Sometimes Life Just Needs a Little Plaid

Or yet another blog post inspired by the Vache, writing from the fur.

( Getting the Point Across )

How was that weekend for you? Busy over at this end of things, I'll tell you that. Weather Gods laughed, Yahoo posting Gods laughed, a few margaritas late Sunday even I laughed!

Before I get caught up in the routine, oh lovely routine of another week, I wanted to stop and appreciate everyone I had a chance to chat with briefly at both Talking Two Lips and Ethan Day's Yahoo Group on Sunday. With my posts appearing upwards of an hour after I posted (can you tell that really bugs me, Yahoo?) they weren't the smoothest conversations I ever had, but each one meant a lot. New faces, old faces and some in between. The excerpts were all interesting and varied and I liked the way things were out and out fun.

Sometimes, we just need more fun.

Now, I'd best get busy because the way Tame is going through my backlist I'd better get something new finished.

It's a cheerful rainy day here and the cat and I are behind on everything again. Yes, I notice you are not surprised. I should be filling out an author interview, but I am stuck on a question. Which one you may ask? I was asked to describe which actor I'd like to play my characters. Easy enough you say except it made me think about last night when I was waiting in the car and to pass the time I poked around the car to find something to read. The novel that was hanging out in the back seat was part of a series that had been adapted into a television show - parts of which I had just caught the week before.

( Don't touch my favorite novel )

It’s interesting to discover the things that make will make our pulse race. What would be the first sign of arousal? The sudden dryness of our lips? A bead of sweat on the forehead? A dilation of our pupils? We hope no one will notice our furtive glances but it soon becomes obvious as the anticipation builds, and we can’t wait to reach out and touch the object of our desire with trembling hands.

I’m lucky in that I don’t have to go out and search, my secret vice arrives in the mail. You might be surprised to learn that there is no plain brown wrapper, no plastic covering, nothing to conceal the contents from an unknowing observer. I wonder how they can let it pass by without so much as a second glance. Pornography truly is a matter of perception.

Once it’s in my hands I’ll spend hours perusing my treasure; admiring the colors and contrasts, the blatant displays designed solely to appeal to my baser instincts. It’s all so rich and ripe looking, spread out on the glossy pages before me. I can’t help but stare at the play of light and shadow that reflects the work of a careful and dedicated photographer. I’ll even do more than just look at the pictures, (isn’t that what we all say?). I’ll take the time to read each descriptive narrative and compare each offering to best of my ability.

It may take hours, but eventually I’ll collapse upon my couch. Sated, for the moment, but ready to pick it up and start all over again. I might have missed something, you know.

Goodness knows if I’m this bad with the office supply catalog, don’t let me near the garden and seed annual.

Like most authors I think I fall just a little in love with every character I write about. Each one of my men become special to me and each has their own little quirks that endear them to me the more time I spend with them. Because I care about them I worry. I can’t help it. It’s part of my personality. I want them to be happy and fulfilled, well-developed and able to leap off the page and engage a reader.

Sometimes I think I fail them.

( Read more... )