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The blog -- where a writer bares the secrets of her soul. Welcome to mine!
Things that go bump in the night
My latest book is about a woman who has psychic powers and the problems they
cause her. It got me to thinking about people and their fascination with the
supernatural.
For most of history, the majority of humans have heeded the
advice “be afraid, be very afraid” about things that go bump in the night.
Americans, though, seem to love the supernatural, and they don’t seem to be very
afraid of it. Maybe that’s because we’ve all been born in the era of
electricity, and dark corners where evil lurks can be vanquished with the flick
of a switch.
I’ve known quite a few people in my life who’ve cheerfully
claimed to be psychic. The more cheerful they are about it, the less I tend to
believe them. You see, I had a roommate in college who was psychic —
terrifyingly psychic. She led a troubled life. It’s not easy to know things
about people simply by touching them, or to catch glimpses of a future you’re
not sure you can change. And when ghosts show up it’s not always because they
want to reassure you about tunnels and lights.
After spending two years
living with a woman who was truly psychic, I could tell you stories … believe
me, I could tell you stories. In fact, I do, but I spin them as fiction to make
them a bit less scary than real life. That’s why the women in my books are in
trouble. They’ve entered the realm of unknown powers where anything can happen.
It’s not a place most people really want to visit … except in the pages of a
book.
Now if you’re one of the psychic people of the world, you know
there is no such thing as a coincidence, so it’s probably no coincidence that
both my roommate and I have a hefty dose of Irish blood … and that may be the
reason why the troubling pararnormal element in my latest book is a banshee.
Banshees used to appear reflected in lakes and rivers and my roommate saw them
in mirrors (which is why I still sort of sneak up on mirrors to this day) but my
heroine, being a modern young woman, first sees hers in a computer screen
…
The book is called Defiant Love and it’s available now from Changeling
Press.
Short women are jealous bitches!
It's bad enough living life as one of the vertically challenged, but now a new scientific study has come out
declaring that short women are jealous of the taller gals.
In my case, that would be pretty much everyone over the age of 12. They wrote a song about me --or someone like me -- five foot two and eyes of blue, but it's easier to sing it than to live it.
A few problems with being short:
- You can't reach anything.
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You can't wear clothes made for normal people. Your sleeves will drag the ground and you'll trip over the hem of
- your skirt.
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The product you've been searching for is always on the top shelf and has slid to the back.
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You get into someone else's car and search in vain for the pedal.
Not that I'm jealous, mind you. According to this study, short women get jealous because taller women are stronger and more dominant. Obviously, these scientists are a bunch of late-comers to the survival of the fittest battle, which is currently being led by the most socially adept, followed closely by the smartest. I admit tall people have a slight advantage in the socially adept competition simply because it's easier to see them, but that's as far as I'll go.
Incidentally, one of the thrills of my life is finding someone shorter than me so I can look down on them. I know, sounds terrible, but there you are. However, if you think about it, you'll see this gives short people like me an advantage--people like us becaused they can feel superior around us. So watch out, tall people. You might want to glance down occasionally and see what we're up to.
Things to do before I die!
Let's face it, I'm the queen of procrastination. And the queen of denial. Those are two important talents for making your life run smoothly. But there's one task I do need to face and get done -- making a list of things to do before I die.
What's the rush, you might ask. Well, none really. Like most people, I secretly believe I'm immortal. Nevertheless, I suspect it's sometimes important to prioritize so you don't get too busy with this and that and never do the important things.
I thought I might make three lists, actually. One would be Serious Things to Do Before I Die. This would include world peace, curing cancer, becoming a rich and famous author. Hey, on the basis of that alone, I'll have to be immortal.
The second would be Fun Things to Do Before I Die. This could be a long list. If I add Delicious Foods to Eat Before I Die, it could be a very long list. How about Famous ActorsI Want To Kiss Before I Die. Now that's a list Icould really get into.
The third list is a little bit quirky: Sexual Fantasies I Want to Fulfill Before I Die. Of course, I get to "live" through these to some extent by writing erotic romance. After all, if I don't get hot and bothered writing it, how's it going to excite my readers? But there's nothing like the real thing, is there?
Due to my dark Scorpio side, this could be a long list too. Better get started! What would be on your list?
An interview from the future
Greetings, gentle readers. I have a confession to make. While some authors may make up stories in their minds, I've been gifted with the abilities of a seer. I look into the future and spy on the lives of adventuresome people, then write down their stories. Recently, I expanded my mystical abilities even further and conducted an actual interview with one of them:
Kassie Burns: We're here this morning with the wealthy and beautiful socialite, Rachel Herrington-Whyte. Some of you may know that Rachel is the ex-wife of the World President, Jeremy Whyte. Good morning, Rachel. I understand you have a problem.
Rachel Herrington-Whyte: You could call it that. I'm going to die.
Kassie: Wow, stunner! I'm sorry. But you're living in the 23rd century, Rachel. Surely, there's something your advanced medical science can do.
Rachel: You'd think so, wouldn't you? But my doctor tells me, no. It's a brain tumor, one the surgeons can't reach. We can try chemo and radiation but my doctor says they are usually ineffective when the tumor is in the brain. S'm doomed unless—I take one very crazy chance.Kassie: A chance? What's that?
Rachel: One of the Evolved is coming to Earth—the sexual healer, Mastror si Lor Canto. He uses the energy generated during sexual intercourse to heal, and I've heard he's beyond fantastic. There's only one catch.
Kassie: I think I know what that is. I've heard about the Evolved. They're humans like us, but from another planet and far ahead of us in evolution. And they believe it's unethical to share their advanced abilities with us. They want us to evolve on our own.
Rachel: You've got it. Turns out we humans on Earth are descended from some of them who crashed here millions of years ago. But while the Evolved elsewhere were—well, evolving—we've haven't. So we're the poor cousins of the galaxy.
Kassie: But doesn't that mean Mastror si Lor Canto will refuse to heal you?
Rachel: That's the catch, all right. However, I also hear he's not opposed to getting to know the natives better, if you get my drift. So I have a plan. One of my friends, Jen Madison, is going to throw a welcoming party for him. I going to show up in the sexiest little black dress money can buy and seduce the Evolved hunk right off his feet. Once I get him into bed and get the sexual energy flowing, I'll throw myself on his mercy.
Kassie: And you think he'll give in and heal you?
Rachel: I know a few sexual techniques of my own, girlfriend. The man is going to have a hard time refusing me.
Kassie: Are you sure you're ready? I've heard about sexual healers in bed, and I understand some of their healingactivities are—well—a bit kinky.
Rachel (biting lip): I know. I've heard the same thing. At least my sources tell me that this Mastror si Lor Canto s a hunk. I guess sexual healers have to be young and strong and virile to do what they do. How bad can it be? And it is my last chance at life, so I'm taking it.
Kassie: Good luck!
That was the interview, gentle reader, but intrigued by our conversation, I continued to watch events unfold between Rachel and Mastror si Lor Canto. Things didn't go quite as smoothly as Rachel hoped, though. I've written everything down in a book, and you can read the first chapter here …
http://www.loose-id.com/detail.aspx?ID=310
Get in the mood for love!
With Valentine's Day at hand, I thought I'd post a few ideas for getting you or your honey in the mood for love. And if you're reading this after Valentine's Day, no worries. The mood for love can strike just about any time.
Of course, I know some people (naming no names) don't need any help in that department--the lucky Romeos. For those of us who sometimes get distracted by the laundry and the dishes and walking the dog--and the latest sexual polls show that's most of America--here are a few things that work for me.
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A romantic dinner by candlelight so you can stare deep into your lover's eyes. Yeah, baby! I rate this No. 1,combining as it does two of my favs, food and love. Not to mention the opportunity to gaze meaningfully into my honey's big brown eyes. For added bonus points, you can play footsie under the table.
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A long, hot shower right before bedtime. When you slip between those covers all clean and fresh and smellinggreat, things tend to happen. They happen even faster if you ... a) forget to put on your pjs after your shower or b) invite your lover to share your shower
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Giving your lover a massage or a back rub. Okay, I'll admit this is an old standby of sexual therapists everywhere, but there's a reason for that--it works! It works even better if you disrobe and get into bed before you begin. Set the scene, light some candles, get some scented oil. Enjoy!
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Try meeting your lover at the door dressed in something incredibly sexy--or if you're really, really brave (not to mention in shape) nothing at all. True confession time: I tried this once with highly satisfactory results--once he got that dumbfounded look off his face.
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If you are blessed with kidlets, the best way to get in the mood is to go away for a night or a weekend. Just the two of you and no worries about inconvenient interruptions or making too much noise. What a revelation! If you can't afford to go away, enlist the help of the grandparents. That's what they are for. And they've got every other night of the year to get in the mood themselves.
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Of course, the old standbys of Valentine's Day, flowers and chocolate, work equally well any other night of the year. So give them a try some other time, too. And whatever you do, enjoy the night!
Ho, ho, ho and bah, humbug!
I remember my freshman year of college coming back to the dorm on a gray November day. It had just started to snow and fat, white flakes were falling from the sky. One of the foreign students came running out -- apparently from someplace where it never snows -- and held out her hands. "Oh, the beautiful! Oh, the beautiful!" she cried.
We had ten inches of "oh, the beautiful!" yesterday and I spent most of yesterday and this morning shoveling out the driveway. Okay, I'm a slow shoveler and take frequent breaks. Besides, do you know of a better excuse for a little hot chocolate, spiced with butterscotch liquor? Thus, my love/hate relationship with winter and the holidays.
Who can't love the idea of snow in the abstract? It's white, it's pure, it's "Oh, the beautiful!" In reality, it's cold and it's wet or it's melted and turned to ice and threatens to send you falling flat on your rump at every step. Besides which, it's damn heavy. And when it falls during rush hour and the plow can't handle it, it makes for some thrill-a-minute driving experiences. Indy 500 drivers, eat your heart out. But, tonight, all the houses in our neighborhood are lighted up with their Christmas decorations and it's like a magical fairyland. Or maybe it's more like Christmas with the Kranks. There's more than a little competition among some of the neighbors. No pressure, of course, ho, ho, ho, but who would be such a jerk as to not decorate on Christmas? It only makes it worse that we have a corner house. Another excuse for slipping some hot chocolate with butterscotch liquor while contemplating the pressures to conform in American society. After a few slips, I mellow out, string some lights around the bushes and call it good.
Speaking of pressures to conform, what about Christmas presents? Frankly, since childhood, I haven't got a Christmas present I really wanted. There, the truth is out. I'd rather take the money and spend it on myself. And let everyone else take their money and spend it on themselves. Oh, god, heresy. Time to slip some more hot chocolate with butterscotch liquor and pray that no one finds out about my secret evil thoughts.
Yet even I must admit there's something wonderful about turning off the lights at night and snuggling with your honey on the couch next to the glowing Christmas tree. It's a good time to sip some hot chocolate laced with butterscotch liquor while wondering what exactly is in that big wrapped box with your name on it.
The magic of Christmas! As much as you hate it, you gotta love it.
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