Monday, 30 January 2012

Batteries and Toys

Ever since Christmas, I have been replacing batteries like crazy in multiple kids’ toys and even my computer. Even with rechargeable batteries, I’m still taking out dead ones and putting in new AAs and AAAs at least every other day. It’s crazy!

Is there some kind of conspiracy with toy and battery companies to make parents spend more and more money? And most of the toys don’t even come with batteries anymore, not even the cheap trial ones.

So there we were on Christmas day, stealing batteries out of remotes (which did come with batteries – huh!), just so the kids could at least play with one new toy.

Yet when I went to the adult toy store, the toy I bought (on recommendation from another author) came already charged. Didn’t have to wait around, plug it in, or anything. Therefore, my husband and I had to get through a day of searching for and charging batteries for the kids before we could play with our own toy that came ready to use. Does that make any sense?

Toys companies should take note. With the amount of money people drop on kids’ toys, you’d think they could at least include batteries. Really!

Never Gonna Let You Go Blurb

Caught in a tangle of lies, Calla Jacobs must sort through the truth to discover where she truly belongs. A biologist for Planet Core, she finds herself ensnared in a web of deceit. Sent to Airondelle, she must work with a team to prepare the newly discovered planet for colonists from Earth. But the mission does not go as she expected. Her former lover, Erik Edwards, shuns her, sending Calla into the arms of Melina Holloway, their commander, for the attention she craves and more. A confrontation among the trio leaves her with a broken heart, and fleeing from the two people she trusted most.

Attempting to break free from the lies that bind her, she discovers Planet Core has deceived everyone. And when she returns to Earth, Calla learns just how far Planet Core’s control reaches.

Available from Decadent Publishing and other ebook retailers.
Buy Links here:

Book Trailer:

Jessica Subject started writing to encourage her daughter to read. Now she writes to keep herself grounded. Although she reads many genres, she enjoys writing Science Fiction Romance the most and believes everyone in the universe deserves a happily ever after. She lives Southwestern Ontario, Canada with her husband and two kids and loves to hear from anyone who has enjoyed her stories. Her debut novella, Celestial Seduction is available from Decadent Publishing.


Tuesday, 24 January 2012

A Special Kind of Hell

Every Christmas and birthday, Lily receives a gift. You know the gift. That one that keeps on giving and giving and giving until you are ready to kill somebody. The noise makers that become the child's favorite toy and the parent's nightmare. This year it was the Merry-Okee. What pray tell, you ask, is a Merry-Okee. It is a device designed to make your eardrums bleed, or a karaoke microphone with four buttons: one for playing pre-recorded Christmas carols, one for turning the singer's voice into a high-pitch, squeaky elf-like voice, one to sing without the elf voice, and the on-off button.

At first glance, this sounds like fun. Trust me, it's only fun for the child singing at the top of their lungs. As she screeches into the microphone, there is that sound you get when a speaker is being blown out combined with the high-pitched elf voice and the completely off-key child voice. Tone deaf or perfect pitch, your ears are sure to bleed. After a few minutes of this, the long suffering parent (that would be me) is ready to start a witch hunt for the creators of this torture device. Or just snatch that damn thing out of the child's hand and throw it under a Euk tire. Darn! Smashed to smithereens. Of course, I don't, but it's so tempting.

When she was younger, I just waited until she was asleep or out of the house and removed the batteries. Now she's too smart for that. She just asks me to replace the batteries. Since she knows where we keep them, I can't say that we don't have any. Hm... unless I hide them. But if I do that, I am likely to forget where they are when I need them.

For her birthday, one of her friends got her a robotic pterodactyl that spits its food (thankfully, not real food, but a plastic projectile) and screeches. It also snaps its mouth shut. O.o The young boy who bought it for her knows that she loves dinosaurs, so it was a very thoughtful gift... for her. For me, not so much. She pulled it out again the other day and played with it. It was...special. (g)

One of the worst toys, though, that someone gave her was a singing Pinkie Pie. God, how I hate My Little Ponies with their stupid stereotype crap that girls are supposed to like. (Ponies wearing dresses. Really?) But to have to listen to that annoying voice sing one of three insipid songs every day for four hours out of the day is enough to send someone around the bend. Just. Kill. Me. Now. Seriously, instead of water boarding, they should make prisoners listen to Pinkie Pie sing. They'd crack quicker than a peanut in a nutcracker.

You know, there must be a special kind of hell for the people who make these toys. If there's not, there is no justice in this world.

Monday, 23 January 2012

Bartering, Bitching, and Contracts

So this might be totally not what you expected but I need a catalyst and there is really nowhere that compares more than 4SW. So here goes.

I am an author and literary strategist. When I first started out I did a lot of work for trade. Trade for editing, book covers, social media marketing, blog building, blog posts, content reads. You name it and I had a talent for it and I worked out a deal.

However, I don’t do that as much. There are several reasons why the number one being is the temporal needs of my family. But that isn’t the point of this rant. The real point is (and this can pertain to any industry) I want to share a few things about bartering.

1. Bartering has been around since man was created. No matter where you think we came from the realization is that bartering has been here since Adam and Eve. There was no overall way to recognize monetary value so the barterer and the barteree negotiated a deal of what they felt was an equal trade for goods or services. Now the point of the history lesson is the terms are set out in the beginning. That doesn’t mean later if things circumstances change you can throw a fit and break the deal. Nevertheless, renegotiation is always an option.

2. Terms need to be spelled out clearly in the beginning. This is one I suffer from. Meaning if you do a trade of services—find out how much those services are and figure out an hourly amount of time and rate or whatever so that it’s equal for both parties at the beginning. For example this one time I offered to stage a home for a client (back in my Realtor days) in exchange for some print work. The print work was about $300.00. After talking over what they wanted done initially I figured it would be an equal deal and take me about 10 hours to come up with a plan, present it to them, and they could go from there. Wrong! It was more like 100 contentious hours later I was literally hurting financially from the amount of time on the project. Because I had not spelled out what I was doing from the beginning, they misunderstood me and assumed I would be spearheading and following through with the entire staging of the home. So after prayer and speaking with my husband I approached them and expressed how sorry I was about not communicating fully. I also said this is how many hours I’ve put into this, this is how much I usually charge an hour, and I can’t afford to do anymore under the terms of our agreement. They were embarrassed and sad that I had done more. We renegotiated a deal and I was paid some money. I didn’t make a profit. In fact, I barely broke even but I learned and the relationship was still at a great place. On the latter I did the same thing with another person they had a fit and ended up bitching about it to any and every person they could. In the end, this hurt them more than it did me. If you do find yourself on the bad end of a barter accept what part is your fault learn and move on. Don’t be a baby about it.

3. Sometimes free is worth more than a dollar amount. I probably spend more time doing free stuff from consultations, speaking, workshops, and blogging than I do writing as an author or making money as a consultant. However, I almost make enough money for my family. When I started in this business, I sat down and said “How will I measure my success?” And I decided that a certain dollar amount made monthly was my ultimate goal. I’m ¾ of the way there in the first year. I couldn’t be more thrilled. I attribute this to the fact all my consulting business is done by referral. I am always happy to refer someone out some business if I am too busy to handle it. Or to just simply sit and brainstorm about their platform. It’s in this I learn and I serve and I’m very happy to do it.

4. It is not ok to take advantage of the novice. Too many times, I’ve seen people who have been around the block a long time or who are very shrewd take advantage of someone just starting because they see a lot of talent and not as much confidence. It is not ok to take advantage of that. If you have a deal from the beginning while it may not be the industry standard it still does not need to be for pennies or a crappy trade. While I can’t sit here and draw up a list of acceptable trades just keep that in mind. It hurts us all when good talent is burned and leaves.

5. Word of mouth contracts are still contracts. In Tennessee word of mouth contracts are not consider legal under real estate law. It’s like that in most states. However, for myself as a person who likes to think of honor and character I still do my utmost to honor verbal contracts as well as print. With that in mind, I also do majority of my work with written contracts now. Mainly so I know exactly what’s expected.

So that was my little rant. Thanks for letting me get it out. And if you could be so kind as to share with me any of your own experiences or ideas.

Bri Clark

Literary Strategist/Consultant/Author/Speaker

Friday, 20 January 2012

Excuse Me...Would You Like to Borrow My Lawn Mower?

by Valerie Mann

Since we seem to be having a run of blogs lately about body grossness, I wanted to jump in and discuss one of my pet peeves: hairy backs.

MEN: Hairy backs belong on primates in the wild or behind a restraining fence at the zoo. They do not belong on someone who shares my bed or the seat next to me on public transportation. And for crying out loud, the last thing I want to see is your hairy back for my viewing pleasure on a public beach.
While we’re at it, let’s add a big N-O to hair sticking out of nostrils and ears. Seriously, there are grooming appliances for such nastiness. Email me privately and I’ll hook you up with a buy link.

Hair on human males belongs on heads, chests, groins and legs. Some hair on fingers and toes is optional and, in moderation, can enhance manliness. Moderation being the key word here, guys.

Hirsutism can be the result of an illness. If you go from smooth to Magilla overnight, get thee to the doctor. I’m not talking about King-Kong-itis here. I’m talking puberty-induced hairyness, treatable with a sharp razor, copious amounts of shaving cream and a willing volunteer to wield these items behind you. Preferably out of doors where you can hose off afterward.

Guys, do you honestly think pubic hair on a your back will attract the chicks? It won't. Really. Trust me on this. If you still think so after reading this, there is no hope for you. If you're having an epiphany at this moment, I have the solution...

Manscaping. Landscaping for the male body. Once primarily confined to porn stars, it's now common for many men to manscape their entire bodies. In some cases, it's downright essential if the guy ever wants to get laid. But if you can't stand the thought of waxing your chest or shaving your junk, at least 'scape the back! 

Examples of manscaping

Don't do this
Manscaping is not the time to demonstrate 
either razor sharp artistic ability, or your team allegiance.

Do this...
Not a back hair in sight. I'll bet the girl fishies jump right into that net!

So tell me, ladies ~ is it just me or do you not mind the Magilla Gorilla look? 

Disclaimer: All manner of manscaping should be done by a trained professional under proper hygienic conditions. 

Wednesday, 18 January 2012

Straightlaced and Erotic

About fifteen years ago, a creative writing instructor and friend sent me some material to give me an idea of how to write erotic fiction, primarily stories for men’s magazines. He also passed along some editors’ names for me to contact. Until then, I’d been selling the occasional story to semi-pro magazines, both online and print, for several years. I had scored acceptances in genres from YA Christian fiction to fantasy to even several poetry magazines--even a rejection letter from Marion Zimmer Bradley herself that was full of so much praise I framed it. However, I had yet to make my first really BIG fiction sale; that one sale that arrives in a pristine white envelope and, when you open it, there’s a contract and a lovely business check with two zeros or more before the decimal.

Well, I took my friend’s advice and wrote a story that followed his guidelines and suggestions. Two weeks later, I sold my first story for big bucks to a well-known sex magazine: Gent, Home of the “D” Cups. This led to four years of a semi-steady paycheck with Gent, plus repeat sales to other erotic fiction markets.

When I opened that envelope and withdrew the letter and contract, discovering my first check that fell out of it, I nearly fainted. Actually, thinking back, I sat down and cried.

But a very sobering thought struck me: What would my father think? For those of you who don’t know, I grew up as a minister’s daughter in the very straight-laced, Church of Christ. Still, I was a grown woman with children, so why should I worry about what my dad thought about my lucrative sale?

The answer was a no-brainer. One, I respected my parents and didn’t want them to think poorly of me, and two, for years I’d had a specific mindset drilled into my head by the church people. As a result, it created a lot of internal turmoil within me, so that’s how Feathers of Silver was written—exorcising personal demons and a bit of hostility. Check it out because the book will surprise you!

I fretted about the sale. I worried about Dad’s response to my sexually oriented story—and a quite graphic one at that! My mother is more liberal, so she was ecstatic about my fiction sale.

“But what will Dad say?” I asked her.

“I think you underestimate your dad,” Mom replied.

When I mentioned my sale to my dad, I warned him that the story had some sex scenes. He didn’t say much—so I worried that was a bad sign—but he asked if I made any money this time. I told him the amount I earned, and he smiled.

“Good,” Dad said. “It’s about time someone recognized your talent as a writer.”kiss me Pictures, Images and Photos

Heh. Correction: my talent as an erotic fiction writer.

However, his reaction stunned me. It also taught me a lot about my dad. He didn’t possess as strict of a mindset as I thought.

One day, my dad noticed a glossy, sexy magazine sitting on a shelf. He took it down, quietly eyeing a nearly nude and very buxom woman on the cover.

“What’s this?” Dad asked.

Dread pooled in my stomach. I said, “It’s the magazine that published my story.”

He pulled out a chair and sat down. “What’s it called?”

I told him the title and the page number.

“Who’s Molly Diamond?” he asked without looking up.

“That’s my pen name.”

Minutes later, Dad handed the magazine to me. “Although very graphic, it’s a great story. And writing this stuff pays well, right? So you’re supporting your family.” He grinned, crossing his arms. “Good job.”

In shock, I put the magazine away, wondering who was sitting at my kitchen table because it couldn’t be my father.

Now, sseveral years later, my dad is one of my most devoted fans.

Yeah, even for the sexy stuff—oh my!

And my Mom? Well, she reads all my material, even the scorching-lava stuff such as Ruby, the White King and Marilyn Monroe and my Molly Diamond and Azura Ice titles. I’ve been blessed with incredibly special parents and I love them with all my heart.

Tuesday, 17 January 2012

Explosive Meltdowns

I’m sure everyone has a meltdown from time to time, but my guess is that women have them more often than men do. My reasoning for this is that women *usually* do most of the child rearing, they work, too, whether it’s out of the home or an in-home business, and women are typically the ones who handle everything else that involves a household such as buying groceries, paying bills, attending school meetings, volunteering, addressing family problems, and so on.

It’s stressful and it’s VERY difficult to find time for oneself so you can relax and create a peaceful state of mind.

Peaceful state of mind? I can’t believe I just typed that. HAHAHAHA!!! In my home, that state doesn’t exist.

Point in case:

I have two children still relatively young under my roof and two grown children who have moved out. One is married with a family. The other is single, has recently moved out of his roommate’s place and is now in a nice li’l rental of his own, and makes excellent money, and a gf who is… GRR! Quick! Subject change!

Anyway, I’m the hub of the family. I’m the one everyone goes to for help whether it’s my kids or my parents. I’m the one who is supposed to leap the tallest buildings in a single bound.

Mom, Mom, Mom, ring, ring, ring….

However, when I’m sick, I’m still expected to kill the Kraken, slay the Cyclops, beat up the Wicked Witch of the West and fend off the vampires.

Add the recent holiday pandemonium, including financial worries, and a couple of publishing deadlines to this and my stress level kept poking holes in the ceiling tiles.

Then it happened. The meltdown AKA Faith loses her mind.

A phone call came in. Mom is needed to run to the rescue. Can you do it? Well, I was put in a position where I had no choice so I blew up. Not because I didn’t want to help my child but because it was just one thing too much on top of the ever-growing pile of chaos that has been my life the past three months.

And wow did I ever have a meltdown. My office is now wounded. It lies in shambles from my fit. I am now without a calculator because it was in a fine shower of plastic splinters across the room. I broke a big, heavy-duty cardboard filing box. A piece of furniture landed on its side on the opposite side of the office.

And then the tears started—but I couldn’t shut them off!

I screamed.

I cursed.

I cried some more.

Then a few days later the monsters came into my home to play. As a result, I had to activate my calm-down button so I could slay the beasts with some quiet verbal spears and daggers that created blessed silence. But all of this drained me, put me way behind in my work, and it was twice as difficult to recouperate after being ill. Did it matter? No. Mom, mom, mom....

Thank God for a wonderful husband, tho. He stood guard at the door, answered calls for a couple days after, and even did the dishes and put supper stuff away three nights in a row. Just those li'l things helped me immensely and showed me someone does care how I feel and what I contend with. Honey, you're a true gem and I love you!

The past couple of weeks it has been relatively quiet. Well, honestly after the past few weeks, it doesn't take much to set me off so I still have my moments of tears and snark that can slice the hide off a Gila monster--dripping sarcasm is often my defense mechanism, but I'm working on curbing it. I’ve realized I do not play well others when I’m stressed. However, those *others* now know I can turn into a bigger monster when enough is enough.

So, dear readers, what was your worse meltdown moment?

Thursday, 12 January 2012


By Olivia Starke

Today I want to blog on Moobs.Urban dictionary defines Moobs as Man boobs, or disgustingly large titties on a man.
(Think of moobs as the COMPLETE OPPOSITE of this.)

Apparently small towns breed men who have an inherent predisposition to moobliness (or at least the small town where I live.) And I’m not talking about those sweet, wonderful, cuddly guys we know and love who have good jobs and basic common decency—no I’m talking about those other type of, ahem, men. The ones who’ve managed to beer drink (among other things) their way to a nice sized rack.

First off, we have the thin guys with worn Budweiser t-shirts expertly cut out to expose their perky As and giant man nipples. Usually accompanied by homemade tats and a questionable smell you can’t quite place, they seem to think they are God’s gift to women and will be quick to wink and call you “Babe” or “Honey.” The fact you can’t stop staring at their freaky nips only confirms in their mind your interest, and they will be quick to shed that Bud Light shirt at the first opportunity to give you the whole show. Of course, this is about the same time you feel your uterus shrivel completely away, leaving you sterile for life.

 Next, we’ll jump straight to the gentleman who can give my own Ds a run for the money. These are the proud carriers of a matching “toolshed” or huge gut that hangs below their belts, attesting to their years of hard drinkin’ and hard livin’ Larry the Cable Guy style. For the most part not as cocksure as the boys mentioned above, they often reek of beer and lost dreams. Walking around with a button up shirt three fourths the way unbuttoned, you’ll wonder, Why, for the love of God, can’t they just spare us and hit those last few buttons! But no, they really can’t be bothered since they are much too busy finding reasons to cuss vehemently about everything.

Unfortunately, every summer we are subjected to these men and you have to ponder why it’s legal that they can show it all, but a woman with a decent set can’t? I personally know which I’d prefer to see as a straight woman desperately trying to avoid the asexual life.

(Comment with an email for your chance to win Sweets & Swag! US only, sorry, it’s a customs thing.)

~ Olivia Starke 

“Adding a Little Kink to Your Bedtime Story”

Blurb: Ashley Adams signed up with the 1Night Stand service in hopes of stirring up some cougar passion in her lackluster life. When she meets tall, dark, and oh-so-sexy Justin, the sparks fly. But something deeper lies in their magical connection, something she isn’t prepared for. Will a casual one-night stand change her life forever?

“You’re more beautiful than your picture.” He reached past her shoulder and hit the emergency stop. Her breath caught in her throat when the elevator jolted to a halt.

“What are you doing?” She darted a glance up at the security camera.

The way his mouth curved at the corners made her knees knock. “Your profile said you liked to be adventurous.” The tip of his tongue stroked over his bottom lip as he watched her through heavy-lidded eyes.

“I—I meant trekking through the wilds of Africa, sky diving, that sort of thing.” Her heart beat so loudly, surely he had to hear it. He stepped forward—his finger traced her jaw line before he tipped her chin up. She swallowed.

“Skydiving?Can’t say I’d have the guts to try that, though I’d love the chance to kiss a pretty girl in an elevator.”

A corny come-on line if she’d ever heard one, but spoken with a whiskey-smooth Kentucky drawl—damn, it works for me. That’s what she’d come for, to have an unforgettable night with a hot hunk to stir up her humdrum life. After all, she’d dished out the funds for the flight, half the price of the hotel room, and the 1Night Stand fee.

He moved in close, and a wonderful, heady mix of musk and spice filled her nose. Her insides somersaulted in anticipation, wicked intent written all over his perfectly chiseled face. They could be kicked out of the hotel, or worse—arrested and appear on one of those dumbest criminals shows. The elevator wall pressed into her back, but when he leaned forward and touched his lips to hers, all the reasons they shouldn’t be doing this in the elevator evaporated. 

Wednesday, 11 January 2012

Piggy Love

by Valerie Mann

I love to see something that can surprise me so fast and hard, I bark out loud. I’m not talking about a mere funny that makes me laugh. Or even makes me LOL. I’m talking about the things that make me ROTFLMAO…those are the keepers. And if it can keep me laughing, even after a dozen or more views...even better!

Absurd interpretation is perfection.

But sometimes, what I think is belly-busting funny, irritates the living hell out of the people around me. The Geico insurance commercials are classics. They either crack you up or piss off everyone around you. Usually because you're making an idiot of yourself laughing at something they don't get. Either way, whichever ad agency Geico contracted has total geniuses on staff. 

Hipster Cavemen with attitude? Check!

Adorable Southern Belle pothole? Check!

But, the most genius of all is Maxwell the Pig. 
When he wee, wee, wees all the way home, I completely crack up. My family hates it. To add insult to injury, it's my cell phone ringtone (it was free. Geico is friendly that way). My co-workers think there's a baby crying in my purse when my phone rings. Their disgust only adds to my hilarity.

Cute-as-hell Pig guaranteed to piss off family and friends? Check, check!!

So what makes YOU laugh, but annoys the hell out of everyone else around you? 

Monday, 9 January 2012

The Secret Life of an Intergalactic Princess

Please help us welcome, Jenna McCormick.

Being an intergalactic princess isn't easy, especially when you do it in secret. No matter how much I want to whine about not doing the carpool, making dinner, vacuuming the dog hair off the stairs, I shut up and do them. I'd love to raise one eye brow, a skill I have yet to master, and tell the chores to go stuff themselves, well, I can't. Why? Because being an intergalactic princess is a responsibility with a really shitty benefits package.

Okay, so the IP can conquer worlds in her head, vaporize an entire star system with a single thought and look great in a kick ass pair of fuck-me boots. The conquering often gets sidetracked by a ringing phone, the vaporizing gives me a guilt complex and my feet end up with blisters.

Shouldn't an intergalactic princess have minions? Underlings to see to the day to day necessities so they don't weigh on her royal mind? Unfortunately the royal coffers are empty and my last minion is a beagle mix that sleeps twenty two hours a day, so I'm stuck getting my own slippers, wine and chicken salad sandwhiches.

Believe you me, I'd love to whip out my laser pistol and plant a bolt right between the eyes of that prune-faced gorgon at the school's front office when she gives me crap. An intergalactic princess should not have to take crap! But the intergalactic princess can't smite at her will because then her alter ego would go to jail. Do not pass go, do not collect $200.00.

So what's the point in being an intergalactic princess? Writing some steamy books, of course! And in them her creations live and die, love and war as she sees fit. In No Limits, the intergalactic princess commanded "Let there be a world where germs are no longer a problem!" and BAM! In the future she created people are fitted with personal health guards to stop the spread of disease.

Then she commanded, "Let prostitution become as easy as ordering a pizza!" and BAM! We have a world full of eligible manwhores just a phone call away.

Oh yes, it is good to be the intergalactic princess because even if I have to do crummy jobs and take crap, well at least I don't have to do it all the time.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~


Coming January 1 from Kensington Aphrodisia

All Genevieve Luzon wants is to be loved by one man, a seemingly impossible task in New-New York City at the start of the twenty second century. Sure, she can buy sex as easily as order a pizza on a Friday night, but finding a forever kind of love among her self-centered peers is no easy feat for the unemployed off-world vacation coordinator. When an old friend offers her the position of secret shopper to test out the male prostitutes, Gen can't think of a good reason to refuse. Hell, if she can't find Mr. Right, she might as well try on a sampler of Mr. Right Nows.

Yet the perks of her new position don't compare to the strange attraction she has, not for one of the prostitutes, but a candle that seems to warm places of her she never knew existed. When a man appears out of the flame, Gen is sure she's found the one. Rhys is an empath, made a slave by the Illustra Corporation and he's everything Gen could ever want. Except available. Because Rhys is on a mission. One that might claim his life. He must try to free his people, consequences be damned. Now, Gen must choose between turning her back on the only man she's ever loved and the monumental task he has set for himself. Should she risk her life fighting a war hidden from polite society against those who wish to control us all?

Is love really worth fighting for?

So do you lead a double life? I'd love to hear about it! And please visit the intergalactic princess at and sign up for my newsletter.

Friday, 6 January 2012

Let's Play...

Let's play the "what Is..." game. I give you the answer, and you give me the question. Well. I suppose, technically, I'll give you both, but it'll be fun for you to guess as we go along.

So, first up: Worth it's weight in Gold.
...Answer: What is a block of sharp cheese? Well. Yes, but not was I was going for. I was going to say, a husband who not only gets this headline and why I might care... 
But actually brings the magazine home from the theater so he can show me and we can grin over it together. That's Twu Wuv....

Next: Not the Droid you're looking for.
Answer: What are any of the half dozen or so found in the bottom of son's Lego box, because he's after a specific one that came with a specific set...which he never actually received, so how he thinks he has it, I have no idea. But then, I'm just a weak-minded fool apparently susceptible to the most basic of mini-Jedi mind control tricks. (Oh. Here's something interesting. My computer knows how to spell Jedi better than I do. Huh.) And, I am also easily distracted. SQUIRREL!!!!

 And finally: Worth every penny they get paid and then some.
Answer: Who are cover artists. And I'll tell you why. Better yet, I'll show you. First, Anne Cain's work on my first Dreamspinner novel. "Better"  and next, the head of the Art Department over at Total E-Bound her work on the co-authored book "Tools of Justice" 

Monday, 2 January 2012


Son: "I can't put my clean laundry away. There's no more room in my dresser."
Me: "Toss all the jeans with the holes in the knees, and the rest will fit."
Son: "They aren't holes. It's a *style*
Me: *face palm* Leaves*
Some things just are not worth arguing with an eight yr old over. Trust me on this. In fact, so much of what goes on in a kid's head is beyond me, despite the fact I once was one.

For instance, just this morning, my daughter sat a the table and told me....Told get her a bowl of cereal. O.o Really. Where does she get that? And of course immediately on the heels of asking myself that, I realize the answer. Me. Damn. I did that to her. Do you know how long it's going to take to train that out of her now? And worse, now I can't use her as my fetch and carrier, either, because that's a double standard she will never, ever allow to be forced on her. Kid's too smart for my own good.....

Now, of course, I didn't get cereal for her. Her (adult) cousin made her grilled cheese less than ten minutes later. Sigh. There is no winning, really.