Revisions, RT & Carpathian cabana boys

7:30 a.m. Temperature outside is a delightful 65 degrees. I'm salivating to go outside and indulge in a good book. I'm hooked lately on Christine Feehan's Carpathians, which is a good escape. Now if only I could find a nice Carpathian cabana boy to serve me a Mai Tai while I'm lying on the beach in Daytona... oh wait. They can't stand sunshine. Oh well.

But I'm sitting here at the computer printing out the last of my revisions. Meant to get them into the mail yesterday, didn't. Then I have 18,000 loads of laundry to do. And stuff to sort out for RT. And DH and I want to do something FUN today. Maybe parrot jungle.

I'm trying not to get excited about going to RT just in case Tia takes a turn for the worst and I have to cancel. What a roller coaster this is... but I'm grateful she's doing okay. The pet sitter came over last night after we got back from bowling with my co-workers and I could tell she's a real animal lover. She's even coming over Monday to watch me feed Tia to gauge how she eats. I feel more comfortable leaving, knowing Connie will be coming over once a day to feed her, give her the meds and let both dogs out. Plus I'm four hours away, and if Tia does go downhill, I'll just leave.

But I am looking forward to RT... going to buy a BIG beach towel today, the kind that will wrap 10 mummies. I want to lay out on Daytona's beach and get run over by an SUV. It's my life's goal, to have big tire tracks on my stomach. ;-) I'm also looking forward to seeing everyone again. And I have a new video camera I plan to use to shoot glimpses of cover models. I am bringing my laptop and will blog from RT if I do go, as time permits. I have a new laptop that I can upload photos directly from the camera.

In the meantime, back to these revisions, while I'm dreaming of Carpathians while lying on the beach in Daytona with a Mai Tai in hand. Waiting for a Carpathian who can stand the sun so a big strapping one clad in a G string can bring me endless Mai Tais and show a glimpse of fang now and then.

GASP! SHE'S WEARING A, GASP! BIKINI! omg!!!

Please. Boca Raton parents complaining about the teacher whose bikini-clad body is featured on a web site? Some advice.

Get A Life.

West Boca High teacher Erica Chevillar became the source of controversy when at least one parent (probably more, because when one starts flapping the gums, others chime in) complained about her modeling on a web site. What kind of photos? Erica in a bikini. Erica in lingerie.

I saw this on the news this morning while watching the radar for the rain we just got (Thank you God!) The kids think it's cool. The TV station interviewed some parents who thought Ms. Chevaillar was wrong in posing in a bikini. Gasp! What kind of image are we presenting to our children? Gasp! Why, gasp!!! They shouldn't see such things!! It will ruin their moral fiber, burn their retinas out!! Gasp~! Teachers have an image to uphold!

hello? She's not wearing the bikini in class. (Which isn't a bad idea, because trying to get the attention of lots of kids these days is very hard) She did it while in college to earn money. And I've got news for you parents who are complaining about it while driving your beamers and Hummers and Mercedes and giving your spoiled kids tons of money to be mall rats and living in million dollar homes where Ms. Chevalliar can't even afford the taxes... teachers make squat. Diddly. They don't get paid a fair wage. They work their butts off, trying to teach your kids, even discipline them because you fall down on the job, and work long past the bell letting school out. They don't do it for the money HA! They do it because most are dedicated, love kids and their jobs.

and many, like one of my friends, are burning out. Fast. My one teacher friend who teaches at a charter school in an upscale suburb, told me, "Bonnie, all these kids want to know these days is how to make money. That's it."

She's ready to quit. She's tired and frustrated. And I don't blame her.

In the meantime, Ms. Chevalliar won't be disciplined for wearing a bikini on a web site. The school district is dropping the matter. Forget the fact you can go to any beach down here and see men with big bellies wearing Speedos, and trust me, that sight is a hellava lot more disturbing. But she says she's going into real estate and quitting teaching. Kudos to her. I hope that teaches these flapping gum parents a lesson. And watch out. Even though the market down here is soft, there's still lots of money to be made. Maybe she'll be the one driving the Mercedes, Mrs. GASP! West Boca parent who thinks a teacher shouldn't wear bikinis on a web site.

I just hope she drives right by your door. While wearing her bikini.

Welcome to Florida, before it burns down

Okay. So Tia is doing okay, and I'm going to RT. Unless things change drastically. Now I find out I-95, the interstate I have to drive UP to Daytona, is closed in sections "indefinitely." Because of the wildfires. Our state is burning down. We're so dry wildfires are out of control. No rain.

Yikes.

yesterday a woman in my neck of the woods got eaten by an alligator. Welcome to Florida. If we don't all burn to Tator Tots, then we get eaten by alligators. But at least hurricane season isn't here. Yet.

In the meantime, back to revisions. I got loverly three-chapter excerpts to THE PANTHER & THE PYRAMID printed up to give away at RT. If I can get there. If Daytona Beach doesn't go up in smoke by Tuesday. I know my book is hot, hey, even scorching, but...

Edits

Came home for lunch, Tia wasn't moving. Not even when I greeted her. I panicked, then petted her. She woke up. She's very groggy. I'm living on the edge these days, not knowing from one day to the next what will happen...

When will I come home from lunch and find my dog dead, or so sick I know it's time to put her down?

I have to be Scarlett. I can't think about that today. I'll think about that tomorrow.

Thinking about edits in my life. Day job editor is wondering if I'm using the right Bible quote. EC editor worries my heroine isn't lubricated enough for the ten men she'll take on. And the Leisure editor is concerned that I'm asking too much money for a BJ in my upcoming September book. Ooops. Let me phrase that differently. Leisure editor is worried the CHARACTER in my book is asking for too much money.

Leisure editor is right. Character IS asking too much money. EC editor is right. My heroine needs to be well lubricated. Oops. Bring in a gallon of KY. Day job editor is right. The other Bible quote is much more appropriate.

I need a vacation from edits and writing... maybe a sojourn in a nice, dark cave, away from Bibles, orgies and BJ's...

RT

I'm almost afraid to hope, but right now I'm going to RT. Tia is doing fairly well. She had a couple of bad days, mainly with heavy panting caused by the steroid, and I cut back on the meds and she seems to be more comfortable. Yesterday DH gave her a bath outside. She hates baths, but she was filthy. She acted like her old self. These days she has less energy, but she's still doing good. So I'm crossing my fingers she'll be okay through next week and planning to attend RT.

I really want to attend RT because a lot of members of my RWA chapter will be there. It's the first time in years a convention has been held within driving distance for us, so many are driving up. Plus I am looking forward to connecting with old friends and readers and booksellers. I have magnets, pens and bookmarks to give away and I'm getting copies of partial ARC's to give out as well.

Unfortunately, Volusia county and Brevard *(where i used to live) is having a horrific time with fires right now. I-95 travel is nearly impossible because of the smoke, and 1,000 people have been evacuated from their homes. We have friends in Melbourne who live close to the interstate and I hope they are okay.

Fund raiser

I found a new way for charities to raise money. The old-fashioned car wash. Worth a try. Wax on, wax off. ;-)

Books

Yesterday was a bad Tia day...she was panting heavily, and I started getting worried. Then I read the panting is a side effect of predisone... so I'm monitoring her to see how she does today and may cut the pill in half to see...

It's a gamble. The steroid is making her comfortable, buying her, and us, a little more time, but her appetite is voracious and the panting worries me because I don't know if it's because the cancer has spread to her lungs or what. She's okay now, just resting. Yesterday I had a severe crying jag. Frank was trying to comfort me when Tia jumped up, paws on his lap. She was upset because I was upset. Dogs are so sensitive to feelings. So I calmed down, just for her. It's bringing back all these memories of when mom was dying... I'd run into the other room so she couldn't see how upset I was and get upset herself.

I'm working on edits for THE PANTHER & THE PYRAMID. I forgot how intense and dramatic this book is... and how much the characters have to overcome. I'm actually pleased by the revisions. My editor made suggestions and pointed out stuff that passed me by, and left alone the stuff that I was afraid he would object to. I think he understood how important those "risky" scenes were. This is by far the most intense, emotional book I've ever written.

My editor really likes the book and the characters, which is a good sign. This book is so different from THE SWORD & THE SHEATH, the next Khamsin book. That one is much lighter, and has less emotion and more action. It's interesting comparing the two and I'm glad I'm not pigeonholing myself as a writer, but writing the books to suit the characters, not just writing the books to fill in a formula. Graham in Panther is the most complex, wounded hero I've ever written. He's fiercely protective, yet aloof, very strong and yet very vulnerable. He's a wounded warrior type, dangerous, like a wounded panther.

The edits for the EC book are on the back burner. I have too much right now, between edits for this book, trying to get stuff ready for RT (assuming I'm going) and the day job. I did find a wonderful pet sitter for Tia if I do go to RT. The woman is very sweet, lives nearby and totally understands the emotional roller coaster I'm on right now, not knowing from one day to the next what will happen with my dog. It makes things a little easier.

The fog

I deleted a lot of the posts I made after news about Tia because I got into a severe funk. I'm in a fog lately, and trying to find my way. Actually if I had a Seeing Eye dog and a road map, I still couldn't find my way. Roof is done, yay. We closed on our condo, (long story about the nightmare THAT was and how the title company delayed paying us, jerks!). And Tia is doing okay for now, big yay.

I'm still undecided about attending RT, but making plans to go. If Tia gets worse that week, I won't go. But for now I have a car rented, and I'm hiring a pet sitter to look in on the dogs during the day. Still have no energy to tackle edits for the EC story, but there's no deadline, thank you very much. And edits are coming in this week on Panther, so those have a deadline.

On the lighter side, a 104-year-old woman in Malaysia married a spry 33-year-old guy.

The blushing bride said she hopes the marriage "lasts." (lasts?) It's her 21st marriage, his first. He says he didn't marry her for her money because "she is poor."

No, he must have married her because...

1) She plays great Bingo
2) Senior citizen (double) discounts at McDonald's
3) She's got all this sexual experience. Which reminds me I SHOULD start the edits on the EC werewolf story and my senior citizens werewolf orgy. Don't ask.

Tia

We took Tia to another vet yesterday for an ultrasound. Dh was still hopeful the mass was pancreatits, or something treatable. Decided not to wait a full week, because we couldn’t stomach the wait, and if it was something treatable, we needed to get her help asap. Deep down, I knew it was bad news.

The doc did the ultrasound, the poor dog lying on her back with the cold alcohol over her tummy. And he pointed it out… and my heart just broke. We took her back to the room and he told us, (he was a very nice vet, having accomodated us at the last minute) that it was a tumor on her liver, there were white spots on her liver and an enlarged lymph node.

He said the only way to tell what kind of tumor it was was to do surgery. If it could be cut out, then it would, and maybe she’d have a year. If not, she had maybe weeks (about 12 at the most, maybe”)

He told us to go see our regular vet, who does surgeries. And he was very sorry he didn’t have a better prognosis for poor Tia. He's an oncologist, and when he told us she had weeks left, I knew there were no other options left.

When he left, Frank just held Tia and broke down. I held Frank. Then we managed to get back into the car. I told Frank I don’t want surgery. I don’t want my baby to have any more pain, or suffering. What’s the point? I just want her to be happy. She hates the vet. She hates hospitals and when she had her eye operated on, she was miserable.

We’re taking her to our regular vet Monday to find out what our options are, meaning, what meds she can go on to make her comfortable, and if we need to put her down when she gets bad.

Frank is very upset when I talk of putting her down. He had to put down his last dog, and it killed him. He’s hoping she’ll go peacefully in her sleep. Me too, but I don’t want her to suffer. The irony of losing my dog to cancer is this…a month after mom died of cancer spreading to her liver, frank bought me Tia to comfort me. A cute little six week old puppy we nicknamed Ewok because of her black mask and brown fur. We brought her home and she chased Tiger around the living room table joyfully. He was petrified of her.

And now Tia is dying of liver cancer. Ten years later. Tiger is confused. He keeps sniffing her, and wanders around the house. He knows something is wrong. I keep petting him and trying to assure him all will be okay. Even though it won't be okay

At home yesterday, she was our regular Tia. She went for a walk, ate a dog biscuit, jumped on the couch for a while to watch TV, laid in my lap. She even went into “her” chair and was howling at invisible squirrels, wagging her tail, her “defender” mode. The Shih Tzu who would defend her home from intruders by licking them. She ate some food, but not much.

She got up a couple of times in the night… and once she just sat there, quietly looking at me. I held her in my arms and she licked the tears off my face. I’m having such a hard time trying to act normal around her. Anyone who says dogs don’t sense emotions never met my dog. She knows me inside out. She knows when those snuffling noises come, it means mommy is very upset. So I try to cry in private, not around her. All I want to do is hold her, and comfort her.

I just can’t stand this…DH says we’ll get through it together, like we have with every other tragedy in our lives. Liver cancer…it’s…too much.

I don’t know how long she has… I’m guessing a couple of months at the most without surgery. A week from tomorrow is my birthday… and tomorrow is Easter. We’re not going to church. I don’t think God listens to my prayers.

I don’t know why this is happening. Why cancer? It is like a kick to my gut… I’ve watched friends and family die of cancer, and now my beloved Tia? It’s not right…

I can’t stop crying. I stop and then start all over again. I’m on the Bad News diet… haven’t eaten since Wed. afternoon, just a slice of bread to calm my stomach so I can take Advil for the massive headache I have from constantly crying. I’ve lost five pounds since Wednesday.

Tuesday they are finally starting work on the roof, six months after the hurricane dumped the tree on it. I have to take the dogs to my FIL’s because the pounding on the roof will drive them nuts. Tia likes it at my FIL’s, so that is good. I guess I’m going to have to take it one day at a time, cherishing every day she’s still with us…in fairly good spirits, roaming the back yard as she did yesterday, hunting through the garden railroad, sniffing out bugs and lizards. My Tia, who gives so much love and wants so little in return.

I have to believe there’s a heaven that lets dogs in…and when she goes, she’ll be there with my mom and the babies I lost through miscarriage, and my mom, who never was a dog person, will take her for the long walks she loves, feed her tons of dog biscuits, let her roam around a huge yard, greet everyone she sees with a wildly wagging tail, and howl/talk just like Frank does now. And there's no suffering or pain, just dog treats, lots of love and cuddles, and everything she deserves, this good dog of mine who gives me so much love.

my dog is dying

back from the vet, bad news. Tia, who's been sick, has a massive tumor. the vet is sending her to an ultrasound to see how bad it is... but he told us she has cancer and has maybe, at the most, six months left.

i went through this with my mom. somehow, i just knew.

I can't stop crying. next week is my birthday. i don't think it will be a very happy birthday. tia is like my kid, she is the dog featured in my photo. she always jumps on my lap when i'm writing, licks my tears away when I cry...

i can't write anymore.

i'm going offline for a while to try to deal with this. i always knew i was going to lose her someday.

i just didn't think it was going to be like this... I might delete this blog. It's too painful to see her photo here...

FINISHED The Sword & the Sheath!!

YAYYYYYYYY!!!! I'M DONE!!!

Book will be mailed today to my editor. I'm giddy with relief. And sad. Always get sad when I finish a book, like saying good-bye to friends. I really, really like this one... Tarik and Fatima are so well matched, and the struggles she faces between being a warrior and keeping her feminity are fascinating.

Now Blair has edits for her werewolf book due to her editor at Ellora's Cave. Will tackle those this week.

More good news...six months after Hurricane Wilma toppled a tree onto our house, WE ARE FINALLY GETTING A NEW ROOF! yay!!! They expect to start in the next 7 days. The contractors are tearing out the Florida room as I write this, and hopefully we will have a new Florida room in the next 2 months as well!

I love happy endings, both in romance and real life.

Writer's Viagra

I swear, I think the more books I write, the more love scenes I add to my writing. They're growing exponentially, like that alien thingie in The Andromeda Strain.

The Falcon and the Dove, my first book, had two (I think). Tiger & the Tomb had six (or was it five?) Cobra had about six? The Panther & the Pyramid has eight love scenes.

The Sword & the Sheath, the book I'm writing now to turn in next week, has ten. Ten love scenes. And of course, the papaya scene where he demonstrates oral sex to her.

Erotic romance, is, pardon the pun, hot right now. Major publishers are doing erotic romance lines, following in the spike heeled footsteps of Ellora's Cave. Sales of hot books, especially paranormals, are soaring.

So what's my point? ::shrug::: Am I writing this book with ten love scenes purposefully because I want to follow the crowd? No. I've never followed the crowd, thus the reason why I write obscure Egyptian historicals. I just like writing sexy stories. But mainly, this story lends itself to all the love scenes, with Tarik and Fatima's as equally matched warriors, in bed and out of it.

It's not easy writing a love scene, not for me. I adore writing them, but I sweat. I strain to find the right word. When I'm relaxed and not uptight (lol) it's much easier to perform. When I'm stressed, like now, I get writer's performance anxiety. I need writer's Viagra.

Plus there's the interruptions. Like tonight. I'm typing away, glossing Fatima's rosy skin with perspiration as she's riding atop of Tarik. She's breathing heavily, her eyes are darkened, she feels it, oh yes, right there, right there...

RUFF!

The dog must go outside. Under the vet's orders, I have to follow her and make sure she doesn't lick a toad, eat a snake or do something equally dumb to make her sicker.

He also wants me to go outside and watch her poop.

So I leave my heroine gasping and frantically reaching for that blinding climax... as I go outside to watch my dog. Is the moment ruined? Oh yeah. Must I get back into it when Tia is done because I have to turn in this book in less than a week? Yup.

Tia's sleeping right now. So is hubby. So is Tiger. It's just me and the computer, my characters in bed, and a love scene to finalize. I'll finish it. I'll think about the intense love Tarik has for Fatima, to the point he's willing to die for her. I'll think about how Fatima wants him more than her next breath. And I'll bring them both to shattering completion.

Excuse me. I have an orgasm to write. :-)

Mr. Manhood

Tia, my dog, is sick. Took her to the vet. Have to take her for an xray if she's not better by Thursday. I'm crossing my fingers the meds do their trick. In the meantime, I'm trying to write/edit love scenes in the book due next week. How many terms can one use to describe a penis?

Love sword
Towering shaft of Ra
Purple warrior of love
Mr. Manhood
Big Boy (this is actually the name of a train DH saw this weekend at his train show. It was a huge engine!)
Quivering arrow of paradise (sounds like an archery competition winner)
Mr. Happy
Mr. Sad (needs viagra)
Pleasure rod

Anyway, since I'm pressed for time, I'm posting an excerpt from my September release, THE PANTHER & THE PYRAMID. This is a desert scene where Graham shifts into his warrior mode.

(copyright 2006 by Bonnie Vanak)

An hour after his hasty departure, her husband returned. Bare-chested, he strode into the tent, flinging shirt and binish to the carpet. Graham unbuckled his sword and dagger and laid them gently on the table. Jillian studied his tight jawline. Sweat glistened on his powerful chest.

“Did you have a good time?” she asked, uncertain.

He glanced at her and gave a derisive snort. “Warriors don’t train for a good time, Jillian.”

Filled with enormous daring, she pointed to the scimitar. “Show me how a Khamsin warrior uses it during training.”

Startled, he narrowed his gaze. She smiled sweetly.

“It is forbidden for women to visit the training grounds for warriors. They are sacred.”

“Then demonstrate it to me here, Graham.”

“Do you know why the grounds are forbidden to women? After training, a man is filled with the excitement of battle. The savage need for a warrior to conquer shifts into a different need, in which all he desires is a woman, to feel her soft body beneath his yield in surrender.”

Her own body tightened pleasurably at the challenge heating his dark eyes. “Show me, Graham,” she repeated.

His nostrils flared. The air inside the tent heated suddenly, filled with an enticing, masculine scent of horses, leather and sandalwood. He had changed, the refined duke shifting into a dangerous warrior. The weapon he had carried reminded her of the perils of this land, where men fought each other, not with foils in gentlemanly sport, but in battle.

The change alarmed her before. Now it only served to excite her. Graham slid the long scimitar from its sheath. An awed gasp of admiration slipped from her as he sliced the air with the sword. Muscle and sinew bulged and rippled he swirled the scimitar in a series of intricate moves.

Where did he learn? Jillian held her breath, not daring to ask as he sheathed the sword, placing it on the table.

Unsmiling he faced her, sweat beading his forehead, glistening on his sculpted chest. Her hand splayed against the wealth of dark hair there, feeling the firmness against her stroking fingertips. A harsh groan rippled from his lips.

A surge of feminine power filled her as she reached up, sliding her hands around his neck, dragging him down for a kiss. Her lips softened beneath the crushing pressure of his, accepting the deep thrusts of his tongue. Jillian pressed herself against him, cradling the hard bulge of his erection. The soft cotton blouse rubbed against her aching nipples.

Graham tore himself away, panting. Hot desire tightened his face. She backed away slightly, enormously excited at having pushed him into this, a bit scared at his dark intensity. Could she handle him?

vultures

people are like vultures. they wait until you're lying on the ground bleeding and then attack. they're not nice.

i'm going off line for a few days. can't stand to deal with the vultures right now.

Sex ed

DH doing much better. We actually went bike riding yesterday at a favorite park. 70 degree temps, wind blowing slightly, a nice 4 mile ride. After he was wiped out, but the exercise did us both good.

Did get some writing done this weekend. Everyone has a different writing style. Mine resembles that of a jackrabbit pumped up on cocaine driving a PT Cruiser. It’s all over the place. I have a synopsis as a road map, and end up detouring, crashing sometimes, speeding up and slowing down. Usually I save love scenes for when I have enough time to concentrate on them. I like my lovemaking slow and sensual. ;-)

This weekend, I wrote a scene in which Tarik demonstrates oral sex to Fatima using a fruit. It’s very sensual and has humor as well. Didn’t plan on it, but it fit in so well because she’s a warrior now, and all warriors are taught how to deliver the secret of 100 kisses to bring a woman release. Jabari, Tarik’s dad, taught his son by using a fruit and so Tarik shows Fatima how his father taught him.

Sure beats the book we got in 7th grade health class which labeled all parts and how they worked, as if a man or a woman’s body was a ’67 Mustang needing a tune-up. I remember co-ed sex education. Taught by Coach DeFalco. Coach DeFalco gave us a test where you had to correctly label the male and female parts. There were dittos back then and you’d bring them to your nose and inhale, as if you could get high off printer’s ink. And as Coach was handing out the tests, he realized, er, some of the copies were missing vital parts.

One guy’s copy showed only half of his male part. Coach looked at him, grabbed the sheet and smirked and said, “____ got his cut off. Guess we’ll have to find him another one.”

I’ve never seen a guy blush as much as ____ did that day. I think he would have appreciated a nice, private lesson like Tarik gave to Fatima, using candles, a fruit and lots of love language instead of harsh fluorescent lights overhead, a smirking basketball coach who was all of 5’7” and a room filled with snickering classmates.

What I want for my birthday

This is what I want. Mmmmm. Was thinking about maid service for my birthday next month, but this beats the nice girl from Brazil my friend recommended.

Can I get mine with a big red bow on his...mmmm?

I borrowed this link from author Sylvia Day when I was blog hopping about. I'm dying to pick up her Bad Boys Ahoy book, but I swore an oath to stop buying books I have no time to read until I meet my deadline. Okay, time to get back to the WIP. 'Nuff goofing off and daydreaming about maid service and having time to read.

Linnea Sinclair

Is nominated for TWO Rita awards. Go visit her website and offer congrats! Linnea is a super funny, friendly talented author. I'm on a workshop panel with her at RT in May.

In other news, life is drier at work and I'm heading into the home stretch on my book. I feel less pressured now and I'm actually going to visit the gym (gasp!) to exercise, something I haven't had time for in weeks. DH is feeling great, so I'm optimistic about life today. Okay, note to self. Ignore fact that doggie just yarked on the carpet. (sigh).

Floods and general mayhem

So Dh has his surgery, and the doc sez all is well, it went fine and suddenly about two hours later the nurse breezily informs me, "Oh no one told you? We had to rush the doctor back in because we couldn't stop your husband from hemmoraging and his blood pressure skyrocketed."

arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

So they take care of that and he's fine now, home and doing great, up and about. And yesterday I'm at work, and it starts raining like a Noah's Ark flood. I'm thinking the four horsemen are coming galloping up soon, and then the lights go out in the building.

ok, no big deal. Then all the sudden someone yells, "OMG there's water pouring inside!"

The roof of our building, which got torn off by Hurricane Wilma nearly FIVE MONTHS TO THE DAY, has given way again. We're running about like monkeys, fetching buckets, bags, garbage pails, to catch the water flooding into our offices. It's like hurricane season all over again, but wait, isn't this MARCH??

Is this week over yet?

No sleep

last night, too worried about dh's surgery today. it's not a big surgery, but still, last time I waited for someone to come out of the operating room, the surgeon came out and told me my mother was dying. it's just a stupid psychological thing, right? Right.

Next month we are going away for the weekend for my birthday to the west coast. Our first weekend away since the hurricane. The book will be turned in by then. I'm getting there. Slowly. This has been the worst deadline because of all the distractions, between the work trips to Guatemala and the unexpected one to Haiti (I lost about a full week of writing over that one) and my uncle's death and the trip to New York, and now this surgery.

I feel like a race car driver navigating brick walls. Where's the finish line?

The light at the end of the tunnel...

Isn't always an oncoming train. I had a weird experience the other night in which my wineglass cracked. Just cracked all the sudden. Very eerie. DH advised, "Maybe it's your mom telling you to stop worrying about all this &#*@&# and get cracking on what really matters."

Okay mom, I hear you. Yesterday I shoved aside all the worries and stuff I have no control over, and I concentrated on what counts. I wrote. I wrote, and continued writing. I attacked this book like Tarik attacking the enemy during a battle. I accomplished a lot. 12 pages. That's the most I've written in a long time.

No distractions like house repairs, bills, worries about the publishing industry, depression over my last trip to Haiti, DH's surgery next week, etc. etc. Just writing. I think it was Susan E. Phillips who said, "Protect your muse." I've suffered "muse abuse" with all the distractions and it's about time I pampered her.

Then maybe, MAYBE, next month my muse and I will celebrate with a weekend away with "the girls" in the Keys. We talked about it last night at a party (the girls, not my muse and I).

Okay off to write again...muse, get ready to put thy butt to work. We're ramming the fort and no one is stopping us!

A wee bit 'o humor for St. Patty's Day

A preacher who wanted to raise money for his church was told there was a fortune in horse racing, so he decided to buy a horse and enter it in the races. However, at the local auction, the going price for horses was so steep that the preacher ended up buying a donkey instead. He figured, however, that since he had it, he might as well go ahead and enter it in the races. To his surprise, in the first race, his donkey came in second. The next day the paper read: PREACHER'S ASS SHOWS

The preacher was so pleased that he entered the donkey in another race. This time, it won, and the paper read:

PREACHER'S ASS OUT IN FRONT

The Bishop was so upset with this kind of publicity that he ordered the preacher not to enter the donkey in another race. The new headline read:

BISHOP SCRATCHES PREACHER'S ASS

This was too much for the Bishop, and he ordered the preacher to get rid of the animal. The preacher, being a charitable chap, gave it to a nun in a nearby convent. The headline the next day said:
NUN HAS BEST ASS IN TOWN

The Bishop fainted! He told the nun that she would have to dispose of the donkey, and she finally found a farmer who would take it off her hands for ten dollars. The paper said:

NUN PEDDLES ASS FOR TEN BUCKS

They buried the Bishop the next day. The following day's paper read:

TOO MUCH ASS RESPONSIBLE FOR BISHOP'S DEATH

Having a blonde moment

I decided to save Ferfela's brain cells from eternal torment and deleted the last post in case someone fails to realize I was NOT serious. What can I say? People tend to do strange things, hmmm.

Speaking of strange, how is it I can mistake orange Ducolax laxative tablets for bright orange M&M's? Did Haiti suck out all MY brain cells? Whoa boy...

Go pop over to Ferfela's blog for RT updates.

Win a copy of SURRENDER by Pamela Clare

Blog hopping and I see Alison Kent is giving away a copy of SURRENDER on her blog. Go participate in the discussion for your chance to win. I have this book, and NO time to read it. I read the first page and was forced to put it down last week in Haiti because of work . Can someone just read it to me while I'm working like they do at storytime for kids in the library? I wish!!!!!

I eny my heroine

Ok, how is it possible for me to go to Haiti, eat less, have "Aristide's revenge" and gain weight? HUH? I almost dumped the scale into the hot tub. Well, I would have except it's still not fixed and there are enough problems with that.

I want to be like Fatima, the heroine I'm writing now. She has it all together. yeah, she's got flaws, like being stubborn and her hips she thinks are a little too curvy, but Fatima's tent is neat, organized. My domicile looks like a herd of turtles ran through it. Her hair is long, black and curly. Mine is all frizzed today like I stuck my finger into an electrical socket. Fatima doesn't have to deal with a lazy Shih Tzu snoring beneath the bed, another dog so paranoid he JUMPED INTO THE BATHTUB at 7 a.m. (WTH?) because he's scared of the garbage trucks.

That's right. My poor dog is terrified of garbage trucks.

And I don't know what to do about it. Fatima doesn't have to pay bills, worry about the roof leaking (still!!) microbes she might have picked up in Haiti that could be dancing a conga line in her stomach or her man getting surgery next week and being on edge because he's dreading it. Fatima just gets to have great sex, sex, sex!!! and argue with Tarik about a woman's role and being a warrior and then have more sex, sex, sex. Oh and try to find out who is trying to kill Tarik.

Minor stuff.

I want to be my heroine. I want a tent stuck in the middle of the desert, a sword, an attitude and above all, psychic vision like she has. Because I have NO idea if I will ever see the ending of this book and it would be nice to get a glimpse of finally being able to write, THE END.

omg

One of my co-workers, the one who was supposed to go to Haiti but I took his place, is in the hospital. Strep. infection caused by a bacteria, probably one he got from eating in Haiti last year. He's in severe pain, can't walk and now they are testing his heart for muscle loss and damage. If left untreated he could have died. OMG... I'm a bit freaked out over this...

You just can't be too careful of what you eat in Haiti. OMG, I hope he's going to be okay...tomorrow I'm getting my blood tested, just to be safe. Paranoid? Go ahead, call me so. I'd rather be healthy than worrying about heart damage from bacteria infecting a meal I digested last week while in Haiti...

TUT!!!!!!!!!

I'm home!!! And we saw Tut today at the Museum of Art. Finally!

Yesterday we got to the airport and were told our plane was going to Miami, not Fort Lauderdale as we had been promised. argh!!!! We did finally fly to Ft. Lauderdale. In line for immigration, we met the missionary who was shot three times by would-be kidnappers. He had bandages on both arms and his neck, and was shot last Saturday. He and the pastor fended off the attack with rocks and a hammer. His wife told us, "My crazy husband went after them with a hammer." Yoikes. It was in Croix des bouquets, where we have an orphanage, a normally quiet town. Not anymore...sigh...

Anyway, today we went to see TUT!!! OMG!!! It's everything I ever dreamt of!! I stood at the plexiglass case surrounding Kiya's canopic jar lid and just stared. I wanted to cry because I had researched, read about Kiya, and seen the jar in photos, but to see it in real life...it was amazing. I think the one that moved me the most was that one, and the relief of Akhenaten. It was so real, and after all this time, knowing these artifacts only through photos and then seeing them up close... it was deeply moving. I'm going back again. Wow, if the exhibit has this kind of effect, imagine what visiting Egypt would do? I'd probably faint, or peer out at the shimmering sands for a glimpse of my Khamsin warriors.

DH was equally fascinated. After we had lunch and rum runners at one of our favorite waterfront restaurants and talked about the exhibit. I'm now fired up to continue Tarik and Fatima's story, and have new ideas to layer the book. From poverty and suffering in Haiti to the precious artifacts of Tut, what a journey this week has been....

Paradox

I'm sitting at the table in the hotel's dining room, overlooking the serene, azure ocean. The sun is glinting off the flat water, shimmering like a mirror. A cool breeze washes over me as I'm typing. Joggers huff as they pass by. Many enjoy running on the road that parallels the ocean.

This morning I woke at 5, got up and prayed for hot water. I'm sick with a bad cold. There was hot water...in the spigot. But when I turned on the shower, it was cold. I took a very very quick, brief shower, and I'm still shivering and shaking.

I have this odd love/hate relationship with this country. Love the people, their strength, their spirits, their fierce determination and will to survive, hate the crushing poverty.

I hate not having hot water at 5 a.m. when I'm so cold I just want to curl up under the covers and lie there.

Haiti is a paradox. Beautiful turquoise ocean waters that are overfished, rugged, majestic mountain peaks that are stripped of trees, gentle people whose serene smiles mask a relentless struggle to make it just one more day. To rise each morning, with hope in their hearts that maybe, just maybe, today will be better than yesterday.

Lynx air lied to us. They said our plane yesterday was grounded because it failed inspection. They sent emails to us saying this. But here in Haiti, we found out they weren't grounded. They bumped us. We were supposed to leave yesterday. Had we left I wouldn't have met that mother and her two, sad, hungry children. Now they can get food, and help. When we get food in the warehouse. For that I'm grateful...that at least they will be helped. It's worth it to stay the extra day to know they will be fed. But dear God, right now I need to go home. I need my husband, chicken noodle soup, a warm blanket and sleep.

Good-bye Haiti.

I want to quit

Today almost did me in. We returned to the swamp, and met a young mother with two babies who cry ALL THE TIME from hunger. Ceaselessly. She had these dull, sad eyes as she told me how her two year old doesn't walk. She told me how other people make fun of her daughter and call her "doll" because she merely sits there, while the other children run and play. The two-year-old just kept crying because the mom had nothing to feed her. When I left their frail shack with its dirt floor, I wanted to cry too.

A few experts from Taiwan who were with us this week tested the water at the swamp where this mother lives. They said it's filled with bacteria, salt water and disease. And this mother lives here, no latrines, no real home, no food, only a swamp that floods, where people have to wade through the muck and filth, and her faith.

I really wanted to just toss down my notebook and cry when I left. I didn't. I wrote instead. Not Tarik's story, but about Haiti. I can't write about Tarik and romance now. What's the point anyway? I'm horribly depressed, homesick and left with this hollow ache in my heart.

Haiti, ah, Haiti. When will you stop breaking my heart? When will your children with the dirt smeared faces, the woeful, listless eyes and the sad smiles ever stop clawing me with a hungry soul, begging for what I alone can never give? I feel this horrible empty ache inside me, wishing I could give you more, feed you more, knowing it’s not enough because as one mother put it, “you always have to save some for tomorrow, because what about tomorrow?”

What about tomorrow Haiti? What will you do? Where will you be? When will your children stop crying from hunger, stop dying from starvation and your mothers stop weeping because they have nothing, just nothing, to feed them? Nothing but prayers and throwing themselves flat on the ground, praying and crying out, “Jesus give me something to give my children.”

Haiti, when will you stop making me weep?

Egypt in Haiti

Last night spent an hour writing Tarik and Fatima's story. No choice...the deadline is fast approaching. Wrote about two pages. Sat outside in the dark on a patio overlooking the ocean, writing about Tarik's struggle with Fatima's fiercely independent side. I'm like a clock slowly winding down... I'm too wiped out by the travel these past few weeks. I like this story, but who knows if anyone else will? I'm at the point of a crossroads with my romance writing and my life. What's the point? Why should I bother. I shouldn't delve into this too deeply as it's part depression brought on by the stuff I see in Haiti and just being plain exhausted.

So let me write about funny stuff, like t-shirts in Haiti. People wear these t shirts from the US with sayings that they don't know what they mean. Like this elderly, dignified woman wearing a shirt that read A BOY IN EVERY PORT. Or the guy wearing a shirt that said, MY TEACHER SAID I CAN BE ANYTHING I WANT, SO I DECIDED TO BE AN A-HOLE.

Today we are returning to the garbage swamp where families live. Must muster myself to do this... get the energy from somewhere.

A garden of children

Today we headed out to an area where we built houses, but the children are hungry, so we are starting a feeding program soon. We traveled with a nurse who brought a scale to weigh the kids so she can track their progress. She wasn't prepared for ALL the children who showed up. A sea of small children packed into the community center we built. We wandered around the area, talking to people. It's a nice housing development, like a garden in some areas, a garden where children are growing.

Met these adorable little ones returning from school. I won't show the malnourished baby in her bright yellow dress and thin arms and her listless, sad eyes, and missing hair. How dehydrated she was. The paradox, the baby in her Sunday best, her only dress, dressed up to be weighed and assessed and determined that she needs food. Her tiny, thin body bedecked in a pretty dress. She is 2 years old and weighs about 20 pounds. She can't walk yet, no leg muscles.

ON a happier note, got some good news from hubby yesterday when I called to tell him our trip is delayed one day because the plane failed inspection (gulp!!!). My last two books, Tiger and Cobra, are being translated into Russian. How cool is that?

Labadie, cruise ships and hungry kids

Went to Labadie this a.m., a cushy resort where cruise ships dock. Passengers have no idea they're in Haiti. There is a white sandy beach playground, fenced off from the rest of the area, so they can play. I didn't play. I went to the village of Labadie, where the fishermen struggle to make a living.

The photos are of the water taxi we took, with the big cruise ship in the background. This afternoon we went to a slum with a bridge over the muddy water to a house that I couldn't cross because it was too rickety. I stayed on the other side while shouting questions across. But things happen for a reason, because I was stranded, I met this woman and eventually, her husband, who took us to see their tiny home with their 10 kids, four of whom they took in when their mom died. They have no food to eat, but they took the kids in anyway. They said God will provide and trust in God for their daily bread. Talk about faith...wow. Good day. Lots of good stuff. No jet skiing like the tourists, or fishing or sunbathing, just visiting the poor and trying to see what we can do to improve their lives.

Cool ocean breezes in Haiti

Back in Haiti, at the hotel where we stayed last September. We returned to Petite Anse, the oceanside slum we visited last year. Fishing boats dot the sands, sitting lopsided like drunken sailors. Wind is too high to go out today on the boats. All is very quiet, the same Haiti as it was last year before elections.

We met Rose Marie and her children. This is where they sleep. She's widowed. All they have to eat is a little flour, sugar and water, which she feeds mostly to the baby. The two-year-old is so malnourished she can't stand. Her tiny legs, the size of matchsticks, have no muscles.

Kinda puts life into perspective for me, worrying about all the things on my plate. When she has nothing on hers, no food, no real place to sleep, just flour and water and hunger.

4 a.m.

What? Oh, yeah, Haiti, airplane, I'm leaving. Restless night. Two hours sleep. Started coughing. Took cough syrup. No good. Woke poor DH, who told me to take Sudafed. Getting sick. Took extra pillow to prop up head, neck hurt, tossed pillow down. Still no sleep. Finally alarm blares at 3:30 a.m. Bleary eyed I stumble out of bed. Dog snoring away blissfully on abandoned pillow. Glad someone around here can sleep.

Travel weary

Tomorrow's trip to Haiti is my third trip in four weeks. No wonder I'm weary... and not looking forward to waking at 3:30 am to leave an hour later. Is it possible to sleepwalk while interviewing people? I tried writing this weekend, did manage to get some done on Tarik and Fatima's story. Taking my laptop in the vain hopes I won't be too wiped out from the 12-14 hour workdays, trudging through slums, to write at night. I'm more tired than apprehensive about visiting Haiti.

Going to Haiti

Leaving 4:30 a.m. Monday. Co-worker supposed to go pinched a nerve, had a death in the family, poor guy. So I'm flying out in his place. Gulp. I have the condo we're trying to sell, the roofers are dumping all the roofing material at the house next week, the contractor is tearing down the Florida room next week, I still haven't done my taxes and I have a 100,000 word book due in four weeks.

Gulp.

If I get kidnapped, all I'm gonna ask is for bottled water, a semi-clean latrine, electricity so I can plug in my laptop and FINISH THIS BOOK, and Tic Tacs. Oh yeah, clean panties. Mom always said never be caught dead without clean underwear.

HOT cover!! WHOA!

Man, I LOVE this cover! Pamela Clare just sent a copy of her new cover, her next RS, HARD EVIDENCE. Wowzer! Talk about STEAM! I read parts of this book and it's yummy!!!

You can drive?

Decided to delete the last blog post. People will think what they want, no matter what I say. Don't want to look defensive, it's a waste of time. Instead, I want to talk about my trip to NY. My cousin, Amy, is now grown. Has an adorable baby of her own. Last time I saw Amy, she was about 10, running about our yard in Jersey. At the wake, I got a ride with her back to her mother's house. She slid into the driver's seat and I just stared.

"You can drive?"

Duh. See it's hard for me to envision this 10-year-old driving. I remember her playing with sparklers and looking at my pet rabbit. This is a family photo of when Amy, sitting on my brother's lap, was just a kid. I'm the one standing behind Drew, with the glowing eyes. My cousin Regina is next to me, and her parents are in the chair. It was taken at our old kitchen in Jersey.

Amy was just a kid. Now she's driving. I think that shocked me more than her having a baby, like getting a driver's license is harder than having a child? Amy, all grown up and driving in New York. Wow.

New Yawk, New Yawk, it's a hellava town

Mixed feelings about this weekend... sad my uncle died, but delighted to see my cousins again and my other uncle, who is very sharp and doing great. Ah, New YAWK! Queens! Manhattan! those accents! A rush of nostalgia came over me when I heard my cousin say, "We can wok from heah." It was wonderful! How much I've missed hearing that!

Will post more on the weekend later. In the meanwhile, had to show off my cover. YAY! I LOVE it! I went to Dorchester's offices in Manhattan and chatted with Leah, the nicest person, for a long while as my editor was out. And I got a scan of my cover! My heart raced. It's perfect, especially with the back cover copy, which reads like this:

Red hair, the color of blood. Green eyes, the color of emeralds. And that face, that body — the memory threatened to consume him. True, he was a dangerous man, accepted back to the ton despite his upbringing. But there were those who dared oppose him, and in certain ways he remained untried. In his dreams, this woman threatened all he sought to protect, all he thought to hide. She was more perilous even than the ancient treasure that would draw him back to Egypt, back to the shifting sands where he’d been raised: This woman would uncover his heart.

Take a look at that guy on the cover. It looks like he's VERY protective of something... which he is. His heart.

More later. I have to wake up now.

Erotic romance & funerals

My Uncle Ed died yesterday. I wish so much I had gone up to NY last year to see him and everyone. Now it's too late. I'm going to his funeral this weekend. This photo was taken in the 1930's of my Uncle Ed, my dad, and my Uncle Don. Ironically, my dad was born the same year as the romance I'm currently writing - 1919.

USA Today had a big article on erotic romance as a new market. Yeah, hello? Old news, people. Oh yeah, today I got my contract for the new werewolf book from Ellora's Cave. I really like this book. Very, very sexy. It was challenging going from writing about sexy werewolves to sexy desert warriors. I keep wanting to have Tarik howl at the moon.

I'll be gone a few days, not blogging. Why is it we always wait until it's too damn late to realize family isn't always going to be around forever?

Wash me

Almost at the part of my book where Tarik finally makes love to Fatima. There will be a bathing scene. Very sexy. Speaking of bathing, I see something missing from this pix. Handcuffs, attached to the curtain rod. Then a big, fluffy sponge, lots of soap and water...hmmmmm.... you're been a very dirty boy. Very dirty.

Congratulations!

To MARY STELLA AND CINDY CRUCIGER, who are both nominated for CAPA awards from The Romance Studio! Woo hoo!

Home again

There were good parts of my trip as well. The hotel I stayed at, only $35 US a night with its cool breezes and pampered, lush grounds. The ex-pat Americans I glimpsed in the coffee cafes with their woven Guatemala bags slung over sloped shoulders, the awesome view of Lake Atitlan, clouds ringing the volcano, and the Mayan woman I met who remained childless at 40, and adopted a newborn abandoned in a clinic, her dream of becoming a mom coming true at last.


They say Americans and Europeans gravitate to Lake Atitlan because it resonates with a sort of deep spiritual power. I don't know. All I know is there is kind of a cruel beauty, a primitive haunting air to the lake, with the volcanoes standing guard as they have for thousands of years, their jagged edges possessing a serene and yet terrible power.


For those indicating they want to help, I'll let you know when I have more info. Thanks.

"It's a cemetery now"

Spent yesterday in Panabaj, western Guatemala, where the mudslide buried 700 people during hurricane Stan last year. 15 feet of mud is now dry earth, bodies buried below the surface. You walk on top of the mud, and as one villager said, "It used to be a village. It's a cemetery now." They recovered the last body 15 days ago. Bulldozing while collecting rocks to errect a stone wall to prevent this from happening again, they saw a hand sticking out of the earth.

The villagers, all Mayan Indians, planted palm trees to mark where their loved ones lived and died. These two grandmothers, who errected a small shrine, lost all but one person each. Their husbands, children, grandchildren. Concepcion sobbed as she told us how she prays for her family, entombed in mud below the shrine. All she found was this hat, which her children used to play with. She also lost her one-month-old grandbaby.



I can't imagine... and don't want to. The fear they live with at night, that the water and mud river will happen again, rushing down on them and entombing them or sweeping them out to Lake Atilan, as it did with little Francisco, who was found buried up to his neck in mud, but thankfully alive.

I'm exhausted and depressed now. Too much to write my book, though I have a deadline and brought this laptop to write. I've gotten some writing done, but I keep thinking the real world isn't being an author and books and the sometimes petty crap that can go with being an author. It's there, in that little village of grieving people, who only wanted to live their lives as they did, a tight-knit community who worked and played and prayed together, and now have lost entire families. It's going to take me a while to recover from this trip and all the emotional angst. In all honesty, I don't care about romance writing right now. I'm too wounded now to think about it, like a little piece of me was left behind on the silent mudfields of Panabaj, where mothers weep during the day for the children they lost, and children who survived wake up screaming, dreaming of it happening again.

Grandma's house

She dreams of having a new house with a real floor she can mop. Wind rattles the tin and plastic covering her current house. Cardboard lines the mud walls and gets soaked when it rains. Cold up here in the mountains of Guatemala. Very cold. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she told us how difficult it is to raise her grandchildren with her daughter working as a maid in the city. Each day she prays for a new house. She told us, "I don't think my dream will come true in my life, but maybe when I die, my daughters will finally get a nice house."

Smiles in Guatemala

Lester, my favorite. Look at this cheeky grin! It was great seeing him. Maria is gone, home with her parents. I only hope she stays healthy... Camera chip works great in the new notebook. Ah yes, technology. A good thing, when there's a modern hotel and electricity.

Adios

Guatemala tomorrow. Frantically trying to pack, get ready. Carpets done yesterday. Dogs eyeing clean carpets with a gleam in their eyes. Uh-oh...

Going to village buried under mudslides from Hurricane Stan last year. Not going to be an easy trip, but you do what you must. I am looking forward to seeing Maria again from Sister Cristina's. It's been six months and I'm sure she's looking much healthier. I bought her an outfit and a little black velvet hat so she can "style." Malnourished kids get cold more than other children. But I'm sure she's quite plump and healthy by now.

Will try to post from the road, as I can, though internet access will be limited.

Romance v.s. real life

Romance is the sweep of desert wind across the plain, the proud stance of a warrior surveying his dry kingdom.
Reality is the sweep of the Hoover over the rug because DH just tracked in mud.

Romance is a Khamsin warrior's dark gaze burning into the heroine, making her tremble with anticipation.
Reality is the dog staring at me when I'm trying to write a love scene.

Romance is Tarik gently wiping away Fatima's tears after she's had a disturbing psychic vision.
Reality is me sighing as I clean up the carpet because I couldn't forsee the dog was about to yark.

Romance is Tarik telling Fatima, "Surrender now, Tima. We will be lovers. This I promise."
Reality is DH telling me at 5 p.m., "Hey, I promised Robert we'd have dinner with him tonight. Forgot to tell you."

Romance is a fierce Khamsin warrior, devoted to his lady, vowing to protect her to the last drop of his blood.
Reality is the roofer vowing to take every last drop of our money, and yeah, we'll start in 4-5 weeks.

http://www.bonnievanak.com

Covers

I’m having fun writing The White Falcon. Wrote another four pages last night. Not bad. Wrote the scene where Fatima dances in the moonlight, drawn by the exotic beat of Tarik’s darbuka. Then they have almost nooky in the sand. Sacrificed an hour of writing time to catch up on zzzzzz’s. Feel so much better today. This morning got an idea for a scene where Fatima goes hunting. Wrote for 15 minutes to get the gist of the scene, went to work.

My new toy, the Sharp M4000, is making life easier. Powers up fast, battery life lasts for 5 hours, and it weighs only 3.7 pounds. Full sized keyboard, too, a must. Most light notebooks have cramped keyboard. Taking the Sharp to Guatemala to next week so I can write in the hotel.

Holding my breath on The Panther & the Pyramid’s cover. My editor wrote the back cover copy, and production is working on cover art. News flash: I hated the cover to The Cobra & the Concubine. The warrior looked like he escaped from a circus tent and the shield resembled an RV hubcap. The horse looked nice. But readers told me they loved the cover. So I vowed to never complain about covers again.

Then I read Paperback Writer’s blog about a sci fi writer who bragged about how his book cover features his testicles.

Breathe sigh of relief Dorchester isn’t into testicle art. I’ll take an RV hubcap wielding circus tent warrior any day over dangly male parts.

Previews

Dorchester has previews of upcoming books I'm anticipating. If only I had time to read...sigh. Still have oodles of books in my TBR list. Two books I want are Pamela Clare's SURRENDER and Jennifer Ashley's Penelope and Prince Charming. Check them out.

Been busy writing Fatima and Tarik's story. She's evolved as a strong character with a determination equal to his. She wants to be a warrior and his Guardian. He wants her as his lover.

She wants to be at his right side, protecting him.
He wants her naked, beneath him.

So much is going on that my dreams are getting bizarre. Last night Tarik and Fatima made love in the condo we're going to list on the market soon, after we renovate it. Then the sheikh, his dad, comes home and Tarik hides in the shower while Fatima hides in the smashed Florida room that needs rebuilding. Tarik looks at the shower, hoping he's not caught and pulls aside a curtain that resembled a yard sale reject. He's thinking the bathroom needs sprucing up as he's shrinking into the shower.

I really do need a vacation when my characters are thinking about my state of home repairs.


Last week I discovered Tarik's weakness - her strength, which will make for the book's drastic turning point. The book is coming together nicely and I'm having fun writing it. Wrote 12 pages this weekend, not a lot, but I also cut and edited as well. Progress. This in between doing three giant loads of laundry, cleaning the house, a train party at a friend's house all day Saturday, and fighting a nasty head cold threatening to surface.

Guatemala all next week. Already I'm exhausted thinking about that trip. Three hour car rides at the crack of dawn to misty, far-away places of poverty.

News Flash

After a blizzard of angry responses to her Larry King phone call, Oprah admits on her show she was wrong. James Frey is commissioned to write a book about it. Says he'll toss in some drama, like that she wept tears like pearls when she wrung her hands before her audience and then admitting to him backstage she once snorted baby powder and spent a night in jail reading book club selections to prostitutes. Art department says they'll photoshop pix of O, making her hair blond. No one will notice much and it will improve sales.

Big NY publisher gives Frey $1,000,000,000 advance and much back slapping congrats for inventing new genre -- non-fictional fiction. Somewhere between the lines, truth reigns.

Sometimes...

You just have to say screw it, push forward and forget, and watch Eric Cartman do his rendition of Scarface on South Park.

that's all for now, folks.

Stuff

Lots of things going on. So much my head is spinning. I'm looking forward to Guatemala in two weeks. Sometimes when I travel, away from distractions, I can think more clearly. Focus. I'm eager to see the kids again at Sister Cristina's, to see Maria and how she's improved, and maybe get the chance to accompany some nuns as they do home visits among the poor in the slums. Real gritty stuff. A chance to make a real difference.

Jesus, toilets & poetry

So I'm at work today, writing about toilets, showers and Jesus.

See, I'm writing a project about sanitation blocks, which have toilets and showers. And I'm trying to get a spiritual angle on it, which is hard, but I managed. Spirit of community, fellowship, stuff like that. Jesus and the last supper and fellowship and love one another. But today writing was a real struggle. My mind is going 10,000 different directions at once. I couldn't finish the last paragraph.

I'm thinking it sounds too weird, the connection between Jesus and toilets. Then as I'm desperately shiting, er, I mean shifting words, I'm thinking about toilet blocks and latrines. My Khamsin warriors pop into my head. I start thinking about how my warriors have sanitation blocks in the desert. Maybe Tarik and Fatima dig new latrines. Very romantic. Not. But toilets are essential to communities. Which gives dignity to the poor. Which brings me back to helping the poor by building toilets and there's the Jesus angle again, if you love your fellow human beings who have to worry about disease and their kids getting typhoid, you'll help them by building toilets. Which brings me back to love. Does digging a latrine demonstrate your love for someone? If Tarik and Fatima dig latrines together, are they bonding in love? And back to community and bonding and the spirit of fellowship. Jesus again. Did our Lord ever scratch his head as he looked at his disciples and say, "Oy. Don't you guys GET IT yet? How many times must I say it? Love one another. Hello? It's not that complicated."

I finally did finish that paragraph and turned in the project. And then I'm reading Alison Kent's blog where she's talking about writing and poetry and how to make your sentences snappy. I'm admiring her. Because Alison Kent has a clear enough mind to think about sentence structure and making it so lovely, while here I am struggling with latrines and Jesus while Egyptian warriors pop into my head and swirl about like a sandstorm in the desert where they bond happily ever after in the human dignity of fellowship and happy toilets.

I think I need a vacation...

Mr. Romance candidate

Mary Stella said on a loop I'm on that RT is looking for Mr. Romance candidates. I don't know who this guy is, but wowzer, I nominate him. Okay, must drag self into work and write about slums and bad housing in Haiti. I don't know where Brad and Angie exactly went on their trip last week, but it surely wasn't to the places I've visited. Then again, I don't travel to Haiti surrounded by those white UN tanks...

http://www.bonnievanak.com

Yo ho, oh oh oh OH!!! Pirate porn

Why I love Florida... Pirates, the new porn movie, is shooting aboard the HMS Bounty in St. Pete.

The ship's owner, who was miffed because he thought they were filming a Disneysque flick (with a Depp lookalike instead of Long Dong Silver?) gets my two thumbs up approval for this quote.

“We actually looked at the concept of canceling it, but with the contract, I couldn’t do it for no reason,” Hanson said. “Just because they’re porn stars doesn’t mean they can’t come on the boat ..."

Yo ho ho and a bottle of ... hint: rhymes with rum.

Pirates. Gotta love 'em.

http://www.bonnievanak.com

Rodentia

Decided I'm having entirely too much fun with Ferfela to post in my own blog. She has an interesting "outing" on Amazon reviewers.

In other news, hurt my back. Wrenched a muscle. Putting up fencing with DH. More hurricane repairs. It hurt so much I could barely breathe. Thank you, insurance company, for stalling our claim so we have no money to hire someone to do it ourselves. Can I put in a claim for painkillers now?

http://www.bonnievanak.com

eat me

That's what a new study sez the Donner Party didn't do.

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20060113/ap_on_sc/donner_party

Would you like fries with that?

Reviews

I broke one of my New Year’s resolutions, not to respond to controversial topics. Geez, that didn’t take long. I had to post a comment on Romancing the Blog’s column about reviews. I swore to myself, don’t get involved. Ever. And I jumped off the cliff, like a sheep. Baaaaaa.

I had to comment because I see both sides, as a reader and an author. Reading is subjective. I don’t care if you graduated summa cum laude from the University of Reviewing. I don’t care if you’ve been reviewing for years. A review is just that, your opinion.

Let’s get one fact straight. Nasty reviews hurt. Any author who tells you they don’t is lying. It does hurt when someone slashes and pokes fun at your creation. Been there. Done that. Ouch.

Bad reviews are like rejections. It’s life. It will happen. You’re not going to change it. You cringe, lick your wounds, and move on. Or if you find something funny and useful, like I did with the Mrs. Giggles review, you use it.

Because if you dwell on them, it’s going to really hurt you where it counts most. It will detract from your writing. You’ll spend all your precious writing time musing over your reviews.

My editor a long ago gave me great advice. He told me to listen to what readers are saying, but never let them influence my writing. Because he knew what I’ve finally found out. In the end, you have to write for yourself. Write to please everyone, and you’ll burn out, quick.

My writing is me. Words gurgling up from the darkness of my subconscious, my twisted and delightful imagination. Not everyone will like it. Some will. Some won’t. But essentially, it’s irrevocably, undeniably me. Five stars, one star, think what you will. I’m sticking with what I love.

That's my story. Enough on this. I need to write. I have a book to grind out, more grist for the bad review mill. ;-)

Haiti is too dangerous

This is a photo of me with girls from one of our Haiti orphaanges.

I'm heading for Guatemala next month. Haiti is too dangerous. They just released a captive, thank God, who was one of our people in Haiti. Kidnappings are getting crazy. They'll stop your car on the street, whisk you away to Cite Soleil and there you go. Kidnap central. They're kidnapping poor people as well. Some they torture with boiling water.

Sigh... Elections postphoned next month, too. I love that crazy, insane country. But will it ever be any better? I guess all I can do is think about the positives, like the kids we are raising, the ones we've saved.

Think about anything else and you go nuts. Like missionary "Mama Carol" Herget (who died of cancer) once told me. "Haiti is too big. You draw a circle around an area and those are the ones you help. It's all you can do. You can't save everyone."

http://www.bonnievanak.com

Sexual fortune cookies

DH bought a box of fortune cookies. I have a fortune cookie weakness. I love cracking the cookie open, reading what life has in store for me.
Last year one read, "You will suffer many hurricanes, a tree will fall on your house and your insurance company will make the Chinese water torture seem like a fun day in the ocean."

I threw that one out.

I have to add a phrase to fortune cookies that an acquaintance once told me. It changes everything to a sexual fortune cookie. "In bed."

"Great things will come to you." IN BED.

"Your wish will be granted to you next year." IN BED.

"Success comes with patience." IN BED.

"Faith will see you through anything." IN BED.

"Success means competition." IN BED.

"Your income will increase." IN BED.

"Good things come in small packages." IN BED. (I don't think so!!)

"You can always find happiness at work on Friday." IN BED.

"True friends remain friends forever." IN BED.

"Something you lost will turn up." IN BED.

"Your artistic talent will win the applause of others." IN BED.

Someone is speaking well of you." IN BED.

"Be prepared to accept a wonderous opportunity soon!" IN BED.

And finally, one I'm considering seriously to lure the roofers to put us first on the list for a new roof:

"The time is right to use your influence." IN BED.

Give her a Barbie instead

15 new cases of bird flu have popped up in Turkey. Scary. The World Health Organization is keeping track of the virus because the more humans who become infected, the more likely the virus is to shift into one more easily transmitted to humans.

Creating a pandemic.

Not good, people. Then I read that one of the victims, an 8-year-old girl, contracted bird flu from hugging and kissing dead chickens.

WTF?

Turkish authorities are advising parents to keep their children away from dead chickens. Just say NO to dead chickens. Can't they just send them a shipment of Barbies and GI Joes?

Kissing and hugging dead chickens. How foul is that? (You knew that was coming)

34 degrees? Am I in Florida?

Woke up, fell out of bed, dragged a hand across my head.
Went into the kitchen to drink h2O,
And looking up, I saw the temperature was low.

Fell on my face, numb with surprise,
Why didn't the temperature rise?
34 degrees, the thermometer said,
The hell with the water, I ran back to my warm bed.

When it's warmer in the fridge than it is outside,
I just want to duck under the covers all night and hide.
Heat waves in summer, humidity and hurricanes will pass,
But right now Florida is freezing and so is my a**.

Win my book

I really don't understand someone selling a USED copy of my first book for more than $100. But it is out of print.

But someone charging nearly $20 for a copy of The Cobra & the Concubine? When you can order it new or pick it up at BAM still (I was told it's on the shelves still, though it's a May release) for only $5.99?

What kind of copy is it? Not signed. Does it have gold-leafed pages?

It angers me to see those kind of prices for my books (has nothing to do with the fact I'm not making money off it, hells bells I would not even sell one of my copies for that much!) ItI know how frustrating it is as a reader to want to read a book and be unable to find it at a decent price. Like FAIR BAY, the kids book I desperately want to buy, can't afford because the rare copies are too expensive.

I write books as an escape for myself and hope to provide readers the same. I understand business is business but come on people! $20 for a book that's still in print or you can get from the library?

So I'm offering a contest to win a FREE, personally autographed copy of The Cobra & the Concubine. I'll even pay for postage. Just send an email to me, I'll announce the winner on February 14, Valentine's Day. Your own copy. Pfffffftt to the people charging $20.

http://www.bonnievanak.com

Romance Novel Titles that will never make it

With apologies to Lisa Kleypas, among others...

My Meh Lover
The Highlander’s Halitosis
To Catch an STD
Then Came You, and 9 months later came Baby John
Taming the Accountant
Almost a Virgin
The Rake’s Hoe
An Unexpected Disappointment
Seducing the Mailman
Simply Average
The Duke of Pox
Lord of Sweat
His Every Flatulence
The Passion of Herman

DONE!

Phone lines working again. AND...ta da! My werewolf book is finished!

Yay! I'm so happy. I really struggled to write this one after all the hurricane damage. It was very difficult to write, mainly because I had no energy and little time.

I feel like howling with victory! I did it!!

Now onto the Leisure book due in April. Gulp!

WTF? Tropical storm ZETA?

Saw this on Yahoo, Tropical Storm Zeta formed in the Atlantic today.

Hurricane season ended over a month ago. WTF???

And our phone is out, so no DSL or dial-up. I'm Internetless until Tuesday when the phone company can repair the problem. The guys digging the fence posts, fixing our neighbor's fence insist they didn't do it....hmmmm...

Welcome to the wonderful world of hurricane repairs.

Anyway, Happy New Year to you and yours... may your New Year be filled with good things, health, success and no more storms.

Please. No More Storms.

Bonnie

Seven things meme

Thanks to Patti O'Shea, who, BTW, was also nominated for a Romantic Times Reviewers Choice award, along with author Jennifer Ashley, I've been tagged for a Seven Things meme. Finally, I got around to doing it.

Seven Things to Do Before I Die:

1. Finish writing and publish my literary fiction book
2. Buy a pair of blue cowboy boots and ride a horse
3. Flash my boobs in public at Times Square on New Year’s Eve, even if they sag down to China
4. Go on a cross-country trip in a red convertible
5. Parasail
6. Visit Egypt
7. Learn to play the guitar


Seven Things I Cannot Do:

1. Become a NY Times best-selling author
2. Whistle for a taxi
3. Eat lima beans without making a face
4. Hug my mom
5. Deliberately inflict cruelity
6. Speak in public comfortably
7. Stop fearing hurricanes


Seven Things That Attracted Me to My Spouse/SO:

1. His oh-so-tight and squeezeable ass
2. His cheeky grin
3. His sense of humor
4. Caring compassion
5. The rose he gave on our first date
6. How well he understood me
7. The chemistry between us. Hot, hot hot!


Seven Things I Say (Or Write) Most Often:

1. You know?
2. You know?
3. You know?
4. Really, you know?
5. You know?
6. You know?
7. You know?


Seven Books or Series That I Love: (since I can’t narrow down romance as there are too many I love, I’ll list fiction and non-fiction)

1. The Bible
2. Fair Bay (child’s book I couldn’t forget)
3. Harry Potter
4. The Farming of Bones
5. Wicked (halfway through this tome and it’s a keeper)
6. Carrie
7. Stephanie Plum (hilarious!)


Seven Movies I Would Watch Over and Over Again:

1. National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation
2. Sound of Music
3. Star Wars
4. How green was my valley
5. Gone with the Wind (sob!)
6. Lord of the Rings
7. A Christmas Story


Seven People I Want to Join In (Be Tagged):

1. Nancy Cohen
2. Mary Stella
3. Cindy Cruciger
4. Jennifer Ashley (though she has no time for this, she has seven? Eight? Twenty? Books coming out next year! She's a multi-talented author.)
5. Stacey Klemstein
6. Toni Andrews
7. Elivra Gulch, a most misunderstood woman. LOL!

My writing is changing

Looking over the kinky werewolf story I'm writing, and browsing through my next Leisure release, THE PANTHER & THE PYRAMID, I'm left with one unmistakable conclusion.

My writing is definitely changing. For the better? I don't know. Honestly.

The werewolf story is funny, very sexy, kinky and imaginative, but light. Like hot chocolate with marshmellows, with a serving of leather and restraints.

PANTHER is very sexy (they have sex in the first chapter), but very dark and intense. Graham, the hero, is my most tortured, and favorite hero to date. PANTHER is a thick, heavy brew, a pint of Guinness served in a dark Egyptian watering hole by a handsome, brooding bartender with haunted eyes and an air of mystery.

I cried at one point while writing PANTHER. Graham does things that aren't very nice. But out of all my heroes, he deserves, and needs, love the most. I just wanted to hug him and reassure him all would work out well in the end. All the while I was emotionally torturing the poor bastard.

One of my favorite scenes is where he delivers Badra's baby and he looks into the red, squalling face of his new nephew and feels like he too, is being born. It's an intimate connection he cannot break, and he vows to do anything to protect that child.

I'm like Graham right now. I need a new beginning. The New Year. A fresh start, a chance to begin. Shed the old and forge ahead with the new.

I have another Leisure book due in April. That book is pretty much set on its course.

And after that? I don't know what direction my writing will take me.

But trying to restrain my writing would be like roping the wind. Instead, I'll hoist my creative sails and let it take me where it will. Maybe I'll sail to exotic lands and great destinations. Or I'll hit stormy seas and wreck on the shores of an island called REJECTION and have to sit there for a long while, my muse and me.

Wherever I go, it's going to be a grand adventure. I hope so.

OMG!

Came home for lunch, got the mail. DH got a Christmas card. From his dead aunt. She died yesterday.

Card was mailed Dec. 22. In it is simply written, "I go. Aunt G."

OMG, I'm feeling a little freaked out here...

http://www.bonnievanak.com

Chia couch

We finally moved the moldy, dirty couch in the crushed Florida room out to the swale for garbage disposal. The black mold growing in it convinced me it was time. DH had to literally peel back the door to get the couch through. There were green things growing on it! Our Chia couch. Just add water and watch it grow.

My favorite couch. I'd sit there, in the Florida room, windows wide open to allow in the breeze, gaze out into the garden with the two towering trees and the hammock swinging between them, and happily write.

This must be why I'm struggling so lately with my writing. I think hurricane Wilma caused a trauma in my life I've not truly acknowledged. Instead, I'm listening to EVERYONE who insists I should be grateful it wasn't worse.

Like at the party we attended the other night. A neighbor said, "It could have been much worse. We were lucky."

Uh-huh. Easy to say that when you lost two roof shingles, bud. It's like being in a car accident and one victim, who received a small scratch, says, "You should be glad it wasn't worse!" while you're sporting two broken arms and a busted jaw.

I lost my favorite room to write. I lost my two beloved trees out back, my reading hammock. Our roof is dented and leaks. Our hot tub is broken. And the insurance nightmares have only just begun.

I need to bid farewell to the past, and my comfort zone, and move ahead to the future. Bid good-bye to our Chia couch, and find a new comfort zone. Take each day and its challenges as it comes. And keep writing, despite the obstacles. It's like driving on the interstate. You can slow down, but if you pull off the road and stop, because you're afraid, you may never get back onto the express lane.

Right now I'm riding a bicycle on the writing freeway while others zip past me in their Mercedes and sedans and the sporty little imports.

I'm not getting very far. Others may smirk as they pass me by. But hell, I'm still peddling. And damnit, I'm not going to stop. Even if I can only peddle out one paragraph a day.

Watch me.

Cindy Cruciger & Is 2005 over yet?

Congratulations to Cindy Cruciger! She's been nominated for a Romantic Times Reviewers' Choice Award for REVENGE GIFTS! Woo hoo!

In other news, I'm fervently wishing 2005 would just gasp and die. Already. This a.m. my FIL called, very upset. His sister died. His only surviving sister, the one he was closest to.

And we got our first bill for our roof that has yet to be fixed. For the $3,500 deposit. No work has been done, but we got the bill. Happy Freaking New Year.

Release date for THE PANTHER & THE PYRAMID

I'm a Florida wuss.

It's 41 degrees outside this a.m. I'm freezing my tookus off. Well, actually, when I lived in Jersey, I froze it off up there so theoretically, I should have no tookus left. But somehow, I do.

I turn into an ice cube below 50 degrees. How did I ever live in Jersey all those years? The worst I remember was the horrors of ... THE COLD TOILET SEAT. Like sitting on a block of ice.

Yup. Dad always kept the heat at a mind-numbing 68 degrees in the house to save on fuel costs. We'd burrow under mounds of blankets at night. And in the morning, I had the dreaded icy cold toilet seat, since the toilet was conveniently next to the double-paned window, and that bathroom never warmed up...

Yeow! Men have it so easy. Honestly.

In other news, I am now a Diva of Romance, thanks to Lori Soard! Yay! I'm so excited. I always wanted to be a Diva!

And I have a release date for THE PANTHER & THE PYRAMID, my fourth Egyptian book. September 2006. In the meantime, I'm facing an April deadline of turning in THE WHITE FALCON, the story of the Khamsin children. Yoikes. And I'm still trying to finish Marcus' and Alyssa's werewolf story. These two just will not stop having sex. Enough already!!

http://www.bonnievanak.com

Merry Christmas!

“And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, "Do not be afraid. I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is Christ the Lord.” Luke 2:8-11

From our battered house to yours... wishing you and your loved ones and friends all the peace, joy and storm-free blessings of the season. Bonnie

http://www.bonnievanak.com

Dear Santa

I'VE BEEN A VERY NAUGHTY GIRL THIS YEAR. WILL YOU BRING ME A VERY NAUGHTY BOY AS MY TOY AS A REWARD? MARCUS WILL DO JUST FINE. I PROMISE TO SIT ON YOUR LAP.

LOVE, ALSSYA

p.s. Don't tell Bonnie I escaped from her story. Poor dear, she's trying SO hard to find time to write me, so I just thought I'd slip out for a bit and play.

O.M.G.!!!

Dear Uncle Ed,

I'm so sorry for the goof. OMG, honestly, I never meant to send you a Christmas letter printed on the back of the erotic romance story I was writing. It was dark in the office, I was tired, and thought I had loaded the printer with fresh, clean paper. Not the scrap paper from one of my current works in progress.

I had NO idea what I had sent you until I just looked now at the back of the Christmas letters and saw this printed on it:

"Because he found himself wanting, very badly, to have sex with her. To restore that sparkling fire in her eyes he'd seen earlier. To hear that throaty laughter turn into deep moans of passion as he thrust slowly into her wet heat..."

Yes, I'm afraid it's true, to answer the question probably spinning about in your mind. Your good little niece who works tirelessly for the poor and went to Sunday School and memorized prayers to the saints writes erotic romance. Yup. Steaming hot sex. My secret is out. I hope you are doing okay and I didn't give you a heart attack. Give my best to everyone.

Love, Bonnie

Son of rum balls

I'm so far behind in everything and tomorrow night have to make rum balls for a party. So I'm cheating and posting last year's rum ball post when I last attempted to be ballsy. Enjoy.

Recipe for balls

First, turn on kitchen overhead lights. Dress in comfy baking clothing. Crank up stereo with tape of "The Messiah" to get self into Christmas baking mode.

Pound vanilla wafers with fist. Feels good to get out frustrations, keep doing it. Mix with crushed nuts and then realize need cocoa mix. Have none. Melt Ghirardelli chocolate chips instead. First shut off all appliances and overhead lights so ancient microwave doesn't trip circuit breaker...AGAIN. Watch chips melt by flashlight. Dog is confused. Take gooey mess of chips, say "Uk" and add a bit of milk to get them to melt better. Nuke again.

Turn back all appliances. Take mess and dump into bowl. Add 1/3 cup Barbancourt rum. Add 1/3 cup corn syrup. Stir. Sip bit of Barbancourt. Add more rum to mix. Stire fastuh. Realize gooey mess will not sthick together. Add powdahed sugah. Add more rhume. Stire more, draink more.

Realize mess will not roll into little balls. Think about the idea of serving little ballz to male coworkers. Laugh. Ha ha! Put mess of rum stuffz in freezea to get to sthick. Drink morea baranb...barn...barban? aw hell, rhum. Eat store bought Christmas cookie with drink. Good. Dog shakes head.

Why?

Rough weekend. Spent yesterday driving two hours to the cemetery to visit mom on the 10-year anniversary of her death. My eyes are still swollen. There's a new addition near the crypt to where mom's ashes are kept. A 19-year-old girl who died last year in a car crash. Her name was Nycole. As heartbreaking as it was for me to lose mom to cancer, I can't imagine that mother's pain of losing her daughter. You're not supposed to bury your children.

I don't understand why these things happen. I guess that's what faith is all about. Trust and acceptance that there is a reason. I know I have to cling to these things. Otherwise, I'd go insane.

Patti O'Shea tagged me for a Seven Things meme. Will post later. Right now all I can think about are the seven things I miss most about my mom. Her laugh. Her understanding. How she helped others. Her strength. Her hugs. Her ability to listen. And her unconditional love. Even if she knew I was writing about werewolves in bondage and sex toys. I can hear her now, "Bonnie? Werewolves? Well, it's up to you. But... I have a question? What exactly is this bondage business?"

Love you, mom.
http://www.bonnievanak.com

Conversations at Publix

Went to Publix last night to get groceries. Took off yesterday to get the tree stumps ground, and write. The werewolf story is getting kinky. Decided to add a bit of BDSM. I’ve no knowledge of BDSM, so I looked some stuff up on the ‘Net. Fascinating. My mind reeled.

Then I went to Publix… and ran into a friend.

Her: “Hey there! You look a little preoccupied.”
Me: “I’ve been writing.” And thinking about BDSM, you know, handcuffs, whips, chains, stuff like that.
Her: “So what are you two doing for Christmas?”
Me: “Oh, the usual. Cooking a big turkey dinner, you know.” And maybe convince DH to try some leather restraints while I wear nothing but a frilly white apron? Ho, ho ho?
Her: How’s the insurance struggle doing?
Me, vaguely: “Not too good. Agent is delaying our claim by research.” Maybe I should try some of that BDSM stuff on him. Put a nice collar on him, some leather, while I get that cute little, what do they call it? Oh yeah, the flogger. Send him crawling through the neighborhood, screaming, “YES MISTRESS, I WILL PAY ALL CLAIMS ON TIME. YES, MISTRESS, I WILL DO AS YOU SAY!”
Her: “Have to get more shopping done tonight. I have my list of things to get, presents to buy. ”
Me: “Yeah, I know how it is.” Santa Claus, can you bring me some furry handcuffs and a whip for Christmas? I’d like to be naughty, not nice.
Her: “Well, I’ll let you go. Hate to tie you up.”
Me, trying not to smirk : “Well, actually, now that you mention it…”