Movies and books

I don't generally like movies made from books as well as the books they are from. Particularly if I've read the books first.

There have been some really well done movies from books. Stephen King has had some luck there. The Stand, It, The Green Mile and The Shawshank Redemption were all particularly well done. I still liked the books better but the movies were good.

However, King has had some really bad movies too, made from his books.

I enjoyed Fried Green Tomatoes and in some ways, liked the movie better than the book.

The Harry Potter series has had very successful movies from the books. The first two movies I thought really did a good job of keeping true to the books. After that, I think the main issue was the books were so long and a movie can only be but so long. Three and Four were good, but I did miss some things in the books. Five was okay but I really thought Six suffered from deviating from the book a little too much. The main scene I had issues with would reveal spoilers so I won't but I really think the movie scene shortchanged Harry, while the book makes it much more believable. I did enjoy the first part of 7 and felt it captured the book. Oldest is really curious how they will resolve the second part of 7 with something they haven't put in any of the books (SPEW and the culmination of the relationship between Hermione and Ron for those who follow the books).

Do you enjoy movies made from books? What are some of your favorites?

The Hunger Games will be filming soon (if it hasn't already). I will be very curious to see how true to the book they stay.

Mechele Armstrong
www.mechelearmstrong.com

New from Loose Id: THIS ROUGH MAGIC

ISBN: 978-1-61118-402-0

Genre: LGBT 1930's Suspense

Length: Short Novel

Price: $5.00 Info

BLURB:


Wealthy San Francisco playboy Brett Sheridan thinks he knows the score when he hires tough guy private eye Neil Patrick Rafferty to find a priceless stolen folio of Shakespeare’s The Tempest. Brett’s convinced his partner-in-crime sister is behind the theft -- a theft that’s liable to bring more scandal to their eccentric family, and cost Brett his marriage to society heiress Juliet Lennox. What Brett doesn’t count on is the instant and powerful attraction that flares between him and Rafferty.


Once before, Brett took a chance on loving a man, only to find himself betrayed and broken. This time around there’s too much at risk.


But as the Bard himself would say, Journey’s end in lovers meeting.

EXCERPT:

“Oh darling, you didn’t.” Juliet’s expression was both amused and vexed. “A private detective?”

“If you had a better idea --” Brett drained his martini glass and set it on the table a little harder than necessary.

They were lunching at the Golden Pheasant, one of Juliet’s favorite watering holes. As usual, the place was packed. Brett would have preferred some place quiet where they could have actually talked without being overheard. Juliet wanted the baked stuffed squab chicken under glass.

“No, of course not. But a-a private eye is going to make us look ridiculous. And it’s so unnecessary.”

“Unnecessary? In three days your father is going to turn the matter over to the police.”

“But so what?” She smiled at him, though her blue eyes were puzzled. He was seeing that puzzled look more and more these days. He needed to make more of an effort. They were so close now. The wedding was less than a month away.

“We don’t need that kind of scandal right before the -- our -- wedding. That’s all.”

She studied him and then smiled, resting her hand over his clenched one. “You’re fearfully nervous about this, aren’t you, Sherry? Are you not sleeping again?”

“Of course I’m -- I’m sleeping perfectly well. You must realize how very bad this kind of thing looks, Julie. Until it’s cleared up, suspicion lies on every one of us.”

“Not on us, silly.” She was laughing at him openly now. And with good reason. His behavior must seem peculiar at the least. “Anyway, I think Father’s got it all wrong. It’s obvious that it had to be one of the servants who took the folio.” Brett stared at her with such disbelief that she made a little face. “It’s no good looking at me like that. I don’t have your pedigree, darling. I’m just a poor little daughter of the nouveau riche. I think mysteries are terribly exciting, if you want the truth. I adore Mr. Hammett’s stories. It isn’t as though the scandal has to do with us.”

He could have put his head in his hands and howled.

The waiter came with another tray of martinis. Brett ordered the squab with rice valencia for Juliet and the eastern choice top sirloin for himself.

“Very good, sir.” The waiter took the menus.

Brett picked up his drink and swallowed half of it in a gulp. Dear God it was noisy. The babble of voices seemed to ricochet off the amber wood of the tables and chairs and ceiling. He was getting a headache.

Juliet sipped her martini. “What’s the name of this shamus that you’ve hired?”

“Rafferty. Neil Patrick Rafferty.”

“Oh. Very Irish. I suppose he’s going to stick his nose in everywhere and ask all our friends a lot of annoying and embarrassing questions?”

“That shouldn’t bother you, since you adore Mr. Hammett’s stories so much.”

It was sharper than he’d intended. Her face looked hurt for an instant. He really had to get control of himself. She was right. His nerves were shot to pieces, and he wasn’t sleeping. Hadn’t slept well for longer than he could remember. Once they were married it would be all right. Everything would be all right then.

He said reassuringly, “Mr. Rafferty came highly recommended. From Pat Constable, in fact.”

“Pat Constable? What on earth would she have needed a private eye for?”

“I’ve no idea,” he lied. “I just recalled that she once mentioned using one and that he was efficient and discreet.”

Juliet took another sip of her martini and made a little face. She didn’t really like martinis, but that was what everyone in their crowd drank. Brett stared up at the stained glass window panels of yellow and blue pheasants. Pretty birds. Not very smart. Good eating.

“I can’t wait to see Daddy’s face.” Juliet suddenly relaxed, whether due to the alcohol or his words. “Oh well, then. If Pat Constable says he’s okay, I’m sure he’s wonderful.” She took another sip and giggled. “What’s he like, your shamus?”

Your shamus.

Brett had a sudden, shocking mental image of himself in Neil Patrick Rafferty’s brawny arms, Neil Patrick Rafferty’s hard mouth pressing his own. He felt the blood rush to his head. His heart began to pound with something close to panic. He reached for his glass and finished his drink.

He put the glass down and said indifferently, “He looks like a prize fighter. He’s got a scar on one cheek, and his nose has been broken a couple of times, I should think. And he has the palest, coldest, bluest eyes I’ve ever seen.”

“But you liked him?”

“I…didn’t think about it one way or the other. He looks like he’ll get the job done. In fact, I feel sorry for anyone who gets in his way.”

She smiled, at least partly humoring him now. “When will I get to meet him?”

Brett shook his head. “I don’t know. He wasn’t forthcoming about his methods.”

“That’s all right. I love surprises.” She was teasing. One thing he was not was surprising.

Their lunches arrived then, and she began to talk about hand-blocked wallpapers, Sanvale fabrics for drapery sets, and sterling silver coffee sets.

His mind wandered. Through the windows, he watched people hurrying along Geary Street. Watched the automobiles flashing by. The fog had lifted, and it was turning into a bright, sunny day. Still cold for June. Juliet worried a lot about the weather, theirs being a June wedding.

“Sherry, darling, I don’t think you’re listening,” Juliet said suddenly.

He quoted back, “‘The Nukraft feature of the Sealy Airlite mattress is made of patented hair and latex cushioning that prevents bunching and promotes circulation of air.’”

The thought of that mattress made his mouth dry. But it would be all right. For all her frank ways, Juliet was essentially naïve.

Juliet smiled affectionately. “I’m going to make you a wonderful wife, darling. You’ll see.”

“I know, darling,” Brett replied.

Buy from Loose Id

Self Publishing: Yay or Nay?

We're all here as Loose Id authors and readers, and I think LI is one of the best publishers out there. I'm always impressed with its professionalism and products. I know that when I buy an LI book, I'm getting a high standard of quality.

Evanne Lorraine blogged about the emergence of e-publishing last week, and I've also noticed that self publishing is a burgeoning market. I blogged about my thoughts on self publishing and I'd love to hear some of your opinions. It's something of which I'm leery, and I have no plans to self publish. But it's a growing trend I imagine many of us have an eye on.

Animal Inspiration

I'm an animal person. Currently, my menagerie consists of 2 dogs, a horse, and a cat. In fact, you will always find an animal in my books, some play major parts, some are bit characters. Fourth and Goal, my Loose Id book due out on May 3, contains a kleptomaniac Labrador. The sequel, Forward Passes, features an opinionated orange tabby cat. The inspiration for this cat came from my own orange tabby cat.

We're not really cat people (or should I say we weren't), but a nice barn cat that doesn't spread cat hair all over your house was my idea of a cat. Now, my husband is one of those macho guys (a former Army Ranger and SF Weapons Sergeant) who doesn't like cats at all. At least, he "claimed" he didn't.

A few years ago in the fall, an orange tabby moved into our barn. Hey, I was fine with that. They're ruthless mousers, and I'm all for a friendly little barn cat.

So we fed her. We named her Cat Ballou. We took her in to get shots and to be fixed. Oops, Cat Ballou was a he not a she, and he was already fixed. So Cat Ballou became Khat.

Problem is Khat didn't want to be a barn cat. He had greater aspirations. He wanted to be a house cat. Khat started lobbying for house cat status, following us around when we were outside, bitching about his quality of life, and insisting he belonged in the house. I held strong. No cat hair in my house.

That winter my husband injured his back at work and was flat on the couch for a few weeks.

Day two on the couch--I came home from work. There was Khat on Dennis' chest, both of them sound asleep.

One year later....

So much for the barn cat.

If you have cats, you know the rest. The cat has taken over.

A few years later, I was having a baby shower for my daughter-in-law. One of her friends mentioned that Khat looked just like a cat her sister had. Come to find out, we think he is the same cat. Her sister's cat had escaped from their car a few miles from our house in the same time frame Khat showed up in our barn. So the mystery of how Khat became a stray is solved (so we think). Regardless, I made sure it was understood that this woman wouldn't be getting cat back.

This little guy has it made. He's taken over the ottoman in the man cave, the couch in the living room, the foot of our bed, and our guest bed. The last time we had a guest stay at our house, he bitched until the guest let him in the bedroom where he immediately took over the bed. What a life.

When I die, I want to come back as a cat. Our cat.

As I mentioned, Khat is the star of my latest WIP and Book 2 in my football romance series. In fact, he plays a large part in the book.

The Sorcerer's Apprentice

I've been thinking lately about how weird the whole creative process is, how simple and yet how complicated. I mean, in a way what could be easier than telling stories to the other children? We all do this growing up, right? Some of it's gossip, some of it's urban legend, some of it's even true, but we all learn to communicate early on and a part of that communication is storytelling. I don't know what would be the stuff of fiction if not the lives of adolescents.

As it turns out, writing is hard work in a way storytelling is not. Writing being in some ways separate from storytelling.

Anyway, I've been thinking about my writing process as I begin yet another project. Every single time I start a new story, no matter how big or small a project, there's always an initial moment of something like panic. Something of...Wait, wait. How do I do this again? Is this how it works?

I can't imagine that's just me.

Talent. Nature versus nurture? I always find that debate an interesting one.

It's the kind of thing that starts to freak you out if you think about it too much. Like driving a stick shift. If you start thinking about what you're doing, you inevitably pop the clutch. And yet storytelling is not a magical gift that some of us have and some of us don't. It's like any art. You train and train and hone your craft. Nobody is born pen in hand.

That said, I guess just as some people are born with perfect pitch, some people have a knack for wordsmithing. But without training and discipline, is raw talent of any practical use?

Anyway, one thing that intrigues me is how, no matter how skilled you are at your craft, every book cannot be a smash hit. Every book is not necessarily better or more popular than the book before, even if you are consistently improving as a writer. I suppose that has to do with some of the intangibles that go into storytelling. Despite the fact that all our stories have beginnings, middles, ends, character and plot arcs and dialog and sexy parts...all the basics...there is no tried and true formula for writing a successful book.

In fact, you could have ten writers working on the same basic idea and you'd have ten different stories and opinion would vary widely as to which was the best. What are the magic ingredients? And why do they show up in some books and not others -- even when all those books are written by the same author?

What I mean is, even if you love everything Author X does, you're still going to have favorites among those titles. Every book is not going to elicit the exact same response from you when you see the different titles. Some will be your most favorite, some will be your least -- and that is true even if Author X is an autobuy author and you "love" everything Author X does.

And if you happen to be Author X, you're as puzzled as anyone. I think we've all been there. You're working on something, the idea was solid, the work is good, and yet you hit a certain point and you realize this isn't going to be one of your favorite stories. Or the opposite happens. Something clicks and you recognize that this is going to be one of your best. And yet the process by which that happens is generally no different. Is it just a happy set of coincidences? Does it have something to do with the way the stars align?

I don't know. I know it's always a little disappointing when a story doesn't quite ignite. And it's always a little thrill when it does. That's where the magic comes in, I guess. 

Bringing in the Summer

Okay, for some of you, you're going to say it's too early. However, here in sunny southern California, summer seems to have arrived. We've had some funky weather in the past few months, but this time it feels like the heat will stay for awhile. Will likely dull a bit around beginning of June for the June Gloom, but other than that it's time to wake up the air conditioning and pull out the shorts.

What does this mean for me? Not sure. Not much maybe. But I'm hoping for a bigger writing spurt in summer than I've had in winter and spring.

Wish me luck!

Dangerous Typos

Now, I can’t spell assassin for love or money, but when I mess it up, my handy-dandy word processor picks it up. The truly dangerous typos are the ones that are real words, spelled correctly, that can vastly alter the meaning of what you’re trying to say. Sure, it’s easy to mix up homonyms like they’re and there and their if you’re not paying attention, but believe me, there are worse typos out there.

One of my favourites is the proximity of the g to the f on a keyboard. I’ve made that little slip where finger-fucking became ginger-fucking. Well now… adding ginger to the mix is a whole ‘nother story! I’ve also missed the L in oblivious. Which makes it obvious. And that’s a typo that could easily slip past a number of editing passes, editors and copy editors.

At work, I regularly have to type the words “official” and “ship”. It’s somewhat disturbing how often these end up as “offal” and “shit”. I’m totally paranoid I’m going to miss one someday. I like my job, so I don’t think there’s any subconscious resentment coming to the surface. The evil portion of the evil day job is solely in reference to the 40+ hours away from writing, not because I dislike my job.

Not too long ago, I read a book that referred a number of times to an ass crack as a crevasse. Well, I’m really hoping the author intended to write crevice, because dictionary.com defines crevasse as “A large, deep fissure” and usually used in reference to glaciers, which gives a sense of scale. When they say large, they mean LARGE. A crevasse in the ass sounds more painful than sexy, and quite frankly the mental picture I'd formed was rather alarming. In one of those odd moments of serendipity, shortly after reading about the ass crevasse, I read a book by Josh Lanyon where he clarifies the difference between the two words… although in reference to geographical features as opposed to ass crack. Made me wonder if he’d read the same ass crevasse story. To be honest, I adore the term “ass crevasse” because of its lyrical quality. Too bad I can’t actually use it in a story, because, well, you saw the definition, right?

Recently I found out I can never create a character named Chris. I tried. But every single time I typed out the name “Chris”, I slapped a T on the end. This is also a typo I don’t understand, because it’s not like I spend a lot of time… or any time in fact… typing out anything of a religious nature. So, rather than risk missing a stray T or two, I decided to change the character’s name and never, ever name a character Chris again.

Got any dangerous typos of your own? Please share!

The ePublishing Revolution

The publishing industry continues to quiver and shake, as ebooks and ereaders and dozens of smart devices change the way people read for pleasure and for information.

JA Konrath talks about ebooks and marketing regularly on his blog: A Newbie’s Guide to Publishing. But what he doesn't mention is that the flood of ebook authors is not all one way. Amanda Hocking and HP Mallory, two indie authors with shining success stories of amazing sales, each signed multi-book deals with mass market publishers.

Great writing is great writing whether in the form of digital ink on a back-lit screen or in laser ink on paper. I’m not worrying about the perennial best sellers holding their own in a changing industry. However, in my humble opinion, mid-list authors are in for a real challenge to hold onto their share of a volatile market. I’ve noticed some of these mid-list authors releasing ebook titles again, or fir the first time.

Do you think the ebook customer intrinsically different from the buyer of mass market titles?

Why do you buy ebooks? Inquiring minds need to know.:)

The Record of a Moment in Time

“Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth.”

- Oscar Wilde

“All we see of someone at any moment is a snapshot of their life, there in riches or poverty, in joy or despair. Snapshots don't show the million decisions that led to that moment.”

-Richard Bach

Sometimes what we say or do when we think no one is listening or looking speaks volumes, but does it speak the truth we want others to know about us?

Have you ever kept a journal or diary, writing down your daily activities, thoughts, inspirations, dreams, or even your innermost secrets? Did you ever wonder what others would think if they read about your life via your own words, either now or after you’re gone?

Even if you are writing for yourself, I think it’s common for anyone keeping a journal to consider what an unintentional audience might contemplate about you if they came across your private reflections. Would they ponder why you chose to write about the subjects you did? Would they laugh at you? Cry? Feel a connection to you in a way they hadn’t before reading your secrets? Would they find you boring or fascinating? Strong or weak? Redundant or insightful?

A big part of the plot in my current work-in-progress revolves around a sixty-year-old journal written by the grandfather of one of my main characters. The grandfather’s stories, lessons, and secrets in this journal have the potential to do more than connect a man to his deceased grandfather. They have the power to change the course of several lives.

In a scene I was working on the other day my character Kyle reads an excerpt from the journal which helps him solve a problem he’s been living with for a year. Had those same words been written by anyone other than the grandfather Kyle had admired and loved, they would not have held as much power to influence his life. For him, the meaning and impact was based on the source. His connection to his grandfather mattered greatly in how open he was to the message hidden in the daily excerpts.

It’s been an interesting experience writing the journal snippets that are woven into the main story. Not only did I have to be in the head of my character reading the words left behind by his grandfather, but I also had to get into the heart and soul of the conflicted twenty-year-old man who lived through the experiences sixty years earlier. It got me to thinking about whether or not I’d want to find a journal—the private thoughts and feelings—of someone I had loved but lost. What about the grandparents I had only known during their retirement years? What about my childhood friend who died at the age of seventeen? Would I want to see their daily musings, joys, disappointments, rants, and mistakes? Or would that create too much of a potential to alter my memory of who those people were to me? Perhaps those are questions that can only be answered after the experience of reading such personal reflections has occurred, but then the words cannot be unread.

Do you think you’d like to read a journal written by someone you’ve lost? Have you ever come across the words of a loved one after they’ve passed away? Was it a positive or negative experience to examine their private world? I’d be interested in hearing about your experiences if you’d care to share.

Thanks,
Sloan Parker
www.sloanparker.com

Things to Do While You're Stuck at Home

Chances are if you're reading this, you're at home and not at Romance Times this weekend. Judging by my tiny little slice of the Twitterverse, it looks like we're missing one HELL of a good time, too. I hope everyone comes back with lots and lots of brilliant reports and even better stories of their shenanigans so I can properly go about living vicariously through them. If you ARE at RT and you're reading this... why are you on the Internet? There are BOOK THINGS to be had and seen and done! Go and do them and report back next week. I command thee. We, your sad and lonely friends, will make a party all our own. All we need is a blender, some glowsticks, and a couple of Daft Punk CDs.

What? Like you've never wanted to try it...



But in the meantime, here we are. And here I am, with a regularly scheduled blog spot to play with from the comfort of my living room couch (aka, my office). Whatever shall I write about?

Things to Do While Everyone Else is at RT

• Clean the house. Oh, you always mean to do it, but there are blog posts to read and tweets to respond to, Facebook statuses to comment on... so many little things that you have to do when you're not writing but can still technically call working (although a lot of the unenlightened might call it "farting around on the Internet"). This weekend, though? Things are a lot quieter on the US front. Now is the perfect time to oust that budding civilization you've got forming behind the toilet.
• Play the RT11 Drinking Game (Twitter Edition). Non-alcoholic editions are of course welcome. If anyone asks why you're sitting in front of Twitter all night, just tell them that you're looking for industry updates and networking at the same time. When they scoff, tell them they can't have any of your tasty beverage.
• Spend time with people. You know, face-to-face. ...or not. Because if you're like me, you spend all week running yourself ragged, so maybe a quiet weekend with a little less demand than usual is just what you need. Put your feet up, grab a book, and just relax for a change. That way, when the RT crowd drags their hungover behinds home, you'll be fresh and chipper and just perky enough that your life might be in danger. Almost as much fun as the morning after being a DD, only with a drastically reduced chance of finding someone's puke in your backseat.
• Do a full website overhaul. You want to keep your website content fresh and relevant. If you're not going to do an overhaul, maybe a survey of the contents would be in order. Check your links, make sure you don't have dead spots, and get your newest book up on your front page so people will want to buy it once they see that your site is spit-shined with care.
• Open a CafePress store and then continually futz with it. It's easier than you'd think to do this. I opened mine and had several designs up within the evening. Of course, now I'm thinking of all the other designs I want to put up there, and wondering how much sweet talk it will take to get my graphic artist Spouse to do them for me so I don't spend my entire weekend in Photoshop. I mean, I've got other things to do. Look at this list! Also, shameless plug: Liz's Shiny Silver.
• When all else fails, you can always write something. Because, really, isn't that the point? I mean, just because we're not at the big industry conference this weekend doesn't mean that we're not part of said industry. All kidding aside, I'm actually going to be spending a goodly amount of this weekend kicking at my various WIPs like a good, productive part of the industry. But I'll also be taking breaks by combing over my site and prepping for the overhaul I'm doing in a couple of months, finishing a couple of books that I owe reviews on, and spending my evenings playing the drinking game, just 'cause. You know, a typical weekend for me.

What about you? What are you doing this weekend?

See you next month, when the RT crowd will have hopefully recovered enough to join us.

Love,

Elizabeth
http://UrbanSilver.net
http://DirtyBirdAuthors.blogspot.com (April is BDSM month)

Kiernan Kelly blogs about "Writer's Foreplay"

Inspiration is a writer's foreplay. It consumes you, distracts you, and yes, stimulates and excites you. Just like having sex, once you're all hot and bothered it's exceedingly difficult to do anything but let go and enjoy the ride.

Let's try an experiment.

Close your eyes and imagine having a spontaneous orgasm in the middle of a very public place. You might try to hide it, but you know people are staring at you because you're practically bouncing in your seat, eyes wide and lit up like Times Square on New Year's Eve. It's embarrassing, but you can't stop.

That's what it's like when a writer gets an idea. Telling a writer to shelve a new idea until a more convenient time is like telling a woman in labor to put a cork in it. It's just not going to work, my friend, at least, not for long.

It's not the writer's fault, either. Once inspiration hits, their brain is no longer their own, and will refuse to function beyond developing the new idea they just had. It's as if the idea is a face-hugger from Alien, and writer won't be free again until the idea bursts out of his or her body fully formed, ready to take over the world. Except, hopefully, the writer survives the process and lives to give birth to another alien idea-spawn someday.

In addition, there's no defense against inspiration; there's no way for a writer to tell beforehand when or where it's going to strike, hence the spontaneous-orgasm-in-public metaphor.

The one thing I've figured out about being a writer is that the title doesn't come with an early warning system. There are no sirens, no flashing red lights, nothing to indicate that you're about to be whacked over the head hard with the inspiration stick. One minute you're out enjoying a nice cup of coffee at the neighborhood Starbucks, wondering what to make for dinner, or how you're ever going to get that black spot out of the living room rug, when...bam! Inspiration hits.

When that happens, there's nothing left for a writer to do but write. Forget trying to savor your mocha frappe, or figure out whether club soda will do the trick on the rug stain. You're done. You may physically be somewhere else – like at your day job, for instance - but your mind is at home sketching out a rough outline of your idea.

It's the polar opposite of writer's block, and just as hard-hitting and difficult to ignore. Someday I believe scientists will even give the condition a name – Writer's Mania, maybe. There'll be studies made, and theses written, a lobby group formed. Stephen King or Nora Roberts can host the telethon.

When I got the inspiration for A Weapon of Opportunity, which releases tomorrow at Loose Id (hooray!), the idea hit me hard and fast. I remember the moment it happened clearly. I was at dinner with my family, laughing and talking as usual, when my daughter looked at me and said, "A Weapon of Opportunity. You should use that as a title for one of your books, Mom."

I don't know how she came up with the title since I believe our conversation at the time had something to do with whether Fruity Pebbles cereal would make a viable packing substitute for Styrofoam peanuts, but I suspect an inspiration stick of her own clobbered her when we weren't looking.

That's all it took. Suddenly, my eyes glazed over and my mouth hung open as images and characters flooded into my mind. Fruity Pebbles debate forgotten, I mumbled excuses and left the table, sat down at my computer and began to hash out the plot for A Weapon of Opportunity.

My family wasn't offended in the slightest by my sudden departure. As a matter of fact, it barely fazed them. I don't think any of them even stopped chewing. They're quite used to me by now.

It was one of the few times inspiration struck me in the form of a title. Usually it's an image wielding the inspiration stick - a photo of an exceptionally hot man, a place, or an inanimate object fueling my imagination. This time, it took only four simple words to do the trick. That might just be a record for me.

All of which leads me to a quick promotion of my new novel. Bet you didn't see that coming, huh?

In A Weapon of Opportunity, we meet Hunter, a NYC detective who has an unusual dilemma. His long-time partner, David, died during a drug bust several years ago, but that isn't really the trouble. Hunter's real problem is that David refuses to lie down and stay decently dead.

David was always annoying and pushy while he was alive, but as a ghost, he's perpetually horny as well, continually driving Hunter to distraction.

As far as David is concerned, he may be dead, but he has no intention of going anywhere. In denial all his life, dying blew the closet door wide open, forcing David to face the fact that, not only is he gay, but he's in love with Hunter. Now he'll do whatever it takes to correct his past mistakes and experience making love with Hunter, even if it's only vicariously through voyeuristic participation in Hunter's one-night stands.

Further complicating matters is a crafty, opportunistic serial killer who leaves behind a frustrating lack of physical evidence, and a small boy with an uncanny power who leads Hunter and David directly into the path of danger.

In closing, if you get whacked the inspiration stick, my advice is to just go with it. It's easier than fighting it, and in the end, may turn out to be a pretty cool thing.

But when all is said and done, I'll bet you're still thinking about having a spontaneous orgasm in a public place, aren't you?

Yeah, me, too.

What is release week like?

I don't know about you, but hearing "behind the scenes" things about publishing is always interesting to me. Because of that I thought I would share with you what happened during my release week.

My name is Cassandra Carr, and my debut novel, Talk to Me, was released by Loose Id on March 22nd. The night before the release I received an e-mail from The Powers That Be at Loose Id congratulating me and wishing me many sales. The e-mail also had my author copies attached. Another e-mail went out on the Loose Id authors loop announcing all the releases for that week.

Then, around 12:30am on Tuesday I went into Loose Id's website and checked out the page with my book information. It was live! I got a little shot of adrenaline looking at that page and knowing that all my years of hard work were finally paying off. My book was published and hopefully people would be interested enough to buy it!

I went to bed, and when I got up the next day I checked out the various blogs and websites where my release information was located, and then spent the day flitting between Twitter, Facebook, those blogs/websites and trying to do my regular work. Needless to say, I didn't get a lot of writing done! It was so exciting to see people read the excerpts on the blogs and comment that the book looked interesting and they couldn't wait to read it! I responded to each comment (I was practically stalking these blogs and websites so no one had to wait long for a response to their comment, lol) and then finally left to go celebratory shopping with a friend.

On Wednesday things had calmed down a bit but I was appearing on another blog, so I watched that one closely so I could respond to comments. I was able to finish a newsletter that was on deadline for an April 1st publication, and even able to get some revisions done on my work-in-progress. All the while I wondered - is anybody buying my book? When will I see a review? Will it be a good review? When will I hear that someone read it?

On Thursday I checked Goodreads and the book was already tied to my Goodreads account. Someone had already marked it as "to be read" too - how awesome! Other than that Thursday and Friday passed much the same as other, non-release weeks. I revised my manuscript whenever I had time, hung out on Twitter, etc.

So there you have it. I don't know if that was interesting or not, but that's how it happened. I'm still waiting for reviews to come in and fretting. Because that's what an author does, whether they're releasing their first book or their thirtieth.

Be Brave by Fyn Alexander

Be Brave is the sequel to Angel and the Assassin and will be released by Loose-Id on April 5th 2011

MI6 assassin, Kael Saunders, was supposed to kill Angel Button after the boy witnessed a hit. Not only did Kael refuse to hurt Angel, he took him home and fell in love with him. Living together now in a loving D/s relationship, Angel wants to follow in Daddy’s footsteps, but Kael is determined to keep his boy out of the dangerous world of international assassins.

During an assignment Kael finds a little girl who is caught up in a treacherous web of human trafficking and prostitution, and determines to rescue her. When he goes missing, Angel sets out to find his beloved Daddy and bring him home.

I am very excited about this book. Be Brave chronicles the further adventures of Kael Saunders and Angel Button, an unlikely pairing of men with only one thing in common; Kael is a Dom and Angel is a sub. Doms and subs belong together. But Kael loves to dominate handsome, masculine men like himself. Being in charge is his way of life whether it be in his work with the Secret Intelligence service, his personal life, or in the dungeon. The last thing Kael expected was to fall in love with Angel, an 18 year old boy, desperate for the love and guidance of a Daddy, and with a passion for being spanked and restrained. Two very different men find love in the most unexpected way.