Sunday, November 27, 2011

Review Mania!!!

Hello Beauties,

I made it through the first leg of the holiday season and am prepping for the next half as we speak (or I write and you read, but you get the point). I've been quite the busy bee lately and getting sick during Thanksgiving was a good time to let myself sit back and relax. I even detached my phone from my hand long enough to enjoy some of the books that have been languishing on my TBR list. Because I love you all so much I thought I'd help with you acquiring more for your reading wish lists and do reviews of the books I burned through and few that I've been waiting to tell you all about. They aren't in any particular order except awesomeness;)

Billy London

Said the Demon to Little Miss Eva

Okay, this one is going way back but if I was going to do reviews I had to put it in because it's what inspired me to do my Halloween extravaganza. I loved to be scared but not in that purely jumping out of the bushes and taking me by surprise kind of scared. No I mean the bump in the night that is under your bed kind of scared. Ms. London did such a terrific job of accomplishing this that I had to carry around my cat for protection when I went to pee in the middle of the night. What also made this a stellar horror genre story were the characters. When it all came together toward the end I wept a bit and sighed a sigh of contentment...and still checked under my bed as well.

Put Out the Zombie 
I'm having a fan girl moment if you haven't noticed with Ms. London's lovely little creeper stories. Like the previous story, I read this during my holy month (October) and was awed by how a Zombie could actually be sexy. In the horror genre they are my least favorite because I've never found them that scary. If a clean shot to the head or a good case of explosives can get the job done and get me to safety I'm not getting all that worked up. What I appreciated about this story was this wasn't about Zombie's as I'm familiar. Actually, I felt the "zombie" idea was seamlessly infused into a greater paranormal story line that allowed me to focus once again on the characters. Yes there is a theme here when reading a Billy London book, great characters.

Elle D. Hayes

Wynter's Blossom

In all honesty I really struggled to pick this story up. Even the idea of a red haired character couldn't move me past my fear of reading something that was going to have me doing my ugly cry but I persevered and did it and I couldn't have been happier. One of the romance tropes I detest for creating a strong heroine is excessive victimization. Authors will take a female character and drop her in the dessert after being beaten by a marauding band of outlaws and than have a lightening bolt set her on fire and the whole time have the heroine saying, "Why does this keep happening to me" until she meets the hero and he makes it all better. Ugh...I want to see hardship and I want to see growth but I don't want to have either of those housed exclusively in the heroine or hero's character. Ms. Hayes does a great job of taking a story line that could have had me excessively despondent or excessively pissed but instead left me feeling hopeful. Which I think is the greatest gift a author can give to a reader.

Marteeka Karland

One Night Forever
I like being surprised only if it's fun and I have to say Ms.Karland surprised me in a big way with this one. If you know Marteeka's work you know the woman brings the sizzle, I'm actually blushing right now thinking about some of that sizzle, and while this story had the sizzle factor it also had heart. More specifically heart of a reality that many women can only experience in fantasy. I appreciated how she created a character that was not only given lemons but the entire orchard and helped her build a lemonade conglomeration. It is short, it is sweet and it does have a sexy part that made me blush (I mean it is Marteeka). It did what it needed to do and made me happy, with the way my week was going, that was all I needed.

Nevea Lane

Ronni's Romanian
If I were to get one of those "Get out of jail free" cards and have one night to go buck wild with no repercussions, Nevea Lane would be the person I call up. The stories I've read about some of her ummm...escapades...makes me shake my head and go, "That really can't be possible". It's nice to know that art of story telling crosses over when she's also writing about fiction. This story had family strife, a strong heroine, and my favorite, a foreign Hottie McHottie. If I can picture the hero purring sexy things in my ear with an accent...done. With how crazy my schedule is I cherish fun quick reads such as these.

RW Shannon

Hells Angels
 Okay, I'm going to share something but you guys can't laugh...stories set in Hell or with Demons freak me out. A story with vampires...pfft...or with were problem...even zombies, monsters, or creepy crawlies...I've got a handle on it. Hell and Demons, I just hear my grandmother's voice saying something like, "Little girl, you better leave that stuff alone." I was pleasantly surprised that when I gave it a chance Ms. Shannon created a story that had the Demon/Hell element but the mythology of the story kept me in my safe zone and I could focus on the characters. I think that was most unique about it because if you are a person that wants to explore another facet of the paranormal genre but had the voice of your grandmother whispering in your ear give it a try. Oh, and did I mention there was some major hotness in it, because there are three of them, angelic hotness at that.

Nikki Winter

Sweet Allure
This is the next installment in a growing list of laugh out loud funny stories set on ranches in Texas. I like sharp wit and slightly psychotic heroines (crazy funny not just crazy) and once again this story has it. This story was a nice bridge for me into the holiday madness that is inevitable when celebrations have to be split between two families. I giggled and I ahhhed and most of all I'm really thinking Sig Other needs to get a Stetson because...well I kinda want to play cowboy and cowgirl now...smirk.

Drea Riley and Nikki Winter

Talking Dirty
I really dont' know if this needs a review besides, this was hilarious and you should own it. I love inappropriate humor and a good inside joke. Even though this story came out of one of the best inside jokes in the BTP family I don't think a reader that hasn't gotten the back story will miss out. This is also one of my favorite types of stories, a thin line between love and hate, with the cross over happening because of the bam-shig-a-bow-bow. Strong heroine and sexy hero and I was in giggle mania heaven. Can't wait to see what else the twinsies have in store for us.


Wednesday, October 5, 2011

Gabriel, you spoke to my soul...


I've done a couple of these reviews now and I'm sure you've all noticed that I can be quite cheeky and have a bit of an irreverent humor but this time...this time I got nothing. How do you describe someone speaking to your soul? Taking your fantasy and housing it in a reality that is so plausible that you can feel the warm sensation of bath water lapping against your skin. The touch of your lover and the rough texture of his fingertips trailing a path of fire down your spine. This isn't about girlish sighs of wonderment or the hard powered thrusts of lust, this is the connection one has with another human being that connects the dots of love, trust, respect, and integrity into the soft lilting lyrical prose of passion.

This was a siren song that both men and women, gay or straight, cannot but stop to listen to, and enjoy the haunting melody of words that take the reader to a place they may find familiar or eager to discover. I am speechless and moved by the simplistic beauty of your work Mr. Essex, and I thank you. You spoke to my soul indeed...okay and some other parts too, for which Sig Other will be internally grateful.

*Looking around*
What? I held it together for a really long time. I mean clearly, with a title like Coming Home and Mr. Essex's mastery of words, you should be grateful I was this adult in my review...*wink*

Tuesday, September 27, 2011

Oh where, oh where, has my whimsical gone....

Allo' Allo!

I'm currently in the process of writing a little ditty with Ms. Reana Malori that per our writing challenge instructions is going to be a madcap, whimsical, romance (not quite verbatim but you get my point). We've gone back and forth about what type of characters we want and what all that "madcap, whimsical, romance" will look like and I'm totally in the groove. So much so, that my creative synapses started firing and stories began to clutter my marginally large head (okay it's pretty big but my broad shoulders balance it out) and guess what I've discovered, when not prompted I seem to have lost my ability to create something whimsical.

I start off pretty fun and then it's as if I hop off the romantic comedy path and end up in the deep dark forest where shadows lurk and ghastly deeds are waiting to happen. I've got characters killing each other, and I've got societies turning in on themselves, and when I sit back and give it a hard stare I've noticed that what I've got is the reality of the world in which I live, and it really makes me feel like a Debbie Downer.  Don't get me wrong, I like the idea of creating something thoughtful, a piece of writing that causes the reader to reflect on the human condition (however I'm describing it), and feel moved. I appreciate that as a reader myself but I also want a little fun and a little bit of naughty.

So I'm sending up a flare and hoping through the process of writing this new challenge my whimsical will find its way back to me, and decide that it's going to stay, at least for awhile.


Tuesday, August 30, 2011

Afternoon Delight...

Ooh La La,

Last week I was sitting in the office all by my lonesome and trying valiantly to work when I thought, "Wouldn't an afternoon delight be perfect right now." Now before you start squirming over the thought that this may be a TMI kind of post I'm talking about a hot read. How lucky was I when presto magico Sweet Victory by Nikki Winter was right there when I needed it. Having read the first two books in the series I was jonesing for Rod's (giggles) story. Yes he was "presented" as the complete whore schmuckity schmuck but I knew that he was a whore with a heart of gold and couldn't wait to read about the woman that was going to corral (if you read the books you'll notice the usage of that word is quite witty) him in. Victory was just the character to do that and some, but she was also a character that had to learn her own lessons about what a relationship should look like and it was those lessons she shared with Roderick that made their budding relationship endearing.

Quick and fun this third book in the Sweet Series (I quite possibly made that up but doesn't it just sound right) gave me just what I needed when I needed it. Leaving a smile on my face and a little pep in my step as I went back to the drudgery of paperwork. Now what more could a gal ask for in an afternoon delight...ummmm.


*Doesn't the cover just inspire thoughts of naughty things in the middle of the day as huh

Monday, August 8, 2011

In Defense of Sex: A Very Minor Rant...


It really steams me how much people devalue the romance genre. Such terms as "bodice ripper" and the most derogatory of them all "porn", really gets me going. Imagine my surprise when I was looking at the reviews for A Reliable Wife by Robert Goolrick, a book that had caught my attention while running errands in Target, I saw quite a few of the one stars littered liberally with these descriptions. Truthfully I never quite believe most of the reviews on Amazon because taste is so uniquely personal that not everyone is going to enjoy the same thing. What I'm usually looking at in the reviews is a balanced ratio of like to dislike. Not completely scientific but mostly accurate when I branch out with a new author.

Mr. Goolrick's reviews appeared to pass muster of my little system but it was the frequent usage of disparaging comparisons of the romance genre to his story that really had me intrigued. There was an almost puritanical fervor in the prose reviewers used in their scathing critique of his fiction. While in the positive recommendations of the work there was very little mentioned about the sex some found so offensive. Of course I didn't read all the reviews but the little I did read led me to believe I needed to get this book.

The book is set during the early decades of the Twentieth Century during winter in Wisconsin. There is a wealthy businessman in need of a wife and a mysterious woman in need of a wealthy husband in order to become a wealthy widow. I was immediately sold when in the description of the book I knew the mysterious woman was planning to kill the wealthy businessman. Devious and a bit twisted you may think but I was intrigued non the less. Now as the title of this blog implies, this is not a review but instead a rant. The book was often overly flowery in its descriptions and had a surreal quality of time and space that left me feeling adrift at times, but what I can definitely say is this was no "bodice ripper" or "porn".

This was a story about isolation both the physical and the emotional. The subsequent darkness and often madness that such isolation causes and the promise of redemption that sex and all its intimacies can deliver. There are no quaint little drawing rooms where Victorian etiquette is practiced by the hero and heroine. There may be a villain but the face of his character changes constantly throughout the narrative that at times I couldn't quite decide what was particularly villainous. My rant is centered around the fact that there is such a lack of respect for the genre that I love and write in that a book that does have sex, however tragic in its presentation, is written off as pure smut.

While the language was a disjointed stream of consciousness that upon reflection accurately described the disjointed reality of the characters, the sex was in my opinion frank and accurate. It was at times sweet and tender with a edge of malice. It was raw and animalistic with a hint of the divine while whispering its blasphemies. Did it sound like a male narrative of the act, yes, and was I often put off by this maleness that expressed sexuality so differently than my own, quite possibly. Does that mean I get on my moral high horse and diss an entire genre of fiction because said sex didn't always prescribe to my definitions, no. Or because I thought this book was supposed to be "gothic" or a "suspense" I rip it to shreds because it has several scenes of copulation, absolutely not.

I really think people need to get over themselves and put down their scarlet letters. Sex in a story does not devalue it in the same way that sex alone can't make it better. When I finished the book I couldn't really say if I liked it or disliked it because I was haunted by a great deal of what was presented in the story and it didn't have anything to do with the sex.

As for rants this is pretty mild in comparison to my usual tirades but as I still sit with the story, or more accurately as the story still sits with me, I had to share some of my ire.


Tuesday, July 26, 2011

I'm at it again....


I have always been reluctant to give my opinion about a book in a review because as I have said in the previous reviews "I liked it" doesn't quite capture the true essence of the book, but I was compelled to break down and write a review about Billy London's newest book On Caristo's Watch. Why you may ask, and well Billy I'm sorry but I'm going to have to be honest, mostly because Lydia is me. Now Billy I'm sure you didn't want this to get out but with the following facts I think it will be hard to keep the secret.

1. Lydia is a nurse and I work in the medical profession of sorts (I'm a mental health professional).
2. Tony is Italian and I am married to an Italian (He's also Irish just for future reference).
3. Lydia is an African raised in Ireland and I am of African and Irish descent.
4. Lydia is kick ass and well I think it goes without saying that I am pretty kick ass myself.

Yes, you may point out that whole mob connection thing, and all though Sig Other isn't in a Family, he could be homicidal if pushed to it. Obviously some creative licence was taken but in the end this is totally my story. Now imagine my surprise when it was told with such poignant insight and spot on humor. On Caristo's Watch does a fabulous job of mirroring Windows (there may have been a pun in there) in that as a sequel it fits seamlessly into the time line of the first book so that you have the pleasure of revisiting moments of Windows in your head while being immersed in the new story. 

As with Windows I appreciate the way Billy plays with the concepts of what is good and bad or right and wrong. Tony is a criminal and there is no sugar coating that, but he is a criminal that fits nicely into the romantic fantasy of what the reader may think of as his "type" of criminal. I don't really want to know about the seedier parts of his profession because his bad is oh so good that it feels right that it is so wrong. He protects those that he loves and lives by a code of honor that bends a bit to allow him to be a criminal but still retain some aspect of his humanity. It is lovely and complex but superbly simple in its execution that you don't get boggled by esoteric notions of crime and punishment. 

Lydia is a woman with a problem but instead of being burdened by her problem or spending endless amounts of time obsessing about said problem, she goes to the head of a mob family to handle this problem. I actually really liked this concept because not only did she get Tony for her ingenuity but it cut through what could have been endless amounts of obsessing about what to do. It also created Lydia as a perfect foil to Tony's good/bad, right/wrong persona. She is a "good" person that found herself in a "bad" situation and must do something "wrong" in order for her life to start being "right" again. Brilliant I must say because it plays well with the White Knight dichotomy but with a twist because the Knight may have stolen the horse.

The book also flows in such a way that if you haven't read Windows you can still appreciate the characters in On Caristo's Watch, which is the hallmark of a good spin off. Of course why you haven't read Windows yet makes me give you the squinty eye and wonder what's wrong with you. 

Great story and great job Billy. Oh and Billy dear, it really was so kind of you to do this for me. Now when you create Luca and Rocky's story feel free to create Sig Other in their image as well. Oh and if you are contemplating ethnicity's for your heroine, I'm also of German and Scottish descent, just so you know.

I got kinda fancy and created the title with a hyperlink in the beginning but if it doesn't open you can find Billy's book and it's description at Beautiful Trouble Publishing.

Janet (or is it Lydia...ummmm)

Monday, July 18, 2011

The ball took a bad hop...

Well Hello,

I was recently having a conversation with two of my co-workers about personal accountability and how we foster that in children. It all started because my co-workers three year old asked him for something and my co-worker said he would do it later, adding just as his little son went to walk away, "Make sure you hold me accountable." We all chuckled because it seemed like such an odd thing to say to a three year old but my co-worker said he wanted to start early.

Driving home that day I started thinking about how personal accountability was fostered in me as a child. What immediately came to mind were the times I would say I couldn't do something because "so and so" prevented me or it was hard for me to learn something because "so and so" didn't make it easy and my mother would simply ask, "The ball took a bad hop?" I'm sure dear reader you're probably wondering what the hell does that have to do with personal accountability, well let me explain.

My mother would quote this commercial endlessly when I was a child. As it was in circulation a good decade before I was born I only have her and some of my cousins recollection of how it went. I believe it may have been a cereal commercial but the premise was there was a little boy that complained about how everything prevented him from playing baseball well. His line was, "The ball took a bad hop, the sun was in my eyes, and this glove is too big. I tripped over that rock, stupid rock."

The line was always delivered in this whiny sing song manner that implied that the speaker was incapable of seeing their part in what went wrong. No personal accountability. It was an affective tool for me as a child and even into my adult years. Until I realized sometimes the ball really does take a bad hop and the fucking sun is in my eyes, these damn gloves are way too big for me, and that stupid rock was in my way. Personal accountability can only go so far when life is determined to get in your way.

Which brings me to the crux of this narrative. How do you teach someone they have to be responsible for their actions knowing there will be times when somethings are just out of their control?

It's a good thing I only have cats;)


Wednesday, July 6, 2011

What's your favorite flower?

Bonjour mon ami,

For the 4th of July weekend Sig Other and I took a trip up to Napa with our close couple friends B&H, the second trip we've made with the couple because they are the BEST people to travel with. It's like having our own tour guides/concierge/DJs and if you've ever taken a trip for any extended period up the 5 North you know that great traveling companions are a must. It was during one of the inevitable moments that happens on a road trip where everyone is talked out, the radio gets a little louder and the barren landscape starts to lull one into a state of reflection that Sig Other started one of those conversations that alters the way that I see how he sees me.

I was watching the landscape of dry grass, not so happy looking cows and more dry grass fly by as I sat in the front passenger seat when Sig Other asked as he drove, "What's your favorite flower?" Now this question was particularly interesting because I struggle with labeling anything my "favorite". I feel that there is a great deal of expectation in the answer and how it reflects on you as a person, particularly to the person that is asking. What if your favorite is something they completely hate and now you feel obligated to justify your choice or they share the same, are you now instantly bonded by this connection even if you detest everything else about the person? Is your favorite hip enough or cool enough and what if you change your mind, only to be labeled with this "favorite" thing indefinitely? Of course I have a tendency to over think things, like to the nth degree, so this spiralling internal dialogue of neurosis is probably something unique to me...but I digress.

What I really struggle with is I am constantly changing and evolving as a person that I find it difficult to think of something as my favorite constantly when my desires and taste can shift so dramatically from the present to the future. But this is Sig Other and I decide to play along and say, "The sunflower," because in that moment it was the flower that spoke to me the most (yes that is new agey but what can I say, I'm from California). To which Sig Other replied, "That's what I thought."

Well of course I'm now immensely curious because where as I pulled that answer from a place housed in my present reflection, a reflection that could be altered a year from the date I was asked the question, Sig Other sounded so sure in his assessment of what a "favorite" thing of mine may be. I asked him, "What made you think that?" Now this question could be answered in a variety of ways by my illustrious better half, falling into two major categories. He could be romantic in his response causing me to smile and think how lucky I am to have him or he could be romantically clumsy in his response causing me to roll my eyes and think how lucky I am to have him.

What he said was, "I knew you would pick the sunflower because it's strong like you. A rose or flower like that seems too delicate, not sturdy enough." Looking over I could see his brow crinkling in concentration as he sought the words to express himself, as he stared out onto the open road. It was romantic and to a woman that doesn't have such a abiding confidence in her self worth as myself the "sturdy" aspect may have been a tad bit unromantic, but for me it was honest and I wouldn't have had it any other way. Smiling I reached over and squeezed his hand resting on the center console of the car and thought maybe the sunflower would be my favorite flower a little longer than I expected.


Monday, June 13, 2011

I'll take sex in space for 200...

Greetings, you lovely people you.

Here I am again playing the role of a reviewer and this time it is no less strange but now that I've had a taste of the power I can wield with my opinion, I'm heady with anticipation. Okay, that was pretty megalomaniac of me but I'm sure you get where I'm going.

Wanted 2: Vodka Shots
Marteeka Karland

This story could not have been better titled than Vodka Shots. Like a shot it starts off quickly with the action and keeps you feeling warm and tipsy all the way to the end. I actually appreciate a story that can just pick up with the characters, with minimal background information, and I'm immediately hooked. Ms. Karland's work has a tendency to appeal to those more, shall we say, darker aspects of my fantasy world that I keep locked away until she beacons them to come out to play. So much so that when I was reading the story, in my secret heart of hearts I was a bit disappointed there wasn't actually a little menage action going on. Ummm Hawk....

But I've gotten ahead of myself. Wanted 2: Vodka Shots is the story of a man (Dmitry) trying to locate the woman (Karri) that double crossed him and make her pay. Only to find out the double cross, no less hurtful, had justifiable reasons. It happens in space, with cool space descriptions and a cool space fight. That's basically my synopsis because you can read the blurb that a professional took the time to write if you want more details.

What I want to talk about is the sex. Yes, I took it there, and how can I not with this story. Like the heady burn of a Vodka shot that gets you all warm and courageous (or that could just be me) the sex is awesome. Mostly because it's angry, you betrayed me but I can't seem to get you out of mind and I might want to hurt you a little but only in a really good kind of way, angry sex. Totally confusing but since this is a story for adults and most of us have probably had this type of (consensual) angry sex it was so good. Just to turn around and be, I know this might not be perfect but I really want to make this work and I can't imagine my life without you, make up sex. Seriously, if that doesn't speak to you than...well I just don't know what to think about you because both of those are some good sex. Just saying.

And like a nice Vodka shot or two...okay maybe three or four but not that fruity shit, I mean the good stuff...the story does what it needs to do and moves on. Fast and to the point without all the internal angsty stuff that can weight down what in essence is...since I'm going to ride out this analogy until it can't be ridden any longer...just a shot.

Go check it out because you know you want to...Do It...Do It...Do It...okay that's the last of the shot jokes.


Thursday, May 26, 2011

Where my imagination goes...

So I've had this idea that I wanted to write a Sci-fi type of story for awhile. I start to think of something, plan out my galaxies and other-world type sha-bang-ga-bang and than it fizzles. A great deal of it has to do with the fact that I can get obsessive when I research things and my tangential mind starts to wonder off into a variety of places and I forget what my origin of thought was. Yet, I've been circling the wagons of this Sci-fi concept for awhile and when I got a gentle nudge (I'm not being sarcastic, it was actually a flattering nudge) from Nicole Kurtz over at Mocha Memoirs Press to submit something I committed myself to focusing and getting it done.

But it seems my imagination went on hiatus. I couldn't finish my stories Tasty Bits or Fire and Ice for Beautiful Trouble Publishing and my poor little sci-fi story got neglected again. Even cycling into another round of insomnia couldn't be used for anything productive. I was at a great lose until I decided, "Fuck It", if my creative center didn't want to be found than it could stay lost. I had a plethora of things I could be doing instead. Now, what is that saying, when you let something go, if it comes backs it was yours or meant for you or...whatever, the point is where ever my imagination went it brought something back for me.

It's actually so strange that I couldn't help sharing. Now it may never become more than what it is but if it does, I swear Nicole, it's yours, if you want it of course (now that's my gentle nudge).

Unedited Excerpt

When the end came it wasn't a great shock. Like the slow rolling wave of change it seemed to envelop everyone before they'd realized they'd been swallowed. The cry "The End is Nigh" lost it's resonance when people accepted "The End" had always been there. It was of no fault of their own that they didn't notice. One has their life to live, planning for its conclusion can take up far too much time. Now as the masses finally awoke to the reality of their situation, was there panic, a post apocalyptic existence of hidden dwellings and the anarchist pledge? Hardly, it was rather anti-climatic, because like the great master of evolution the human race had become, it adapted. After all, life had to be lived, planning for its conclusion would have to wait.

But I digress from the real purpose of my tale. This isn't a story about "The End" but more of "The Beginning", not quite the "Once Upon A Time", but a "Happily Ever After" of sorts. This is the story of one man and one woman, brought together during this time of change that didn't seem so different. A comedy if there is an allowance for tragedy, because what would a story of the human condition be without both. The story of two people that realize endings are often the start of great beginnings.

Thursday, May 19, 2011

Love me...

Hola mi amor,

I recently experienced a bump in the road of wedded bliss. The argument was so trivial that it doesn't bare repeating but the feelings that it left behind do require some reflection. The gist is both Sig Other and I were left holding hurt. Mine because he hurt me and his because he hurt. There was the "conversation" in which we both explained how we felt and held accountability for our actions. All the hard work that needs to be done to maintain a healthy relationship. During this conversation I stated my boundary and drew a firm line in the sand about behavior that would not be tolerated from either him or myself. To which he replied, "I guess it's true only mother's love unconditionally."

The statement was so fascinating to me because after almost 10 years of being with him I learned something new. We think of love differently. In the conversation that followed he explained how he would love me regardless of any action I did to him, therefore loving me unconditionally. Needless to say I was shocked because my love does have conditions. It requires trust, honesty, and respect. It requires that you care for me, and treat me, yourself, and our relationship with integrity. It requires you value me as an individual as much as you value yourself. When explaining this he nodded and agreed but still felt that when all those things failed to exist he would still have love for me because his attachment is so deep that the roots of it could not die (this is me taking artistic license with his words but you get the idea).

That night as I slept next to this person whom I love as much as my next breath I wanted to cry because my love could never be like his. My love is fierce and true but if it is not fed, if it is not nurtured, it will wither away and die. Rolling over I snuggled up to the one that I have chosen to give my love to and in that moment I realized that "loving" was not going to be enough, it would take work.

As always I find solace and inspiration in poetry and here is a one by Pablo Neruda that articulates most eloquently how I feel.

If You Forget Me

I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.

This poem was taken from

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

Lets be scared together...

Well Howdy,

I've been gone for a hot second but dear readers you must know that I haven't forgotten you. That job I've been planning to leave for quite some time just won't let me go. Quite mob like it is, just when I think I'm out it keeps sucking me back in. BUT, through it all I've been able to complete the third story in my Goddess Chosen Series, Time For You And Time For Me is over at Beautiful Trouble Publishing waiting anxiously for you AND a fun little ditty called Love's Bloom at Shara Azod's house, apart of the A is for Amazon series, sits with bated breath hoping you'll arrive. Yes that's right, even with adversity I rise up and whip out the prose for my adoring fans. Selfless I am, so selfless.

Anyhoo, I'm now sick (shocker) and have been sequestered to my bed all day. Yawn. The majority of my enjoyment derived from reading the post in the Jayha and Jeanie yahoo group. One of the threads that caught my attention the most today was the horror movie one. I LOVE to be scared and contributed to that one in particular with great gusto between my bouts of pain induced unconsciousness. Now this got me to thinking about a short little scary story I'd written, just a few lines strung together for my morbid amusement, and I decided to share because...well because sharing is caring. A select view have already seen how the inner workings of my brain can twist toward the macabre but so bolstered by the fervent agreement of my fellow horror lovers I thought it only fair to extend to it to all you wonderful people. (this is the point where eerie music begins to swell up) Muahhhhaaahhhaahh

Untitled and Unedited Scary Story
Janet Eckford

"They say another girl has gone missing," I tell my husband while making his eggs.

"Um, damn shame," he answers absently while he reads the paper.

"That's the third one this year," I say as I continue watching eggs firm and crumble.

He likes his eggs that way with just a little bit of crispness around the edges. Sometimes as an added bonus I put cheese in them. He loves cheesy eggs.

"Um, damn shame," he replies still as absently.

Turning from the stove I carry the steaming plate of eggs to the table. Smiling up from his paper he places it down on the chair next to him and rubs his hands together in anticipation.

He really loves my eggs.

"They say they found her in that old ravine on the other side of town," I'm obsessed now and can't seem to stop.

Spooning food on his plate he gives another non-committal response with a variation on "damn shame". I watch him as I've watched him these last twenty years. You see this is not the last girl, I know there will be more.

They say they never know. Some give adamant denials, while others have that stone face resigned stature of the shocked and awed. Others weep, sobbing to the jury of public opinion. They say they never know but they do.

How can you not when you love a monster.

"I hope this is the last," I say staring at him.

He takes a bite and smiles a sad secret smile.

"Um, damn shame."

Saturday, April 9, 2011

I liked it...

A Special Occasion
By: Thirteen

Writing a review seems like such a personal thing to me because how do you quantify something you like. Preference is so unique to the individual that when I suggest a book to someone I feel as if I'm giving them a little window into who I am. What if they don't like what they see? Which I really can't fathom and immediately has me questioning why I associate with that person at all, because frankly how could you not like anything about me. But I digress....

A Special Occasion is an interesting book for me to have read and to review because it is within a genre of erotic fiction that I struggle with enjoying. Frankly I think I'm far to neurotic to enjoy a menage story because I keep thinking, "Someone is going to get left out." At which point I spiral into thinking about logistics. For example, do they all sleep in the same bed, are they only allowed to have sex as a threesome, and useless bits of nothing that having nothing to do with what I'm reading but my obsessive personally begins to latch on.

A Special Occasion was very unique because I was able to enjoy it for what it was, a fantasy within a fantasy. There was the happy couple that share a sexual experience that instead of driving a wedge through their relationship makes them stronger. Sweet and simple I allowed myself to get lost in this concept of people being so grounded in their love for each other that they could bring in another and it would only make them stronger.

I described this as a fantasy within a fantasy because personally I am far to selfish to even consider sharing what's mine and knowing Sig Other the conversation couldn't even be broached without the angry red face making an appearance. BUT wouldn't it be kind of cool to at least try it once;)*

Check out the excerpt and book at

*Sig Other this was me being cheeky and I have no intention of instigating a threesome...with you.

Saturday, March 19, 2011

Bad mood and sad poetry...

 Hello My Darlings,

I've been in a particularly foul mood today which is surprising because I've had a great couple of days. I finished the third Goddess Chosen book which actually has a title, Time for You and Time for Me, and a short little ditty that Ms. Azod so graciously asked me to pen (must always be nice to the despotic ruler). So when BAM out of no where I had visions of throwing the package of batteries I was carrying in my hand at Sig Others head in Best Buy, I knew something was wrong. I was promptly chauffeured home after a minor tantrum and given Girl Scout cookies and juice.

Much better now I still felt like I needed a little purge and flipped through my Book of All Things Depressing and decided to post a sad poem I'd written awhile ago.

After all, sharing is caring.


This is All That Remains

I'd destroyed all that I had written about us together,
And found this is all that remains.
It is not the best nor the brightest of poetry and prose that I'd created for you.
I must apologize because in fact it is quite plain.

I had written of love so deep that the end was never in sight.
I had written of passion that burned like fire to light up our nights.

But this is all that remains.

The truth.

That deep love was actually shallow, an illusion in a black bottom pool.
That fire, a spark ignited by the kindling of hope.

That you loved me.
That you could love me.

After you left I'd written of pain so raw, I bled from just the thought of it.
Tears that filled cups that runneth over.

But this is all that remains.

The truth.

The pain was a mere cut on flesh grown tough by the lessons of life.
Those tears, they only filled a cup worthy of sipping.

And in the end I destroyed it all.

Because this is all that remains.

The truth.

Me without you.

Sunday, February 20, 2011

Hated It!!!

Ciao Bella's,

With my allergies so rudely interrupting my Sunday sleep in I thought I'd stalk myself on the Internet until Sig Other drags me away to do chores. I'm always interested in what people have to say about my work and except for my one star experience it's been pretty positive. Well to my surprise I finally found my critic and was actually excited by what they may have to say. Alas, it was just a "Don't buy this crap!" sort of review.

I really don't know what to do with something like that. Don't buy it because the character's were unrealistic, or the dialogue sucked, there was too much sex, or not enough sex. If you're going to critique someones work please give them something to work with. Since the day I got my toy typewriter as a child I've been compelled to put my thoughts on paper. I understand that not everyone is going to like what I have to say but could ya please tell me at least why.

As a reader I usually look at the negative reviews first and if the majority of them are "Hated it" than I start to question the validity of the review. Reviews in my opinion are not only there for the other readers to look at to help with informed choice while buying but I really think they help the author connect to their audience and develop their craft.

Anywhoo, my rant is over, mostly because Sig Other is trying to lure me with lunch only to whisk me away to do laundry.

Until my next little tangent.


Friday, February 11, 2011

Best Birthday Ever!!!

Hello My Lovelies,

With my Dirty 30 fast approaching (it's Sunday actually) I find that I really don't have the money or motivation to do something big. Sig Other started asking me back in December what I wanted to do and I'd thrown out some ideas that I just didn't have the energy to execute. I should back up and say that since December I've had the flu three times and various allergy flareups along the way. I decided to take an online class that seems to have sucked all of my time and work has been particularly busy with me doing stuff. I say stuff because I couldn't even tell you all that I've done because as soon as I'm finished with one thing it's time to take care of something else.

What I've found interesting is how anxious my friends are becoming each day I don't have something planned for my birthday. There's been a lot of blah, blah, blah about how important it is and what a milestone. Don't I want to do something? Sig Other is a bit disgusted with me because I told him I'd rather buy a Mac Book than have a party. Partner in Crime keeps saying I need to have something where my friends can come and celebrate me. With my general apathetic reaction to all these comments everyone has started to assume that I've slipped into a depression at the idea of entering a new decade of life. Frankly it's so far from the truth that trying to explain it just makes people believe it even more.

With all this hoopla over my birthday I started thinking of those that have passed and realized that I only have one memory of the Best Birthday Ever and that would be my seventh. Interesting because in the birthday milestones seven doesn't even get an honorable mention. But for me when I think of the birthday I will always carry it's that one.

When I woke up my parents and sister sang happy birthday to me. My birthday outfit was waiting for me on my bed after I came out of the bathroom. It was pink pants, a white shirt with cap sleeves and little red hearts on it, and pink slippers that looked like ballet shoes. The interesting thing about the outfit was I actually really disliked pink and was more of a purple girl but that day, that outfit was the best outfit ever.

After having breakfast my favorite female cousin came over and helped my parents get our backyard ready for the party and my grandmother petted and cooed over me as I waited for my friends. As my little friends filed in I was presented with yet another gift, my best friend from pre-school was there. She'd moved away before we started kindergarten but had recently moved back and our mother's had reconnected and there she was for my birthday.

There was playing and gifts and I had friends and family galore. Even as I describe it I can't pinpoint what made the day so great for me and watching the home videos it looks like any other kids party but it was the Best Birthday Ever!! So aside from nostalgic ramblings I'm curious my dearest readers, what was yours?


Friday, January 14, 2011

Hello My Public....

Well I've been tap, tap, tapping away at trying to finish the third book in the Goddess Chosen series after the evil, evil cliff hanger I left all of you lovely people with. While simultaneously trying to finish my newest book Fire and Ice (no description at present because I could just change my mind and don't want to disappoint). Just doing my thing and letting the prose flow until a vicious and vile cold has left me practically incapacitated (yes I'm dramatic but go with me).

The worst part is I'm tired during the day but some how the little parasitic bugger that has chosen to house itself in my body utilizes the night to gather rest and to wreck havoc on my immune system in the day, leaving me without the ability to sleep at night.

What does that have to do with us you ask, well it means sad stories because I don't seem to have the capacity to be creative for anything else. So with out further ado, here is our favorite couple and their unrequited love.

"Mmm..." She moans as I pull away from her mouth.

"You like that?" I whisper against her lips, gently running my tongue against the dewy bottom.

Giggling she pulls me closer and kisses me with the abandon and passion I love. Working my hands through the thick mass of her glorious curls I cup the nap of her neck as I devour her mouth. This game we play, tongues and lips dueling, soft chuckles between kisses, eyes peeking through lowered lashes, it is ours, unique to us, frozen in the time or bodies connecting with one another could only create. I want to touch her, I need to touch her, but I wait. I know that the longer I prolong the inevitable it will only make it better, make it last longer, because I never know when the touching will be again.

"I guess you do like that," I whisper, squeezing the nap of her neck gently.

"I think you may have to do it again to be sure," she teases, soft breath brushing against my lips.

This close I can see the rich embers of her dark soulful eyes. The light freckles across her nose and the tiny crinkles at the corner of her mouth. There is a dimple there also. I lean in and kiss it gently, I love that dimple. The way it peeks out when she is pleased, pleased with me. Stroking my thumb against the base of her head I see that dimple peek out to greet me.

Good, it will be my beacon when this is over. When the dark embers of her eyes no longer shine with love and laughter. When the pain of what we create with our stolen moments and kisses becomes too much. When those cute little freckles I love to place small soft kisses upon no longer stand out against skin flush with pleasure but instead anger. When those lines created from smiling at the absurd oddity of our paring are instead creased from frowning because the absurdity is far to real and serves to create a gulf between us. I will have those dimples to think about, waiting to greet me. Welcoming me back into the bosom of her regard.

As I kiss her holding her ever so close I know that whatever displeasure I may cause I will always have some power to please her.