No La huv Lost

The one thing I love about the Web is that because of it, we’ve learned so much about what it means to really want to say something that, ultimately, could hurt someone else’s feelings, so we refrain. We show a little self-control. We’ve learned that those little jibes we make at people that seem hilarious at the time can have long-lasting and serious consequences.

Take the Playboy bunny who is currently under police investigation for taking a picture of a naked 70-year-old woman in a gym and posting it—she says unintentionally—to her public Snapchat account with a caption that led one to believe she was less than impressed by the person’s physique. She didn’t realize that photographing naked people is actually a crime, and now she could face jail time for her moment of “I’m young and sexy and can make fun of whomever I want” snarkiness. It’s a lesson well heeded, and whenever I have those moments, I think about what I say or post twice.

And I’ve thought about what I’m going to say next more than that, and I still just have to post it.
There is a singer that, even though I like this person’s music, I can’t stand their singing. As I’m driving along in my car, a song will come on the radio by this particular singer, and even though I like everything about the song, it makes me cringe because this person just, well, warbles. I mean WARBLES. Oh my God, it sounds like this person is seriously just making fun of those singers of yesteryear whose “Best of” and “Song Styings of” albums are all the rage on late night commercials, except the singers of yesteryear can actually sing.

In the most recent song I heard from this person, one of the words is “love” (changed to protect the identity of the singer), and this person sings it as “la huv.” I swear that it’s an intentional affront to the singer’s fans who apparently don’t know a hack when they hear one. It’s almost like the singer is saying, “Ha! I can sing like a 10-year-old child with laryngitis doing the worst imitation of Barbara Streisand ever and they’re so dumb they’ll keep buying my music.”

It’s maddening to love the songs and groan at the singer. How is that possible? How did this person ever make it this far in the music industry? Why can’t someone else be singing these songs? I didn’t name the singer in this post because I know my opinion is just one of millions, and apparently those millions like their music with a little bit of kitschy, breathy, melodramatic whisper-shrieking. Also, I’d feel bad if the singer read this because I know how I’d feel if someone said the same thing about my verbal abilities, which a zillion fans do not “la huv.” Even famous music people have feelings, and even though some choose to sing about them even though they can’t hold a note, it’s not my place to call them out. But it does feel good to get this off my chest.

So what about you? Do you have one song (or more) that you love but you can’t stand the way the singer sings it? Am I the only one? I can’t be. Please do share in the comments. Until then, happy reading!

Killer Perspective

As a writer, I live in the world of "things are not always as they seem." It's standard operating procedure for those who make things up as a living, so there are some conversations that make perfect sense to me that make no sense to others, or, worse, send a different message than intended. However, these can be good for helping people gain a sense of perspective.

For example, I had lunch the other day with a couple of friends, one a writer and one a fairly normal person (ha ha). My writer friend, whose specialty is thrillers, has been married for 25 years this last Saturday. My non-writer friend, whose specialty is stained-glass and swing dancing, has been married for 19 years. Each is happy in her life, but they way she expresses it is completely and utterly different, and, for me, quite entertaining.

Somehow the conversation--perhaps it was the red wine or maybe the trout sandwich--turned to our spouses and how we knew they were the "one," or at least not "one of the 'not the ones'." My non-writer friend wove a lovely tale of a two people caught up in a flurry of passion, separated by jobs in different parts of the US, who found that their long distance romance struggled under the weight of individual responsibilities to their families and to their individual dreams of success. She wanted to be a rock star accountant to prove to her family that their "baby" could make it on her own; he wanted to make it in graphic design because of his passion for art and technology. They dated all through college and decided to let fate guide them as they applied for jobs during that ever so important senior year. Those "dream" jobs took them miles apart.

Fast forward six months and their relationship is feeling the strain, as do most long distance connections. Like many couples, the came to the conclusion that being so far apart had helped them discover that maybe their relationship wasn't meant to endure, and they decided to break it off. After many tears, they both choose to move on with their lives...alone.

Fast forward another six months. All is going well with his job, although something seems to be missing. All is also going well with her job, although something for her is also missing. They dated others, trying to move forward with their lives based on their belief that their love for each other wasn't strong enough to sustain a long distance relationship. They were living the dream, but they were both miserable.

Then along comes election day, which was the day that he first kissed her outside of their polling precinct years before. Apparently, that moment of nostalgia was overwhelming for both of them (there is nothing like a presidential election to get the ol' romantic juices flowing). He called her, just wanting to hear her voice, and she had already texted him but he hadn't seen it before he called. Their conversation went something like this:

HIM: Are you dating anyone?
HER: No, are you?
HIM: No.
BOTH AT THE SAME TIME: I'll move!

So they had both decided that they'd give up their jobs to move to where they other person was, and that was how they knew they wanted to be together. In the end, the both decided to quit their jobs to find one in a completely different city they had both decided on, and it worked out. That's how my friend explained how they got together, and I have to admit, it got me teary-eyed. So then I tell my story, which you've all heard, and then my other friend tells how she knew her husband was the guy she'd spend the rest of her life with. In short...

"I never once tried to come up with a way to kill him."

Now, I realize this might seem odd to you, but to me, it made perfect sense. My writer friend writes thrillers and spends a lot of time plotting out heinous crimes and all kinds of mystery stuff, and she often--because she's sassy--includes people she knows as her characters. To date, in her novels she's killed off several people who, in real life, had offended her. It's cathartic, she says. However, not once did it--or has it--crossed her mind to try to find a way to off her spouse. My non-writer friend sat there staring and then gulped some of her wine. Not quite the response she was expecting, I guess.

In any case, we had a great lunch and I was reminded of how, sometimes, different perspectives can expand your world, or at least remind you to be more cautious around thriller writers. Happy Reading!

Review This...

I have a dear friend who is committed to growing her writing career. She loves what she does and is ready to do whatever it takes to promote her work. That includes seeking out reviews.

In her case, she went straight to the big boys, whose name rhymes with "irk us" which is kind of how I felt after reading her review (seriously, are they trying to irk us with this?). I've always had a problem with pay-per-review businesses, but this is one of the most trusted names in books, and it should be, given its longevity in a business where starts-ups get five minutes to publish a best-seller or die.

However, based on the review I read of my friend's work, I'm a little irked at this company and the whole idea of paying for a review when major publishers don't have to. It feels discriminatory to me, but my friend wouldn't listen to my insights and proceeded. She's thrilled with the results. I, on the other hand, am disappointed for her.

The review she received was truly mediocre, and, to be honest, that's accurate. Her book is totally mediocre. Nothing to write home about. Another cliched addition to an over-booked (no pun intended) genre. She told me this herself, and since I've read the book, which I enjoyed but was not wowed by, I have to concur. She doesn't care that her book, which is her first attempt at a novel, is not the most exciting thing since the 2016 presidential election. She plans to write bigger and better books. She's totally aware of where her book falls in the food chain, and totally wants to market the hell out of it because it is, if not Pulitzer material, completely enjoyable and worth reading. And it is. And the review says as much.

The problem I have with the review is not that it was uncannily accurate (my friend read it and guffawed about how dead on it was about her plot being a little worn), but that it cost hundreds of dollars (more if you want an expedited review) to get a review that was, in my opinion, worth about twenty-five dollars. Even if it had been glowing and starred and made of the sweat of Brad Pitt, it was still worth about twenty-five dollars worth of work on the reviewer's end. And that irked me.

What about you? How do you feel about pay-per-review businesses? What about reviews in general? Please do share in the comments if you have an opinion.

The Spoils of TV

I don't watch much TV because I write like a fiend any chance I get, but I realize that lots of people watch shows on Netflix and Amazon and a bunch of different other providers. My hubby is a binge-watching addict, and occasionally I will catch an episode or two of something he's watching. Sometimes I like it; sometimes I don't, but at least it keeps me in on the story-telling conversation, so I consider it research.

For example, when I see The Walking Dead or Orange is the New Black, I can't help but analyze what makes the stories so compelling or the characters so nuanced. How do the writers do that? How do they get millions of people addicted to their work? Yes, it's visual, but there's more to it than that. Sometimes it's gratuitous violence or sex, but many times it's just gritty, gutsy writing that taps into the universal feelings we all have in an engaging context. What mastery some of these writers have!

What I don't like about TV is all the articles that discuss "spoilers" that have to do with cliffhangers of fan favorites. Whom did Negan kill? Who will get the Iron Throne? The articles promise spoilers but offer nothing but fan theory. I despise them so much, I think I will start writing some. They are very formulaic, and it would give me more reasons to do my "research," which is probably the reason authors write them in the first place. We writers are such a crafty bunch. :)

Back to my original thought--do you binge watch anything? If so, why? What makes you want to keep watching? Please do share. Happy Reading!

It's Just a Little Crush

Have you ever had one of those conversations with your significant other that started out okay, then became not okay, and then got okay again? I had one recently, and it made me realize how lucky I am that I married someone creative and with some common sense that I apparently don't possess.

My DH and I were talking about Grace and Frankie, a show we've been watching on Netflix, and got into a discussion about character, because we both are writers and that's naturally where discussions flow to in our household no matter what the medium.

What I love about my husband is that he can see a movie or read a book, and at least one of the characters, usually one he likes thank goodness, reminds him of me. I don't assume this; he tells me as we're talking about the characters and plot of the story. This is nice, because many of the characters I see in movies or read about in stories bring him to mind in some way, so I feel like we bond over this.

Except when we don't. In the case of Grace and Frankie, which I recommend to anyone who likes great story-telling and dialogue, we disagreed on which character I resembled the most (he brought this up). Naturally, I assumed he thought I was more like Frankie, who is a complete hippie, but he disagreed. He thought I was more like Grace, who kind of starts out as the stuck-up, rich ex-wife of a lawyer who is somewhat judgmental in her view of the world and very materialistic. That completely flummoxed me, and I was a little upset. How could my hubby mistake tree-hugger me for some uptight, inflexible chick?

But then he explained. It turns out that he's had a crush on Jane Fonda, who plays Grace, for years, and the things he liked about her as an actress are things he likes about me, regardless of her character in the show. In other words, when he sees his crush, he sees me.

Well, crap. Who can argue with that?

So for now I'm Grace, until he starts to unravel the complexities of Lily Tomlin, who plays Frankie, and figures out that I'm more like the new age do-gooder than the woman of his celebrity fantasies.

Do you ever deal with this? With feelings about a character because of who they remind you of or something that has nothing to do with the character? How, as writers, can we avoid this? Or should we? Sometimes there's nothing one can do. Characters can remind readers of family members, ex-teachers, zumba instructors, family doctors, etc., and we can't do anything about it except hope for the best. That's what makes story-telling so intriguing--you can write what you write, but readers read what they want or need to read, and that makes the written word fabulous. Happy Reading!

That First Taste of Freedom

On Monday, July 4th, millions of US citizens will celebrate our Independence Day. It's a day that recognizes our official declaration of no longer being a part of the British empire in 1776, to put it succinctly. There will be fireworks and parades and all kinds of fun stuff going on as people revel in the fact that we are no longer subject to eating kidney pie or blood pudding, unless we want to, or drinking non-French wine because of some ongoing kerfuffles between England and France.

For some of our romance heroes and heroines, independence--or the seeking of it--is a driving force that motivates our characters. It's that important. Gaining one's independence in some area of life can be a major milestone, and as this day approaches this year, I find myself trying to remember what my first taste of independence was and when it was. When was that moment that I truly did something on my own? For many people, it's going off to kindergarten or pre-school. For others, it's riding a bike around the neighborhood. For some, they truly didn't feel independent until they got their first job or got their driver's license.

Looking back, there are many instances where I gained my independence, whether knowingly or not, but one does stand out to me. I was probably in the 3rd grade, and we were working on numbers from 1-100. We had to write them out as digits on sheets of paper with big squares on them. I knew mine already, and it was just a matter of writing them out. I remember my teacher at the time, who was a nice lady, telling the class that if we didn't get our number sheets done, we'd have to stay in at recess and do them. For some reason that day, I didn't want to go out to recess. I thought it would be nice to just sit in the empty classroom and write out my numbers leisurely, and so I didn't hurry to complete my work. Because I wasn't done when recess came, I had to stay in and complete the assignment, but it was what I had chosen to do. It was probably the first real decision I ever made about my education.

I often wonder if the teacher thought I was having difficulty learning my numbers or if she thought I was being disrespectful, because I think missing recess was supposed to have been a punishment. What kid wants to miss recess? Me, on that particular day. I had been offered two choices, and I chose to stay in and take my time on my work. I don't remember her being upset about it, but I know lots of teachers and I think they often wonder why "good" kids sometimes "get into trouble." I think sometimes students don't see certain options as punishments, like I did way back when, and they make decisions based on the choices given.

Anyway, that was my first taste of "freedom" in terms of making a decision for myself, that I remember, about school. What about you? What was your first adventure in gaining your independence? Please do share. Happy reading!

When You Forget That You Didn't Forget

Welcome to old age...

So one of my roles in my marriage is "bill payer person." I take this on willingly because I'm good at it and like to keep track of where our money is going. Not because my spouse is gambling our savings away or spending it on hookers or fishing equipment or something, but because I've always been terrible with money and feel good knowing that I might be actually a functioning adult when it comes to finances. Paying bills lets me do this. Most of the time.

Unless one is menopausal, and then paying bills just reminds me of everything I forgot that I remembered. For example, I apparently got online and wrote down the amount I needed to pay for a bill and when I needed to pay it by. Then I didn't pay it. And then suddenly I get the next month's bill and it has not only what I owed, but the late fee to remind me that I intended to pay the bill but apparently didn't. Aarrgh!

I wanted to call the company up and tell them I didn't forget, but that I just forgot that I didn't forget. However, I'm pretty sure that wouldn't have gone over very well. I probably would have gotten some condescending young lady to assist me who has no idea that her ovaries will one day turn on her and that her memory will randomly fail her. Then I would have been forced to get snippy.

I try to avoid snippy, but, honestly, if I forget that I forgot and someone gets upset about it, what am I supposed to do? My options are limited, especially since I can't, most of the time, remember what those options are.

I hope your summer is going well. Happy Reading!

Epic Memory Failure Fun

Ever have one of those days where your life seems to read like a novel? I had one of those several months back. It's almost as if someone somewhere was writing my story as I went, and I was the heroine in this little tale of the life of an aging hippie addicted to writing and with whom technology was playing stupid cupid.

It all started when I got a friend request from an ex-boyfriend. It wasn't a bad break up or anything dramatic; we just went our separate ways after dating about six months in our youth. Very bland. We remained in the same distant social circle for years but lost touch about seven years ago. I never really thought about him until I saw the request. It took me a minute to place him, and then I went through the whole friend-vetting process I go through when I get a request (Do I know this person? Do I like this person? Does this person look like he spends lots of time talking to a stuffed Winnie-the-Pooh about waffles?) Finally, I decided--what the hay--and friended him. No big deal.

Yes, big deal.

At least to some of my friends--who I've now downgraded to acquaintances--who seem to think I'm on the road to destruction because I'm friends with an ex on FB. Am I unhappy in my marriage? Am I having a mid-life crisis? Don't I know how that looks?

Well, no, I don't know how it looks. I don't really care, and they shouldn't either. The only person who should care is my hubby, and he isn't bothered by it. As a matter of fact, he was really glad to find out what happened to someone from our past. Hubby has access to my account, so if he wants to go in and check it out, he can. But he doesn't because he's friends with at least three ex-girlfriends himself and doesn't see the harm in re-establishing old relationships if one doesn't plan to go any further with them that friendship.

So I tell my semi-pals this, and they get their feathers all ruffled. Certainly there must be something unseemly afoot because all of the sudden I'm friends with a guy I once dated. I just rolled my eyes and left the restaurant where we were having lunch, when I hear a ping. It's my cell letting me know I've got an FB notification. Guess who it's from?

So Barney, as I will call him to protect his identify, has messaged me to say hi. I put my phone away, grocery shop, do a bunch of other errands, and finally go home. About 10 I get on FB and answer his message, noting he's not online. And then suddenly, a minute after I hit REPLY, he pops up. "How am I doing?" he asks. "What's up?" "How's my world?" "Am I still married?" "He loved my pictures..." "I'm still as beautiful as the day we parted..." "Did I want to sex chat?"

Wait, what?

Yep, Mr. Ex-boyfriend wanted to sex chat with me on FB. I politely told him no, and he said something about he figured I'd be a sex chatter because of the wild times we had when we dated.

Wait, what?

If I remember correctly, a motorcycle ride where he didn't where a helmet (idiot) was the riskiest thing we did. I don't recall ever making out with him that much, let alone doing anything so wild in the bedroom that he would think it would automatically translate into getting my jollies typing with one hand and reading phrases that were sexual or could be, if taken out of context, the names of pro wrestlers, like "slick rod" and "wild stud."

So, through our rather short conversation that ended when he abruptly unfriended me, I figured out that he had confused me with a different hippie chick he'd dated way back when named Cassie. I told him so and he apologized, then he said he didn't want to be friends with me anymore. I typed "Seriously? LOL" and he disappeared.

It makes me laugh every time I think about it. I guess some people know what they want and a reasonable facsimile will just not do. I thought about telling my pals they were kind of right about the presence of untoward intentions, at least on his side, but then I thought, na, let them live vicariously through my perceived harlotry.

So how's your life going? Do you have any interesting ex-boyfriend stories? Please do share!

Relationship Stuff

Few things surprise me; however, recently a colleague confided in me about her divorce and it threw me for a loop. I'm not really good friends with this co-worker, and I don't see her often. Suddenly, in the midst of us discussing a big project, she mentions that she's going through a divorce. Since I wasn't even sure she was married, that was a surprise. I think she needed to talk to someone, and I had time and was willing to listen, even though, really, it's very unprofessional to dish on your personal life with people you only really know in your professional life.

What stood out to me the most is that her first comment when talking about the woman who "stole" her husband was that she wasn't pretty. "She looks bad," was the comment my colleague used. And I couldn't get it out of my head. The reason for this is that, as a romance/erotica writer, my job is to build a relationship between to people based on true love--a love that is something that everyone can aspire to--not some superficial attraction that wanes after several years. I spend much of my time trying to comprehend what makes a relationship last or what helps maintain a relationship, and at the end of the day, being pretty doesn't rate very high.

I remember an instance where a good friend of mine found himself in a situation where his parents where divorcing. It was hard for everyone to grasp the extent of his father's affair with the other woman, but it was especially difficult because the "other woman" was not necessarily prettier or younger or skinnier than his mother. It was incredibly difficult for anyone in his family to comprehend how his father could leave his mother for someone "less," and that made the dissolution of his family dynamic all the more difficult.

And that's what I want to rail about. The first thing anyone thinks of when we hear that someone is moving on to someone new is the differential in the score each person achieves on the "beauty" scale. Immediately, we default to the reason the relationship ended was because the person cheating went on to someone "better" in the looks department. Seriously? We're still hung up on looks like a sixth grader? Sure, some people are shallow muddle puddles of human beings and move from partner to partner without any emotional connection. However, people who get 20 years into marriage and suddenly want someone younger are typically not looking for someone younger; they're looking for something that their current life or relationship lacks.

This is wanted to tell my colleague, but it seemed to make her feel good that her husband had been lured by an ugly siren because nothing else made sense. I was supportive and didn't point out that love takes many forms, and we don't understand all of them, I just listened. I may not agree with what my colleague's spouse did, but I still believe that my co-worker will find someone who truly values her for herself and not some superficial characteristic such as looks. There's so much more to us than our physical appearance, and I hope that readers of this blog post know how beautiful they are.

Happy Reading!



 

A Viewing to Remember

Spring is an amazing season. Flowers bloom, baby animals are born, the world awakens, and…people attend funerals. Yeah, I know that last one is a bummer, but it’s true. I’ve attended at least three funerals in the last eight weeks. A distant relative died, then a small child with leukemia who the community had rallied around, and finally a co-worker. There’s a certain kind of stress to dealing with loss, even if you’re not that close to those who passed. As it happened, I was actually semi-close to the co-worker in a very indirect way, but that’s not why it was stressful. It was stressful because my cousin, whom we’ll call Bonnie, is friends with a really close friend of the co-worker, and that friend, apparently, doesn’t wear rings that fit. 

And thus begins the whole story…

The person who passed away, we’ll call him Joe, was a co-worker of mine, but in a completely different department in another branch in a suburb of our city. In other words, I didn’t know him at all and barely recognized his name. However, one of my colleagues who did his same job and collaborated with him all the time because she traveled from site to site knew him really well and was devastated by the loss. This co-worker, whom we’ll call Lena, wanted to go to the viewing but hates anything death-related and needed emotional support to pay her last respects. I volunteered to go with her because Lena is a lovely soul and because viewings don’t bother me in the least. As it turns out, Lena is also friends with my cousin Bonnie, who also volunteered to go to the viewing as moral support. So Lena and Bonnie and I all end up going to the viewing to pay respects to Joe. Simple enough?

Oh, hardly.

We get to the funeral parlor and everything seems to be going to plan. Lena is weeping with Joe’s wife and children and mother and cousins (he came from a HUGE family) and then shuffles, sobbing, to the casket to view her friend one last time. Bonnie and I hang out on the fringes, both of us being respectful and me interacting with my colleagues who knew Joe to varying degrees when we weren’t reading the cards on the flowers. Finally, Lena heads our way and we’re all ready to leave. We get to my car—I drove—and suddenly Lena lets out a shriek.

“I’ve lost my wedding ring!”

She shouts this in the middle of the parking lot with mourners ambling by, and they all look at her like, “Who cares? Joe’s dead.”

But Bonnie and I cared. We knew, in Lena’s mental state, losing her wedding ring would be tipping point from upset to hysterical, or maybe even wigged completely out. We calmed her down and finally surmised that her ring had been in place up to the point of—you guessed it—viewing Joe.

So Bonnie, being rather fearless and goal-oriented, decided to backtrack and followed Lena’s footsteps from the time she entered the viewing until she left, paying special attention to the part where Bonnie wept over Joe in the casket. Let me just say this at this point that I should have known better than to trust Bonnie.

Because here’s what happened: She gets to the casket and acts mournful in a way that allows her to scope the area around the deceased. As it turns out, Lena, who’d recently lost weight, had put her hand on the side of the casket long enough for the ring in question to drop into the bedding, or whatever you call that stuff on the inside of a casket. Bonnie spots the ring waaaaaay down in the bottom of the bedding, nearly under Joe’s arm. If one more mourner sobs loud enough over the casket, the ring will slide deep into the lining and it will take some digging around to get to it.

As fate would have it, a very large co-worker, Maggie, who is very…large, leaned over the casket sobbing uncontrollably next to Bonnie, and Bonnie watched Lena’s ring take the plunge into the depths of “Your wedding ring is getting buried with a dead guy-ville.”

But you must remember Bonnie is my cousin. And we both grew up with superstitious crazy people who held the belief that if you don’t touch the dead person whose viewing it is, you’ll have dreams about them. So my cousin and I grew up touching a lot of dead people. Therefore, Bonnie has no compunction about retrieving Lena’s ring. However, Bonnie was not raised under a barn, so she knows that digging around in a casket for something might make a few people very uncomfortable and cause a scene. The best way to offset that, Bonnie figured, was to…cause a scene.

So, Bonnie starts wailing and thrashing around the casket and Joe, throwing herself across the body and choking through her tears. People are horrified, and it takes three funeral parlor workers to pull her off Joe.

I know all this because, knowing Bonnie, who promised to get Lena’s ring back “no matter what,” I found myself a window to peak through and see what was going on. It was like driving past a car accident…I couldn’t look away.

By the time the funeral director, a security officer, and two other mourners escorted Bonnie to the parking lot, where she fell dramatically into my arms, the ruse was in full effect. I think, at one point, Bonnie believed her own grief, even though she didn’t even know Joe. All I can say is, "That's my cousin!"

As soon as her grim-faced escorts hustled back into the viewing, Bonnie grinned and held up something shiny. As soon as Lena saw it, she squealed, grabbed it, and gave Bonnie a huge bear hug. Apparently, Bonnie had been digging around for Lena’s ring as she crawled all over Joe under false pretenses, and she finally got it.

We all drove home in silence—Bonnie grinning in triumph, Lena smiling at her ring, and me checking the rearview mirror for the police, because it’s got to be some kind of felony to fake grief to retrieve a wedding ring and grope a a newly deceased person under false pretenses.

Well, that’s my spring so far. How’s yours going? Please do share in the comments.

Yep, It's Spring

The flowers are blooming and the birds are chirping and it's glorious outside, if not a little bit chilly. But who cares? It's spring! April is coming--this is actually my last post for March--and with it the hope that snow and ice and frost have all passed us by. I certainly hope so.

I've got a major project due tomorrow, so I'm not going to spend much time here today. However, I felt I needed to post an update on Helena and Mike's wedding, since some folks have been asking about how it went. In short, it went--no pun intended--like a charm. A lucky charm. No fisticuffs, only joy and love and a great celebration.

Of course, there's a reason for that. Apparently, the Wedding Gods were watching out for Helena and Mike because, and you will not believe this, all three of the catty pit vipers (Ann, Amy, and Mrs. Jerk) and their significant others were not in attendance. As it turned out, Ann's daughter Neela from a dalliance prior to her commitment to The Jerk went into labor the morning of the impending nuptials and delivered a healthy baby boy just before the wedding. I'm pretty sure the new grandma euphoria clouded any thoughts of throwing on her finery to attend her friend's wedding. Of course, The Jerk stayed with her, mainly because attending the wedding with his current wife instead of his ex-wife that he is now dating while separated from her would probably upset Ann, and, as I have divulged in earlier posts, an angry Ann is, indeed, not something you want to behold.

Amy also felt the need to forego the wedding in light of the fact she had become a great-aunt, although she also had the excuse that she had jury duty. Yep, you got it. Amy got selected for jury duty just before the wedding. She wasn't thrilled, although Ed thinks it's great because he's all about doing one's civic duty. He's even taken off work a few days to watch the trial, which, ironically, is a case about a wife who attempted to kill her philandering husband by hiring her nail technician to burn down their house while he was in the midst of some really intense philandering...in their marital bed, no less. He and his paramour survived and the nail tech, afraid of being discovered and taking full blame, outed the wife to the police. Ed, from what I understand, is totally fascinated by this case. Amy, on the other hand, is bored to tears because she's already decided that the wife was just trying to scare them both, and, even if she wasn't, Amy said, she was totally justified in what she did. I still don't get how she can think this, but it's not my case nor my worry. Good luck, Mr. Defense Attorney, in dealing with that jury member.

Mrs. Jerk, from what I understand, would have attended, but she is going through some trauma right now and wanted to limit public exposure. Apparently, she was having sex with some married guy and the house caught on fire. She barely escaped with her lover and her perky breasts intact, and now there's this trial thing about it. Go figure.

Well, I need to sign off for now. Big project calling. I hope your spring is going spectacularly. Happy Reading!

The Greenest Day of the Year

Happy St. Patrick's Day! I was writing a completely different post when it occurred to me that today is St. Patrick's Day. How could I forget? Helena and her beau are about to embark on the wedding of the century (see my last post), replete with all the drama of a Lifetime movie, on what is considered by many to be a very lucky day. And Helena's take on all of this is, "Whatever happens, happens. We'll deal with it. Together." Which is also the same perspective her prospective hubby has, so I'm guessing this marriage, even though it's her 3rd, has a fighting chance. And I'm thrilled for her.

I'm also thrilled that spring is finally here, or appears to be so. Yeah, so cool weather is predicted, but overall the temps are warmer and my outlook is sunnier. Plus, I'm writing more. I hadn't been tapping at the keys much until the last few days because of work and all that it entails, but now I'm on a roll. I'm about halfway through my latest WIP and it feels great. There's nothing like writing in the spring to make one feel content.

Unfortunately, my latest includes pieces of my real life. As you can guess, my friend Ann is kind of a strong presence, and she's sort of ended up in my latest book. By accident, of course. I don't name her, and she's not a main character. There's a remotely psychotic chick who is a really good friend of the heroine who makes her life undeniably miserable without even trying, and she's completely oblivious to the damage she does. However, this character serves a larger purpose--the heroine of the story meets the love of her life at her wedding. So, it's worth the struggle with the fictional Ann's issues.

I rarely include people from real life, but Ann is too strong of a inspiration to ignore. Have you ever dealt with someone like this? Someone who is a complete disaster, and you can't seem to look away? That's probably what I will be doing this afternoon at Helena's wedding...looking away from Ann and her drama to the couple who's actually getting married. To their credit, they're taking it all in stride. Like Helena says...whatever happens, happens. I'm just glad the menu includes green beer.

Happy St. Paddy's Day!

Is It Spring?

It's been a hard winter. You want to know how I know that? Because I actually kept scoping what the groundhog said on 2/2, like that's an accurate weather prediction. However, desperate for spring, I bought into what the little rodent said. And it appears, although with some hesitation, spring is on its way.

But that's not what you came here for, is it? You came here for something exciting, and, finally, I have something exciting to talk about. Wanna hear?

So my friend, Helena, is getting married for the 3rd time, which is, I'm sure, a charm. Although, given Helena's track record, maybe not. Helena and Mike are getting married on 3/17, the luckiest day of the year according to their ancestors, who were all Irish. They are getting married at 3:17 on the dot, too. However, that's about it. I think Mike wanted to go all the way with the "We're so lucky to have found each other" theme, but Helena convinced him to not go overboard with it. It promises to be a nice wedding, and one that, I'm sure, will be quite memorable.

Why, might you ask?

Because Helena is friends with Ann, Ann's Jerk, and Amy, Ann's sister who is now married to Ed, Ann's ex-fiance who left her at the altar for his current wife, and because she's invited the whole crew to her nuptials, that's why. I asked Helena if she'd told Mike about Ann's wedding disaster and the aftermath, and she said she had. His response? "There's no bad luck they can bring on us! Look, they're all happy now." Helena's gleeful take on the whole thing? "This is going to be effing fantastic! Wanna take bets on who swings first?" That's my friend, always looking for entertainment wherever she can get it.

And she might get it. Amy and Ann do talk, even though Amy stole Ed from right under her bridal nose, but everyone knows Ann is incredibly vengeful and holds grudges forever, and even though she's happy working on her "relationship" with The Jerk, she still has a score to settle with Amy.

If you read the Bridesmaid Sort Of posts from a while back, you might be wondering what happened after Ann and The Jerk's embrace. Well, it was kind of like that scene in An Officer and a Gentleman where Richard Gere carries Deborah Winger out of the factory, except Ann's a bit heavier than Deb and The Jerk is waaaaay older than Richard Gere, so it looked like too stumbling drunks half carrying each other out of a crowded bar. In short, though, Ann decided to give The Jerk another try, even though he's technically married to a new wife. He and Ann are "dating" until he and the current legal Mrs. Jerk work though their conscious uncoupling. I swear on Gwyneth Paltrow's pink Oscar de la Renta dress that I'm not kidding...they are consciously uncoupling like she did with Chris Martin, or at least doing their version of it. What it amounts to is that The Jerk is getting steady, um, attention from both Ann and Mrs. Jerk, and he's never been happier. Ann thinks she's going to win back her ex-hubby from the trophy hussy who stole him, so she's thrilled--to get The Jerk back and to get revenge on Mrs. Jerk. And Mrs. Jerk thinks she's going to convince her errant spouse that he's just having a mid-life crisis and wants to sow some seeds, which is, ironically, what Ann told him when he confessed he'd been sleeping with his dental hygienist, who became Mrs. Jerk, for six months. She thinks he'll come running back to her younger arms and fuller breasts, but Ann is giving her a run for her money, or rather for The Jerk's money.

So there you have it. Helena and Mike's wedding is going to be center stage to Ann and Amy's showdown, while Ed and The Jerk stand around sipping bad wine and comparing sisters. Hopefully, Helena and Mike will take it all in stride, and, if we're lucky, everything will go off splendidly.

I hope your spring is shaping up to be as exciting as mine promises to be. Happy Reading!

The Big V

It's a comin'! Valentine's Day is right around the corner, and I'm really looking forward to it. However, probably not for the reason you think. Don't get me wrong; I love getting romantic with my guy. I love wining and dining with him because I love being with him, but engaging in these fun holiday traditions appeals to more than my lover's heart; it appeals to my writer's soul as well. What better time to people watch than on the most erotic and romantic day of the year?

As a writer, I love to watch people and wonder what their stories are. I get lots of ideas for stories for just observing what goes on around me. On Valentine's Day, it's not unusual if we go out to eat to wait at least an hour, and that's an hour that I get to watch the human mating dance in full force, the desire to engage in one basic instinct--romance--being fueled by another--hunger. I've seen people on first dates, couples on their 50th Valentine's Day, and everything in between. Families, couples, and, yes, even singles, venture out to eat on this most loving of holidays, and I get the benefit of it.

I'm very unobtrusive. No one really knows I'm eavesdropping, and I try not to stare. I just listen and make up stories in my head to fill in the blanks. I used to feel bad about it, but then I figured there's someone out there like me probably watching and listening to my Valentine's Day adventure, and so it all evens out.

Whether you're observing others or being observed yourself, I hope this Valentine's Day brings you much joy and love.

Happy Reading!

Okay Vacay

It may be a little early, but I’m planning a vacation. A summer vacation. How does that sound? Hits the spot, doesn’t it? In many places in the world, it’s cold right now, but in my head I’m thinking of something really hot, and it ain’t no erotic story this time.

I’m going to the Caribbean. 

Technically, I don’t find it really hot in the Caribbean. More like very, very warm. I’ve been there a couple of times before, and I love it. I really want to retire there; however, I don’t think I’m going to be able to buy an island in that area any time soon so that probably won’t happen. And I want my own island, my own little piece of paradise, where I can retire under my own rules and enjoy the lack of people who don’t follow my idea of living it up, which means hanging out on the beach and reading. Or drinking wine. Or eating pizza. Or all of the above.

I’m planning it now so that I might have a chance to save up for my little sojourn, although the chances of that happening aren’t too good either. I remain hopeful, however. Getting to the Caribbean isn’t inexpensive, and I need to start setting aside some pennies to get to one of the places I love most in the world. I think Hemingway, a Caribbean fan himself, would be proud of my plan to spend time in the vicinity of his 6-toed feline friends.

So where would you like to vacation? Please do share. It’s going to be a long winter and we all need to daydream a little.

Happy Reading!