I Can't Go For That: Five Blog Topics I'm Not Writing About This Week
1. Cupcakes.
I'm not blogging about PERFECT FOR YOU either. I will say it's the perfect substitute for cupcakes though. Modestly speaking.
I'm not blogging about PERFECT FOR YOU either. I will say it's the perfect substitute for cupcakes though. Modestly speaking.
Cupcakes need to be consumed sparingly, and even I realize that I serve them up to you perhaps a touch too often. So this week, we're on a cupcake fast. And, yes, that breaks my heart too.
2. Dragons.
My sister and I had a short conversation that went like this:
Me: What should I blog about this week?
Her: Dragons.
Me: Hmm... I guess I could do a "top five" list of dragons, of all time.
Her: Do it.
So I tried to come up with a list of top five dragons, but I only came up with three. It's hard to do a top five list with only three items. Can you name five dragons?
3. Dusting.
Who wants to talk about dusting, the most DREADED of all housework. I'll pretty much do everything and anything cleaning-related before I'll dust. In fact, I won't dust until the little lint particles rise up and form one giant dust Wookie.
However, I realize that one of you out there probably loves to dust. I'm not judging. You can't help it. Someone probably dropped you on your head as a child. It's tragic, really.
4. Herpes.
For some reason, herpes always comes up, so to speak. One day, I'm going to do an epic post about it. You may not realize it, but herpes is a powerful thing.
For instance, let's say you're an author who likes to write in public, at cafes and such. Picture people constantly coming up to you and asking if you're a student, or what you write, or telling you about the book they're going to write "one day." Each question throws off your groove. How do you get the questions to stop? Have a book about herpes sitting on the table next to you. It's an underutilized weapon.
5. Mitt Romney.
Enough said.
And you?
What wouldn't you blog about? What wouldn't you want to read about? Or what would you want to read?
Let Me Eat Cake!
Because—cue the trumpets—it's my birthday!
Cake too rich for you? Treat yourself to a delicious read. CLOSE TO YOU is only $1.99 this week.
I do admit that I think about cake a lot, but during my birthday week I think about it that much more. It boggles, doesn't it? One major point of difference, though, is that as much as I think about cake, I hardly ever eat any. During my birthday week I indulge.
Note: I haven't had any cake yet.
I'm going to remedy this once I decide on my strategy. Do I start with a wa-BAM right from the beginning, with a chocolate fleur de sel concoction? Or do I ease into my week-long cake orgy with a simple vanilla with buttercream?
Tough decision, Kate.
But you're right—I'm not the sort of person to ease into anything. I grab my balls (metaphorically) and dive in. And, truthfully, I'm not a vanilla kind of girl. I like complexity. If I were a cupcake flavor, I'd be carrot cake: wholesome, a little nutty, and topped off with sweet froth. Sometimes I'm like devil's food, a little dark, a little silky, and totally mischievous.
What flavor are you? Do you vacillate between flavors? Do you wish you were a different flavor?
Secrets, Lies, and Shaking Your Groove Thing
Shhh...
RETURN TO YOU, a Laurel Heights Novel. It's a delicious read about chocolate and its many uses. Wink, wink.
RETURN TO YOU, a Laurel Heights Novel. It's a delicious read about chocolate and its many uses. Wink, wink.
I'm starting a new venture with a good friend of mine. I AM SO EXCITED ABOUT IT. Yes, I just shouted. I'm also jumping up and down in my seat and pumping a fist in the air—that's how crazy I am about this new business.
Unfortunately, I can't tell you about it.
Yet.
But I think I'll be ready to let the cat out of the bag next week, so stay tuned.
In the meantime...
I redesigned the covers for the Laurel Heights novels. They're awesome, if I do say so myself—take a look. Have you downloaded your copies yet?
The rhythm is gonna get you.
I went to my first Zumba class last week. You know how I'm kind of goofy? Well, I take goofy to a whole new level in Zumba. It'd be fine, but I've been going around making jazz-hands outside of class. Breaking into a step-ball-change while you're waiting to cross a street makes people wary. Just saying.
I just read a great book!
That's the lies portion of this post. In reality, the last three books I've started I've had to put down, and the one I'm reading now is on its way out too. Have you read anything good lately?
Maybe I should qualify that: have you read anything good lately that isn't on a school's required reading list? (You know who you are—ahem.) Tell me. I'm looking for a good read.
Return to You...
...is out!
I'd give y'all cupcakes in honor of its release this week, but since that'd be logistically hard (cupcakes don't FedEx well), instead I'm giving you Return to You for $0.99. Whoop! Here's a sneak peak:
The bastard was back.
Olivia slammed the register drawer shut, startling Mrs. Ledbetter. She gave her customer an apologetic smile before scowling at the cretin who'd entered her store. "What do you want?"
She refused to get distracted by the unfamiliar laugh lines on Michael's familiar face. "Of all the gin joints—"
She shook her head, swallowing the rage she thought she'd exorcised eleven years ago. "Being cute will not soften me up."
Mrs. Ledbetter stepped forward, gripping her bag tightly and darting curious looks at her and Michael.
Olivia didn't need her dirty laundry aired in front of one of her best customers. "Was there anything else I could get you?"
"No, dear. Thank you." The woman glanced at them again before leaving.
Olivia waited until the door snapped shut before rounding on Michael. "What the hell are you doing here?"
He grinned sardonically. "Gee, it's nice to see you too, Olivia. It's been a long time."
She folded her arms across her chest. "Not long enough."
"Listen, Olivia. We need to talk." He strode purposefully through the lingerie displays, eyes fixed on her. His focus was disturbing. The Michael she used to know would have been distracted by the lingerie.
And, damn, he was sexy. She frowned. She didn't remember him being so hot. He'd filled out, and he looked good in his beaten up leather jacket and jeans, kind of like Indiana Jones meets Hugh Jackman. He'd turned into the kind of guy that inspired women to buy the lingerie she sold, all the while hoping it'd end up forgotten on the floor.
But not her. She wasn't like most women, and she definitely didn't want Michael.
Download it, for Kindle, Nook, iPad, and more. It's much better than a cupcake, and less fattening.
Easter with Edgar
"Excuse me."
My sister and I looked over at the guy sitting a few seats from us at the bar. He had the swarthy skin of a South American and straight black hair that flopped in his face. He looked half asleep, or half drunk, or half stoned. It was probably all three.
He leaned over and pointed at Parisa. "I think I saw you in a movie. You're an actress."
She shook her head. "No, I'm just normal."
"I saw you." He shook his finger at her, tipping precariously. I reached out to steady him, but he didn't notice he was so focused on my sister. "Really, I saw you in that movie, the horror one."
"That wasn't me." Parisa smiled politely while I tried not to snicker.
"Are you sure? It was a horror movie where lots of people where killed. I'm Edgar, by the way."
"I'm sure it wasn't me, Edgar," she said with unprecedented patience.
"Huh." He frowned. "Well, you have a nice smile."
"Thank you." She bared her teeth at him.
He looked at my smile and turned away.
I sipped my drink so I wouldn't laugh out loud. Then, to cut him off from continuing, I said, "It was nice talking to you, but my sister and I were discussing something important."
She nodded. Neither one of us chose to mention that "something important" was the bartender's bow tie.
"You're sisters?" Edgar asked, almost falling off his stool.
"Yes."
"You don't look anything alike."
I rolled my eyes. "No, we don't."
"I have a sister," he said frankly. "She was a hooker. I used to watch her go off on the back of motorcycles with men, but now she's married with kids."
"Um." I blinked, trying to come up with an appropriate response. "Cool."
Parisa and I looked at each other, simultaneously picked up our drinks, and downed them. Then we stood up. "Good luck, Edgar," I said, moving away from him. I didn't put it past him to try and stop us from leaving.
My sister smiled at him and we walked out.
"Well," Parisa said. "That killed a nice Easter afternoon drinking champagne."
"Yeah." We started walking uptown, toward the apartment. "Also, I'd like to thank you for not being a hooker. I appreciate it."
She shrugged. "Anytime."
Tragedy Strikes!
Remember how I said RETURN TO YOU, the next Laurel Heights book, was coming out this week? It's not.
Sigh.
Something bad happened, and I lost the complete, edited book. (Feel free to gasp and/or cry out in pain.) I'm not sure what I did, or even if I did anything. I wrote out a timeline of events, trying to figure out what went wrong.
Friday, March 30th, 10:03am: started inputting the last of the edits.
Friday, March 30th, 10:36am: finished!
Friday, March 30th, 10:47am: began formatting to prepare for converting the book for Kindle and Nook.
Friday, March 30th, 11:12am: finished again!
Friday, March 30th, 11:14am: saved to the backup file.
Friday, March 30th, 11:37am: realized that the file was suddenly missing bit of the end.
Friday, March 30th, 11:38am: checked the backup.
Friday, March 30th, 11:38am: saw that the backup was missing parts of the end too.
Friday, March 30th, 11:39am: freaked out.
Friday, March 30th, 11:40am: contemplated becoming a fry technician at McDonald's.
Friday, March 30th, 11:45am: walked to the Apple store down the block, to see if they could retrieve the overwritten file from my hard-drive.
Friday, March 30th, 12:02pm: had my hopes dashed by a boy named Felix.
Friday, March 30th, 12:03pm: slipped into despair, because I'd thrown away half the hard copy edits I'd done.
Friday, March 30th, 12:15pm: my Magic Man and his SuperDad went to the incinerator room to dig through garbage, retrieving the manuscript hard copy.
Friday, March 30th, 12:36pm: closed the laptop and did yoga for an hour.
Friday, March 30th, 2:17pm: realized half the document was missing, in random chunks, not just parts of the end.
Friday, March 30th, 4:58pm: accepted the stiff martini the Magic Man made for me.
On the bright side: I have the original manuscript saved—I only lost the edits I'd made last week, tightening the story up. And it's not as bad as that, because thanks to my man and his dad, I have all the edits in hard copy. The catch: half the hard copy is at home in San Francisco, and I', in New York. So the book won't be out until I go home in a couple weeks.
Such is life.
On a happy note, the promotion on PERFECT FOR YOU that I did last week in honor of RETURN TO YOU's release went super well. Thanks, peeps, for representing and downloading the sucker—it hit Amazon's Top 100 Free Kindle Books list. Actually (insert modest batting of eyelashes), it got up to #5 on the Top 100 list. Hurray to us!
Free!
Free for the next five days. Get some.
You read it: free. As in PERFECT FOR YOU. Starting today until Saturday, you can download PERFECT FOR YOU for the Kindle from AMAZON FOR FREE. If you've been waiting to get a copy, now's your chance.
Why are you giving it away, Kate? you wonder. Because next week, the third Laurel Heights book, Return to You, will be out. What better way to celebrate?
About Perfect for You:
Freya Godwin's muse has gone MIA.
With Freya just hired to redesign the top adult website company in the country, her muse couldn't have chosen a worse time to disappear. Determined to get her sexy back, Freya puts an ad online, hoping to find the right man to inspire her.
Unfortunately, all roads point back to her upstairs neighbor Greg Cavanaugh. He's everything she doesn't want: a playboy and scumbag lawyer. Except if he's so wrong for her, why does his touch feel like magic? And why does being with him make her believe anything is possible?
Get it. Tell your friends to get it too.
The Rest of the Story
Thank you for playing along last week. I laughed, I chortled, and the Magic Man and I discussed your intricate twists and turns. You guys (and your imaginations) rock.
I took everything you guys added and put it all together. Then I added a little more at the end, to complete this first chapter. Feel free to add more to the story, in as many sentences are you like. Or take the beginning and use it on your own blog. Or—heck—continue it on your own blog.
Without further ado...
When Tallulah Sweeney woke up Monday morning, she noticed three things.
The first, before she even opened her eyes, was the incessant buzzing sound.
The second, after she opened them, was that the hazy distortion of the room was different from the usual "don't have my glasses on yet" fog.
She reached for said glasses, which was when she noticed the third thing: there was a man next to her, not fully clothed, and not entirely human.
"I think my apartment is on fire," she said to him, her voice husky but not entirely from the billowing smoke.
He growled as comprehension roused him, springing from the bed to the door with astounding grace. Tallulah sat up at ogled at the male specimen before her, until he turned around and whisked her up into his arms.
"Oh my"—she blinked owlishly at him—"do you work out?"
"Occasionally," he rumbled, carrying her swiftly down the hall with long, decisive strides.
Ever-practical in the face of adversity, Tallulah murmured, "Well, I don't think your...well, your physique—which is really quite nice by the way—will help very much with the smoke..."
"The smoke is the least of your problems," he said, though in Tallulah's estimation it was more of a growl.
Tallulah begged to differ; dying of smoke inhalation was actually a very big problem in her opinion, but she held her tongue and held even tighter to his shoulders as they rounded the corner and stopped dead.
"This is not what I signed up for," he sighed. Setting Tallulah down on the floor—where she thankfully lay low to avoid the worst of the smoke—he snarled a challenge at the being blocking their way, black stripes painting themselves across his bare skin as he set his weight for the fight.
Tallulah thought a moment, well at least I can breath now, but my eyes are really starting to play tricks on me.
Just then another thought, not her own popped into her head, your eyes are fine and I would make sure that you stayed behind me.
Mindspeak, Tallulah suddenly realized with horror before using everything she had to shield her thoughts of Gregori and his clan—something she hadn't had to do since she "escaped."
The creature in the doorway snarled, flexing his clawed hands, and then lunged.
With lighting-fast reflexes, he stepped in between the creature's outstretched claws, his own freshly-formed claws sinking in at the neck and waist as he threw the beast over his shoulder into the living room beyond. It was up and growling and flying at Tallulah faster than she could even think to scream; which she did, but two seconds too late.
Her protector had already grabbed her, pulling her with him out the door and into the crisp night air. "Time to pick up the pace... Hold on tight" he growled, swiftly lifting Tallulah onto his back and dropping to run on all fours in one increasingly-hairy motion.
Huh... Not just a tiger in the sack, I see, Tallulah thought as the tawny fur and torrid muscles surged beneath her.
Well I can be, he mindspoke, but now is not the right time.
Good to know, she thought (hopefully to herself) as she looked behind her and noted their attacker gaining on them. "Excuse me, sir, that thing is fast approaching."
Her tiger-protector growled and ran faster. He veered on a dime, diving into a dark, narrow alley. He didn't slow down, even though it seemed like they evaded their pursuer—not until they reached a house in the suburbs.
Not a typical suburban house, either. It sat decrepit and ramshackle among newly fabricated track homes. Even in the dark, Tallulah could see the peeling paint and crooked wooden boards. A couple of the windows were broken. She bet the only things that lived there were rats and ghosts.
No ghosts, her protector's voice echoed in her mind.
She rolled her eyes. "At least we have that going for us."
He leaped up the steps in a single bound and shook her off his back. She straightened her glasses as she slid down and saw that he was already transforming back to man. She watched as his hair shed, revealing smooth skin. Underneath, bones rippled back into a human skeleton and his claws withdrew slowly into his fingers.
She winced. That had to hurt.
"Every time," he rasped out loud.
She blinked, and then she blinked again as she noted that some parts of him were as impressive in male form as they were in tiger. She started to pout in disappointment when he turned his back on her and headed to the front door, but then she decided the naked rear view was equally fine.
He pried the door open and shot her an annoyed look. "If you're done gawking, would you please come inside? In case you haven't noticed, you're in danger."
Because of Gregori? She followed him inside, hoping he missed that thought.
"I didn't miss it, and, yes, this is about Gregori and his clan." He shut the door and walked into another room. A moment later he returned, pushing a heavy china cabinet to barricade the door. Then he turned to her. "They gave you something."
In her mind, she saw the pendant. A clear green emerald, the same color as Gregori's eyes, suspended on the most unique chain she'd ever seen.
Her tiger nodded. "Yes, that pendant. It was never Gregori's to give you. He took it from the elders of his clan."
"Why?"
"Whoever wears the pendant controls the clan. Gregori gave it to you to keep it hidden for himself."
Hurt pierced her chest, even though she'd given up any hope of Gregori ever caring for her. "You're saying he just used me."
He seemed to hesitate a moment before he nodded once.
She sat down abruptly on the dust-covered floor. "I can't give it back."
"You have to. That creature chasing us was only a clan mercenary and the least of your problems. As soon as word gets out that you have the pendant, everyone and their brother will be after you. You need to give it back to the clan, in exchange for your life."
Shaking her head, she said hoarsely, "Who are you, and why do you care?"
The tigerman hesitated again. "That matters not."
She nodded even though she didn't understand or agree. "In any case, no one is getting the pendant."
He growled in frustration. "Why not?"
"Because it was in my apartment, which burned to the ground."
Play with Me
I know you're there, even though you never say anything.
Normally I don't mind, because I understand where you're coming from. Here's how I figure it:
- Some of you genuinely have nothing to say, and that's okay. Sometimes I have nothing to say either¹.
- Some of you are shy. That's okay too. I'm also shy².
- Some of you like to lurk. I'll just refrain from saying anything about you folks, because it'll just come out sounding creepy and I don't want you to think I find you strange. Besides, I've been known to lurk at times³.
- Some of you have no excuse. You know who you are.
But today is going to be different, because we're not blogging today—we're going to play. You'll play along with me, right? Please?
Insert winning smile here.
This is what we'll do: we're going to write a story together. If you've always wanted to write, here's your chance. If you already write but want to explore your creativity, opportunity is knocking at your door. If you have no aspirations, we welcome you most of all.
The particulars: I'll kick this thing off with an opening line, then someone comments with whatever he/she thinks the next line should be, and then someone else will comment with the next line, and so on. One sentence per comment, but comment as often as you like. By the end of the week, we should have a few paragraphs of something entertaining.
What do you say? Are you in?
Let's do it! Here's the first sentence:
When Tallulah Sweeney woke up Monday morning, she noticed three things.
Don't be shy. Let your creative hair down. Grab your balls and go for it. Heck—you shy people can use a pseudonym. Add your two cents—I really want to hear your voice.
Go.
¹ Believe it or not.
² Kind of. When the moon is blue.
³ But I also go out in public wearing things like purple velvet onesies with gold sequins, so take that with a grain of salt.