Monday Mayhem – Zombie edition

I’m back from vacation and possibly even more brain-dead than when I left. We’re talking total zombie fodder. I had a fabulous time with my girls, but I need a day or two to recover and get back into the swing of things. I promise I’ll be better next week. In the meantime, here are a couple of author-y pictures from the weekend. 

Talk amongst yourselves.

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Monday Mayhem – Vacation – all I ever wanted…

Vacation – I need to get away…

Later this week, I will be on vacation for a few days. That means I’m scrambling to tie up loose ends at both the day job and on the author gig. I’m not taking any work with me. This time I mean it.

Okay, so I’ll have my laptop. And my thumb drive. I do have a galley to proof…I could convert it and put it on my Kindle…There will probably be some airport time…I could use to write a few paragraphs just to make the wait go faster…I’d really like to finish this bit up by the end of the month and the flight is two hours long…I could get a few hundred words in before beverage service begins…

Yeah. Have I mentioned that I’m a bit of a control freak?

How about you? Have you got this relaxation thing covered, or does downtime make you nervous?

See you next week! (If I don’t spontaneously combust…)

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SALE!!!!

In case you haven’t heard me shouting it from the rooftops, Paramour is on sale at Amazon! Only .99 cents for all this ghostly goodness. What a deal, right?

If you haven’t read it, you’ll want to grab it today because I have just completed edits on the sequel, Inamorata, which will release in June 2012. Cam and Brad are back, and so is everyone’s favorite spook, Frank DeLuca. 🙂 

You do not have to have a Kindle device to read a Kindle book. Download any number of the FREE Kindle apps, and start reading on your PC, Mac, iPhone, iPad, iTouch, or android/windows7 phone today!

Already read Paramour? This is a great chance to share the love with a friend. You can gift a digital copy of this book simply by pressing the ‘Give As Gift’ button on right side of the Amazon page and supplying the recipient’s email address.

Who wouldn’t love that?

And while you’re shopping, feel free to download/gift as many copies of Contentment and Commitment as you want. Go wild!

Please, please please – remember that word of mouth is everything to an author. If you have read and enjoyed a book lately, please tell a friend (or fifty), post a simple ‘I loved this book!’ on Amazon, B&N, or GoodReads, rent billboards, etc. Not just for me, but for any author whose work entertains you. Not only does it make us grin like goofballs, it also makes us write faster.

I swear, it does.

Okay, enough shameless self-promoting and pathetic begging. Run, run, read!

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Monday Mayhem – Kissy-Kissy Edition

Last week you got my tragic blind date story. Didja like that? Yeah…good story.

Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day, and I have a little love story for you. It’s much nicer than the blind-dates-are-hazardous-to-your-health story, I swear. It even comes equipped with a happily ever whatever.

Ready?

In the spring of 1999, Margaret, a spinster from Illinois, went on a business trip to California. Not much of a hook, I know, but get this… She wasn’t supposed to go to that meeting that year. One of her co-workers was scheduled for the trip, but had to bow out. That’s when fate stepped in.

Dun-dun-dun!

Margaret’s business card was pulled from a hat, and she was awarded a trip to yet another conference. Oh, yippee skippee. In the fall of 1999, our heroine boarded a plane bound for Washington, D.C. Over six hundred miles away, a dark eyed man from Little Rock, Arkansas took off in the same direction, and…

Their gazes met across a stuffy conference room in rural Virginia…

They flirted….

There may have been adult beverages consumed…

And a game of Pictionary… (Uh, yeah, that’s what the kids call it these days.)

Some attendees claimed they spotted a couple kissing on the roof…

(Wait. What? You thought Pictionary was code for kissing? No, it’s charades with paper. Kissing is kissing. Sheesh. Have I taught you nothing? Read more smutty books!)

And our heroine said, “Oh, shit.”

True story.

By the end of the week, Margaret knew she had met THE ONE, but she wasn’t exactly ecstatic about it.  

Falling hard and fast for a stranger seven hundred miles away from home was not part of her plan. It was supposed to be a harmless flirtation. Some laughs, a few stolen kisses, a little excitement to break up the monotony of eight hours of seminars each day over the course of five long days.

But, he was so sweet. How could any spinster resist those big, bittersweet chocolate eyes? And the drawl! Not the twangy, annoying kind, but the soft, slow slurring of syllables that was just enough to make a northern girl melt into a puddle of goo….

Margaret knew right away she was in trouble. She also knew that resistance was futile.

On their wedding day, her hairdresser stood her up, but her groom didn’t.

And they lived happily ever after – so long as he continues to provide Route 44 Diet Cokes, crack her up daily, and say sweet things in that slow, southern drawl.

The End

Now it’s your turn to tell me a love story. It can be your love for Nutella or the nut job you married. Either works. Ready? Go!

Oh! And Happy Valentine’s Day! I hope it’s a sweet one!

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Monday Mayhem – Frog kissing

Everyone knows you have to kiss a lot of frogs to find your prince. Lord knows I puckered up a few times, but I’m proud to say I never got warts. And I never gave up hope. As Valentine’s Day is still a bit over a week away, I thought I’d share an anti-love story with you this week, and then next week I’ll share my real-life love story.

Sound like a plan? Just a heads up: I’ll be asking about yours too, so start mining the memories…

Because I don’t mind being the subject of your amusement/derision, I am going to give you the sad tale of my one and only blind date.

Let me preface this by reminding you, that I spent many, many years firmly ensconced in my spinsterhood. There were some, uh, dating dry spells. Many, many dating dry spells. This story takes place in the spring just after my first annual 29th birthday, a time so arid I could hear the air around me crackle….

A friend wanted to set me up on a blind date with the really cute new guy in her office. After some none to gentle prodding, I relented, and the numbers were exchanged.

I am sad to tell you that I can’t even remember my date’s name now (it has been more than a dozen years), but the events of that evening are indelibly etched in my mind.

First of all, he lived up to the hype. Hel-lo hottie man!  

After a surreptitious Snoopy dance, we went to dinner at the local Mexican restaurant. The plan was to go to a comedy club for the 9PM show, but we were early, so went to the bar next door to pass the time.

I would love to blame the booze for what happened next, but even I am not that much of a lightweight. Stone cold sober, we were walking the approximately 100 yards from the bar to the comedy club when I tripped.

Over nothing.

Nothing at all.

Did I stumble a little? Did I flail and catch myself? Did my knight in a black leather jacket catch me and press me to his manly chest?

Alas, no.

I took a flying header on the sidewalk just outside of the club, landing on my arm and bouncing my forehead off concrete. The fall itself was so spectacular, that people waiting in line for the club left the line and hurried over to help me up while my date stood staring at the clumsy lump on the ground.
Of course, I was mortified. I brushed myself off, insisting that I was fine and trying to laugh about it. Did I mention it had been a couple of years since I dated?  Yeah…So…The date must go on!

Fighting back tears of pain and humiliation, I excused myself to the ladies room to clean up where I promptly fell apart. The other women in the room, some of whom had witnessed my Chevy Chase pratfall, were sympathetic and consoling. Luckily, many of them worked at the day spa that occupied space in the same strip mall. Cool paper towels were pressed to the growing knot on my head. They whipped out massive cosmetic bags and fixed my face. My hair was combed to cover the lump. Finally, I was handed a cup of ice water and given a gentle shove back out into the lion’s den.

There were three comedians scheduled that night. We laughed along with the crowd, but I noticed that my head wasn’t what was bothering me as much as my growing inability to lift my left arm to applaud. By the time the last guy was finished, I’d also lost my ability to keep up any pretense.

When my date asked if I wanted to go somewhere else, I told him that I really didn’t feel well, and that I thought I should call it a night. Oddly enough, he seemed slightly peeved. Not so strange was the fact that I didn’t care.

My roommate was staying at her boyfriend’s that night, so I called her and sobbed the entire story—leading with the headline, “I think I broke my arm!”

She assured me that it was probably just a sprain and told me I should ice it, elevate it, and if it wasn’t better by morning, she would take me to the emergency room. Since it was already after 1am, I thought that it seemed reasonable. I propped my arm on the extra pillow, plopped an ice pack on it and tried to sleep.

By 6am, I was calling her back and saying, “I’m sorry, but I think I need you to take me to get an x-ray.” We spent a lovely morning hanging out in the waiting room, my arm supported by a makeshift sling created by a chiffon scarf patterned with sailboats which I paddled up the river Denial.

When the x-ray tech told me to turn my arm over for another angle and I almost peed down my leg. Finally convinced that it was indeed broken, I was plastered up, given a prescription for Vicodin, and sent on my merry way. The girlfriend who instigated the set up and my faithful roomie were at my side for the rest of the weekend.

Mr. Blinddateman? Never heard from him again.

When my friend saw him at work the following Monday, she mentioned something about my arm being broken.

His response? “Wow, really? Well, she did fall really hard.” 

My thought? “Luckily, it wasn’t for you.”

The moral of the story?

Blind dates can be hazardous to your health.

Just a reminder.

Okay, your turn! Tell me your worst date scenario. Ready? Go!

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