VISITING DIGNITARY -- RACHEL CAINE

GUYS, I WANT YOU TO WELCOME NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR RACHEL CAINE, a wonderful author and dear friend, whose Revivalist, Weather Warden books and Morganville Vampire Series are great MUST read books.    SHE SO ROCKS.  Trust me on this.

(APPLAUSE)
*******************************************

THE GAME OF CONCENTRATION

Two weeks ago, I was happily immersed in deadlines. I know that sounds contradictory, right? Deadlines are HELL, ask any working writer ... they eat our time and warp our lives around them like black holes. You can almost hear us complaining as we disappear over the event horizon: DAMN YOUUUUUUU DEEEEEAAAAADDDDLLLLLLLIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNN ... but we never get to the last "E" because of the time distortion.

Anyway.

Happily immersed in deadlines. I finished edits on the second Revivalist novel, TWO WEEKS' NOTICE; I also did proof check on BLACK DAWN, the 12th Morganville Vampires novel coming out in May 2012. And then on February 1, I popped my head up out of my little foxhole, thinking I would take a short breather before diving into the next book, due Very Soon Indeed. I was looking forward to some rest and relaxation.

And the pile-on began.

Like, home repair. Some of you may remember my Great Squirrel Invasion of Ought Six, where squirrels chewed through my giant-sized, multi-level roof and set up their own playgrounds, parks, and condominiums, and were evicted only with great effort. Well, this turns out to be Invasion 2: Bigger and Better! Because this time, they brought their friends: Birds. Rats. Raccoons. Oh, and sappers, because we had possums and armadillos digging under our foundation, too.

This is what happens when you have four or five books a year, plus travel: you really don't do those property walk-arounds like you should to make sure everything's cool with the trim and roof and foundation. Nah, you say to yourself, it's fine, and I have another deadline, so it'll wait.

Indeed. UNTIL IT DOESN'T. Which is now, for me. As I write this, there is yelling, hammering, singing, loud music, sawing, and a very nice repairman looking in my window and waving as he replaces rotted soffit under the eaves of my house.

And yes, I've been writing while this is going on. It will go on another full week, after which we will have another set of contractors coming to fix even more issues. Deadlines don't stop coming for these things.

I laugh a little bit when I hear would-be writers say they can't write unless conditions are completely right, because this is how life is, at least for most writers I know ... a continuous parade of distractions that attempt to keep them from doing the work. We're especially vulnerable to it because we're working "at home" generally -- a condition that leads to family interruptions, soliciting phone calls, deliveries, friends dropping in, and a thousand other reasons not to write. It's dead easy to find a convenient distraction ... my construction example is extreme, but the fact is that you can make your own distractions even if none exist. Tile to be grouted. Something you just HAVE to watch on TV. Etc.

But as a writer, the job is to somehow ignore your way through all of that and come out the other side, with words. Good words. 

Excuse me for a sec ...

Back now. My construction guy rapped on the window and asked me if I was a writer or something. I said I was. He wanted to chat about how he'd always wanted to be a writer but never found the time. I told him you never find the time, because time isn't just laying around ... you cut the time out of your schedule, every day. Then I apologized, put my headphones on, and sat back down to finish this blog.

Concentration, see?

I haven't done really well on my concentration these two weeks. My immediate family had, in no particular order, construction, a fire, a flooded apartment, doctor appointments, hair appointments, hospital visits, surgery consultations, surgery, refinancing of the house, another surgery, dental appointments, meetings with producers, and a reptile show. 

And a near miss with death.

On Friday a few days ago I was heading home after a day of running errands, sitting at a major stoplight, when a giant crane truck bulled through the intersection at right angles to me, crane raised, and took out light poles, traffic lights, and about a ton of high-voltage wires. Transformers exploded like bombs. In the chaos, something hit my car, and at first I thought it was the light pole ... but no, it was LIVE HIGH VOLTAGE WIRES, draped over the roof and across the driver's side and passenger doors. 

And my very first thoughts were, (a) wow, I can use this in a book! then (b) dammit, if I die now, I'll never get to finish writing BITTER BLOOD. Okay, my third thought was (c) how do I get out of here? ... but it was definitely third in line.

After 20 minutes on the phone with 911 (I suspect they thought I try to grab a live wire), the Arlington Fire Department pushed the cables off my car, and I was finally able to escape my brush with doom. While sitting there, I saw one of the most interesting, yet appalling, demonstrations of concentration I've ever seen ... a BMX bike rider raced down the street and effortlessly jumped through the obstacle course of all of the hissing, sparking downed wires. Never even slowed down.

Now THAT'S concentration. I think it was a great visual example of what we all have to do as writers: avoid those potentially lethal distractions that could ground us.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to concentrate. Noise-cancelling headphones full power!

-- Rachel Caine

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!!!

Happy Valentine's Day folks.  This is one of those holidays people either love or hate.  I do not have a Valentine this year, so I am looking forward to chocolates being on sale tomorrow rather more.  LOL.

HOWEVER, in honor of the holiday (and in hopes that your love life is moving along more swimmingly than my own) we are having something special going on at the forums.  (Forums?  You have FORUMS?  When did this happen?!!!) (Yes, we have forums.  Go forth and foray.  There will be a link at the bottom of this post.)

There are two surveys up and one winner will be chosen from the replies to each.  Prize is an autographed book and a RomCom DVD.

#1 - Who should Celia end up with?

#2 - Who is your favorite Sazi of all time?

Again, foray into the forums forthwith!

http://www.coffeetimeromance.com/board/forumdisplay.php?f=1054

VALENTINE'S DAY SPECIAL TOMORROW

Tomorrow, in honor of Valentine's Day we'll be doing some fun stuff at the forums.  ("Forums?  You have forums?" Why YES we do.  And in the morning I will post a link and further information.  STAY TUNED!

Cie

Sunday Morning Breakfast Serial - Who in the @#$*& is Boone Carter?

Who in the @#$^ is Boone Carter?
Chapter Whatever


It took a few phone calls to find them.  They were registered at the Hyatt.  No surprise.  Jacob (and I had a sinking feeling it really was Jacob) likes to go in style.  He justifies it by saying that a cheap hotel is the fastest way to scare of a high dollar mark.  And yes, he does call them marks.  Just not to their face, of course.

My stomach was roiling as I picked up my keys and headed down to the truck.  I needed to go see for myself. . . needed to be sure.  But I didn't want to. 

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

The word kept running through my mind like an obscene mantra.  My past, the past I'd run so far and fast from, looked to finally have caught up with me. 

I shook myself.  "Stop it Carter.  Stop now.  You're not a fifteen year old kid any more.  You're a man.  If it's Jacob, you'll deal with it, and him."  It was true.  I'd grown up in the years since I'd left, and not just physically.  Still, I couldn't help but remember that last night.

It had been cold.  Damned cold.  Cold enough that the hairs in your nose froze when you took a breath.  I was supposed to be in bed, but I couldn't sleep.  Sara, the love of my life, was in labor.  Not my baby.  Nope.  I wasn't old enough to be given a wife, and she was too pretty for them to leave her alone until I was.   Never mind that it was what we both wanted.  It was irrelevant.  The only people whose wants were important were Abe and his oldest son, Jacob.  So she was the youngest wife of Abraham himself.   It was supposed to be a big f'ing honor.  I know she wasn't honored, and I had spent the last year avoiding my 'spiritual leader' so that I didn't do or say something that would earn me an even worse beating than the last one.

A scream tore through the night, and through my soul.  Yeah, women in labor scream.  It happens.  But this . . . this was Sara, and it was wrong, worse somehow.  Casting a furtive glance to make sure none of the men on guard could see me I crept up to the window.  Using my sleeve I wiped a clear spot on the part of the glass that wasn't iced over. 

Sara was on the bed, her eyes closed.  There was blood.  So much blood.  Something was wrong.  I heard my mother whispering urgently to Jacob's mother, Miriam.  "She needs a hospital.  We're going to lose them both."

"You know better than that.  She's underage.  No hospital."

"Talk to him.  You have to at least try.  She'll die."

Miriam shook her head, her lips compressed tightly.  Looking at her I saw . . . something in her expression.  Grim satisfaction.  Sara was lovely, and young, and had been a favorite of Abraham.  The older woman might not kill her outright, but she'd be glad to see her dead, glad not to have to share her husband with a smart-mouthed slip of a girl.

My mother saw it too.  Her eyes blazed in anger.  Fast as a snake her hand shot up.  She slapped Miriam hard enough to send her stumbling into the wall. 

"Bitch."  Abraham's wife had a bright red handprint on one side of her face and blood at the corner of her mouth.  "You'll pay for that."  She stomped out of the room, slamming the door shut behind her.  Even from where I stood I could hear the bolt shoot home.

My mother wasted no time.  She scrambled over to the window, unlocked it and pulled it open.  "Come, quickly.  We don't have much time."

Saturday Evening Post/From Thursday On

Okay, it's Thursday.  But I'm going to schedule this for Saturday, and will edit it UNTIL Saturday, so that the previous Visiting Dignitary blog has time to stew and get comments.  Although, honestly, I think it probably has as many as it's going to get.

Today is the first day of my vacation.  Yes, a real vacation.  No travel.  No conference.  No nuthin.  I'm resting folks.  I've been stressed out of my mind for a while now (to the point where I was having muscle twitches in my left eye -- made me look like I was winking at strangers.  Uh, SO no.).  So I'm off until Tuesday and trying to relax.  Yeah, I'm doing stuff.  But in spurts.

Like today I've actually accomplished a bunch.  But I don't feel bad about it.  In no particular order:

1)  Got the mower fixed. (Shout out to Keith's Ace Hardware for a job well done).
2)  Got the front yard mowed.  (Back needs weed whacked first since it's almost hip deep.)
3)  Did 2 interviews/blogs.
4)  Found out from a friend where she gets her bags.  Went online there and found the bags I want to order for The Intergalactic Bar and Grille. (and was treated to punch and birthday cake in the process).
5) Cleaned out the litter boxes.
6) Answered the questions on the Visiting Dignitary Blog
7) Tweeted and Facebooked. 
8) Prayed. 
9) Scheduled Visiting Dignitary interviews and sent out questions.

And now I'm done.  Pooped.  Ready to recreate in some VERY sedentary way. 

Toodles.

A Confession

Okay guys, I'm about to confess something.

I'm getting old. 

Or maybe stodgy. 

Or both.

But I am not hugely comfortable with x rated writing.  I'm NOT talking about romance, or the average sex scene.  Sex is a part of life.  None of us would be here without it.  What people want to do in the privacy of their own bedrooms (or on the kitchen table, shower, floor, or washing machine with the drapes drawn) is none of my business.  No, what makes me uncomfortable is the very detailed and very sensual, multi partner, multi-creature, whatever.   I'm okay with consenting adults doing what they want and have negotiated between them.  But I don't want to read about it.

So sue me.

I don't care how brilliantly you write (in fact, the more brilliant you are the more uncomfortable I'll get -- consider it a compliment if you will).  It's not my bag. 

LOTS AND LOTS AND LOTS of people love that sort of thing.  I am happy for them.  They are not me.  So while I have friends and acquaintances who write brilliant erotica, I don't read it.  Love them.  Wish them good things.  But their work is not going to be on my bookshelves.

There are people who think that to be wildly successful you have to be seriously erotic, that it's what the audience wants.  It's what part of the audience wants.  But I think there are plenty of folks out there who skip past the sex scenes to get back to the plot.  I could be wrong.  But I don't think I am.

I am not meaning to be judgmental.  There are other things I don't read too.  Frankly a lot of "literature" bores me out of my mind.  I am the girl that, when forced in high school to write a report on something written by Nathaniel Hawthorne (because the modern book I wrote my first report on was considered too "easy" by my teacher,) I read 4 (yep) 4 Nathaniel Hawthorne books because I couldn't find one I didn't loathe.  I wound up writing a report on The Scarlet Letter because I ran out of time and it was the one I hated least.  I still remember clearly not being able to FIND the first chapter in one of the books because the prologue was so long.  One (possibly the same, I've blocked the traumatic memory from my mind) went on for four or six pages about the fabric (green velvet) in the drapes in the room, so that I had to page back and find out what the character had walked into the room FOR.  It was an exercise in frustration which I don't care to repeat.

Everybody gets to have their own personal preferences.  If we all were exactly alike the world wouldn't run right, and would be a very boring place indeed.  I am religious.  But I don't think that's the issue.  It's a matter of taste.  I like broccoli, I detest spinach.  That sort of thing. 

I do hope that this is not going to lead to a lot of hostility.  But I figured I'd be up front about this.

Have a wonderful day.

Cie

VISITING DIGNITARY/C.T. ADAMS

Hi Guys!  It's me.

Yep.  Me.  I am going to open the comments up for questions from the audience, but until then, I figure I'd give ya'll a little more of a glimpse into this side of the partnership.  So at the risk of sounding schizoid/all MPD, here we go.

When did you know you wanted to be a writer?

I've wanted to write since I first learned to read.  In fact, until my water heater went out last year and flooded out the garage I still had files with things I'd written back to grade school.  They were hideous of course.  But the drive was there.

Who are some of  your favorite authors?

There are too many to count, really.  And it really depends on my mood.  Sometimes I will be looking for humor, or a good mystery, or a thriller, or an urban fantasy.  Whichever I want will determine my favorite of the moment.  Still, I can always count on Jim Butcher, Dick Francis, Robert B. Parker, Rachel Caine, Dorothy Parker, Agatha Christie, Charlaine Harris, Shannon Butcher, Janet Evanovich.  I re-read my early Laurell K. Hamilton books frequently and am still amazed at her creativity and skill as a writer.  The worldbuilding is absolutely amazing, and it set the stage for an entirely new genre.  How cool is that?!

Which of the books you've worked on was the hardest?

The hardest was Howling Moon of the Sazi.  It was originally the first book, but it didn't get published first, and we kept dropping hints in other books that led back to it.  But that meant that when it finally DID get re-written (to accommodate all of those changes) the time line was INSANE.  We had a chart with where some of the main characters of the Sazi series were at any given time in 15 minute increments to make sure nobody was in two places, and that we weren't asking them to do the impossible.  UGH.

Which was the easiest?

Every once in a while you'll get a book that just races through your brain and out your fingers.  Touch of Madness (in the Kate Reilly/Thrall series) was like that.  MAGIC.

You haven't been to a lot of signings or conferences the past couple of years.  Why?

Real life has been a little intense the past two years.  Not bad, but definitely busy.  Also, Cathy and I both have a day job -- in the SAME OFFICE.  So it isn't always feasible for us to both be off at the same time.  BUT THE GOOD NEWS IS we have a couple of signing events coming up shortly and each of us will be going to a couple of conferences this year.  So there's a good chance of you seeing either or both of us soon.  Keep an eye out, check the Newsletter and the website for details.

Do you listen to music when you write?

Sometimes.  But more often I run into something that inspires me, then write after in silence.  Sometimes there will be a song that just GETS to me and shows me an insight to a specific character, or opens up inspiration on a whole new world.  Avril Lavigne's "I'm With You" (written by

Christy, Lauren; Spock, Scott; Edwards, Graham; Lavigne, Avril Ramona) inspired a YA series that I'm preparing a proposal on, but current responsibilities have kept me from actually being able to write the silly thing all the way through.  There was an Evanescence song that captured Celia's sense of loss at Vicki's death perfectly for me, and another, "Because of You" by Kelly Clarkson that really hit me as to the damage done to her children by Lana Graves' alcoholism. 

Do you have a favorite character?  Who would you want to be stuck on a desert island with?

I have lots and lots of favorites.  Don't make me choose!

What bit of advice would you give prospective authors?

Work hard.  Work consistently.  Keep working when you're tired and think there's no chance.  Know that there will be golden moments, and leaden moments, but that it's all part of the process.  You may not succeed if you try, but you will DEFINITELY fail if you don't.  So try.  And keep trying. 

Okay -- now everybody else ask your questions.  Since it's Wednesday, and I'm at the day job, you'll have to wait until after 5:00 for your answers, but I WILL answer.  And one lucky winner will get an autographed copy of both Howling Moon (because it was mentioned above as the hardest) and Touch of Madness (because it was mentioned above as the easiest).

Cie

Sunday Morning Breakfast Serial/Boone Carter

Who in the Hell is Boone Carter?

There were no marks on the truck when I walked up to it.  Apparently Trey had made it the few blocks from the apartment to the job site without incident.   Oh happy days.  I was climbing into the cab when Joe stopped yelling at the delivery truck driver and started heading my way, but Darlene's shout from the top step of the trailer stopped him halfway across the yard.  He gave me a hard glare, I gave him a cheery wave in response.  Petty?  Childish?  Hell yeah.  But it put a smile on my face even bigger than the healthy stack of Benjamins in my pocket.

I drove back to the apartment.  I wanted to put most of the money away.  One of the fastest ways to blow through cash is to keep it in your pocket.  It's just too easy to see something you've been wanting and think "what the hell."  Whereas, if you have to go home and get the money, or get it out of the bank, you may think twice about whether or not you really want it that bad.  Trey says I'm tightfisted.  Sometimes.  But when you've actually gone hungry you like having a bit of a safety net.

I parked the truck in my usual spot on the corner, next to the big old flowerbed filled with roses.  I ducked automatically when I walked past the front of the truck.  Mrs. Cunningham installed the security light a little low on the fence and I have to be careful not to bean myself on the noggin when I go past it.   Since she's about four foot nothing, even standing on her little four-step stool she couldn't reach high enough to keep it out of my way.  I would've put it up for her, but she didn't ask.   And hey, other than it being a little low, she did a great job.  The thing works like a champ too.  Lights up the whole yard bright as day. 

As I unlocked the front door I heard her querulous voice raised loud enough to be heard over the blaring television.  "Mr. Carter?  Is that you?  What're you doing home this time of day?  You didn't go and get yourself fired from that job did you?"  She didn't come to the door, didn't need to.  She had the old parlor door that was now the door to her living room wide open.  I could see her perched on the edge of her old floral couch sucking on a cigarette as she watched "The Price is Right."

"No ma'am.  Boss just has me working a special project today.  I needed to get something from the house."

"All right then.  You just make sure you don't lose that job.  I expect my rent money first of the month.  No excuses!"

"No ma'am."  I agreed.  I've never been late with the rent, never made any excuses.  But it didn't matter.  Someone, some time, had, and everyone since has had to pay for it.  I walked pass the open door up the stairs and let myself into the apartment.  Closing and locking the door behind me I went into my bedroom. 

It was the work of a moment to pull a phillips screwdriver from the drawer of the battered nightstand next to the bed I used it to take off the ornate metal grill of the heat vent from the old furnace.  There, hidden right where I left it, was one of those small fire and waterproof cash boxes I'd picked up at the office supply store.  Not the best hiding place in the world, but better than nothing.  And I'd both screwed and glued it down, so a thief would have to work at getting it loose.  I didn't think that Trey knew about the safe.  We have a standing agreement about not going into each other's bedrooms.  Still, I'm careful.  I trust him, don't think he'd steal from me.  But why tempt him?

The box opened easily with a turn of the right key from the ring in my pocket.  There was already a fair amount of money in there.  Added to what I had in my pocket I had enough that I could make a good downpayment on a new truck and buy a big screen tv.  But then my insurance would go up, and I'd have to pay for cable.  And Trey's brothers would be parking their asses on the couch every weekend wanting to watch the game.  Nah.  Better to have the cash.  That way if it was Jacob I'd have enough cash to pick up stakes and move. 

Only I didn't want to.

Damn it anyway!  I liked my life here.  I glanced around the bedroom.  This place wasn't much, but I liked it:  the turret windows gave a great view of most of the neighborhood.  The wood floors were easy to keep clean.  Mrs. Cunningham was a nosy old bat, but she took good care of the place.

Maybe it wasn't Jacob.  Or maybe he'd left the Children of Abraham.  Maybe the whole group had broken apart when Abe got sent up the river.

Lot of maybes there.  Any one of them could be true.

But I didn't think so.

Only one way to find out.  I retrieved the battered old phone book from my bookshelves and sat on the edge of the bed.  Time to start investigating.

SCHTOOF/THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

I am up on a Saturday morning (for the Saturday Evening Post) trying to make sure that life goes a little more according to plan.  Unh hunh.  RIGHT.  LOL.

Life is BUSY.  We have a release coming out in March.  I really NEED to do a bunch of promo stuff.  But I'm snowed under and my head is a little foggy from stress. 

Still, WE HAVE A BOOK COMING OUT NEXT MONTH.  Sometimes I need to remind myself amidst all the hubub just how freaking cool my life is.  I mean, seriously.  I've wanted to be an author since I was FOUR YEARS OLD.  I'm writing books.  They're getting published.  People actually (GASP) LIKE them.  (Maybe not as MANY people as I'd like, but hey, I'm working on it.)

We also got the prospective cover for the next one and it SOOOOOO rocks. 

But today I'm in the trenches.  I'm updating the release calendar, editing the personal website for the big release that I WANTED to do in January, but didn't get done.  (I'm thinking of doing it in March with a big launch called "MY March Madness" or "March Book Madness" with all kinds of promo during the month of March. 

I am looking at finding myself an assistant.  I am studying what I need to do for promotions.  And while I'm doing all that I'm doing laundry, and waiting for the sun to come up so I can mow the lawn.  The dog needs walked.  That's 15 minutes from now.  Oh, and I haven't eaten and need to.  My blood sugar gets wonky if I'm not careful.

ATTENTION BETA READERS FOR MY INDIVIDUAL WORK.  You know who you are.  Look for the e-mail from me on March 1.  I hope.  Barring disaster.

And because I've been told that blogs are more interesting with pictures I now give you a [not very good, but he's a beautiful cat] photo of Gonzo.  :)

VISITING DIGNITARY SAHARA KELLY (APPLAUSE)

Welcome to the blog.  Sahara Kelly is a well known (and much loved) author of erotic fiction.  A friend of Cie's from "The Fairie Court" it is a great pleasure to have her here for a visit.  Please give her a warm welcome. 

Thanks so much for inviting me over, Cie. It's lovely spending some time with you again – we had a lot of fun flitting around in our wings, didn't we? LOL

I understand you have a fairly significant backlist.  Could you give us a list (or link) of titles? 

Yes, somehow – over the last decade or so – I've managed to amass nearly sixty books with my name on 'em. About 30 or so in print. Not sure how that happened, and I'm not going to list them all (sigh of relief, right?) but there's a complete list on my website. I've tried to sort most of them by genre, but it’s a bit daunting. LOL 

When were you first published?

I'm always surprised to realize it's been over 25 years since Kensington/Zebra published my first book. It was a sweet Regency and came out two months before my son was born. After that, my next submissions were rejected and motherhood sort of took over my life. LOL I didn't get back to serious writing until around 2000.

I understand you're originally from England.  Do you think that influences your writing?  If so, how?

I absolutely believe that being born and raised in England has influenced my work. My schooling emphasized literature and writing from the get-go, and I remember having to produce several essays a week. Shakespeare was a staple and we digested Dickens, Thackeray, Defoe, Hardy, the Brontes and of course Miss Austen with regularity. That sort of education gave me a foundation and a love of words, and I think it's helped me an enormous amount when it comes to putting my own words on paper. (Or the monitor as the case may be. LOL)

I understand you're dipping your toes into self-publishing.  What made you decide to do that? 

I think it was time. When I got into ePublishing, it was a decade ago – a geological era in Internet time - and there was a "pioneering" spirit surrounding us. Editors were open to anything and everything, readers devoured whatever we wrote and genres could be taken out and shaken, or twisted into something new, at will. That environment has changed…metamorphosed into today's climate of big business. Now it's more about what sells than what we want to write.

I ran out of patience, I guess. I've always been about writing what's in my head and my heart, not what makes an impact on the bottom line. Conflict was inevitable and it drove me out of the pack and into the lone wolf mentality. Honestly? I love it. I feel as if I got my soul back. LOL I still have ties to ePublishing, and haven't walked away completely. But overall it's working very well for me. My first three novellas based around a fictitious Boston steampunk club continue to do well and are now in print as an anthology (Steampunk Seductions).

What are some of the ups (and downs) of self-publishing versus traditional publishing?

There are both, that's for sure. The downs? Editing is a worry for many of us. I'm lucky, since I have not only the Brit school system, but many years of working in an environment where I needed to write and edit effectively. (Not books, but scientific materials.) Cover art has to be created – again I'm okay since I do freelance art when I'm not writing. Biggest headache can be formatting for the various sales venues, but with patience, even that can be accomplished.

The ups? The freedom to let the characters take shape as I wish. To imagine a story and write it as I see it. To know that the final product will reach my readers as I intended it to be, not re-shaped or revised by others for purely fiscal reasons or because of someone else's opinions. I can write what I see in my imagination, which is what writing should be, IMHO. My books are mine again. It's a wonderful feeling.

What titles do you have coming out in 2012?  Would you mind if I add them to my "Big list of 2012 books" on my individual website?

I'd be thrilled, Cie. Thank you! I have quite a few books on the drawing board for 2012. I hope to get the final story out in my series of romances based around Renaissance Faires – tentative title for Book 3 is ROUGH KNIGHT and that is on sale right this minute. LOL. The first two, ONE KNIGHT ONLY and KNIGHTS OF PLEASURE are already available. They’ll be bundled into the print anthology MY RENAISSANCE ROMANCE sometime late spring, I hope.

Then I'll switch gears and follow that with a rather decadently elegant novel set in a palatial estate tucked away in the Italian Alps. I love the classy sensuality of the 1930s and am having so much fun with an insanely bizarre cast of characters. I like to think of this one as a “Merchant and Ivory remake of Debbie Does Dallas, with a script by Noel Coward and Hugh Hefner”. LOL See why I'm having fun putting out my own books? No publisher would touch that one! (grin) Title is tentatively VILLA D'AMORE. After that…well I'll have to see who screams the loudest in my head.

What is one bit of advice you would give an aspiring writer?  (And would you mind if I add this to the "Craft Corner" advice spot on the website I share with my co-author, Cathy L. Clamp?)

I'd love to be anywhere with you and Cathy! That's an enormous honor and compliment!!!  There are two things I tell people when they ask for advice. First, read, read and read more. I'm a firm believer that the more books you read, regardless of topic, the better writer you become. You absorb the "feel" of a story and the way it should flow, along with pacing, and it becomes second nature when it's your turn to write your own novel.

Second…write your book. LOL Don't tell me you're thinking about it, or half way through your notes for it or have this wonderful idea for a novel. Just write the damn book. Once it's real, then you can start messing with it. Sounds harsh, but you'd be surprised how many aspiring writers blink, look stunned and then say… "hey, yeah. Maybe I should do that." Duh. LOL

So let me wrap up by thanking you, Cie, for the chance to chat with your readers and talk a little about self-publishing, which is still in the mildly controversial phase. If anyone is curious, I welcome visitors to my publishing website – www.skprivatelabel.com - and of course my writing website – www.saharakelly.com. I put out a newsletter on an irregular basis, which has book and contest information, if I'm hosting one. If anyone would like to get on my list, they can subscribe here. For instant updates on my world, I have an app for iPhones and iPads – available at the App Store under “Sahara Kelly – Writer”. Oh, and it’s free.  Cool stuff. LOL

(I’d love to giveaway a download of the three Steampunk Seduction novels… Letting Off Steam, Stripping Her Gears and Winding Her Up. I’ll let you tell me how that will work because I SOOOO suck at this whole blog process. I can offer all these stories in pdf format and a couple of others, ePub and so on.. I think. Gotta check that. LOLLOL)

Thanks so much for popping by.  Please stay in touch. 

Visiting Dignitary -- SAHARA KELLY

Okay folks.  The Visiting Dignitary is on for tomorrow instead of today -- mainly because the schedule went wonky and it didn't post.  Which is actually good because now I get to promo the heck out of it.  SO TUNE IN TOMORROW AND COMMENT and on Saturday Evening I will announce all winners since the last time prizes were awarded.

Gotta run.  Gotta promote the heck out of this.

Cie

Sunday Morning Breakfast Serial/Boone Carter

"I don't know yet."  I admitted.  "But I'm going to find out." 

I realized I'd just basically told him what the old woman specifically told me not to.   Oh well.  She'd be pissed if she found out, and there'd probably be some nasty consequences.  But hey, Rock/Hard place and all that.  Besides, if I was actually going to do anything I'd need access to information, the kind of information "Jimmy" was in a perfect position to give me.  And I like collecting my paycheck.  So sue me.

"What do you need from me?"

I asked for the usual, a recent photo, address, hangouts, names and contact information for friends.  He gave me everything he had, although how accurate it would be was up for grabs.  Parents think they know their adult kids--and in a way they do.  But most of the time the memories of the child and the teenager get tangled up with and color a parent's perception of current reality.  Sometimes that works to everybody's benefit.  Most parents don't want to believe that "their" Melody is a strung out meth head, turning tricks for the money to score.  Unless there's something seriously twisted about the relationship most kids don't want their parents to realize it either.  So there's a tacit agreement that makes everybody happy.  All right, maybe not happy.  But happier. 

Yeah, yeah, there are exceptions.  But most of the time it's been my experience that nobody knows anybody as well as they think they do:  Husbands, wives, parents, kids, friends, lovers, what have you.  We all have secrets.  Bet on it.

Carmichael reached into his back pocket, pulled a photo from his wallet and passed it across the table.  "I want you on this full time.  I'll tell Joe.  You'll get your salary.  But this is all you work on, until it's fixed.  My mother is a real piece of work.  But she's never wrong about shit like this.  So you fix it.  Whatever it takes.  Got it?"

I took the photo.  "I'm going to tell you exactly what I told your mother.  I'll find out what's going on, and I'll tell you whatever it is.  If I can fix it legally, I will.  But I won't do anything that's going to land me in jail.  You want that, you'll have to get somebody else."

He didn't like it any better than the old lady had.  "Aren't we the fussy one."

How bitchy.  I stayed calm, kept a pleasant expression on my face.  Carmichael and his mother have money and power.  They're used to getting what they want.  They're not used to a peon like me telling them no, particularly when they waive lots and lots of dollar signs in front of them.  I understand that.  Don't like it much.  But I understand it just fine.  So I kept my voice level and pleasant when I answered.  "I have a strong sense of self preservation.  I'll find out what's going on.  And I'll pass on whatever I find.  What you do with the information is up to you.  Fair enough?"

"It'll do."

I was going out the door as Darlene was headed back in.  I held it open for her, and was rewarded with a big smile, a whole-body wiggle, and two of the four burritos.  No donuts, but hey, life's not perfect. 

The Saturday Evening Post

People aren't commenting. 
Hmn...  surely it doesn't mean I'm BORING. 

NAH.  Couldn't be.

And even if I am, my guests aren't. 

So I have to figure that it's going to be a long, slow haul getting people talking about the blog.  Especially since (according to all the right people) blogs are DEAD unless you've already got an established following. 

So followers---ESTABLISH ME BABY.  I wanna be the ESTABLISHMENT.  LOL.

The one I want the most comments on though, the one that I need feedback for, is the serial.  I need to know if you're liking Boone.

On a totally different note (B flat?  C (Cie/See) sharp?)

Today I'm in the middle of about a thousand day-to-day things.  Laundry, housework, writing the first book of the new series that I wanted to have done before the end of the year, but life intervened.  The cats got sick in the laundry basket that had all of my socks.  Had to wash what seemed like a thousand socks.  Seriously, the drying rack, the entire clothesline, all socks. How in the HECK did I get that many socks?  I only have two feet.  If I wore a pair a day (assuming that none of them are "stray" socks, which, of course, isn't true.  There are bound to be a BUNCH of unmatched socks in the batch) I probably have enough socks to wear a different pair for most of a year.  HOLY CRAP-WTF? 

Whatever.  I've got a ton to do.  No time to do it.  And it's sunny and pretty out, so that there's a part of me that SERIOUSLY wants to play hooky (How in the H do you spell hooky/hookey/hookie?)

WHICH REMINDS ME --

Apparently there is going to be a super bowl commercial with an updated FERRIS BUELLER.

WOOT!! 

Okay, off to the salt mines.

Cie

Visiting Dignitary Kristan Higgins!

HELLO KRISTAN!

Guys, I met Kristan on the Levy tour a few years ago. Since then she's had great success writing what I consider to be a perfect blend of romance and humor -- with dogs. Please give her a warm welcome. (Shouts and applause inserted here.)

Yay! Thank you, Cie! Happy to be here!

 So, I've got to ask -- WHY DOGS?

Because dogs rule! That’s why! Let’s face it: if our dogs could take on male human form, we’d marry them. They’re loving, faithful, only want to be with us…and if they eat a shoe here or there, hey. Small price to pay.

 Seriously, I’ve been a dog person all my life. NOT having a dog would be weird to me, so my heroines just naturally had pooches. The exception is Lucy from The Next Best Thing; she has a cat named Fat Mikey. And Posey in Until There Was You owns three cats…well, they own her, let’s be honest.

Most people take romance, love and passion very seriously, and I'm sure you do too, but there's definitely humor in all of your books thatI've read. Why do you choose a lighter, funnier approach?

 It’s just part of who I am. I think I can get as emotional as anyone, but life generally puts us in a stew of emotions, rather than doling one out at a time. I think romance novels make readers feel good by delivering on the promise of a happy ending; I want my readers to feel good all the way through, and even better at the happy ending. That being said, if you don’t cry at least once while reading one of my books, I’ll feel a bit disappointed.

 When did you start writing? Was it always your goal/passion, or did you stumble into writing after another career? If so, what did you do before?

 It wasn’t always my passion by a long stretch. Reading was my passion (is my passion). I worked in PR and advertising for about 10 years before I gave writing fiction a try, so I’d always had those muscles in action, as it were. When my kids (now teenagers) were little, I wanted to find something to do that was just for me, as opposed to grinding up homemade baby food or taking the kids to the duck pond. I also wanted to continue to be astay-at-home mommy and somehow contribute to the family finances, so I said, “You know, Higgins, you’ve certainly read enough romance novels in your life. Bet you could write one.” And the rest, as they say, is history.

 It wasn’t easy, of course; nothing worthwhile is. But it was joyful work, so I knew I was onto something right.

 If you were stuck on a desert island with one of your characters, who would it be? Why?

 Oh, lawd have mercy, that’s a tough one! I’m going to have to say my current hero, because I’m totally smitten with him (obsessed is another word). His name is Levi. That’s all you’re gonna get. Okay, okay, I’ll tell you more. Hot, brooding…sleepy blue eyes, reluctant smile, unconventionally heroic. Sigh!

What animal is closest to your personality? (If you were an animal instead of a person, what would you be?)

 I would be the majestic Lone Wolf, Cie, roaming the dark, cold forests of the North—oh, wait, that’s not quite right, is it? How about a giraffe? I’m pretty laid back, like to hang out with others and eat. Giraffes always seem to be eating, so that works for me.

 Do you listen to music when you write? If so, what kind?

 I do, and it’s terrible. I think I have OCD when it comes to music and writing because I listen to one song over and over and over. I do a vast and exhaustive search, usually with the help of my Facebook fans, and try to find a song that suits the mood of the book, or one scene in the book. Once I’ve found it, that’s all I play. In the car, at home, in my office, and if I had to live with myself, I’d kill me. Currently, the song is Us Against the World by Coldplay. I’ve currently played it 224 times on my computer. But I’m only chapter four. And for the record, I have no idea what Chris Martin meant this song to express; I only know what it means to me and this book.

I’ve found that having The Song puts me in the mood to write almost immediately. A Pavlovian response, if you will, and as you know, writing is hard, so I’ll take any help I can get.

Do YOU have any pets?

I certainly do! I have a rescued mutt named Willow, who is tremendously adorable and snuggly. And I am owned by a cat named Huck, whom we adopted from a shelter. I’m a big believer in rescuing and adopting animals. I don’t think I’d ever buy a dog or cat when there are so many in need of homes. Will get off my soapbox now.

What's one bit of advice you'd give to aspiring writers (and is itokay if I post this on the website I share with Cathy?)

Sure!

 My advice to writers is this: believe in yourself, and get over yourself. You CAN become a published author. It’s hard, and you may have a long road in front of you, but if you believe and work toward that goal and do what you need to do, whatever that might be, you can do it! Everyone who really wants it can get it. I truly believe that.

And then the second part—get over yourself. I think being hard on myself is one of the reasons I’ve gotten this far. I don’t think I’m all that, in other words, but I do think I work hard, I feel deeply and I try really, really hard to write a great book. The day I think I’m amazing is the day my career starts to tank.

You have a fairly extensive catalog at this point. Would youcare to share a link or give us a list? What do you have coming out in 2012.

All my books are listed on my website in the bookshelf section. www.kristanhiggins.com, and on my Facebook page, www.Facebook.com/KristanHigginsBooks. My ninth book comes out in April; it’s called SOMEBODY TO LOVE, and readers will see some familiar faces including…yes!…Maloner the Loner. He seems to have a cult devoted to him. At any rate, readers will visit Gideon’s Cove, Maine, once again for a new story in which Malone and Maggie and a bunch of great characters from CATCH OF THE DAY all appear. That epilogue you guys wanted for Maggie and Malone? It’s in there. 

Who are some of your favorite authors, and why?

That’s always a tough question because there are literally about a hundred authors whose work means so much to me. In romance, they’re Eloisa James, Robyn Carr, Jill Shalvis, Rachel Gibson, Sherry Thomas, JuliaQuinn. But I also love Thomas Hardy, Edith Wharton and Stephen King. My taste is eclectic. Sue me.

 What's a fun fact about you that most readers don't know?

Oh, let’s see. I had a horse named Jenny when I was growing up. I was probably thrown at least 100 times (she was a naughty horse), andthis was back in the days when we rode without helmets. Explains a lot, doesn’t it?

 Well, thanks for coming by. I really enjoyed having you here. I'm hoping to run into you at one of the cons sometime soon. Again, thanks.

Thanks, Cie! It’s lovely to visit with you again, even if it’s via the web. Hope to see you soon, too!

Cheating a Little/The Sunday Morning Breakfast Serial

Okay, it's Saturday morning.  I actually slept in to 6:30!!!  WHOOO HOO.

My schedule for the next few weeks is completely nutsoid.  There are edits coming back.  I'm finishing a book.  (Which is taking much longer than it should because of said nuttiness.)  There are Visiting Dignitary interviews to go out, come back, be posted, the blog, and, of course, this story. 

I am about to make a confession.  I cannot keep 3 worlds straight in my head for any length of time.  Just doesn't work.  I drop the ball somewhere.  Since I don't want any of the three to be crap I have made a decision.  (Don't panic.  It's not what you think.  Keep reading.)

Instead of writing the serial in segments off the top of my head for the next month or so, I'm going to do one massive(ish) shift of writing today on it, break it into chunks, and schedule it to post on the next several Sunday mornings.  Then I can get my head where it needs to be for the book and (toes crossed, fingers are for typing) have it done when the edit letter comes back.  Maybe.  I hope. 

But before I do that, I'm going to give you all a chance to catch up (or get started if you haven't been following yet).  Below is the Sunday Morning Breakfast Serial Boone Carter to date:
******************************
Who in the Hell is Boone Carter?

“This is Boone Carter. I have good news and I have bad news.” I spoke into the cell phone. It was an old one, a little bigger than they make them now, so I didn't feel like I was talking into a credit card. It also had the advantage of being cheap. It was a pre-paid model, the kind they call a“burn phone” on tv. But I've had it longer than my most recent apartment. Then again, that's not saying all that much. I tend to be pretty mobile.

“Tell me.” The client sounded tense. Then again, from what I could tell Melodee Bigbee was always tense. Probably the meth. But maybe just her nature. I didn't know. Didn't much care either.

“The good news is, I found your car. The bad news, the police are going to be asking you lots of question and I'm not sure you're ever going to get the smell out.”

She started swearing and hung up on me. I wasn't surprised. I'd be willing to bet that a visit from the cops would be a life-changing experience for Melodee, and not in a good way. Particularly not when they were going to be asking her questions about the murder of her dealer/boyfriend-maybe-commonlaw-husband Dirk. Ah well, not my problem. She'd paid me to find the car. I found the car.

I closed the cell phone and slid it into the back pocket of my worn jeans.

"Let me guess," Trey said "she hung up on you."

"Yup."

Trey shook his head, smirking. Let him smirk. I've got a thick skin. And I learned a long time ago to get paid, in cash, in advance. None of this "in trade for sex" or whatever crap. Show me the Benjamins or I walk. It's one thing Trey and I absolutely agree on.

Trey Jefferson is my current roommate. His full name is Theodore Thomas Jefferson III. He hates it. So he goes by Trey. Trey is everything I'm not: Small, wiry, and black, he's quick, and clever. He gets a lot of exercise jumping to conclusions. I stand 6'7" in my bare feet, am whiter than your average lily, and tend to think things through very carefully before I take any action. The latter is a product of my "colorful" upbringing.

I met Trey at my most recent job. I'm a roofer for Carmichael & Sons Roofing Professionals in Albuquerque, New Mexico. I wandered out here in search of sunlight and warmth after spending a couple years working on cleaning up the aftermath of Katrina and establishing my identity. We hit it off well enough. He needed a roommate. I needed a place. So far it's worked out better than most of my living arrangements. Trey knows enough not to ask too many questions.

Smart man.

###

Trey and I clattered down the stairs to my battered old pick-up. We needed to hustle if we were going to make it to work on time. No surprise. It's like this every day. Every day I swear I won't wait for his sorry ass; and every day as I'm headed to the truck to leave without him he comes dashing down after me, swearing under his breath and threatening a whole lot of shit he has no intention of actually doing to me.

When we reached the front door, though, I stopped in my tracks suddenly enough that Trey rammed into me from behind.

"What the . . ." he complained.

"We have company."

He shoved past me to look out through the lace curtains that adorned the window built into the front door. His eyes went wide. "A limo."

"Yup."

"And they've blocked in the truck."

"Right again."

He gave me a long look. "You know somebody owns a limo?"

"No. You?"

"Nope."

"Who do you 'spose it is?"

"Only one way to find out." I pulled open the door and we strolled out onto the porch. Trey waited as I pulled the door closed and set the deadbolt. It was a waste of time really--what good is a deadbolt on a wooden door that is almost half window? But old Mrs. Cunningham gets pissy if we leave it unlocked, and she's the landlady.

Trey and I walked over to the limo together.

The car was a 2010 Rolls Royce Phantom, cream colored with long, beautiful lines. Nothing tacky about this number. Pure elegance. The driver was pretty elegant too--a leggy blonde with wide blue eyes, her short hair slicked back under the traditional driver's cap. Her gray driver's uniform was fairly effective at hiding her figure, but there's only so much camoflage can do when a girl's got a body like that.

"Which of you gentlemen is Boone Carter?" She asked.

I raised my hand. "That would be me."

The blonde opened the door to the rear compartment. "Get in," she ordered. I stepped forward. When Trey started to follow she blocked his path. "No. This is a private conversation between Mr. Carter and the boss."

I took a look inside the passenger compartment of the limo. The only person there was a little white-haired old lady. Maybe eighty pounds, and probably at least eighty years old. I was betting I could take her in a straight-up fight. Reaching into my pocket I pulled out my truck keys and tossed them back to my roommate. "It's all right. You take the truck. I'll meet you at the job site."

He looked at me doubtfully. I've never let him drive the truck. It's not much of a vehicle, but it's all I've got. I don't usually trust him with it because he has the attention span of a gnat on speed. He's always distracted. He can't help it. But today I was willing to take a risk. Mainly because I was curious. Who was the old girl and what did she want with me?

"You're sure."

"Positive. Just don't wreck it."

"I," he assured me with a huge grin, "am a great driver."

Yeah, right. And if you believe that one I've got this land in Florida . . . I sighed and climbed in the limo. Either my truck would make it to the job site in one piece or it wouldn't. I'd made my choice. Still, I felt a little chill run down my spine when the driver closed the door with a solid, almost ominous, thunk.

I sat across from the "boss" my weight sinking into butter soft carmel colored leather that still had that new car smell. The woman across from me watched me with the bright dark eyes of a bird magnified only a little by the pair of rimless glasses she wore. She wasn't a beautiful woman, never had been. Even softened by age and wrinkles her features were too harsh for that. But she was striking, and impeccably neat. Not a wrinkle marred the dark rose suit she wore, and her jewelry was both conservative, and obviously expensive. Even if the limo hadn't clued me in, I would've known she had money. She wasn't being crass about it. Wealth was just a fact of her existence, like the sun and the tides.

"Mr. Carter."

"Ma'am."

I heard the front door slam, and the car started up. A moment later we pulled smoothly away from the curb. We sat in silence for a few blocks. I wondered if we were following Trey in the truck. The driver hadn't asked for a destination. I did hope I'd wind up at the work site eventually. I like my job, and Mr. Carmichael has no sense of humor about missing work.

"You're not much of a talker." She observed.

"I figured you'll tell me what you want when you're ready."

She gave me what might have been a smile, or not, just a bitter little twist of the lips. "My son is Jimmy Carpenter Carmichael."

"Jimmy" Carmichael, as in Mr. Carmichael the owner of the company I worked for. So maybe I wouldn't get in trouble for being late. Assuming, of course, she told him we'd met.

"Jimmy is a good boy." She told me. I didn't mention that at 56 he was twice my age and hardly a 'boy'. He was her son. He'd always be a boy to her. "A little weaker than I'd like. Not like his father was, or even his brother Ron."

I'd worked with James Carmichael long enough to know he wasn't exactly a sissy boy. Which meant that Mr. Carmichael Sr. had probably been a world class asshole. Ron, had been the Carmichael's older son. If rumors were to be believed he'd been killed in a bar fight. He may have been tough, but obviously someone had been tougher. Then again, there always is.

"So I can't count on him to do what's necessary."

I didn't like where I thought this was heading, but I kept my mouth shut. I've found I can keep myself out of an awful lot of trouble just by staying quiet.

She paused, waiting for me to say something. When I didn't she gave me an irritated look over the top of her glasses.

"I need someone smart, tough, and ruthless. I had someone check discreetly with the men working for my son. Your name came up repeatedly. They also say you do odd jobs for people, for a price."

"That would depend on the job."

"And the price I assume."

Not necessarily. But I wasn't about to tell her that---yet. "What exactly did you have in mind?"

###

The limo dropped me off a block from the worksite. Apparently Mrs. Carmichael didn't want her "boy" knowing what she was up to. I didn't mind. It gave me time to think. I had a lot to think about.

Jacob Chester.

Shit.

I really hoped it wasn't him. But it probably was. And if it was, Mrs. C was right. Jacob is, was, and always has been, someone with his "eyes on the prize." Just not the prize Mrs. C was thinking of.

Not that he wouldn't take the girl's money. He would. In a red hot second. He'd also take the girl, up to the mountains, to the Children of Abraham encampment where she would be indoctrinated so thoroughly that, if she ever was seen again, her own parents might not even recognize her.

I'm a big fan of God, think he/she does great work. I mean, take a look at the Grand Canyon, a waterfall, the average sunset. Pet a kitten, watch a puppy romp. Look at a newborn baby in its mother's arms. God is good. The Children of Abraham are not. They are a cult, pure and simple, created by Abraham Keene out of his enormous ego, greed, and lust for power.

I'd know.

I was a Child of Abraham. 

# # #

I arrived at work fifteen minutes late, and caught hell from the foreman for it. He was standing toe to toe with me, pointing his index finger into the middle of my chest and shouting when Mr. Carmichael came up.

"That's enough Joe. He gets the message."

Joe turned, mouth open to argue, until he realized just who it was talking to him. His eyes got dark, and narrowed, but he didn't argue. He just stepped back a couple of paces, giving me a look that said as clearly as words that this isn't over. I didn't doubt that. Not for a minute. Joe Sanchez hates me. Pure and simple. Don't know why. Don't particularly care, either. I show up every day, on time, do a good job, I keep my nose clean, don't argue or mouth off. So he doesn't have any ammo to fire me. But he would if he could.

"Boone, come with me to the office. We need to talk." Mr. Carmichael smiled, nice and friendly. It just pissed Joe off more. Carmichael cared even less than I did. Old Mrs. C might not think he was tough, but everybody on the site sure did. If Joe crossed him, Carmichael would fire his ass faster than you can say jackrabbit, despite the fact that Joe's worked for the company twenty years and has a passel of young kids to raise.

I followed Carmichael to the corner of the site where one of those classic silver Airstream travel trailers was parked. For small jobs it stays on the company lot. But we'd won the bid to re-roof all of the dorm buildings for the local college, so we were going to be here a while, and the old man wanted to be on site making there were no grounds for complaint about how we behaved around the co-eds. Thus far, everybody'd been behaving pretty well. A couple of guys got injured because they were distracted by some sunbathers, but that had been bound to happen.

Carmichael climbed the trio of metal steps and opened the door "Darlene," he called. "Go buy yourself some breakfast or something."

"Yessir." Darlene hustled up from the back, where the bedroom area had been converted into an office. She took the twenty he pulled from his wallet with a big smile. "Can I get you anything?"

"Naw. I'm good. And Boone here won't be staying long."

"All righty then." She squeezed through the doorway past the boss with a little extra wiggle and teetered off toward the parking lot where the "BurritoMan" truck was waiting. We both watched her go. Today she was dressed in jeans that were practically painted on, and that had been bedazzled as heavily as one of Elvis' jumpsuits. Big hair, big boobs, high heels: she was flashy, a little trashy, and hard as nails. But somehow the whole thing worked for her---at least as far as Carmichael was concerned. I pretended not to see his hand twitch as he fought not to patt her on the ass as she passed.

"Come in. Sit down." He gestured through the door at the built-in dining area across from the miniscule kitchenette.

When I was comfortably seated he pulled a pair of cups from the cabinet, pouring us each a cup of coffee. He set mine in front of me and took a seat.

"So, tell me Boone. What did my mother want you to do that she doesn't want me to know about?"

###

I took a long pull from the coffee, buying myself time to decide how to answer.  The drink was smooth, rich , but with enough caffeine to give me the requisite kick in the ass to start the day.  You'd think it was a completely different beverage than the harsh brew the "BurritoMan" serves of the same name.

Carmichael stared at me.  He started out with a good, hard glare.  But as I took my time his eyes started to sparkle, and the muscle at the corner of his mouth began to twitch.  A relief really.  I didn't want to piss him off.  I like my job, and I'm good at it.  Also, unlike a lot of the folks I've worked for he doesn't have 'cash flow problems.'  He makes his payroll.  On time.  Every time. 
"Let me guess, she told you not to talk?"

I smiled.

"Okay, fair enough.  I'll tell you what I think.  You just sit there.  Don't say a thing.  I'll know when I'm getting warm."

I wasn't too sure about that.  I'm an excellent poker player.  On the other hand, keeping the boss happy is seldom a bad thing.  So maybe I'd be a little less stoic than usual.  Or not.  Either way, I was stuck here.  Might as well enjoy the coffee, make the best of it.

"It's a family thing.  Mom only sticks her nose in on family business." 

I sipped my coffee.

Carmichael smiled, sure he was right.  "Okay, it's not me.  She knows better than to interfere in my life."

I doubted that, but kept my mouth shut and wished, heartily, for something to eat.  If it hadn't been for Mrs. C I'd have arrived in time to buy myself a breakfast burrito.  Now I wouldn't be seeing any food until lunch.  Dammit. 

"So, I have three daughters.  Amanda's married, moved off to Utah.  No problems there.  Paid off the ex and she's remarried, so she's out.  That leaves the twins -- Cookie and Candi."

I didn't say anything, unless you count my stomach growling, which it did . . . loudly.  Carmichael rolled his eyes.  Hauling himself awkwardly up from his chair he strode down to the door, threw it open and bellowed loud enough to be heard in the next county.  "Darlene, grab me a couple burritos."  He glanced back at me, taking in my size and changed his mind.  "Make that four of 'em, and a couple of donuts."  He slammed the door and stomped back over.

"Where was I?"

"Cookie and Candi."  I prompted him.  After all, he was buying breakfast, and the coffee really was excellent.  I'd have to find out what blend it was.  Maybe I'd get some for the coffeemaker back home.  Of course I'd probably have to share it with Trey.  But still, it might be worth it.

"Right."  He turned the chair backward and swung his leg around it.  Leaning forward, he rested his forearms on the chair back.  It was supposed to look casual, tough and masculine.  But he was too short to really do it well.  He looked uncomfortable as hell.  But I didn't say anything.  Nope. 

"Cookie is tough and smart.  She can handle herself."

I didn't laugh.  I didn't snort.  Hard as it was, I maintained my composure.  Even when the words 'a tough cookie' flashed through my mind. 

"So, it has to be Candi."

Bingo.  Right on the money.   I took another sip of coffee and prayed he wouldn't say Candi was sweet.  I mean, my self control is good.  But there's only so much a man can handle---boss or no.

Carmichael stopped talking. Just . . . stopped. He was thinking hard enough that I could almost hear the gears whirring, half-expected smoke to come out of his ears. After what seemed like an eternity he looked me straight in the eyes and asked a question I had no answer for -- yet.

"How much trouble is my little girl in?"

# # #

SATURDAY EVENING POST/VISITING DIGNITARY BRAD SINOR

ALL RIGHTY GUYS -- The "rain" has let up.  SO I can now post a bonus Visiting Dignitary.  I give to you a wonderful guy and terrific writer.  BRAD SINOR (WILD APPLAUSE AND CHEERING PLEASE).

Hi Brad!  It's been a while, but I hope you and Sue are doing well.  Thanks for stopping by the blog.

I’m glad to be here

So, what have you been up to lately?

Writing like a madman at times. It seems like I finish one story and there are several more that are waiting to be done. I’m currently editing a novella, attempting to get a long delayed collaborative story finished, working on another collaboration (my collaborator just sent me her additions to the manuscript), I have one novel waiting to be edited, another waiting to be finished and I’m researching and outlining another. Spare time? Hmmm…isn’t that between 3:10 and 3:15 a.m.?

Any new projects out? 

I had a new collection of stories come out last year, along with a Where The Shadows Began and Other Stories from Merry Blacksmith Press, along with a bunch of short stories in various anthologies; like the revived Heroes in Hell series

What's your calendar like for the next few months?

I have a story in The Many Faces of Arsene Lupin (Black Coat Press) coming in the next couple of months, I’ll also have a story in the next entry in the Heroes in Hell series, Adventurers in Hell which will be out soon. There are several other things but I don’t have release dates for them yet.

You have a pretty substantial backlist, when did you start writing?

The earliest thing I can remember writing was scripts for comic books when I was in grade school. I started submitting stuff in high school but that all got rejected. Thankfully copies of what I was writing then no longer exist.

Can you give us a link to your full backlist and where we can get copies? I’ll be setting up a new website in the next few months and will have a full bibliography there.

Right now you can find most of my stuff through Amazon. Also if you check the Grantville Gazette website, which is part of the 1632 series created by Eric Flint you will find stories I have done, in collaboration with the highly talented Tracy Morris, in various issues.

If you had to be stuck on a desert island for say, a week, with one of your characters, who would it be and why?

Now that’s a tough one. Probably it would be Lancelot du Lac (yes, the dude from Camelot). I’ve done 5 stories about him and have more planned. Yes, he’s a vampire but I don’t hold that against him. Besides he’s survived for over 1,400 years so he would have to have some serious survival skills, not to mention some really neat stories to tell; he did hang out with King Arthur and Merlin after all!

Who are some of your favorite authors? 

You mean besides myself or Sue? (Grin). Seriously though in SF/Fantasy that would probably be C.J. Cherryh.. In mystery/thriller that would have to Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child. In the horror genre Christopher Golden, Brian Keene and Jonathan Maberry.

 What draws you to their work?

They create characters that you care about, that you want to see survive even though the world itself is teetering on the brink, and in some cases has gone over the edge, of totally insanity.

Do you listen to music when you write?  Very rarely.

If so, what?

When I do it’s usually instrumental stuff, Celtic and jazz with a mixture of some movie sound tracks thrown in.

What one bit of advice would you give to aspiring writers? 

Write, write and then go back and write some more. Don’t try to look at a market and see what the hot trend is, write the story that you want to read.

Would it be all right if I post this onto the website I share with Cathy?

Of course.

I have to admit I had huge fun doing The Rosie Hughes Project (for those of you who don't know what it was, I did a "blog ring" with Brad, Sue,  Cathy Clamp, Rachel Caine and Jackie Kessler that was based its very own vampire mythos.  It was a HOOT.  You can follow it by looking in my blog for "The Rosie Hughes Project" and following links). 

I had a blast doing my part of it. Maybe at some point we can come up with a way to do a print version or perhaps an e-book.

What other fun things have you been doing with other authors, if any? 

Actually I am. Sue and I are collaborating on a new story. Tracy Morris and I have started work on the 5^th story in a series we are doing, people keep telling me its funny and I credit that all to her.

Will you be at any of the cons this year for appearances?  (Note to readers -- 'Rosie' was cooked up in the computer room of one of the cons.)

Sue and I will be attending ConDFW in Feb., then there will be several cons in May and June.

Thanks so much for coming by.  Hope to see you and Sue soon!

VISITING DIGNITARY - FAITH HUNTER!

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN -- Faith Hunter is our Visiting Dignitary this week and has decided to give us a very different take on the usual "interview".  Instead of interviewing Faith, we will have a Chinese Portrait of Jane Yellowrock and Beast.  ENJOY!  And thank you so much Faith!

Chinese Portraits have been around for years, but they are a Q&A interview unlike any other. Instead of the usual, “Tell us how you got started writing,” type of query, the questions in a Chinese Portrait dig deeper, into the psyche of a person (or a character) and reveal the hidden depths. Or, God forbid, the lack of them!

Jane Yellowrock is the main character of the series that bears her name. Skinwalker, BloodCross, Mercy Blade, and Raven Cursed are the current books, with out in Oct. 2012. Author Faith Hunter

Chinese portrait of Jane Yellowrock and Beast

If you were a work of art?

Jane: A fine, handmade blade, with a crosshatched handle for a good grip. Oh yes!

Beast: (Chuffs in displeasure. Flicks ear tabs, annoyed.) What is art? Beast does not need blade. Beast has claws and killing teeth. I am not some word I do not understand. Not silly game I do not understand.

Jane: Art is like a painting or a … Never mind.

If you were a quality?

Jane: I would want to be strong, like the oak that bends but doesn’t break, or the willow that flows with the wind rather than trying to stand up to it. Lately, my life nothing but fighting and trouble and I need the calm strength of nature. I need a vacation, maybe camping near a river.

Beast: (Chuffs.) Silly Jane. Jane cannot be tree. Jane is animal. But Jane is alone and needs mate. Strong mate. I would look for good mate for Jane.

Jane: That’s not what a quality is, Beast. A quality is—

Beast: Good hunter. I am good hunter. (Turns nose away.) Hunter is good quality. Silly humans.

If you were a flaw?

Jane: for the last few months I’ve been nothing but guilt, even though most of the poop-hits-fan-stuff has not been my fault. Hmmm. I need to stop being guilty.

Beast: Beast is good hunter. Beast has no flaws. (Flicks up ear tab and looks away, bored. Spots movement out the window. Squirrels racing around tree.) Squirrels are small and tasty but hard to catch. One bite and gone. Need deer.

Jane: We’re in the middle of an interview, here.

Beast: (Huffs with disdain.) Want to hunt.

If you were a sound?

Jane: Hmmm. The sound of blades clashing.

Beast: Jane needs mate. Should be sounds of mating. Want Bruiser. And Leo. And Rick. (Chuffs and shows Jane image of very big bed. Covers are slashed by claws.)

Jane: Oh crap. We can talk about this later. Later!

If you were a song/music?

Jane: (Shakes off irritation with Beast.) I like drums. Something primitive and building in tempo and intensity. Something I can dance to.

Beast: Scream of Puma concolor. Scream–song that challenges, that claims hunting ground.

If you were a word?

Jane: I would be persistent. Unrelenting and determined. Of course, when my writer was growing up, she was told that persistence was the Devil’s finest quality, so perhaps that isn’t such a good word after all.

Beast: I am Beast and beast. Do not understand this game. Need to hunt, to bring deer. (Looks around. Squirrels are gone.)  No deer here. Rabbit? Goat? Writer wrote new scene. She let me eat a goat in book 5.

Jane: She did what?!?

Beast: (Huffs with laughter) I like writer. She feeds me.

If you were a book?

Jane: (Looks back at previous question-and-answers. Worries. Shakes head. Sighs.) Dangerous question, that. You know. Since I’m in a series. If I pick one I’m not in, will I disappear?

Beast: Not a book. (Lifts lips to show killing teeth.) Not a book.

If you were a motto/a quotation?

Jane: Have Stakes Will Travel.

Beast: Embrace Your Inner Beast.

Jane: (laughs)

If you were a movie?

Jane: The Vampire Lestsat. Or the Buffy TV shows.

Beast: Born Free. (Huffs with amusement.)

Jane: (Rolls eyes.)

If you were a time period?

Jane: Anytime where women can wear pants. Fighting in a dress is just stupid.

Beast: Time before yunega came and made Cherokee to leave land in mountains, and then took trees, and burned the land. White man is evil. Time before he came was good time. (Turns away.) Stupid question.

If you were a personage of fiction?

Jane: Hmmm. Cat woman?

Beast: (Snorts with amusement) Jane is cat woman.

If you were an animal?

Jane and Beast look at one another.

Jane: Ummm. Have you not read my books?

Faith Hunter

www.faithhunter.net

https://www.facebook.com/official.faith.hunter