Kate Perry's Blog

I Can't Go For That: Five Blog Topics I'm Not Writing About This Week

Tue, 15 May 2012 14:39:25 -0500

1. Cupcakes.
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!

Tue, 08 May 2012 18:05:03 -0500

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

Tue, 01 May 2012 15:13:47 -0500

Shhh...
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.

Haiku Tuesday

Tue, 24 Apr 2012 10:12:16 -0500

Sun shines, trees blossom.

Kate paints and goes to yoga.

No writing today.

Return to You...

Tue, 17 Apr 2012 17:08:16 -0500

...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

Tue, 10 Apr 2012 13:21:08 -0500

"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!

Tue, 03 Apr 2012 15:24:58 -0500

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!

Tue, 27 Mar 2012 22:17:21 -0500

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

Tue, 20 Mar 2012 17:54:37 -0500

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

Tue, 13 Mar 2012 17:45:53 -0500

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.

More Dead Bodies

Tue, 06 Mar 2012 20:51:43 -0600

Sunday morning, my friend Dawn and I were walking along the Marina, discussing Very Important Things¹, when we noticed a lot of police and spectators hanging around the edge of the water. They were all looking into the edge of the bay by the City Yachts docks.

"What do you think is going on?" Dawn asked me.

"They found a dead body." I pointed at the men putting on scuba gear. "They're about to dive to fish it out."

"That doesn't explain the enormous tow truck that's pulled up to the edge."

"Unless the dead body is in a submerged cargo crate," I replied.

Dawn rolled her eyes. "Why don't you write mystery again?"

"Beats me. Hold on, I want to talk to that cop." I walked up to the yellow police tape and waved an officer over. "I was curious what's going on, sir²."

"It's a Father of the Year story, really." He jabbed his thumb at the parking lot behind him. "A man decided to show his son how to do donuts at three in the morning and drove his car into the bay."

Dawn, being a kind and caring soul³, gasped. "Are they okay?"

"Yes," the police officer assured us. "The man is safe in jail."

We thanked the policeman and continued on our walk. "That was a pretty good story," Dawn said to me.

I nodded. "The only way it could have been better was if they found a corpse in the trunk."

¹ Like hot men.
² It's not advisable to walk up to a policeman and start asking him about dead bodies. Trust me on this.
³ Unlike me. I snickered.

I See Dead People

Tue, 28 Feb 2012 16:33:56 -0600

Lately I’ve been seeing a lot of people hauling dead bodies into their cars and whatnot.

A book about bad boys and Nutella lattes. Nary a corpse in sight.

I’ve always been prone to, shall we say, fanciful daydreams. When I’m at home alone, I can hear a strange noise and turn it into a platoon of ninjas sneaking in. I’ll see a pillow out of place and wonder who came and took a nap on our couch.

But that’s always been at home in solitude. The past few weeks I’ve noticed a lot of suspicious activity in my neighborhood. For example, the other morning I saw a woman wrestling an awkward bundle into the trunk of her Volvo. A rug, or her husband’s remains? Dubious if you ask me.

So I began to pay closer attention to things around me, and I discovered a trend of sorts. A nondescript white man sitting in front of the café, eyeing all the patrons as they entered as though looking for his next victim. A woman throwing away several bulky white trash bags in a city trashcan right before a sanitation team came to haul it off… Need I say more?

Part of me wants to blame my friend JB Lynn. She sees dead bodies everywhere. For her, it’s a good thing, because she writes crime stuff. Her latest book is about an insurance claims rep turned hitwoman.

For me, not so great. I write happy, sexy things. Like CLOSE TO YOU, in which the bad guy posts bad Yelp reviews about the heroine’s café. See what I mean? Seeing corpses everywhere isn’t so useful in a story like that.

But maybe I’ll channel it into something*. A new story perhaps—something different. Or perhaps the fourth Guardian book.

What sort of story would you like to read? Frothy and fun, or deadly and dangerous?

* Note to my Magic Man: don’t worry, baby. I’m not going to plot to kill you. Really.

In Which Ms. Perry Claims Indisposition

Tue, 21 Feb 2012 17:37:25 -0600

I cannot write a blog today. I have other things that I simply must attend to¹.

What could possibly be more important than the blog? you cry.

Nothing, quite frankly. You're brilliant to realize that this blog is all life is about.

However, sometimes there are niggly things that require one's attention. Edits, for one, because I know you're waiting for the next book in the Laurel Heights series, after PERFECT FOR YOU. Laundry, also, although having one's beloved run out of underwear isn't necessarily a bad thing.

Ahem.

There are also social engagments, books to be read, letters to be written, and cupcakes to be eaten.

Yes—cupcakes. Way more important than writing a blog post.

My happy place.

The problem: sometimes as much as you want to eat a cupcake, there isn't one in your home, requiring a trip to the cupcake shop. If you're fortunate, there's one just four blocks away from your doorstep and your need can be satisfied as quickly as you can say "Chocolate Fleur de Sel cupcake, please!"

I'm indeed fortunate.

¹ I've been reading a Victorian fantasy series, so I may talk rather British and/or like I'm bound in a corset and carrying a parasol.

Popping the Noitseuq

Tue, 14 Feb 2012 15:20:05 -0600

It was a few hours into the USA Sevens Rugby match when suddenly my Magic Man stood up and said in a circus barker's voice, "Come on, guys, let's go down to the sideline and take a group picture."

His rugby teammates¹ all jumped up eagerly. I, however, shook my head. I'd just gotten back to my seat after a harrowing forty-five minute ordeal to get beverages. I didn't want to go anywhere, especially into the fray that lined the side of the pitch. "I'll stay here."

"No, you need to come to take the picture," my beloved insisted. "Really."

"You can get someone in the crowd down there to take it," I said mostly amicably. "I'm going to stay here and enjoy my Guinness."

The men exchanged looks. Porno Dave, a particularly virile rugby player wearing a long blond wig and fur vest, leaned in and said, "You really should come down too. Trust me."

"No." I shook my head. "I want to stay here."

Another more mildly dressed man in a fedora and bow tie said, "It seems really important to him. Maybe you should go."

I turned to my love. His dear face looked so exasperated, even framed with the Elvis outfit he was wearing². So I sighed. "Fine, but just a for moment."

We all shuffled down the bleachers into a seething crowd of rugby fans. We reached a group of men dressed as clowns, captains-minus-the-Tenilles, and crusading knights³. My love handed me his phone and I started taking pictures of the ensuing melee. If you looked up "chaos" in the dictionary, there'd be a video of the men getting into formation for the photo. Some of them had signs that they'd alternating stick into the air.

I saw a "Y" come up. What did that mean? I shrugged and took a picture.

By the time I'd taken twenty, my Magic Man finally turned around. "Get the signs," he told me, waving his arms.

"I can't. You keep moving in front of them."

"Just get them," he insisted, his voice raising.

"I can't if you keep blocking them," I snapped back.

Our friend Jackie touched my shoulder. "Put the camera down and look at the signs."

Heaving a huff of impatience, I lowered the phone and read aloud. "E-M-Y-R-R... What the heck does it mean? Is it some sort of rugby code?"

I could hear the eye-roll in Jackie's voice. "Start from the other end."

I looked right to left. M-A-R-R-Y-M-E. I blinked, and then I looked at my beloved, who held up a piece of paper that said For real this time.

And I started to laugh.

Then my Elvis pulled out a ring box and the ring went flying into the stands.

A mad dash ensued, where a dozen rugby players scrounged through discarded beer cans for my engagement ring. "That's not a good sign," one man mumbled.

"Actually, if you knew them, you'd know how perfect it is," one of our friends replied to him.

It really was, and I laughed some more as my Elvis held up the ring triumphantly.

I said yes, of course. Who could deny a man in an Elvis jumpsuit?

¹ Their team is called Speed Freak Clowns on Acid. Interpret that as you will.

² Complete with cape, of course.

³ No, I have no idea what the knights were about. Rugby dudes are a diverse and interesting bunch.

Five Books I Wish I'd Written

Tue, 07 Feb 2012 16:56:51 -0600

1. The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern

When I started reading it, I had no idea what to expect. Actually, I didn't really know what to expect all the way to the end, which is amazing given I can usually figure out how a story will end within a few pages. I'm an author—that's what we do.

That's not why I envy Erin Morgenstern her book though—not entirely anyway. She created this magical world of black and white, of fire and ice, with splashes of color and flavor that was beautiful. For a few days I lived in that world, and it was glorious. I was sad when it was over.

2. The Bible

Okay, I admit that this is on my list purely for mercenary reasons. It's been a bestseller FOREVER. Can you blame me for being just a touch envious?

3. The Lymond Chronicles by Dorothy Dunnett

Yes, I'm naming the entire series. I couldn't pick one book—they're all awesome.

Picture Europe, the 16th century. Stir in political unrest. Add one unpredictable rake. Yield: a brilliant series. Lymond is dangerous and genius and irresistible. He's a rogue incarnate.

But aside from the excellent character Dunnett created in Lymond, it's the story itself that's so incredibly well-done. It twists and unwinds with a subtly that's amazing to behold. All the characters are excellent and three-dimensional, and the language is beautiful.

You'll love it. Trust me.

Admittedly, the Lymond books aren't for everyone: there language is difficult to unravel at first, and she uses a fair amount of Gaelic, Old English, and Old French. But if you can make it through the first hundred pages you'll find yourself hooked.

4. Perfect for You

Oh, wait—I did write this one.

5. Garden Spells by Sarah Addison Allen

If her writing were a scent, it'd be magnolias on a summer's night. What I love the most is the way she weaves the slightest hint of magic into her characters and story, enough to give spice but not so much so that it weighs everything down. Absolutely lovely.

Your turn.

Do you have books you wish you'd written? Or simply books you've loved?

Interlude

Tue, 31 Jan 2012 12:03:35 -0600

Kate sipped at her latte, staring out the window. The sun reflected off the building across the street, blinding her. She enjoyed the brilliance for eleven seconds (she counted) before turning and looking in the other direction.

That young woman was at the café, like usual. She came every day—she and the café owner were involved in a romance. Or so it seemed to Kate. Their body language gave them away. This afternoon, she had her cute little boy with her.

Kate smiled at the little boy, who made faces at her as he ate a croissant and swung his feet, and then returned her attention to her computer. She had a blog to hatch.

She began to type, but then deleted the words. She tapped out some more words. Pausing, she looked at them, lips pursed. After a moment, she shook her head and deleted them too.

The man across from her leaned into her field of vision. "Are you okay?"

She blinked at him. "Don't I look okay?"

"You look like you're in pain."

She thought about that for four seconds (she counted that too) before nodding. "That's a fair assessment."

"Are you doing homework?"

"I didn't do homework when I was in school. Why would I do it now?"

"I don't know. You look studious."

Kate pointed at his laptop. "Are you doing homework?"

"I'm on Facebook. Is that what you're doing?"

"No, I'm working."

"What are you working on?"

"Why all these questions?" she countered suspiciously.

"I'm doing a survey of what people do in cafés."

"Liar."

"It could be true." He shrugged. "Are you going to tell me what you do?"

"I'm a romance author."

"Liar." His brow furrowed. "Wait. Are you lying?"

"It could be true." She shot him a Mona Lisa smile and returned to her blog. She knew exactly what she was going to write about now.

Pendleton, Oregon

Tue, 24 Jan 2012 15:05:30 -0600

The Magic Man and I made a trip up north to Pendleton, Orgeon. My man had business up there, and I tagged along to keep him in line. I make an excellent chaperon.

My summation of Pendleton: it's weird.

The town is famous for its Pendleton wool shirts and blankets as well as whiskey. Mostly it revolves around a rodeo, called the Round Up, that happens every year. They live for those four days at the end of summer. Aside from the Round Up, not much happens in town except drinking, as far as I could tell. And why not, when beer is only $2.50 a pint?

The migratory habits of the average Pendletonian bar hopper is fascinating. They travel in packs, running en masse from one bar to the next. One second a bar is completely filled with people, the next they're all stampeding out the door and down the street to the next one. My Magic Man and I tried to run with the pack but they saw through our disguises and culled us.

Freezing.

It was icy and cold in Pendleton. I'm a tropical bird, not a penguin. Ice and Kate do not mix. End of story.

Writing.

I went to the only coffee shop in town to write for a couple hours and landed smack in the middle of the regulars. Coffee shop regulars are always awesome AND they provide good fodder for characters. One day when one of my heroines says "I should have stayed with him, because then we could have grown old and resentful together" you'll know it was from my brief trip to this Oregonian cow town.

Dear Kate.

The Magic Man and I were taking a post-dinner, freezing stroll down Main Street when suddenly a young woman called out to us, asking us to keep her company. One thing led to another, and suddenly she was crying on my shoulder, lamenting about her cheating ex-fiancé and how she was never going to find anyone who appreciated her for who she was and how she hated the town. She wailed, "I don't want to be here anymore!"

So I said, "Then leave."

She stopped sobbing and blinked. "What?"

"Leave." I shrugged. "Go someplace else for a while. You can always come back."

"That's the best advice anyone's ever given me!" She threw her arms around me and clutched me tight. When she let go (finally), she said, "You remind me of Cameron Diaz in The Holiday."

Needless to say, I'm thinking of starting an advice column. My working title: Buck Up and Deal, Plus Other Words of Wisdom.

Your turn.

Tell me where your dream destination is and why. Go.

They Say It's Your Birthday

Tue, 17 Jan 2012 23:21:21 -0600

Not mine, but my sister's, and to help her celebrate I flew my ass to New York for an epic week of celebration that involved drinking, eating, and playing skee-ball. There was also much dancing—on top of bars, tables, and various other surfaces.

I don't have pictures of any of that. Trust me—it's better that way.

But I do have a few from her actual birthday that you may enjoy viewing. Where better to start than with my sister and me?

Aren't we cute?

Like I said, it was her birthday. This is what 28 looks like, apparently:

Frankly, I don't remember my 28th birthday, but I'm pretty sure it didn't look this aggressive.

For her birthday, I really wanted to have a Crif Dog. Being a good sport and loving sister, she acquiesced to my desire. I ordered a hot dog wrapped in bacon, with cream cheese, green onions, and hot sauce. I was VERY excited about it.

The hot dog was frickin' amazing. I would have gotten another one, but my sister pointed out that we didn't have time in our schedule for a triple bypass. Next time.

After hot dogs, I took my sister for a trip to the moon.

She rocks the space suit. You should see her hop along the lunar landscape.

The week also included other fun, non-birthday related events. Dinner with my Magic Man's family and lunch with friends, most notably JB Lynn. Usually when I have lunch with JB, there's at least one sighting of a murdered body (suspense authors see corpses everywhere). This time, not so. It was strange. I did, however, almost get arrested while I waited for her, so that's something.

If you were going to celebrate your birthday for a week (and I highly recommend that you do), what sort of activities would you include?

Leaving on a Jet Plane

Tue, 10 Jan 2012 17:09:37 -0600

I'm on the airplane, headed to New York.

The in-flight movie is Dolphin Tales. I haven't been watching, but I just tuned in for one scene. What's the world coming to when Morgan Freeman makes prosthetics for sea mammals?

The woman across the aisle from me plays solitaire on her iPad. She's tall and blond and Spanish, dressed in head-to-toe black. Stunning, really. I wonder who she is, what she does, and where she's going. She looks like a Bond heroine. She's making notes on a napkin with a blue ballpoint pen.

There's an empty seat separating me from the woman sharing my row. Good thing—she just had a sneezing fit. She's also on her iPad. Her nails are painted a gunmetal blue and she's wearing a black and gray striped sweater that matches the socks I have on. I want to offer them to her to complete her outfit but she doesn't look like she'd appreciate the thought.

A child screams, pulling me out of my train of thought. I turn my music up, and Marvin Gaye urges me to get it on. In my mind's eye, I picture my Magic Man serenading me, his gyrating hips giving Elvis a run for his money.

My companion for this trip is Whistler, the new Kindle Santa brought me. He's loaded with over a hundred books. It's a giddy thing, having so many books available at a whim.

I have to admit, though, it's not like holding pages in your hands. Whistler doesn't curl up with me the same way a ratty paperback does. He's not as warm or soft, and he doesn't smell pulpy or like mildew. Still, it's the wave of the future, and I'm hopping on. I've started releasing new digital books for you to enjoy, hopefully one every few weeks.

The latest: Perfect for You.

It's fitting that Perfect for You is out this week. It's my sister's birthday week, and it's her favorite story of everything I've ever written. She's been pestering me to publish it for years.

So here it is. Read an excerpt. Buy the book for your Kindle or Nook.

I'm going back to the Lee Childs book I'm reading on Whistler. Happy trails.

Auld Lang Syne

Tue, 03 Jan 2012 20:11:05 -0600

Have you ever heard anyone sing Auld Lang Syne? I don't mean in a movie or on the radio, but in real life. Like you were at a party, and at the stroke of midnight on New Years the crowd broke out in the song.

I never have, and I've heard a lot of things in my lifetime. Not saying that it doesn't happen. Maybe I'm not hanging out in the right places. Maybe it's not a California thing but is totally sung in Kansas. I don't know.

Why do I care? Shrug. I was just wondering. My Magic Man's insane curiosity is probably rubbing off on me.

Anyway...

It's the Year of of the Dragon, yo! Energy and spirit rule this year.

Do I really believe in the Chinese zodiac? I shrug again and say, "Meh." But that doesn't mean we can't decide take the fire of the dragon and apply it to life. I'm making that my main goal this year: I will approach things with passion. Instead of coasting casually, I'm going to attack what I do with enthusiasm and intensity. My writing, my workouts—heck, even hanging out with friends.

But I have other, more succinct goals as well. Five, to be exact.

1. Write a letter.

A real letter—by hand. When I was a kid I wrote letters with a ferocity that would have intimidated a Victorian. Then email came along... I don't remember the last time I actually penned a letter to someone. But I have cute cupcake stationary, and I'm going to physically handwrite a few letters this year.

2. Take more pictures.

I begged my sister to borrow her digital SLR, but it's been collecting dust on the floor next to my work chair for months. It's time to break it out and start taking photos. You get a different perspective on things from behind the lens.

Yes, I'll probably subject you guys to more picto-blogs. Be forewarned.

3. Sing more often in French.

It just makes me happy.

4. Wear my tutu more often.

I can't remember the last time I wore my tutu. What's that about? Clearly I need to reorganize my priorities and get in touch with what's important once again.

5. Take an art class, even one online.

I can't remember the last time I painted either. I have incentive too—my Magic Man gave me the most awesome art kit for Christmas. I'm going to learn a new technique or two, try my new oil pastels, maybe even sketch a thing or two.

What sort of new things are you going to try this year? What do you want to do more of? What are you going to attack with fire and passion?

Kate Perry's Blog

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.

2. Dragons.

3. Dusting.

4. Herpes.

5. Mitt Romney.

And you?

Let Me Eat Cake!

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.

In the meantime...

The rhythm is gonna get you.

I just read a great book!

Haiku Tuesday

Return to You...

Easter with Edgar

Tragedy Strikes!

Free!

The Rest of the Story

Play with Me

More Dead Bodies

¹ Like hot men.² It's not advisable to walk up to a policeman and start asking him about dead bodies. Trust me on this.³ Unlike me. I snickered.

I See Dead People

In Which Ms. Perry Claims Indisposition

Popping the Noitseuq

Five Books I Wish I'd Written

1. The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern

2. The Bible

3. The Lymond Chronicles by Dorothy Dunnett

4. Perfect for You

5. Garden Spells by Sarah Addison Allen

Your turn.

Interlude

Pendleton, Oregon

Freezing.

Writing.

Dear Kate.

Your turn.

They Say It's Your Birthday

Leaving on a Jet Plane

Auld Lang Syne

1. Write a letter.

2. Take more pictures.

3. Sing more often in French.

4. Wear my tutu more often.

5. Take an art class, even one online.

1. Cupcakes.
I'm not blogging about PERFECT FOR YOU either. I will say it's the perfect substitute for cupcakes though. Modestly speaking.

Shhh...
RETURN TO YOU, a Laurel Heights Novel. It's a delicious read about chocolate and its many uses. Wink, wink.

¹ Like hot men.
² It's not advisable to walk up to a policeman and start asking him about dead bodies. Trust me on this.
³ Unlike me. I snickered.