13 September 2010
Unreliable narrator
Last month, my local RWA chapter had a little bit of free time during our meeting. So we did a writing exercise. We were supposed to write about a narrator who was either more or less than they purported to be, and give hints as to their reality through settings, dialogue, etc. In other words, an unreliable narrator.

My results were kind of quite a bit out of my normal writing - 1st person, male, about a topic that's not particularly romancy at all. And my blog was looking so lonely and neglected, I figured I'd toss it up as a mini free read. Mind you, this is totally rough and unedited. I ran spell check and that's about it. *g*


I’d gone out on the roof for a cigarette at a time that wasn’t my official break. Right there, you know I’m no stinking hero, right?

Heroes don’t sneak away from their desk because they think they might slam their manager’s head in the desk if they changed the font on our mailers for the fifteenth time. That morning. (Yesterday, he thought comic sans was the best font ever and wouldn’t be swayed. Until he saw papyrus.)

At a little past nine thirty the door to the stairwell swung shut behind me.

I was still fishing my lighter out of my pocket when I saw her.

I didn’t even know who she was. Jimmy and I had spent plenty of time over lunch talking about the hot chicks at the company and I was pretty sure we knew ‘em all.

This one would have been pretty hard to miss, after all. She was blond, for one thing, and I like blondes. A lot. Little china-doll features, with a button nose and big blue eyes. Only problem was the nose was red at the tip and her eyes were almost completely bloodshot.

I couldn’t see her legs where they dangled over the edge of the roof, which was a shame. I’m a leg man. Her rack was nice in the tiny-strapped top she wore. It looked like she was ready for a night of clubbing rather than working at Struthers and Brant, Inc.

I sat beside her. It’s not like there’s benches up there. Just flat, stinking asphalt.

She looked at me, and I couldn’t help but see that her eyes were welling up with tears. From the looks of her pink-splotched cheeks, she’d been at it a while.
It was either head it off or spend my whole illicit break listening to sobs. And really, who wants to deal with that? “Rough night?” I asked.

She sniffled. Turned her face out over the street. I know we were twenty stories up, but you’d have thought someone would have noticed her before. Then I wouldn’t have stumbled into this crap.

Her shoulders lifted. “Not great.”

I stuck my cig in my mouth finally. Wrong side first. Tar flecked across the tip of my tongue. I yanked it out and flipped it. The lighter did a weird little shake and jump as I tried to light it.

I pushed out a slow breath and tried again. Hot rough smoke burned down my throat. Thank God.

Always need a smoke to deal with crying broads.

“You know, the Denny’s on fifth is a much better after-club stop.” I blew smoke out into the wild blue yonder, then swallowed. A weird lump had taken up residence in my throat. I needed to quit the damn things. “The hash browns are damn good. Sop up any extra booze.”

Her lashes blinked so rapidly I thought they were waving at me. “I didn’t drink anything.” Her shoulders lifted in that same shrug. “Well, I didn’t think I did.”

“But?” Weird. I didn’t think I had that in me, that soft soothing tone. Ma had gotten right pissed at me plenty of times for not showing enough sympathy to her cat, Mr. Whiskens.

“But I woke up out here. And...” Her voice broke.

I didn’t much figure I should touch her, though.

She shuddered. “I hurt,” she said in a voice so quiet I could barely hear it over the rush of wind and the pigeons swooping nearby.

I took another drag of my smoke. “There’s only one thing to do about that,” I said. “We’ll take you to the doctor’s.”


I nodded. Really, if she needed that pointed out, it seemed the least I could do. “Yeah.”

She scrubbed a hand over her face. The cloudy dazed look finally slipped away. She turned her pert ass and brought her legs over to the safe side. She shook a little as she stood.

At the door to the stairwell, she stopped. Looked at me. Her eyes were still watery. “I was gonna jump.”

I held open the door. “I know.”

22 July 2010
Jazz Baby's new review
So....Kinda empty in here, isn't it? And I have no one to blame but myself. The longer you leave a blog alone, the harder it is to come back. You (or at least I) feel like whatever you post when you come back has to be epic. Funny. Interesting in a way that says "Look, this is why I was gone so long! I was preparing this perfect post!"

I wasn't preparing something perfect. Obviously. ;)

But, look! I got a lovely review from Sonomalass. That's definitely worth posting for. *pets pretty-pretty review* Even better, I popped her iPad's ereader cherry. I think that's probably the closest I'll get to an iPad for a long, long time. (The ones I fondle at Best Buy don't count because they let just anyone pet them. They're slutty like that.)

Anyhoo, if anyone does happen to be floating around here looking for me, I'm on twitter. Actually I'm on twitter a lot... Like, a LOT. Feel free to hunt me down.

12 May 2010
Fuck mediocrity
A lot of stuff has dropped on my head the past two days. Separately, any one of them would be a bummer but all together... It kind of proved too much for me.

I kinda broke down this afternoon. (Don't worry, this is no sappy-poor me post.)

The word that kept pounding in my head was mediocrity. That I'm a mediocre mother, a mediocre housewife, mediocre in my attempts to re-join the workforce. A mediocre writer.

But you know what? Fuck that. Mediocre can lay down and die. And if it won't be so polite, I'm going to kick it into submission. I'll stomp it with steel-toe boots, if that's what it takes.

I'm not psycho. I know I can't be awesome at everything. So here's what I've chosen:

I'm going to be an awesome mom. Whatever it takes. I'm already a good mom but I'm going to power into the strata.

And I'm going to be an awesome writer. Practice and craft and dedication and determination. Above all, determination.

I WILL do this.

15 March 2010
I'm a spaz. I'd forgotten I'd kicked this old beast of a blog back into movement and more than that offered prizes. That I said I was going to announce on Friday.

In my defense, I've been sick and blerghish since Thursday. *looks for sympathy* *crickets* Yeah, yeah, suck it up and give out the book, lady. ;)

Thanks for playing everyone. Makes me feel loads better about myself. For the record, I do use Google Alerts. But, I dunno, I guess I don't trust a bot....Never said I was fully logical, did I? The good news is that I'm on the mend - I haven't googled Jazz Baby since Friday! I'm so proud of myself. Heh.

With no further ado, the winner is:


10 March 2010
My mind is beyond lost....with contest!
Man, has it been a whirlwind couple of weeks. Jazz Baby came out last Tuesday (OMG, I've been a published author for more than a week? Really? You promise?) and I've had a couple lovely reviews, and an interview at Dear Author. Monday night I got to spend a fun couple hours chatting with The Blackraven in preparation for today's interview. Plus I've been hard at work on my next book. (Gawd, so hard at work. The book is chugging along, but more like a loaded down freight train working its way uphill than like the bullet train I wish for.) Also, my husband was away on business last week, so I had a bit of single-parent-itis going on.

But really? Where has my time gone? It's been sucked up by the searching. Google owns my soul. It's a sickness, really.

And any author who says they *don't* spend their first week of their debut book searching all possible combinations of their name and title (because I seem to have a delusion that thinks I will get different results depending on which order I google them in) is lying. Or a sorceress with skills that I would kill to know. There's something a little voyeuristic about reading comment trails about your work, but I can. Not. Stop.

Would you like a chance to win a free copy of Jazz Baby, in the digital format of your preference? In the comments, tell me something that'll make me feel less like a freak. What do *you* obsess over? You've got til Friday.

09 March 2010
I am incapable of saying "we have a winner" without it sounding in my head like those guys who announcing boxing. It's a sickness.

Any-hoo, the winner of the fabulous LB Gregg's Catch Me if You Can is s7anna! Congratulations! S7anna, go ahead and email LB so she can send you your copy. I'm sure you'll have fun; it's a great book that's already rocking the MBAM charts. We're so proud of LB. :D