Dancing elephants

Still sick. Too weary to do anything constructive, such as answer all the e-mail I have waiting. The herd of elephants in my body quieted and now they’re elephants wearing stilettos doing the Riverdance. I finally caved in and went to the doctor. Does THAT hurt? YEOW, answered I as they tried to pry me off the ceiling tiles.

I dragged my weary self to the pharmacy, thanking God for health insurance. I have a mental image of the lovely hitchhiker in my system saying to his friends, PARTY AT BONNIE’S. And all these little microbes chortling with glee as they live long and prosper in my aching digestive tract.

So I bought comfort food, tomato soup and Wonder bread. Then settled down with Hard Eight and proceeded to hoot with laughter while reading in bed. I love Stephanie Plum. Now I have a hankering for jelly crumb cake DH brought back from Kohout's Bakery in Patterson. Stephanie Plum may have the Italian hand gesture thingie going on, but hey, I got a POLISH connection, you heah?

http://www.bonnievanak.com

Star Wars

Still sick. But did get to see Revenge of the Sith! Yeah! Good movie, not as good as the first, (I still think the first was the best!) but lots of entertainment. Can’t resist writing a parody.

Star Whores (a parody)
Scene: The darkest moment has come as Ani confesses to Padi and his friends his growing urge to turn …

Ani: Yes, I fear I must turn… the droids, I lust after them. Ever since I was a young boy growing up on sandland fixing droids… the sand got into my brain. I have the compulsion to give menacing looks while tossing my now long locks and telling everyone how confused I am. It is the droids I realize I have the true calling to bond with. I cannot resist… running my hands over that smooth, chilled metal. Oh, I am so confused. Am I into metallurgy or a metalorgy?

Padi: Ani! Don’t leave me for those… metalheads!

Ani: Sorry Padi. I must go over… to the other side.

Oh-bi-Gone: Ani! You must resist the dark side of the farce.

Yodi: Go not to dark side you must.

Ani: Shut up little green thing who speaks backwards bad movie dialogue. Kiss Kermit you should.

General Grevious: Ah-HA! I am resurrected by spare parts found off an old ’57 Ford.

Ani: And your exhaust is really NOT working. You’re farting up a storm of oil. You smell worse than Mace Windu after a five day chili eating contest.

Yodi: Insult not the Jedi council. Chili we eat yes do.

Ani: If you ate chili, Master Yodi, and passed wind, you’d land in another galaxy far far away.

C3PeedO: Oh dear. Master Ani is giving me the eye. R two what should I do? What is the proper protocol for a moment like this?

R two: beep! (translation: eat lots of chili)

Alien invasion!

The conga line in my stomach has morphed into a herd of elephants wearing tap dancing shoes doing the rhumba. Yoikes. I picked up a hitchhiker from Haiti in my body. I'm feeling pretty miserable, but I figure this is a great time to catch up on reading (Yay! A bright spot!) I did promise a friend I'd see STAR WARS with her this weekend... hopefully I'll feel better by tomorrow. I really really want to see SW. I'm in a sci-fi mood, what with this alien invasion taking place in my body.

http://www.bonnievanak.com

Pa pipi la!

Calm this week. Well, for the moment. Back in Haiti, PAP, after working in Cap for a couple of days. Yesterday we drove to a congested slum where we had interviewed people about their water needs, drinking polluted water, their kids getting sick, etc. Pere brought soccer balls to distribute. He stopped the truck and everyone comes running, all these kids, a swarm like bees buzzing straight for us. Even the dogs. It was too crazy, we had to literally take off, the kids chasing us through the slum, yelling after us. Some of them chased us for at least a mile.

Kids chasing us for a mile for a soccer ball. Because they are that desperate.

I took a cold shower yesterday morning, shivering because there was no hot water at the hotel. and then I interviewed women who told me how they sob because they can't afford fuel to boil water to make it safe for their kids. They have to give them polluted water and the children get ill and are hospitalized. It made that cold shower seem a hellava lot warmer.

Outwardly, seems like the same Haiti, calm, streets bustling, no violence. But hostility simmers below the surface. People who once smiled do not, women shout out rude things in Creole about us "blancs" being there. And yet we visited with some people who are the same, friendly, talkative, like the old Haiti I once knew. Then we flew back to PAP and took the long route to the hotel to avoid a protest march. It's a holiday but there's a protest, as usual. Just don't want to get into the middle of any flying bullets.

Yesterday as we are driving along the streets, I saw spray painted in red in Creole on a white wall the words Pa Pipi La, SVP! In short, it said, "don't piss here, please."

I thought about what one woman said as we were standing by this thin, grayish stream where the women do their laundry, and this is the same water the kids are drinking, filled with trash, where the bathrooms empty into. They are drinking waste water. C asked this woman, "Why are you drinking this water? It can kill you." She replied, "But it won't kill me today. It will kill me tomorrow." And that sums it up. Surviving today, not worrying about tomorrow because God only knows what tomorrow will bring. Who cares about tomorrow when you're too busy worrying about finding food for the kids to eat, struggling to live for just one day?

The sign said it all. Pa pipi la. Because we've endured just about enough.

http://www.bonnievanak.com
mailto:bonnievanak@aol.com

Leaving for Haiti

A few days ago, author Ellen Fisher mentioned in her blog that I recently sold to Ellora's Cave. I read Ellen's blog and was impressed with her diligence in writing, despite having a new baby. Hats off to you, Ellen. Because I can't seem to find time for writing lately and the parrot has been shrieking all weekend. Not exactly a good atmosphere of concentration. And now I must pack for Haiti. Gone all week. At least I did catch the parrot saying a new word. My heart leapt with joy as he uttered, very clearly, "Beautiful." Ah, respect at last!

Until I realized he was staring at his food bowl. Sigh...

http://www.bonnievanak.com

Virgins & Walmart

Had a great time last Monday chatting with the ladies from Mystic Castle. What a fun group. Some of them got going on virgins in romance having sex.

Virgin meets boy, gasp! Surrenders her virginity (gasp, gasp!) and has eight dozen orgasms the first time she loses her 1) barrier 2) maidenhood 3) steel wall of resistance 5) love shield 6) concrete barricade?

Barricade? Hey that sounds like driving on I-95 everyday. Can you imagine the traffic report?

Broadcaster: Median barrier causing severe delays northbound. On-ramp is blocked. Driver is advised to find alternate route.

I write historicals, so I can easily get away with writing virgins. I like exploring the wonder of making nooky for the first time. When a virgin encounters the Great Staff of Ra, it can be quite entertaining.

Handsome Hero with Great Staff of Ra: “What is it, my sweet? Do not be afraid of my Giant Love Pole. For yes, I am rather large. Like the towering columns of Karnak is my love wand, all nine inches of me, but…”

Virgin, frowning: “That’s nine inches? Now I know why men can’t measure…”

I’m in a funky mood today. I’ve still got email to answer, tons of stuff on my list to do before heading off to Haiti Monday, but I’m procrastinating. Halfway done with edits to my Ellora’s Cave story. Will finish those before I leave.

Last night hubby and I went to Walmart and I saw The Cobra & the Concubine! Woo hoo! Right on the top shelf next to Danielle Steel. I took Ms. Steel’s book and rubbed it against my book, hoping her sales will rub off on mine. I think the shoppers thought I was nuts (the mystical muttering I did while swinging a toadstool and hopping on one foot probably did reinforce that idea).

mailto:bonnievanak@aol.com
http://www.bonnievanak.com

Love scenes v.s. laundry and shrieking parrots

It's not easy being a writer.

Today is my day off. I still want to write an update about RT, for this blog, must mail out stuff I promised, etc. etc. Poor DH had to work all day, so determined to clean house AND finish up my WIP, I set to with cheerful resolve. I did two loads of laundry, then, as the second spun in the dryer, set about to write a very important love scene in Panther, my follow-up option to COBRA. It's Rashid's story and I want to do him justice. I always leave love scenes for last because they are hardest to write. This book has NINE love scenes, which makes me suspect my editor will need a fire extinguisher standing nearby.

Anyway, I'm typing madly away, trying to ignore distractions.

Me: 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.

Parrot: SHRIEK SHRIEK SHRIEK F*** YOU!

Dryer: BUZZZZZZZZZZZZ

Tia the dog: Ruff, ruff!

I sigh, take care of the assorted distractions, return to my hero and heroine, though the mood is broken.

Me, typing on laptop: He 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?

Parrot: SCCCCRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEECHHHHHHHHHHH!

Me: sigh... Time to clean the toilets. Maybe a hot date with the Tidy Bowl Man will prove a more romantic distraction than a foul-mouthed fowl or a ringing dryer or a dog barking at everything in sight. I scrub and sigh as I do housework, trying desperately to envision a romantic mood to resume working. Doesn't work.

So Happy Mother's day to all moms out there in cyber space. May your dates with your heroes prove much more romantic than Rashid's, who is glaring at me now in frustration, as I left him hanging in the middle of a love scene. I guess it isn't easy being a romance hero any more than it is a writer.

http://www.bonnievanak.com

Where DO you put 12 half-naked men?

THE COBRA & THE CONCUBINE is now in stores! I should be excited. Instead, I’m sitting here gazing upon half-naked men.

I’m looking at my Ellora’s Cave calendar I picked up at RT at the EC party. I had pinned it to the kitchen wall, seeing if DH would notice (note to self: less acronyms). I was on the computer in the guest room when he strolls into the kitchen and…

DH: BONNIE! WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?

Me: Hee hee!

DH was a good sport. We laughed and I took it down, and then in a mood of defiant aggression, brought on by a raging case of PMS (another acronym!) I brought it into work. Mind you, I work at a Christian charity. Half-naked drool worthy male models are not de rigueur. But up goes the calendar anyway.

Me: Merrily sitting in my office, working away as a tour group passes by…

Tour guide: And here we have Bonnie…

Me: (under breath) Oh shit…

Touring guests: Gasp!

I glance up to see shocked and fascinated gazes. Riveted straight on Mr. April’s belly button. It should have been Mr. May, but hey, I wanted to give April a chance, since it’s Peter DeCicco and he DOES have a very nice belly button.

So down the EC calendar came. I don’t quite know what to do with this calendar and all the yummy guys featured on it. maybe I'll put it in the parrot's room and really give him something to shriek about.

http://www.bonnievanak.com

Cover model John DeSalvo. He appeared on the cover of my first book, THE FALCON & THE DOVE. Hubba hubba!  

Nice scenery at RT... Winner of Oxygen TV's Mr. Romance title, Randy Ritchwood, and cover model CJ Hollenbach 

Overheard at RT

"Did you know if you are ever on SURVIVOR, belly button lint can be used as fuel for a fire?" Author Rowenna Cherry

"They used my chest as a model, but mine is much bigger." Cover model CJ Hollenbach, talking about the Ellora's Cave book, TALES OF THE SHAREEM

"I had teeth, but I lost them in my underwear drawer." Author Susan Squires (The Companion) talking about how her VAMPIRE teeth found a home among her delicates.

"Sock. Definitely a sock he has in there." Me, to my friend Connie about one of the contestants in the cover model competition when they all paraded on stage as cowboys. Yee haw.

http://www.bonnievanak.com

RT and hunks

So here I am in St. Louis, at RT. It's been two years since my last RT convention (gosh that sounds like a confession.) I'm not as overwhelmed as my first, when I was a virgin. Now I'm an experienced RT "ho," i know just what to do. Got here last night, met up with some people (found the bar!) and having a good time.

I love meeting people at RT. It's always so relaxed, friendly and laid back, and it's fun to talk with everyone. I have my notes all set for my hot hunk workshop tomorrow. But i haven't seen any cover models yet. Maybe I need my contacts cleaned or something. I will keep looking. I will not give up.

http://www.bonnievanak.com

Cancer

I never imagined my Aunt Joan would die of cancer, just like my mother and grandmother.

In fact, I never imagined her dying at all. She was the youngest, the vibrant, adventurous one. The sister so much in love with her husband. They were matched bookends who traveled the world, settled into retirement and the tennis and golf set like settling into well-worn, beloved shoes. She just seemed so young. Strong.

The call came last Wednesday night. Breast cancer. Her family only found out recently, as it had only been diagnosed barely three weeks ago. Like my mother, and her mother, she never went to the doctor. Not even at the first sign of trouble.

My grandmother died of cervical cancer, a cancer detected early through a PAP smear.
My mother died of colon cancer, a cancer detected early through a colonscopy.
Joan died of breast cancer, a cancer detected early through a mammogram.

It was horrid watching my mother die of cancer, watching her laughing, smiling face dissolve into a mask of constant pain. But as horrible as it was, it wasn’t the same kind of shell-shocked blow Joan’s death delivered. No warning. No chance to say good-bye.

Just a phone call in the afternoon.

I just wanted to sit numbly and let the tears fall. Because of a lost chance. Because that part of my family is gone now, for good. And I'll never get it back again. The last time I saw her, Joan told me funny stories about growing up with my mom. I felt connected, as if mom were still alive. That part of my life has been severed. I had no chance to say good-bye. But that's nothing compared to what her family lost. My uncle lost his love of 50 years, my cousins lost their mom and my second cousin lost her grandmother. They had no warning.

Nothing can prevent cancer. I know that for a fact, from watching friends who ate healthy, exercised and lived healthy, subcumb to it. But there are tests that can detect it early. Treatments that can save lives or at least prolong them. Breast cancer was detected early in one of my friends years ago on a mammogram. Today, I still email that friend. She’s alive, well and doing great, and she saw her daughter graduate from high school.

Saturday was my birthday. I drove Friday from my aunt’s memorial service back home and then Frank drove me over to Naples for a quiet weekend away. On Saturday, he gave me a special gift as we dined with friends. A copy of my third book, THE COBRA & THE CONCUBINE. He had called Dorchester and Diane, sweet person she is, expressed him an early copy just for my birthday.

I was thrilled to see the book. I opened it up to the special thanks I had written. At the very end, I saw what I had written for Frank. My inspiration and greatest love.

Then I looked up into his smiling face, the face that has loved me dearly for nearly ten years now. And I realized how I don’t want to ever put him through what my grandfather went through, my father went through.

What my uncle just endured.

I can’t prevent cancer, but I sure as hell can do everything in my power to get an early warning.

All I could think of was my cousin Susan walking me to the car Friday, when I was leaving after the memorial service was over. She gave me a big hug and said to me, almost fiercely, “We’re not going to let it happen to us.”

Saturday was my birthday. My birthday gift to myself this year is a pap smear, a colonoscopy and a mammogram.

Susan’s right. We’re NOT going to let it happen to us.

http://www.bonnievanak.com

Cheating

I'm cheating on posting today because my plate doth overflow, like a filled storm drain. I still have green bookmarks. I'm still typing up workshop notes for the workshop Jenn Ashley and I are doing next Friday at RT. I have no costumes. I'm wimping out by bringing my Taco Bell chihuahua and going as Paris Hilton does Walmart. So i'm posting the first part of my Egyptian WIP, the book that will not end, the book that seems doomed to wander the desert, like Moses and the lost Israelites (hey, WHY didn't they ever ask for directions?)


Panther & the Pyramid
copyright 2005 by Bonnie Vanak


The red hair haunted him, as it always did, in his deepest nightmares.

Red. The color of blood. His blood. The hair… its crimson shock flapping in the air like a warning flag. The thick tangle of red gold billowed from the force of the wind whistling across the desert sands. Always the desert, the harsh yellow sun grating on his sweating body, mocking his dry, childish screams for help. Green eyes, brilliant as glossy emeralds, stared at him with scornful challenge.

He moaned, tossing and writhing. Hands clawed the air in a desperate attempt to fight his attacker. His attacker, who wanted the magic wishing casket buried deep in Egypt’s sands. He tried, oh, he tried so hard to wrestle it away, to keep its awesome power hidden, but his tormentor grabbed the box. Then words drifted from those mocking lips. “There’s no escape from the truth. You can’t hide from what you really are.”

With a strangled yell, he sat up. Sweat dampened the soft Egyptian cotton sheets beneath his naked torso. His hand shook uncontrollably as he wiped moisture from his forehead with the sheet’s edge. An ominous foreboding shook him.

It wasn’t the red hair this time, nor the words that caused him to tremble still. It was the face. This time, it wasn’t the face of the man who abused him that one day in the desert.

It was the face of a woman. And she would make him scream until only hoarse cries wrung his dry throat. Only this time, his screams wouldn’t stop with a dirty rag frantically shoved into his mouth.This time his screams would not end…

Elderly drivers on oxygen

So I'm at the DMV today, renewing my license, waiting for two hours, thinking mournfully how how this Saturday is my birthday . Hello middle age, firmly set upon me, no leeching it away. And then I see this little wizened white-haired midget, I mean, there is no other way to describe her. I felt sorry for the lady, she was on oxygen, wheeling a green bottle behind her, hobbling along on a walker with big wheels, supported by her nurse.

Then she sits down to get her photo taken. For her driver's license.

The woman is wheezing and creeping along, practically being wheeled out of the office by her nurse. I guess the state of Florida says if you can breathe, (even if you're on oxygen.) you can drive.

Whoa boy. I get my license, keep my eyes peeled for elderly midgets on oxygen driving through the parking lot and speed back to work. And the order for my bookmarks for THE COBRA & THE CONCUBINE has arrived from the printer! Oh joy! At last! I need these for RT next week. I promised some bookstores I would send bookmarks. I tear open the carton and...

They're green. The printer added too much yellow tint. I'm staring at a green warrior guy sitting on a green horse.

I'm frantic. I show the bookmarks to the guys I work with and B says, "Well, it sets the mood. It looks kind of sinister. Moody."

I said, "It's a green horse."

B: "But people probably won't NOTICE it's a green horse."

I show the bookmarks to another guy I work with. He stares at it like the masses concentrated outside St. Peter's stared at the chimney, trying to see the holy smoke. And he says, "It looks, uh, kind of sinister."

I said, "The horse is green."

He said, "Yeah, I did see that. Green horse. But I don't think people will notice it."

I can only hope the printer has good news for me tomorrow. In the meantime, I have some 1,500 limited edition bookmarks of my May Egyptian release. Special today! A green horse with sickly looking green warrior guy.

About the same color I'll be if I ever run into that elderly driver on oxgyen on the road.

http://www.bonnievanak.com

Beating your papaya

So I have this little reference book on herbs and I'm writing PANTHER, my WIP. Rashid and Jillian are journeying to the deep desert to find the lost treasure and need herbs when he gets injured.

The book I bought is from Jamaica. No problem, mon. I just need ideas.

I'm skimming along and come to the myths and legends page. And I see this: PAPAYA: "It is believed that if a young man beats his penis on the trunk of a papaya tree it will grow to a large size when he gets older."

WTF?

Now I finally understand why there are so many papaya trees in Jamaica. No wonder they call it a woodie...

She looks so innocent when she's sleeping... and then she wakes us up at 6 a.m. I AM UP, PEOPLE! LET'S PLAY!  

Mr. Manhood

When romance writing goes bad - crossing over into the day job. Wrote an appeal and instead of writing the president's name, I typed, "Mr. Manhood."

Oops. It might raise more money. Maybe I should have left it. Later I started thinking about what kind of character a Mr. Manhood would be. You could do a whole series of romance novels.

Romancing Mr. Manhood

Mr. Manhood, circumcised, a cut above the rest

Mr. Manhood gets caught by lover’s husband: See Dick Run, Run Dick, Run

Mr. Manhood gets stuck in the tunnel of love

Literary Mr. Manhood:
Mr. Manhood the virgin: Great Expectations
Mr. Manhood at sea: Moby Dick
Mr. Manhood in a field: Catcher in the rye


Regency Mr. Manhood: This neckcloth is too freaking tight

Fantasy Series:
Mr. Manhood wears jewelry; Lord of the Rings
Mr. Manhood finds Viagra: Return of the King
Mr. Manhood talks about his friends belowstairs: The Two Towers
Mr. Manhood admits the truth about size: The Hobbit

Category series:
Mr. Manhood makes a secret baby
Mr. Manhood has amnesia and doesn’t remember where’s he’s been all night
Cowboy Mr. Manhood back in the saddle

Detective Mr. Manhood; a .44 that shoots straight

Sheikh Mr. Manhood finds oil in the desert: Lubrication is good!

http://www.bonnievanak.com

I found my G-spot

It arrived in the mail today. My government check...from the IRS. Tax Refund.

If that doesn't bring a girl great pleasure, getting money from the government, I don't know what does...

http://www.bonnievanak.com

Here's the nasty-mouthed parrot eating a french fry. I'm trying to teach him to say, "Yo sexy thing!" when I enter the room. But he still only warbles, "F*** you." Sigh...