Liv Rancourt

Point Of View - How to find my inner 14 year old boy

2012-02-29T06:40:00.001-08:00

This week I have a bit of a problem. An editor friend is putting together an anthology with a pirate theme, and she asked me if I had a short story that might work. I didn't, but I told her to give me 48 hours to see if I could come up with something. She said she already had seven of the ten stories in place, and was looking for something that hadn't already been done. She wanted a male POV character, maybe a person of color, maybe someone with a disability, maybe a historical. So I took all that and threw it around the room a little and came up with an idea:

In 1810 New Orleans, a 14 year old boy whose parents are a plantation owner and his black mistress runs off with a pirate.

Sounds simple enough, right? It has some of the elements the editor was looking for, and there's plenty of STUFF going on in that place and time to build conflict around. And really, the plot hasn't been a problem. It's the main character, Robert. I've had three people read the piece. One, my husband (and not the most critical reader) thought he sounded like a teenage boy. My friend Amanda read it, and she thought I landed somewhere in the 20's. The third (the editor, and necessarily more critical) thought he sounded like a forty year old man.
Oops.

Gotta fix that.
I know the basics of how to develop a character. I do a worksheet and figure out as much about them as I can, from their height and weight and skin texture to what's in their pockets and what they like to eat for dinner. All of that detail drives the things they say and how they respond to different situations. I did some of that for Robert - it's a short piece, and I had a tight turn-around - but it was hard when I was working with so many unknowns. Hey, I'm old, but not 1810 old.

I did a series of Google searches using accessible terms like, "societal expectations of children in the early 19th century". Not so helpful, really. Then, I posted my quandary on the WANA112 Facebook page - all writers from a variety of backgrounds and experiences. I heard back from YA writer Cristin Terrill that teenagers were hard and historicals were hard and to do them both together would be really hard. Ouch. It sounded like a such a good idea at the time.

Cristin did suggest that I read books written in that time period that had teenage boys as the main characters. That thought had already crossed my mind, and so now I've got The Prince and the Pauper and a couple things by Dickens tee'ed up on the Kindle. I also found an interview with Claudia Gray, the author of the Evernight novels, a popular YA series. She said that to find the voice for her teen characters, she does whatever she can to remember what it was like to be a teenager. Hmm. Good advice, if I can remember back that far.

My friend Amanda suggested that it was an issue of language, that Robert would feel like more of an outsider and speak less formally. For what it's worth, I was aiming for Mr. Darcy as a teenager. Have to rethink that, I guess. Clearly I was never a teenage boy, but I believe that alienation is part of the package. As is anger. And insecurity. I've got an almost-teen-boy living with me now. And I've got a husband who was, at one time, a teenager. And I've got the internet to help me fill in the gaps regarding the life and times of New Orleans in 1810, if I can figure out the right search terms. I should be able to do this.

If' you've got any ideas on this, would LOVE to hear them in the comments. Thanks!
Peace,
Liv

Coming Home Freebie!

2012-02-28T07:59:00.001-08:00

Hey! My friend April Plummer is offering her new book, Coming Home, for free on Amazon for the next couple of days. You can get the e-version now, or the paperback will be available from Amazon soon. Check it out here, or look for April on her blog, April Plummer - Heart of the World.

Peace,

Liv

Coming Home - Free on Amazon for 3 Days!

Today, tomorrow, and Thursday, I'm taking advantage of Amazon's Kindle Direct Publishing and giving my book away free to Kindle users!

Get your copy of Coming Home here, a women's fiction story about learning to trust, learning to love, and finding peace through an unknown past.

For years, eighteen-year old Isabela Fuentes worked two jobs to support her promiscuous, alcoholic mother.

After the latest boyfriend rapes her at knife point, Isabela throws her few possessions into her car and drives until she reaches Lakeside, Montana, twenty-five hundred miles from New York City’s suffocating smog.

As her bodily scars fade, she takes solace in the nature around her and records it in her sketch pad. It isn't until she begins sketching scenes from her rape that she learns to cope with what happened.

But leaving her mother behind to fend for herself might have been a mistake; and when two strangers appear on her doorstep claiming to be her dead grandparents, they threaten the fragile childhood memories. Before she can rebuild her life, Isabela must decide to either let her past go or unite it with the woman she’s become.

Friday Fun

2012-02-24T08:34:00.000-08:00

And it's Friday again. Yay! Love Fridays. For our "heading into the weekend with a smile" moment, my friend Nony (short for Anonymous and the source of ALL the funny videos I post) suggested the one below. Because, really, what do you think would happen if Charles Barkley and Bjork sat down for a conversation?

Have a great weekend.
Peace,
Liv

A Tale Of Two Heros

2012-02-22T00:00:00.000-08:00

I'm very pleased to welcome back my friend Jillian Chantal. She's been a busy (busier?) lady for the last couple weeks, promoting her two new releases, Sebastian's Salvation and "The Coroner's Heart", a short story in Valentine Delights: Be Mine. The excerpt of Sebastian's Salvation that I saw totally raised my blood pressure, and "The Coroner's Heart" is a truly charming love story that proves that a woman can be strong, smart AND loveable. Thanks, Jillian, for stopping in and telling us about your newest work.

Thanksfor the invitation to come by and chat a bit with your readers.

What do awar wounded Green Beret and a blood expert who works in a crime lab have incommon? You might be surprised. The first thing they have in common is thatthey each sprang from the same mind. The second thing is that they are bothromance novel heroes. The third thing is that both of their stories werereleased on the same day. Now, you're probably asking if there are any thingsthese guys have in common other than those innocuous ones. Yes, indeed there are.

Sebastianis the hero of Sebastian's Salvation and Adam is the hero of The Coroner'sHeart. Both men are fiercely loyal totheir friends, family and coworkers. Both men are very competent at their jobs.Both men find themselves attracted to a strong woman. Both of them have ahidden soft side; Sebastian hides his under a suave painter persona and Adamhides his with the use of sarcasm and wit.

Whileeach of them have a different story and a different route to happiness, each ofthem are heroic in their own way. It's important to me as a writer to be suremy heroes never act in a way that would violate the "hero code" as Isee it. I love both of these guys for different reasons. Sebastian has a lot to overcome and his wayof coping with his issues endeared him to me. Adam, on the other hand, has hada much easier life and it shows in his more easy going manner and banter. His dialogue was fun to write.

I thinkboth heroes are smart, witty and kind. I hope the readers love them as much asI do.

I'llleave you with a few lines from each hero to give your readers a little peekinto these guys and the buy links. Thanks again for having me pop in. I enjoy your blog and am thrilled tobe here.

The Coroner's Heart:

Finally,in exasperation, Elspeth turned and her face almost collided with his. “Crap.Back off. What’s wrong with you?”

Thedriver snickered when Adam replied, “Just smelling your lovely perfume, Doc.What is that? A mixture of some kind of burnt sugar and dead body?”

“Shutup.”

Adamturned to the driver. “I must admit, it’s a strange but powerful concoction.Must be some of that new pheromone stuff.”

Sebastian'sSalvation:

Sebastian looked up from his chili. “Bet I could get any of the threeof you naked in two minutes flat. All I’d need is a paintbrush in my hand.”

Victoria blushed as Joanna looked him in the eye from her end of thetable. “Best watch out with the bets, Bast. You already lost one to me today.”

Sebastian raised one eyebrow. “Did I, now?”

“You know you did. I beat you down the hill best out of three runs.”

“And what did you win, Lady Joanna?”

“The right to have you paint my portrait.” Her face registered triumph.

“You mean the right to get naked in front of me?”

Joanna and her two friends both gasped.

Sebastian took a bite of his chili and once he swallowed, he looked atHugh and asked, “See? All it takes is a paintbrush. Want me to teach you?”

BUY LINKS:http://www.bookstrand.com/sebastians-salvation

http://www.stillmomentspublishing.com/p/ebook-store.html

www.Jillianchantal.com Visit meanytime!

Thanks again for posting, Jillian! It was fun to learn more about Sebastian and Adam.

Peace,

Liv

Mardi Gras

2012-02-21T09:58:00.000-08:00

This morning I happened to catch a tweet from one of my new Triberr buddies, who said she wanted to eat King cake today. Yep, it's that time of year. Mardi Gras. That means tomorrow is Ash Wednesday.

When you're Catholic, there are two pertinent questions on Ash Wednesday. When you're with your non-Catholic friends, they find an expression that's equal parts embarrassment and concern as they tap you on the shoulder. "There's something black smudged on your forehead. Did you know that?" Um, yeah I did. It's ashes, and the priest went kinda crazy. I may well be marked like this for a week, but I think I'll live through it.

Then there's the question Catholics ask each other. "What are you giving up for Lent?" Good question, that. What am I giving up for Lent? How 'bout I give up dealing with surly adolescents? Hmm. There might be laws against it, since I gave birth to them. Maybe I could give up the rain. I'd like to. No more rain, or at least a lot less of it. Hmm. I live in Seattle and it's February. Good luck with that one, too.

Then I could give up dieting. The current incarnation involves avoiding grains - except for the pint of beer I have every Saturday night. It's for the nutrients, you know. If I gave up dieting, at least for today, I could have King cake. You know, that's not such a bad idea. I'll have King cake and beer for supper tonight, and then in the morning I can ponder something that'll be a little more meaningful.

As crazy as it sounds, Ash Wednesday - and all the other weird little holidays the church comes up with - are really a gift. They help locate me in time, framing the year with traditions that go back centuries. The Gregorian Communion antiphon for Ash Wednesday translates as, "He who meditates day and night on the law of the Lord shall bring forth his fruits in due season." I like the image of bringing forth your fruits when the time is right. And tonight it's time to party. Laissez les bons temps rouler!
Peace,
Liv

Another day, another vampire - Three rules for writing paranormal fiction

2012-02-18T08:59:00.000-08:00

The other day we saw the release of Bites - Ten Tales of Vampires. I wrote one of the ten tales, a short story called "Tangled Dreams". You might wonder why I'm still playing with vampires. Good question. They're just so darned useful, with all their history and baggage and good & evil stuff. I just can't seem to get over them.

You might also wonder HOW I write about vampires. Like, what are the rules? Well, like most things in writing, the rules are pretty flexible. In my mind, it comes down to three main points.

Decide what the world rules are and stick to them. Whether you're going to have vampires or werewolves or fae characters, you need to decide a couple things up front. More than just what the magical powers each character is going to have, you need to know the framework they're functioning in. Do the non-magical characters know that paranormal characters exist, like the vamps and werewolves in the Anita Blake books, or do they operate in secret, keeping the Muggles in the dark?

Make sure there's a good reason for the extra skills the paranormal characters have. Right now I hear Hell is hot. ;) I mean, angels and devils are popular characters. It may be tempting (evil often is), but if your work doesn't naturally go there, I wouldn't try to force it. You need to do the same goal/motivation/conflict work to develop a paranormal being as you do for any other characters.

Don't let your characters discover a new magical ability right at the end that saves the day and resolves the final conflict. This is one of my pet peeves as a reader. Like, your kick-ass martial-arts expert heroine has some kind of magical psychic break ten minutes before the final showdown and discovers the ability to bend metal so she can wrap the evil Fae prince in iron chains? Really? That's cheating. You want your characters to learn new things about themselves, and some of those things might be magical, but it has to be congruent with their development within the story line.

This is my take, and if you're interested in learning more about how to create alternate worlds and use vampires and other paranormals, check out this blog post from Kris Neri. And have fun writing things that go bump in the night.

(PS - If you've been following this blog, my daughter got accepted to both high schools that she applied for. Yesterday was a very happy day! Thanks for all the support and positive energy you sent up for us. You can read more here about where we started from.)

Peace,

Liv

luigi diamanti / FreeDigitalPhotos.net (Nightmare eyes photo)

(Millions of Bats photo) Sura Nualpradid / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Friday Fun

2012-02-17T07:16:00.000-08:00

Last night I desperately need a laugh. I was juggling too many balls and dangerously close to dropping one...or all of them. A good friend rode to the rescue, coming over to make dinner while I drove the kids hither and yon. Sometimes you just need a little assist, you know?

While we were waiting for dinner to cook, we got to teasing my daughter about her affection for Benedict Cumberbach. Affection might be an understatement. It might range more towards obsession, in a way that only happens when you're fourteen. You can read more here to see what I mean. With all due respect to the undeniably talented young actor, we were making fun of both his appearance (an English-boarding-school version of Beaker from Sesame Street) and his name. I usually refer to him as Benedict Cumberbun, but my friend got really creative. By the end, my daughter ran out of the room squealing, "You don't love MEEEEEEEeeeee..."

We do love her, quite a bit in fact. She's just got a flair for the dramatic. Anyway, as a result of all this, my friend suggested an Eddie Izzard clip for our Friday Fun video (and yes, this friend is the source of all my funniest links). Here Eddie describes how Englebert Humperdink probably got his name....

Peace,

Liv

Blog Tour FINAL STOP A Vampire's Deadly Delight

2012-02-15T09:12:00.000-08:00

Hey y'all!
It's the big finale - the final stop of my blog tour. For your viewing pleasure, I have chapter one of A Vampire's Deadly Delight. Check it out, and leave a comment because I'm going to do a drawing on Friday 2/17/12 at noon, and the winner will get a framed, limited edition copy of the original cover art that was created for the book by my sister Liza Rancourt-Fennimore. Hope you enjoy this sneak peek at Deadly Delight, and good luck with the drawing!

Peace,

Liv

CHAPTER 1
     So when I came to, I was handcuffed to a bed. Someone had used old-fashioned metal cuffs—one on each limb—pinning me spread-eagle. All I could hear was the sound of my own heart pounding. The only illumination came from a single small candle. I rocked my head back to see what was behind me. The sickly light reflected off the twists and curves of an old brass headboard. Underneath me was what felt like a down comforter with a silky cover, and I was glad I’d worn a long dress to work, because even though the orange
cotton made my round body look a bit like a pumpkin, I couldn’t feel any inappropriately naked flesh. My feet were bare and I felt pretty green, but I had underpants on and whoever tied me up had left my bifocals, um, I mean, my progressive lenses in place. At least I’d be able to see whatever was coming to get me.
     It occurred to me that it would be hours before anyone missed me. Robbie was right, there were situations when it would be handy to have a man at home. Too bad I was so stubbornly single. I tried to blink back my tears because it really didn’t seem like crying would help. I was nearly at the silent
sobbing stage when I was distracted by the sound of a door opening. There was a puff of rose perfume, then a figure walked in carrying a candle. I recognized Vivienne, a frequent flyer at my bookstore who I’d more-or-less made friends with. I didn’t know much more about her than that she had a preference for historical romances, which she found unaccountably funny, but seeing someone I recognized made me feel a little better. Only a little better.
     Vivienne had always been kind of odd, a pale and insubstantial figure draped in flowing gowns, her auburn hair worn long and loose so that it fell in graceful tendrils around her face. When my hair was long and loose, it frizzed out so I looked like a milkweed pod. From the little I knew about Vivienne, I’d always figured that she’d played one too many games of Dungeons and Dragons. This must be one of those
games.
     “I’m so sorry, Kristen. I had to bring the Master a gift. He’s refusing me.”
     “Right now I’d refuse you too.” If I pressed my eyes shut I could remember her coming into the store right as I was closing up for the night.
     “The Master needs to feed.” She sounded like she might cry.
     I had no idea what she was talking about. “I hope you at least locked up when we left.”
     “Of course,” she said.
     I guess I should be thankful for small favors. Finding an empty cash register in the morning would make it all that much worse. That’s assuming I ever made it back to work.
     “He comes,” she whispered, holding the candle higher so that its light spilled over me.
     “Vivienne, what is this?” The voice was deep, resonant, a perfect match for the man who came through the door. He was a modern update of a classic Greek hero, square jaw, strong nose, close-cropped golden curls and all. But—and this is significant—he smelled. Vampire. Dried meat left too long in the back cupboard mixed with old dirt and a hint of manure.
      Vampire.
     This I could deal with.
     I felt the change begin as soon as my mind registered his scent. My body got soft, like it was melting, and my legs stretched, shoulders broadened, and pudgy curves shifted into more strategic locations. My frizzy hair even calmed down, falling into loose waves that framed my temporary cheekbones. I wasn’t Kristen anymore. I was Jai, a vampire’s most deadly delight.

***

     “You have loosed an asp in our bower,” the vampire said softly.
     Vivienne gasped. The chains snapped easily when I tugged at them. I was much stronger than Kristen.
     “Your associates need to do better research, Shakespeare,” I said, as I pried the cuffs from my wrists.
They clanked onto the stone floor. I swung my legs around so I was sitting on the edge of the bed. I didn’t need Kristen’s bifocals, so the glasses were gone. I stood up in knee-high boots with what felt like 4-inch stilettos. I’ve always loved high heels. I think. My memory’s not so great.
     Kristen’s pumpkin dress had morphed into a little peach-colored cotton top and pair of denim Daisy Dukes that put my flat tummy on proud display.
     Nobody moved for a second while I worked off the ankle cuffs and adjusted my top. It would never do to flash The Girls at a dead guy before it was time.
     “Dude, what’s up?” I stalked towards him in a barely controlled surge of energy, letting those four inch heels put a sinuous swing into my step.
     Vivienne held the candle, frozen in place. “I swear I did not know, Master.”
     The vampire was trying to poke holes in me with his eyes. I walked right up to him, pressing The Girls lightly into his chest. In my heels, I had maybe an inch on him, so I angled my gaze down until I met his amber eyes.
     He didn’t move, which was a little strange. Most vampires couldn’t keep their hands off me, pawing at me like drunken high-school boys as soon as they got close enough.
     “Don’t you like me, Shakespeare?” I purred, my lips nearly touching his cheekbone.
     “I will ask you but once, Jai. Please take a step back.”
     “Whoa, Shakespeare, no fair. You know my name, now you have to tell me yours.”
     He knew my name. How? I’d never met a vamp I didn’t kill, so it’s not like they introduced me to their friends. Only two people knew Jai and one of those was technically not a person. He was a large spider, and he was, well, my keeper. Or something. The other had been cuffed to the bed. I took a step back, which surprised me even more.
     “Better.”
     In that one word I heard his tension, saw the wooden rigidity of his arms. Yeah, he wanted me. He wanted me bad. This one was strong. And old. As we stood, taking each other’s measure, I could sense the power of his years on Earth. Woo baby, I’d never done one this old. Wasn’t going to stop me, though. I reached for the short sword I kept in a sheath that was strapped to my thigh.
     “Sorry we don’t have time to catch up, Shakespeare baby,” I said as I raised the blade I called Mr. Sticky. I imagined pressing it to his chest, making a quick slice up his sternum, right turn across his ribs, then back to make sure I got through his great vessels, the aorta and the vena cava. His heart would be mine. Too easy.
     “Jai,” he breathed.
   I stood frozen in place, my normal protection against a vampire’s vibe completely gone. They usually don’t scare me. He did. He was so old, so powerful.
     Pausing is always a mistake. It gave me time to really look at him. There was something warm, something good, worked into him, one golden thread in the blackened weave of his being. All I usually saw in a vampire was dead—bone and muscle, sinew and dust. This one was different. I didn’t put Mr. Sticky away. I didn’t go for his heart, either.
     It was Vivienne who blinked first. She threw the candle at the bed then dove between me and the vampire. He grabbed at her hair. I heard a snap and saw her crumple to the floor, her neck making an awkward L-shaped curve, her head at an impossible angle to her shoulder. The candle went out and before I could respond I felt the vampire leave. Jai faded and Kristen came back.

***

I found myself standing barefoot in the dark with a dead woman, with no idea where Vivienne had hidden my Birkenstocks or how I’d get home. I shrugged and started forward slowly, feeling my way to the door. This was so not how I thought this day would end.

***

     Sunrise didn’t register in the subterranean room. Nevertheless, it triggered something in Vivienne, bringing her to consciousness as the morning light outside turned the clouds a soft mother-of-pearl. She still lay sprawled on the floor where she’d fallen, her head cocked at an unnatural angle.
     Slowly she blinked her eyes to clear them, then struggled to raise herself. Her mouth tasted like dust.
She made it up to her elbows, her head lolling loosely down her chest. When she was more or less upright, she put a hand over each ear and lifted. There was a sharp click as her head dropped into its normal place on her shoulders. She shook herself, flexing her neck and rolling her head from side to side, then untwisted the long chiffon skirt from around her legs. Satisfied, she stood and drifted towards the bed, feeling
the cool and delicate silk against her legs as she moved.
     Amber light pooled around the old gilded sconces that were evenly spaced along the bedroom wall. The spacious room was one of several constructed below a mid-century rambler in one of the older subdivisions northeast of Seattle.
     She hated the house because Sir John had moved them there after hearing a rumor that someone was killing vampires. He had hoped that someone would be Jai. He’d guessed right.
     From the street the house showed its age, though the basement rooms Sir John had renovated were luxurious. The stone floors were heated from below with a piped water system and the walls were heavy concrete that had been covered with tinted plaster, mahogany wainscoting, and stretches of heavy
brocade fabric. There were no windows, and the door to the house above was kept locked.
     Sir John, the vampire, was lying dead on the bed, his golden curls kissed gently by the light from the sconces and one hand clutching a chemise, its creamy silk turned a bitter tan by time.
     Glaring at him, Vivienne tugged the chemise out of his hand. It had belonged to Jai in one of her past incarnations, though Vivienne doubted it would fit this new and buxom version. Sir John was Vivienne’s, and she wouldn’t share him again. It was too much for him to ask it of her. She was his Food, the one human he fed from and who he sustained indefinitely. Her hands pulled at the fragile silk, as if she would tear the old slip into pieces. She knew she would have to play along. She always did. She loved him. She’d just wait for her opportunity to chase Jai away. Again.

***

     “You’re here.” Herbert scuttled out from behind the register as soon as I unlocked the door, his eight legs clicking on the glass countertop.
     “No thanks to you.” I crossed to the back of the store and hit the light switch. Pads of fluorescent tubes sprang into action above my head.
     “That woman did something to you last night.”
     “And you did nothing to help.” I was a little bitter.
     “You look ok now.” he said.
     I glared at him. He was the size of a tea-cup poodle, which admittedly was big for a spider, but I could still step on him if he made me mad enough. He scooted back out of my way.
     “Got lucky,” I snapped. “She drugged me or spelled me or something so she could make a gift of me to her boyfriend.”
     “I always said you were a prize.”
     “Whatever. I hope you get spider mites.”
     Herbert climbed up onto the counter. “Tell me what happened.”
     “No.”
     “Please.”
     I shrugged. “It turned out the boyfriend was a vampire.”
     “Jai time,” Herbert said.
     “Right.”
     I opened the register. Yesterday’s money was still in the till—which was a good thing—and I had time to drop yesterday’s deposit at the bank before I opened for the day.
     “Another heart for the collection.”
     “Or the trashcan.” I was nervous about this next part so I gave myself a stern shake. “No, in fact, he got away.” None of them had ever gotten away before.
     “You let him get away?” Herbert was really being a pain.
     “I didn’t let him do anything.”
     “So the girlfriend helped.”
     “Not even. She ended up with her neck snapped. He was just real old and real strong. He kept himself from touching me. He knew my name.”
     I busied myself turning all the five-dollar bills so that Abraham Lincoln was facing the same direction. Remembering the vampire’s response made me feel squidgy.
     “No shit,” Herbert said.
     “Don’t swear.” It was automatic. I scolded him every time he swore. My parents raised me to believe that there were enough words in the English language that a person didn’t need to use the dirty ones. “Even spiders don’t need to use profanity.”
     “Well excuse me.” Spiders didn’t need to be sarcastic either, but that didn’t stop Herbert. “So the big bad vamp didn’t fall for your...assets?”
     “The big bad vampire knew my name.” I finished counting the bank into the register and slammed the door shut. “Kristen got chained to a bed by a vampire minion, Jai didn’t get the tag, and poor Vivienne ended up with her neck broken. It was not a good night.”
     I headed into the back room faster than Herbert could crawl. Didn’t want him to see me cry.
     “Hey, come on. This guy must have a story. Let me check my sources.”
     “Sure, go consult your magic web.”
     I didn’t look at him, just stared at the computer and kept plugging figures into the balance sheet. The bookkeeping was pretty easy. Once I entered all the cash and checks it would automatically add in all the debits and charges and compare it with the register tape. I could have worked faster except that I
had to keep brushing away tears.
     When I was done, I had time to run to the bank to deposit the cash and stop for some coffee before opening the store. I opened the office door and found that Herbert was planted in the middle of the aisle. He wasn’t truly blocking me because I could easily have stepped over him. I stopped anyway, to be
polite.
     “Shoo. I need to work.”
     “This could be trouble,” he said, his multifaceted eyes shining up at me.
     He was so black that it was hard to see much of his face except for the glittering eyes and beak-like mouth. As it was, he looked like an oversized black widow with buckteeth and a thyroid condition. I stepped around him then walked through the long shelves of books, heading for the front door. I could
hear him clicking along behind me.
     “Only two vamps have shown any immunity to Jai,” he said. “One keeps trying to kill her.”
     “That must be the reason you have to keep finding new recruits.” Fine, I was willing to air all the dirty laundry today if he was. “Besides, I’m still alive, so maybe this is the other one.”
     "Jai is not a death sentence,” he said.
     I stared hard at him, trying to see if he had his fingers, or rather, his legs crossed. “Sure,” I agreed and let myself out the front door.

(ANY formatting errors are my own... )

A Vampire's Deadly Delight is available from
Black Opal Books
Barnes & Noble
Amazon
Smashwords

Love Quotes

2012-02-13T10:25:00.000-08:00

First off, I want to thank everyone who checked out Sherry Isaac's great post from Saturday. The blog was a busy place over the weekend, that's for sure.

;)

Lately I've been playing around with my new toy, Twitter. It's so much fun, in an addicting, who's going to say what next kind of way. In honor of the upcoming holiday, I've searched for some Valentine's related quotes to post on my Twitter feed. They have to be 140 characters or less, and some of them are pretty cool. Thought I'd post them here, so you can have a little Twitter fun without actually staring at your computer screen for hours at a time the way I do.

I think this one is the best one:

“You know you're in love when you can't fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams.” ― Dr. Seuss

And these are good, too:

Love is the magician that pulls man out of his own hat. ~Ben Hecht

Loving is not just looking at each other, it's looking in the same direction. ~Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, Wind, Sand, and Stars, 1939

"A very small degree of hope is sufficient to cause the birth of love." ~ Henri B. Stendhal

Can't argue with any of these:

"Women are expensive. Their happiness requires maintenance." --Captain Sarasa

“You only live once, but if you do it right, once is enough.” ― Mae West

“A woman has got to love a bad man once or twice in her life to be thankful for a good one.”― Elizabeth Taylor

And would you believe Einstein and Aerosmith in the same set?

"You can't blame gravity for falling in love." ~ Albert Einstein

"Falling in love is so hard on the knees." ~ Aerosmith

Anyone can catch your eye, but it takes someone special to catch your heart. ~Author Unknown

That's it for now. Feel free to borrow any of these quotes and share them with your Valentine...or Twitter feed. And keep an eye on my blog because on Wednesday, I'll have my Deadly Delight blog tour wrap-up and giveaway. You could win a framed copy of the cover art done by my sister, Liza Rancourt-Fennimore. Check it out! and Happy Valentine's Day!

Peace,

Liv

Keeping It Real

2012-02-11T08:01:00.000-08:00

Today I am most fortunate to have a guest post from the lovely Sherry Isaac. She is an award-winning writer whose work sometimes takes her to unexpected places. Read on to see whether or not we can all truly call ourselves writers...

E R, the two most important letters to awriter. Er can mean a lot of things to those who have chosen this professioncalled writing. Or has the profession chosen us?

Er, what should I blog about?

Er, should I open my WIP, or watchGrey’s Anatomy?

Er, how will I build my platform? Er,should I build a website or blog? Er, plotter, or pantster?

But the great E R is also a suffix. Bydefinition, one who writes is a writER. That is how the English language isconstructed. One who paints is a painter, one who counts is a counter, one whokisses is a kisser. The act of doing makes one a doer.

So why is it that when a new, as yetunpublished writer confesses their craft, she is asked to support her claimwith a published book.

No matter how much talent or promise, nomatter how many years spent learning the craft, no matter how many queries aremade, no matter how many partials or fulls are requested, no matter how closeshe has come, if a book can not be found on a shelf in the local bookstore withher name in bold letters on the cover, the pronouncement is made.

“Oh, you’re not a real writer,” comes the verdict, through lips so pinched thespeaker might be sucking on lemons.

I’m not?

Really?

Then from where, pray tell, did the reamsand reams of printed pages in my office come from?

Embracing the phrase, I am a writer, is a risk. The confessionopens us up to scrutiny, people ask for proof, so until you score that NYTlabel, you may want to tread carefully, and be selective about whom you shareyour profession with.

Ray Bradbury, in his address to to ThePoint Loma Nazarene University, shared this bit of advice:

“Get rid of friends who don’t believe inyou.”

Well. we may not have to go so far asgetting rid of friends. (I surely won’t. Nerd that I am, friends are hard tocome by!)

Some friends will come around, and learnto respect your title. They may become your greatest cheerleaders. But you maywant to prepare yourself, and appreciate that some friends can only see you forwho you are on their terms, not yours.

So, what does this mean? Should you keepwho you are a secret?

No way.

The proclamation, I am a writer, can give you wings, validation, and the attitudeshift to take you from amateur to professional. It can take you from wishingyou might be published to knowing you will be. It can sit your butt in thechair and do the work. As writer, you create the characters, construct thejourney, build new worlds.

And isn’t that what the job is allabout?

Raisedby Nancy Drew and Jane Marple, Alice Munro Short Story Award winner andMaggie Finalist Sherry Isaac’s novels and short stories weave the commonthread of everyday life, love and forgiveness into tales that transcend allthings, including the grave. Find Sherry on the web,follow her on Twitter,like her on Facebook andread her blog posts at Romance &Beyond.

Thanks Sherry! I feel so....VALIDATED...What do you guys think? Do you ever introduce yourself as a writer? or an artist? or a musician? And is it a comfortable fit?

Peace,

Liv

Friday Fun

2012-02-10T05:52:00.000-08:00

It's that time of week again! Are you ready for a little Friday Fun? ;)

This video is the funniest thing I've seen all week. It just is. It was put together by the brilliant forces behind the blog Rants from Mommyland and if you like the video, check out their blog because there's more where that came from. Have a fabulous weekend!

Peace,

Liv

Where do you like to do it?

2012-02-09T07:10:00.000-08:00

Hey gang!
This morning I'd like to welcome another of my fellow blogging students, Susi Nonnemacher. She's a Pennsylvania girl, born and bred, and her enthusiasm for writing and for reading have made the class a lot more fun. Here she's going to talk about her fave place to do it....

I love to read, as most writers do. My favorite place to read is on a beach--the sun beating down, the waves providing the background music. Actually, the beach is my favorite place to be even if I am not reading. :-)

"Reading on the beach"

Unfortunately, I live in Pennsylvania, about two and a half hours from the closest beach. Even worse, there are only a few prime beach months each year, so I don't get to visit as often as I would like.In spring and summer, when not at the beach, I love to sit on our back patio to read (thank goodness for e-ink readers), but I didn't find that perfect reading spot for winter until recently.For Christmas, my husband and I bought a new sofa. It is a big, fluffy sectional. (We joke that I bought him one piece, and he bought me the other.)
:-)

"I think Cami spends more time here than I do!"

Seriously, the corner of this sofa I ridiculously comfortable, perfect for snuggling in with a blanket, a great book, a cup of tea, and, of course, my cuddly pup, Cami.I read over 200 books on my first Nook before replacing it after 2 years (and a worn-out page turn). I am up to 8 on the new one (bought the week after Christmas), and most of that has been read in my new favorite reading spot. I wonder if I can wear my shiny new Nook out quicker than the first one? ;-) I hear there is a new one coming out in a few months.

"Justa little crack--but it still works! :-)"

Speakingof reading, it just started to snow; I have a crystal-clear view outsidefrom my reading-spot, and a to-be-read list that is calling my name.

What’son your to-be-read list? Where is your favorite place to read? Does itchange by season? Any must-haves when you are reading—a preferred drink, a pet?

Thanks so much, Susi! I know I always read better with a cat in my lap. What about the rest of you?

Peace,

Liv

S. M.Nonnemacher has loved reading for as long as she can remember. It didn’t takelong for her to realize that she enjoyed creating her own stories as much asreading the creations of others. Alifelong daydreamer, she sometimes claimed her “characters” as actual friends,especially when it meant getting her way with her parents. When not writing orspending time her beloved husband, she can be found with family and friends, ata community theatre rehearsal, at a minor league baseball game, or relaxingwith a cup of coffee or tea and a great book. You can find her on-line on the following sites: Facebookhttp://www.facebook.com/SMNonnemacher, Twitter http://twitter.com/SMNonnemacher, and her blog/website http://SMNonnemacher.com.

Fourteen years ago today...

2012-02-08T07:25:00.000-08:00

Fourteen years ago today, I was 35 3/7 weeks pregnant with my first child. My day job's taught me to be specific about those things - every day during pregnancy makes a difference. My husband and I were planning to go away for the weekend, to have one last fling as a couple before becoming parents. We did, traveling to LaConner, WA, which is a little over an hour away from our home in Seattle. It's a beautiful little town in the valley, and our hotel room had a gas fireplace and a jacuzzi tub, my bare-bones necessities when traveling.

As flings went, it wasn't much. I had started a new job at 27 weeks pregnant (because really, is there a better time?) and I was tired. I spent most of the weekend in bed watching the Winter Olympics. Until Sunday morning, when I woke up, spent some time in the jacuzzi tub, and started having contractions. Our daughter was born four days later.

Which means that in four days, she's turning fourteen. I can't begin to describe the complex mix of emotions that dealing with her brings up in me. I love her, sure, but I'm her mother. Even better, I like her. When she's not making me want to tear my hair out. She's tall - like, two inches taller than me, and I'm almost 5'9" - and slender but not so skinny that I worry. She does a bang-on imitation of Mr. K, her eighth grade teacher, that I try to discourage because it's not terribly respectful but damn is it funny.

She's moving out of the soccer & kittens & puppies stage - her current obsession is Benedict Cumberbach and the BBC version of Sherlock Holmes. Last night the husband and I came home from a meeting and she was sitting at the table, looking a little droopy. It seems she'd watched another movie featuring Mr. Cumberbach, and he'd died at the end AGAIN. Then she says, "Oh my God, he plays the dragon in The Hobbit. He'll die at the end of that one, too!"

Such is love when you're fourteen.

Did I mention she can sing? She's going to be a Mezzo like her Mama for sure. ;) And she's an awesome artist. She made the piece that starts this post, using Microsoft Paint. She's going to be in high school next year - and if you've been following along with this blog, you know we're waiting (still) to hear if she gets into her school of choice. And after that, college.

Wow.

Just like every day of pregnancy can make a difference, so have her needs changed as she's grown. I feel like I'm stepping aside, letting her take the lead in her own life, and on some level I know that shift is going to continue. And that's okay. She'll have the chops to be the leading lady in her own drama. I just hope she ends up with someone a little less freaky-looking than BCumberbach.

Peace,
Liv

Madonna comes in second

2012-02-06T19:08:00.000-08:00

So they played a football game yesterday. Did you notice? The only part I paid any attention to was the halftime show. I was at work, and while they don't pay me to watch football, I did seriously want to see Madonna, and the babies cooperated with my plan. A bunch of us were able to sneak away and watch, and it was awesome! So very cool. But that got me thinking about which was the best Super Bowl Halftime show I've ever seen. Madonna was very good, but I couldn't give her Number One. I came up with my top three, and for better or for worse, thought I'd share them with you.

#3. 2001 - Aerosmith with Britney and 'N Synch and Nelly and Mary J Blige (and anyone else in the house who could play an instrument). This one topped them all for the WTF factor alone. Why is that person on stage? and how did THEY get in? But they were all having a blast, and it was really fun to watch. I should preface that statement by saying that I was in a hospital call room, and I think I'd been taking a nap (in anticipation of a night spent chasing after deliveries) and I woke up just in time for the show, but my sleep-fogged brain really couldn't make much sense out of what I was seeing on the antique 24" TV. I do remember that watching Britney sing a verse of Walk This Way (a song that might have been written with her in mind) was surely something.

#2 2012 - Madonna with M.I.A., Cee Lo Green, LMFAO and Nicki Minaje (and some guy who could dance on a wire). Madge, you rock. There, I've said it. I've been a huge Madonna fan since since 1982 when Borderline topped the Honolulu radio playlist. And you know what my first thought was when she was walking like an Egyptian all over the center of the stage yesterday? Wow, I hope the Black Eyed Peas are taking notes, because it is possible to put on a dance-influenced extravaganza without having it look like a mess. Seriously, though, I loved the songs she chose and I loved her dancers and I loved that she dressed her age (more or less) and I just loved the whole damned thing. And Gaga, I hope you took some notes too cuz someday it's going to be your turn.

So what could possibly top that? Only my other 1980's musical idol. I'll give you a hint.

Don't scroll down yet. You know you can guess who it is.

Okay, scroll...

#1 2007 - Prince. I can't remember if he had any guests on the stage or not. He sure didn't need them. Just a man and his guitar in his do-rag tempting fate by playing in the pouring rain on the biggest stage on earth. I cried. I've since looked on the interwebs to try to find a video, without any luck. It'll just have to live on in my heart as one of the coolest musical moments I can think of.

Peace,

Liv

Now what was your favorite Super Bowl Halftime show?

Giving credit where credit is due:
2001 Halftime show photo: http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/multimedia/photo_gallery/0901/top.10.super.bowl.halftime.shows/content.5.html

Madonna Halftime show photo:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/02/05/madonna-halftime-show_n_1256265.html#s665124

Prince Halftime show photos:
http://blogs.pjstar.com/eye/2012/02/03/a-look-back-super-bowl-halftime-shows/

Want some culture with that coffee?

2012-02-04T06:27:00.000-08:00

Hi guys! I'm very excited to play hostess to the wonderful Ellen Gregory, a writer from Melbourne, Australia. Ellen and I are taking a class together and we totally bonded over the fact that I recognized she was on email or Facebook or something in the middle of the night, Melbourne time. Heh. Like minds think alike, I guess. Now, Seattle's no slouch in the 'liveable city' department, but Melbourne is one of my favorite cities in the world. I'm going to step aside and let Ellen convince you of what a great place it is.

Peace,

Liv

This will be a slight change of pace on the Liv Rancourt blog… because I’m here to talk about what it’s like to live in the world’s most livable city—Melbourne. I know you might have tuned in to hear about something more literary in nature, but if you’ve never been to Australia, perhaps I can entice you to visit. (For the record, I too am a writer, working on my first novel.)

Now to the world’s most livable city. First of all, this is not an idle claim. Apparently Melbourne was indeed nominated by The Economist as the world’s most livable city for 2011. Yes, OK, it’s very subjective, but it’s not the first time we’ve made it to the top of the list, despite Vancouver having held the mantle for the last decade. Melbourne is indeed a great place to live.

One of my favorite aspects of Melbourne is the café – and coffee – culture. It isn’t until you travel to other parts of the world that you realize how something you take for granted is indeed unique. It’s not the presence of the cafes, it’s the style and the vibe. For the most part they are independently owned, as opposed to chains or franchises. Starbucks has failed here. There is simply too much awesome competition – cafés with quirky and unique décor, innovative cuisine, individual character...

To get a ‘coffee’ in a Melbourne café means without fail an espresso with or without milk – unless you’re somewhere really fancy that offers coffee prepared in a gazillion different ways like one of my locals. My standard order is a ‘Large Skinny Flat White’ – which means two shots of coffee in a large cup or mug with steamed skim milk. There is no drip filter coffee to be found in a café anywhere (at least, not that I’ve seen). Our coffee is strong and smooth and aromatic and flavorsome. On a recent trip to San Diego, I worked out that I needed to ask for an extra shot of coffee in my Starbucks, for it to taste more like ‘Melbourne coffee’.

Mmmm, I think I’d better go make myself a coffee with my nifty Nespresso machine… (The George Clooney adverts worked!)

The good cafés in Melbourne offer all-day breakfasts (brekkies), and this is my absolutely favorite thing. I’m lucky enough to live in a neighborhood with a host of fabulous cafes, and a friend and I share ourselves among them from week to week. Most Saturday mornings will find us at one of four or five places, always ordering a Large Skinny Flat White and usually ordering some concoction of eggs. I tend to go for scrambled or poached, with sides of mushrooms, spinach or tomatoes… or French toast. I love French toast! One of our favorite brekkies is called ‘The Olive Bread Brekky’, which has bacon and avocado and fresh tomato slices and poached eggs on toasted olive bread… Yummy.

Around a year ago I travelled a bit in Europe – France, Spain, the UK and Germany – and was greatly fascinated by the differences in coffee/café culture. In each country, working out the best way to take my coffee was a new adventure.

But I digress… and I seem to have spent a lot of time talking about coffee and cafés. Oops. It’s because I’m a writer of course. Which reminds me of something I haven’t mentioned, which is my love of writing in my local cafés! Sometimes I just need a change of scene, a 15 minute walk, a spot of lunch (eggs!), and I toss my baby netbook into my satchel and hike off to the local for a few hours. (I also have a penchant for meeting fellow writers for pub sessions, which is another story entirely…)

There are lots of other great aspects of Melbourne that I’ve run out of space to cover. But I am fairly certain that our cafés and our coffee must be directly responsible for us being nominated the world’s most livable city. Don’t you think?

But just in case you’re not convinced, I’m willing to take questions. What else would you like to know?

To hear more from Ellen about Melbourne and many other subjects, leave questions in the 'comments' or check her out on her blog, http://ellenvgregory.com/.

;)

Friday Fun

2012-02-03T06:36:00.000-08:00

It's been one of those weeks, where so much has gone down that Friday morning finds me unable - or maybe just uninterested - in firing the creative pistons. The book promo and the blog tour and the deadline and the WANA112 class (that I'm lovin' but wow the time and energy) and the kids and the husband and the day job; TGIF, man. That's all I can say. So for everybody else out there who hasn't got a lot left this Friday morning, I offer you the opportunity to laugh. This is Literal Video's version of Total Eclipse of the Heart. Watch it with a straight face. I dare you.
Peace ;)
Liv

Decadent Seconds

2012-01-30T19:47:00.000-08:00

This morning I want to welcome W. Lynn Chantale, a lovely author that I met through Still Moments Publishing. She's here to talk about her newly released short, Decadent Seconds. Now, I haven't had the opportunity to read her new piece, but Mistletoe Mamba, her contribution to Christmas Treats: Santa's Naughty List has one of the hottest tango scenes I've ever read. Yum! Lynn has been gracious enough to host me on her blog a couple of times, despite my PG rating, and now I'm thrilled to have her here. Please welcome her and check out her newest work.
Peace,
Liv

PS - Lynn's promised to give away a $15 gift card to one lucky person from the comments. It's a winner's choice card - Amazon, Barnes & Noble, or ARe. So let us know you've been here, okay?

Hi Liv, thanks so much for hosting me today. I can keep thingsPG. :-)

Why I Own a Potato Peeler ...

Until last year I never owned apotato/vegetable peeler. I’ve always used a knife, paring, steak whatever topeel potatoes. Stay with me here, because I’ve got to explain something. I’malso a sucker for sharp knives, I have a degree in culinary arts and the firstthing I learned was sharp knives require less force to use. So I purchased athree knives ( a paring, a chef’s knife and a cleaver) from an extremelyreputable company and eagerly waited for them to arrive in the mail.

Knives arrive. I can’t wait. Yes, I knowthey’re sharp I watched the demo where a penny was cut in half and then a sheetof paper. Oh yeah that sharp. So I peel my first potato cradled in the palm ofmy left hand as I’ve always done. No problem. Quarter the sucker. No big. Yes,I’m taking my time, my eyes never leave my task. The second potato slips whileI’m quartering, but nothing major.

So third potato, yep potato slips whileI’m quartering and I slice a two inch gash in my left index finger. I know someof you already figured out where this was going, but geesh... I’ve got to tellit. The first words out of my mouth were “I need to go to urgent care.”

While my sons and husband are panicking.I love them dearly, but I’m the only calm rational one at the moment, despitelaughing my fool head off. My then 16 y/o son whips the car around likes he’sbeen driving everyday for the last 20 years and off we go to the emergencyclinic.

So now I have 6 or 7 stitches in my poorfinger, but I can still type. I know I should’ve been more concerned about thatcut. What can I say, I’m a writer. When I come back for follow up the doctorlearns I have some numbness in my finger. Let’s just say when I cut something Ido very well. I severed the tendon and a nerve. Please, no applause. Did youknow the interior of the finger has all the nerves? I do. So outpatientsurgery, 4 weeks in a cast, 4 months of physical therapy and my finger is goodas new. Almost.

I know you’re dying to know if I stillown that knife. Yes, I do. For a few months my youngest would hide it from me.Do I use it? Of course, but now I slice and quarter potatoes on a cuttingboard.

As for the potato peeler, the kids useit.

When I’m not testing the sharpness ofknives, I can be found

Website: http://wlynnchantale.com

Blog: http://wlynnchantale-decadentdecisions.blogspot.com/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/#!/wlynnchantale

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/W.LynnChantaleAuthor

Until next time, Indulge Your InnerRomantic.

Blurb:

As a caterer, Darling gets to witness some of life’s happiest moments, but yearns for a marriage proposal of her own. After years of waiting on her beloved to pop the question, she gives up on ever having a happy ending of her own and severs the relationship. When she learns she’s pregnant, she has no choice but to face her child’s father on a daily basis as well as the love and attraction she has for him.

Darryl Manning always believed Darling would be his forever. After all he didn’t need a piece of paper to show her how much he loved her, but when she leaves him to pursue her dream of owning a catering company and raising his son, he may have to rethink his views on marriage. That is if he wants a second chance at family.

Excerpt:

Drunken laughter floated just above the thrumming bass lineof Lenny Kravitz’s Are You Gonna Go My Way, competing with the steady buzz ofconversation. Soft pastel strobe lights flickered through the mutedillumination. Darlene Williams, or “Darling” as she was known to friends andassociates, surveyed the banquet hall full of guests.

She heaved a sigh as she glimpsed a swirl of ivory on thedance floor. For one wistful moment, where fairytales glowed bright and rosy,she imagined her own wedding. Her fairytale didn’t have a happy ending. Shesighed again. Or a beginning.

A familiar face bobbed in the crowd, and her breath hitched.Twice he tried to take her picture, and she was determined he wouldn’t succeed.His gaze found hers, and her heartbeat matched the pounding bass line. Heturned away, and she focused on a set of broad, muscular shoulders. She couldspend hours smoothing her hands over his brawn. When he found her again, thecorners of his mouth creased, and a familiar tingle crackled through her veins.

Just once she’d like to not react when she saw him. Despitethe warmth knocking at the wall of her heart, Darling followed his movements toa group of similarly clad women. When they clustered around him, he raised hisNikon to his rugged face.

She loved his face, all angles and planes, and all thatsharpness melted away when he smiled. Sadness and longing wiggled through acrack in her wall and squeezed her heart. They weren’t meant to be. Still shestared after him, envying the way he leaned close to one woman and lowered hiscamera. He gave a nod before moving away. When he passed beneath a wall sconce,the warm glow gave his smooth brown skin the fine sheen of melted chocolate. Heshould’ve been out of place in his black polo shirt and khaki slacks as hemoved among the tuxedoes and long dresses, but his sexy smirk and camera madethings easy.

The discordant clash of a body colliding with cymbals andsnare drum drew Darling’s attention toward the dais next to the dance floor. Aglassy-eyed young man in a tux tried to untangle his limbs from the instrumentwithout spilling his drink. Succeeding, he then lurched onto the crowded dancefloor and crashed into a couple of dancers. She shook her head when he sprawledon the floor, still trying to drink from the glass in his hand.

Not her problem. Darling regarded the decimated buffet, thefood reduced to crumbs and half-dried globs of gravy—this was her problem.Swiping sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, she lifted her gazeagain, this time scanning the room for the tall, sexy photographer. He was nowtaking pictures of the drunk on the floor. Good, she didn’t want to run intohim or his camera again. Turning, she hefted the silver chafer by the handlesand placed it on the rolling cart behind her.

She reached for the next chafer, moving the serving spoonaside when strong hands seized her shoulders. The spoon slipped from her grasp,splattering white sauce on her black slacks, before settling on the floor. Asensuous chuckle tickled her ear, sending warmth scurrying through her veins,and puckering her nipples. Yanking free, she spun around to glare into darkchocolate eyes. She shoved the owner of those eyes and straightened herclothes. He laughed softly, his gaze drifting leisurely over her white chef’s coatand work pants.

Darryl Manning, the sexy photographer, grabbed her hand andgently tapped the thick bandage wrapped around her index finger. “What did youdo to your finger?” She tugged her hand from his grasp, wincing when shesmacked the digit on the chafer. “I cut it.” She bent to retrieve the spoonfrom the floor, straightened, and placed the utensil in a gray plastic tub.

Darling wiped her hands on a towel. Darryl folded well-tonedarms across his broad chest, the black knit shirt he wore strained toaccommodate the expansion of muscle. She stifled a groan and the urge to runher fingers along the bulging biceps and perfect pecs. Why did her body picktoday to rebel? “I don’t have time for this now,” she snapped, “What do youhave time for?” His rich baritone conjured nights of hot, steamy sex anddecadent morning afters. He lifted his camera, with a sexy smirk. “Maybe aphoto or two?”

She resisted the seductive note in his voice and placed herhand on the lens. “I’m working.”

“And I’m not, just finished.” He stepped closer, the heat ofhis body instantly warming hers. Darling tilted her head back to maintain eyecontact.

She studied his face, waiting for the familiar ache andlonging to subside. It didn’t. Being this close to him, surrounded by his scent,a little soap and a whole lot of male, made her yearn to be in his arms, tofeel his full lips against hers. What was she doing? She couldn’t think abouthim, about them. She moved away. Not today.

Darling turned as the click-click-click of his camera capturedher. Huffing, she stalked toward the kitchen. She caught the attention of Pete,one of her chefs for the evening. “Could you finish breaking down the buffettable while I take care of this?” She jerked a thumb to the hunk at her heels.Light flashed in her face, momentarily blinding her, and she held a hand to hereyes, blinking to clear her vision. “Don’t do that!”

Moving through the kitchen to a narrow staircase, she heaveda sigh as the pulsing rock music faded to a dull roar. Darling entered heroffice and smiled at the young man seated in a chair. “Thanks, Denny,” shesaid. He was another employee, and she waited until he closed the door.

Darling knelt next to a car seat and dropped a kiss on thesleeping infant’s cheek. White light zigzagged before her eyes. “Stop it!” shesaid.

“But you’re so beautiful,” Darryl said.

Her stomach did a slow somersault at the compliment, but hewould need more than pretty words and his handsome face to woo her.Straightening, she shoved a diaper bag in his general direction. “I have twomore weddings, a funeral, and an awards banquet. You trying to flirt is not ontoday’s calendar!”

Darryl offered her a smile and her knees turned to jelly.The man would be the death of her. The only reason she still spoke to him wasthe sleeping toddler. If not for the baby, she’d have kept walking and neverlooked back.

She brushed a stray curl from her face and planted her handon her hip when Darryl didn’t move. “I know you may not have anything to do,but I really need to get back downstairs,” she reminded him.

He stepped closer, reaching a hand to tug on the lock ofhair she had just swept away. She sucked in a breath, his clean masculine scentbeguiling her. Her gaze dropped to the open collar of his shirt. If she pressedher mouth to his warm skin, would he moan? Darling lifted her head, and he mether lips with a kiss. Too stunned to protest, she sank into his kiss, savoringthe spicy taste of him and the firmness of his lips. He skimmed the curve ofher spine with his hands before resting them at her hips. Drawing her closer,he brought her against the hard line of his arousal. Desire exploded, and shewiggled her hips in hopes of easing the sudden tension at the apex of herthighs. As if sensing her need, he cupped her butt, shifting her slightly untilhe was wedged between her legs.

Lightning arced through her veins as he settled more firmlyagainst her core. She gasped, and he deepened the kiss, tongues dueling in afevered dance. Tightening her arms around his neck, Darling relished thesensations vibrating through her system, and decided to enjoy them.

Lifting his head, Darryl stared into her face. For once shedidn’t care if he knew how much she wanted him, her fingers stroked the nape ofhis neck. She regarded him a moment before he brushed his lips across hers onelast time before stepping away.

“I like flirting with you.” He trailed his fingers down herarm.

And with those few words he ruined the mood. She drew aragged breath into her lungs and shoved his hand aside. How could one littlekiss leave her so edgy and uncomfortable? She couldn’t give in to the demandsof her body. She needed a clear head.

Whispers: http://whispershome.com/romance/decadent-seconds/

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Decadent-Seconds-ebook/dp/B007228MRW/ref=sr_1_4?ie=UTF8&qid=1327677892&sr=8-4

Website: http://wlynnchantale.com

Blog: http://wlynnchantale-decadentdecisions.blogspot.com/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/#!/wlynnchantale

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/W.LynnChantaleAuthor

Bonded By Crimson

2012-01-28T07:00:00.000-08:00

Today I want to welcome a special guest, author Zrinka Jelic. Saturday isn't usually a guest-post day for my blog, but I'm making an exception because it's the release day for her novel Bonded By Crimson. I've gotten to know Zrinka through the Black Opal Books author's discussion list, and she's a lovely person. I'm very excited that she's here, sharing some of the influences that went in to the creation of her new novel.

Peace,

Liv

1. From the description of the story you sent me, I can tell you've pulled from Croatian traditions that give the book a unique feel. Can you talk a little about what influenced you as you developed the story?

The story that was swiming in my head and the final prouct are two totally different things. My original plot wasn't catching on with my critique partners so I changed it and as I did, I remembred a tragic love story often compared to Romeo and Juliet. So I've got the idea to make my heroine obsessed with this story and she often imagined what would it be like if they were allowed to love eachother. What she didn't know was the couple continoued to live after their deaths, but centuries later another tragedy struck them and now the man is a widower and a single dad. This also opened a possibility for a prequel which I'm working on.It was challenging to write the descriptive passages in Croatia without making it read as if it's a travelogue. But my crit partners wanted me to describe it better, they said the readers would want to see it. But if I went into too much deail then I sounded as a page from a history book. So I had to think of how I viewed it while I lived there. Playing hide and seek on the remains of a accent Roman Forum, climbing the medeval defense walls, how to describe it to someone who never done it? But that was normal part of growing up for me.

2. One of your key scenes involves a coffee reading. Have you ever had a coffee reading done?

Yes, I had it done and I've done it for others. This is such a part of our culture, something to pass time with. At first I faked it as everyone else did. Not every symbol have a meaning so it is ok to make something up. But it is not hard to learn the symbols and it is funny how different people will see different things. But it is creepy when someone who sees you for the first time can read your life from a tiny cup.

3. Which authors do you like to read? Are there any that particularly inspire you?

When I was in high school, I devoured Danielle Steel. But after a while, her books started to feel the same. Then I've got into anything with vampires. So Anne Rice was high on my list. Then I was into Highlanders and that is how I learned about RWA through Mary McCall. As you can see, I like to read any author, but for the past year I've been into Arthuro Perez Reverte and his Alatriste series. It's not a romance, but I always find romance in every book. A few inspired me but what I don't like is when I read enough of that particular author's work I just know what the next book is going to be likeBut many authors seem to get comfortable in their style and would not change. I like to expect the unexpected.

4. How do you juggle writing with all your other commitments?

I'm a staying at home mom so I have time in between house work and kids. My youngest napped at the wrong time, so I spent many late nights waiting for him to tire enough so I can put him to bed. It was in those quiet hours of the night, that ideas came to me. Thankfully, he's dropping those late afternoon naps and we make it to bed in a semi-decent hour. In the mean time, we got rid of cable TV. Kids weren't watching it and neither did I. You can't believe how much you can accomplish if you don't stare at the television every night. But I discovered I am an Internet junkie and I wasn't aware of this until one day the Internet was out.

5. Living in Canada, what do you miss most about Croatia?

The sea, I'm from the province of Dalmatia on the Adriatic Sea and my family is from island of Essa. You can take an islander from the island, but you can't take island from an islander. I miss the summers there spent on the beaches, and in the evenings met with the friends and sip cocktails till wee hours. I can't comare it to the cottage life here. The lake waters here are ice cold and murky. Mosquitos eat you alive as soon as you poke your nose out, it gets cold once sun goes down.It's not a summer if I have to pull a sweatshirt and socks on.

6. Where would your dream romantic vacation take you?

Anywhere where there are beaches (not sandy, can't stand sand in my bathing suit), stunning sunsets, crystal clear sea, endless sky, warm breezes playing with the trees

7. Cats or dogs? Which do you prefer?

;) My favorite movie is Cats and Dogs, and I just love Mr. Tinkles. "Catz rule". So, definatevly cats, but I'm very alergic, so that leaves me with dogs. I can't stay around a cat for more than a few minutes even if I don't touch them. Once the itching starts it's time to leave.

Bonded By Crimson

Loveisn’t in the cards for Kate. After her short failed marriage she’s trying torebuild her life and finds herself nursing the three lovely boys of Mr. Zrin. Aman, whose idea of fatherhood is non-existent. Her efforts to bring the bestout of this reluctant father are mysteriously supported by a being she cannotgrasp. It takes a trip to her hometown in Croatia and an evening full of coffee-readingwith her old friend to find out that there’s an earthbound spirit attached toKate.

Forthe past six years, Matthias Zrin has been trying to follow his dead wife’surging to change his ways and become the father she always wanted him to be.Not an easy task for a three centuries old immortal. His search for theultimate nanny ends when Kate Rokov stumbles to his home and into his arms. Theimmediate attraction he feels for Kate sets him off. He isn’t prepared to letgo of the love he harboured for one woman for over three hundred years. Butwhen Kate offers him her loving smile, everything he clung to in the pastbegins to tumble and break down on him.
Available from:
Black Opal Books

Amazon
Barnes & Noble
Smashwords

Heclaimed to be immortal, but that was ridiculous...wasn’t it?

Kate’s heart hammered. Theexperience seemed so real. A low moan escaped her and she bit her lip. Soonwarmth surged through her, causing her body to go limp. Her legs gave wayunderneath her, but Matthias—or whoever this man claimed to be now—wrapped hisarm around her waist. His sweet, musky scent clung to her. Ecstasy filled herand she felt as if she hovered in the air. If he intended to kill her likethis, she could imagine no better way to die. A voice echoed through her mind,speaking of undying love in centuries old Croatian.

“Wake up,” he whispered closeto her ear, his strong arms still locked around her.

“I don’t want to.” Her headwobbled, exuberant with sheer happiness, a kind she had never experiencedbefore.

“You must.” He stroked herhair with tender fingers. “Wake up now.”

“No. I want to stay like this.Forever.” She focused on his handsome face staring at her through her haze.

His smooth cheek brushedagainst hers. “Me too, but you must wake.”

The fog lifted and his image appeared,clearly now. She blinked once. Twice. What had happened? She pushed away fromhim and flattened her back against the wall.

“You, you—”

“You,” he said, pointing ather, “asked for proof.”

ZrinkaJelic lives in Ontario, Canada, with her husband and two children. A member ofthe Romance Writers of America and its chapter Fantasy Futuristic &Paranormal,as well as Savvy Authors, she writes contemporary fiction—which leans towardthe paranormal—and adds a pinch of history. Her characters come from all walksof life, and although she prefers red, romance comes in many colors. Given Jelic’slove for her native Croatia and the Adriatic Sea, her characters usually findthemselves dealing with a fair amount of sunshine, but that’s about the onlybreak they get. “Alas,” Jelic says, with a grin. “Some rain must fall ineveryone’s life.”

Friday Fun

2012-01-26T06:13:00.000-08:00

These days it's been all-vampires-all-the-time around here. I guess that's what happens when you have a book come out and your romantic hero is undead. I've been kicking out posts for a variety of lovely people who have been willing to share their blog space to talk about the book, and getting all those blog posts right has taken some research. I mean, I don't want to keep repeating the same goofy misinformation, right? (Sparkly vampires, anyone?)

In the course of my research I was reminded of the following video, which Snoop Dogg released right before the start of True Blood Season 3. It is a classic, and one of the most convoluted pop-cultural mash-ups I know of. Check it out:

Now, answer me this...is he right? ARE vampires the new uberbadboys? Do women need to be reminded to look for a guy with a pulse?
Have a great weekend!
Peace,
Liv

What genre is it, anyway?

2012-01-24T05:14:00.000-08:00

This week's guest blogger is the wonderful Ryder Islington. I took an on-line class with Ryder last year and I have to confess that when I read her book, Ultimate Justice, I kept thinking about a really powerful scene she'd submitted for the class, and stressing over when this awful thing was going to happen to the characters. I shouldn't have worried. The scene was from her next book. Meanwhile, I hope you'll all check out her post here, and click the link to the right to check out Ultimate Justice. It's an atmospheric, character-driven mystery that I know you'll enjoy.
Peace,
Liv

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard a writer ask thisquestion. “I’ve written this book, and it has suspense and romance and comedyin it. What genre is it?” And so many times I’ve heard this response: “Justwrite the book you want to write and then figure out what to call it. It’sprobably the same kind of book you like to read.”

We do have to write the books that are in us. But honing thegenre is important when it comes time to send out prepare a synopsis, send outqueries and actually sell your story. Agents and editors represent certaingenres, bookstores shelve according to genre, and readers choose booksaccording to genre. There are blended genres, like historical romance, romanticmystery, romantic cozy, or women’s historical fiction.

Sometimes a new writer deliberately tries to create newcombinations, to be unique, and sometimes it just turns out that when the firstdraft is completed, it has elements of mystery, romance and drama, or someother combination. Or it doesn’t seem to fit into any genre. I tried reallyhard to write an historical romance and ended up with a western. The subject ofgenre can be confusing even for experienced writers.

So how do we solve the problem of how to fit our wonderfulstories into some category seemingly created to make our lives harder?

When I started writing my debut novel, Ultimate Justice, A Trey Fontaine Mystery, the plan was for it tobe a thriller. Then it took a turn as an element of romance was introduced. Butwait, wasn’t it really about the main character, Trey Fontaine, the FBI agent,and two homicide cops, which would make it a police procedural. After twenty orso revisions, I realized that the most important element of this story was themystery. The mystery affects everycharacter in the book.

I am now of the opinion that while we are writing our firstdraft, we need to just write the story that is in us. And then when that firstcreative burst is over and it has been stashed away for a week or two, it’stime to read it fresh, bearing in mind that if it is to be sold in the currentmarket, it has to have a main category. What is the major plot about? Who is the main character and what makesthat character change throughout the story? What is the strongest element inthe story? Chances are that if you writefiction, you read fiction, so you know about genres.

Go to the bookstore, or to Amazon.com, (or in my case, tothe five hundred or so books scattered about my home) and look at somecategories. Are there any authors whose work reminds you of your own? Don’tfall into the trap of comparing your skill with another writers’. The questionis not about the skill, but about the style, theme, pace, etc. Read some booksin the genres you think your story fits into, and analyze it. Who is the majorcharacter, and what happens to him/her? What do you see as the most importantpart of the plot?

Read books by authors whose work feels like yours and justsee if maybe your book fits into that genre. For me, the best example is GregIles. What feels similar between his writing and mine is the characterdevelopment. We both like to delve into characters. And we both write at a medium pace. Turns outhe writes more in the thriller genre, but with a mystery. Whereas my book is amystery, with a little thriller genre thrown in. Don’t get me wrong—I’m notprofessing to write as well as Greg Iles. But as I compared my story to thestories of my favorite authors, I found a familiar feel in his work.

So when writers ask me how to place their stories intogenres, I try to give them some direction that actually helps solve the issue.What genre is it? That’s an important question for every writer. I found a wayto answer the question for myself. I hope my methods help others too.

UltimateJustice, A Trey Fontaine Mystery is receiving rave reviews from readers. http://www.ll-publications.com/ultimatejustice.html

The small townof Raven Bayou,Louisianaexplodes as old money meets racial tension, and tortured children turn thetable on abusive men. FBI Special Agent Trey Fontaine returns home to find thetown turned upside down with mutilated bodies. Working with local homicidedetectives, Trey is determined to get to the truth. A believer in empirical evidence, Trey ignores his instinctsuntil he stares into the face of the impossible, and has to choose between whathe wants to believe and the ugly truth.

A graduate of the University of Californiaand former officer for a large sheriff’s department, RYDER ISLINGTON is now retired and doing what she loves: reading,writing, and gardening. She lives in Louisianawith her family, including a very large English Chocolate Lab, a very smallChinese pug, and a houseful of demanding cats. She can be contacted at RyderIslington@yahoo.com or visither blog at http://ryderislington.wordpress.com

The Versatile Blogger Award!

2012-01-23T10:30:00.000-08:00

I have been nominated by Charity Parkerson for the Versatile Blogger Award! I'm thrilled that people are having fun reading my blog, and I hope that I can continue to make it an entertaining place to visit.

Charity is a clever girl and multipublished author from Tennessee who created the Sinners Series. Yum! You can check her out at charity-thesinners.blogspot.com/

Rules

1. Nominate 15 fellow bloggers for The Versatile Blogger Award
2. Add an image of the Versatile Blogger Award
3. In the same post, thank the blogger who nominated you in a post with a link back to their blog
4. In the same post, share 7 completely random pieces of information about yourself
5. In the same post, include this set of rules
6. Inform each nominated blogger of their nomination by posting a comment on each of their blogs

SEVEN RANDOM THINGYS

1] I've lived on four different islands (Chincoteague, VA, Mercer Island, WA, Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, and Honolulu, Hawaii).
2] I hate fig newtons.
3] I am the Queen of Clutter (okay, if you've ever seen my house, you knew that).
4] I would much rather read the book than watch the movie.
5] The best thing about my house is the view of the sky.
6] My sister Liza did the cover art for my book.
7] My three closest friends are the same ages as my three sisters, who all live far away. Is it luck, or did I deliberately try to recreate my family?

15 NOMINEES

1. Amanda Byrne at The Rubber Duck Brigade

2. W.Lynn Chantale at Decadent Decisions

3. Shannon O'Brien at Shannon O'Brien, Author

4. Jillian Chantal at Jillian Chantal

5. Empi Baryeh at Empi Baryeh's Blog

6. Liberty Blake at Liberty's Spells

7. K.H. LeMoyne at K.H. LeMoyne

8. Zrinka Jelic at Zrinka Jelic - Romance Powered By History

9. Darlene Fredette at Finding the Write Words

10. Rabia Gale at Rabia Gale / writer at play

11. Tami Clayton at Tami Clayton

12. Ann Foweraker at Ann Foweraker

13. Helen McMullin at Foofaraws from Helen

14. Cora Ramos at Cora Ramos Blog

15. Diana Lesire Brandmeyer at Diana Lesire Brandmeyer, pencildancer

Plans

2012-01-21T08:02:00.000-08:00

I want to thank the patient people who've been following the evolution of this blog. Every time I check in to see if I've had any visitors, I get a little thrill when the answer is yes! And because I want to make it interesting and worth your reading minutes, I'm going to be making a few minor tweaks.

I'm going to be creating three blog posts a week. At least one will be from me, talking about life or writing or good books that I've read or whatever. Once a week I hope to host a guest, giving other writers a chance to talk about their work and you a chance to see what's hot off the e-press. And then the third post will be a random collection of amusement, maybe videos, maybe goofy photos, whatever. Well, I hope it'll be amusing, anyway.

So thanks for checking out what's going on here. True confession: I originally planned to post a video this morning, the one that shows how tough Seattle drivers have it in the snow. But then I thought, nah, we've had a tough enough week. The whole damned country is laughing at Seattle for shutting down over a little snowstorm. I don't want to jump in the pigpile. Heh.
Peace,
Liv

High School Applications

2012-01-18T09:16:00.000-08:00

One morning last week after getting the kids off to school, I took mydaughter’s completed high school applications to the two private schools she’sconsidering for next year. Naturally, one is her first choice and the other isa back-up. She had to write an essay for each, describing why she wanted tostart her freshman year in their hallowed halls. She wrote beautiful essays –if I do say so myself – and I believe she’d be an excellent candidate foreither school.

But she might end up with a rejection letter. Or two.

My heart breaks a little at the possibility. I’ve had almostfifty years to build up a hide that’s tough enough to deal with rejection. I’vegotten turned down for jobs and for schools. I’ve auditioned for rock bandsthat didn’t hire me. Heck, for the last few years I’ve called myself a writer.If that doesn’t teach you about rejection, nothing will. I know that when ithappens, I’m going to feel sad for a couple minutes or a couple hours or acouple days, and then life will go on.

My daughter turns fourteen in just about a month. She’splayed for no-cut sports teams and sung with audition-free choirs. Other thanthe bumps and bruises that go along with being a middle school girl, she has very little experience with getting turneddown for something she really wants. I just hope she doesn’t have to learn thislesson till she’s a little older.

I might be more nervous than she is, because I KNOW whatdisappointment feels like. It sucks, but it makes you stronger. She should hearfrom both schools about the same time as her birthday. We’ve got a back-up tothe back-up plan if the worst happens, but at her party I want to hear anexcited bunch of girls talking about how they all got into the schoolsthey wanted, my daughter included. And if you’ve got a minute, send somepositive energy our way.

Peace,

Liv

Sophie's Snow Day

2012-01-16T06:41:00.000-08:00

“A snowstorm can be a life changing event. Just ask Sophie.”

I'm very happy to welcome another one of the authors from the "Snowbound Hearts" anthology, Ms. Jillian Chantal. Jillian's story, Sophie's Snow Day, takes the anthology's theme in an unexpected direction, and will warm you up better than a fire in the fireplace. I won't say any more, because I don't want to give anything away. The picture to the right of this post hides a link to the SMP site, so you can check it out for yourself.

Thanks so much, Jillian! Maybe next time I can come visit you for reals on a beach in sunny Florida.

Peace,

Liv

Thanks for having me here as a guest, Liv. I’m always happy to visit myfriends and chat a bit. I’m Jillian and I have a story in the SnowboundHearts anthology published by Still Moments Publishing. My story is called Sophie’sSnow Day. Since the anthology consists of stories of people caught in asnow storm or snowed in, I thought maybe most of the submissions would relateto the remote cabin in the woods type of snow-in, so even though I love theidea of that(and the cover photo makes me want to snuggle under blankets in acabin), I decided to make the setting of my story a city. Snow plows sometimestake their time clearing the roads and I thought that would be a different spinon the snowed-in theme.

I love a crackling fire and acold day. I live on the Gulf Coast of Florida now and we very rarely get snowbut I’ve lived and traveled to other places where it snows and always enjoyedit. As to driving in snow, not so much love there and I’m grateful thatI don’t have to do that. When it snows in my town, the whole place shuts down.We don’t have the equipment to deal with it since it’s such a rarity. So, Iguess I can say I have been snowed in. Of course, 2 inches to you folksin the north is just a bit of precipitation just like to us down here inhurricane world, a tropical storm is merely a slight breeze. It’s funny howperspectives are different across the globe. I love that.

I’m thrilled to be in thegreat company of the other writers in this anthology. I think all the storieswill be wonderful. If you read Sophie’s Snow Day, I hope you like it asmuch as I enjoyed writing it. Sophie is a sassy girl and Tobias is, well,Tobias is just Tobias. I think you’ll like him.

Thanks again for having mehere, Liv. I love to hear from readers. You can find me on the web at www.jillianchantal.comor Twitter at twitter.com/JillianChantal.

Bio: Jillian Chantal lives on the Gulf Coast of Florida, home of the sugar white sands and a little piece of paradise. She has a husband and two sons. In no particular order, she loves cats, travel, chocolate, theatre and boots. If she's not lounging by the pool or writing, she can usually be found shoe shopping.

And now, the time has come...

2012-01-14T06:38:00.000-08:00

It's finally here. Release day. My very first book, A Vampire's Deadly Delight, is available from Black Opal Books. You can see it on their website (www.blackopalbooks.com), or find it on Amazon (http://amzn.to/xXP99m) or Barnes and Noble (http://bit.ly/ygKs0l). I'm getting a little verklempt, typing in MY book title to those sites and seeing something pop up.
And to celebrate, I'm going to....spend the morning up at Helene Madison pool, cheering on my little swimmer (okay, so in about 10 minute he'll be taller than his mother, but he'll always be my little boy). And at noon time we'll be at Ravenna gym, cheering for the Northgate Bulldogs. Go Dogs! And later, it'll be Mass as usual.
Since I'm doing the no-grains diet thing, and Saturday is my sneaky beer night, I'll be making a toast tonight to the success of the book. Anyone who wants to join me, send me a text today, but if you're too far away, leave a suggestion in the comments as to what kind of beer I should drink. I'll only have one, so make it a good one!
Peace,
Liv

Snowbanked

2012-01-12T09:41:00.000-08:00

Returning home can hold the best surprises, especially whenlove’s involved.

Hey gang, I’ve gotanother guest to welcome! Jennifer Daiker is the author of Snowbanked, a sweetand spicy little story found in the “Snowbound Hearts” anthology from Still MomentsPublishing. Parker’s a small-town girl who left behind the man of her dreams tomove to California, and ends up torn between her love for sunny beaches andsomething much hotter that she finds on a trip back home. Check out thisinterview with Jennifer and after that, take a look over to your right to thelink to “Snowbound Hearts”.

Thanks Jennifer, for the visit, and for sharing this part of yourself. Peace,

Liv

1. Snowbanked is such acool title. How did you come up with it?

Myhusband did. Yup, I'm willing to admit that. He'd also want me to tell you thathe came up with my blog titled, Unedited. Apparently I'm not great with titles.It started off as Snow and an Ex, but I find this is much more fitting!

2. Which two or three authors wouldyou like to emulate?

I want tostay me. Original, flirty, and fun. But if we're going on who I'd like to oneday be next too in a bookstore it'd be Talli Roland & Sophie Kinsella.

3. The small town/big city dynamicseems integral to the story. Do you have a preference for one or theother?

I've comefrom a small town and hated it growing up. Moved to a big city and realized itwasn't all it's cracked up to be. I think home for the holidays resonatesbecause I get the warmth and welcome feeling I want to achieve, but the cityoffers plays, outdoor activities, the world at your fingertips. So a little ofboth!

4. Tell me about your writing. Doyou pretty much focus on romance, or are there other genres you work in? Why?

I writechick lit, dystopian YA, and horrors. I like to mix it up. My moood depends onwhat path I'll take for the day. Normally it's what character is screaminglouder. Each of them have a story tell, and it's my job to make sure it comesacross as they'd like.

5. Are you a cat person or a dogperson? Why?

Cats.They're independent and have personalities just like humans. I find them to befar more entertaining but I don't have to worry about leaving them for a roadtrip. They can fend for themselves.

6. What have been the keys to yoursuccess as a writer?

Perserverence,patience, and support. Write when you don't feel like it, ask for advice whenyou need it, and allow yourself to act like a fool when writer's block hits.

Bio – Jennifer is a25 year old, Houston based writer, who can be found spending copious amounts oftime at her favorite bookshop, Blue Willow, eating far too many cupcakes, andwatching episodes of the Real Housewives. To be a part of the quirkiness,visit her blog: http://jenniferdaiker.blogspot.com).

Cold & Sparkly vs Warm & Human

2012-01-10T06:54:00.000-08:00

"Can a secret, up and coming rock musician reawaken a young woman's passion while she fumbles her way through a strange city and new life?"

Lovely readers, please join me in welcoming my very first guest. Shannon O'Brien is the author of Winter Twilight, a short story that's appearing in the new anthology "Snowbound Hearts" from Still Moments Publishing. I met Shannon in a fiction workshop at the Write On The Sound conference last October, so I can say for certain that not only is she a nice girl, but she's a hell of a writer. Hope you enjoy her post here and that you check out "Snowbound Hearts".

Peace,

Liv

Why do we love charming dead beings surviving onliquid diets, tantalizing were-animals howling in the night, and provocativephantoms popping in and out of bedrooms? What would sexy supernatural leading men-thingy’s give the femaleprotagonist a handsome human couldn’t?

I don’t know. I’ve never personally met any sparkling vampires or buff shape-shifters,even though I live a few hours from Forks and LaPush, WA. But boy do we love to read about them! Andfall in love with them!

Maybe the idea of having a partner who is ethereallyand eternally handsome is a huge factor. Or maybe the centuries of honing their kissing and petting skillsentices us? I mean, let’s face it, youngmen tend to be fumbling novices and young women spend tons of time hinting andshifting and leading in order to train them correctly. But stumbling across an experiencedsupernatural being would have serious advantages.

Now, our sexy human men have a lot to offertoo. It is nice to curl up to a strong,warm body in bed. And something assimple as a bouquet of roses or smoldering glances in our direction would sendthe pulse a-racing. Don’t let the factthat they snore loudly or hog the remote discourage you.

I mean, we’re not perfect either.

But maybe that’s why we crave supernaturalbeings. Does reading about them andtheir attractions to the human woman make us feel perfect? Could a being as imperfect as a monster makea self-conscious woman feel alluring and special? Is that what we crave when we read paranormalromances or urban fantasies?

Possibly. Most of those female protagonists, while they are often insecure, arealso bad-asses themselves. And maybethey thrive on the fact that they can run with vampires, tame werewolves, love demonsand battle warlocks and come out alive. Theymay be a little beat up, may be a little battered, and may be loved, but theyare alive and wiser and less…insecure.

But don’t discount human men just yet. There’s something magical about non-magicalfolk. In my short story, Winter Twilight, available January9 through Still Moments Publishing (www.stillmomentspublishing.com),my young, recently divorced protagonist, Teagan O’Leary, moves to a new cityand stumbles around trying to get her bearings on her new life. She meets her human co-worker, James Gulsoy,a tall dark-haired honey who works as a loading dock manager. But when she finds out he’s a secret front-manfor an up and coming rock band, and the love poems in her locker are fromhim…well let me ask you, who the heck would want an incubus over a hot rock star?

I think it’s safe to say, sexy paranormal leadingmen-thingy’s are awesome to read about and dream about and drool over, but humanmen keep us warm at night and grow old with us and make us feel alluring andspecial too. As so they should.

Shannon O’Brien transplanted to Seattle, WA from Southern California in the late 1990’s and is constantly mesmerized by the mountains, lakes and grandeur of the Pacific Northwest. She is a wife, a mother of two young boys, and warden to a sweet Boxer and a sassy old black cat. She encourages everyone to visit Puget Sound and even knows there really are sparkling vampires in Forks and a Sasquatch in the Cascade Mountains. Trust her, she’s a fiction writer. You can keep an eye on what Shannon's up to here: http://shannonobrienauthor.wordpress.com/.

What's Next?

2012-01-06T07:00:00.000-08:00

I'm so excited about the next couple weeks that I can barely sleep at night - and if you knew my schedule, you'd understand how crazy that is. Night shift nurse, baby. Usually that means "See bed? See Liv sleep in bed." Not so much right now.

So what am I so spun up about? The release of my first book is happening on January 14th, which on its own is kind of mind-blowing, but in addition to that I'm going to be guest-blogging all over the place, sharing the news about A Vampire's Deadly Delight (http://bit.ly/zBSr4y). That's the cover art to the right of this post. The artist is my sister, Liza Rancourt-Fennimore. She is so awesome!

I'll also be playing hostess to my first guests here on the Liv Rancourt blog. You can expect to hear from Ryder Islington, author of Ultimate Justice: A Trey Fontaine Mystery on January 24th (http://amzn.to/rPFR08). Both Jennifer Daiker and Shannon O'Brien will be here to talk about their short stories in Snowbound Hearts, an upcoming anthology from Still Moments Publishing (www.stillmomentspublishing.com). And, Sherry Isaac will be here to talk about her stories of romantic paranormal suspense. And maybe make you giggle a little.

There's a lot to look forward to, and I hope you'll stick around and share it with me. If you're a writer with something to talk about, email me (www.livrancourt.com) so we can set something up. If you have thoughts about the blog's new look, don't hesitate to share them in the comments. And if you're just here because you know I have a cute puppy, well, that's cool too.
Peace, Liv

This is him with a rawhide candy cane on Christmas morning.

He's quite the little addict when it comes to rawhide.

This is not a love song

2012-01-02T01:16:00.000-08:00

Back in about 1991 Prince and Madonna recorded a duet called Love Song that appeared on her Like A Prayer album. Listen to it, and you'll hear them repeat the phrase "This is not a love song" a whole bunch of times, while the verses describe their complicated relationship. Which can be tangentally linked to this post. This is not a New Years post.

Sort of.

I've read some lovely blog posts in the last two days, particularly one by my friend The Freeway Diva, where she dissects the last year and finds some pretty wonderful things. I'm more in the mood to dissect some of the recent pictures of Prince that I found when I was looking for the video of Love Song (the link's in the first paragraph). He might have had some work done. D'ya think?

On New Years Eve I sang the 5pm Mass and blew the dust off the Marian Litany, which isn't something you've likely heard unless you're a total Gregorian chant nerd. It's a meditative, possibly monotonous, chunk of chant, and I meant it to be a little pool of peace for those who were heading out for a night of champagne and fireworks. I'm still holding on to a bit of that peace, and hoping the Peeps from the Pews are too.

Then New Years Day I got to take the puppy out before I left for work. At 6 o'clock in the morning, the back yard was so quiet it made my ears ring. Even the freeway - which is a mile or so from our house - barely made a hum. Of course, I had to divide my time between wallowing in the quiet and wondering why in hell the puppy won't pee in the grass if it's at all wet. We live in Seattle, dog. Get over it.

So that's my life on this New Years Night. The sublime - the family and friends and moments of beauty - and the monotonous, the ridiculous, the puppy. Not necessarily in that order.

Wouldn't trade a thing.

If I was the type to take stock, I'd marvel at the fact that people are interested in my writing and that my husband and I are still married and that my kids are so tall and strong and beautiful. But I'm more the type to buy the newest issue of People Magazine, to figure out how all those people lost half their body weight. I need some of what they're having. And I hope you and yours are safe and warm and laughing this New Years Night.
Peace,
Liv

The Summer of my Discount Tent

2011-12-29T09:38:00.000-08:00

A couple months ago Groupon offered two nights at the Cannon Beach Hotel for $175. I hit the 'buy' button without any firm plan for when we'd go. Then I came up with the idea that we could all go the day after Christmas. Checked with The Husband and he was on board with it. The kids were generally in accord, and over the last few weeks we've all repeated the phrase "but on the 26th, we get to leave". Over and over again.

And on the 26th, we did leave. All four of us packed into The Husband's new car, arguing over which satellite radio station to listen to and who got what out of the bag of Christmas cookies. (For the record, my fave Siruis #50 The Groove was the consistent looser.) We got to Cannon Beach just in time for a blast of wind and rain - the picture above shows the kids trying to run into a 40mph gust.

Which prompted The Husband to tell us about the summer he and his buddy decided to drive from Seattle to Alaska in his buddy's old Toyota with a Shell gas card, $100, three cans of tuna and a loaf of bread. Oh, and a leaky tent they bought at a discount place. That's over 2000 miles, most of it on two-lane roads. And they survived. And then I married him. If I had to guess, most of the $100 was spent on beer.

Our family trip wasn't nearly that adventurous, although we did have a very good time. There was plenty of laughter, which is what really counts.
Peace,
Liv

New ways to waste time.

2011-12-21T06:19:00.000-08:00

One of the biggest challenges to finishing a novel (or a short story, or a blog post) is finding the time to sit down and write. And then, even when you have the time, there are other traps. Like, in the olden days writers would stare out the window and daydream, their pencils or pens suspended over dog-eared spiral notebooks. Now, they can toggle between tabs on their web browsers, or maybe play a quick game of mah jong or Freecell, all in the name of finding just the right word or planning the next plot twist.

Because really, eBay makes a great thesaurus. And nothing is better than Facebook for helping you understand your character's goals and motivations. My own personal favorite and newest obsession is pinterest. I can spend a ridiculous amount of time looking at all the pretty pictures. Time that I've carved out of the rest of my life, when I'm not working my full time job or running the kids from swim practice to cello lessons or whatever. Time that I should be actually writing.

I justify it by telling myself I'm doing research, looking for pictures that inspire my newest work-in-progress...on which very little actual progress is happening, although I do have a nice collection of pictures that might inspire some writing if I ever stop looking at pictures long enough to actually write something. And just so you know I'm not fooling, here's a link to my Storyboard.

I think you'll agree that pictures are pretty, and I hope someday their story will get told!
Peace,
Liv

...and some are naughtier than others...

2011-12-19T13:35:00.000-08:00

So I'm blogging today over at the Black Opal Authors Blog.
It's a funny little post about how to handle the naughty bits, and I hope you check it out.
Peace,
Liv

Christmas Drives Me Crazy

2011-12-16T00:26:00.000-08:00

Last week I downloaded the Goddess Tarot app for my phone. It's a beautiful set of cards that were created by Kris Waldherr (http://www.artandwords.com/). To learn more about the tarot, I've been doing a one-card reading every day. I get quiet and breath and come up with a question for the day, then tap the deck and see which card comes up. This morning the card was the eight of cups, and the question had to do with how I was going to survive Christmas.

See, in principle, Christmas is okay. I guess. I just wish that the rather significant religious holiday could be split off from the secular kerfuffle. I love the idea that the first Sunday of Advent is the start of a new liturgical year. I love the darkness and the anticipation, the rhythmic and cyclical nature of it, the way it marks time and helps you see where you are. I love lighting the candles on the wreath and John the Baptist's voice crying in the wilderness and singing the O Antiphons on the fourth Sunday of Advent and if you don't know what the hell I'm talking about, that's okay too. Trust me. It's cool.

I even love Midnight Mass, I mean, I would love it, if I weren't so damned exhausted by the shopping and the decorating and the Social Expectations. Christmas cards make me grumpy, I never get my packages in the mail on time, and the other day my eyes got all crossed because the husband put lights on the tree the wrong way. Did you know there was a right way and a wrong way to put lights on a Christmas tree? Me either, and I suspect there really isn't. If I was sane about all this. Which I'm not.

The tarot card I drew today, the eight of cups, signifies a period of change, a time to look at letting go of what's not working. On the http://www.learntarot.com/ website, the descriptors they use for this card are along the lines of focusing on personal truth, leaving the rat race, and concentrating on what's important. O-kay. Not unrelated to current events. So, if you usually get a Christmas card from me, maybe not this year. Consider it a nod towards resource management. And I promise I'll be mailing those gifts sometime soon. Before Valentines Day, anyway.
Peace,
Liv

(PS, you can get a copy of The Goddess Tarot from Amazon http://www.amazon.com/Goddess-Tarot-Deck-Kris-Waldherr/dp/1572810661
or from your phone's app store.)

I love me a cat pageant.

2011-12-12T09:17:00.000-08:00

So I'm a bit obsessed with this image. Wonder why? Heh. I found it while trolling pinterest.com, which I'm also a bit obsessed with. I saw this picture and knew right away that this was a guy I could write about. Please don't tell me that this is really a promo shot from some movie I'll never see. His story is unwinding slowly in my own head.

So far I've got a half demon/half Danaan sidhe girl for him to play with, a minor deity who's his girl's best friend, and a ghost named Jimmy who says things like, "Well, that was a hell of a cat pageant" when things have gone bad. I have no idea where any of this is going - okay, maybe a few glimmers - but there are still major holes that I need to fill. That's alright. It'll come.

And as it does, I may just share it. My plan is to create a pinterest.com page with images that are inspiring the work. Like, the half demon girl might look like Lilly Cole, and the chandelier in the lobby might look like this:

Then every so often, I'll link the pinterest.com page to the blog here, so you can see where it's going. I've requested membership, and as soon as I get it I'll start to work. And oh, if you're curious, the man in the photo above is Eric Dane, who I honestly had never heard of till I saw this picture. I'm old, you know. Kids these days...

Peace,

Liv

Yay! It's out!

2011-12-08T14:25:00.000-08:00

I'm feeling pretty good right now, because after a couple months of hard work, the Christmas Treats anthologies are finally available. My piece, The Santa Drag, made Santa's Nice List, but both books are full of entertaining holiday spirit. My thanks to Darlene and Annie and all the rest from Still Moments Publishing, and to the fine group of authors I've met there. If I've done it right, you can click the Christmas Treats image above this post, and it'll take you to the publisher's website where you can download a copy. Thanks very much, and I hope you enjoy it as much as I have.
Peace,
Liv

Oy To The World

2011-12-06T06:53:00.000-08:00

So on a discussion list I follow, someone posted the following question:

What's your favorite Christmas song or album/CD?

Hands down, for me, it's the "Oy To The World" CD by The Klezmonauts. What, you don't automatically associate Christmas with Klezmer music? Really?

Well, okay. I'll grant you it's not an automatic link. They go together like, maybe, peanut butter and potato chips. Different, and not to everyone's taste, but yummy if you're into it. In fact, I like this CD so well that I just went to Amazon and downloaded a copy to this laptop, because it was easier than going through our CD racks in the living room and finding the disc. Oh Amazon, you're just so...

Which brings me to the real point of this rant. Geez, but it is easy to buy shit off Amazon. Maybe too easy. Like, I'm wandering around the internet and I read a review of a book that sounds appealing. I make a couple clicks and get a sample sent to my Kindle. Then, a month or so later, I'm sitting at the kid's swim practice or standing at the bus stop or waiting for a delivery at work, and I read the sample. It is good! Click! Bingo! I've bought the book - and somehow they don't post the price where I can see it when I click the "buy it now" button.

And that's the craziest part. I'm such a book-whore that I try (tried?) to avoid paying full price whenever possible. I buy used or check things out from the library or wait for the paperback. Sorry, authors. Console yourself with knowing that while I might cheap out on the individual sale, I make up for it in volume (says the girl with multiple copies of most of what Charlaine Harris has ever written). I try to tell myself that there's a novelty factor involved, and that when I get used to it, I'll use more judgement about what goes on my Kindle or into my Amazon Cloud. Someday...

So here's a link (I think...you might need to copy and paste it into your browser) to The Klezmonauts on Amazon, in case all of this has inspired you to check them out.

http://www.amazon.com/Oy-World-Klezmonauts/dp/B00000FXN2/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1323182898&sr=8-1

And if you're additionally inspired, leave a recommendation in the comments for other Christmas music I should check out.

Peace,

Liv

So close

2011-11-30T06:32:00.000-08:00

I've been working on a couple of short pieces for Still Moments Publishing. They have a magic-themed anthology coming up, one called Snowbound Hearts, and one for Valentine's Day. I sent them two pieces, one called Crossings, and the other called Honolulu City Lights. Okay, I totally stole the second title from the old Keola and Kapono Beamer song, which has always been a favorite of mine. I'm not sure it actually relates to the story as much as it does to the time that the story was set, if that makes sense. It was a popular song in the '80s, and the story was set in the early '90's, and most of the action takes place at night. It works in my head, anyway.

Crossings is the piece I'm losing sleep over. Part of the problem comes from the fact that the story is set in the Sister-verse, Sister being one of my WIPs that I'm getting ready to overhaul. It's been great to get back into that world and get to know some of the characters better, but after I finished the first draft, I had the strong sense that what I'd written wasn't really a short story, but maybe the first three or so chapters of the sequel to Sister. Oops.

So I sent Crossings off, and a couple days later it came back with the comment that the ending was too abrupt. Lesson learned - a romance can't end with the heroine walking off into the sunset, leaving the hero behind. It might work for the end of a chapter, but not so much for a short story. So I took the dog for a walk and came up with what happens next. Fate separates them, but then brings them back together and it's wine and roses time. Or something like that.

And then they sent it back again, with another request for work on the ending, and could I please bring in the heroine's parents - who so far have existed in the most abstract way possible. Like, she's alive, therefore she must have parents, but they abandoned her at birth and their identities will be known somewhere in the Sister sequel. Probably.

So....I took the dog for a walk and came up with another idea, one that gives her a family, without actually naming Mom and Dad. In the end, she and the hero ride off into the sunset together to look for them, or thereabouts. That will hopefully satisfy SMP (who are lovely, lovely people and I'm really thrilled that they like the piece enough to keep working with me on it) but still give me the flexibility to make her parents a surprise when they show up in book 2...or book 3.

What I don't want is to end up with a short story that readers NEED to understand the action in book 2 (think Charlaine Harris and Definitely Dead, which makes a whole lot more sense if you've read the short story One Word Answer). I know it can work - there's a Kim Harrison novella, I think in the Dates From Hell anthology, that's illustrates the relationship that Ivy and Kisten shared before the action in the Hallows series really started, and there's a LKH short story in Strange Candy that shows a definite warming up in the relationship between Anita and Jean Claude. It's a snap-shot of one night between books, and a cool story in itself, but the series still works if you haven't read it.

So why am I nattering on about this? Because now I'm nervous. I can't decide if this situation is third time's the charm or three strikes and you're out. I've told myself that if they don't end up taking Crossings, I still have the first few chapters of my book 2, and I have a much better understanding of the characters and how the world works as I go into the re-write of Sister. This is really a win for me. I have until 12/31/11 to get Crossings together, which gives me plenty of time. It would be so cool to get a taste of the world out there to see how it flies!
Peace,
Liv

Puppy Torture

2011-11-24T08:54:00.000-08:00

This is the face of puppy torture.

Hmm, yeah, no, not really. This is the face of a little dog who needs to learn that when he's on walkies, he shouldn't tug so hard that he knocks his mama on her ass in the mud. Not that he's actually done that, but there have been a couple of close calls. He also needs to learn that it's not good if he's tugging so hard that his breathing becomes audible. Tracheal compression by collar is so not the way to go.

A friend recommended I get a Gentle Leader, which is basically a harness like a horse would wear. There's a strap that goes over his nose, and another around his neck. Apparently dogs don't like things touching their noses, so they won't tug in this contraption. Actually, it took about fifteen minutes to convince him to MOVE in this contraption, and then it took almost a whole pocketful of kibble to get him down the four blocks from our house to 15th NE. After that, he sorted things out, more-or-less, and we had a pretty decent walk. And my shoulder stayed in its socket.

We've had a second walk with the Gentle Leader, and that one went better than the first. Except that he started to poop in the middle of the road because he was too intimidated to let me know he needed to go to the sidelines. We'll work those details out. He's about ten months old, which I'm learning is comparable to a teenager in human years. I figure it's good practice for managing the young teens that live in my house. Not sure they make anything comparable to the Gentle Leader for kids, but I'd totally buy one if they did.

And I hope that those of you reading this have a peaceful Thanksgiving. It makes my heart full to think about all the amazing people and gifts and blessings that I have to be thankful for.
Peace,
Liv

Why is there a drum kit in my basement?

2011-11-21T08:36:00.000-08:00

I started out with the best intentions. It was Monday morning, after all, and Dear Daughter was up till midnight finishing her homework. You might be asking yourself why she didn't start her homework sooner than 7pm on Sunday evening. Good question. Likely because she's in 8th grade, and I trust her to be able to organize herself when it comes to that kind of thing. Maybe I'm misguided, but that's how it is.

So because she was short on sleep and I wanted to be nice, I volunteered to iron her khaki uniform pants. The dog and I went down to the basement to plug in the iron, and I noticed the drum kit. Surrounded by gear, like amps and mic stands and a small mixing board. Huh. Wonder how long that's been there.

Now, it's not as unusual as it might be, since the Dear Husband is in two bands. It's just been, like, a week and a half since one of them rehearsed at our house. Which means the drum kit has been set up for at least a week and a half. Huh. Hadn't noticed it till now. The basement is big, and all, and the drum kit was pushed up against the pool table, but still. It's hard to miss.

Any good story has conflict, right? So here's mine. I was ironing away when I smelled the distinctive aroma of dog poop. Seems Puppy doesn't like to do his bidness in the rain. We live in Seattle. He needs to get over that. I threw him out back (not literally) and went on a poop hunt. I found it BEHIND the drum kit and UNDER the pool table, which is why, at 8 am on a Monday morning, I was crawling over rock and roll detritus to scoop the poops from under the pool table. Almost got scalped by a cymbal.

And from that I know that it's going to be a good week, because, really, there's nowhere to go but up.
Peace,
Liv

Each one cuter than the last...

2011-11-18T21:31:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I read The Better Part of Darkness by Kelly Gay. I'd never heard of this author and I can't even really remember how the book ended up on my Kindle, but I'm so glad it did. Charlie is a kick-ass heroine, and the book's roller-coaster plot and strong heart made for a really fun read.

And her men were HOT. First she introduced Hank, an otherworldly siren who's Charlie's partner. Okay, whenever an author starts describing a man in terms of his lion-like good looks, I'm like, sign me up for that safari. Then there's Will, Charlie's ex-husband who owns a construction company. My own Dear Husband is in construction, so I have a total thing for a guy with a little dust on his jeans and paint on his hands.

Aaron is a mage with glossy black hair. The first time she met him, they were in a public bath and he was...all there in the open. I knew Charlie was a stronger woman than I'll ever be when she had a conversation with him and kept her eyes on his face the whole time. And Carreg is a powerful otherworldly guy with dark good looks and perfect suits. He plays the grey zone between good and evil.

The book is the first of three in this urban occult series. It isn't a romance, and none of the men were really presented as Charlie's love interest, which made the possibilities all that much more intriguing. I'm not doing any of them justice here, but believe me that the imaginary eye candy definitely added to the reading experience. I may be getting old, but I'm still the girl whose high school classmates voted the student most likely to get arrested for attacking the 7th Fleet...
Peace,
Liv

Da Bus

2011-11-13T17:07:00.000-08:00

So every Sunday I work at my real job. It's less than ideal, but it must be done. I take the bus to work whenever I can, and I gotta tell you that the #75 on a Sunday morning is worth more than the price of admission.

There's a cast of regulars. The bus runs down along Lake Washington, and every Sunday this summer Mr. Fisherdude got on. He was a big guy in hip waders who carried a fishing pole and a tackle box. God only knows what he ever caught out there. There's the Black Gentleman With The Cane who smiles and says 'hi' when he gets on. There's also the Surly Punkrock Dude who gets off in front of City People's Mercantile. Almost every week he nearly misses his stop because he's asleep. He hasn't been there the last couple weeks. I wonder what's up?

Today the bus was busier than normal, and there was one Chatty Cathy behind me who was telling her unfortunate seatmate all kinds of stuff. I had her pretty well tuned out until I heard her say, "I was going to go to _______, but when I went out to my car, my son had let the air out of two of my tires."

Really?

"Yeah, see, I get my license back in three weeks, and every time I get close, I get pulled over and the judge re-sets the date."

Uh - huh.

"He was just protecting me."

And all the rest of us, sister. I hope she rides again next week. I'll pay more attention.
Peace,
Liv

Glee boycott

2011-11-10T15:38:00.000-08:00

So this is a bit of a rant. Last week I saw something that's still bugging me. It was a new Glee commercial using music from Mozart's Requiem Mass. This may mark me as old or stodgy or a hopeless church choir geek, but really? Somehow you think The Requiem bears any relationship to a TV series that arguably has seen better days? It just kills me.

To back up a step, for years I sang in the choir at our neighborhood Cathedral, with a choir director who seemed to know Mozart personally. Okay, Mr. Director was a teensy bit crazy, but he was an amazing teacher. When we'd rehearse The Requiem, he'd tell us how Mozart knew he was near the end of his life, and how he struggled to complete the Mass before he died. He didn't make it. The way Mr. Director told it, you could see the failing composer working frantically by candlelight, composing one of the single greatest works in the choral repertoire. And now he's selling Glee. He's sold cars before, too. Totally pisses me off.

There should be a law against using works of great religious significance for TV commercials. Orff's Carmina Burana is another piece you'd likely recognize, whether or not you know jack about choral music. Anyway, that's my bitch and I'm sticking to it. Peace,

Liv

The Great Chicken Experiment

2011-11-07T09:27:00.000-08:00

This is the last piece for my humor writing class. Next I'll try to summarize what she actually taught us!>

The great chicken experiment is over.

Six years ago, it seemed like a good idea. The Son was in kindergarten, and for their science project his class had eggs in an incubator. The theory was, the eggs would hatch, and then the baby chicks would need a home. I volunteered. The Husband LOOKED at me. Then he shrugged. Three baby chicks came home with us on Good Friday, 2006.

Shadow was a big Barred Rock hen. Old John that used to live next door told us she’d be a good layer. She was a bossy old bitch, but knew about laying eggs. Sunshine and Acorn were Auricanas, Martha Stewart’s preferred breed. They laid cute little aqua blue and green eggs. Sunshine had, well, yellow feathers. What can I say? The kids were little and they made fairly obvious name choices.

Acorn was a pretty marbled brown and black hen. She was our fragile flower. Because of Acorn, I know there’s an avian Vet down on Aurora Avenue. I know that the staff at the Animal ER in Lake City are friendly and caring…and don’t laugh outright in your face when you bring them a bird in severe respiratory distress. Hey, it was almost Easter and I didn’t want the kids traumatized by a chicken who wouldn’t rise again in three days. I now know it’s possible to spend hundreds of dollars keeping a chicken alive. If you’re crazy.

People who actually know about animals do call me crazy. Like, my sister-in-law who runs a stables thought I was nuts when we brought Acorn out to her while we were going on vacation. Acorn needed steroid and antibiotic shots, and I had to teach Auntie C how to give them. You do this, and you do this, I said. She LOOKED at me. Then she shrugged. And gave the shots.

In my defense, a dear friend once told me about someone her mother knew who spent hundreds of dollars keeping an ailing hen alive. Not only that, but once it died she paid for an autopsy and then had it cremated. Its ashes are in an urn in her living room. Now that’s crazy.

One night in the spring of 2009, I got a hysterical call from the Husband while I was at work. Once I got him calmed down a little, I realized that he was telling me a neighbor’s dog had broken into the chicken coop and played Chicken Frisbee with Sunshine, Shadow and Acorn. Shit. They were all dead.

So that was our first real learning experience as chicken owners. I mean, besides the fact that chicken poop STINKS. The kids had a life and death lesson. And I had a reality check. No more spending big bucks keeping a chicken alive. After talking with other chicken owners, it seemed that they all had a dirty dog story. Getting chomped by other critters was an occupational hazard of being a chicken.

The back yard was a sadder place without the girls. I missed the way they’d strut around, turning up where I least expected them. When you talk to a chicken, they’ll cock their heads, as if they are the source of all common sense and you, verbose ape, are clucking nonsense. They made me laugh. When I raised the possibility of getting new birds, the Husband LOOKED at me. And then he shrugged. That Easter, there were three new baby chicks under a warmer light in our basement.

Lacey, Eight Ball and Beulah Mae were a different breed. We didn’t give them the run of the yard, hoping to keep their presence a secret from the neighborhood dogs. Beulah Mae was a Buff Orpington, a big yellow bird who knew her way around a nesting box. Lacy was a fussy little Lace Winged Wyandotte, and Eight Ball was another Barred Rock. They lived in their coop, with an eight-foot run in front of it. We moved the coop so we could see them from the kitchen window, but they never had the same sense of family as our first three birds. And they NEVER had the same vet bills as our first three birds.

We were happy chicken owners, and would have kept them up, but this summer the neighborhood raccoons figured out that dinner lived in our coop. They’d break in and snatch one. The Husband would reinforce the coop. They’d figure out another way in. The Husband would fix it. And so on. Our last girl, Eight Ball, tangled with a raccoon yesterday. That’s a battle a chicken will always lose. We hope she’s happy in chicken heaven with all her chicken sisters. The Husband can’t wait to take the coop to the dump.

NaNo!

2011-10-24T15:18:00.000-07:00

So many of the writers I know have spent the last couple weeks gearing up for a ginormous annual event, one that will take over their lives for four weeks solid. NaNo. And I'll be...cheering from the sidelines. Actually, this year I'll be cheering with a little more enthusiasm than before, because I know more people who are taking it on. To all of you I say, "Rock on." And I mean that. Sincerely.

Maybe someday I'll be ready to try it. Like, in six years when I no longer have to run kids to soccer practice and football practice and piano lessons and choir. The fall sports season is brutal in our house, and even though it's winding down by November, I need time to recover and gear up for the next giant energy vacuum that descends on all of us. That would be Christmas.

This year I'm 2/3 of the way through a project I started in July, am working through third round edits for a book who's title is still in question - release date 1/14/12 - and have a short story I want to rework for the Still Moments Valentines Day anthology. Then there's a big editing project and a sequel and another short story...or two. I'm booked.

If you want to call me The NaNo Apologist, I can live with that. It's kind of a cute nickname. I wish you all the very best with your projects, and I'm looking forward to reading what you come up with. And if you need to connect with someone who doesn't have glazed eyes and a high blood pressure, look me up.

Equilibrium

2011-10-20T07:52:00.000-07:00

<<Okay, this is an exercise I came up with for the humor writing class I'm taking. I don't know if the teacher was too impressed, but I think it's funny. Oh yeah, I crack myself up sometimes.>>

It's fascinating to watch the way animals organize themselves. Our household was a happy one, made up of four pink monkeys and two cats, Woody and Sara Smile. Yes, named after the Hall & Oates song. Woody is a big neutered male with the softest fur E-V-E-R. He's part Gumby and can usually be found draped across the lap of the largest male monkey with his nose tucked into the crook of the monkey's elbow.

Sara Smile's name was originally Speedo, but there's nothing fast about this cat, so we changed it when she moved in with us. At the time, Sara Smile seemed like a nice name for the pretty little kitten with thick grey fur and bright green eyes.

We should have named her Invisi-kitty. Or maybe Evapo-cat. We go whole days without seeing her except at mealtimes, when she crawls up in our faces and demands service. She frequently appears disgruntled with her monkeys. When we see her, that is.

Oh, and the other way we know she's around? She pees on the living room couch. Nice kitty.

So into this balanced, if somewhat dysfunctional mix, we introduced Burnsie. He's a nine-month-old puppy; part lhassa apso, part terrier, all goofy. Because, really, those cats needed to be taken down a peg.

Woody was the early adapter. He spent three or four days watching Burnsie from the upper elevations. By week two they could inhabit the same six-foot space. By week three, Woody would allow Burnsie to drag him around the house by the ears. So much for Woody's tough-guy persona.

And Sara, Sara Smile? She has yet to adapt. She's even less visible and more demanding at mealtimes. Oh, and last week we had to buy a new couch.

Humor

2011-10-18T10:05:00.000-07:00

For the first time since college, I'm signed up for an in-person writing class, as opposed to the on-line writing classes I've been taking consistently for the last couple of years. It's a humor writing class. I thought it would be fun, and it is, except for last week when the homework assignment was to write 250 words on what we thought was funny.

I wrote a few lines on the Blue Collar Comedy Tour, specifically Ron White. Anything his dog Sluggo does is funny. And you can't fix stupid. I'm grinning even now. Then I got even more elaborate describing my love for Janet Evanovich and how she always always always makes me laugh. Like, in the new book where Stephanie and Lula try to bring in a skip and he opens the door naked and he's hung like an ox and Lula ends up shooting him in the toe and then they have to go to Cluck 'n a Bucket to recover? Now that's funny. I guess you'd say that I'm pretty basic.

Then the teacher gave us the diagram showing the levels of comedy. Hmm. It seems the stuff I think is funny falls squarely in the most juvenile levels. Nice. Here I thought I was such a grown-up and all. Things like incongruity and subtle exaggeration and irony don't really do it for me. I mean, I can see the joke, but it doesn't really make me laugh. Satire - in the hands of an expert like Steven Colbert - does, which gives me hope that I'm not a complete lost cause. On the other hand, the funniest thing I saw that whole class was the description of the highest level of humor:

Incongruity and contrast/comparison are the highest level of humor as they require a discriminating mind. People who read extensively or attend college often have the right mental training to appreciate this level.

Seriously? I've been to college, in fact more than most, and I would never ever ever say that I had a discriminating mind. With a straight face, anyway. That description sounds like something written by someone who has too much time on their hands. Anyway, the homework assignment for this week is to come up with two stinkie pinkies, a homonym and a shaggy dog. Wish me luck.

Lawyers!

2011-06-22T07:28:00.000-07:00

So the nice publisher sent me a contract. Cool. Except that I know nothing about publishing contracts. I have signed a couple of contracts before, mainly to buy and sell the couple of houses I've owned over the years. I have a rudimentary little contact I use for the tenants in our rental unit. And, I've signed exactly one work-related contract, desperately, with no negotiation and little understanding of what it was I was putting my name on.

When I signed on the real estate deals, I had an agent or a loan officer explain them to me. The rental contract came from an on-line service for landlords. The work contract is the only one I've had to handle on my own, and I don't want to repeat the way that one worked out. So before I sign the contract for my novella, I want someone to look at it, someone who is neutral to the process and can answer my questions, even the ones I don't know I should be asking.

It's harder than I thought it would be. There wasn't a big list when I used the search terms, Lawyers/Publishing/Seattle on Google. Through my writing teacher I found the Washington Lawyers for the Arts, a group that runs a low-cost clinic twice a month. I have an appointment with them next Monday. She also connected me with an agent, who forwarded me on to another agent, who I will be contacting today. I figure, the more information, the better.

It's a process, and I'm learning, so that's good. It feels slow, but I guess that's better than rushing into something that I don't fully understand. In the meantime, I'm working on Diva and wrapping up Christine's Make Your First 50 Pop class and trying to figure out how I'm going to eek out time to write when I've got kids home all day competing with me for computer time.

Trust

2011-06-01T13:42:00.000-07:00

When I was in college, back in 1984 in Honolulu, I wanted to be a writer or a singer. What I ended up with was a nursing degree. The loop in my head said, "you can't be a writer or a singer because those activities are too self-indulgent and you need to do something that helps people more." Therefore, nursing.

The joke's on me. Though I have no doubt that along the way I managed to provide at least one human being with the kind of altruistic, self-sacrificial aide that the loop in my head required, that's not what nursing is about for me. It's a job that's heavy on technology and science, where I get to work every day with really smart people who are willing to take on the challenges presented by fragile preterm infants. And, though I swear this was never a goal when I started out, I make a pretty nice living doing it.

I thought I was doing what God wanted me to do. I thought that the loop in my head came from God as it guided my decision-making. Along the way I kept singing, and now my main gig is as cantor for my church. See, he's using my gifts, right? So what do I do now that the loop in my head is telling me to write, and what I want to write are little vampire romances? It bothers me that there's not much Jesus in those stories.

I'm almost 50, and if there's one thing all these years (25!) of nursing has taught me is how little I know. I don't know why some babies live and some don't. I don't know why God is so perfect and man's organized attempts to worship are so....not. I trust in something bigger than me to sort it all out in the end. I'm going to do that here, too. If I open myself up and let the words come (the way I maybe should have done 30 years ago), God will find a way to use them, even though they may not be overtly religious. I trust.

Rough Cut

2011-05-27T16:18:00.000-07:00

I'm taking a writing class, Make Your First 50 Pop!, by Christine Fairchild (http://editordevil.blogspot.com/). It is an on-line class, using the Yahoo Groups format, and I've found the other students to be accomplished and enthusiastic. It has been a lot of fun.

The idea is that before the class began we all sent Christine, an editor with 20 years experience and a helluva good writing teacher, the first 50 pages of a nearly-finished work. Then, over the course of the class we've been submitting sections of those 50 pages to illustrate the different lessons she sends out. At the end she'll send us back the 50 pages we submitted, along with her editorial comments.

I think my first mistake was sending in 50 pages of a work that's not quite finished. Actually, it's not nearly finished. I had it to a stopping place (about 70k words), then let it lie for several months, picked it back up with a bunch of new ideas, and have been reworking it ever since. The next mistake was reading the lessons she sent us, because by the time I got to lesson 4 I realized I had the whole thing organized wrong. Oops.

I emailed Christine this morning and she hadn't started working with my first 50 pages, so she was willing to let me send in a revised version. Which means I have to polish the rough cuts I've made and send it in. While I'm supposed to be re-writing the ending of another big project. And working full time. And it's a holiday weekend.

Hallelujah! Worse things could happen to me.

Puppy Crack

2011-05-25T21:54:00.000-07:00

We have a new puppy. He's not quite 4 months old, and he's the sweetest, funniest, most loving little thing that God ever created. He's 3/4 lahsa apso and 1/4 terrier, so sort of a big dust mop with feet.

We got him from my sister-in-law's neighbor, and when we got him my SIL told us to feed him Purina Puppy Chow. Now, my SIL has never recovered from learning what we spend on the all-natural, organic canned cat food we feed our cats. I know it's expensive, but it's cheaper than paying for the surgery our cat had to have to remove the bladder stones that dry cat food gave him. We bought our puppy supplies at Pet Smart, and they carry Purina Premium. I do what I'm told, so I bought some.

The puppy loved the Purina Premium puppy chow, however when it was time to shop again, I was at the grocery store where they carried regular Purina Puppy Chow. He didn't like it quite as much, but he ate it. Can you say Puppy Crack? After 48 hours of the new food, he was a different boy. Still happy and loving, but flying around almost frantic with energy. He kept my daughter up all night, whining and carrying on, which he hadn't done since we first got him. And he forgot the "dogs poop outside" concept.

The way I figure it, Puppy Crack = more filler = more grain = more sugar = frantic puppy = dog shit all over my house. Didn't take me long to do that math, so today I went to the place where I buy my cat's food and got some all-natural, organic, meat-based puppy food from Canada. He's been much calmer since lunch. I'm hopeful that he soon remembers that the outdoors is his toilet.

Finding my way

2011-05-24T00:15:00.000-07:00

This is a departure, a step towards something exciting and new. I'm in the process of getting my first book published. Well, okay, it's a novella, and all that's happened so far is that an editor has read it and emailed me to say she is interested in publishing it if I was willing to change the ending.

Pause. Change the ending? Really? I kinda liked the ending. On the other hand, I'm a total newbie, and figure I'm open to constructive input. But I was still clutching, at least until I talked with Shel, one of my beta readers (and sister....who happens to live in LA and work in the entertainment industry). She pointed out that I'd given it a real Hollywood ending, with the heroine giving up her source of power when she met a good man. Ick. I did that? Oops.

So I emailed the editor today and proposed a different ending, couching it in terms that suggest I'd still be open for suggestion. And then I checked my email about 7000 times. I keep telling myself to drop it off a cliff, be happy they liked it enough to email back, and what will be will be. And I'll tell myself that again after I go check my email.....