Since I am 34 (not 35 yet...still have a few months, dammit), I saw this song and laughed my ass off.
Just thought I would share it.
Nuff said?
Happy Writing
Sunday, May 6, 2012
Friday, May 4, 2012
Other than the pool boy...
I did a post yesterday on facebook featuring my pool boy. He was a sexy, shirtless hero (not headless like a lot of hunks you find online these days) and my daughter caught a glimpse of him.
Eyes bugging, she asked, "Why is there a half naked hunk on your screen?"
Me-Work.
Her-Have I mentioned your job rocks?
Me-There are also cover models. Cover models are awesome.
Her-So, what do I have to take in college to do what YOU do?
And it started a conversation about how much our job rocks. Our job, as romance authors, does kind of kick ass. I mean, I wouldn't want to do anything else, ever. I get to look at beautiful men all day and call it research. I get to google things like tobacco enemas and death erections and whatever else triggers my imagination or can be used in a plot and learn all about it. I get to create worlds...I get to talk to readers about books and books are probably one of my favorite things (right up there with sex, chocolate, coffee and cake.)
But there ARE downfalls.
And, yes, dearies...I am going to do one of my infamous lists. I love you, too.
Five Things That Suck About Being A Romance Author
5. People not knowing you are a very important famous person.
It happens at Christmas parties. It happens at the grocery store. It happens at your class reunion. That one question: What do you do for a living? I kind of cringe, now, and mumble it because no one gets the coolness. "I write books." The question asker usually perks up a bit, their hearing super good all of the sudden, "You mean like Twilight?" (or whatever their kind of favorite book is...but it is never the person who READS romance who is asking) And I clear my throat and answer because now, well, it is inevitable. "Uh, no, I write romance novels."
Here is where they are supposed to grab their chest and have their mouth fly open in awe. I mean, I have the COOLEST JOB EVER. You know Romancing The Stone? Yeah, I am Joan Wilder...minus the cool trip to the tropics with a hunky hero. I get to be friends with cover models and lemme tell ya, they POST PICTURES. I sit around in my pajamas and get paid to facebook (well, not actually but I have convinced myself that it is super important so...shuddupayouface.)
Instead, invariably, they say, "Oh."
And it isn't a good, "Oh." It is an oh with a slight sneer attached as if I said that what I do is handle decomposing rodents and sometimes I eat them...just for shits and giggles.
This expression is multiplied by at least ten if you are talking to most anyone academic or someone who writes another genre. I don't know why...but it is. Responding with oblivious cheer is usually my tact from there...but it still sucks.
4. People who think you are a very famous person and therefore are really rich.
But those people (the people who look at me like I smell funny or don't have a real job) are nothing like the ones on the other end of the spectrum who think I tool around in my yacht with champagne flute in one hand and a fat stack of cash in the other, just waiting for the proper breeze to toss the money into the wind so that I can watch it flutter...and then I can laugh hysterically with all of my other rich author friends.
I don't know if that is the actual mental picture that some people have of authors (especially romance because what we do is 'easy') or what but for some reason, they think my laundry does itself and that I butter my bread with something different than they butter their bread with...when in all actuality, I am generally such a cheap person that I buy most of my stuff at yard sales. Although I love yardsales (or treasure hunting, call it what you will), I go to them because I have bills to pay and there are generally more of them than money in the bank and the day I buy a yacht...well, I am laughing just typing the word yacht, to be honest. And if you could hear me, in my head, I pronounce it YAH-CHET...because I can.
3. Eye Strain
I'm not sure why I am not making this number one but it is my least favorite thing. Why do all the screens GLOW? Just sayin.
2. Deadlines
I love being a writer. I love that I can make a living at it. I kind of have a deep and overwhelming hatred of deadlines. I mean, I know I have to hit them and I do (I have seven contracts for this year alone...I get the deadline thing. Really.) but that doesn't mean I have to LIKE deadlines. Sometimes I miss the days of loving characters so much that once the story was over...I would write a whole other story about them...in which nothing exciting happened that anyone would want to read but they just lived out their happily ever after...because I liked them so much that I wanted to hang out with them some more. Deadlines also lead to more eyestrain. See #3.
1. Word Vomit
This one could also be called social ineptitude spurts...
What am I talking about? Well, since I have gone back to school, this one isn't so bad. Mostly. But sometimes I still do it. Sometimes at school.
But I did it before that.
So you are in your writing cave for a few days solid, perhaps with a cat or a kid or whatever you live with...living in your world with your characters for a FEW DAYS SOLID. No human contact, really, or adult conversation (this one happens to stay at home moms, too, so you guys can share my loathing of #1) and then you need a gallon of milk.
So you trot out to the grocery store, grab the milk, and the clerk says, "So, how was your week?" with a smile.
Opening your mouth, out it comes...Word Vomit. You tell her. At length. You tell her the heart wrenching story of two people, in love, torn apart by destiny and a peanut allergy...and the research you did and how you realized that in chapter three...one of them were going to have to die.
Shell shocked, the clerk stares at you. She was not trained to handle this. She was hoping you were going to say, "Fine."
Once it starts, you kinda can't stop. You just vomit till the words run out and then grab your bag, ashamed somehow for the flow of words that came out like a Mount Vesuvius of social interaction, bottled up inside you...just waiting for her friendly smile to explode.
Word vomit.
So...yeah. I could do a top things I love about being a romance author...but this list was probably funnier.
Happy writing!
Eyes bugging, she asked, "Why is there a half naked hunk on your screen?"
Me-Work.
Her-Have I mentioned your job rocks?
Me-There are also cover models. Cover models are awesome.
Her-So, what do I have to take in college to do what YOU do?
And it started a conversation about how much our job rocks. Our job, as romance authors, does kind of kick ass. I mean, I wouldn't want to do anything else, ever. I get to look at beautiful men all day and call it research. I get to google things like tobacco enemas and death erections and whatever else triggers my imagination or can be used in a plot and learn all about it. I get to create worlds...I get to talk to readers about books and books are probably one of my favorite things (right up there with sex, chocolate, coffee and cake.)
But there ARE downfalls.
And, yes, dearies...I am going to do one of my infamous lists. I love you, too.
Five Things That Suck About Being A Romance Author
 |
| How glamorous I sometimes feel... |
It happens at Christmas parties. It happens at the grocery store. It happens at your class reunion. That one question: What do you do for a living? I kind of cringe, now, and mumble it because no one gets the coolness. "I write books." The question asker usually perks up a bit, their hearing super good all of the sudden, "You mean like Twilight?" (or whatever their kind of favorite book is...but it is never the person who READS romance who is asking) And I clear my throat and answer because now, well, it is inevitable. "Uh, no, I write romance novels."
Here is where they are supposed to grab their chest and have their mouth fly open in awe. I mean, I have the COOLEST JOB EVER. You know Romancing The Stone? Yeah, I am Joan Wilder...minus the cool trip to the tropics with a hunky hero. I get to be friends with cover models and lemme tell ya, they POST PICTURES. I sit around in my pajamas and get paid to facebook (well, not actually but I have convinced myself that it is super important so...shuddupayouface.)
Instead, invariably, they say, "Oh."
And it isn't a good, "Oh." It is an oh with a slight sneer attached as if I said that what I do is handle decomposing rodents and sometimes I eat them...just for shits and giggles.
This expression is multiplied by at least ten if you are talking to most anyone academic or someone who writes another genre. I don't know why...but it is. Responding with oblivious cheer is usually my tact from there...but it still sucks.
4. People who think you are a very famous person and therefore are really rich.
 |
| How glamorous I LOOK... |
I don't know if that is the actual mental picture that some people have of authors (especially romance because what we do is 'easy') or what but for some reason, they think my laundry does itself and that I butter my bread with something different than they butter their bread with...when in all actuality, I am generally such a cheap person that I buy most of my stuff at yard sales. Although I love yardsales (or treasure hunting, call it what you will), I go to them because I have bills to pay and there are generally more of them than money in the bank and the day I buy a yacht...well, I am laughing just typing the word yacht, to be honest. And if you could hear me, in my head, I pronounce it YAH-CHET...because I can.
3. Eye Strain
I'm not sure why I am not making this number one but it is my least favorite thing. Why do all the screens GLOW? Just sayin.
2. Deadlines
I love being a writer. I love that I can make a living at it. I kind of have a deep and overwhelming hatred of deadlines. I mean, I know I have to hit them and I do (I have seven contracts for this year alone...I get the deadline thing. Really.) but that doesn't mean I have to LIKE deadlines. Sometimes I miss the days of loving characters so much that once the story was over...I would write a whole other story about them...in which nothing exciting happened that anyone would want to read but they just lived out their happily ever after...because I liked them so much that I wanted to hang out with them some more. Deadlines also lead to more eyestrain. See #3.
1. Word Vomit
This one could also be called social ineptitude spurts...
What am I talking about? Well, since I have gone back to school, this one isn't so bad. Mostly. But sometimes I still do it. Sometimes at school.
But I did it before that.
So you are in your writing cave for a few days solid, perhaps with a cat or a kid or whatever you live with...living in your world with your characters for a FEW DAYS SOLID. No human contact, really, or adult conversation (this one happens to stay at home moms, too, so you guys can share my loathing of #1) and then you need a gallon of milk.
So you trot out to the grocery store, grab the milk, and the clerk says, "So, how was your week?" with a smile.
Opening your mouth, out it comes...Word Vomit. You tell her. At length. You tell her the heart wrenching story of two people, in love, torn apart by destiny and a peanut allergy...and the research you did and how you realized that in chapter three...one of them were going to have to die.
Shell shocked, the clerk stares at you. She was not trained to handle this. She was hoping you were going to say, "Fine."
Once it starts, you kinda can't stop. You just vomit till the words run out and then grab your bag, ashamed somehow for the flow of words that came out like a Mount Vesuvius of social interaction, bottled up inside you...just waiting for her friendly smile to explode.
Word vomit.
So...yeah. I could do a top things I love about being a romance author...but this list was probably funnier.
Happy writing!
Thursday, May 3, 2012
Turn Me On gets a contract!!
Turn Me On will be coming out Valentine's Day 2013 with MuseItUp Publishing!! *happydance*
The unedited blurb on that one was this:
If it’s too hot in the kitchen…
Valentine’s Day is brutal. When Kay is called by her ex to meet at a restaurant, she doesn’t expect to find out that not only is the former love of her life trotting down the aisle with someone else…she expects Kay to take part in the festivities.
Cook up some romance…
But the sexy sister of the groom is determined to help Kay get over the bride. Camie wants to teach Kay that passion is best when it isn’t hidden.
With the sister of the groom…
Will Kay take a chance with the one woman who can bring her body—and her broken heart—back to life?
So that makes...*counts on fingers*...seven contracts by May of 2012...so six coming soon releases and one already out for your viewing pleasure and THAT ONE hit a bestselling list today.
Uh, if I had some champagne around the house, I would pop a cork tonight.
Yeah, if you missed out on the news over on facebook today, Lips of Velvet hit the bestselling list at number three over at All Romance Ebooks today. *woot!*
Can I just take a second to thank you guys? Because, yeah, I write the stuff and, no, it isn't easy...but without you guys going out and reading it...none of it would matter.
Thanks you guys. You rock.
Okay, finals are over and I need to catch up on some of that sleep I have been depriving myself of. Tomorrow begins the massive office catchup that is my weekend.
Happy writing all!!
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
Birth Stories
Women sit around and do this all the time. Some of my male readers are probably going to be pretty appalled by this post. You female folk have probably swapped stories like this or heard them before.
My older two are four days apart...and two years. The oldest is turning fifteen in a couple days, the middle one thirteen (officially a teenager.)
Which gets any mother thinking about that day, fifteen and thirteen years ago, when they came into this world.
My pregnancy with my daughter was pretty smooth. I remember at one point wanting apple juice so bad and sending my husband up to the store to get some...and he came back without it. I burst into tears and explained to him, "How on earth are we going to take care of a little baby if we can't even get apple juice?!??"
Needless to say, back to the store he went and when he returned with said juice, I chugged the whole gallon. No one had explained thoroughly to me pregnancy hormones so...uh...good times, those.
When I went into labor, I was very determined NOT to do any drugs. I wanted it to be as natural as it was possible to be...I had some seventies bullshit idea that it was going to be beautiful or some crap like that.
It hurt like hell. I asked the nurse at one point if I could cry. "You can do whatever you want, Sweetie." I didn't cry but dammit it hurt like a bitch. They finally said I could push. I discovered, about one push in, that WHILE PUSHING it didn't hurt. It was like some magical internal light switch. Push-no pain. Not pushing-deargodmygutsarebeingrippedout. Uh, I pushed. I pushed really hard. It only took one or two and there was a little kid there. She was sooooo pretty. I can still remember being shocked because I thought she was supposed to be icky or something. I mean, she came from INSIDE me. But she was perfect, looking like someone had taken a baby, dipped it in water and handed it to me...coincidentally at my crotch.
My son was NOT pretty when he was born. Then again, he got stuck.
He, like her, decided to be two weeks late. Unlike her, the water did not break naturally in the nick of time. They broke it. They then put me on the drip from hell. I call it the drip from hell because it accomplished nothing but pain and no progress. Then they had the firey lotion from hell. This was applied directly to the cervix and immediately dilated me to ten centimeters.
So they said I could push. Dandy. I remembered pushing. Pushing meant the pain would stop, remember?
When I tried to push with him, a feeling like bone crunching fire shot through me. I stopped. That wasn't right.
I told the nice nurses and doctors this. "Uh, it hurts when I push."
"It is supposed to hurt. It is labor."
No one ever listens to the woman on the table.
After awhile of trying to convince them that something was rotten in the state of Denmark (or my hoohah, depending on how specific you want to get with the geography lesson), I gave up.
"I quit. Seriously. The show is not going on without me. You can't make me do it. I quit."
I laid back and refused to give birth. I cried. I moaned. I hollered. I refused to cooperate further.
After an hour of this, the baby was in distress, I was going into cardiac arrest and they decided to check my progress...because even if I 'quit' my body should have been shoving the baby out with its contractions...and it wasn't moving.
Suddenly, it dawned on the docs that the baby was stuck in my pelvis and that was why I was saying it hurt.
No shit, assholes.
So, they toss me up and try to put in an epidural. They couldn't get it in.
When they flip me back onto the table, there is talk of just slashing me open like a ripe fruit to get the baby out without drugs.
I notice something. I can push now. They shifted something in all their tossing me about like a limp bag of clothes.
When I try to tell them THAT, they aren't interested in listening. My mom ends up kind of pinning the doc to the wall and telling him off and I end up delivering my son myself.
When he comes out he does NOT look like he was dipped in water. He is all greyish bluey and covered in muck and goo and my first words upon seeing him are, "What is it?"
A cooing nurse answers, "It is your son."
I looked at her confused. I was pretty sure I broke it.
After they cleaned him up and got some air to him, he looked much better. After thirteen years, I gotta say, he is a very handsome fellow and very undeserving of my initial assessment.
My youngest was the easiest to deliver of the three. They had told me, after the delivery debacle with my middle kid, that having another child would kill me. (The doctors, I have noticed, are often wrong. So I kind of hid that pregnancy until it was too late for them to do a thing about it...and then kind of sprung it on everyone in my 7th month..."Guess what? I have been taking prenatal vitamins and probably am going to need a ride to the hospital soon!")
So, when they asked when I wanted the epidural, I asked if I could have it the moment I got to the hospital. "Don't you want to experience any of the joy of childbirth?" a daft twit of a nurse asked me.
"Well, I have had two kids naturally. I think I had all the joy I can handle for one lifetime."
Epidural safely in place...I was chatting with the doctor, legs in the stirrups, about another delivery he had done earlier that week. I had tons of research type questions for him. I mean, how often can an author question an actual delivery room doctor?
My sister pointed at the piece of paper charting my contractions, "Uh, she is having one...aren't we supposed to be having a baby here?"
The doc waved a hand at her to shush her. "We'll catch the next one. Anyway, as I was saying..."
So when my son was finally delivered, there are shots of me holding him, huge grin on my face (very unlike the worn and exhausted delivery room shots from my first two kids) like a prize fish for the camera. If you look closely at the shot, just past my bent knee, you can see a bit of umbilical cord...still attached to me. I was chipper as hell that birth. So was he, surprisingly. I thought that the drugs would make him groggy but he was a perky guy.
All in all, for three kids that came out of the same place, they were as individual in their ways of coming into this world as they have been each and every day since.
Any of you ladies out there have a good birth story you want to share? Mother's Day is coming up (the day after my daughter's fifteenth, actually) so for all you moms who went through this and more to bring us into the world...thanks. You guys rock.
For me, I am off to snuggle one of my brood.
Goodnight, and happy writing!!
My older two are four days apart...and two years. The oldest is turning fifteen in a couple days, the middle one thirteen (officially a teenager.)
Which gets any mother thinking about that day, fifteen and thirteen years ago, when they came into this world.
 | ||||
| Me and Princess, 15 yrs ago |
Needless to say, back to the store he went and when he returned with said juice, I chugged the whole gallon. No one had explained thoroughly to me pregnancy hormones so...uh...good times, those.
When I went into labor, I was very determined NOT to do any drugs. I wanted it to be as natural as it was possible to be...I had some seventies bullshit idea that it was going to be beautiful or some crap like that.
It hurt like hell. I asked the nurse at one point if I could cry. "You can do whatever you want, Sweetie." I didn't cry but dammit it hurt like a bitch. They finally said I could push. I discovered, about one push in, that WHILE PUSHING it didn't hurt. It was like some magical internal light switch. Push-no pain. Not pushing-deargodmygutsarebeingrippedout. Uh, I pushed. I pushed really hard. It only took one or two and there was a little kid there. She was sooooo pretty. I can still remember being shocked because I thought she was supposed to be icky or something. I mean, she came from INSIDE me. But she was perfect, looking like someone had taken a baby, dipped it in water and handed it to me...coincidentally at my crotch.
 |
| Me and Deej, 13 yrs ago He is the lump |
He, like her, decided to be two weeks late. Unlike her, the water did not break naturally in the nick of time. They broke it. They then put me on the drip from hell. I call it the drip from hell because it accomplished nothing but pain and no progress. Then they had the firey lotion from hell. This was applied directly to the cervix and immediately dilated me to ten centimeters.
So they said I could push. Dandy. I remembered pushing. Pushing meant the pain would stop, remember?
When I tried to push with him, a feeling like bone crunching fire shot through me. I stopped. That wasn't right.
I told the nice nurses and doctors this. "Uh, it hurts when I push."
"It is supposed to hurt. It is labor."
No one ever listens to the woman on the table.
After awhile of trying to convince them that something was rotten in the state of Denmark (or my hoohah, depending on how specific you want to get with the geography lesson), I gave up.
"I quit. Seriously. The show is not going on without me. You can't make me do it. I quit."
I laid back and refused to give birth. I cried. I moaned. I hollered. I refused to cooperate further.
After an hour of this, the baby was in distress, I was going into cardiac arrest and they decided to check my progress...because even if I 'quit' my body should have been shoving the baby out with its contractions...and it wasn't moving.
Suddenly, it dawned on the docs that the baby was stuck in my pelvis and that was why I was saying it hurt.
No shit, assholes.
So, they toss me up and try to put in an epidural. They couldn't get it in.
When they flip me back onto the table, there is talk of just slashing me open like a ripe fruit to get the baby out without drugs.
I notice something. I can push now. They shifted something in all their tossing me about like a limp bag of clothes.
When I try to tell them THAT, they aren't interested in listening. My mom ends up kind of pinning the doc to the wall and telling him off and I end up delivering my son myself.
When he comes out he does NOT look like he was dipped in water. He is all greyish bluey and covered in muck and goo and my first words upon seeing him are, "What is it?"
A cooing nurse answers, "It is your son."
I looked at her confused. I was pretty sure I broke it.
After they cleaned him up and got some air to him, he looked much better. After thirteen years, I gotta say, he is a very handsome fellow and very undeserving of my initial assessment.
My youngest was the easiest to deliver of the three. They had told me, after the delivery debacle with my middle kid, that having another child would kill me. (The doctors, I have noticed, are often wrong. So I kind of hid that pregnancy until it was too late for them to do a thing about it...and then kind of sprung it on everyone in my 7th month..."Guess what? I have been taking prenatal vitamins and probably am going to need a ride to the hospital soon!")
So, when they asked when I wanted the epidural, I asked if I could have it the moment I got to the hospital. "Don't you want to experience any of the joy of childbirth?" a daft twit of a nurse asked me.
 |
| Me and Derf, 10 and a half years ago (he is the prized fish) |
Epidural safely in place...I was chatting with the doctor, legs in the stirrups, about another delivery he had done earlier that week. I had tons of research type questions for him. I mean, how often can an author question an actual delivery room doctor?
My sister pointed at the piece of paper charting my contractions, "Uh, she is having one...aren't we supposed to be having a baby here?"
The doc waved a hand at her to shush her. "We'll catch the next one. Anyway, as I was saying..."
So when my son was finally delivered, there are shots of me holding him, huge grin on my face (very unlike the worn and exhausted delivery room shots from my first two kids) like a prize fish for the camera. If you look closely at the shot, just past my bent knee, you can see a bit of umbilical cord...still attached to me. I was chipper as hell that birth. So was he, surprisingly. I thought that the drugs would make him groggy but he was a perky guy.
All in all, for three kids that came out of the same place, they were as individual in their ways of coming into this world as they have been each and every day since.
Any of you ladies out there have a good birth story you want to share? Mother's Day is coming up (the day after my daughter's fifteenth, actually) so for all you moms who went through this and more to bring us into the world...thanks. You guys rock.
For me, I am off to snuggle one of my brood.
Goodnight, and happy writing!!
Placeholder
This blog is a placeholder of sorts.
Y'see, if I sit here and write (which I would rather do) I will not get my cramming done.
If I don't get my cramming done, I will fail my finals (which this is the week of...GAH!)
If I fail my finals, they will kick me out of college and I will forever be labeled a big dumb-ie-head.
If I am labeled a big dumb-ie-head, all the cool kids will point and laugh at me.
So, this blog is a placeholder...because I am off studying...and I will be back to amuse you with my wit on Friday. Till then, know I am doing the quadratic equation but I don't know WHY. Also, I am licking rocks and discussing the battle of the bulge. Lots of fun stuff.
So, with love and nails chewed down to the quick I'm off to prove I am not a big dumb-ie-head...or at least that I deserve to keep lurking around the campus for another semester.
Oh, for those of you interested, when I get back to authoring like a good little writer, here is a quick peek at the opening of a book I am working on...
I've made some dumb mistakes in my life...marrying an Elvis impersonator in Vegas, for instance. That shit they tell you about stuff staying in Vegas? Lies. Just sayin.
Thanks to middle son for the word "dumbiehead."
Happy Writing!
Sunday, April 29, 2012
Saturday, Saturday, Saturday!!!
Hopefully when you read that, it kind of echoed like it was supposed to and you heard the announcer voice in your head...yeah...
Anyway, yesterday was a wonderful day full of fun and frolicking through meadows full of flowers and...
*screeeeeech*
Okay, I gotta admit, I have never been a frolic through meadows kind of gal.
I am however THIS kind of gal.
Yes, that is me, firing a gun at a plastic bottle filled with colored water. The bottle I was aiming at was filled with green colored water and exploded in a rain of green water (take that zombie water!) and you may also note my lovely pink nail polish...no reason a gal can't be feminine and kick ass...
So, Saturday we were invited to a friends shooting party. If you don't have friends who have shooting parties, these sort of events are a chance for people who are gun enthusiasts to pull their weapons out of the safety of locked gun cabinets and bring them over for some target practice. We aim at a variety of things from clay pigeons to paper targets to (my personal favorite) the water bottles/pop bottles filled with colored water.
(I rock with rifles. I suck at handguns. My teenage son is great with both. In case of zombie apocalypse, I plan on reloading him as much as possible and just cleaning guns and keeping him armed.)
There were a wide variety of weapons at this shooting party and my son was thrilled to get to try out stuff he hasn't tried out before (this is him trying out an AK74). He is a weapons enthusiast and since he has so far shown the proper respect for what the weapons CAN do and is quiet, patient and moves slowly, I allow those who understand them to teach him more about them to encourage that respect to grow. I'm not scared of people who respect weapons...I'm scared of people who hold guns and DON'T comprehend what they can do with one slip and wave them around like morons.
This weapon was NOT loaded while he was holding it. But it was heavy. Hence his grin. He was afraid to shoot this Maverick 308...he was nervous about the kick.
We got to see some cool pieces of history as well. My favorite was probably the Mauser.
The Mauser, according to Tony, the owner, was a Czech WW2 Mauser that was authentic and he got it from the local grocery store. (If you haven't been to our local grocery store and seen the stuffed bear, you wouldn't understand how one could get a gun there but...yeah...you could.) I held it...it weighs a TON and it still fires. When it fires, it managed to knock him back a little...it kicks.
I researched the Mauser a little online. It turns out that his 8mm Mauser, 24" barrel is a 1937 dated rifle...Czech VZ-24. According to what I can find, it dates one year prior to the Sudeten Crisis.
It really kicks, knocked Tony back a few inches when he fired it and it was LOUD.
Probably because it is loaded with this. I think you could probably take out a zombie with this. Or an elephant. Holy wowza. I do know, for a fact, it can blow a ginormic hole in a two liter bottle of red dyed water. SPLAT.
At the shooting party, I got to eat smoked round roast. It turns out that men are far better cooks than me. Yeah, you are thinking to yourself that the competition there wasn't that great to begin with but they SMOKED the roast over water soaked applewood and it tasted amazing.
After that, I slapped on a little makeup and headed to Tony's sisters house for a spa party.
Yes, guns to spa in one day. That is my kinda Saturday. After some pampering, we talked books. I had a BLAST. I had a glass of hot tea, veggie pizza, some lovely toffee cheeseball with vanilla wafers that just exploded with flavor in your mouth, good company and we were talking books while being pampered.
Aaaaaaaaaaahhh....*sigh*
Then, in a rare event, all of my children were elsewhere for the evening.
What is a gal to do when she is single, sexy, pampered and home alone on a Saturday night?
Edits, of course!
Speaking of which, I need to get back to them.
Hope your weekend was as fun as mine (and a much needed tension breaker after last weeks stress filled chaos and finals week ahead)!!
Remember, you can still enter to win The Love Thieves until tomorrow. If you don't know what I am talking about, check out the blog here.
Until tomorrow, Happy writing!
Anyway, yesterday was a wonderful day full of fun and frolicking through meadows full of flowers and...
*screeeeeech*
Okay, I gotta admit, I have never been a frolic through meadows kind of gal.
I am however THIS kind of gal.
Yes, that is me, firing a gun at a plastic bottle filled with colored water. The bottle I was aiming at was filled with green colored water and exploded in a rain of green water (take that zombie water!) and you may also note my lovely pink nail polish...no reason a gal can't be feminine and kick ass...
So, Saturday we were invited to a friends shooting party. If you don't have friends who have shooting parties, these sort of events are a chance for people who are gun enthusiasts to pull their weapons out of the safety of locked gun cabinets and bring them over for some target practice. We aim at a variety of things from clay pigeons to paper targets to (my personal favorite) the water bottles/pop bottles filled with colored water.(I rock with rifles. I suck at handguns. My teenage son is great with both. In case of zombie apocalypse, I plan on reloading him as much as possible and just cleaning guns and keeping him armed.)
There were a wide variety of weapons at this shooting party and my son was thrilled to get to try out stuff he hasn't tried out before (this is him trying out an AK74). He is a weapons enthusiast and since he has so far shown the proper respect for what the weapons CAN do and is quiet, patient and moves slowly, I allow those who understand them to teach him more about them to encourage that respect to grow. I'm not scared of people who respect weapons...I'm scared of people who hold guns and DON'T comprehend what they can do with one slip and wave them around like morons.
This weapon was NOT loaded while he was holding it. But it was heavy. Hence his grin. He was afraid to shoot this Maverick 308...he was nervous about the kick.
We got to see some cool pieces of history as well. My favorite was probably the Mauser.
The Mauser, according to Tony, the owner, was a Czech WW2 Mauser that was authentic and he got it from the local grocery store. (If you haven't been to our local grocery store and seen the stuffed bear, you wouldn't understand how one could get a gun there but...yeah...you could.) I held it...it weighs a TON and it still fires. When it fires, it managed to knock him back a little...it kicks.I researched the Mauser a little online. It turns out that his 8mm Mauser, 24" barrel is a 1937 dated rifle...Czech VZ-24. According to what I can find, it dates one year prior to the Sudeten Crisis.
It really kicks, knocked Tony back a few inches when he fired it and it was LOUD.
Probably because it is loaded with this. I think you could probably take out a zombie with this. Or an elephant. Holy wowza. I do know, for a fact, it can blow a ginormic hole in a two liter bottle of red dyed water. SPLAT.At the shooting party, I got to eat smoked round roast. It turns out that men are far better cooks than me. Yeah, you are thinking to yourself that the competition there wasn't that great to begin with but they SMOKED the roast over water soaked applewood and it tasted amazing.
After that, I slapped on a little makeup and headed to Tony's sisters house for a spa party.
Yes, guns to spa in one day. That is my kinda Saturday. After some pampering, we talked books. I had a BLAST. I had a glass of hot tea, veggie pizza, some lovely toffee cheeseball with vanilla wafers that just exploded with flavor in your mouth, good company and we were talking books while being pampered.
Aaaaaaaaaaahhh....*sigh*
Then, in a rare event, all of my children were elsewhere for the evening.
What is a gal to do when she is single, sexy, pampered and home alone on a Saturday night?
Edits, of course!
Speaking of which, I need to get back to them.
Hope your weekend was as fun as mine (and a much needed tension breaker after last weeks stress filled chaos and finals week ahead)!!
Remember, you can still enter to win The Love Thieves until tomorrow. If you don't know what I am talking about, check out the blog here.
Until tomorrow, Happy writing!
Friday, April 27, 2012
***Max interview and a GIVEAWAY!!***
Today I have a guest on the blog!!
And it isn’t just anyone. I have to confess—I have a little bit of a crush on Max. Max is the star of Heather Long’s new release, The Love Thieves, available now on Amazon! (click here to get your copy today!)
If you haven’t heard about The Love Thieves, here is the blurb:
Set in Morocco, London and Switzerland, The Love Thieves takes Anya and Max on a powerful journey full of passion and chemistry that sparks on the page from their first dance to their last.
Maxwell Sauvage was born into a life of privilege…and boredom. As a “security consultant” to the powerful, he enjoys pitting his wits against the most intricate of security systems for business and pleasure.
Anya Swift is a woman with high-class tastes and a high-octane need for adventure. As an operative for International Art and Antiquities Recovery she stays just on the ‘right’ side of the law, while satisfying her desire for the finer things and her thirst for adventure.
When a high tech camera catches Anya taking The Fortunate Buddha from the French Ambassador’s vault, Max is eager to help the provocative thief for his own reasons, not the least of which being that he set the camera. But after one stunning night of passion, Anya disappears. Now Max must find Anya before the Ambassador’s men and claim the thief for his own, but they are running against a clock, danger and deception.
So, help me welcome Max…You can applaud if you want to.
Max, I have a few questions for you and thanks for coming. For starters, your method of wooing Anya was rather…untraditional. Tell us a little about that?
What’s untraditional about learning everything you can about a woman so you can woo her properly? My darling Anya is unconventional. I thought it prudent to act accordingly.
Okay, I gotta say, that is kinda sexy…so, how do you fall in love? Is it at first sight? Or perhaps during a rapid-fire series of questions from a dead sexy author? *bats eyelashes*
It began in an airport, sitting in the most dreadfully dull lounge you can imagine. But the setting isn’t important, the woman is…
Trust seems to be an issue for you…or you wouldn’t have made some of the…choices you made with Anya. Do you feel trust is usually an issue for you or are you perhaps inspired to trust by inquisitive authors? *hikes skirt a bit higher…*
Trust is earned over the length of an acquaintance, not the skirt.
Describe yourself to me…slowly.
Why ever for?
Hmm…love it. *fans self* So, uh, describe your ideal relationship. I know my…uh…readers want to know all about that.
Trust and passion are vital to any relationship. The ability to converse on multiple subjects and about anything other than fashion and parties. The fact that she can take a man twice her size and put him down like an animal doesn’t hurt. *amused smile* The things that she can do with her legs…
What are you most afraid of? Is that too personal of a question? *laughs nervously* If it is, you should answer anyway. *stares*
Assumptions. Assumptions lead to bad choices and alienation.
What do you like most about your life right now? Like, if you could change any one thing, what would it be?
That is a difficult question. Life is about the choices we make. Change one -- you could change everything. So if changing anything could cost me the one thing I value most then I choose Anya, bruises, bad choices and all.
Oh, well, I thought for sure your answer would be that you would fly me away to a deserted tropical island so you could serve me frothy frozen beverages…Any chance you will give up on that whole Anya thing and date a super sexy single author? *waggles eyebrows*
Not hardly. But I could introduce you to my cousin…let me give you his number…
Damn. Well, you heard it here first, folks. Sexy, rich as sin, bored and a single-devotion to me…erm, Anya. *sigh* If you want to hear more about Max and Anya, check out The Love Thieves here or to find out more about Heather Long’s sexy heroes…check out her website here.
And Heather is giving away a pdf copy of The Love Thieves to one lucky commenter...just leave your comments in the comments section below to be entered to win. Don't forget to leave your email so we can send you your copy if you win.
Good luck and happy writing!
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