Bark a lot at the kids walking to school
have a few kibbles
BA and I are trying to watch one new to us movie. Today we watched 1303. It's a horror bit about a haunted apartment.
OMG y'all, this was terrible. It had Rebecca DeMornay and Mischa Barton so we thought, hey, not bad. No. No, this was the WORST.
Incomprehensible. Poorly written. Badly acted. By the end no one cared.
We gave it one star on Netflix.
So, what movies would y'all rec?
Some days I just don't feel like writing.
Take today, for instance. BA and I try to get up at 7 am so we can start writing days. We write from 7 to noon, and from 12:45 to 5 ish. A lot of times 3:30 to 5 is spent in edits, social media and more, but sometimes if one of us is in hard deadline, we keep going.
Today I wanted to sleep until 9 or 10. I wanted pancakes for breakfast. (I settled for a Jimmy Dean eggwhite and turkey sausage bowl). And today I want to work on a miniature crazy quilt for a dollhouse and watch Sherlock.
But, since I write for a living, I'm here at my computer, alternating fiction with blog posts. Romance is, well, romantic, but writing is work. My wife always answers the "How do you deal with writer's block?" by explaining that the mortgage has to be paid. That's so true. Even writers have days where they want to call in sick or disinterested.
So, I'll put off my crazy quilt until 5 and write about moose shifters.
Because I'm a writer, and that's how I roll.
So I ask. Why do we have all these Guido types with spray tans and bandannas under their redneck straw or leather hats doing the armpit sniffing pose?
Now, don't get me wrong. I have nothing against Guidos, spray tans, or fitness models. But when I have to help my wife, who writes a very specific brand of Texas cowboy, find a cover model, I want, well, a cowboy.
There's an old song by Conway Twitty, called Don't Call Him a Cowboy (Until You've Seen Him Ride). In this case don't slap a hat on a guy with no shirt on and call him a cowboy.
See, there are all sorts of cowboy hats from the low crown Texas straw Stetson, to the high crown, curly brim high mountain hat. They all have a few things in common, though. They come in felt or straw. They do not come in leather. They are not worn by celebrities like Toby Keith or Bret Michaels. They are not bought in a tourist shop at Myrtle Beach or at the Margaritaville in NOLA.
As a side note, the redneck leather hat that most closely resembles a civil war cavalry hat is what the slimy, jerk of an ex used to wear and call it a cowboy hat, and is never, ever an appropriate hat for a BA Tortuga cover. Ever. Julia would rather bash herself in the head than see it on a cover, thanks.
A real cowboy hat can be bought at a western wear store, a rodeo, and in some states, Wal-Mart. Approved manufacturers include Stetson, Resistol, Justin, Larry Mahan and many, many more.
I am begging for real cowboys to come back into style. They're hot. Trust me.
Anyway, estate sales are little glimpses into someone's life, and today the gentleman in question made me think of my mom. He was a military man, so there were uniforms and foot lockers and more than 20 years of insignia. He made wooden toys, soldiers mostly, but he had some trucks and cars, wooden toys for smaller kids.
Mom loved her Army days, would have retired if she could have, but back then women got married and pregnant and they got an honorable discharge. She made wooden toys for years, loving it when a little kid latched on to a car or a truck and wouldn't let go.
The biggest thing that hit me today, though, was the workshop the man had set up. There was a workbench (sadly a built in and not for sale) that made me think of all the hours my mom spent out in the garage with the dog, sitting on her stood in front of her workbench. She'd have a cigarette dangling out of her mouth, a block of wood in her hand that she would turn into something amazing. I spent a lot of time in her various shops over the years, sanding parts, gluing in pegs. She would chat with me, or we'd sing with the radio or we'd just work, but we were content to spend time together. The smell of sawdust and wood glue will always make me think of her.
It's been a long time since I visited Club Bloodrose.
I mean really. I started this series eons ago with what is, chronologically, the second book. The Werewolf Code. In that book, which intros a werewolf named Deke and a vampire named Kasey, a terrible mutation is being introduced to make people into werewolves. Deke mentions he and Kasey met at a BDSM style slave auction at a club, and all the readers said, what? We want to see this.
So I wrote An Itch to Scratch, which introduces Jonny, owner of Bloodrose. Yummy.
Then, in Belling the Cat, Jonny meets his match in a panther shifter named Luc. I admit now that I was in a hurry to finish that one to fill a slot someone else left gaping open at the publisher (which was my business back then) and if I had been a reader when that book came out, I'd be seriously pissed ;)
After a few more stories in Bloodrose, and several offshoot books about Cereus, Jonny's paranormal resort, y'all finally yelled loud enough.
Emerald Eyes is the sequel to Belling, and catches up with Luc and Jonny, as well as Luc's twin brother, Yves, and his new bodyguard, Reuben...
Yeah, it's really entwined. This book really explores Luc's life, making Yves the star, but digging into Jonny and Luc's relationship with Deke and Kasey, as well. I hope to continue that arc in Cereus at some point soon.
Here's the deets.
This week, Belling is on sale 20% off, as are the Bloodrose shorts.
When Jonny, the owner of club Bloodrose finds out his shifter mate Luc has a twin brother, he decides Yves needs protection from the bad guys who have tried to kill Luc. He sends Reuben, a werewolf security agent, to keep Yves safe from the killers. And from Yves himself.
Reuben has never met someone as determined to find trouble as Yves. The guy has this obsession with a set of emeralds, a dead younger brother, and some kind of demon ritual. All of this should make panther shifter Yves a bad bet as a mate, but that doesn't keep Reuben from falling hard. Can he and team Bloodrose keep everyone alive long enough to convince Yves they're made for each other?
Author note: While the story can stand alone, this book is best when read as a sequel to Belling the Cat.
I love to travel. I go anywhere I can, anytime I can. I've traveled both domestically and abroad. I love Malaga and London, hate NYC and Atlanta. I have been in cabs and on trains, have been dragged across Rome with a man named Orlando carrying my suitcase and I've eaten squid ink pasta in Venice and gluten free Falafel and pita in Portland. Over the last fifteen years I've learned some great tips for having a good trip.
Don't go with someone you don't get along with pretty well. I've been to Italy 3 times, and every time there was one person who dragged down the fun level. Now, that's not to say anyone was a jerk, but if you don't see museums at the same speed or if one person wants to shop and sun on the beach and the other wants to hit historical sites and sights, you're gonna have a problem. I can't wait to go to Italy with my wife. We travel well together.
Don't get into the cab with the crazy Russian driver. I learned this in LA. Our party split into two cabs and BA and I got the crazed man who decided it was a competition. He damned near killed us. However, we have found that if you get a cabbie who will chat with you then talk! Don't just sit there. We've learned all about 1950s French Quarter NOLA, downtown Pittsburgh during the steel era, how thw Queen's Guard in London all learn to talk through closed lips so they can pick up women, and how police work pays in Houston, TX. From carriage drivers we've learned that they used to use homing pigeons to get football scores to the newspaper in Texas, that mules are more surefooted on cobblestones than horses and that the bull fighting ring in Malaga Spain is their pride and joy.
Pay for the better hotel. Don't stay in a cheap hotel. Get the best one you can afford. Not luxury, unless you're into that, but a good, clean, comfortable hotel. After a long day of walking about, the last thing you want is to come back to a gross bed and nasty carpets. Do your research online, make sure the hotel has the amenities important to you. Pool? Beach access? Room service? Gluten free food. You don't have to compromise in this competitive day and age.
Eat and travel and expect things like a local. I can't tell you how many people I've seen say, "This isn't like home." Lord, people go all over the world and eat McDonald's. Seriously, y'all. Bust out. Don't eat the menu touristica, as they say in Italy. Wander off the beaten path. Try the weird seafood soup. Go to the food truckk court. See the real.
There's so much more, but I'm out of time.