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Sorta. :-P

I did have a another post on finding in balance in life that I should have put up on Friday but it's been a busy weekend, so I'll throw that one up tomorrow.

But today the annual The Word On The Street book and magazine festival in Toronto, for book lovers you really should get down there, and it's the perfect day for it (as I type this it's a gorgeous, sunny day out).



I volunteered to man the booth for my local chapter of Romance Writers of America for an hour starting at 5pm. I believe we're located in the ironically named: Writers Block (yukyukyuk) and may be right beside, or very close by, the Harlequin booth. Stop by and say hi. Various chapter members have goodies to give away or books for sale (at a discounted price, I presume).

I'll be giving away these:



Chapbooks for Hunter of the Heart.

They contain excerpts from chapters 1 & 2. It took weeks to get the layout right for them. All the directions I found online were more for a folded brochure type chapbook. I had the covers done at the printers, then the real fun of cutting and stapling happened. Wheeeeee!::choke:: From a reader point of view I love chapbooks, but, yeah, labour intensive and tedious in the assembly.

And since we're riding this promo train,
have you taken a look the sidebar? Katrina from Kika Designs did an awesome job with the new gif for Hunter of the Heart, didn't she? ::lovelovelove:: She also did a slightly different kick-ass version for Romance Junkie.

I'll leave you with a little snippet from the opening of HotH-

Chapter One

From far off a solitary owl repeated its query, while closer by small rodents darted through the undergrowth. All seemingly normal, and yet…there was an odd quality to the woods tonight. The wolf paused on his way back to camp, ears pricked, snout raised.

He parsed out the commingled scents of various prey, the damp musk of rotting vegetation and the bitter tang of the new. There was something else here…something faint and unfamiliar that almost blended with the rest—

A sudden string of howls ripped through the night, destroying his musing.

Beth!

Nate sprang forward, racing deeper into the forest. He scrabbled down a steep ravine, claws gouging the earth, paws sliding over the bones of the weak and forgotten.

Again, the agonized howls tore through the night air, each one more frantic until the cries broke off abruptly.

Silence followed.

Complete. Suffocating. Ratcheting the terror that strummed through his veins. He reached out telepathically, wrapping her pain in his love and strength, shielding her from his desperation. He should have never left her alone.

“Beth, hold on, babes! I’m coming.”

One crazed leap and he was over the cadaver of a fallen oak and powering his way up the opposite slope. Muscles coiled, stretched, then snapped in recoil as he covered ground back to his mate.

“Nathan? I-I love you…”

Their bond began to wane in the ebbing tide of her life-force and Nate stumbled, flipping head over tail, scrambling to find his footing.

“No! Wait!”

His yowl set off a riot of wings in the branches above and he sprung forward again, pushing himself until the wind knifed through his pelt.

Up ahead in the moonlight, a large dark shape hunched over his mate while Beth’s foreleg twitched, splayed claws scratching feebly at the air.

For Nate, an eternity passed before that ghastly tableau dissolved with a last trailing whine as her leg descended.

Now there was only the insidious sounds of seeking tongue against warm flesh, the soft tear of muscle and sharp crunch of bones. They burrowed in his ear, mushrooming in his head. His sight went dark and instinct took over.

Kill.


* * * * *

If you haven't checked them out already, there are excepts on the books page of my site and a different excerpt over on Samhain.

The Elevator

This is something I would normally post about in a series of tweets on twitter, but I should save some of these longer anecdotes for the blog (considering the paucity of posts here lately). It’s just easier to fire something off in 140 characters on the phone and be done with it than to sit in from of the pc and craft something.

Anywho,



This morning I get on the elevator with a colleague, she’s only going a couple of floors down, I’m going down to the main level/concourse for a coffee run. We’re chatting away about work stuff and I barely notice the guy that gets on a few moments later some floors later. He goes to the back of the car while I and co-worker continue deep in our discussion (hyper aware she’ll have to get off soon).


There’s another quick stop and a colleague of the quiet guy gets on. They immediately strike up a conversation. It barely registers when guy #2 gives the opening greeting, but--

OMG--

when the first guy replies, his voice grabs my attention right away.


It’s gravelly and delicious. Like warm black sand on a midnight beach in the tropics. You just want to dig your toes deep into the feels-so-good grit and gentle heat.


I want him to keep talking (and keep talking and keep talking), and barely manage to say bye to co-worker when she gets off at her floor. Where did he get that voice? Holy cow, talk some more, say anything. Recite the alphabet. Oh no, we’re almost at the ground floor. Noooooo.

I want to turn around and fully check him out but I have to satisfy myself with his reflection in the polished brass elevator doors.

He’s short.
And he has a paunch that strains the buttons of his shirt, (lol)
But lord have mercy, that voice! Pure sex. Pure seduction.

Of course… being a writer, I immediately think, gotta write this scenario— heroine runs into hero, barely notices him. Then he speaks and Oh. EM. Gee that voice comes pouring out.

So, this is not an original idea, it’s been done before. There’s always something about a romance hero’s voice, and it’s usually just one of the many attributes in the arsenal of seductive weaponry he wields to bring the heroine's panties to her knees.

But what if that lover's cache was as skimpy as old Mother Hubbard's cupboard? That would make The Voice all the more powerful, wouldn't it?

My guys are always hunks. Not perfect. But hunky, never the less. For the voice to have the impact I want, I'd have to write a hero who was on the non-descript side physically. (At first glance, at least). I have him in my head at this point. Don’t know his story or his heroine but I see him, and I’ll eventually write about him.

To tie this ramble up on a humorous note, on my way back with my coffee I pass by the owner of the Greek restaurant downstairs. He’s a pleasant, distinguished older man. Slim and upright as a blade, with neatly trimmed salt and pepper hair and kind brown eyes. He always greets me with a slight gentlemanly incline of his head, if not an outright bow, and a polite smile.

So this morning as I'm walking back to the office, totally preoccupied with thoughts of a self-contained,quietly sexy hero with a devastating voice, the restaurant proprietor greets me with his oh so correct bow.

And I winked back! (rather salaciously too, I might add. lol.)

I could barely hold his gaze after that, but I brazened it out with a smile and kept walking.

The Banker (joke)

Sorry guys, been a bad blogger again. Just striving for some balance in my life. Anywho, I do have some promo type squeeing for Hunter of the Heart to post (maybe later on today). In the meantime, enjoy this joke. I've seen this one before, but it's still good for a chuckle.


Banker parks his brand new Porsche in front of the office to show it off to his colleagues.

As he's getting out of the car, a lorry comes speeding along too close to the kerb and takes off the door before zooming off.

More than a little distraught, the Banker grabs his mobile and calls the police.
Five minutes later, the police arrive. Before the policeman has a chance to ask any questions, the man starts screaming hysterically:

'My Porsche, my beautiful silver Porsche is ruined. No matter how long it's at the panel beaters it'll simply never be the same again!'

After the man finally finishes his rant, the policeman shakes his head in disgust.

'I can't believe how materialistic you bloody Bankers are,' he says. 'You lot are so focused on your possessions that you don't notice anything else in your life.'

'How can you say such a thing at a time like this?' sobs the Porsche owner.

The policeman replies, 'Didn't you realise that your right arm was torn off when the truck hit you.'

The Banker looks down in horror. 'F***ING HELL!' he screams........'Where's my Rolex????'