That's not gonna buff out

by Cassondra Murray

When I was a little girl, my older male cousins and brothers used to joke about that. We'd see a wrecked car with its front end all smooshed into the engine compartment, being towed by a wrecker or on the back of a truck . It trundled by and we'd stare and wonder what happened and hope the people were all okay, and then one of my cousins would say, "that's not gonna buff out."

No amount of time with a rotary buffer would make that wreck better.

"That's not gonna buff out," has taken on a whole new meaning for me.



No, I did not have a motor vehicle accident. *knocks on wood* All our cars are fine.

This has more to do with my recent travel experiences, and.....well....my angst.

I've been traveling a lot in the past three months. In fact, I pretty much just leave my suitcase out, and switch out the clothes depending on where I'm going and what I'll be doing. Dry cleaning comes out of the suitcase, goes to the cleaners, then comes home and goes right back into the suitcase, still in its wrinkle-reducing plastic bags. And off I go again.

Once upon a time I could "travel light." I live about an hour north of Nashville, Tennessee, and when I worked down there I had one medium-size shoulder tote in which I packed the essentials. A change of underwear, my makeup, some aspirin and a few other things for emergencies. A toothbrush. If I got stuck down there unexpectedly, as long as I had this bag I could stay overnight anywhere and function just fine the next day, in pretty much any circumstance. I could attend all but the dressiest events with what I had on "yesterday" and what was in that bag, assuming I had a place to sleep and a place to shower.



I carried this bag with me everywhere I went. I never got on the road, when I commuted sixty miles per day to work, without it. If I went on a weekend trip I had only to supplement what was in the bag with an extra pair of jeans and top, and I was good to go. I could even look rather glam with what I could pull out of this bag if I needed to do so.



Alas, things have changed.



Because I'm flying so much now, I've been making a valiant effort to use only carry-on luggage. Thus far I have failed. I have yet to take a trip without checking a bag.



The plain, sad truth is that now, it appears I cannot survive by traveling light.



I need too many lotions, creams and gels.

And there, Bandits and Buddies, is the problem.


In case some of you have not tried to board a commercial aircraft in the past few years, let me explain. The Transportation Safety Administration (TSA) has implemented certain rules. And believe me, having a husband who knows a bit about explosives, I completely understand the reasoning behind these rules, and I support them. They are there to keep us safe. I have no problem with that. High Fives to those officers slaving away behind the x-ray machines at airport security. If they had tip-jars, I would be tossing in dollars.

But one of these rules is a limit--a severe limit--on the number of lotions, creams and gels an individual may carry onto an aircraft. You're only allowed to carry on the amount which will fit into one--yes that's right, I said ONE--quart-size zip-loc baggie. And no container may contain (or be sized to contain) more than 3.4 oz of any lotion, cream, or gel.



How the heck am I supposed to groom myself with one zip-loc baggie full of products?



When I was 20, yes, I could do this. Gimme a bar of Ivory soap and a some decent shampoo, and I was good to go.

But I am not 20. We will leave that point right there.

Not so long ago I had this moment of realization. I got up that morning and staggered toward the bathroom. I paused only to glare at the coffee maker and curse a little-- because it had not yet begun its pre-programmed gurgle-steam-hiss routine--before I stumbled through the bathroom door and up to the mirror. I put in my contacts. I brushed my teeth. I slid out the drawer filled with my expensive lotions, creams and gels, the cost of which would subsidize a small third-world country for a month. I cleansed, exfoliated, tourmaline-primed, power-lifted and firmed, toned, then moisturized all the appropriate areas. I leaned into the mirror. I looked at the lines near the corners of my (no longer 20-year-old) eyes, and a thought rolled through my mind.



That's not gonna buff out.



I can pour all the pennies I want into the fountain of youth, and those lines are not going away. But still. I have seen me with, and without, my lotions, creams and gels. And I know that I don't NEED them, but...I need them. If I stop using them, people start asking me if I've been sick.



I now officially qualify as high-maintenance.



If I don't have my particular shampoo, conditioner and styling products, my hair looks like...well...hell. If I don't have moisturizing body wash, my skin gets so dry it itches. If I don't have my skin-care products, within about four long days and nights of on-the-road stress, my skin revolts and I start to look like that car being towed behind the wrecker...sort of smashed in.



So what's a girl to do?



I mean honestly? I know those lines are never going to buff out, but without my lotions, creams and gels I could star in Return of Medusa. It is not pretty.


And the kicker is that every time I turn around somebody is aiming a camera at me. GAH!


Now for you very Zen folks and the activists out there, I do realize that nothing in this blog will solve world hunger or bring about world peace. I'm not that shallow.

But I'm plenty shallow enough to want my lotions, creams and gels with me wherever I go.

I recently sent off $50 to some online container store in an attempt to get eensy teensy containers, which, when filled with all of my potions, would still fit into one quart-size zip-loc baggie which, by decree, must zip closed easily.

And I have determined that this is impossible. Not because I need large quantities of any one of them (except shampoo--I have a lot of hair), but because I need small amounts of so darn many of them.

And you know what? There is some subtle prejudice against being high-maintenance. There is a cool-factor to being able to travel light and not need all these products to maintain ones-self, and I used to buy into that cool factor, but now, for entirely selfish reasons, I question this. For the past while now, I've been noticing a prejudice against the high-maintenance woman, even in the books I read. And (hangs head in shame) it's crept into my own writing.

For the past two or three years, I've tended to write older heroines. When I first start a manuscript, I give them an age based on their wisdom and knowledge of the world. The way the "feel" to me as a character. Then as I assess the story, I back away and think, "that's too old. Nobody wants to read about a heroine that age. No editor will buy a heroine that age." So I start to make her younger. And younger. Aaaaand younger. If she's over 30, I figure she's too old.

The heroine in almost any novel I read now is neither older nor high-maintenance. She can travel light. She can get caught in a power outage or a hurricane, stay overnight at the hero's house unexpectedly, and still look ravishing. With absolutely no lotions, creams or gels. And absolutely no flaw anywhere which will not buff out.

But back here in my harsh-lighted and mirrored world---there's contact lens solution. It comes in "TSA-approved" size, 4-ounce bottles. There's even a teensy little plane on the label. Newsflash for the manufacturer--the size limit has been reduced to 3.4 ounces. Nothing like being frisked and questioned in the security line and having your Opti-Free Express confiscated before you can board an aircraft.

So tell me, Bandits and Buddies? Do you have suggestions?

Are you high-maintenance? Or can you live with ivory soap and a toothbrush in the outback with the wolves and mountain lions and be happy?

Do you require a lot of lotions, creams and gels?

If you're older than 20, has the number of potions you need to work your magic increased?

Can you travel with only carry-on luggage? Or are you forced to check a bag (and pay the fee to do so) on each trip you take?

Have you found any shortcuts or secrets to traveling light without looking all smooshed-in?

I could use some ideas if you're willing to share.

And even more important--what about the books you read? Are there ever older heroines in those books? How do you feel about them? If you're under 25, can you still relate? If you're older, can you relate to the under-30 heroine?

And for the guys lurking out there, do you find that you're more high-maintenance as you grow older?

Do You Take This Cop? Launch Picnic!

by Beth

Grease up the Cabana boys and ice down the drinks, it's time for another Launch Party in the Lair :-)

I have to admit, the release of Do You Take This Cop? is bittersweet. Bitter because it's the last book connected to my Serenity Springs series. I spent so much time with the characters, it's been difficult saying good-bye. But then the sweet kicks in, mainly because I'm really excited about DYTTC being set loose on the world *g*

Here's the back cover blurb:

Is she safer with him…or without him?

Without the badge, he’d be perfect!

The last thing Faith Lewis needs is a cop poking his nose in her business. Okay, yes, Nick Coletti is gorgeous. And charming. And great with her son. But dating the town’s most popular boy in blue is hardly going to help her keep a low profile. This guy could blow their world apart if he discovers their secret.

Funny thing is, he may also be their only hope. If she had someone like Nick on her side, maybe she could finally be free, and give her son the life he deserves. But trusting Nick means telling the whole truth about her past. He might protect them. Or he might just turn her in…

One of my favorite scenes in DYTTC is when Faith and her son Austin attend the Coletti family's annual Fourth of July picnic. Here's a quick excerpt:

A muscle jumped in Nick’s jaw as he slid his finger across her shoulder and down her arm to her elbow, trailing gooseflesh in his wake. Stepping back, he pulled a pair of sunglasses out of his front pocket and put them on.

“Let me get that for you,” he said gruffly, taking the cake from her.

“Oh. Thank you.” Except, without it, she had no idea what to do with her hands. So she wiped them down the sides of her white walking shorts. Crossed her arms and then let them hang at her sides before picking up her bag from where Austin had dropped it.

“Everyone’s out back,” he said. Then he took her hand.

She almost stumbled. She’d come to learn he was big on touching. His hand pressed to the small of her back when they left the restaurant. His arms around her, his solid chest pressed against her back as he went through the motions of the proper batting swing. His fingertips brushing against her cheek as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear while she ate her ice cream cone.

It was…sweet. She couldn’t remember a time when a man had wanted nothing more than the simple pleasure of touching her. And realizing how much she enjoyed it, enjoyed being with him, was all too frightening.

So instead of focusing on how it felt, his rough, large palm against hers, she took in their surroundings. The Frey’s house was a mix of brick and wood with double front doors, tall, gleaming windows and immaculate landscaping. There were trees, shrubs and flowers to soften the austere lines of the house and make it warm and welcoming, and as far as she could tell, there wasn’t one blade of crabgrass in the lush lawn.

It was a far cry from her own week-choked backyard and spotty windows.

They rounded the garage and were met by the low hum of voices mixed with music. “This is a lovely house,” Faith said, withdrawing her hand from his before anyone could see them.

“Andrea and Steve are happy here.”

She slowed her steps as the voices grew louder. Many, many voices from the sound of it. “I especially liked that first flower bed, the one with the miniature roses. Does Andrea garden?”

He laughed. “Andrea doesn’t do dirt. Or anything related to getting dirty. Luckily, her in-laws enjoy it so they handle the gardens for her.”

As they reached the backyard, Faith’s throat was so dry, not even the enticing scents of grilling meat could work moisture back into her mouth. One look at the crowd talking and laughing on the long patio made her step back, bumping into Nick’s solid frame.

He steadied her with a hand to her upper arm. “Everything okay?” he asked.

She edged away from him—and the backyard—hugging her arms around herself. Okay? Let’s see…she was spending the day with a nice family. Her son had a new best friend and was acting like a normal, nine-year-old again and she had the interest of the sexiest man in town.

Everything was awful.

She was a liar. Worse, even she was beginning to believe her lies. Beginning to hope that she could stay in this town, be a part of these people’s lives and give her son the permanency he craved.

That she could be Faith Lewis forever.

Ever patient, Nick stood there, staring at her from behind his sunglasses, his posture relaxed, the damp hair at his nape curling. Forcing a smile, she looked up into his handsome face. “Everything’s perfect.”

(As you may have guessed, Faith isn't exactly what--or who--she seems to be *g*)

And with summer on its way (and Memorial Day coming up fast) I thought it'd be fun to have a Launch Picnic! Everyone slather on some sunscreen and let's take this party outside :-)

In DYTTC, Faith brings her signature dessert, Red Velvet Cake, to the picnic. What's your favorite dish to take to picnics? Your favorite thing to eat at a picnic? One commenter will win a copy of DO YOU TAKE THIS COP?

Summer Lovin'

posted by Nancy
Remember when you had time to lounge around in the summer? To hang with your friends, slather on suntan oil, and maybe, just maybe, meet a new crush you knew you'd never see after vacation? Today, author Kathleen O'Reilly joins us to talk about the days of summer love.

Summer Lovin'... had me a blast!!

One of my favorite movies when I was a kid was Grease. The music was catchy. I liked the spin on the romance: the bad boy gets tamed, yet in a nice twist, the good girl also undergoes a vampy transformation. The story opens in summer, when Danny and Sandy fall in love, but then school starts, the reality of their identities kicks in, and the real romantic hijinks begin (accompanied by much singing, dancing, and the trademarked John Travolta strut.)

There is something very freeing about summer romance. Everyone can abandon their traditional roles and identities and take on the person that they want to be. In a summer romance, no one assumes that it will last, so if you want to be a vamp, hey, go for it. If you want to be an intelligentsia, or a geek, or a shy person or a jokester, all are possible because summer lasts three months, which is just long enough to fall in love, but not long enough to deal with any of the messy realities that come later.


Summer, when done right, is slow dancing under the stars, listening to the water lap on the shore, watching the fire flies at dusk, and sipping cold beer on a weather-beaten porch. Time slows down a bit and you can spend more time *chatting* about whatever strikes your fancy, as opposed to having to deal with schedules and alarm clocks, neither of which do much for me (both literally and emotionally as well).

My latest book opens in the summer. Our hero and heroine meet. She falls for him, but then, when she has to leave, he finally reveals his secret, and in a very Gregory House move, gives her the ammunition to salvage her career, but ruin his life in the process. I've included a short teaser:

*******
"Who are you?" she asked, thinking that if he was going to break her heart, she wanted to know his name.

"Aaron."

"Aaron who?"

"Smith."

"Really?" she drawled, not bothering to hide the sarcasm.


"It's actually Jenkins-Smith, but that seemed pretentious, so I just use Aaron Smith."

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Smith. I'm Jennifer Dade, and from now on, I'll try to stay out of your way."

It was a desperate hint that she wasn't in his way, that he was sitting on her rock, and if he truly wanted all that solitude and privacy that he kept blustering about, then he'd have to act a little less - stimulated. Not that she was complaining. Much.

"I should go," he repeated, but he moved closer, and his eyes were on her mouth, and Jenn felt herself go hot, then cold. "Normally, I like to ignore everyone else. It makes my life much more comfortable."

"Why can't you ignore me?" she asked, because she needed him to ignore her. She did not need this, but she couldn't ignore it. She couldn't ignore him.

He brushed a gentle finger across her brows. "You look at me with those busy eyes, always digging for your version of the truth, but grasping for the first clichéd insights into the psyche because it's easy and it makes your deadline, and it doesn't matter that there isn't always some three-point paragraph that explains who we are. You think there's always an answer, always a reason, but sometimes people are simply the way they are."

Not what she wanted to hear, not what she had hoped to hear, and all those roiling emotions finally erupted. "And that's why you can't ignore me, because you just can't? The Twinkie defense? I had to be me. I was born to be bad. No, there's always a reason. You just don't want to tell me."

She thought he was going to leave. Thought she'd finally done it. Finally chased him away, but instead he looked with all the wretched want in his eyes. All the lonely hunger, combined with the same painful recklessness that she felt in herself.

"I wrote about you. This afternoon, I came home and spewed out reams of pages about someone with your face, your eyes, your hair."

"How did it end?" she asked breathlessly tempted by the drama of it.

"You threw yourself in front of a train."

"Why?"

"You are the mariner's albatross, Ahab's white whale, the magnificent obsession. In the end, there was no alternative. You had to die," he said, sounding miserable and baffled.

But then his fingers reached out, touched her hand, such a small gesture, such a telling gestured. Sometimes sex was scratching an itch, and sometimes sex was the very human need to touch someone. All the phones, all the gadgets, all the machines in the world that mimicked human contact, and yet nothing came close to the absoluteness of sex.

"You like me, don't you?" she asked, twining her fingers through his, locking them there.

"I don't want to like you," he admitted. "You're very happy and sure of yourself and you like machines without souls."

"I don't want to like you either," she admitted as well.

"But you do?" he asked, his eyes met hers, uncertain and unhappy and still hoping that she would say yes.

"Women don't like men like you," she said, because she knew that unhappily hopeful was bad. Very, very bad. It spoke of vulnerabilities, and wounds, and manly suffering that had plagued women for thousands of years.

"What sort of man is that?"

If he were any other man, she'd have thought he was fishing, needing a stroke to his ego, but he didn't have those insecurities. He was both clueless and clever, and yet still unable to resist her. Tragically, like every other woman before her, she was falling for it in spades. "You want some three-point analysis that sums you up in fifty words or less?"

"Yes."

She chose the less dangerous answer. "You're brilliant and hurt and your writing draws you into humanity, but humanity repels you at the same time, and you can't reconcile those two aspects and it frustrates you."

"Do you know what frustrates me?" he asked.


"What?"
"How badly I want to kiss you. I hate your mouth. I love your mouth. When you talk all that blather, it's the sexiest thing I've ever heard."

"Why don't you kiss me?"

"Because it won't stop."

"I know," she said with a smile.

***

There's a longer excerpt on my website.

Summer time is a great time for having romance or just kicking back and reading romance. I love to dive into my Pile O'Books and find something that's slow and sizzling and reminds me that sometimes I need to stop and smell the roses (or in this case, read more romance!) Since we're now at the first blush of summer, I'm looking for books to read. I've just started Rachel Gibson's latest (she always cracks me up!) and I'm waiting for Nora's third book in her wedding trilogy to come out for the Kindle. I love all her stuff, but her straight romance is the Bomb. So, since I have a huge audience of romance readers, now's the time to shout out, and let me know what else I should be diving into!

Did you ever have a summer romance? What's your favorite summer reading? What book on your TBR stack would you consider perfect for a lazy summer day? Kathleen's giving books to two commenters today!

COMPETITION

by Jo Robertson


Competition is a healthy enterprise, right?

An individual learns to improve his or her skills, perform under pressure, and experience satisfaction from doing their best, whether it's as a performing artist, an athlete, or a writer.

Last winter much of the world watched the Winter Olympics in Vancouver.

Really, you have to admire the sheer skill and discipline that brings these competitors to this point in their careers.

Might I add the sheer perserverance? The Olympics is not the place for the faint of heart or the frail of determination. Nor is the world of writing.


Nor of competitive singing! Recently ten-year-old Corinna participated in her first public competitive performance. The venue was a wide, disconcerting area in a mall.She sang "Almost There" from The Princess and the Frog, and I am not at all biased when I claim that her rendition was flawless -- perfect pitch, calm exterior, sassy charm.

She was perfect.

Everything else was not.

The microphone's sound cut out. Feedback screeched through the air. The mall's massive vaulted ceilings sucked up the volume like the last gasping breaths of a dying smoker.

Nina was the first performer of the day, and by the time the second singer's turn came, the acoustical kinks had been worked out. But alas, too late for her.

Everyone always says the three most important traits in attaining your goals are

perseverance

perseverance

perseverance.

She was the epitome of grace under pressure. She never faltered in her composure or her control. When the judges instructed her to begin again, she did so with stunning aplomb.

She was a trooper.

And she didn't cry until she reached the car to go home.

By the way, since I wrote this blog, Corinna semi-finalled in her age group, the only one to do so!

Then she went on to take third place in the finals! You can see her perform at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tRHyWRhRqsI

What about you? What's been your experience with competition?

Have you ever geared up for an event, worked your heart out, and had everything possible go wrong? How did you handle it? If you're a writer, how do you handle the friendly competition of the industry?


Did you ever compete in something and win? How was that important to you? Did you lose? How did you feel?

Getting Inspired

by Christie Kelley

One question every writer gets asked is: Where do you get your inspiration for stories? I get ideas from everywhere…a story in the news, a movie that didn’t take a plot where I thought it should, or a walk in the park. It’s easy to find something that will inspire me to write a story but it takes more than just a quick thought to make it into a plot. That’s the hard part. So, I thought I’d share my favorite way to mull over a plot.

I spent yesterday painting the outdoor bar on our deck. Sorry I couldn’t post a picture but the camera battery needs to charge. I’m a little sore and still a little tired but I feel great. I got so much done! And I don’t mean just painting.

I know so many people who hate painting and part of me understands that. I truly hate the prep work involved in painting, the cleaning of the area, the taping, and putting down cloths. But once I finished the prep work, I spent four hours by myself, thinking about nothing. It’s amazing how productive my mind is when I’m doing something tedious.

After only a few minutes of painting, I had finally figured out the plot for the second book in a series I will be proposing to my editor soon. The whole book suddenly made sense. And the bar was getting painted too!

My husband’s theory on this is it’s the paint fumes. He might be right.

It’s interesting how the mind works (at least my mind). I can be sitting in front of my PC with a blank page in front of me and nothing comes to mind. But when I get my body working on something where I don’t have to think, suddenly the plots start come to me.

Of course, now I have a problem. My house is painted and I can’t think of a thing in it that needs paint. But I still have another book to plot!

Help me come up with mindless things that I can do to help me plot!

And for the writers, how do you plot for your synopses? For the readers, what do you do when you need inspiration for something?

Addicted To Scandal

by Caren Crane

While at the beach celebrating my birthday this week, I picked up a book one of my sisters had brought along. It was The Bolter by Frances Osborne. Osborne is the great-granddaughter of one of Edwardian England's most scandalous socialites, Idina Sackville. Idina was from a very rich family (the daughter of the 8th Earl De La Warr) and she married into a very old and titled family when she wed the handsome (David) Euan Wallace. The young couple were off to a fun-filled, monied and happy life.

Then came World War I.

The War To End All Wars had many unintended consequences, such as decimating most of the titled families of England, wiping out most of a generation of young men and providing an excellent excuse for a group of entitled, wealthy and terribly bored young people to ruin their lives. Idina - beautiful, impeccably dressed, charming and the toast of London - did just that. Here she made the cover of The Tatler with her soon-to-be third husband, the 22-year old future Earl of Erroll. In reading about her many exploits, shenanigans, marriages and divorces, the question running through my mind was: why would she do that?!

It seemed to boil down to Idina's addiction to scandal. Once she had made her untidy bed, she chose not just to lie in it, but to wallow in it and invite others to take pictures of it, write newspaper articles about it and even to turn it into novels. When Euan broke her heart, Idina dug a hole she could not escape. So she turned around and dug even harder. That seems a foreign notion...until you consider other Scandal Addicts. Like who, you ask?

Consider the case of young Lindsay Lohan. Poor Lindsay was (like Idina) once a fair-haired darling of the entertainment world. Talented, beautiful and poised to take over the world, Lindsay broke down under a burden of "too much". Too many late nights, too many parties, too many public dramas about too many men. Once she fell, she kept finding ways to make things harder for herself. Will she dig herself out and over come her addiction to scandal? Time will tell.

There is also poor Amy Winehouse. Amy has been arrested for several things at this point, but she has been noted in past news articles for sticky wickets such as drug abuse, stints in rehab, attempts (along with her now ex-husand) to pervert justice, assault on various random people (fans, photographers, etc.) and crimes against hair, teeth and tattoos. She is an incredibly talented singer, musician and songwriter who should have a long, successful and award-winning career. Will she? The Magic 8 Ball cannot say, for the Force of Scandal Addiction is strong in this one.

I do not count provocateurs such as Madonna or Marilyn Manson as true Scandal Addicts. They certainly display scandalous behavior, but it is calculated to gain them publicity of a very certain type. I am far more interested in those who seem to want nothing more than to rewind life back to that moment before everything went wrong, but cannot find a way to do it. The struggle to win back respect, admiration and love seems to haunt the beautiful and incomplete like Idina, Lindsay and Amy.

Can you think of a true Scandal Addict? There have been many novels written about "scandals" in recent years, including Bandita books Something Scandalous and Scandal's Daughter. Are we, as a society, addicted to scandal? What draws us in and makes us long to gobble up other people's journeys on the dark side? And...have you heard any good scandals lately? *g* Inquiring Banditas want to know!

Forbidden Love

There is something inherently appealing about a story of forbidden, or star-crossed, love. It makes you root for the couple who are in love but for whatever reason are not supposed to be together. Despite every obstacle that is put in the way of this couple, you believe deeply that fate caused them to cross paths, that they were supposed to fall in love, and that there just has to be a way for them to be together.

The classic example is, of course, Romeo and Juliet. But being a fan of happy endings, I can't say I like how that particular story turned out.

When I was watching V (the new series) recently, there was a moment when Erica and Father Jack were in a room together and you felt a little awareness. Hobbs walks in and makes a reference to it being a Thorn Birds moment. I was 12 or 13 when The Thorn Birds aired, and I can remember being absolutely glued to the TV. The story of Father Ralph de Briccasart and Meggie Cleary was the ultimate in forbidden love, but there was something that made me root for them, even at a young age. I really need to re-watch that mini-series as I've lost a lot of the details over the years.

The movie and book fields are filled with vampire stories these days, and what could be more star-crossed than a human and a vampire falling in love against all odds? One of my favorite such stories is Buffy and Angel. And unless you've been living under a rock, you're aware of the immense popularity of Twilight among the young and the young at heart. I read each of the four books holding my breath to see how things would turn out for Edward and Bella. And I watch and re-watch the trailers for the movies in anticipation of seeing the full-length films.

Duty or some higher calling often stands in the way of true love, as was the case for Anakin Skywalker and Padme Amidala in the newest Star Wars trilogy.

Love was forbidden to Jedi Knights, but Anakin would not be denied and he and Padme were secretly married. It didn't end well for them, but for the brief time they were together before Anakin started toward the Dark Side, I felt the depth of their love. I know a lot of people weren't particularly fond of the newer movies, but I actually liked them.

Sometimes duty will mix with some physical impossibility to keep true loves apart. Such is the case for Kahlan Amnell (the Mother Confessor) and Richard Cypher aka Richard Rahl (The Seeker) in Legend of the Seeker. Though they are very much in love, they can't be together the way they want because if they allow themselves to be so, Kahlan's Confessor powers (which take away a person's free will) would be unleashed on Richard, thus robbing the world of the Seeker, the person who is supposed to rid the world of the evil ruler Darken Rahl.

(FYI, I'm having a Kahlan Amnell costume like the white one here made for Dragon*Con. Can't wait to see how it turns out.)

Society is just beginning to accept homosexual relationships, but in many places it's still verboten and even dangerous to admit. Such is the case in Brokeback Mountain, the story of two cowboys who fall for each other but try to keep their relationship secret. Again, this story doesn't have a happy ending, but it's powerful while it lasts. It's sad that two people who love each other can't be open about it because they fear for their lives and know their relationship won't be accepted.

Are you a fan of stories of star-crossed love? What are your favorite such stories? What do you think is the appeal of stories of forbidden or star-crossed love?

Isn't It Romantic

by Tawny

I'm about halfway through my current WIP (work in progress, currently titled Breaking the Rules) and it's taking a much more romantic turn than most of my previous stories. Oh, sure, I'd like to think all my romances are romantic *g* But I'm feeling a much sweeter edge to this one.

Sweeter, and more romantic.

Which, since it pertains to writing, makes me instantly want to delve deeper. So in my usual fashion, I started making lists. Romantic lists, that is. Here's what I came up with, and as you can see, the lists aren't complete.

Soooooo.... Help? Can you add to my lists?

Best makeout songs:

1. Always and Forever - Heatwave
2. All My Love - Led Zeppelin
3. Truly Madly Deeply - Savage Garden
4. Wicked Game - Chris Isaac
5. Wonderful Tonight - Eric Clapton
6. 
   

Most romantic movies:

1. Casablanca
2. The Notebook
3. Princess Bride
4. Beauty and the Beast
5. While You Were Sleeping
6. 
   

Most romantic places to make whoopie (to harken back to the Newlywed Game)

1. Under a waterfall
2. In a magical forest
3. On a Harley (okay, maybe not romantic, but it's hot, right?)
4. Against the wall, just inside the front door. It has that, now, as soon as we have privacy desperation to it
5. In a Sheik's tent on a satiny mountain of soft pillows
6. 
   

And, of course, top romance novels?

1. Easy peasy, anything by the Bandits :-D
   
2. 
   

I'd like to build each list up to at least ten - what would you add?

Eating My Words

So, I'm reviewing my blog from last month. The one where I was basically talking myself out of adopting a pet.

Pretty sound arguments I decided as my new kitten nibbled on my toes.

Yup, I went from 0-60 in 30 days.

I have a new pet.

Here she is, the little darling. Her birth name was Chaos. While somewhat accurate, I thought it too negative a connotation. So, I changed it to Cricket. Still appropriate as she bounces from couch, to wall, to perch, to recliner, to floor and back again. Whew, I get exercise just watching her!

Now remember, I hadn't had any type of pet (fish don't count...not really. You can't pet a fish) since I was a child. I didn't really realize how I'd have to kitten proof the house. The first time out of her carrier? She headed straight to a kitten size opening I didn't remember I had under my cabinet. Got her tail in the nick of time.

She loves to snuggle and perch on my knee. She's starting to pay attention to the birds outside and is onto my kitten evasive manuevers.

Some things I've learned in 2 weeks:

1. Cats don't care that you want to eat alone.....they want to help.

2. She'll require a manicure more often then me while I.....will need more Bandaids and Neosporin.

3. You THINK she's in the carrier while you vaccum???? Ha!

4. That's not a horse you hear galloping around your house....it's a manaical cat. I should have called her "My Little Pony."

5. She knows the mousie on a stick is not real...but plays with it to amuse you.


But she snuggles and is good at night. Is using her "big girl" litter box and greets me at the door.

We've often taken polls here in the Lair. What about you? Cats or Dogs? Or "other". What's your favorite type of pet? And names. What is your pet's name and why?

Mentalist Vs. CSI Vs....Writer?

by Jeanne Adams

Alllllrighty, ladies and gents (but mostly geared to the ladies, sorry, guys!), let's talk television. I have a hot debate for you. If you had to choose between the following wonderful TV men, who would you choose?

A. The Mentalist - Patrick Jane

Jane is a former celebrity psychic who now works as a civilian consultant to the California Bureau of Investigation. He riles up his boss, Senior Agent Theresa Lisbon, breaks the rules and generally solves the cases. Not to mention being fabulous eye candy. There's great repartee between Lisbon and Jane, the rest of the team is sharp and interesting. All in all, great entertainment.
B. CSI Las Vegas - Nick Stokes

If you've been following the blog for the last three years you've no doubt learned that I'm a huge fan of darling CSI boy-o Nick Stokes. He's very smart, very focused on his work and he has a boyish charm; an a "I don't know I'm cute" sort of charm. While he has a bit of a college frat boy thing going, he's also a brilliant criminalist. He's the "everyman" of the CSI Vegas team, slogging through data like a machine, but he's also the constant character that stays solid as other characters revolve in and out of the various storyline.

C. Castle - Richard Castle

Oh, my. What's to say about Castle? ABC says: "He's famous. He's gorgeous. He's smart as hell." Ohhhhh, yeah. There's that lovely tension with Kate Beckett, who secretly is a fan, but trys to pretend she isn't and who is totally snarky, competent, and brilliant. As a team, they are magnificent, within the greater team on the show and with the foil of his wonderful flamboyent mother and down-to-earth daughter. The interactions are fabulous.

D. None of the Above.

Really? You wouldn't pick any of these?

What about Jethro Gibbs from NCIS?

Or perhaps Derek Morgan from Criminal Minds - AKA the amazing Shemar Moore ? (Isn't that the most....hmmm...rippped picture?)

Or the ever delicious LL Cool J from NCIS: Los Angeles. What a wonderful new addition to the line up. Happy sigh. He hasn't lost any of his charm, or sex appeal with age. I love that in a man, don't you?

Maybe Choice D. should be ALL of the Above?

I don't have a lot time to watch TV these days. I'm a full time writer, a full time Mom. A full time "Estate Manager" for the house and home. I do some consulting, I do some other stuff professionally. I'm on the Board for RWA.

There are so many full time jobs in my life that TV is just one of those things that seem to fall by the wayside.

Then came the TV with the DVR.

"Ooooooh, shiny!" (As Christine would say. Snork.)

Now I can watch allll I want. I like this.

I actually have come to realize that it may be as important to watch TV as it is to constantly be reading (and refilling the creative well) when you're a writer.

Hey, Castle does it.

Seriously, popular culture influences trends and influences readers as much as it does writers-as-watchers. It also influences agents and editors. How many times are we asked, as writers pitching a new story idea to either an agent or editor, "What's it like?" We often reference these cultural icons to define essential pieces of our stories.

When my agent asked me to describe what my dark urban fantasy was "like," (and thus hopefully help her find it a home) I was able to sum it up as "It's Men in Black meets Walker, Texas Ranger." She got it in one. So if any editors out there are interested....*crickets chirping*...Bueller? Bueller? (ahhh, now THERE's an iconic reference!)

Grins.

Iconic references aside, I'll give you the caveat that you have to be careful about some references. If a show - like Walker - has been off the air for a while and isn't featured on TV Land, and the editor is quite young, they may not have ever seen Walker, Texas Ranger.

And despite all the Flair on Facebook referring to Chuck Norris, there are a lot of people who don't know who he is. I know, I know, it surprises me too. Those of us who are into kick-em-up-shoot-em-up movies know, of course but not young, not-long-out-of-college editors.

Now long time editors, like dyed-in-the-wool Hollywood types and movie and tv buffs, they know these cultural icon references pretty well. For instance, you could say:

"It's like Beauty and the Beast meets Boston Legal."

"It's like Lost meets Swiss Family Robinson, Harlequin style."

They'd get the picture. Ohhh, the possibilities.

So, friends, who's your current TV Crush? I admitted yesterday that I have a slight crush on Tom Collichio from Top Chef - hey, he can cook, he's smart...what's not to crush on? Of course this was in Christine's blog on sweet little sins. It's just a little crush.

The crush on Nick Stokes? That, my friends, is huge.

C'mon now, fess up. Who's your crush?

Also, do you believe it's important to know about TV and it's pop culture when you write? (Historical authors can skip this question...)

As a reader, do you like it when an author uses a reference to TV or movies you know? Do you think it dates a book if they do it?

Tell alll.....

Oh, and if you're a writer, what's your pitch? How would you describe your book in pop-culture terms? Grins.