'd like people to remember what I've written with enjoyment.
[C] Grow up...? Um, I hope that doesn't happen any time soon - I'm having too much fun. It would be great to be a successful writer, of course. Maybe have some of our titles made into TV mini-series...

6) In the next century, what do you hope people will remember you for?
(T) Oh, boy... If anyone still remembers me then, let it be as a person of character, of integrity to my craft -- and as a person they'd like to have met!
[C] "Chris Power? You remember her, that kind of crazy-in-a-nice-way Englishwoman who wrote *those* books..." "Oh, yes! She was really nice, and a damn-good writer. She made me laugh--and cry."


Nettleflower by Terri Beckett and Chris Power from Cerridwen Press

It is a sad thing to admit, but I think that American schools in general do a poor job of teaching history and geography for countries outside of the United States. For all I know now they may not do such a good job on the history of our own country, what with testing and all the other responsibilities that teachers have laid on them. That's a shame as there is a rich tapestry of characters and events outside out own narrow little world.

In Nettleflower, Terri and Chris have presented us with a fascinating snapshot of Saxon-Welsh politics and history almost a thousand years ago told through the eyes of Leofric, a Saxon lord on the Welsh border and Dafydd, a bard and Welsh spy. There are, of course, love interests for both of them--Regan and Edwina--but this story is truly the tale of the two men and their thorny relationship.

Leofric, a recent widower still sunk in grief only becomes aware again of his responsibilities when Dafydd arrives with his music and stories. Dafydd for his part is a bard torn between friendly feelings for the Saxons in the household where he's staying and the increasing burden of loyalty to the Welsh.

Their women have their own difficulties and decisions to make. Such is the state of things when Regan and her fellow travellers including Dafydd are caught in a snowstorm and must take shelter at Leofric's steading.

Old prejudices often fall under the pressure of one-to-one friendship and that was the case with Leofric and Dafydd. Two men, each with his own hurts and past baggage, shed their anger and hate to become fast friends. It was not without cost. But nothing worthwhile ever is.

I know very little about the historical background of this book, though probably a little more than my average fellow citizens. I have long worked on my family history (and my husband's) and it turns out that his ancestors were in the thick of things in this area and time period so the names of the historical figures were familiar. I have the sneaking suspicion that I missed out on some of the political nuances, though that certainly didn't affect my enjoyment of the book!

The richly textured background, the wonderful vocabulary and dialogue, the intricate weaving of the two romances within the framework of the men's friendship all came together in a most satisfying tale with a lovely ending. If you want a truly entertaining read, then dash out and get your own copy of Nettleflower from Cerridwen Press.

Anny

By now, I suspect that you've checked out Kelly's entry to the Crazy Blog Serial. If not, you've missed out on quite a surprise and challenge http://www.kkirch.blogspot.com/ . And then hop over to Amarinda's for her reply... http://www.amarindajones.blogspot.com/

Life Goes On and Crazy Blog Episode Twenty-Nine

A Dear Friend lost her grandmother yesterday. I can sympathize as I vividly remember when my grandmother died. Grandmothers aren't like any other entity on the planet. They hold a unique place that can't be filled by any other person. My grandmother had seventeen grandchildren and I have no idea how many great-grandchildren when she died.

Grandmother wasn't a person you wanted to disappoint. You always did your best because you wanted her to be proud of you. Physically she was a tiny little person, but she cast a long shadow and had enormous influence on her grandchildren.

She died quite a few years ago and yet... there are still times when I would like to talk to her. Times when I would like to bounce things off her.

Funny. Now I'm the grandmother. Life goes on. My granddaughter will be ten years old this next month--halfway to adulthood. I wonder what my grandmother would say to her. Probably the same things she said to me. Treat everyone like you want to be treated. Respect your elders. Don't lie, cheat, steal. Talk to God everyday. Read your Bible everyday. Do more than your share.

That's the important part, isn't it? That we pass on the lessons learned at our grandmother's knee? During the turbulent teen years, we frequently clash with our parents. But grandmothers? No, they're our refuge and our link with the past. So to my Dear Friend, I say I'm sorry your grandmother's gone. I'm sorry for your grief. But time will pass. Grief will pass. Remember the best part of her. Remember all that she taught you. Pass it on.

Anny

If you didn't read Amarinda's contribution to the Crazy blog, then trot over there first. She, uh, must have been having a quick snort when she wrote it. *Anny shakes head in puzzlement.* http://www.amarindajones.blogspot.com/ but we love her anyway.

Floyd snorted impatiently. “Why does everyone insist on calling her “good” Queen Zamidor? She was a horny witch who went through men like Montezuma’s revenge. I did every man in the galaxy a favor!”

“Well, Floyd, that doesn’t make you any less a criminal, just because you think your crime was justified!” Angrily Emmeline stomped down the hallway.

“Where are you going, Emmeline?”

“I don’t know!” She spun on her toes and jabbed one finger in his direction. “It’s all your fault!”

“My fault. I saved your ass and your friends. Without me, they would be a snack for the Pit Keel. Which reminds me. You need to get them into the aerator to clean that zombie juice off them.” Floyd joined Reginald at the pilot array. “How long before we make the time jump?”

Sulking because Floyd had denied him one of the passengers as a snack, Reginald refused to answer.

“Reginald,” Floyd said in an ominous tone. “You remember what happened the last time you sulked? You know I can’t stand sulkers! Do not make me repeat your punishment. If you lose any more toes, you’ll end up crawling.”

Reginald sat down on the floor in a miserable heap. “We make the jump in two minutes.”

Floyd began to chuckle, but soon he was roaring with a deep belly-shaking laugh. “Well,” he said as he wiped tears from his eyes. “I sure hope Emmeline has her dancing shoes on. Otherwise, those fellows of hers will find out exactly what their phallax is for!”

Just a reminder that tomorrow is our day of rest. Check with Kelly on Monday to see what new twist she's added at http://www.kkirch.blogspot.com/

Writers of the Blog

Recently there has been considerable discussion on various writer's chat loops regarding the importance and effectiveness of writing a blog every day or week or even once a month. Let me say immediately that I believe that a blog only has a chance if the writer posts entries at least every other day. My experience has been that readers will get in the habit of checking for new entries. And a habit can just as easily be broken if the writer doesn't give the reader a reason to come back.

On the other hand, if the writer has nothing to say day after day except a series of announcements or excerpts from their books, after a while the readers will find something else to spend their valuable time on. I would. So blogging for a writer is a combination of journal, news and promotion. Hopefully, the promotion doesn't overtake the blog, but is just enough to pique the interest of the potential reader.

I have noticed a recent rash of guest blogging and I'm of two minds about that. On the one hand, a guest blogger introduces the reader to someone new, hopefully, and also offers the guest blogger a newer, wider audience. On the other hand, when I go to My Favorite Blogger's site, I expect to read something from that blogger. It's sort of like going to read Ann Lander's column and getting Dear Abby instead. Not bad, but not what you expected. And of course, there's always the danger that I might like Dear Abby better!

I have tried to make my blog a place where my readers can get to know me--something about my past, present and future plans. What makes me tick? What ticks me off? And most importantly what kind of writer am I? After all, before you buy one of my books you might want to know whether or not I'm boring as white rice. I hope not.

If you are a regular reader of this blog by now you know that I am one of the writers of the Crazy Blog Serial which alternates between three blog writers, each of us writing a segment in turn. Naturally, the key is to make it just off the wall enough to be a challenge for the next writer and not off the wall enough to send the readers screaming to some other blog out there in blogland.

Since I'm assuming (silly person that I am) that you've read my blog often enough to know me now, I thought perhaps I ought to introduce my co-conspirators in blog crime so you can realize just how talented they are. So, below is a brief bio and a blurb about their work. Enjoy.


Amarinda Jones believes anything is possible and sometimes just asking for the impossible will surprise someone enough that they will give it to you. Writing is like that. Put it out there and wait for a response. There is always the possibility you may fall on your ass, but after all, that's what cellulite is for. Amarinda believes in taking chances, speaking her mind and aging disgracefully. Twenty years from now she plans on being the neighborhood witch that all the kids are scared of. But then, everyone has to have a hobby.

Thief of Mine By Amarinda Jones

It's not unusual for the bride to have sex on her wedding day. But when the bride is begging for another man to take her hard and fast in front of a startled bridesmaid, that's unusual. Not that Stella Rowallan wanted to watch. She walked in on it and now she can't walk out. The man taking the bride is bad, wild and hot. Stella knows she should be appalled. But she's not. She wants him. What is it with bad boys that make them so damn good?

But all bad boys have a past and Kit Kincaid is no different. He is a self-confessed thief who likes to have sex in wild, daring places. And Stella Rowallan is just his type of woman — shockable, yet willing. But he has a problem. A freaky witch woman and her followers are chasing him for a stolen stone idol. Kit has it and he plans to sell it. Can he have both Stella and the idol or does something have to give?

http://www.ellorascave.com/productpage.asp?ISBN=9781419911064
http://www.amarindajones.blogspot.com




Kelly Kirch spent her early childhood globetrotting through international schools and inventing stories to entertain herself during long trips back to the States. After a whirlwind internet romance in college, she settled into marriage with the perfect man, resulting in two perfect children and a less than amiable cat.

Having written in other genres as well as Regency romances, she encourages others interested in writing to visit the national Romance Writers of America website which has been invaluable to her success. And when not writing you can find her... oh, wait, she always writing. Scrap that.


A Time For Love by Kelly Kirch is a Regency-Set Historical Romance. Coming March 13, 2008!

Sarah Hanson opens her eyes to a darkly sexy man leaning over her and the strains of a waltz playing in the background. Further, she is no longer dozing in the taxi escorting her from the job where she was just fired but inhaling the strong scent of beeswax and dressed in Regency era clothing.

Lord Drake Hayworth, rake extraordinaire, is unable to reconcile his sudden attraction to the shelved miss who is meant to chaperon the daughter of a dear friend. Uniquely from every other female he has known, he is keenly aware of the differences between her and his new fiancé--the young woman Sarah escorts.

As Sarah develops lasting relationships, she discovers the unconditional love of family and a passion for a man she is not meant to have, in a time she may not be able to keep. And for Drake, finding a pliable bride to marry so he can claim the last of his inheritance has become decidedly more difficult now that Sarah has turned his ordered life on its head.

www.kellykirch.com and www.kkirch.blogspot.com

Now you know why the Crazy Blog Serial is so unusual. Three writers with wildly different styles working on one story...

Anny

Sex and Writing from the Heart

There is a certain perception that writing about sex cheapens the end product. Some people believe that the value of the finished piece is some how "less" if the writer describes the characters' actions and/or thoughts and conversation while they are having sex. I'm not sure why this is so.

The reaction is not the same if you describe a character eating or working or sleeping. It isn't even the same if you describe the character's actions while say... showering or shaving. One assumes that most people are naked while showering or bathing so that can't be it. But put two people together naked and suddenly it becomes something entirely different. Two people (or more) naked together equals a devaluing of your work.

In my forty years of marriage, sex was pretty much a daily fact of life with a very few exceptions so perhaps my viewpoint is a bit different. I think it's part of life like doing laundry or vacuming. To omit it from the story purposely is the same as saying "and then they had dinner" without describing the meal or "then they talked" without relating the conversation.

I submit that the discomfort some people feel when reading a "sexy" book might be related to their own baggage and hang-ups rather than any true moral outrage. If they are truly outraged at sex, perhaps they should be looking at the origin of their personal beliefs. What are they based and grounded on?

This squeamish attitude toward sex was not always part of our culture. There was a time when sex was a part of life and conversation was peppered with casual references to the sexual act. Read Shakespeare or Chaucer carefully and you'll see what I mean. Surely their readers and audience understood and grasped the "fine points".

Then something happened. Somewhere along the line, someone gained enough power to impose cultural censorship. Imagine that much power and what that could mean to us today. What else are we not permitted to talk, read, or write about?

Oh, I don't advocate handing a sexy book to a youngster. But if we believe that they remain blissfully ignorant because the law says they're not old enough, then we fool only ourselves. If we turn a blind eye to the truth that our kids in some cases know far more than we do about sex, then we have only ourselves to blame when the consequences land on our doorstep.

Nor do I advocate returning to an age when girls (and boys) were married off at twelve or thirteen. That has not much to do with sex and everything to do with emotional and mental maturity. Our overprotectiveness has rendered several generations of individuals who know how to perform the sexual act without knowing how to take responsibility for the actions. It might have been better if we had worried far more about maturity and responsibility and let the sexual chips fall where they may.

Responsibile behavior extends to all areas of life. This is something sorely needed, don't you think? Why else would we have slogans like "Drink responsibly"? What's with that? Every facet of life that's out of control (eating, smoking, financial woes) all have roots in irresponsible behavior. And this most certainly extends to our attitudes toward sex.

Repression and ignorance do not lead to less sex. Check out the underground literature from the Victorian era. Just as prohibition didn't lead to less drinking. Nope. The forbidden is more enticing.

I have a notion that if the books from my publisher were available everywhere (sexy covers included) and you could buy them with the same aplomb that guys buy Playboy, that the demand would fall off sharply. The entire romance genre is eyed with a certain amount of suspicion. Romances aren't "literature" in the same way that mysteries or science fiction are.

I look forward to a day when what I write won't be categorized by genre, but by quality--when the primary question, "What kind of book is it?" will be answered with "one written from the heart."

anny

Don't forget to drop by Kelly's site to check out the wild twist she's written for the Crazy Blog Serial. And of course, tomorrow Amarinda will fire her salvo. If you're just completely lost, then the first twenty four episodes are on the bookshelf page of my website. Scroll down and look on the left side!

Viagra and Crazy Blog Serial Episode Twenty-Six

Just as I do every morning, I got up this morning and checked my e-mail. Could somebody please tell me why I'm being bombarded with offers for Viagra (and other "enhancers"), Adobe Photoshop, and other dubious offers at suspect prices? What exactly have I done to trigger the avalanche of spam?

That's just in my Yahoo e-mail. In my Hotmail e-mail, I'm showered with "free" car, computer, and furniture offers plus plane tickets and free tickets for amusement parks. Of course you have to fill out a certain number of credit card offers and also get so many friends and acquaintances to fill out said offers... It would be interesting to find out if you got the free stuff even if the credit card companies turned down your application.

Then on another e-mail account I'm inundated with offers to view free naked women in their apartments. No thank you. A naked man in my own apartment is all I can handle at this time. And of course, I also receive quite a few offers for Russian Mail Order Brides. Not quite sure why I would need one or what I would do with her. Maybe I could marry off my oldest son.

Anyway, that's my rant for the morning. Guess I got up on the far side of the moon this morning and it was just too much to be faced with an offer for Wondercum (I didn't make that up!) The spammers are getting bolder and more inventive by the day. If you have a solution, other than having your junk mail separated (which I do), I would like to hear it. Most days I have more junk mail than real mail.

In the meantime, back to the Crazy Blog Serial Episode Twenty-Six--if you missed Episode Twenty-Five, check it out first at http://www.amarindajones.blogspot.com

“I don’t think we’re supposed to blow until they’re on their knees,” Emmeline argued. “If we blow too soon, the Pit Keel will know we’re here.”

Rinalda sighed impatiently. “The minute we set foot on that bridge the Pit Keel will awaken. By then, it will be too late.”

Pulling the bugle from her pack, Emmeline put it to her lips, took a deep preparatory breath—

“Stop!” Shade shouted. “It’s a trick! The bugle will madden the Pit Keel into a feeding frenzy!”

“I thought you didn’t know about the Pit Keel?” Frowning at him, Emmeline lowered the bugle. “Why do you think it’s a trick?”

Rafe grabbed Rinalda’s arms and turned her so that Emmeline could see her face. “Look! She has zucchini pustules. She’s one of them. She’s a zucchini zombie!”

Rinalda eyes suddenly glowed and small tentacles appeared from the pustules. Rafe jerked his hands away as Emmeline whipped her jeweled peeler from the holster and fired. With a terrible shriek, the zombie turned and ran directly toward the abyss. She gave one final scream as she leaped from the edge.

* * * * *

The companion shrank back as the oldest elder hissed in anger. “Go! Stop them before they cross over the abyss. If they succeed in carrying the sacred chocolate over the abyss, we will not be able to stop the prophecy!”

“Me? Wait a minute,” the companion objected, slowly backing away. “It doesn’t say anything in my contract about jeopardizing my life to stop the prophecy! There’s no endangerment clause in the contract!”

“Why you mealy-mouthed, lily-livered coward!” The oldest elder flicked one finger in his direction shooting off sparks that knocked him down. One more shot would do it, but the youngest elder tugged her arm.

“Look! Look at Emmeline! What is she doing?”

Don't forget to check for the next episode tomorrow at http://www.kkirch.blogspot.com

Until tomorrow!

Anny