Giving Bloggy Thanks...

Composing a post such as this is difficult for me, as I fear hurting the folks I don't mention (especially since I'm so very grateful for ALL of my bloggy-blog pals' support). But as the American Thanksgiving holiday draws near, I want to give thanks to some peeps whose above-and-beyond-the-call-of-duty efforts on my behalf have both honored and humbled me this year, as I self-published my first book:

Allyson Lindt,
you so generously shared with me LOADS of publishing info.

Yolanda Renée,
your encouraging words have warmed my heart, again and again.

Melissa Bradley, Samantha Redstreake Geary, Emma Yardis,
you seem tireless in your efforts to promote me and my work.

Sofia Grey, Mina Burrows, Elise Fallson, Rocky Hatley, Trisha Farnan, Damyanti G., Alisa Anderson, Ari Michaels, Christine Rains, Danielle Bertrand, Heather Gardner, Jackie Felger, Jessica Topper, Juliette Smith, Penelope Crowe, Shannon Lawrence, Tina Downey, and Tonja Matney, you, and nearly all the gals listed before you, welcomed my cover reveal to your blogs and helped me get the word out about my book.

And many of the chicks already mentioned have said such kind, thoughtful things about That Fatal Kiss, that I'm almost speechless. So, given that a picture's said to be worth a thousand words...

And virtual white roses. But mostly thanks.

My Seven Deadly Sins...

Being that I'm a Goth Mom (Lite), you might imagine me to be full of the swirling darkness that compels a soul to all sorts of depravity. If so, you'd be correct; in my heart, I harbor countless sins, yearning to break free. Dani of Entertaining Interests wants me to confess seven of them. (Well, strictly speaking, this meme seems to demand seven specific sins per each Deadly Sin which, if my mathematical skills—such as they are—serve me, makes for 49 sins. But as you may have already heard, I'm lazy as...well, sin. So you'll get one per category and like it, soldier.)

Pride
I've been told (by two different people) that I'm the possessor of a "smoldering sexuality" and "swagger." So, *W00F* is me.

Envy
I envy the hell outta chicks with preternaturally speedy metabolisms who can consume mass quantities of pizza, beer, and ice cream and never gain an ounce in the wrong place(s). Damn their svelte hides.

Wrath
Oh, where to begin, where to begin?! Lord, if it's not grammatical errors getting my goat, it's folks who saunter three or four-abreast on the sidewalk and don't get the fuck out of my way when I'm running late for work!!!!!!!!!!

*Ahem.* Where was I? Oh, yes; I was being sinful.

Sloth
Ha. Ha ha ha. Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha...

Greed
Right now, my hot little hands want to wrap around the entire Brighton catalog.

Gluttony
I'd consume mass quantities of pizza, beer, and Häagen-Dazs Rocky Road ice cream if I had a preternaturally speedy metabolism. (The problem is, I've consumed these things without one.)

Lust
Well, similar to Greed, parts of me ache to wrap around something, only it's not my hands, nor do they long to go around jewelry. I feel I'd be at it like the proverbial rabbit if I had a partner who was ready, willing, and able to accommodate me. Say, it's gotten a bit hot in here, hasn't it? ::fans self::

And that's about as self-revealing as I'm prepared to be (while sober). (Which I am.) (Alas.)

OK, so I reckon I should tag seven other bloggers, perhaps some new-ish friends I've made, so I can become better acquainted with their dark sides. To that end, I tag (in alpha order, by first name or initials):

Beverly Fox

DRC

Mac Perry

Melissa Maygrove

Nana Prah

Narrator

Vanessa Morgan

OK, folks, your mission is clear: spill it.

After all, confession is good for the soul...

So Much Win!

Hear ye, hear ye!

The Resurrection Blogfest II participants who won the drawing* for $20 Amazon Gift Cards are:

Carrie-Anne's Magick Theatre
Ashley Nixon
Debbie Christiana - Curious Tales of Love, Magic and Mystery

Congratulations, Peeps! Please contact me at aoorooo (at) gmail (dot) com and let me know to which e-mail addresses y'all want y'alls gift cards sent.

*     *     *

But youse ain't the only winners in the house, yo. Since I quit smoking in August, I've saved up quite a bit of coin. That is, I saved only long enough to treat myself, bit by bit, to keep myself on the non-smoking wagon. Here's the loot I've scored with the monies saved by not smoking:

Acer Chromebook

A slew of stuffs from Brighton Collectibles

Andie Soft Shoulderbag

Apollo Key Fob

Intrigue Reversible Necklace

And finally, a new "mini-makeup bag" and "wallet" for my new handbag!

Coin Purse & All in One Crossbody in Canterberry Magenta

Now, before I hear the gnashing of teeth and cries of envy, I need to point out that these came to me after much suffering in the name of being smoke-free. Also, I'd rather be up close and personal with the man of my dreams, but since these are all I can cuddle up to, I shall. Cuddle up to them, that is. Anyway, yay me, for staying strong. Fingers crossed I can maintain my abstinence from cigarettes for the long haul.

*The drawing for the three $20 Amazon Gift Cards was conducted via Random.org.

Memento mori...

Click here for more on
Resurrection Blogfest II.

A memento is a remembrance, or a reminder, of something. I'm using it in two senses for this post, the first: a reminder to all that my Resurrection Blogfest II is this week, on November 7. Folks who've already signed up, make sure you've got the badge up on your sideboards—if you don't, you're not eligible for the random drawing/an Amazon gift card. For a refresher of the hop's rules, and for those who've not yet signed up, but would like to, click here.

Mori is Latin for "die" or "death." Thus a memento mori is an admonition that death comes for one and all. This is the second reminder, one which hit me, hard, when I went to snap the pic for the badge.

On a day off, I betook myself to a rather largish cemetery in Manhattan. It occupies at least two whole city blocks, with Broadway cutting through the middle. Banners hung in several places, proclaiming it an "active" cemetery, which made me second guess my decision to go in and snap piccies of headstones. Or at least wish I'd brought a machete with me, or somethin'.

Anyway, a tall stone wall surrounds the place, so unless you've been there before, you've no idea what you'll find once within. The neighborhood was absurdly quiet. As I approached the open gate, with maybe 45 minutes to spare before the place closed up shop for the day, I felt my first serious misgivings. It was a beautiful, sunny day. I could see the Hudson River from where I strolled. But I was about to enter a city of the dead and, even though I had a clear purpose, I suddenly questioned what the hell I was doing there.

I went in, nonetheless. Another internal stone wall blocked the view as I made my way up the circular drive. All was silent but for birdsong, and then I turned the corner. Gently rolling hills and leafy trees met my eyes, several railed stairways led to points up and down, and tombstones, statues of mourning angels, and mausoleums dotted the lush green grasses. I paused to turn 'round, take it all in. My omnipresent tinnitus seemed to ring louder in my ears than even at bedtime. Every atom in my body seemed to riot, screaming at me to get the fuck out of there, what was I, crazy???

But I needed a blogfest badge, and I'd trekked all the way the hell over there so, damn it, I wasn't about to leave without some pictures. Almost panting from the heebie-jeebies, I decided to head past some of the mausoleums, which were up a slope, and remember feeling grateful for the blacktop pathway. Didn't want to tread on the grass and inadvertently disrespect another's remains. And then I felt as though I did that anyway, just by virtue of being alive, in this sacred place, on this gorgeous pseudo-summery fall day. I took breath, I moved my legs and swung my arms, surely that in itself was an affront to those made dust by time. I began to fancy that if a horde of those yet undusty were to arise to expel me from their home, I wouldn't blame them. Sure, I'd screech myself into a stupor, but I wouldn't blame them.

That symbol is IHS,
a Greek abbreviation of Jesus.

I got some pics of the mausoleums, told myself that the air I sucked in through my nose did not smell strange at all, why should it? Then I backtracked till I was closer to the entrance. I checked my phone compulsively for the time, wondering if groundskeepers typically cruised through the joint to check for (living) folks before closing up the main gate. I finally ran into someone, a handsome young security guard, who told me I should've signed in when I first arrived. I checked my phone, saw it was 20 minutes till closing, and was about to argue the point but then shrugged and followed him down a hill and into an office building. It occurred to me that this was exactly how a horror movie might begin, with an unsuspecting idiot following any old dude in a uniform into the "office," only to get dunked into a tub of embalming fluid. I signed the guest book, allowed him to lead me back out, and finally decided to get the hell out of dodge, as my poor beleaguered nerves really could take no more.

I hiked up a long-ass flight of steps and then scurried along the winding drive, the security guard not far behind me, until I exited via the main gate. Within moments, I heard it clang shut behind me as the young man locked up for the day. My heart racing, I made for the nearest bus stop and waited, wishing desperately that I'd chosen some other point in my life to have quit smoking.

That visit yielded me an acceptable image for my blogfest badge, but left me in a rather shell-shocked state. I boarded the M5 and cruised down the Upper West Side, music blaring in my headphones and thoughts racing through my mind. One thought beat out all the rest and settled deeply into my being, and it was this: ultimately, we don't really know what there is at the end. All we can know, and all we can truly ever have, however fleeting, is a spark of love. Given to us, perhaps, by some divine being, we shelter its easily doused light for a brief time, then pass it on to another. You give it to a lover, your flesh and blood, or to a stranger who gets in your way but you let by, rather than knocking past him with an elbow to his kidney. All we can ever truly have is that love, and we don't have it for long. It seems the only thing we can do, really, is be warmed by it and then warm others with it, while we can.

"Conjured" for Spooktoberfest!

Right, so; here's my entry for fellow blogging buddies/writers Dani and Jackie's boogety-boo blog hop...
Spooktoberfest!

Participants were challenged to compose flash fiction between 300-500 words which:

1. had to be set in the location depicted in one of the four pictures provided; and
2. had to use three out of six words listed (the three I used are in purple).

To see all the pics, possible word choices, and check out links to other participants' entries, click here or there.

This is the pic.

October was a busy month of work travel for me and though I'd decided on the pic, no story emerged in my mind. Then just this past weekend, as I settled in for the night at the B&B I stayed at while visiting my Kid for Family Weekend at his college, one of the other images demanded my attention. A weird and, frankly, rather disturbing story unfolded in rhyme, much darker than is my wont...I think. It turned out to be the sequel to my first Spooktoberfest entry, though it's told from a different point of view and it's nowhere near as lighthearted. Anyway, er...hope you enjoy?





Conjured by Mina Lobo
(300 words)

I'm the wretch that lurks at the bottom of the stairs
with the long, sharp beak and the coarse dark hairs,
whom you summoned to your home in the middle of the night,
whom you called when quite alone; now I have you in my sights.

You thought yourself so lonely and you felt yourself to ache
for some pleasures yet unknown, thus this action you did take:
you dug out that old spellbook that you'd hidden long ago,
when your last attempt went sour; yes, you stashed it down below

In the basement of your duplex, just behind your ancient dryer.
(You'd have been better off if you'd tossed it in the fire.)
Skimming quickly through its pages, soon you saw the thing you craved,
little knowing it was you who would find herself enslaved.

As others' children left to go begging for some sweets,
you sought to entertain yourself with one especial treat.
You went into your room and bubbled up a potion,
then mixed it with some cream to concoct this haunting lotion.

The scent so arousing, the sentiment inspired,
by all your burning hopes, and your dreams, and desires.
And with the aid of beings you believed safe to enlist,
you crafted what a thing like me can't possibly resist.

It called me from the deep, and up your dirty steps,
I wake you from your sleep, your eyes go wide and next,
your throat prepares a scream; I keep it from this task
by covering your lips and sliding off my mask.

You moan as though it's tragic that what appeared is me,
well knowing that your magic is what caused this beast to be.
I lean into your body and whisper what I'll do,
then on your moonlit bedding, I lay right into you.

A Two-fer: A Writerly Type Blog Hop & A Review

One of my good bloggy friends, Allyson Lindt, tagged me in a hop AND I've just finished reading her most recent contemporary romance, so for today's post I'm offering a two-fer-the-price-of-one. (Not that I'm charging y'all to read this, or anything, but you know what I mean...) So first, let's go to—

The Hop!

For this writerly-type hop, authors who've been tagged answer a buncha questions, then tag 3 of their fellow writers to do the same. (There's always a catch.) The questions are as follows:

What are you working on right now?
'Cause I'm pressed for time (and lazy), I'm gonna rip off the answer I gave in an interview I did earlier this month, with one of the gals I'm tagging for this Hop:

A mini-anthology of three short stories, as I want to show my more “modern voice.” In terms of fiction, my readers will have come to know the “Homer meets Jane Austen” voice I used in That Fatal Kiss, so I want folks to know I’m not a one-trick pony. Two of the shorts are paranormal/supernatural stories set in the present, and the third tale will follow Hades and Persephone as they settle into married life (with all the horrors that entails).

How does it differ from other works in its genre?
Well, I claim to be an author of "dark and whimsical romance." While there's plenty of paranormal stuff out there, even funny paranormal (MaryJanice Davidson & Katie MacAlister are two of my fave writers), my particular brand of whimsy has an especially sophisticated edge to it. I like to think so, anyway. (Be a lamb and don't shatter my delusions, if you disagree.) (Better still, don't disagree; it's not nice to contradict a Goth Mom.)

Why do you write what you do?
Oh, why the hell not? J/K. In her answer to this question, Allyson said she writes about what she wants to read: characters "living" in her world. I write about the world in which I'd like to live: one filled with magic. Also, I'm getting a little tired of the preponderance of nubile virgin chicks in the 21st century of romance fiction. C'mon, folks—in the 21st century??!?!!?! I want to read about middle-aged gals, like me, who've been around the block a few times, stalled, and eventually got their motors running again. (I'm hoping that last bit comes to pass for me sooner, rather than later.)

How does your writing process work?
When it's working, with lots of coffee. Formerly, with cigarettes, too, but I've been off them for a little over two months now. (Yay, me!) Uh...I like to write at night, possibly because when The Kid was little, that's the only time I had to write. I usually write a first draft long-hand, then typing it out becomes the second draft, though I've also written first drafts on my laptop (which I find both exhilarating and terrifying).

Writerly-friends, I tag YOU:

Samantha Redstreake Geary

Yolanda Renée

Priscilla Shay

And now...

THE REVIEW!

TOEING THE LINE is #2 in Allyson's Bits & Bytes series (though actually, a prequel makes this the 3rd book, technically). Here's the gist of it:

Zane’s time in the Air Force doing electronic surveillance has taught him a thing or two about keeping secrets. But when his best friend, Riley, finds out what he’s kept from her, their “friends with benefits” relationship won’t be what threatens their growing feelings for each other.

Riley tends to fall hard and fast for the guys she dates, and it never ends with the wedding bells she expects. Tired of the heartbreak and unsure if she even knows what love is, she swears off unreliable things like dating and trying to find that elusive happily-ever-after spark. Focusing on her art seems like the perfect distraction, except she’s missing the physical side of being half a couple. Fortunately, her best friend, Zane, is happy to model for her drawings and tie her up in the bedroom, with no expectations. Just fun.

Zane’s granddad raised him with the belief that people who bring joy to the world should be protected at all costs. For Zane, his best friend Riley is one of those people, and he definitely doesn’t mind when making her happy involves helping her pursue her creative dream and some sport sex with a hint of kink. They can have fun, and he can keep her from falling for the next idiot who comes along while she searches for her Prince Charming.

Regardless of her resolution, as things heat up between them Riley finds herself falling again. She needs to decide if she’s in love with the idea of being in love, or if—despite Zane’s insistence that she deserves someone better—what she feels for him is the real thing. If she can’t learn to trust her heart and convince Zane he’s exactly what she needs, it will obliterate a lifelong friendship.

The idea of "no-strings-sex" seems a recurring theme in this series. Interestingly, apart from book 1, the couples involved already know each other, they've already got a history. With history, there are, naturally enough, feelings, which tend to make "no-strings-sex" tricky to pull off. On the other hand, when the sex is as hot as Zane and Riley's, I can understand being reluctant to leave off having it. The book starts off hard and fast with some spicy remote-sex, and develops into lightly-kinky real-life sex not too far down the storyline.

In this work of fiction, Allyson explores a truth that always amazes me: how people so intimately involved with one another physically can be completely clueless about one another's emotions (and sometimes, about their own). I can truly empathize with Riley's confusion as to whether what she feels for a man is actually love, or if she's just so lonely that she projects feelings which aren't real. (I really, truly can.) Toward the end of the tale, Riley does seem to have come to a resolution on this matter, which isn't altogether clear to me—I'd have liked to have seen what brought her to the point of action which broke through the impasse her relationship with Zane'd hit. But her choice didn't surprise, as every thought of hers (and Zane's—love the name, BTW) led up to this very moment.

TOEING THE LINE is a fun, quick, steamy read set in a modern world that fans of shows like The Big Bang Theory may really get into. I look forward to more of Allyson Lindt's hip love stories...and as it happens, her newest contemporary romance novella, Unconventional Fling, is available TODAY!

Click here to read Chapter 1 for FREE!

Excuses, excuses...

Y'all, I had great plans for this week's blog post, but they've thus far come to naught. I won't bore you with a litany of excuses as to why ('cause I hate that shizz when other folks do it). The week got away from me and that's that. Forgive.

I'm currently in Chicago for a day-job thing. Part 1's been sorted, Part Deux takes place tonight, and then I'm off to Saint Paul, MN on Tuesday. Flying exhausts me, and the Xanax I take so as to NOT flip out on the plane exhausts me more, despite the copious quantities of caffeine I consume when I'm back on terra firma. I'd thought I might be able to compose the blog post in my hotel room Sunday night, but alas, no. It's just too much for me right now.

I go off to bed, wrapped up in self-loathing for my failure to produce*, and leave you with some pics of one of the towers in Millennium Park's Crown Fountain (as well as a teaser for an upcoming blog post).

And the teaser...

*I'm mostly kidding about the self-loathing. Mostly.