Carys Weldon Blog
Friday, September 29, 2006
Ex BooksExtasy Books has removed my titles from their website.
As of this morning:
The Wanton Werewolf Print Anthology is still available at Amazon.com--but is slated to be removed asap. I saw a used copy of it on ebay this morning, too.
Fictionwise still has the whole set of my ebooks listed.
Get them while you can.
0 Comments:
Thursday, September 28, 2006
Official EmailYesterday, I received an email from Gerda (Tina) Haveman--owner of Extasy Books. She is releasing all my contracts--per my request. Books will be removed from Extasy's site and other outlets asap.
So, if you wanted to read a title and haven't purchased it yet, better go get it.
I have spoken to other publishers, and have been assured that my werewolf series will be swept up. No official offers are on the table--as all are awaiting the formal release. But, I don't want my fans (YOU) to think they're gonna get cheated out of the end of the series. I've written two more that aren't out already, and have a third in the works.
What might happen is a lengthening of the shorter werewolf ebooks--so they'll be full novels when they go to print. That might be fun--to get to see more of, say, Chaos's story. Or Leers. Holy heaven, we could have some fun if we went a little DEEPER with those men, don't you think?
And, in other news, I committed to something else that I think you might be interested in. Stefani Kelsey (that editor I love so much) showed me a book cover she purchased from an artist--for a werewolf story--and I drooled and said, "Oh! I wanna write about that man!"
I dropped the story I started two days ago...which none of you bothered to comment on, btw. So, I can only assume you thought the start was needing work or something. I WILL go back and finish that one later.
And, I have leaped into what I think will be another very cool werewolf book featuring a couple of cool guys: Kieran and Trevyn. It might turn out to be a series. The ideas went racing though, the minute I saw the cover. So, I know you'll like the hotty hero.
So, I may alternate between those stories--but that's what I'm working on today. And I'm gonna get busy.
Now, remember what I said first. IF YOU WANT MY BOOKS AT EXTASY, you have very limited days to get them. To the end of the month at most. But they may be removed today.
1 Comments:
I'm glad you wound up resolving things with Extasy.
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
The original version:
What every man should do!!!!
1. DON'T FORCE HER TO DO ANYTHING. [She won't trust you if you do & it'll be awkward]
2. Grab her hand when you walk next to each other. [She always gets butterflies when you do it; it makes her feel like you want her]
3. When standing, wrap your arms around her. [It makes her feel like you really love her.]
4. Cuddle with her. [She'll feel like your there for her]
5. Hug her from behind [It makes her feel special]
6. Write little notes. [She smiles. They're cute; The end]
7. Compliment her Honestly. [No girl likes a liar and no girl likes a person who lies about it when you compliment her]
8. When you hug her, hold her in your arms as long as possible. [It makes her feel wanted]
9. Be super sweet to her. = ) [All girls like a super sweet guy]
10. Call her at night to wish her sweet dreams. [She'll go to bed with a smile]
11. Comfort her when she cries. [She'll feel like you'll ALWAYS be there for her]
12.Wipe away her tears [It'll show you'll always be there]
13. Love her with all your heart. [Not with your brain... or your ......]
14. Pick her up and flirt with her (she'll scream and say put me down but really she loves it). [It's true boys!] [[[[[[[[so so so true.]]]]]]]]]
15. Be a gentleman (hold the door for her). [Every girl loves a guy who is a gentleman]
16. DON'T let your friends talk trash about her, it'll get back 2 her [& it'll make her feel like you aren't really there for her]
17. Take her for a long walk at night! [She just wants to be alone. & that's not always bad. The world can be annoying sometimes & you just need to be alone.]
18. When it's cold outside hold her close [You want her to be happy & she's happy in your arms]
19. Draw on or rub her back as she is tryin to rest or sleep [This just feels good!] {not with a pen you idiot, with your finger}
Girls - repost this if you think it's sweet
Guys - repost this if you would do any of it and make sure that when you do these things that it comes from the heart.
0 Comments:
Okay, yesterday, between dealing with my little publisher woes, I created the beginning to a new story. This one doesn't have a lot of sexual heat in the first ten-fifteen pages, which I'm posting. But, I hope it'll have enough other stuff going on to spark your interest. As always, I wanna know...would you want to read on? Or would you toss it at the wall? Because, you know, if you are honest, it helps me to know which projects to apply myself to.
Again, I'm gonna blog on this to show you my progress. So, yesterday, technically, I came up with fourteen pages. And here they are IN TOTAL ROUGH DRAFT:
CHAPTER ONE
Twenty-nine months after the trial, seven relocations with the secret witness program later, and four days into her latest low-end apartment, Magdalena sat alone on a ratty tweed sofa, staring at her new passport, driver’s license, social security card, birth certificate and ATM card. They were laid out on a chipped laminate coffee table.
“Aggie Lakin,” she read. “Who comes up with these names?”
Nothing but her picture resembled who she’d been…before her brother was killed, and she’d been dragged into a Mafioso nightmare. She tried not to think about it. That was another life.
But he’d been her twin, and ever since, she’d felt lost, and alone in the world. She couldn’t look at her own picture or in a mirror without thinking of him. And, try as she might to make it go away, the vision of Tony being gunned down in the Italian deli wouldn’t leave her head.
“You worry too much, Mag,” he’d said, unwrapping his sandwich, checking under the hoagie bun. “I can handle these guys. They aren’t as bad as you think.” He licked mayo from his thumb. “I’m just moving a little money for them.” He’d laughed at the face she made, and bit into his salami hero. And, as he always had, he talked while chewing. “You dated Jimmy before I ever—”
“Before I knew what he did for a living or anything about him and his connections.” She’d had her soda in hand, holding the straw, sipping, shaking her head. “Be smart, Tony. Get out while you can. Those people scare me.”
“He’s still got a thing for you.”
Goosebumps ran down her spine. “Stalking me, you mean.” She glanced around. “I half expect to run into him at every corner.”
Tony’s favorite lunch spot had a ninety year old décor with pictures of Coney Island the way it was in the early years, and a man behind the counter that had been waiting on them since they were little. They often conjectured that he was as old as the building itself. While they sat there, Al shuffled out and wiped down the table closest to them, said something to people in the far corner, then caught Magdalena’s eye and winked. She smiled back.
“He’s not used to being ignored.” Tony reached out and tugged a lock of her unruly red hair, forcing her to give him her full attention. “Look at it this way…I’m trying to keep him happy and I think I’ve done a pretty good job of keeping him out of your hair.”
She pushed his hand away. “You are not working for him because of me. Tell me you aren’t.”
Tony met her gaze and she knew the awful truth. “Oh, Tony.”
“Don’t worry. I got it handled.” He took another bite of his sandwich.
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing.” He swallowed and reached for his drink, took a gulp. “I’m just workin’ a deal, that’s all.”
“What kind of a deal?” She watched him wolf another huge bite down.
The cow bell on the door behind her rang as it opened. Tony’s eyes went wide, and he spit through the food he hadn’t quite swallowed, “Get down!”
Because they were in Hell’s Kitchen, and sadly enough, drive-bys and murders happened way too often in broad daylight, she hadn’t hesitated. Slinging her soda to the left, she dove to the right, and crawled as fast as she could as a pinging rat-a-tat-zing-zing-zing rang out. The quick burst of gunshot was followed by another couple rounds. One took Al down. Another hit the glass counter splinter-popping it. Magdalena ducked and covered her head. Natural instinct had her turning to see who the shooters were.
Seconds later, the two men she recognized instantly as friends of Jimmy’s—Paul Gianotti and Louie DiBiase—were gone, and Tony was bleeding to death with five slugs in his chest.
She scrambled to him, screaming, “Someone call 9-1-1!” afraid to touch him, rambling, “Oh, God. Oh, God, Tony. Oh, God, don’t die on me.”
His bloody fingers reached, and clutched hold of hers as reddened saliva gurgled up his throat, out the corners of his mouth. “Love you, Sssis. So sssorry.”
“Hang on…” Wildly, she looked around. “Will somebody call?!?”
The people in the far corner. They’d been stricken with fear.
“You!” She pointed. “NINE ONE ONE!”
The man blinked, and dug in his pocket for his cell, and dialed.
Tony coughed on blood, and rolled to his side. She tried to help him, supporting his upper body with her thighs, petting at him in horror, running her fingers through his hair.
“What can I do? Tell me what to do! Tony—don’t you die on me!”
Tony fell back against her. His face had already paled, and a puddle of crimson thickened around them. “Keys, Mag.”
“What?”
“My keys. Take ‘em.” His fingers crawled over his torso, feeling blindly.
Her head petting slid lower, and pre-occupied with covering the blood-flow on his chest by spreading her hands over the bubbling holes, Maggie ignored him until he arched in another coughing fit, grunting, “Make the deal.”
She had no idea what he was talking about. Somehow, he managed to drag his keys from his pants and press them into her hands. Her sticky, bloody hands.
A siren in the distance, too far, echoed behind his last words. “Trade my car…to Frigetto.”
Tears filled her eyes.
Time hadn’t made that horror go away. She trembled every time she thought of it.
The car never went to Frigetto. She’d given her father the keys, and he’d put it in storage somewhere. After Tony’d died, she hadn’t cared about a thing.
And when her parents’ home exploded only a week later in a freak gas line accident—that was no accident—she’d gone running, against all advice, and testified. Tony’s killers had gone to jail…but not for long. Not that it mattered. Jimmy and the whole Stavros family had killed her parents, and hunted her down, repeatedly. She knew they wouldn’t stop until she was dead.
Whatever deal Tony had been working on had gone wrong. That’s all she knew.
Now, she was in hole-in-the-wall Missouri. The classifieds were beside her, a few piddly jobs circled. They wouldn’t look for me in Sprinfield, Missouri, at a Wal-mart, she thought.
Before, she’d been a pastry chef, an artist with cake and torte, working at one of the best bakeries in Manhattan. She couldn’t remember how long it had been since she’d had the pleasure of doing that, getting lost in frosting.
The government issue cell phone in her front pocket vibrated, scaring her half out of her wits. It took her a minute to pry it from the tight jeans. As she did so, she considered the fact that others might have lost weight with all the stress, but no, she’d just ballooned up sixty pounds. So, on top of everything else, she had moved into stretch jeans that were stretched to the max and long, loose, bargain priced t-shirts, and a personal hate for herself. The secret witness budget hadn’t provided a replacement anything near the life she’d left behind. A decent wardrobe was the last thing she cared about. Surviving each day—that was all she thought about. It was a stupor, really, where she asked herself why she bothered.
Light blinking, vibrating again. She frowned at the face of the cheap Nokia. Unknown caller. She assumed it had to be a government agent, her latest re-locater checking on her. As far as she knew, only that one man had her number. Hadn’t it said something else when he’d double-checked it with her? Sanders?
Getting up, moving to the window, she pushed the answer button as she peeked out the thick “seventies orange” curtains and felt comfort at the sight of his car, an unmarked tan sedan of early nineties vintage, in the apartment parking lot across the street.
Putting the phone to her ear, she said, “Hello?”
Silence stretched for a few seconds.
“Hey.”
It was just one word, but fear zipped from her ear, through her brain, and right down into the core of her soul. She knew that voice. He’d called her a hundred times and started the conversation every time like that.
“J—Jimmy?”
“You were expecting somebody else, maybe?”
In a panic, she stared aghast at the phone, clicked it off, then back on, and hit the pre-keyed button that dialed her straight to the FBI secret witness hotline. Moving as fast as she could, she went to the bedroom, grabbed her already packed “panic bag” and bit her lip. Out the door? Through the sliding glass and out the patio?
Jimmy Stavros wouldn’t have called if he didn’t have her dead to rights.
“Hello?” A female voice, finally, came on the line.
“Safe word: Mag-Spring.” Aggie’s whole body shook.
“Go.”
"Compromised. Advise.” The process was quick, but to her, it felt like an endless moment.
“Detail threat.”
Grunting, she looked up at the ceiling. “He called on this phone!!”
She didn’t have time for this. Any minute, he’d come through the door, shooting. Or worse. How many times had she envisioned the ways he’d enjoy killing her? Jimmy always loved his knife, and that had been his nickname. Jimmy “the knife.” Twisting it, jabbing it in again and again, carving designs sometimes—had earned him a reputation. And he strangled his lovers for fun. She knew that for a fact. Putting one hand to the front of her throat, remembering what he’d done to her, she repeated in high-pitch, “Compromised. Advise!”
“Calm down. Verify. Who called?”
“God!” Aggie ran to the living room, scooped up her identification, shoved it into her pants pockets, while cradling the phone against her shoulder. “I’m out of here. If he doesn’t kill me, I’ll call in from a public phone.”
"This line is secure.”
“No. I’m telling you…” Aggie considered going out the bedroom window, then decided that he’d probably expect that. She moved to the front door, took a breath, and unlocked three newly installed bolts.
“I’m trying to get your security detail on the other line.”
With a grunt of disgust, Aggie tossed the phone, yanked the door open, and carefully peeked up and down the hall. No one was in sight. Tugging the door-to behind her, she closed her eyes for the briefest of seconds, did an eeny-meany, miney-mo, and picked the exit that led toward the center of the apartment complex. People, kids, the pool…maybe she could slip through unnoticed, maybe Jimmy wouldn’t take a pot shot in front of…no, that was too much to hope for. He might expect her to think like that—and she didn’t want to endanger anyone else. She turned and jogged down the hall, going toward the front street exit. If her security was still alive, maybe she could leap in his car and be driven to safety.
It was hot and muggy outside. The light made her squint. She hadn’t been out in days and that had been in a hooded jacket, under heavy escort when she was moved from Cleveland—where her last safe house had been. Peering around corners like a thief, she saw no one. No one suspicious, anyway. No one that looked like a thug from New York.
She high-tailed it across the street to the unmarked car Agent Sanders usually occupied. It was empty. There was a bullet hole in the back window and a little blood on the interior. Someone had shot from behind, and grazed him, she surmised, glancing around quickly. The driver door was open. He must’ve gone in pursuit or run for his own cover.
The keys were in the ignition! Aggie threw her bag in the passenger seat, hopped in, slammed the door shut, and started it up. She felt bad about taking off without knowing what had happened to Sanders, but she didn’t have any way to protect herself except flight. Driving directly to the Branson-Springfield Regional Airport, a route she’d memorized, eyes to the rear view mirror the whole time, she parked the car and hustled inside.
A quick check of flights told her the next one out of town was on Allegiant Air. It had a flight to Las Vegas leaving in twenty minutes. She hit the ATM, got the maximum amount of cash, five hundred dollars, and went to the counter.
“Do you have any seats left on that flight to Vegas?”
A man in a suit moved into the line behind her. Aggie glanced out of the corner of her eye, noted the man’s shoes, a brief-laptop case dangling from his fingers, and two rolling suitcases. She never looked up from there. Breathing a sigh of relief that it was “just a regular businessman,” she smiled at the airport attendant. “I need to be on the one leaving now.”
“Let me check. Ah. You’re in luck. Those flights are always crowded, but I have two seats left, believe it or not. Ooh. Back row. Sorry.”
“I don’t mind.” Aggie paid for the ticket with cash. She handed her new license over, biting her bottom lip while her face was compared to the picture.
“Looks like it’s you, all right.” The procedure went quick. “Here you go.” The boarding pass and her identification were returned.
“Thanks.”
She didn’t check the bag. As she walked away, she heard the man say, “I’ll take that last seat to Vegas. And you can put these in the belly.”
It actually made her feel a sense of relief. No way could Jimmy or any of his men get on, if the plane was already sold out.
The first check-point passed her through pretty fast. All the way through the process, though, she felt the dark hovering presence of the businessman, and the hair on the back of her neck prickled repeatedly as he moved closer, crowding her at the identification check-in, and then as she put her bag on the conveyor, his briefcase went right beside hers. His elbow brushed hers. She nearly jumped out of her skin.
They opened her duffle, of course, and rifled through her things—lifting her spare bra and panties—red satin—in one gloved hand, using a baton to move the rest around. She might have been embarrassed if those hadn’t been about the only thing that she owned that she actually liked. The woman doing the search put everything back in with pursed lips.
“Go ahead and step through the metal detector.”
She did.
“Slip your shoes off, and hold your arms up.” She complied, and an old security guard passed a wand over her.
Aggie forced herself to keep her head down, not making eye contact with anyone. That way, only the ones that looked at her license picture could say she’d gotten on the plane. Leave as few witnesses as possible.
It occurred to her that the FBI’s training was remarkably like Jimmy’s.
“This case is code-locked. You’ll have to open it, sir.”
Behind her, she heard the man’s voice, in a low timbre, say, “Sure.”
It went right through her in a jolt of pleasure. He sounded confident and unconcerned. Her back to him, she made a conscious effort at stretching her neck, trying to relax. This was middle America. She was behind security gates. There was no way Jimmy was ahead of her on that plane. There were no other planes out of Springfield for three more hours. Even if he followed her there, she was as good as safe for the next few hours, anyway. She stepped back into her shoes.
“We check all laptops and briefcases these days,” the woman said.
“I know. Let me walk through first.” The man stepped into the metal detector and the apparatus beeped.
Aggie resisted the urge to look but her curiosity had her wondering where he had metal. Maybe he was a veteran? Had pins somewhere or a plate in his head…? Before, she would have looked him in the eye, and complained about the treatment, maybe asked him about…whatever made him beep.
What had happened to the girl she’d been? For a second, Aggie longed for her.
“You’re all-clear, miss,” the older guard said.
“Great.” Snagging her bag in one hand, she took off at a fast hike, realizing that she had to hit the bathroom before getting on the plane. She hated tight spaces like toilet facilities on planes or buses, more so since she’d gained the extra weight.
“Final boarding,” the speaker system announced, “for Allegiant Air flight number 7246.”
That was her flight. She spared a glance toward the pay phones, but decided she couldn’t do that and go to the pot; there wasn’t enough time.
By the time she relieved herself and climbed on the MD-83 aircraft, she felt like she was racing against time, like any minute something monumental could happen. She couldn’t shake the feeling.
It didn’t help that she had a fear of flying. She hoped her sense of impending disaster had nothing to do with the vessel’s air worthiness.
The plane was a tight little thing. Seats were small. The rows were crowded. She hated it, but she eyed the group—hoping that no one had the earmarking look of a gangsta. Midwesterners all, from the looks of it. People smiling and chatting excitedly over their proposed trip to Vegas.
“You need to find a seat,” the flight attendant urged from behind, forcing Aggie to move forward.
She ended up walking sideways through the aisle, doing her best not to bang someone in the head with her bag, watching the floor mostly, all the way to the last seat open on the back row. The whole time, she hated her body all over again, cussed it inside her head.
Once, she bumped someone with her hip, and had to say, “Oh. Oh. I’m so sorry.” It didn’t appear that she was forgiven, and that made her feel worse, but she kept moving.
To her consternation, the minute she got to the end of the aisle, she recognized the shoes of the businessman that had come through security behind her. And they were blocking her entry into the two-seat back row. Big feet clad in high quality, sturdy Florsheims. Since she hadn’t had sex in nearly three years, the euphemism about big feet and other appendages matching the size, hit her brain. She blushed, and reached up to open the compartment above their seat, letting her arm block his view of her face.
It took some shoving and re-arranging to make room. Aggie stole a sneaky peek as she pushed her carry-on into the overhead. Her heart stopped for a brief second, tripping over its normally steady beat. The very handsome man in the seat beside hers spared a contemplative and reserved smile, watching her without abash.
At a glance, she noted the near black hair at his collar—looking like it was trimmed tight to keep it from curling. His neck was tanned, the muscles cording up thickly, telling that he worked out to the extreme. She squeaked. What was her thing about necks?
Tony had always laughed at her over that sort of thing. “Thug necks,” that’s what he’d called them. Whatever. This one made her lips itch…with the urge to plant a kiss on the guy’s carotid.
As if he read her mind, he readjusted in his seat, reaching up to rub the side and back of his neck. That forced her out of her moment of throat-lust. Another shove at the bag above her head, and her knee bumped his as she maneuvered, thumping on the duffle, trying to get it in. He shifted again as if to give her more room—to keep from touching her. He wasn’t small either, and so it was uncomfortable before she even sat down. Aggie ducked her head, surprised at the sudden lack of air in the passenger compartment. She sucked in deep.
If she hadn’t been running for her life, on a mafia hit list, and absolutely beyond trusting any man, she thought, she might have had to fake a fall into Mr. Universe’s ample arms. Could a man have bigger biceps in a tight, black business suit? Or more aquiline features, and darker brown eyes?
Was he Italian? Yes. Undoubtedly.
That bothered her. Could he…could he be…somehow connected to Jimmy?
A flight attendant took up the microphone and announced, “Please take your seats. Fasten your seatbelts. We will be taking off shortly.”
The seatbelt and no smoking signs blinked.
Aggie felt stupid. She was the only one standing at that time. Everyone swiveled in their seats and looked at her. Abruptly, she gave up on the bag, and pushed past the man, landing in the window seat, feeling immediately boxed in.
If he was one of Jimmy’s relatives, or henchmen, she was as good as dead. Closing her eyes, Aggie crossed herself, and sent up a small prayer.
“Don’t like flying, eh?”
She didn’t open her eyes. There had been amusement in his tone.
“No. I love it,” she lied and forced herself to turn and look at him fully. If she was going to die at his hands, by a knife to the ribs or something, she wanted to imprint him on her soul somehow—so she could come back in the next life and hunt him down.
His lips twisted. His eyes lit up, and he said, “I love it, too.”
Aggie didn’t know what to make of him…except, maybe, that he was as hot, hot, hot, as a man ever had been. Serious machismo oozed from his every pore. And now that she was giving him her full attention, and vice versa, there was no mistaking his to-die-for spice cologne, or the sheer, hulking manliness that he exuded from his too-thick neck, super broad shoulders, down to the prickly looking hair on the back of his hands. He propped his elbow on the aisle arm rest, small as it was, and had his chin on his hand, eyeing her with some sort of pleasure.
She wondered if it was the look of a man, a cold blooded killer toying with his prey. His gaze wandered over her face, up at her hair—which she knew was a mess. She’d tugged the dyed dark mass into a high ponytail that morning—missing her natural dark red. And she hadn’t bothered with make-up. So, his perusal quickly made her even more uncomfortable. The hair on the back of her neck stood up. Her heart pounded. She wasn’t sure what she expected out of him, but his sudden movement surprised her.
“Here.” He leaned toward her.
She flinched, drawing back like she’d been hit, until she realized that he’d grabbed hold of the dangling seatbelt and was passing it to her. “Oh,” she said lamely, “Thanks.”
A murderer that buckled her in first? Maybe it was to keep her dying dead corpse from flopping around noticeably in flight.
She managed to get the seatbelt on without asking for an extension, but it was tight. A girl who runs for her life as often as she did shouldn’t be so fat, she thought, promising herself at once that she’d go on the Atkins diet soon as she got settled in somewhere. Living off pizza delivery had not helped her in the slightest.
“This is a pretty quick flight,” he said conversationally.
“Good,” she monotoned, turning her shoulder to him, staring out the window onto the tarmac.
I hate flying. I hate flying. I hate flying.
That didn’t help, but her obvious nervousness, she felt sure, would give him the message that she didn’t want to talk. What she wanted to do, she realized, was watch his reflection in the window. He didn’t take his eye off of her, or shift at all, through take-off and most of the flight. Not until the flight attendant came through.
As air travel goes, he was right, the flight was relatively short and uneventful. She was grateful for the free soda offered half way through it, and pocketed the pretzel pack they offered her.
He watched her the whole time, and that made Aggie more and more uncomfortable as time dragged on. Once in the air, she tapped repeatedly on the arm rest, and her left leg bounced faster than a musician keeping a fast beat. She considered getting her anxiety pills out of her bag, but hated the idea of getting into it with the man watching her with what she perceived to be an irritated frown. So, she endured.
When they landed safely, she couldn’t have been more relieved.
1 Comments:
I read this while doing my nightly routine the other day. I logged off before I commented. Yikes!! I was working with Mom in Muskogee today and kept thinking about books I'd like to read. This one kept coming to mind
It seems like I've been doing that a lot lately, wanting to read the finished product of a friend's unfinished/unpubbed work.
What every woman should do!!!! Or 19 ways to keep a guy---LOL---obviously written by a young guy.
1. DON'T FORCE HIM TO DO ANYTHING.[he won't trust you if you do it'll be awkward]
2. let him grab your ass when you walk next to each other.[This lets all other guys know your taken and reminds him of his amazing love making techniques.]
3. When standing, wrap your arms around Him.[It makes him feel like you really want him.]
4. Cuddle with him.[He'll feel like you are there for him]
5. Hug him from behind[it makes him want to hug you from behind in bed]
6. Write little notes.[he smiles. They're cute; The end]
7. Compliment his Honestly.[No guy likes a liar and no guy likes a person who lies about it when you compliment him]
8. When you hug him, hold him in your arms as long as possible.[It makes him feel wanted]
9. Be super sweet to him. = )[All guys like a super sweet girl]
10. Call him at night to wish him wet dreams.[he'll go to bed with a hard on]
11. Comfort him when he cries.[he'll feel like you'll ALWAYS be there for him]
12.Wipe away his tears[It'll show him that he doesnt need tissue when your around]
13. Love him with all your heart.[Not with your brain... or your ......]
14. Pick him up and flirt with him (he'll scream and say put me down but really he loves it).[It's true girls !][[[[[[[[so so so true.]]]]]]]]]
15. Be lady like (hold his cock when he's pissing).[Every guy likes a girl who has good aim]
16. DON'T let your friends talk trash about him, it'll get back 2 him[& it'll make him feel like you aren't really there for him]
17. Take him for a long walk at night![he just wants to be alone. & that's not always bad. The world can be annoying sometimes & you just need to be alone.]
18. When it's cold outside hold him close[You want him to be happy & he's happy in your arms]
19. Draw on or rub his back as he is tryin to rest or sleep[This just feels good!] {not with a pen you idiot, with your finger}
Guys - repost this if you think it's sweet
Girls - repost this if you would do any of it and make sure that when you do these things that it comes from the heart
0 Comments:
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Saga of a sad writerI am embroiled, it seems, in a thick little mess.
As I said yesterday, I've asked for a release from all my contracts--and was told it was granted months ago (June 9th)--but Extasy Books is not wanting to abide by that. You may want to peruse Writer's Beware, Preditors and Editors, and Piers Anthony's site in the next little while to see what comes of it all.
Like I said, I dunno how long my books will be available online--maybe as long as to the end of the year. Maybe taken down any second.
My newsletter will be going out in a couple of days--so if you didn't read last months, you might wanna do that asap--because there's an easy contest to enter that could get you a little gift certificate. ($10) And the blog contest--for those who post comments--is going to end soon, too. Well, I mean, the drawing will be done, and then we'll start again for the next month. I'm gonna keep these contests happening. So, stay tuned, chat me up.
I'm gonna go and immerse myself in a world where there is no email nightmare going on. (That's where my little fiasco with my publisher is playing out.)
If I write anything good, I'll post a bit for ya tomorrow. How's that for a plan? So, get ready to read a new hook--which, as you know, better be somewhat sexy or intriguing.
Chat at ya later!
~Carys
3 Comments:
Hope you get everything worked out and have books back up somewhere else soon.
Just checking in to see what is new. Hope things work out for you
By 
, at
4:51 PM
Good luck in dealing with them.
Monday, September 25, 2006
Books not for saleAfter a weekend of turmoil filled emails, I sent a certified letter to Extasy Books saying I believe I was released June 9th and have waited out a ninety day clause, and that I believe they should remove my books from outlets and issue a final royalty statement.
They emailed me saying they were removing books and contacting a lawyer.
So, I dunno if they're all down yet, or not...but you might wanna run and get them if you can.
In other news, I'm gonna try and focus and write a ton of stuff to send elsewhere. But I'll keep blogging so you can keep up with my little saga. And my newsletters will continue to go out. It will be interesting to see what I come up with to fill those, huh?
Special news: I have a publisher that wants to buy some of my books and offered to send them through edits asap--so I may have something out sooner than you'd expect. For those speculating on WHO that publisher is...I will say one thing...it ISN'T Mojocastle (where my favorite editor, Stefani Kelsey now is). Although, they said they'd like me to submit, and I fully plan to soon.
Don't give up on me. Stay my fans. I'll write as fast as I can, I swear.
1 Comments:
Cheers on the new pub. I know you won't be answering until things are firm but I'm guessing it starts with S.
Sunday, September 24, 2006
Appearing in VegasJennifer DiCamillo will be speaking in Las Vegas Nevada at the Alexis Park Resort Hotel on October 28th, 2006...at the International Paranormal and Psychic Awareness Festival.
Read up on the event at:
http://www.vickiegay.com/UniversalPassingOver2006VendorBio.html
I've been invited to participate in the inner circle at the meditation for world peace and helping departed souls cross over. Should be spiritually stimulating and interesting, I think.
I'm a little humbled that I was chosen for the inner circle. Vickie Gay, who is a world renowned psychic received my name from Bryon Smith, who I met at a writer's event in Arkansas. She emailed me to say that she had meditated over which intuitives should be invited into the inner circle...and spirit insisted she ask me. Since I have not done readings for money, nor do I have a mediumship diploma, I feel like the poor kid on the block with some of the other big names in psychic awareness that will be there.
But, it's cool.
So, I'm already meditating on what to say.
I hope this doesn't freak anybody out to hear that I am a REAL psychic. (I thought I told you already!) Although I prefer the word INTUITIVE. And, in case you're wondering, I am also a christian. Believe it or not, the ability to speak to "those who have crossed" and "angels not on this plane" has firmed up my belief that Christ existed here, and continues to exist, and that he is revered by many, many entitities.
I also believe, now, in Mohammed, Buddha, and other good men that ascended on a spiritual plane--to such a height that so many revere them.
It's Sunday, please forgive me for going religious. (Not getting preachy here, I promise.)
But, I also believe in aliens. So, take my opinions for what they're worth--and ignore them if you don't like 'em. I sure hope this post doesn't get me a mass exodus of readers. If you don't like what I've said here, chat with me, on this forum or via email, and I'll elaborate on things.
But, like I said...I don't wanna be preachy. That's not my deal at all.
I really am meditating for world peace and the health and safety of all--all the time.
Religious disputes seem to counteract that whole "peace of spirit" and "unconditional love and forgiveness" that I really, really want to promote.
And with that in mind, I'll try and post some freewill loving excerpt or something tomorrow. K?
3 Comments:
Far from not liking what you said. I think that's pretty neat.
I believe everyone is intuitive/psychic to some degree. Most of us just don't know really how to tap into it. Or (in my case) when/if we do, we don't know what to do with it and so try to block it off instead.
Not exactly a good thing to do, but be that as it may....
Congratulations!
I'm not going to touch the religious thing - suffice to say that I'm the type who likes explanations and the kind of intuition that I believe in depends on body language or subconscious awareness of surroundings rather than the supernatural.
I referred a couple to see "world renowned" psychic Vickie Gay in Reno. It was the worst mistake I ever made. They were grieving after just losing a child and Vickie ripped them off not once, but twice. She could'nt read them the first time (after purchasing expensive tickets) so she asked to see them the next day. She made them repay and gave no information. She was also rude to people at her seance and gave only vague information.
By , at
2:57 AM
Saturday, September 23, 2006
Buy my books FASTHey, I just wanna give you a heads up...
my books may not be available from Extasy Books for much longer.
So, if you want 'em, you might wanna make a run for 'em.
And I'm not saying that just to trick you into buying, or to up this week's sales or something.
Vampirubus is up for sale at the Extasy website now, and so are all the other titles that have been released.
But...things there are shaky. I was technically released from my contracts with them on June 9th by Extasy part owner, Diana Kemp-Jones, and had to wait through a ninety day clause--which is over now. My books are supposed to be removed, and all rights reverted to me. (As you can see, they are still up and I have not been paid all my royalties...but I have faith in both things happening soon.)
Never fear...that does not mean that I don't have other prospects or that you'll never see my books again. A couple of publishers have asked for my manuscripts/books for republishing those that are out now, and those that were slated to come out. It's just a matter of deciding where I want to put them. But, that could take some months to process.
For my fans, though, I'll feed you here--I promise. If you need more werewolves or vampires or whatever from me...just say so. I know some of you are shy about posting to the public forum, but okay with emailing me privately. I'm cool with it either way.
I do want to remind you that my newsletter is coming out soon and I'll be doing two drawings again for gift certificates. One will be drawn from the names of those who've posted to this blog, and the other is from the drawing noted in my last newsletter.
Winners will be announced here and in the next newsletter. Did I say that already? I feel repetitious.
Keyed up and stressed here at 1:40 a.m. (Missouri time).
I should go to bed...but will I sleep? I don't think so.
0 Comments:
Today is the day of Hootin' and Hollerin' in Gainesville, Missouri. I'm not going down there but my kids went. (We've done it every year for years.)
It's raining here, so it didn't sound like a great time to be at a festival.
You're missin' it, though, and I thought you should know that you're missing out on, not only HOG calling, but HUSBAND calling, too. Yep. Just the way someone yells SUEEEEEE for a pig to come to them--there's women down there hollerin' all sorts of things trying to get their husbands to come from the crowd--getting judged on their technique and ear piercing capabilities.
Another competition they have is crowning a girl--usually NOT the prettiest one in town--that dresses like a pioneer and gives the craziest speech. It's gotta talk about bein' poor and barefoot, and havin' no runnin' plumbin' and stuff like that. Funny stuff...cause it is SERIOUS business. Girls train for months to get their monologues down, and costumes together. Blacked out teeth and pigtails are a big plus to the judges.
Oh, yeah. And as I type this, the outhouse races are running. I'm not kidding. They have portable wood shack outhouses WITH A SEAT HOLE--somebody has to sit on that while the rest of the team lifts, hoists, and runs and pushes it to the finish line--which is a dandy run all the way around the courthouse.
And then, of course, is the parade of all parades...the hour and a half line-up of tractors from all over the county.
This festival is outdone by only one other festival, as far as I know. Over the border in Yellville...or is that Flippin? Arkansas. You have to go through one to get to the other. Anyhow, they drop real live hen turkeys from a chopper. The critters are banded on the legs with cash. All day long, you see kids with turkeys under their arms.
They have a butcher with a truck where you can drop your turkey--and pick it up in a freezer ready state a week later.
And there you can get some serious old time religion. There is always a preacher in standard historical dress expounding from the steps of the courthouse. The cops run him off, but that's just fun to watch. They can't arrest him for expressing his religious vows, even if he's pointing and screaming, "You, Sir! Are a sinner! Repent. Repent saith the lord!"
The gazebo there goes full time with some country pickers. Nose and banjo, whatever...if ya look like you're from the salvation army, you can go up there and join in.
Got any fun festivals in your neck of the woods?
5 Comments:
Did you grow up in Butler, or just light there a spell?
And how'd ya end up in WV?
I had an aunt that used to live down there by the beach. We went crabbing one morning--that I'll never forget. My cousins tied chicken necks to strings and tossed those out into the water. A few minutes later, they pulled the crabs in. TOO EASY.
I felt really bad when they dropped them, live, into the boiling water...but amazed when they turned from white to red--dead, of course.
Took me years to get the smell of them cooking out of my head.
Funny how little mentions bring back whole memories, huh?
By 
CarysWeldonblog, at
7:53 AM
We don't have any festivals like that that I know of (there's a pretty big fall fair in the next town over from my hometown, but I haven't been to it in 15 years or so). There's a small, free music festival here tomorrow in honour of Rivers Day which I'm hoping to go to if it doesn't rain.
Where's here? I like free music festivals.
By CarysWeldonblog, at
11:49 PM
Prince George, BC.
I went. It was a beautiful day, and a lot of fun, but I was surprised at how few people showed up. And it was a long walk home. The buses only run for a few hours in the middle of the day on Sundays.
Friday, September 22, 2006
What to do, what to do?I spent 14 hours at the computer yesterday, finishing final edits (I hope) on Pack Taboo--which I thought was done and ready to go a year ago, but came back to me for another go-through. Let's hope that's all it needed. I did lengthen it to a full length novel, so you may like that even better now.
I feel great about getting through the edits.
And this morning, I'm looking at what I have unfinished and trying to decide what I should write. You know, complete something already started or go for something new.
Any thoughts on what type of books you'd like to see more of? Are any of you into sf? Just wanna see more werewolves? Vampires? Or would you like to see a regular contemporary story without shapeshifts? I have a dragonkin thing started. A guy who sprouts wings and is, well, part dragon. Does that sound cool?
I'm taking all suggestions.
While you're thinking on that, take a look at this set-up to a story. Tell me if you think it's boring or not, k? I'm toying with doing this as another book in the werewolf series. But, if you're not entertained and hooked, I may set it aside. This book would probably be called PACKage, and it came to me when I was thinking about the frog prince and kick ass heroine thing...so, even though the heroine isn't kickass at the start, you can bet she'll come into her own before the book is done.
Anyhow, here it is. Tell me what you think:
Hannah got raped. She fought like the little girl she was. Only seventeen, she had no skills to defend herself from her prom date. What she had hoped would be the neatest night of her life turned out to be pure hell.
But, she recovered. Years passed. She didn’t date. She didn’t look men in the eye. And she wasn’t looking for intimacy ever again.
As a garou (shapeshifting werewolf) female, she had learned her lesson. Eye to eye contact was a direct challenge for power. She had no intention of making that mistake again.
She paid her bills by doing reception work in one of the lower offices of Wolf Enterprises. Since it was the accounting department, most of her time was spent in transferring calls. That was fine with her. It required very little person to person contact.
People came in, and said, “Hi, Hannah.”
Her response was always, “Hello,” nothing more.
And when they left, they said, “Bye, Hannah,” but that was the extent of things. She had no social life, nor did she want one. Her wounds had gone deep, and her feeling of security had deserted her completely. She scurried from her job at closing so she could get into her car quickly and home before dark.
Frank, a short and balding accountant, wore polyester suits and bow ties. He wasn’t that much older than her, but he seemed completely out of place in the modern world. Hannah worked with him day after day for two years and barely noticed him at all—except to think he seemed a bit odd. He was quiet and unassuming. He stayed in his office most of the time. And he gave her a wide circle—which she appreciated tremendously.
She answered phones for a large firm and might not have noticed him at all if it weren’t for the fact that he got a really intriguing visitor one day.
Mark Wolf, CEO of Wolf Enterprises, showed up in front of Hannah’s desk and demanded, “Point me to Frank Shearer’s office.”
Blinking owlishly, Hannah stuttered. “It’s uh…” She licked her lips. She could wave a blind hand toward the many offices behind her or…
Mark Wolf was a woman’s wet dream. Everything about him screamed power. And nothing suggested he was on a leash. Raw sex appeal commanded the room. Several people paused to look at him, or listen to what he had to say. He scared her to death.
Without any effort on her part, a vision of him reaching out, yanking her over the desk and having his way with her came to her mind. Of course, it crossed the lines of fantasy and sick fear and she began to tremble.
Behind the doors of garou firms, things like that did happen.
He looked her up and down, obviously appreciated her 5’4” super curves, and smiled roguishly. “Where…?” His voice led her expectantly.
“Uh, behind me.” On impulse, Hannah popped out of her seat and said, “I’ll show you.” Glad to be moving, and staying out of his reach, she wiggled her butt pretty quick.
He followed. She could feel his presence shadowing her. She didn’t waste any time on reaching Frank’s office. She rapped once, and told Mr. Wolf, “I know he’s in there. I saw him go in.”
“Keeping an eye on him, eh? That’s good. Somebody needs to.”
When Frank didn’t respond, Mark reached passed her and thumped the door. “Frank! It’s Mark. I don’t have all day.”
Frank was on first name basis with the big CEO? That surprised Hannah for some reason. Maybe because she didn’t know anything about Frank, but he didn’t seem to be connected to high places.
“Coming! Just a sec.”
Mark wickedly asked Hannah, “You think he is?”
“What?”
“Coming.”
The tone of his voice had her thinking dirty. She blushed. She stammered, “I…I’m sure he is.”
“Let’s see.” Mark didn’t wait any longer. He turned the handle and pushed the door. At the same time, he put a hand to Hannah’s elbow and propelled her into Frank’s office.
Since they were garou, their noses went up. Yes, the scent of sexual body fluid was in the air.
Frank was in the inner office bathroom with the door open, his back to them. He glanced their way and said, “Shit. I told you I was coming.”
Normally, Hannah would have backed out as unobtrusively as possible and pretended she hadn’t caught the man masturbating, or never have entered in the first place, but Mark Wolf had a hold of her. It wasn’t like she could see anything…except Frank’s reflection in the mirror. It appeared that his tool was remarkably notable. That made her wince. She remembered the pain of her first and only sexual encounter. The gauche boy hadn’t been half as well endowed, but he’d hurt her tremendously. Frozen to the spot, she stared in a bit of horror.
Wiping himself with a hand towel, Frank’s gaze found hers in the glass. His light brown eyes darkened as hers widened.
“If you’ll excuse me,” she said, thinking to back out of the room.
Mark Wolf towered over her, and crowded her, and didn’t give her an inch to move, his grip tightened on her. “No. I’d like you to stay.”
Hannah tipped her head back, eyeing his chin, and asked, “Why? You want me to answer his phone if he gets a call? It won’t get transferred if I’m not at my desk.”
He actually chuckled at her. Then he leaned closer and said, “Because I said I’d like you to stay.”
His magnetism coupled with the pressure on her elbow and the firm hold he had on her was such that Hannah couldn’t have denied his request. She gulped, “Okay. Whatever you want.” But, all she really wanted was to get out.
Frank washed his hands. She listened to the sounds of running water, and the soap dispenser clicking.
Mark steered her into a chair then sat across from her. She didn’t meet his eyes. Feeling distinctly like pray, she wondered what was going on. Why had he picked her? What did he want?
He propped an elbow on the arm of his chair and put his chin in his hand, watching her body language, which she knew completely gave her away.
“You’re afraid of me,” he said quietly.
She didn’t respond. What was the point? He had already surmised the truth.
“I don’t hurt women.”
Before becoming CEO of Wolf Enterprises, he’d been a bagman for the garou mafia. Everyone knew that. It was the precise reason he was the perfect man for his present job. No one would cross him. He’d gain control of a faltering company and all their people would find his confidence comforting.
“I don’t think you came here to hurt me.” One of the things she’d learned in therapy was that all men were not out “to get her.” Even if inside she believed that to be a false statement, she repeated it as a mantra all the time. It helped her to get her breath.
Frank entered the room. Without preamble, he asked, “What do you need, Mark?” But his eyes were on Hannah.
Immediately, she felt his distrust. As always, she kept her eyes averted. It wasn’t her idea to be in there!
Adjusting his glasses, and then checking that his shirt was tucked into his pants, Frank turned on Mark. “What’s she doing in here?”
“I need you to do something for me, and I think she’ll be perfect.”
“Perfect for what?” Frank postured.
It surprised Hannah. Frank always seemed so mild-mannered, and here he was confronting the CEO like they were equals. She glanced around wildly, thinking about making a run for the door. If they squabbled wolf-like, she didn’t want to be anywhere near. She didn’t want anyone to think it could be over her.
Placating the both of them, Mark eased, “Relax, both of you.” To Frank, he said, “You don’t need to get your hackles up.”
Frank rolled his shoulders in an obvious attempt to let the tension go. “This is my office. I’m not used to you barging in here.”
“Your space is your space, Frank.”
Hannah got the definite impression that Mark found something about the situation funny—but she wasn’t seeing it, and neither, apparently, was Frank.
“She doesn’t mind-talk,” Mark said.
“I know.”
The fact that they were talking about her in front of her annoyed Hannah. Even more so when she realized what they were saying. Both of them had tried to connect with her psychically? Satisfaction crossed her features. If one thing, therapy had given her the guard wall in her brain.
“I want you to go on a trip with her, deliver a package for me.”
“No,” Frank said. “Pick someone else.”
Go on a trip? She wasn’t going anywhere with any man—let alone to deliver a package from Mark Wolf. Panic set in. What if they made her? What kind of package would he be sending? Oh, Gaia. A finger in a box? A heart? Some other body part?
Frank glanced her way. “You can smell her fear.”
“Which is why she’ll be perfect. It’ll look like a safe little working trip. No one will suspect you’re fooling around with her.”
“You investigated her before you came down, didn’t you?”
The accusation horrified Hannah. Mark Wolf and Frank both knew about her history? Was there anything these people didn’t keep track of?
Standing abruptly, Hannah said, “I cannot go on a trip with him, or anyone. It’s not in my job description. You can’t make me.” She sped toward the door, planning on a hasty exit.
Mark Wolf beat her to it. One hand on the door above her, he pushed it shut just as she pulled it an inch. “I’m not asking.”
She closed her eyes. The threat made her tremble. Calling upon years of therapy, she held her ground. “I quit. You don’t own me.”
Like a nightmare she’d had way too many times, he reached out, put a hand on her neck and yanked her against him. A kiss or a squeeze, either would be her death.
“Wrong,” he said.
Suddenly, Frank was between them, prying her free, insinuating himself, pulling her behind his back, calmly stating, “Mark, you really need to ease up. Your people skills are sadly lacking.”
He put a hand to Mark’s chest and then backed up himself—which forced Hannah to move, too, putting distance where it needed to be. His other hand reached behind, steadying her, comforting her. It was the first time in forever that Hannah had been touched by a man and not felt threatened. His protective stance actually gave her courage. She peeked over his shoulder and looked at Mark Wolf’s face.
The man was savagely handsome. He oozed anger, though.
“I do own her. I own everyone in this building.” He seethed, “I make and break them every day.”
“Shh,” Frank said. “Deep breath, buddy.”
Mark’s hand covered Frank’s and he said, “Let go.”
“I don’t think so.”
That’s when Hannah realized that Frank was holding Mark against the door. Any second, the two of them could go ape-shit on each other.
She closed her eyes and whispered, “Let him go. He won’t hurt me.” Tears escaped. She felt them streaming down her cheeks but she couldn’t open her eyes to save her life. “He doesn’t hurt women.”
Frank’s hand moved. It squeezed reassuringly.
The silence stretched.
Mark got a grip and said, “She’s right. I’m good. Let go.”
No one moved for several more seconds. Frank finally pushed Hannah back, not letting go, and he stepped with her, releasing Mark.
“You can’t do that, Mark.”
Adjusting his tie, Mark said, “I know. I’m working on it.” Glancing around Frank, he apologized. “Forgive me, please. Things are a little…tense…these days.”
Hannah knew that Mark referred to his missing brother, implied company embezzlement, and the ongoing war with the bastets (cat shapeshifters).
“It’s all right.” It wasn’t an excuse for him to take it out on her, but what else could she say?
“You work it out with her,” Mark said. “But she’s the one. I want you on a plane tomorrow, early.”
He left without another word. Hannah put one arm around her own waist, and her other hand cupped her throat, where he had gotten his hold. She sniffed, trying not to let herself go into the crying jag that begged to be set free. Could she be any more of a coward?
She had claws. She had fangs. Why hadn’t she fought back? She hated being a victim!
“It’s all right. He’s gone.”
Hannah forced her eyes open. The tears were still escaping. She trembled all over.
Frank tipped his head. “Shh.”
The small comfort released more of her anguish. She admitted, “He could have killed me.”
He pulled her into his arms, wrapping himself around her, tucking her head to his chest, letting her cry. There was nothing sexual in it. Like a father, he whispered, “It’s all right, Hannah. Nobody’s gonna hurt you. You’re safe here.”
Desperately needing a shoulder to cry on, strong arms around her, and a confidante, she gave in to her emotions. It didn’t last long before she realized that she was being held by a man. Something inside her clawed its way up, and she pulled herself free.
Frank let her, but he kept his hands on her—just lightly at her elbows. She skewered his chest with her gaze and pouted. Why had she let him touch her? With the first knuckle on her right hand, she wiped her nose.
He put a hand to her chin and lifted. “Look at me, Hannah.”
She allowed her eyes to rise to lips.
“At my eyes,” he insisted.
That was something she couldn’t do. She shook her head slightly. “No.”
“We aren’t all monsters,” he said.
Hannah looked him in the eye, then. “Wrong.” Eye to eye contact lasted about two seconds.
“I’m not going to argue the point.”
He let go of her. Turning his back, he paced with one hand to his nape.
One eye to the door, Hannah eased herself in that direction. He let her get all the way to it before he said, “Let me take you to dinner.”
“No thanks.”
The pacing came to an end. He dropped his hand, extending it to her. “I promise I won’t bite.”
“I didn’t think you would,” she lied. “But I’ve lost my appetite.”
Truth was, she didn’t remember having an appetite—for anything—since she’d been raped. She ate…because it was something to do, but she didn’t crave food, or company, or anything except to be left alone.
“Mark doesn’t take no for an answer, you know.”
She considered suicide. It was a quick and stupid thought, and she knew it, but it still came to her mind.
“What are you thinking?”
“That I won’t be around to care what Mark Wolf wants.” Stubbornly, she said, “He doesn’t own me. He can’t make me go somewhere I don’t want to go.”
“You are your own person,” Frank agreed. “You make your own choices.”
She didn’t trust his support. She turned the handle on the door.
“I’ll bring dinner to you. You don’t have to go out.”
“What?”
“You don’t want to go to a nice restaurant like civilized people, I’ll come to you.”
“No. I said no.”
“Hannah,” he used that soothing tone on her—the same one he’d used on Mark. “It’s all right. Nothing bad is going to happen if you let me buy you dinner.”
“I don’t…do that.”
“What?”
“Date.”
“This isn’t a date. Consider it a business meeting. We’ll discuss your place in the company. Nothing personal.”
“I don’t want to go.” Not on the trip. Not to dinner. Not anywhere.
“It’s just dinner.”
His coaxing tone lulled her, confused her senses.
“Do you like Chinese?”
“Yes, but—I don't eat dog.”
"You mean, you don't want the real thing."
"Just what I said. Don't...don't think I want anything...or that I'll give you anything, if you show up."
“Go back to your desk, Hannah. I'll see you at eight.”
Feeling a bit like she’d been hypnotized, Hannah left him. She went back to work, and went through the motions all day long—not letting her mind go over the scene in Frank’s office, or the dinner plans, or the decree Mark had made.
A zombie, she went to her car. Once home, she wondered, Had she said goodbye to everyone as they left, like she usually did? Had Frank come out of his office?
She couldn’t remember.
2 Comments:
My main computer crashed so I'm behind in blogs.
I think you set up an intriguing premise here.
By Rinda Elliott, at
7:38 AM
I read this earlier then had to go get a haircut so I didn't reply then. But...
I wanna see more! :)
But that's just me. *S*
Thursday, September 21, 2006
Dead silence and Adult storesNot a word came in on that sex toys poll. Have all my readers disappeared? Or do you hate yesterday's topic?
I was trying to do research for future books. I read a novel by an author that shall remain nameless--biggy Elloras Cave erotica author though--and I didn't love it because of the sex toys and ploys she used.
Personally, my sex toy experience is rather limited. I've been to adult stores--all for research, of course--but got embarrassed the last time I was in one because a girl (over age) that worked with one of my daughters walked in.
She, of course, told my daughter the minute she saw her. "I saw your mom in Priscillas."
My daughter(s) know what I write. (I actually write it all!) The one confronted deadpanned, "Really? Huh. I wonder what she was doing there."
I'm still not sure if it was cool for me to be caught there or not. I have another daughter who shops there regularly for platform shoes and boots. They are almost always out of my size (10 since I gained weight). So, I don't buy there. The shop girl says that all the larger sizes are shopped out by the transvestites. There's an FYI for ya. Who wants to be caught in the same shoes as the transvestite at the next table? I'm sure he'd look better in his dress and make-up than I do. (Law of probability when he works so much harder on hair and make-up, and gets to wear fake boobs.)
So, anyway, it turned into a blushy deal every time I saw that girl, Amanda--because I'd been spotted at Priscillas. LOL Here's my excuse, like I need one: I actually went in there because while I was driving around town paying my bills, listening to the radio, the announcer was talking about a little blue bottle they sell at that store. It's an aphrodisiac sorta thing. I bought one, by the way--but my husband drank it. It was really pretty funny.
He said, "What's this?"
"Supposed to be an aphrodisiac."
"Cool." He popped the top and downed it before anything else could be said.
I lifted my eyebrows, a bit annoyed, and said, "For me! Read the lable. Geez."
"Oh."
"Besides, I didn't think you needed an aphrodisiac. Just hearing I was in "that dirty store" should have turned you on."
"Oh, it did. It did."
I knew I should have bought two of those little blue bottles. Not that I really need anything like that. As you may have guessed, I like sex enough as it is. I'm almost always ready and willing. For the record, I didn't see any difference in his performance or desire after he downed it. Not that he usually needs help, either.)
What gets you in the mood? Seeing somebody half naked? I like the look of a guy wearing a towel--like after a shower.
Which reminds of a movie I saw yesterday, Lucky Number Slevin. Josh Hartnet runs around in a towel for the first third of the movie. I swear, he looks and sounds like a young Tommy Lee Jones to me.
I thought the movie was one of the best I've seen in a long time. Good movies are harder and harder to find, aren't they?
What was I talking about? Oh yeah, what gets you in the mood?
Porno flicks? Happy little romance movies? A good book? Your s.o. walking in the door?
2 Comments:
Um.. Being extremely single with no bf in sight for ages, I decline. *s*
In all honesty, I've only been in one of those stores once. I was with someone buying a gag gift for a friend of hers. We didn't go to the "naughty" part of the store that was curtained off. She was afraid my mother would have her head. *eyeroll*
I have no hate for the topic, but also no experience to discuss.
I'm still reading, though.
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
Sex toy pollNo one needs confess what they own, but...do you think most adults have sex toys?
And what do you think is most popular?
Does KY jelly, and the like, qualify as a sex toy? How about those heated or flavored booby drops? Or Kama Sutra's prolonging cream? Anything you can recommend?
Do you have, say, a friend who highly recommends something in particular? ;)
I know someone who has this amazing massager bought from a chiropractor. Big square thing. More powerful than the little ones sold at department stores. Guaranteed orgasm, she says.
I have a brother-in-law that is a road scavenger, and years ago he picked up a leather thing that amused us quite a bit. A ball gag with a strap to go around the wearer's head.
Personally, I can't believe he picked it up. Heaven knows where it's been, ya know?
He set it up on my sister's kitchen counter. She refused to touch it, so it stayed there for ages...and we laughed and conjectured over the type of people who used it.
I mean, this is just me, but...who would want to be gagged where they couldn't at least cry out a safe word that stops the action? Is it just me or is that...insane?
Would you willingly give up to submissiveness like that?
There's some serious trust, don't you think?
1 Comments:
Interesting!!!
I liked this post.I think that the adults who want to refresh their sexual life use sex toys.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
Lightning Struck!Lightning struck my modem...I think.
And here's the crappiest part--I had just finished a couple of hours worth of writing that frog prince/kick ass heroine story I promised--and it got lost in cyberspace. I had hit the PUBLISH POST button, and then before it could post, my modem went POP with a big light coming out of it--that could be seen down the hall. I jumped--because the modem is external and sits about three feet from me.
And then no more dsl, no more connection.
So, that's why I haven't posted the last couple of days. I'm using my old dial-up service and a slower internal modem that didn't get fried. Who would have thought it? (My husband, brilliant man that he is, said, "Let's try it." And he hooked up the cables differently. God love him!)
A new dsl compatible modem is on the way.
Just thought I'd explain my latest issue.
2 Comments:
It certainly sounds like lightning was the culprit. If it had been a regular power surge, it would've fried more than just your modem.
I wouldn't have wanted to be sitting next to that modem!
It's a good thing that it only wrecked the modem, though.
Friday, September 15, 2006
Vampirubus on sale?Hey...Vampirubus was supposed to go on sale last night.
Anybody see where?
1 Comments:
I didn't. Sorry.
Thursday, September 14, 2006
Holy Moses (not religious!)It's one o'clock in the afternoon and I've done nothing but email and fielding calls from relatives. Talk about the unproductive life of Ms. Carys Weldon.
In the best news I've heard all week:
The 2006 "Reveal Your Inner Vixen" Contest Finalists were announced last night. I actually received a phone call from the contest chair!
You can check it out for yourself at: http://www.marylandromancewriters.org/contest.html
But I'll save you the hassle--because this is the first Romance Writers of America contest I've ever entered and I'm totally jazzed at the results:
Congratulations to our finalists!The 2006 "Reveal Your Inner Vixen" Contest showcased the chemistry between the hero and heroine. The entered scene could be a flirtation, a kiss or a fully described love scene, just as long as the judges could feel that tension!
Finalists:
Series Contemporary (1950 to Present, with 40,000-79,000 words):
Donna M. Rogers for "There's Only Been You"
Dee Scheffler for "BIG Trouble"
Carys Weldon for "Confessions of a BBW Cover Model"
Final Judging by: Melissa Jeglinski/Silhouette
Single Title Contemporary (1950 to Present, with 80,000-120,000 words):
Traci Post for "Seducing Mr. Cupcake"
Rebecca Cline for "Jinx" THIS IS MY BEST FRIEND, BY THE WAY!!!!!!
Lorrie Ann Kruse for "A Life Worth Living"
Final Judging by: Hilary Sares/Kensington
In light of this news and the way my morning has been going, I'll have to save the sexy story for another day. I WILL get to it though, so keep checking back.
2 Comments:
Congratulations!
Congrats to you and your friend! That is awesome! :)
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
Crazy Miss PiggyWhen my aunt Linda passed away, we went to her apartment to help clean it up, and get things packed. I went, specifically, to help my cousins box up her belongings. I didn't want anything. You know how some people go as scavengers after someone dies? That's not me. I just get melancholy and missing the loved one.
Aunt Linda had a big collection of dust collectors. She was into unicorns mostly. (Which I love by the way!)
My mom collects elephants. (I was never really into those.) She says they surrounded themselves with toys and pretty things like that as adults because they were depression kids that never had anything when they were little.
My cousin Tom said we could take a few momentos. I didn't want to carry anything out. My mom insisted that we put things in boxes. And she and my other aunt, and my sister, packed a box for me. I don't know where all that stuff is--but they carried it out to my truck. I brought it home. My kids loved their great Aunt Linda and thought it was like Christmas gifts she'd sent for them.
But, while at her apartment, amidst innumerable statuettes--maybe a thousand, I found a little piggy. Sort of like Miss Piggy, ceramic, in a bikini. She fits in the palm of my hand, and now sits on top of my computer monitor.
Ya gotta admire Miss Piggy. She thinks she's beautiful even when she's brassy and outrageous. I wish I had that sort of personal confidence.
Those of you who've met me probably thought I did. I hate to break it to you...I'm as insecure as the next girl. And my size doesn't help the self-image/ego things at all.
It's funny because I don't judge people by their size, or how they dress. I assume everyone's a friend waiting to realize they're in my friend circle--until proven otherwise. (You know, like when they let me know they don't like me or something.)
Back to my piggy thoughts...I would never be caught dead in a bikini now. But then, when I was anorexically thin, I wouldn't wear one because I thought I was too fat.
Anyhow, I keep my little piggy on the top of my pc monitor and look at her several times a day. Some people laugh when they see her. I don't. I think of my aunt Linda, and wonder what she thought when she first saw it. She wasn't thin, and she was confined to a wheelchair the last years of her life. She was one of those women that got put down a lot.
Did she wish she was Miss Piggy, or admire her? (who knows?)
Aunt Linda loved to color. It seemed infantile (people said that she'd gone senile behind her back.) One time, I asked her why she'd taken up coloring again. She said, (with her head in a book, a crayon going), "When I color, I can pretend I'm happy. I can pretend I'm a little girl and nothing matters but what I'm doing."
I hugged her.
It seemed so sad, so sweet. But now I know what she's talking about. I feel that way when I'm writing a book. I can block out life's troubles, and for a little while, I can color my own world. I can solve somebody's problems, and make them feel happy when it is over.
It's nice to immerse yourself in a book, or a program on tv or a movie and forget about the bills you can't pay, or the weight problem you can't fix, isn't it?
I woke up melancholy today, thinking I'd like to hug the world. You know, make all the sad and lonely women feel better. (Maybe I needed a hug myself?)
When I pulled up my email, I had a note from a friend. She just sent me a sweet little message--not a spammy email thing--just a personal note that said, "I want to get together. I miss spending time with you." It brightened me up, made me feel hugged.
So, here I am, with my little piggy watching me, thinking...how can I give you a hug? I rambled out my little personal story. I tell you real truths about how I'm thinking and feeling. Maybe I shouldn't be so open?
Someone commented on blogs in general the other day to me and asked, "It's all hogwash, right?" I wasn't sure if they'd been to mine or not.
I said, "Some of them are, maybe, but most of them are online journals. The ones I frequent are real, I think."
Maybe I keep it too real. Maybe tomorrow, I'll be in lala land, and take you with me. Another sexy story post? I can write about a woman that just feels loved, even if it's for only a little bit. We could have an Oprah moment.
Isn't that what we are all looking for? That feeling of having someone's arms around us, telling us we're safe (for a moment), that someone else will take care of the things that are making us crazy?
Miss piggy is a little crazy--with her karate chopping Hi-yah's! But can you blame her? She keeps telling people she's beautiful, and expecting that stupid frog prince to notice it and kiss her, but he's a little slow...
So, tomorrow, or the next day, I'll do my version of a frog prince tale or something. Maybe a kick ass fat chick taking what she wants.
Tune back in to see what ridiculous thing I come up with. K?
Now, go ahead...put in your vote...which do you prefer, a happy little feel good tale, a frog prince story, or a kick ass fat chick?
3 Comments:
My comment disappeared. Hmm.
I chose all of the above and thanked you for a lovely post.
Funny enough, I did a post on Kick-Ass heroines today. (g)
By Rinda Elliott, at
2:10 PM
Anything but happy-little-feel-good.
Really, the other options provide much more opportunity for humour, and that always leaves me feeling better than anything too sappy.
What about a kick-ass-frog-prince-fat-chick story? lol. I don't know if that makes sense. It just popped to mind.
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Sex (TMI post)My little warped mind clicked on Create a Post for this blog and I thought...wow...for an erotica writer, I haven't said much that was sexy this last week or so.
You know that has to be remedied. So, if you're offended by graphic sexual conversation, skip this and go re-read the posts about the unfair volleyball practices at my daughter's school. Oh, update on that> My daughter had practice last night. For two hours, they did a serving drill. She was the ONLY one who made every single serve. They have this stupid thing where they have to go through the line of 26 jv and v players, and they can't move on to running the bleachers until they get a clean "everybody served a good one." Anyhow, that's right, the only one that did it right every time was my daughter. You think the coach noticed? We have a game tonight, so we'll see.
Anyhow, I wanted to talk about sex!
Actually, I was thinking about how books generally don't address the messier issues of intimate relations between a woman and a man. Sometimes, you'll read that they got up and took a shower afterward. Sometimes, I put people in the shower--like Chaos and Tee, or Jack and Fera. I, personally, like shower sex. (I know, tmi.) But, you can clean up right away. You don't have to wash the sheets asap, or lay in a wet spot.
Is that sort of talk too personal? If so, go to the children's writers blog. Sorry, this ain't the place for you.
I hate lying in the wet spot. Don't you?
But then again, sometimes I'll do it because I'm too lethargic to move.
Here's my question to you...as a reader, do you think it's gross to read specifics like that? Or a natural follow-through?
I have a scene in HOOD where Gisele gets on her knees to service him but stops right before he explodes. She wants him to beg, but he refuses. (It's like...the greatest scene in the book practically, imo.) Anyhow, he squeezes himself off because he won't lower his pride to ask her to finish things. It's a power play scene.
So, he releases onto the floor in front of her, then he walks away. Part of her has an urge to clean up the mess, but the stronger portion of her brain argues against it. He can leave the evidence of what he did, so, so can she.
Does it bug you to read about the body fluids? Does it seem more natural if the girl gets a rag to put between her legs. (or cloth?) Or if she gets up to shower?
Do you shower every single time, right away? You can answer this in the third person, like you think people should. Or, just use a cloth? Or say, "Hey, it's lubed up now, let's go again!"
I, for one, like to say, "Don't stop. Don't stop." (I don't care if he's done. I just wanna see if he'll do it again.) Yeah, I know. Too much information.
But, I can't be the only one playing that game, can I? Or maybe you didn't know it works.
I love to say, "Stop. Stop." too. I mean, if he's close, let's drag it out. I like to torture a man sometimes. Isn't being on the edge, and building up to the anticipation what it's all about?
No. Wait. I've got that wrong. It's the orgasm. That's what it's all about. (Duh. LOL)
While my mind is in this mood, I guess I should get writing, huh?
So, gimme your opinions. Do you like sloppy sex? Do you lounge around afterward, savoring the scent of mingled fluids, the smell of sex in the air, or do you slap your partner's ass and say, "Get the hell up. I'm changing sheets."
Or, do you maneuver yourself onto HIS side of the bed so that the wet spot is where he's gonna sleep? I try that every now and then. He's caught on, though, and sometimes chuckles and says, "I know what you're doing," as he rolls off onto my side of the bed...while I'm playing dumb, "Wha--?" No. I wouldn't do that on purpose.
(I have no secrets you know, because he reads my blog more avidly than anyone else on the list. He's a lurker type. Never posts a comment, but gives me plenty of feedback in person.)
Alas, I have rambled again on one of my most consuming subjects. I wish I had cool movie clips to show you or something, but I'm afraid that would be simply porn to illustrate this point...and we simply cannot have that. Can we?
2 Comments:
I can't really comment on anything except the last bit. The fact that he comments in person is worlds and above better than commenting here, doncha think? :)
~laugh~ Oh I'M SURE.
One of us has to have some class. And since I'm the erotica writer, I guess that elevates him to a new height, huh?
But don't let that fool ya. I write it to turn him on.
By CarysWeldonblog, at
8:32 AM
Monday, September 11, 2006
RT pics are upThe pictures from the Romantic Times Convention are up. Please go look and see if you can suggest some captions/names for underneath them. What is under some pics may be incorrect.
See how bad I looked? Aaaaaggggghhhh.
It's a good thing I can write better than I look, huh?
Again, I'll say that I'm planning on working on edits today. Werewolf edits on that book that should've been out by now. (Pack Taboo) Sometimes the editing part is all about a writer getting over herself.
I did some things I thought were clever--and the editor is telling me "that just isn't done." I tried arguing, "Then I'm the first. I'll be hailed as an innovative writer."
The response was not as I had hoped. I was informed that I would be hailed as a novice. (24 book contracts later and I'm still a novice. How's that for being put in my place?)
Sigh.
So, it's back to the drawing board. Rewriting a few piddly things.
On the same subject, I just finished edits on another book that will come out soon, I hope. I had an entendre in it...I think readers would get this, but the editor rubbed it out of the ms altogether. Let's see what you think:
This guy is not good with words. He's gruff, like a big lug that's good with a sword. He knocks heads together and men back up when he walks down the hall of the castle. He's intimidating in his big oaf, clear the battlefield with a swipe of his sword way.
The girl he likes is a foot stomping little shrew. She's under his skin. Every time they get near one another, she gives him a tongue lashing. And he keeps setting her away from him. He knows she's like poison. She muddies his thinking.
Because, you know, he's only thinking about getting his arms around her, kissing her, feeling her up, and maybe bedding her.
Anyhow, he tries to talk to her. But she just runs her tongue. The best way to shut her up is by kissing her. And that's all good between them. It's what she was begging for anyway.
So, all that in mind...there comes a scene where he's frustrated, can't get the words out to tell her how he feels, and he says something to the tune of, "I'm not a man of words."
She comes back with, "Ah, but you are good with your tongue, I swear it."
The editor thought that was too obscure for readers to get the jist of. I'm asking you, do YOU understand what she's saying to him?
(I'm betting that MY readers can get that sort of foreplay.)
She's telling him she likes the way he kisses, and basically to shut up and get to what he's really good at. Can she get any plainer in saying, "Stop worrying about that and kiss me, you idiot?" Besides saying that outright, of course?
6 Comments:
To me it sounds like the editor is a bit of a dunce and didn't get it herself until someone explained it. So since she didn't get it, she doesn't want it in there. Her loss, really. I think about 99% of the people would get it, your readers or other. But that's just me. *s*
The saddest thing is...she isn't the only editor out there that doesn't get stuff I do. (Sigh.)
I have a mystery anthology coming out--and I had to argue with the editor on that one--she won. It was over delayed headlights. If I took a poll, I think most people would say they've seen car headlights that stay on after you climb out, and turn off automatically.
That editor INSISTED I remove it from the manuscript because she had never seen a car that did that. And how long have they had cars with delayed headlights? YEARS.
But the bottom line in publishing is...the editor has the final say. You can argue some points, but usually, if they're set on getting rid of something, they get their way. They're like little demi-gods.
So, if you read something and all the sudden you come to a place where you blink and think, "Uh, that sounds weird," I'm guessing it's a spot where an editor rewrote a line.
I've had editors put words in--after I went through a final edit. So, it was a surprise to me when I read the book that was already on sale. They can be sneaky like that.
I fight. I stomp my feet. I say, THIS IS MY BOOK. And they say, "It's your manuscript until I pass it." Which, really, gives you the perspective.
It is only a manuscript until the editor/publisher put it on the market.
By CarysWeldonblog, at
10:17 AM
Sounds like the editor doesn't think much of her readers.
Where are the pics up for RT?
By Rinda Elliott, at
11:29 AM
Pics are up on my website: http://www.carysweldon.com/ Just look for the link that says RT 2006.
My camera stinks. Most of the pictures are dark. Of course, some of those were taken IN THE DARK at the pajama party.
By CarysWeldonblog, at
11:33 AM
Can it really be THAT hard to understand that line? I don't think it's so obscure.
See? That's what I'm saying!
My readers are quick witted. I love entendre. Give me stuff I have to think about, and can grin about later saying, "How cool, that worked both ways you could take it."
The editor thinks that doing that pulls the reader out of the story and she says that's bad. I say...hm...doesn't that make a story memorable if a reader thinks about it when they set it down?
I'll keep putting them in, and editors will keep trying to take them out. But maybe some of them will pass through.
Thanks for getting it!
By CarysWeldonblog, at
3:02 PM
Sunday, September 10, 2006
First review of VampirubusOkay, this is pretty cool to me as a writer. I sent out the first pdf copies of Vampirubus on Friday--for review. Kathy, from Coffeetime and Karen Find Out About New Books snapped it out of the queue and read and reviewed it already. How awesome is that? You know that other books have been sitting in the reading queue for up to three months. Or maybe you didn't know that. Did you?
It's just great that she saw a book by me and snapped it up, and turned it around asap. Anyhow, this is what she says about it:
VAMPIRUBUSCARYS WELDON
ISBN # 1-55410-716-4
Release date: September 15, 2006
EXtasy Bookswww.extasybooks.com
E-BookPrice: Unavailable
219 Pages
Vampire Erotica
Rating: 4 Cups
What would you do if, out of a normal work night at your job at a greasy spoon, you encountered a down right gorgeous stranger with the promise of inexhaustible sexual adventures shining in his eyes? Well, Mary Margaret Kilpatrick experienced such a night, and the next twenty-four hours would forever change her existence. For good or bad is debatable.
Stoker is that sexy stranger and sniffing out kin had brought him to this diner, and this waitress. Ascertaining that she was a typical catholic girl, he made sure she got rid of her cross, and quick, because he knew Crim would want her as he found himself wanting her. Searching for his vampire queen was the only thought on his mind. What occurred next would change all of their futures.
Maggie, Stoker, and Crim find themselves in a rare situation. Having been bit by both vampires, and having the unusual dormant DNA, Maggie finds herself to be a truly unique creature, only heard of in legends. How quickly circumstances change, Maggie thought. So much for the boring diner. And to complicate things, Labriel shows up, and the war is on.
Ms. Weldon has written a funny tale of vampire lust and demon lasciviousness. My curiosity was peaked by the title and my attention was riveted to this tale of vampire sexual proclivities, and a ménage a trios that every woman secretly wishes for, at least once. This book is perfect for those vampire lovers who like it raw and engaging. I devoured this book and loved every delicious minute.
Kathy
Reviewer for Coffee Time
Reviewer for Karen Find Out About New Books
2 Comments:
That sounds like a great review. :)
That's quite a compliment to get a review that quickly.
Saturday, September 09, 2006
Admit it...
you feel like doing this to at least one person everyday!
4 Comments:
usually several times a day rofl.
Oooooh yeah!! Sometimes repeatedly. To the same person.
I laugh every time I see this stupid penguin thing. Isn't it great?
By CarysWeldonblog, at
10:00 AM
Yes. Oh yes, I do.
I have a book signing today, at the Library Center in Springfield, Missouri from 10-2. My werewolf anthology has not come in--go figure.
So, I'll be hawking some books under my other name. It's probably a good thing--since I don't really want people from my church wandering past my sexy stuff and asking too many questions--like when will I be going to a different house of worship? (You know, some people think sex is dirty.)
I say, "Some dirty sex is good."
And, "Reading about dirty sex doesn't get me dirty." It keeps me from going out and...well, getting dirty. You don't want me to go into that, do you?
My husband will read this and say, "Yes. Tell us...what would you do?"
(Maybe I'll write a fantasy episode for ya detailing what I might do. Would you like that?)
Of course, back to the real life boring stuff...my poetry book and my "other novel" haven't arrived in the mail either. Nor the mystery anthology I have coming out from Hard Shell with another author. Isn't that just great?
BUT you might be happy to know that Vampirubus IS slated for release next Friday, and that several reviewers already have it in hand. So, warm yourself up with the thought that you'll be able to read about little Mary Margaret Kilpatrick (Maggie, a waitress at a 24 hour pancake house) being swept off her feet, sucked on, and all that by two vampires that are very sexy, imo.
I gotta get out and go to the signing. Feel free to swing by.
5 Comments:
good luck with your book signing. lol on the church ladies. Hard to know what some people will take offense too but if they don't like it they don't have to read it. I had a woman in a book store bless me out cause I let my 14 read harry Potter. And I didn't even know the woman. Needless to say we had a discussion and she left the store in a hurry. lol
How did it go? I hope you did well!
None of the church ladies showed up, so that was good, I guess.
Better yet, I sold some books. Enough to buy a forty dollar meal (for my husband and me) at Carlos O'kelly's. Fajitas and margaritas ain't cheap these days, ya know?
I had great company, too. Hubby and best female friend, Becky--so it was a very pleasant morning.
Thanks for asking!
By CarysWeldonblog, at
10:02 AM
Now that sounds pretty dang good to me. :)
I need to get past my issues and get some stuff out there. I have it finished. It's just... gathering dust. *s*
Yes, Jen, you do.
The first big thing for a writer is to finish something. The second is to get over the hurdle of "fear of rejection" and just send it out.
You have to look around and see a bunch of junk being published. You KNOW you're better than that.
But, you gotta mail it out to get it accepted. SO DO IT!
By CarysWeldonblog, at
9:07 AM
Friday, September 08, 2006
Vampirubus! Woohoo!You will be happy to hear that Vampirubus is done, and it's gone through final edits, put in ebook pdf form, and will be out within the next week or so.
For those who didn't hear about it already, that's a vampire book about a waitress named Maggie who gets swept off her feet literally by this very cool vampire named Stoker. He wants a vampire queen. He takes her to an island in order to do the deed. There she meets Crim, Stoker's best bud. Crim has a higher plan...to make Maggie into a Vampirubus--which is a vampire-cum-succubus. A succubus is a wicked little creature that likes to crawl into men's beds at night and fuck 'em to death. So, you can just imagine how Maggie acts when they do their numbers on her. What it's really all about is two men who like one woman in the bed between them.
To clarify: This book does not contain male on male sexual acts. It's all about pleasing the chick and her figuring out how to handle them.
I read it again yesterday and think it has some fun moments in it. Like, when Maggie isn't sure if they are into male on male stuff and puts it to the test.
When you read it, come back to the blog and post some comments. I love to get feedback.
Now, I'm gonna work on Pack Taboo. Apparently the newest editor wants it worked through again. Sigh. I just wanna get it out there to you! So, I'm gonna go get busy.
Have a super Friday!
2 Comments:
wow sounds like a very good book.
Thanks!
It was fun to write. I think you'll like it.
By CarysWeldonblog, at
10:03 AM
We went. She played. They lost.
Near the end of the first game, which was already in the toilet, they put my daughter on the court. She served one ball. The serve was good, opposing team returned it, superstar on the team made a bad play--side out. Point went to the other team.
Second game, my daughter played a little bit more, made no errors. She was in early, and our team held the opposition pretty well. She left the court when the score was 4-6. In about six seconds (I kid you not) the score was 6-12. When the opposing team had 10-19, they put my daughter back in. We came back. She served a couple good ones. Superstar lost the serve for us again. Chey rotated to the net, had some great blocks and a couple good hits. Score was much, much closer. But we lost.
Hopefully, the coach(es) saw how well she played. She didn't miss one play that she was supposed to make.
Supastar, on the other hand, made so many errors that I had to wonder...why do they think she is the supastar? When you play rally points--where every serve gives a point to one side or another (It ain't the kind of vb I played in school)--you can't afford repeated errors.
Anyhow, I'm glad she played, and played well. Only time will tell how the rest of the season goes. But I sorta put a curse on the coach that she wouldn't win games/matches until my daughter started varsity. We may have a very long, bad season if the chick doesn't come to her senses.
Wait. I should clarify. I didn't do any magic mixing in a pot. No eye of newt or gizzard of lizard or blood of a bat. Where do you buy those things anyway? I'm sure as heck not looking under rocks for lizards or going into caves to skewer a bat. I just said these little nasty things in my head the whole time my daughter wasn't playing. You know, during the three matches prior.
Anyhow, it was a relief that my daughter did well. She was just happy she got to play.
1 Comments:
I guess that's not too bad, then - maybe the coach will notice what's going on.
Thursday, September 07, 2006
Update on the VB thingI called the school yesterday morning and asked for a meeting with the principal and volleyball coach. The principal had the coach call me to say, "He wants us to meet and work it out before he gets involved."
Duh. There's a putz principal if you ask me.
So, I went to school yesterday. Both the coach and her ass. coach (abbreviated that way for a reason)--they made me wait (which I knew they would do) and then they both sat down. Like they wanted to double-team me. You know, intimidate me. But I weigh more than the two of them put together, and I was a mad mom, so that wasn't really happening.
The first thing out of my mouth was, "How about we start by you defending why you haven't played my daughter in three matches?"
Uh, uh, uh. Dumb faces. Finally, I got, "I didn't notice her."
"Excuse me, you didn't notice her? She is your only senior."
I turned to the ass. coach and asked, "Isn't your job as assistant to point out things she misses. Tell me you didn't notice my daughter sitting beside you for three whole matches."
"Of course I noticed her."
"But you didn't say anything? You didn't say, hey, maybe we should play this girl?"
"We did talk about it."
So, that makes the first coach a liar. Right? I didn't say it. I just lifted my eyebrows at the two of them.
I didn't say it because I didn't want to start with an attack. I let them defend themselves, and they had none. Nothing but lies.
I quietly said, "Let me tell you why I think this girl should not only play, but start varsity."
I went on and on, and when I thought they were maybe glazing over, I circled my time-loop lecture back around--I'm a mother of five, an expert at that.
By the end, the coach said, "You're right, I should have played her."
I told her what she did was cruel and criminal, in my opinion. Then I launched into what I thought a good coach should do.
I asked her, "What is Cheyenne not doing that keeps you from putting her on the court."
Coach's deadpan expressions annoyed the hell out of me.
"Nothing. She's doing good."
"You told her she was doing great. No problems, when she asked what you thought she needed to work on. But, come on...there has to be something. Else, you would have played her."
Repeatedly, Cheyenne has asked these coaches if they saw anything she needed to do better, or work on specifically. Always, she got the answer, "You're looking good."
So, there, they finally say, "She's a little stiff."
Well, duh. She's got more titanium in her back than an airplane.
"So, you're not playing her because she doesn't roll her back more? I know her serve is working. I know she's blocking." Although, I did concede that my white girl can't jump. That's the only thing we're seeing, but that's always been her problem. But they don't have any big jumpers on the team at all. So, duh.
They had no defense basically. I went over all of Cheyenne's attributes. (Honor roll/society, band, plays all sports, fbla, debate team, youth leadership positions, class rep.--doesn't drink, smoke, do drugs, swear. Three years as a starting player...) And I asked, "If you're not rewarding a girl like this with court time, what are you rewarding? This girl EARNED a spot on that court."
They agreed to put her on the court. We have a game tonight. I'm sure I'll be pissed when it's over, but I'm hoping they surprise me. And I damn sure hope Cheyenne makes some miracle plays while she's out there.
But, I ask, why did I ever have to fight this fight?
1 Comments:
They couldn't even come up with any excuses? I hope she shows them tonight.
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
Show downWarning: Mother furious over daughter's mistreatment.
Despite the fact that the coach promised my daughter she'd play in last night's volleyball match--and we spent another ten dollars to go watch--my daughter was the only girl between the jv and varsity teams that didn't get on the court. Which, of course, means there has to be a showdown, a throwdown, or an out and out foot stompin' event by yours truly.
We have lost all three matches we've played so far--and I have to say it almost makes me smile. I mean, they deserve to lose when one of their best servers has been sitting the bench the whole time. I told the coach that last night in the ladies room, too.
Never go potty when you're on my bad side. I'll corner you in there and you'll hate it!
I think my exact words were "Coach?" (We were at the sink, washing. I didn't corner her with her pants down, just for the record.) Anyhow, when she looked up, I said, "You deserve to lose every single match you play if you're not smart enough to play one of your best servers. I'm Cheyenne's mother, and I'll be seeing you in the principal's office tomorrow. So you better get ready. Did you not know that my daughter has led these girls to more victories through her serves than you can count?"
She gulped. "No. I didn't know that."
"Well, you should have put her on the court once, and you'd have found out. I'll see you tomorrow."
I wanted her to think about her excuses. She was speechless, really. And I was so furious, she's lucky I didn't knock her into next week.
I did, however, put curses on her and the assistant coach throughout the match when I realized she wasn't going to play my daughter. So, I expect that to come back and bite me in the butt. 7x7, I'll have more bad luck. But hey, that's sorta my karma this trip around.
Here's the thing: (brag alert)
Cheyenne had more serve points than anyone else on jv or v her freshman year. (Has a trophy to prove that.)
Her sophomore year, she was told she'd be moved to varsity (before the season started) hurt her ankle in the next practice and was out half the season--coach had moved someone else to varsity, so she was stuck on jv--they lost every game until she game back, then won the rest.
Last year, she and the team went all the way to the championships, she had her accident between season and the tournament. They lost the tournament without her.
At the accident, all five kids had major spinal injuries. My daughter is the one that risked herself even more after the crash by getting up, crawling out of the vehicle, calling for the other kids by name until they answered, giving them hope, telling them to hang on. Four kids will attest that Cheyenne had the voice of an angel that night--when they thought they were dying, she was the one calling out, saying "You'll be okay. Can I help you?"
And every time anyone came near her, on the scene or at the hospital, she'd ask, "How are the other kids?" When the other parents came up to her, and introduced themselves, she asked, "How is your son?" (by name) She put parents into tears (not just her own) because the other kids did nothing but talk about how bad they hurt. (And I'll admit, I'd have been like that, whining about my own pain.)
It was ironic considering she was the worst hurt of them all. The surgeon told me he couldn't believe she, of all of the victims, hadn't died in the accident...or been paralyed. Remarkably, her spinal cord was not severed--but he said it should have been, in many places, her whole thoracic section was so torn up, crunched, cracked, twisted. She had broken ribs. Each of her lungs collapsed, separately. We spent days where she'd stop breathing several times an hour and the nurses would come running, literally, to crash cart her.
The kid fought death how many times? Bled out twice on the table while her back was being screwed together. Then, against all odds, is up, walking, and playing sports. By all accounts a miracle recovery.
This kid IS an angel. She doesn't drink, smoke, do drugs, or swear. She's in honor society--makes the honor roll without cracking a book. She plays every sport but track, plays two instruments in band, and is in FBLA, on the debate team, and holds positions of leadership in our church youth group.
Does she deserve to be set on the bench? It's her senior year. I think she's earned a starting varsity position, personally.
And, she got a release from her spinal doctor--which we pay buku bucks to for REAL medical help, but that wasn't good enough. He checked all her reflexes, how she walked, ex-rayed her back, etc. The school made us go down and pay $30 for a hokey clinic sports release.
Then we had to buy her new court shoes and a warm-up suit--because the team is ordering those to match. Hundreds of dollars all in all, and now they're not playing her?
Well, I'm going down there as soon as the principal calls me back to set up an appointment. I'm sure he's talking to the volleyball coach first, to find out what it's all about.
Let me say this, I don't expect satisfaction. I expect to leave my curses on the coaches, and add another one to the principal--who I already know is a butthead because last year he insisted that my son (who is a bit of a geek, not into sports) and his friends could not use the library when the school was open for a game. He also said they couldn't hang out outside, but had to pay, or he'd call the cops.
Now, my son is one of those really good students, and so are his friends. They're the quiet kids that fall between the cracks because they are (truly ) geniuses that the mediocre teachers don't understand. I kid you not.
In science class, they talk about how this "basic method" the teacher is explaining is used in a jet propulsion engine. Or they take it up to a Nasa level and talk about how the principle could be applied...(you get the picture.) Idiot savants, actually...because they have fifteen year old boy sense of humor.
The point is...this ignoramous principal wouldn't let them hang out in the library, or anywhere. They had to pay and go into the gym or he was going to call the cops. Which earns him a place on my butthead forever list.
And he's the guy that's gonna mediate my issue over my daughter not playing. Riiiight.
Anyhow, wish me luck.
All I can say is...I'll be so glad when this school year is over. It will signal the end of my having to go and watch coaches irritate the hell out of me.
In other news--I've got the editing down to the last twenty pages on that one book that has been causing me heartache for months. WOOHOO. I might have been able to finish it this morning if I hadn't been so annoyed over this volleyball deal.
Anyhow, I'm gonna hit the books again and see if I can get r done. Have a good one. I'll keep ya posted on my latest little drama.
*hugs*
Carys
4 Comments:
I can't wait to hear what happens.
By Rinda Elliott, at
9:53 AM
Good luck!
Don't wait for the principal to call you back. Have your happy butt on his doorstep when he gets there. Otherwise, he'll find excuse after excuse after excuse to put off the call.
You were so right on that one, Jen. The principal took the lame way out.
By CarysWeldonblog, at
9:10 AM
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
Oh. Yesterday was Labor Day.Apparently, when I made my plans to edit, I forgot that Labor Day means no one goes anywhere, and the tv blares, and I cannot concentrate. I did NOTHING in the way of writing. It took me until 1 o'clock to go through some email, though--so I did SOMETHING.
So, obviously, I sat at the computer for half the day--but could not focus into anything productive, really.
I've had a wonderful thing happen, though. My best friend from high school tracked me down. I moved clear across the country when I was sixteen, from Indiana to Nevada--and we were broken hearted.
Actually, I had a little posse of about five girls that I hung with--ran with literally from grade school on. Well, there was a class reunion this summer--which I wasn't invited to because I didn't graduate in Indiana. They talked about me, and one said she'd seen my bio on classmates.com but wasn't sure if it was really me.
Anyhow, it was very cool to check my email and see a note from the best friend I ever had. And she asked...do you remember me?
Do I remember her?!? You might put a true best friend out of mind for awhile, but when you're lonely and thinking back, you pull them out and they comfort you, even if you've lost touch--because you know what you had was genuine friendship, that someone loved you unconditionally.
I wonder why we don't have more unconditional love friendships? I sure try to build them. But I think we're all so busy protecting that it makes it hard to open up.
As you can see, I open up a lot. I'm not fronting. What you see is what you get. (Sigh)
Anyhow, we're catching up via email now, and she's given me some addies for others in the posse. I dropped them notes, and I see responses in my inbox. I'm just thrilled. I'm gonna make plans to go up and see them.
I'm sure I've changed the most--and I'm a little nervous about them seeing that--and their reactions. In school, I was truly anorexic. I went for two weeks at a time without eating anything--just drinking water or tang. And now, I'm a bbw. (Okay, I dunno about the middle b.) But I'm a b. and a woman. So that counts for something I guess.
AND then I found out that one of my newsletter list members is only a half hour away from me, so I'm gonna meet up with her sometime, too. This is really a small world sometimes.
Email and phone and snail mail make it smaller--but why do we lose touch with people we really care about? Sometimes, I know, we outgrow friends or acquaintances, or they outgrow us. And sometimes we're torn apart by our parents, or something. (Duh.)
Can I say anything to encourage you to look up old friends? It sure brightened my day to see email from friends of my younger days.
But then, I love to get email from my friends of nowadays, too. Like I said yesterday, don't be a stranger. Chat me up. I'm sure we have things in common.
For example, we all like my books. Right? We all think I should get more the hell out there, and soon, too, right?
I guess I'll go try and edit.
1 Comments:
That's so nice that you have a chance to catch up.
