Welcome to Running With Quills, your online newsletter designed to keep you up to date with what your favorite authors (that would be us) are doing throughout the year. Here you will find the release dates of our new books and get information about our backlists. We'll preview our cover art here long before the books hit the stores and we'll keep you informed about works-in-progress and special projects. You'll also receive advance notice of signings and appearances. From time to time we'll give you a peek at our worlds, tell you what we're reading, and introduce you to some new authors.
They say everyone has their fifteen minutes of fame. Mine came when I was fourteen years old, one summer day when a news crew from a local television station asked my friend Joey and me if they could take a shot of us on our beach blanket for the five o'clock weather segment.
We were pretty pumped--until we remembered we'd been smoking cigarettes we'd gotten from God knows where and the butts were lined up in the sand in front of our blanket. Then we were mostly worried our parents would see them and ground us for life.
As it turned out, you could barely see us--let alone our contraband cigarettes--through all the weather statistics and forecasts that were written over our video. But it took the shine off my fifteen minutes, lemme tell you. This is us, obviously not in our bathing suits, but it's the only pic I could find from that era. It was a taken at Joey's house for a Halloween party we were getting ready to go to at the roller rink. We were supposed to be Hippies. (Our hair is the same color in this pic that mine is now, thanks to silver hair spray. Don't ask. It seemed like a good idea at the time). A while back my oldest brother told me a photographer from the Seattle Times had been out to take some pictures of his garage for an upcoming feature. He didn't know if any would actually be in the final article, but this past Sunday morning I opened the paper and on the cover of the Pacific Northwest magazine I saw a cool car beneath the title In The Garage. My first thought was, Hey, this is probably Ken's article. A split second later I'm thinking, Whoa. That looks like his '58 Jaguar. He bought the thing like a decade and a half ago with the intention of restoring it, but never got around to it. Another split second and all the pieces-parts of the cover came together and I'm yelling, "Hey! That's KEN!!!" The old wood kayak on top of the car should have been another giveaway, but what can I say? I'm slow. Not only did his garage make the cut, but my brother is a freaking cover boy!
Is it just me, or does seeing yourself or your friends or family on television, in the newspaper (as long as they're not being arrested and dragged away in cuffs) just tickle the heck out of you? Have you or a loved one had your fifteen minutes? If so, spill. I bet I'm not the only one who wants to hear all about it.
OBSIDIAN PREY, the latest in my Jayne Castle Harmony series, arrived in bookstores this week. A lot of people have very kindly taken the time to let me know that they enjoyed the story but the most unusual endorsement came from the star of the book video. Her name is Angelababy and she is an English Angora rabbit. She plays the role of Dust Bunny Vincent. I thought you'd get a kick out of the pics that her owner, Betty Chu, sent. Check out more rabbit info at Betty's website, http://bettychuenglishangora.com. And thanks, Angelababy! You were brilliant!
By the way, a special note to Dust Bunny fans. Some of you have been wondering how to get your very own Dust Bunny. I can't get a real one for you but there are some DB souvenirs (mugs, etc.) available in the Museum Shop at my website. Just go to www.jayneannkrentz.com and click on Museum under Arcane Society.
I also wanted to let you know that I'll be doing a live chat at Writerspace this Wednesday (Sept. 2nd) at 6pm Pacific. Live chats are always better than the alternative, in my opinion. I hope you can join me. Yes, it will be fast and chaotic — these online chats always are — but it will also be fun. Come prepared to type fast and maybe get a little dizzy.
I hope you are enjoying the arrival of the Arcane Society on Harmony!
Wishing you all the best of summer! (And how did it get to be September already????).
This particular blog might sound like a downer. I don't mean for it to. I'm actually in a really happy, relaxed place. But I do get connected to characters, and thus... the hints of gloom in the blog. LOL
In my just-released book, SERVANT: The Kindred, the heroine is plagued by the drive to hunt down and destroy evil. She can't escape her duty to do so, and that made me think about the things we take for granted.
Like peace of mind.
Sure, many of us are stressed about various things, but there's a huge difference in being stressed, and being afraid, hurt, alone or injured. We can usually find some time to relax, to read a book, watch a little TV, or listen to music. Or we visit with friends and loved ones.
We have that insulated time to let our brains rest.
My character rarely has that. Do you realize how much evil there is in the world? If I think about it too much, it makes my heart punch and it can keep me awake at night, just worrying - sometimes about people I don't even know, sometimes about events that haven't yet happened, but probably will. There are times that I have to deliberately force my focus on all the GOOD people and the GOOD things - OR... I write about it. And that's cathartic for me.
News-overload can get really depressing. I believe in being informed, but when the focus is always on tragedy and hopelessness, it just gets to me too much. And that makes it easy for me to channel that emotion into my characters. That's in part how Gabrielle Cody, or just plain Gaby, came to be the heroine of my Servant series.
NOT that the books are depressing. That's the beauty of it for me as a writer. I can turn it all around, all the hardships and the grief, by giving it to a character, and then making it better for her. Writing in love, forgiveness, understanding and compassion... it's the best medicine there is, because then you see just as there are tragedies, there is healing and a future of happiness.
For Gaby, fighting evil is bad, but thunderstorms are her weakness. They immobilize her, sometimes when she so desperately needs her strength and ability. Is that how the mother of a sick child feels? How the wife of a soldier suffers? Is that what a widower or widow goes through at night when it's time to sleep... alone?
Here's a short example of what Gaby goes through:
Gaby knew a cold trail when she found one, but there had to be a clue left or she wouldn’t have been sent here. Allowing instinct to guide her, she went down the alley, out the back to a street... and sickness, like a sticky cloak, infiltrated her every pore.
Another body, drained of blood, used to feed the wickedly corrupted; she knew she’d find it, but where?
Luther wouldn’t just wait behind. He’d be searching for her with his misguided notion of protecting her while overseeing the ever-faulty legal process. She had to hurry if she had any hope of keeping him out of the treacherous path of her life.
The power within in her had dissipated, but still it churned down deep inside. As Gaby scanned the area, it ripened, began to boil to the surface. Her gaze caught; there, the old building.
She started forward with driving purpose – and a flicker of lightning licked the sky, immobilizing her.
Oh God, no.
Storms always left her inert with scalding, deep bred irrational fear. A frantic glance at the sky showed ominous clouds - but no more lightning. She strained her ears, but heard no thunder.
A deep breath sent oxygen into her starving lungs. She dragged herself forward, one foot at a time, sluggish but determined. The decrepit building loomed ahead, taunting her, daring her to brave the impending storm to find the malevolence lurking inside. She had a duty, not only to herself, but to the person now suffering, the person being bled dry. Straining, her feet heavy and her heart clenched, she took two more steps. The skies lit up. Nature did a full display, sending a bolt of electricity to splinter the air while a cannonade of thunder shook the ground beneath her feet. Gaby’s world squeezed in, turned black and bleak and empty of free volition.
For as long as she could remember it had been this way. Father Mullond, the man who had taken her in and tried to assist her, God rest his soul, had blamed the manner of her mother’s death for the frightful phenomenon.
A deadly lightning strike had stolen her mother’s heartbeat. As her heart had stopped beating, Gaby came into the world – as an orphan.
It was a fucked up way to be born, and had set the tone for a life deviant to any type of normalcy.
Whether it was an honest recollection from birth, or a learned fear from the stories told her by foster parents, she didn’t know. She fucking well didn’t care. Storms paralyzed her. Fear was fear, and for Gaby Cody, paladin, warrior against evil, it was unacceptable.
And still, she couldn’t get her limbs to move.
Icy rain soaked through her meager clothes, chilled her down to her bones and prickled her flesh. She could have stood there and died except that she heard the moan.
Not a loud moan. Not a piteous cry that others would have detected. It was faint with weakness, a meager tone that depicted resignation to death.
“Oh God.” Fighting the fear with everything she had, Gaby stumbled forward. Her muscled cramped; her thoughts were wild and scattered. But that sound drew her and she inched closer to it, to that deteriorated structure that once might have been a home.
Empty windows housed lush spider webs filled with bloated white eggs. Dead moths strewn the pathway, mixed with brittle leaves and broken beer bottles. All around the house, a murky aura of misery and malevolence shimmered in and out of the dank air.
The evil lurked inside, doing its foul work.
Can you imagine having her duty, and then being handicapped by an emotional reaction to the weather?
That too, made me think of things we take for granted. Like not being afraid to go outside, because no one is bombing us. We don't fear speaking up to our government. We don't fear starving, or freezing in the winter.
Simpler things come to mind, too, like taking a hot shower for granted. Cars for transportation. Even our internet that we use every day. Ice from the fridge. The immediacy of pizza rolls from the microwave. It goes on and on, the conveniences and luxuries and securities that we have, that are so routine to us, we don't even think about them much any more.
Are there things that you take for granted? Maybe the understanding of a loved one? The soft hug from a grandchild? That morning cup of coffee (one of my faves!) ??
It's so easy to lose the everyday things that become a part of us. I try really hard to cherish them as gifts, to always see the silver lining, to never, ever be blind to my blessings. If I'm a good storyteller, and I hope I am, then it's probably because of that awareness, and how I work hard to put it into my books.
I've never truly been made to feel helpless - but I know others have.
And for that reason, I'm glad that you and I can sometimes take things for granted. I only wish the rest of the world could too.
Can you think of any characters from books that touched you at a time when you needed it most? For example, I've had women write me and say that certain characters helped them through divorce, or depression. One woman wrote me that her daughter was in the hospital for a week, and when her daughter napped she read my books and it gave her worry a rest.
Blessings to each and every one of you! May we always have wonderful things that are so commonplace to us, we CAN take them for granted!
While reading my newspapers (on my no-ads, no-dirty-hands, no-dead-trees) Kindle, I encountered two articles.
One on them railed against the time-demands and lack of human speed of the Internet.The point of the article was that we should slow down, spend less time on Facebook etc. and more time face to face.At the very least, we should write our personal communications by hand and not email.
The second article drew parallels between the death of network radio and the death of newspapers.The point was that when people find something they like better (television), they move on without hesitation or loyalty.Businesses such as NBC and CBS who find a way to switch their business model to the new flavor survive.Those who don’t…don’t.
So color me nosy.
Er, curious.
Yeah, that sounds better.
Do you write letters by hand?
Send cards?
Email?
How much time per day do you spend on a computer or texting (work included)?
On movies/DVDs/videos?
Newspapers?
Listening to radio?
Watching TV?
If you listen to music, do you listen to your own playlists (iPods, MP3, CDs, etc.)?
Commercial radio?
Satellite radio?
Do you spend more or less time with "screen" that you used to?
When was the last time you deliberately chose silence?
CURIOUSLY YOURS,
ELIZABETH
PS--If I don't answer you right away, it's because I FINALLY got out on the boat for a vacation.
Good morning, all: How do we do it, cope with all the stuff life throws at us, often in rapid order? Fortunately we usually get to deal with one event at a time, and have enough time to digest intense feelings in between, but not always.
This has been an extraordinary week for me with two events that were loaded with emotion but absolutely opposite. One a joyful, completely happy evening, one a day of riding that roller coaster between sadness and celebration.
I feel like an overused Swiffer mop pad. Someone should have sprung for a new pad before washing the second floor, rather than ringing out and reusing the first one.
Today--I'll start with today because I prefer to go generally upward whenever I can:)
This afternoon I attended a celebration/memorial for a man I had known for many years. He was 51, married and had three children. He was perhaps the most fit person I've ever known. Six days a week he started his workout at 5 in the morning and went on to coach a masters' swim team. He taught all of our children to swim. We were at his wedding where Jerry and I--with a big group of friends--helped serve the 600 people who attended. When people don't have all the money in the world but they do want all their friends at a wedding, you just pitch in together and make it happen. His mom and dad and eight brothers and sisters were all at the wedding, just as they were there today. On both occasions we were all sending John off on a new phase of his existence. He was a truly special person who touched everyone he met in a positive way.
Just over a week ago, early in the morning when John had been working out before swimming, his younger son found his dad apparently sleeping peacefully on the living room rug. John didn't regain consciousness--he had an enlarged heart that simply stopped. He did not have a heart attack. Six weeks before that day he gave his oldest and only daughter away at her wedding and today she sang the words she wrote herself, "I danced with my daddy one last time until I dance with him in heaven."
Ahem--regardless of one's faith or lack of it, I challenge anyone to keep totally dry eyes and not have their heart beat like a bongo during that.
Back to Thursday night of this week. My all time favorite singer/performer is Dr. John of New Orleans (N'awlins) fame and Jerry surprised me by telling me we were going to Jazz Alley in Seattle to hear The Man. I hadn't even known he would be in town.
We talked our son into coming with us because he knows little about jazz and I felt his education was incomplete.
The food was great, the company raucous and revved up to the max. When 7:30 rolled around Dr. John, leaning on his cane, feathers trailing from his natty fedora and necklaces of amulets around his neck, walked a bit slowly up to the stage.
And for two hours I was transported. I can wave a white handkerchief to The Saints with the best of them. And I can clap and stamp my feet, laugh till the tears run for a raunchy trad number, and cry with a wonderful blues song. I did all of those in the hours at Jazz Alley and got a big kick out of seeing both Jerry and Matt joining right in.
I got home feeling like another of those overused rags, but a happy one who could hardly wait to get into my office and get the player on so I could hear some more of The Man. (I write to his albums most of the time--I have many of them)
Our days aren't all filled with overwhelming highs and lows but if we we are emotional types or just tend to feel deeply and experience deeply, there are times when the body and mind get put on a treadmill that doesn't seem to have an "off" switch.
I'm grateful for this wild week, for the ups and downs, but I admit I'm kind of exhausted. Sometimes I think I'd like to be more phlegmatic, less reactive, but then I'd miss a lot that I don't ever want to forget.
I hope some of you have experiences to share, some happenings that picked you up, spun you around, stamped on you a few times, then stood back to see how you coped afterward. Come on, share, don't leave me hanging out here all on my own.
I can be so utterly clueless. Have spent the last two weeks on jury duty*, coming home exhausted at night yet still having to write in order to meet the upcoming deadline for HellFire—the second book in my new series—deal with email and catch up on business, (which was even harder after reading Susan’s blog about her wonderful vacation...thanks LOADS for the reminder of what I’m missing, m’dear! *snort* ) and I was trying to think of something to blog about when I realized, I’ve got a new book coming out next week!
So obviously, I can write about that. It’s a novella, actually, in Sexy Beast VII, called Chanku Challenge. As with all my other novellas, this one is part of the Wolf Tales saga. For those of you who read my series, Chanku Challenge is Beth’s story. We left off in Wolf Tales VIII with Beth and her equally young mate Nick realizing they may have made a terrible mistake: They’re bonded for life, and yet they’re wondering if they truly love one another. Did they make the decision to mate forever too early in their relationship to understand the concept of “for life?”
Beth has issues—lots of them. Ghosts from her past were somehow released during the mating bond, and they threaten to take over her life. She knows that the only way to move forward is to deal with her past. The problem? She can’t remember what it is that haunts her, only that she needs to go back to California, to the place where she grew up, to find answers if she’s ever going to hold on to love with Nick.
Here’s a snip:
Daci knew Nick had watched the entire time Beth loaded the car and prepared to leave. Watched, but restrained himself from interfering. Beth had been so nervous she hadn’t even known he was there. Daci glanced once more at the dark cabin. Her men slept on, oblivious to her absence. Smiling, she turned away and went to Nick.
It was obvious he needed her now, more than Matt and Deacon did. Nick needed the reassurance that he’d made the right decision to let Beth fight her battles by herself.
Daci walked up the steps and the door swung wide. Nick leaned against the frame, but his gaze went beyond her. She turned to see what caught his eye—the morning sun glittering through the dust cloud that marked Beth’s exit.
“Do you think she’ll come back?” He blinked. His eyes sparkled from unshed tears.
“She’ll be back. The question is, are you going to let her go by herself?”
He nodded. “For now, though it’s not my place to let Beth do anything...she’ll do what she thinks is right, no matter what I want. It’s her life. It should be her choice.” He stepped back and Daci entered.
It was her cabin, after all, but she flashed him a grin. Unlike some guys, Nick obviously understood and respected Beth’s right to decide her own life. “Agreed,” she said. “Then what?”
Nick closed the door and leaned against it. “I’m not sure. Last night, when we made love, I realized there are parts of Beth I don’t reach. Memories I don’t think she’s even aware of. Dark shadows in her mind that cling to what she’s shared with me, but they’re still dark. She needs to bring those memories into the light. I can’t do it for her.”
Daci touched his hand. The mating bond terrified her, for some reason. She’d still not agreed to a bond with Deacon and Matt, though both her men were ready. “Shouldn’t you have found them when you bonded? I didn’t think there were any secrets left after a mating bond.”
Nick sighed. “I thought so too, but obviously that’s not always the case. At least not with Beth and me. Maybe we were too young. Maybe it wasn’t a true mating bond.”
“I don’t know. The guys and I, we...” Sighing, she took Nick’s hand and led him toward the bed. They sat down beside each other, lost in their own questions. Nick slung his arm around her shoulders, but she knew that sex wasn’t what he wanted right now.
No, Nick probably wanted the same thing she did. Answers. If only they knew the questions.
Have you ever had to face your own demons? Something from your past that had to be dealt with before you could move forward? For me it was walking away from a bad marriage forty years ago. It wasn’t easy—people in our family didn’t DO divorce—but it was the right choice at the right time and it was an empowering experience. I think that facing our fears makes us stronger. How about you?
*I’m going to be writing about my two weeks on a jury in my newsletter, for anyone interested. If you’re not already a member, send an email to KateDouglas-subscribe@yahoogroups.com
Every summer the soul mate and I spend a week at my family's cabin on Hood Canal, a long, narrow saltwater fiord, the western boundary of which is formed by the spectacular Olympic mountains. It's an area of wonderous scenery and abundant wildlife.
Washington has experienced a long, hot, dry summer this year. But during our week at the cabin? It was cold and damp, with a bunch of downpours. Not exactly optimal weather, but in truth I didn't care. I was so ready for a vacay and besides, the sun came out occasionally and it was usually nice enough to get outside for a while every day. Plus, I brought 5 books and for once had time to read them. And I slept. Oh, my, my, did I sleep. Naps during the day and sometimes in the evening, as well as a solid eight hours a night, the latter of which is soooo rare for me. It was lovely.
The Olympics are my favorite aspect of this place, but they hid behind mounds of cloud cover most of the time. Still they showed themselves long enough to do what they do best-- refill my well.
Saturday night my sweet baby boy and his girl came over and spent Sunday with us. We hiked up to the state park and ate and laughed and ate and talked and ate and juggled.
Monday, I had my annual Girls Night Out beach day and my friends Mimi, Martha and Jackie came over to spend a long day on the deck (in our sweatshirts, but every now and then the sun would peek out long enough for us to peel out of them) We ate and laughed, and ate and talked and ate and looked at wedding pics (Jackie's) and graduation pics (one of Martha's twins, from a nursing school in Boston) and the video I took of the kids juggling. My vid turned out a bit blurry on this blogger, but whataya gonna do.
The rest of the week it was just the soul mate and me and that was the best kind of mellow. On Wednesday we went into town to pick up a few things and Steve is still grumbling about the mistake he made of stopping by the sporting goods store. I had no interest in poking among fly ties and oar locks so I decided to check out the furniture store next door, as they had some nice looking accessories in their window. What I wasn't looking for was a loveseat , yet I found the perfect one to replace my old played out velvet piece and it matches my couch so closely I look like I actually knew what I was doing when I bought the first piece. Whoo-hoo. I won't bore you with the trials and tribulations of getting it home, but it truly was a fortuitous find!
Did I mention we ate last week? Oh, mama. Eating has always been one of my all time favorite activities and the cool thing about a place on the beach is that you can eat off it. We picked mussels and oysters and caught two crabs in the pot (pictured above). My brother Ron had dropped off a homemade blackberry pie before we left home and, oh, yeah. We ate the whole thing, although I did manage to give away a couple of pieces.
All in all, I came home rested, refreshed and ready to rock and roll on the work in progress. So hallejulah for vacations. What do you all like to do to refill your wells?
OBSIDIAN PREY goes on sale a week from now (Aug. 25th). I gotta tell you, I'm really excited, not only because Arcane is now on Harmony, but because I finally figured out a way to do the hero-and-heroine-have-a-history-parted-on-really-bad-terms-and-then-are-thrown-together-again plot.
What's so hard about that plot, you ask? Hah! Let me tell you, it is not as easy as you think. Great concept, but just try coming up with a rational, logical reason for the characters' initial break up that does not hinge on a stupid misunderstanding or a simple failure to communicate. You know the kind of plots I'm talking about, the stories in which all the trouble could have been cleared up if the heroine had simply asked the hero about the woman he was having dinner with the other evening. Oh, that was your sister?
Those plots based on simple misunderstandings work because they provide a lot of tension and conflict. But as far as I'm concerned, they always make the hero and heroine look silly, not to mention not real bright.
So I had to think long and hard before I came up with a good reason why Lyra Dore and Cruz Sweetwater broke up the first time. Then it hit me: He seduced her and stole her priceless archaeological discovery. In retaliation, Lyra hired a lawyer, sued Cruz and his company and dragged his name and that of his family firm through the media mud.
Yep, these two had a history. And as it happens, Cruz has an even longer history with Arcane. Readers of RUNNING HOT will recognize the Sweetwater name. Cruz comes from a long line of professional assassins who have been working for Jones & Jones for a while.
Oh, yeah, and there's a dust bunny named Vincent in this one.
Here's a little taste of the story:
* * * * * * * * * *
Some men walked straight out of a woman's dreams. Some qualified as full-on nightmares. As far as Lyra Dore was concerned, Cruz Sweetwater had a booted foot planted firmly in both realms.
"I can't believe it," she said, sputtering a little on a sip of champagne. "The bastard is here." "You're kidding." Nancy Halifax looked around the crowded gallery. She did not have to ask who the bastard was. "I don't see him. Are you sure he's here?"
"Positive. If you don't see him it's because he doesn't want you to see him. He's hunting."
"Oh, come on, Lyra," Nancy said. "You make him sound like a specter-cat stalking its prey."
"Wrong analogy," Lyra said. "Think professional hit man. A really, really well-dressed professional hit man."
************************************************************************************ What about you? Does the classic misunderstanding plot annoy the heck out of you or can you overlook it for the sake of the tension that it gives the story?
I've been MIA on this blog since my last post, and I have to apologize to the other Quill authors for not visiting lately. I was out of town several days at a booksigning in Kokomo, Indiana, and busy with family things (my sister is dealing with a medical issue and it's scary) and finishing my novella (it's for THE GIFT OF LOVE, not out until June 2010 - proceeds to go to a special school) and redecorating (new paint and window treatments in 3 rooms) and TRYING to make plans to get away! The booksigning was terrific. The novella is done and sent in. My sister... well, we're waiting to see, but I think we're in the clear. (testing lymph nodes for cancer, but they think they got it all.) The paint and window treatments really freshened things up! AND... finally got the plans together and for a trip. I'm taking off for Michigan today in the new RV.
Not sure where we'll go in Michigan or how long we'll be gone, but we're shooting for Mackinaw Island area, and thinking Tuesday or Wednesday to return. We may stop halfway there for the night if we find a pretty place. I'm an organized person, so taking off and hoping to figure it out along the way is pretty daring for me. Wish me luck!
Some fun news - this month, OUT OF THE LIGHT, INTO THE SHADOWS released, and this week it hit the New York Times. Not high up, but what the heck - I'm still thrilled! This is an anthology that features 2 stories from me - you get the straight, fun romance written as Lori Foster, and the darker, sexier romance with some paranormal thrown in written as L.L. Foster.
Contrary to misconceptions, the paranormal aspects in my urban fantasy/action/ supernatural books don't include vampires or the like. Nope. Just guys who can bend and twist emotion, making it easy for them to influence the bad people in a way that removes them as a danger. But think about - if these guys can manipulate emotions, what could they do in a sexual/romantic relationship? Fun, huh? Well, I think so. LOL
Other neat news - a very talented young artist did a manga art rendering of my upcoming L.L. Foster book, SERVANT: THE KINDRED. I'm putting up images each week, so check it out! http://www.llfoster.com/Books/kindred/manga/servant-manga_01.htm It gives you a good idea of how the story evolved in the previous 2 books, without giving away the plot for the current book.
Some fun promo - another set of billboards in Ohio!
I don't know why, but the idea of billboards always make me smile. Maybe it's seeing my name and my books shown SO BIG!
Pretty cool, huh?
I drive past one occasionally and can't help but glance over. And the libraries in the area said readers are coming in asking about the books shown. I saved the most interesting tidbit of info for last, but be forewarned, it starts out pretty sad.
You see, my son was at work and out the main window of his barbershop, he saw a truck hit a possum. Sadly, that happens here a lot, sometimes with deer, coyotes and wild turkeys, too. The possum did not survive. It's a busy street, so when Mason thought he saw a mouse on the possum, curiosity took him out to investigate.
It wasn't a mouse. No, it was... a baby possum.
Holding up traffic, Mason separated the little one from his now deceased mama. But wait. Something is moving under her skin. Or rather - in her pouch. Um... yeah. What to do? Horns are blowing, drivers are impatient... Mason, being a true manly-man kind of guy who doesn't shrink away from the squeamish situations, put his fingers into that pouch and retrieved a few more babies.
Yeah, I know, it is a little "euewww..." but still sweet. I'm proud of him for going to the rescue. He wrapped the babies in his shirt, and then spent several hours trying to find someone who knew how to care for them. With an almost-4 year old at home, a cat and a dog, tiny baby possums probably wouldn't have fared too well if he'd taken them back to his apartment.
He DID find a woman, thanks to help from the AAF, who had knowledge in caring for critters. She collected them (keeping his shirt) and told him they looked old enough that they'd be okay. Thank goodness.
Here are a few more photos of the little ones.
Yup, pretty cute, huh? I'm glad my son was able to save them.
Have you ever accidentally hit an animal while driving?
I've had kamikaze birds fly into me a few times, and it always breaks my heart. It's almost like they target the car and are determined to be run over.
One year when my kids were still young, the morning of Christmas Eve, my husband hit a deer coming home from his 3rd shift job. (He says the deer hit him. Leaped out of the woods and straight into the van. Sounds right with how the deer are around here.)
It totaled our only transportation - a minivan. Try getting THAT figured out through insurance on Christmas Eve!
Have you ever cared for a wild animal? An abandoned bird or bunny?
Do you think YOU could have reached into that pouch to retrieve the babies?
I'll be checking posts once I get settled in the RV somewhere and get my internet going again. In the meantime, I hope you're all enjoying a fabulous weekend of sunshine and laughter!
As the old Chinese curse goes, we live in interesting times. Lately I’ve discovered some things that have me…confuzzled.
So I thought I’d do what everyone else does, and make a short survey of people who might care. Or might not.
You know your category. My questions are medical but not personal. I DON’T want specifics. (Trust me on this. No one ever wants to be specific in a public forum.)
First question: have you ever taken a drug that is patented? (Hint, these are the ones that are new, $ and often have no generic--unpatented--alternative.)
If so, did the patent/name brand work for you?
Second question: have you ever taken the same type of drug as a generic (cheaper version)?
If so, did the generic work as well for you as the "name brand"?
In the interests of (not-quite-full) disclosure, I will say of my own personal experiences:
1. Yes
2. Yes, sometimes.No, too many times.
What are your experiences with name brand vs. generic drugs? (Remember, no specifics!)
Okay, everyone, help me out here. Enquiring Minds want to know. Same for nosy ones. ;-)
Please welcome back New York Times bestselling author, Yasmine Galenorn. Take a look at the cover for BONE MAGIC and drool:) Yasmine is the real thing and it shows—she keeps us guessing and reading and her characters have me smiling with anticipation before I finish the first page of the latest book!
So it's nearing midnight a couple days before you read this, and I'm sitting here, thinking about what to blog. I'm thinking about this, that, life and all the good stuff in between. Now, in case you don't remember me or recognize my name (and while I've blogged here several times, there's no real reason you should so I won't feel bad if you don't ~grins~) I'm a friend of Stella's, and she asked me to blog today. I also have had a running penpal relationship with Kate D. (waves) which has been fun over the past year or so.
So,who am I? Yasmine Galenorn, at your service, the tattooed, cat-loving, china-collecting, shamanic witch, makeup fiend, NY Times bestselling author of the Otherworld (aka Sisters of the Moon) Series, and the upcoming Indigo Court urban fantasy series. I'm under the paranormal romance label, but you can't really expect a white picket fence HEA ending from me. My heroines head out to fight the demons and THEN they fall into bed with their lovers (multiple in some cases), not the other way around. ~grins~
So tonight, I'm thinking about secrets, because I've got a contest going on my contest-blog for an ARC of NEVER AFTER (an anthology I'm in with Laurell K. Hamilton, Marjorie Liu, and Sharon Shinn), which comes out in November, along with 20 copies of my backlist books. You're welcome to enter over on my contest blog if you want (http://yasminegalenorn2.blogspot.com/)
But the reason I'm thinking about secrets is that in the contest, The Witch of the Wild (that would be me) is asking readers for secrets. To enter the contest, you must tell me a little something about yourself. Secrets don't always have to be embarrassing or scary, they can be delightful or funny or sensual or even a little big wacked.
We all keep secrets, some out of shame, some out of wanting to leave the past in the past. Some we keep because we fear ramifications if they were made public. Other secrets we keep because we need to keep that part of ourselves pristine and only for us—the private side. Contrary to pubic opinion, not everybody needs to know everything about us. Most important, there are secrets we keep because we have made an oath of silence to a friend. After all, a secret exposed is no longer hidden, no longer part of our private life.
The fun side of secrets is deciding when and where to reveal a part of ourselves that nobody really knows. There can be a joy in revealing something secret, as much as there can be trepidation. And secrets can include our feelings as well as traits of ourselves: When we first tell someone we love them, when we announce a piece of news we've had to sit on for awhile, when we tell Grandma Trudy that sorry to disappoint, but we happen to be bisexual and we're marrying a woman, when we reveal that we actually detest tea even though we wrote about a tea shop for years.
But honor should come above anything else. It can be exciting to know something about someone else, but it isn't our place to reveal what we've sworn to secrecy. And, on the darker side, secrets can be used as a weapon—the basis for blackmail. But secrets can also be a game, a fun and delightful way to get to know one another. And in that vein, let's play "Tell me a secret." First, I'll tell you something about myself:
*whispers* When I was a little girl, I wanted to be the ‘woman with a past.' That's the actual phrase I thought of—very young, I was about ten or eleven when it first came to me.
To me, this meant tall, buxom and curvy, with long black hair and brilliant green eyes, and I'd walk into a room and people would stop as I passed by, and they'd whisper, "She's so exotic, she must have quite a past."
I think, what I wanted was to be the intriguing stranger, the one that makes you look twice (for good reasons, LOL), the woman who can take your breath away and then leave you wondering about what's on the inside, as well as what's on the outside. I wanted to be exotic and mysterious.
Alas, I'm about as tall as a penguin (5'3") and I no longer have hair down to my butt, and my eyes are far from green and yes, I'm curvy but over-so in the wrong areas, but hmmmm...exotic? The tattoos lend flavor to that. ~grins~ And I've been told I have charisma. So...a little bit there, yah.
Now, you return the favor. It doesn't have to be dark, or something you don't feel comfortable revealing...but tell me a little about yourself—something that makes you, you. Or something that you feel. Come on, (gives you a winsome smile). Whisper it in my ear.
Yasmine Galenorn
Yasmine Galenorn is the NY Times bestselling author of the Otherworld (Sisters of the Moon) Series, as well as the upcoming Indigo Court Series. She can be reached via her website: http://www.galenorn.com and haunts Twitter like a long-lost ghost: www.twitter.com/yasminegalenorn Her next book, BONE MAGIC, will be out in January 2010.
I’m headed down the hill Friday to spend the night at our daughter’s place so I can go to a CaBi Party she’s hosting...now, if you’re not familiar with the concept, CaBi makes clothes for young professional women who are tall and slim and look good in absolutely anything. I’ve tried on the clothes and they’re not for me, but I love going to the parties and watching all these gorgeous young women who are all smarter and thinner and taller than I could ever hope to be, trying on beautiful clothes, drinking wine, gossiping and having so much fun. It’s addictive, being around people who are enjoying themselves, and I’m looking forward to a day away from the computer.
Of course, I’ll probably go into withdrawal without my Internet or the book I’m working on, but taking a break is good for the muse, so I’ll do it. The weird thing is, whenever I take a day away like this I really have to talk myself into going. I’m excited about going, I know I’ll have a wonderful time and I know my husband will survive a night by himself. The story will be here when I get back, the flowers won’t die in the yard, the houseplants won’t lose all their leaves, and I’ll still have to force myself to get into my little pickup and make that hour long trip to town. I’m planning to stop at the bookstore, maybe make a trip to the mall. Want to go by the toy shop where I buy my little stuffed wolves for promotional give aways—point being, it’s a day away with lots of fun things in store and I’m still thinking of reasons to stay home and not go!
I think I know why, of course. I’ve become addicted to the fantasy worlds in my stories. It’s so much easier to stay locked in the worlds of my own creation that I’ve become a terrible hermit. It’s funny, in a way, because I used to love to be in the middle of everything, talking a mile a minute, a veritable social butterfly. Now I have to force myself to get out and about, even though I always have fun once I peel myself away from my office. I wonder how much of my change has to do with the online friends I’ve made, and the fact that I find such satisfaction in those friendships that I don’t feel the need to get out with real groups of people? What about you? Do you enjoy getting out and meeting new people? Or when given a choice, do you prefer the quiet spot at home with a good book or your computer?
Writing this is making me realize how little I actually interact with live bodies anymore—at least live ones in person. I think I need to think about this a bit more...while I’m at the party. I’m going. Really.
Here it is, my turn to blog, and my mind is just a great big blank. So I’m giving myself a rest and you a treat. I hereby declare today Hunka Hunka Burnin’ Love Day.
From me. To You.
The third photo (white T, black sweater) is of my nephew Garet, taken probably ten years ago. Isn't he a cutie? You can't tell in a black and white photo but he has the bluest eyes! He got those from my dad.The guy next to him is young, but I love that dimple in his cheekbone.
I love firemen. I'm writing one in a story as we speak.
And now, for something completely different, Bullwinkle. Men of the Mortuaries.
The following two are for you, Louis, and any other men who may be lurking. Never let it be said I'm not an equal opportunity supplier of pretty people pics. :) So, what's your viewing pleasure when it comes to men? I seem to be drawn primarily to dark haired guys, although the Soul Mate had more sandy blond/brown before it went gray. Go figure.
Jayne, here, to welcome back Christina Dodd. She's got a new paranormal romance out and you know what that means: Some fabulous reading is just waiting for you at the bookstore!
Joke: What’s the most powerful aphrodisiac to a woman?
A: The Mercedes SLR McLaren Roadster
Of course the joke is insulting and sexist, but I’ve got a point here.
For me, it’s true. A car that starts at $495,000 makes me look favorably at a man.
Does that make me shallow?
Yes, it does. Me and every other woman who reads the Harlequin Presents line. Their titles are notorious and so easy to make fun of — THE SHEIK’S VIRGIN BRIDE, THE BILLIONAIRE’S INNOCENT SECRETARY, THE PRINCE’S RUNAWAY MISTRESS. (Aside: These are probably real titles, but I truly just pulled them out of my head.) Never will you see a title like THE ACCOUNTANT’S PREGNANT RECEPTIONIST. Why? Because what turns women on is power. Money provides power. Position provides power. And — here’s the root of all this seeming shallowness — the ability to care for and protect a woman provides power.
That’s why, in STORM OF VISIONS, reluctant psychic Jacqueline Vargha so desperately needs Caleb D'Angelo. Her gift has put her in danger, and he’s the bodyguard in charge of bringing her to safety … and to face her destiny.
At the same time, they have a past, and she doesn’t want to be with him. In fact, when they meet after two years, she stabs him, and in this scene, she’s bandaging his wound.
* * * Jacqueline despised him. Despised him and loved him at the same time. It was a painful combination of emotions for him to watch, and for her to live with. He wished … well, it was far too late for him to un-do what he had done, and if he had the chance, he knew he’d do it all over again. Apparently, he could resist everything except temptation — and Jacqueline was the only temptation in his life.
She finished taping the gauze over the wound and stepped back to examine her handiwork. She nodded as if pleased. Then her gaze wandered across his shoulders, his chest, his belly …
God. What she did to him.
And what he did to her. For she closed her amber-brown eyes for one betraying moment. “You can put on your t-shirt now.”
He reached for it.
“And leave.”
His hand hovered an inch above his shirt. Deliberately misunderstanding her, he asked, “You want to leave now?”
“I told you. I’m not going. I mean, what are you going to do? Shove me screaming and yelling through airport security?”
“I don’t have to take you through security. Your mother’s new … boyfriend … loaned her his jet. It’s registered in Greece. It’s sitting at the airport, fueled and ready to fly. You have until tomorrow to make up your mind.”
“My mind is already made up.”
“Then — you have until tomorrow to change it. Until then —”
She saw the look in his eyes and, prey to his predator, froze for a fatal moment.
He carried her hand to his lips, and kissed her fingers. “Until then, I know what I would like to do.”
“What?” Her hostility was apparent, in her stance, in her tone, in her expression.
But her desire glowed like a ember. He had only to breathe it to life, and she would be his. He leaned closer, pressing her against the door, and kissed her, a slow exploration that gained in heat and light with each moment, with each touch. Against her lips, he whispered, “I want to do this. All day, and all night. With you.” Tilting her face up, he kissed her until she forgot everything but him, kissed her until he existed only for her. He kissed her resistance away.
Yet when he lifted his lips away, he discovered he was wrong, for she said, “I won’t go back.”
She would. It was his job to make her.
But for now … they had each other. Only each other.
And the rest of the world could go to hell.
* * *
So tell us — what turns you on? Money? Position? A guy with the attributes and talents of James Bond? Are you disgusted by all this shallowness, or are you shallow, too? And which novels have you read with the best and powerful heroes?
They say everyone has their fifteen minutes of fame. Mine came when I was fourteen years old, one summer day when a news crew from a local television station asked my friend Joey and me if they could take a shot of us on our beach blanket for the five o'clock weather segment.
I opened the paper and on the cover of the Pacific Northwest magazine I saw a cool car beneath the title In The Garage. My first thought was, Hey, this is probably Ken's article. A split second later I'm thinking, Whoa. That looks like his '58 Jaguar. He bought the thing like a decade and a half ago with the intention of restoring it, but never got around to it. Another split second and all the pieces-parts of the cover came together and I'm yelling, "Hey! That's KEN!!!" The old wood kayak on top of the car should have been another giveaway, but what can I say? I'm slow. Not only did his garage make the cut, but my brother is a freaking cover boy!
star of the book video. Her name is Angelababy and she is an English Angora rabbit. She plays the role of Dust Bunny Vincent. I thought you'd get a kick out of the pics that her owner, Betty Chu, sent. Check out more rabbit info at Betty's website, 
This particular blog might sound like a downer. I don't mean for it to. I'm actually in a really happy, relaxed place. But I do get connected to characters, and thus... the hints of gloom in the blog. LOL
The second article drew parallels between the death of network radio and the death of newspapers.
On movies/DVDs/videos?
If you listen to music, do you listen to your own playlists
Some fun promo - another set of billboards in Ohio! 
It wasn't a mouse. No, it was... a baby possum.
You know your category. 
Second question: have you ever taken the same type of drug as a generic (cheaper version)?
So it's nearing midnight a couple days before you read this, and I'm sitting here, thinking about what to blog. I'm thinking about this, that, life and all the good stuff in between. Now, in case you don't remember me or recognize my name (and while I've blogged here several times, there's no real reason you should so I won't feel bad if you don't ~grins~) I'm a friend of Stella's, and she asked me to blog today. I also have had a running penpal relationship with Kate D. (waves) which has been fun over the past year or so.
So tonight, I'm thinking about secrets, because I've got a contest going on my contest-blog for an ARC of 
I’m headed down the hill Friday to spend the night at our daughter’s place so I can go to a CaBi Party she’s hosting...now, if you’re not familiar with the concept, CaBi makes clothes for young professional women who are tall and slim and look good in absolutely anything. I’ve tried on the clothes and they’re not for me, but I love going to the parties and watching all these gorgeous young women who are all smarter and thinner and taller than I could ever hope to be, trying on beautiful clothes, drinking wine, gossiping and having so much fun. It’s addictive, being around people who are enjoying themselves, and I’m looking forward to a day away from the computer.
Of course, I’ll probably go into withdrawal without my Internet or the book I’m working on, but taking a break is good for the muse, so I’ll do it. The weird thing is, whenever I take a day away like this I really have to talk myself into going. I’m excited about going, I know I’ll have a wonderful time and I know my husband will survive a night by himself. The story will be here when I get back, the flowers won’t die in the yard, the houseplants won’t lose all their leaves, and I’ll still have to force myself to get into my little pickup and make that hour long trip to town. I’m planning to stop at the bookstore, maybe make a trip to the mall. Want to go by the toy shop where I buy my little stuffed wolves for promotional give aways—point being, it’s a day away with lots of fun things in store and I’m still thinking of reasons to stay home and not go!
I think I know why, of course. I’ve become addicted to the fantasy worlds in my stories. It’s so much easier to stay locked in the worlds of my own creation that I’ve become a terrible hermit. It’s funny, in a way, because I used to love to be in the middle of everything, talking a mile a minute, a veritable social butterfly. Now I have to force myself to get out and about, even though I always have fun once I peel myself away from my office. I wonder how much of my change has to do with the online friends I’ve made, and the fact that I find such satisfaction in those friendships that I don’t feel the need to get out with real groups of people? What about you? Do you enjoy getting out and meeting new people? Or when given a choice, do you prefer the quiet spot at home with a good book or your computer?
Joke: What’s the most powerful aphrodisiac to a woman?
That’s why, in STORM OF VISIONS, reluctant psychic Jacqueline Vargha so desperately needs Caleb D'Angelo. Her gift has put her in danger, and he’s the bodyguard in charge of bringing her to safety … and to face her destiny.
