Katie bonus

I gave you a bonus Cooper scene last week. So here's a bonus Katie scene for this week...enjoy!

This takes place after Katie throws back her last shot in Chapter 2...

(May contain minor spoilers if you haven't read past chapter 2...you've been warned!)

The song had ended, and as I struggled to put the microphone back on the stand, I realized the crowd was giving me a standing ovation.  Of course, almost everyone was already standing by the bar.  No matter…I felt popular.

With a quick peek at my table, I tucked my hair behind my ears. Cooper was still there, wedged between June and Vicky. He had his head thrown back, laughing at something Vicky said, no doubt. My eyebrows pulled together in a tight furrow and my bottom lip pushed out on its own. She was flirting with him…the bitch. 

With a sudden determination, fueled by what could only be jealousy, I pushed my way through the thick crowd of people surrounding the bar, desperate to reach Cooper before Vicky dragged him into the night to have her wicked way with him. I teetered on my heels as the champagne and those four—or was it five shots I drank—finally caught up to me.  The closer I got, the more my head spun, and I couldn’t feel the tip of my nose anymore. 

Focus, Katie! 

I gave my head a little shake, which in hindsight was probably not the best idea. It did the opposite of my intention, making the room spin faster as I attempted to weave through the sea of people without much luck.

A crowd had formed around a pair of tattooed guys in black tees as they locked their elbows and joined hands to arm wrestle at their high top table. Someone brushed by me and touched my butt—more like grabbed it and squeezed with both hands—making me spin around with a squeal. When I turned back, I bumped into a large sweaty body planted between me and the only open path to my table. 

“You were great!” he slurred, gulping a mouth full of margarita straight from the pitcher. “How about you come home with me tonight and sing into my microphone?” 

Gross! “Um…I really need to get through so I can rejoin my friends.”  I pointed to my friends across the room, using the pathetic girl face I’d mastered, strictly for emergencies.

This guy was apparently immune to it. “Can’t I be your friend?”  He leaned in way too far and put a grubby hand on my back. 

I decided then and there I didn’t need any new friends.  What was so great about friends anyway?  Six was plenty.  I stepped backwards just a little too quickly and wobbled for a second before falling into the lap of a man sitting at the bar. 

Did I say lap?  Well, not really into his lap, per se.  The guy was sitting on a bar stool so it was more like falling between his legs and against his crotch. I counted the seconds as I worked to extract myself from this excruciatingly awkward position. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t seem to right myself.  Some romance heroine I would be.  I couldn’t even manage to stay upright walking across a room.

The stranger seemed to enjoy every second I spent with the back of my head pressed against his chest and my hips caught between his muscled thighs.

“Um, could you help me?”  I tried to laugh at my predicament, but I could feel something thick and hard rubbing against my backside and I was pretty sure it wasn’t a flashlight.  

“I’m perfectly happy with the way things are.”  He laughed, giving a little wiggle of his hips to punctuate the sentiment, shifting the air until a heavy waft of his cologne burned my nose.

A flash of fear sent chills up my spine. He had no intention of letting me go just yet.  This was it. I knew it. I was about to be raped and murdered by a man who wore Old Spice.

Just then, a large hand slid across my shoulder hauling me upright.

“Fun’s over buddy,” Cooper growled. He gripped each of my arms, turning me to face him.  “Are you ok, Kate?” 

I nodded, too close to tears to say anything. 

“Ok, come on. Let’s get back to the table.”  His voice softened and his arm tucked around my waist as he steered me through the throng.

“You were so brave,” I finally choked out.

“Brave, huh?”  He chuckled as we slid into the booth.

“Did you see Cooper rescue me from the drunk at the bar?”  I blurted.

“Honey, I think you’re the drunken one.”  Silvia flashed her smug grin again and winked at Cooper. 

“I am not drunk.”  I rolled my eyes and tried to laugh it off.  I may not have a lot of experience with alcohol, but I figured it was safe to say I was pretty drunk. I couldn’t feel my nose or my fingertips anymore. I leaned my head back against the seat and closed my eyes. Everything went a little fuzzy before fading completely to black.

no rest for the weary

While my world tour approaches the end and my book soaks up all forms of publicity, I should be using my down time to rest up. I should grab a nap where I can, right? Not...oh...writing another book. But that's exactly what I'm doing.

I'm working on a new book, and I just signed a contract for my next book to come out next spring. There's just no rest for weary. You have to strike when the iron's hot. Can't let the moss grow between your toes. What other cliche's can I quote?

Ok, cliche's aside...I'm simply trying to keep the momentum moving forward. So once the promotion for To Katie With Love slows down, I'll be back doing edits for Suddenly Sorceress, and writing another book in between.

But in my haste to keep writing and working, I have to squeeze in time for my family. The IDP (imaginary dead president, AKA Mr. Lincoln) likes me to have down days where I simply do nothing (other than dishes, laundry and dinner). It's not easy working full time in pajamas, you know.

I guess I'm stuck quoting Ferris Bueller..."Life moves pretty fast, if you don't stop and look around once in a while, you might miss it."

And I'm not planning on missing anything.

Until the next time...I'll be finishing the blog tour!

the world tour continues

Well, it's been a busy two weeks. My book came out, the blog tour started, and I've been featured on different blogs every day. I hope you've stopped by to visit the tour stops along the way, and you've entered the prize giveaway too.  I don't have much to say today, other than check out the stops on the tour for some really fun guest posts, interviews and book reviews for To Katie With Love.

Click to visit The Katie Tour

spring, we meet again.

This has been the strangest spring I've encountered since the year Star Wars hit the big screen. Of course, when I say strange, I'm not referring to Stormtroopers or Death Stars. I'm talking about the weather.

I am completely convinced someone has a weather machine and they're messing with us...and laughing. One day it's cold, the next it's hot. Today, it's only 57 degrees out. The low is expected to be 37 tonight. Then tomorrow, it's supposed to be almost 80. It's no wonder I'm sick with fluctuations like that. And then there's the rain. Rain. Rain. Rain. So much for drought this year. The river is swollen and ready to pop. The weeds are growing like...well, like weeds. And I hear it's still snowing up north. This just can't be right, can it?

I suppose I shouldn't complain. That just means it'll be a while before air conditioning is mandatory. And I must admit. I'm not a huge fan of the blistering heat. I guess I'll have to deal with the erratic spring weather, alternating between being wrapped in a parka and sweating to death.

Now I just need to figure out if there's a way I can spin this so the groundhog is to blame. I mean, we haven't blamed him for anything in months. It's about time, don't you think?

Until the next time...I'll be trying to decide what to wear.

to moms everywhere

Mom on a toy horse

Once upon a time, I decided that for Mother’s Day, I would dredge up some amusing story about my mother to share with everyone (including her.)  Something that would bring laughter, and maybe a few tears.  But as I combed my brain for all the funny moments that would be appropriate (as in wouldn’t get me in big trouble with Mom) I came to the realization that there are just far too many stories to tell.  I decided it might be fun to just mash them together and pull out a few special moments from my childhood.  And then I decided I’d repost it every year and add just one more to the list.

So here goes…

Dear Mom,

Thank you for teaching me why it is bad to put a cat into the washing machine. (Especially when it is full of hot soapy water and cloth diapers.)

Thank you for putting the marshmallow peeps and black jelly beans in my Easter basket every year to keep me from eating too much candy! And thank you for eating all of the candy I didn’t like so it didn’t go to waste.

Thank you for learning how to sew so you could make my clothes for me when I was little.  And thank you for using the rick rack trim because it still makes me laugh to say that.

Thank you for cutting my hair when I was little.  And thank you for taking pictures of me with the terrible haircuts so I can prove how bad they really were.

Thank you for always making my birthday a special day all on its own, even though it falls just a few days after Christmas.

Thank you for never making me eat liver and onions even though it was your favorite.

Thank you for watching the Wizard of Oz with me every year, even though you were afraid of the wicked witch.

Thank you for letting me believe in Santa Claus long past the age most kids did. And then letting me help you keep the secret from my younger sister so I could pretend for just a few more years.

Thank you for eating the pickles in my McDonald’s hamburgers because you knew I didn’t like them, even though you didn’t like them either.

Thank you for teaching me how to bandage a wound using toilet paper and scotch tape. (I still use this invaluable method to this day.)

Thank you for knowing how to bake everything from scratch even though you don’t like to cook.

Thank you for making sure I had the best Halloween costume every year. And thank you for teaching me that sometimes the best costume is the one you made from scratch.

Thank you for teaching me that it’s ok to like younger men.

Thank you for teaching me that you don’t have to be a good dancer to have a whole lot of fun doing it. (Same goes for karaoke…but thank you for not giving me your singing genes.)

Thank you for going to karaoke with me, and thank you for getting up there to sing just so we could laugh at your singing.

Thank you for making sure I knew at a very young age that it was ok to draw pictures of my parents, but only if they were wearing clothes.

Thank you for introducing me to the music of Elvis Presley and the Jackson 5.

Thank you for letting me make my own mistakes sometimes, even though you could have stopped me.

Thank you for teaching me how to back up the car. (Oh wait, never mind, that was Dad.)

Thank you for showing me that it’s perfectly ok to send your eggs back (in a restaurant) until they get them right. Even if they never really get them right.

Thank you for telling the very best dirty jokes.

Thank you for cheating at board games to remind us that life isn’t always fair.

Thank you for being a nurse so I have someone to call at two in the morning when I think something is terribly wrong with me, and thank you for telling me it’s probably just gas.

Thank you for knowing how to draw blood so you could tell the nurses how to do it when it was my turn to have blood taken.

Thank you for being strong enough to survive the things that would have killed weaker people.  And thank you for flipping the bird at us while you were on a ventilator so we could find some humor in a scary situation.

Thank you for teaching me that being a good mother doesn’t always mean being a perfect mother, and some mistakes can be happy accidents.

To all you mothers out there…have a Happy Mother’s Day!

Cooper speaks...

Over the course of the past week, I've had several people tell me how much they love Cooper Maxwell, the mysterious love interest in my newly released book, To Katie With Love. So much so, it was suggested I go dig up a few deleted scenes from my first round of editing. Stuff I couldn't bear to throw out, but for whatever reason, didn't make the final cut. And there's a lot of it. Over twenty thousand words worth. So on that note, I've decided to give you a scene written from Cooper's POV.

This scene originally came in between I Think I'll Have Just One More, and Those Were Magnificent Sheets.

Enjoy!

Cooper leaned in and listened to Katie breathing in and out.  “You’re not drunk, huh?  I think it’s about time someone drove you home.” 

“That’s a wonderful idea, Cooper.  You should definitely drive her home.  June, Vicky, and I are heading in the opposite direction.”  Silvia was already sliding out of the booth pushing June and Vicky ahead of her.  June started to protest, but Silvia poked her in the shoulder and kept moving.  “It’s so nice of you to offer.”  With a wave the three of them made a beeline to the exit. 

“How do they do that?” Phil shook his head.  “I guess I should be heading out myself.  My wife will be waiting up for me.”  He polished off the rest of his pitcher in one long swallow. “You know, I could pretend to offer to take her myself, but we both know you’d rather do it.  Just don’t forget her keys and her purse.”  Phil tossed a set of keys onto the table in front of him and was out of the booth in a flash, leaving Cooper and a very passed out Katie alone at the table.       

“Kate can you hear me?”  Cooper leaned in to her ear and spoke softly.

“Mmmm?”  She groaned, and he felt a tug deep inside.  It was a sound he would have sold a kidney to hear out of this woman, but not when she was half passed out drunk.

“Kate?  Can you get up?”  He took her by the elbow to guide her out of the booth.  She leaned in to him, nestling her face into his neck and proceeded to make that sexy groaning sound again.

Cooper felt the last of his resolve slipping away.  “Get a grip Maxwell, she’s drunk.” 

“Not drunk.  Only had foorf drinks.  Just soooo sleepy.” Katie murmured without opening her eyes.

“Foorf?  Kate, honey.  What is foorf?”  He struggled to hold her upright as he led her to the exit.

“Four…or five,” she slurred a little more clearly, and put three fingers in the air.  “Oh, and champagne.  Didn’t like the bubbles.”    

“You drank four or five drinks?" Cooper's eyebrows shot up. "I thought you didn’t drink?” 

“Nope. Don't drink.”  She pivoted herself until her breasts pressed against his chest and wrapped her arms around his neck.  “You smell nice.  All pepperminty,” she whispered just before her body went limp. 

Cooper scooped her up in his arms and carried her out the door into the icy January evening.  He carefully loaded her into the passenger seat of his BMW, checking to be sure she was still breathing.  Once he had her buckled in, he rubbed his large hands across his face and stood back to look at her. 

God, she was beautiful. 

Her dark silky hair had fallen across her face and her lips were pouted out the way he'd noticed she did when frustrated.  Her breasts stretched the sheer fabric of the shirt so he could see the silk and lace beneath, and her skirt had hiked up higher on her thighs giving him a better view of…

Stop!

She was his banker, and she was passed out cold in his car.  He was just going to get her home safely then go. 

If only he knew where she lived.

Get To Katie With Love on Amazon.com and BN.com

If I get enough comments, I might be inclined to post another deleted scene next week!

live to blog another day

Well, I made it. No pine box for me today. Oh, it was touch and go there for a while. I mean, if I'd kept up the whining for much longer, I'm pretty certain Mr. Lincoln (you know...IDP?) yeah, he was gonna do me in. But I woke up today feeling less crappy than the day before, so I let my daughter drag me out into the real world...the scary part with shopping malls and freeways...and now I feel sort of ok. Not fabulous quite yet, but let's face it, I was only sick for under a week. I should have a few more days of mild bitching before I have to hang it up and be hunky dory again.

As a side note...does anyone actually say "hunky dory" anymore? I have no idea where I came up with that one. Must be residual delirium from the fever. But no matter, I'm feeling better, and that's surely earned me a few outdated phrases.

On the down side of feeling better, I think I've also earned myself a date with a mop and a broom. My house is looking a whole lot worse for the wear, and I can't claim a near death experience to get myself out of it tomorrow. Oh well...I had it good for a few days. And on the upside...I wasn't hungry for at least four days, so surely I've lost a few pounds, right? And I was coughing so hard I feel like I've done at least a thousand stomach crunches, so my abs should be in tip top shape!

You know, having a wicked cold gets a bad rap, but it's really not all that bad. A few days of whining, ditching the household chores, involuntary weight loss, and accidental toning is nothing to sneeze at! Um...err...you know what I mean. I'm just saying, things are looking up. And as long as I was up, I figured I'd toss in a  new blog. It's a win-win situation if you ask me.

Until the next time...I'll be dancing through the dust with my brand new broom!

where's my juice?

Well, it's finally happened. The pigs have given me swine flu. I'm hacking and coughing. I can't breathe. I'm tortured with body aches and fever. I was plagued with strange dreams all night long...that is, when I slept. I'm not sure I'll survive til morning.

Or I just have a cold. Could go either way. I suppose I should err on the side of caution and stay in bed. Doing dishes and laundry is probably bad for a cold. I definitely shouldn't cook or clean...that stirs up dust. No, I should take it easy. Drink lots of juice. Keep a roll of toilet paper within arms reach at all times. Slather on the Vicks. Definitely, stay away from the pigs. Can't take any chances with lowered immunity.

If it weren't for the sneezing and runny nose, the headache and sore throat, the chills and lack of appetite (I'm not even craving chocolate!) I'd say this was just like any other day. But it's not. So I'm heading back to bed.

Until the next time...I'll be dreaming up my next blog post!

so much for may flowers

Isn't the saying supposed to be, "April showers bring May flowers?"

Well, I think someone up there must be playing tricks on me because we've been inundated with May showers ever since it officially became May. And despite the IDP's tendency to say I embellish, when I say inundated, I'm not exaggerating. The nearby river is so high, if someone pees in it, it's going to flood the town! And if the town floods, we might not have electricity. And that would totally suck for lots of reasons.

And speaking of sucking in the rain...

Why does my dog have to like getting wet? I know, dogs are like men...they dig playing in the mud, rolling around in it, staring off into space while it soaks into their coats. But why Indiana? Joey (our other dog) backs away from the door if it's raining. He wants NO part of wet feet. Indy seems to look forward to rainy days. He went out today and plopped down in the grass to hang out with the chickens...all the while it was pouring on him and he refused to come in. And when he does come in, it's my job to dry him off. That's when he has me do my very best matador impression while he plays the bull, running through the draped towel again and again until I'm as wet as he is. And when I finally give up trying to dry him, he climbs into my bed to sleep it off.

The sheets are in the wash at this very minute. I may get to sleep at some point tonight. Who am I kidding...I'll be awake all night long. And I'll be doing it without sheets. While I listen to the rain pattering against the roof. And the mice scampering through the walls. And the rooster crowing because he got in the pig paddock again and can't figure out how to get out. And the dog snoring since he's completely worn himself out from playing in the rain. And the buzz of the electricity flowing through (half) the house while it's still working. And maybe...just maybe...I'll be inspired to write about flowers blooming in May.

Because I've been waiting a long time for spring. I may as well enjoy it.

Until the next time...I'll be hoping the river doesn't flood!

Cabin Goddess with a side of moose

Welcome to the Weekly Guest Spotlight

Tonight’s guest is writer and Cabin Goddess, Kriss Morton. For more about Kriss, please click here for her website.

In honor of all the unseasonable snow in Alaska lately, I've decided to rerun this post from my pal Kriss. She had to school me on the fact that Alaska isn't always covered in snow. Although, since it actually has been fairly covered in snow, I think I still sorta win this round.  That's fair, right? Let's see what Kriss has to say...

I have been reading the antics of what I have crowned the Amityville Farm here on Erica’s site with a whole lot of amusement. I have had chickens and goats here at the cabin since moving in so I know part of what she is going and will be going through. I also have pigs that we keep and raise for slaughter but not here at the cabin. For the last few years I haven’t had anything because of the demands of school. The one thing I have had since moving here, is my container garden.

How can you live in Alaska without growing something, even if it is a basic pot full of basil! Each year my wine barrels and various containers yield a bounty of  things like lettuce, tomatoes, sweet peas, various peppers, potatoes, zucchini, tons of edible flowers and a lot of fresh herbs, all but the basil. Basil is a great plant, it is not a hardy plant, you need to grow the seedlings in the pot and baby that plant if you want them to grow into maturity. Once you have a plant to a certain point it grows and grows and as long as you pick the basil you will have enough to keep you smiling and your pad thai singing all summer long. My porch was the perfect place for basil. Not to hot, not to shady just the right amount of shade when needed.

I did not choose to live in a cabin without running water. It just happened back in 2005. We have cabin clusters in Fairbanks for many reasons, the main one is it is so expensive to live here and the cost of fuel is astronomical for heating it makes economic sense to not pay 1200 a month for a tiny one bedroom in crack alley. In fact, with the huge population of college students, just I was when my fiance Geoff and I rented the cabin, it was a logical step. In fact there is a badge of honor to say you were a cabin dweller. Most people would have moved by now, but not us we are just to cheap and lazy. Plus we like our cabin it is beautiful despite the fact there is no bathtub or water or indoor plumbing.

I may have to use an outhouse when it is -50 and shower at the laundromat, gym or the student union, but I could have fresh veggies without it costing us an arm and a leg. I had been growing small crops for years and doing container gardening so I was pretty up to speed and here in Alaska I knew I could really have a great thing going and help lower our food bill. The only thing I needed to remember is in Alaska one must always be wary of  placement of crops to minimize the wildlife eating them, mainly moose. Though I still go squee every time I see them I had already experienced them eating all my veggies but the tomatoes and herbs. So I made sure this time I placed the other stuff on the porch.

I was not worried about the herbs but with them being smaller plants and needing more light I had my herb garden anchored to the railing of my small porch. I had all the normal herbs transplanted from seedlings thriving in rectangle flower boxes, except for my lavender and my basil. They were in their own large pots in order to grow huge plus basil is a picky herb to grow. I was not worried about them being moose-safe because how was a moose suppose to get on the porch, right? Five open steep steps up and six down on the other side? Naaaa no worries at all.

Apparently a determined moose won’t let a bunch of steps and dexterity challenges deter him. In fact, if you have big antlers (the moose equivalent of having big cahoonas) you go anywhere you like! You survived the winter without the jackass up the road totaling his car and making you late to hang with the sexy cows and the herd why not treat yourself to some of the fresh food being grown on that unsuspecting hippie princesses front porch! Heck, she even had a HUGE pot of great looking basil, your favorite. The ladies would not be able to resist you! Wow look at those greens… oh and look zucchini, and sweet peas, and pansies, and … nom nom nom insert loud munching sound here and you have what I awoke too one afternoon while napping.

There was this rumbling, the cabin shook and it was getting dark. Oh god was it an earthquake? No wait that sounds like someone eating a salad with their mouth open, What the hell? I slowly got up and went to the window, it was bright and sunny on the side of the cabin. No one was running down the street being chased by a zombie horde. There was no fire off in the distance because the big one hit. The shadow and the noise seemed to be coming from the front porch. Damn it  a dog was out there and into my plants! Stomping over to the door ready to shoo it away with harsh language and possibly a stare down if it was one of those 200 lb tank dogs from up the road, I threw open the door and almost ran into a wall. This was no dog unless someone has been experimenting on campus with animal genetics. It was a wall of brown, a very tall wall covered in brown fur. It was a taller than my door wall of brown, with antlers which from the sound of things apparently to be partaking of a little salad for lunch via my garden. I had a moose and not just any moose but a bull who was over 9 feet tall with the antlers. GREAT there goes my garden, I guess I was wrong about those steps.

I quietly shut the door and swore. Sure the noise had woken me but the half-gallon of ice tea and my bladder were also to blame. I swore and  I paced talking to myself telling myself to be patient I could hold it and the moose would only get one crop it was summer I could grow more. I paced some more called Geoff to tell him and bitch because he would not believe it otherwise. I paced some more, called my mom to tell her the moose was eating my herb garden and chat about the drama at the golf club for an hour. I paced some more squeezing my legs together for another hour.. and moaned and groaned.

Pretty soon the noise stopped but shadow cast through my front door windows showed he was still out there. What was he doing, napping? Didn’t he know I needed to pee? I started yelling at him calling him all sorts of hurtful things. I cast curses in his direction, banging on the door only to have him make this deep chesty huff and shift his weight against the door making it groan. By then I was so desperate I was getting delusional and thought if the moose managed to get on my porch he could breech the door so I stopped. Plus I really needed to pee. You do NOT startle something that can take out an SUV and walk away unscathed. These guys, especially the bull moose, are not very approachable or friendly and even though he would not be able to charge me on the porch, I don’t think I could nudge him to get him off without him taking out the porch or me in the process, so I waited.

Remember how I said I do not have running water? Well we have a sink and under the sink is a bucket for the gray water (the water we do dishes with, wash up with, drain our pasta into and dump by the outhouse in a gray water pit.) When I became more lucid I realized I was going to pee my pants very soon, I have had five kids, the fortitude and staying power on my bladder was not going last much longer. I was giving a whole new meaning to the jazz hand combo pee-pee dance, in fact I am pretty sure I created a bunch of new steps and gestures and a few new swear words too. It was a work of art, but I did not care by three hours into the Great Moose Stand-off of 2005. I grabbed the bucket from under the seat, dumped some laundry soap in (no clue why but it sounded good at the time) using our toilet seat we keep in the house I put it over the bucket and I peed. I peed like a diabetic cat, I peed like a beer guzzling frat boy, oh god I peed and it was great. I was ready for the next three hours of the stand off.

Adjusting my tie dye, wiping the sweat off my brow and with an air of determination I stood up, moved the bucket back under the sink to be dumped when I was finally free to leave my abode and thats when I realized it. The roaring in my head while peeing was not in my head after all it was the noise of the @)$$)@)E moose walking off my porch backwards and moving to the next victims cabin. I grabbed the bucket and stomped out yelling at him expecting to see all my plants decimated to stubs, it had after all been over three hours of never ending munching and napping. But wait, my sweet peas were still climbing their trellis, my peppers still ripening on the vine…. my basil.. WAIT my BASIL the HUGE beautiful babied and nurtured basil was gone. Down to the roots, nothing left in or around that pot but a hoof print in a small pile of spilled dirt. Apparently moose really like basil.

Since then I have grown many a thing, raised many a chicken and survived the moose filled summers without another incident. What I has not happened is growing a potful of basil. I hear whispers from around the neighborhood of other basil eating incidents every summer. I wonder if is the same bull, or one of his calves. They still come to eat my trees and occasionally will sample the lettuce, but no one has ventured on my porch since that fateful day.

We have since gotten a compost/combustible toilet (burns it gone) and so we do not always have to go to the loo in the middle of the night in the middle of winter. I convinced Geoff we needed one after being emotionally and physically decimated from the Great Moose Stand-off of 2005. Maybe I can risk another pot of basil this year, Chicken wire this time? Perhaps surrounding it with my tomato plants? Surely it would be safe to try after seven years…naaa I will just buy it from those that do not have a basil thieving, hostage taking moose living in their neighborhood.

I was not always a writer and a book blogger. While finishing up my English and Journalism degree, I started my blog to talk about living in a dry cabin in Alaska. We had no internet here till late last summer so I did all my blogging via my iPhone, call it my own little social experiment. I had a serious blog that I had created for a class in social media. But what has become Cabin Goddess was a way to chat, show off my photography and stay in touch with friends in the lower 48.  Last summer I started eating better again, things slowed down with school wrapping up and I was able to start making my famous dishes and I blogged about them I became an aspiring foodie blogger. Sometime in the fall and early winter a bunch of aspiring indie authors found me and I discovered the world of book blogging. Today I write daily with my own book project, I post reviews of books I read and I still share my cooking even pairing it with a review for more fun, I still share my antics of cabin dwelling in the Interior of Alaska and share my photography and when I am not doing that I can be found cuddled on the couch with a crochet hood doing my zen crocheting. With a man, a cat, my kindle and a frying pan I always know I will get through the day, even if I cannot use fresh basil in my pasta sauce.

Thanks Kriss! Anyone who can get a moose and the word cahoonas in one post is welcome here any time!

Until the next time…I’ll be cooking up the next adventure at the Amityville farm!

the holiday tree

I've done some crazy things in my day. I've embarrassed myself in almost every way imaginable, sometimes just for the entertainment value it presents. But this time, I'm actually cringing as I type this. It's May third and I have yet to take down my Christmas tree. We're almost halfway between last Christmas and the next and my tree is still up and decorated.

In January, I blamed it on the flu. I was actually quite sick for several weeks, and I gave myself a free pass on the holiday clean up. The wreaths were all taken down and packed away. Porch decorations, outside lights...all back in their boxes and stored in the attic for next year. But the tree still sits in the corner, decorations as perfectly placed as the day I hung them. And as winter turned to spring, and spring creeps up on summer, I have absolutely no excuse.

I tried calling it a holiday tree...making the excuse that Valentine's Day deserved equal billing. And St. Patrick's Day should get some attention...and trees are green. It even seemed plausible to suggest Christmas ornaments look a lot like Easter eggs if you squint your eyes. But the truth is it's become a challenge I just can't face.

The artificial conifer taunts me from the corner with it's shiny balls and lights...lights that haven't been plugged in since the first of January.

But I'm going to do it. I feel like this month will be the month I actually put Christmas behind me once and for all. Or well, for a few months until I pull it back out again. Maybe I should just leave it up. It's only six more months til Thanksgiving. And that's just one step away from Christmas anyway. Besides, the 4th of July is coming, and Christmas trees sort of look like rockets...in the dark. And summertime is full of trees. What's one more?

Yeah...I think I've got this handled.

Until the next time...I'll be plotting more ways to keep my tree up.

I was groped by a tourist

A party just isn't complete until you've been groped by a tourist. That's what I always say. Ok, so I've never said that before, but it sort of fits, so I'm saying it now.

Last night when I went to my usual Tuesday karaoke night at the local watering hole, I was surprised to find my friends had gone all out, throwing me the party to beat all parties. And not just a party, but a color coded book launch party! Even the food was done to match the colors of my book cover. It was a To Katie With Love karaoke party.

I was treated to pink frosted cupcakes, cherry cheesecake, and pink cherry fudge. The mints were wrapped in black and white wrappers, and the napkins and paper plates were pink. They even had matching balloons and printed copies of my cover to decorate the table.

Rhonda (the party planner of the group) even scattered orchids around the table. Orchids that were quickly snatched up by my farmboy (IDP's weekend farm assistant, Mason) to decorate his person. A sight I just had to capture for posterity.

The first song on the repertoire last night was Etta James's  At Last, readers of the book may note this is the same song Katie sings when she takes her turn at the mic in To Katie With Love. I didn't sing it, but I was delighted that someone thought to do it.

We had a blast, singing and scarfing down sugary treats. I even had a lemon drop martini in honor of Katie's fall from grace at the hands of too much liquor. But before I knew it, it was time to go. And as we picked up the mess and packed up the treats I was approached by a group of middle aged men in town for business and taking in the sights. They wanted to congratulate me on my singing skills and beg me to come back for an encore the next night. Then the one guy went in for a hug. And you know (if you've been reading this blog for while) I don't do hugs. It's just not my thing. but there I was, getting a hug from a total stranger. A hug, and a very obvious grope.

I've got to admit, I was sort of flattered. Hey, it's not every day I get groped by strangers. Then the same guy went and groped Mason's ass too. I'm going to pretend it was because Mason was decked out in pink orchids and ribbon, and not because this drunk couldn't tell me from the eighteen year old boy standing next to me. I don't think my ego could take that.

Until the next time...I'll be finishing off the pink fudge before going back on my diet!

the world tour

How exactly does one embark on a worldwide book tour when flying is not an option? Oh, wait. You say you're wondering why flying isn't an option? Well, I'm sorry to have to be the one to tell you this (you obviously haven't been paying attention over the past few years) but I'm terrified to fly. Yep. I've said it. After years and years of flying without care, one day I woke up terrified. I haven't flown since 1998, and I'm not starting now. So how is it I'm starting my world tour tomorrow? It's all thanks to this wonderful little invention called, the internet.

Yes, my blog tour is starting tomorrow and runs through May 21st. There are thirty some odd stops along the way, and I'll be sharing those with you each day in hopes you'll stop by and visit. I'm doing interviews, guest posts, and getting reviewed by some of the best book review blogs around.

First stop tomorrow...an interview on KBoards. I'm excited. I can't wait to see how I answered his lightning fast questioning. Did I come off as being smart? Sassy? Confused? Well, we'll find out together tomorrow. I'm also being reviewed and interviewed on Jess's Book Blog tomorrow, and interviewed by Raine Thomas (click the pretty yellow text to link to those blogs...but not til May 1st.) I hope I fair well in the process. They're all wonderful writer/bloggers, so I'm sure they'll take good care of me.

I hope I can keep track of where I'm supposed to be and when. It's a long tour and a lot of stops along the way. And I have a book release party appropriately hosted by my favorite karaoke bar (for those of you who have started the book, you'll note that chapter one takes place in a karaoke bar.) I'll be sure to put up pictures tomorrow! And in case you haven't gotten your copy yet...well, here's a few links. Amazon.com for Kindle and paperback orders. BN.com for Nook and paperback orders. And Kobo if you prefer that.

Until the next time...I'll be basking in the glow until it's back to work tomorrow!

from a napkin to a book

Wow...it's really here. Today is the official release day for my book, To Katie With Love. I would have never guessed the scrawled out notes on a bar napkin would have actually brought me here. I'm not sure I have words to convey how exciting this is. And for those who don't write books for a living, it takes a really long time and a whole lot of effort to go from a bunch of words on a page to a published book.

To Katie With Love

By Erica Lucke Dean

You know that old saying, it takes a village? I know it wasn't used in this context, but it really does take a village to create a book. You start with a writer and an idea, and you go through edits and beta readers and more edits and proofreading and cover concepts and even more stuff I don't even know about because I was lucky enough to have a publisher do all that for me. A village.

Yet, I'm here to tell you, all the work is totally worth it when you see your words come to life in the form of a book. It's almost like having a baby...though slightly less painful, and way quieter, and never mind, it's nothing like having a baby. But it's still super exciting.

So today I official go from being an unpublished author to a published author. Now the fun part can begin as I set out to promote my book on a month long blog tour and as of yet unbooked live signings. And here I thought pigs were scary. Scary, exciting, life altering, amazing. I wrote a book and now people can go buy it. Who would have guessed?

Until the next time...I'll be promoting! 

Find To Katie With Love at these online retailers:

Amazon Paperback

Kindle

Barnes and Noble Paperback

Nook

I've never even been to Tangiers!

Weekly Guest Spotlight.

This week's guest is author Stephen Kozeniewski.

I first met Katie in Tangiers in 1948.  Wait, is Katie the character or the author?  Well, either way, we first met in Morocco.  Or was it Mombasa?  I don’t really remember.  The important things is…no wait, it was the internet.  Except in those days, the internet was a series of wax cylinders and it was known as “Victory Cabbage.”
 
After I met…Erica, that’s her name (right on the tip of my tongue, too)…I realized that we were both in the same boat.  It was a real boat, called the Reuben James, but that’s a story for another time.  The story for this time is when we were in the same proverbial boat.  We were both getting published this year, which I think I said earlier was ’48, but was actually this year, ’13.
 
So, when Erica first asked me to write a guest blog post, the first thing I did was, very naturally, to go through my old files to see if there was anything that would cost me zero effort to throw out there.  There was not.  Then I went through my own blog to see if there were any posts I could arrogate.  There were, but she asked me to write a fresh one.  So, here I am, minutes before the deadline, furiously beating on my keyboard, boats against the current, borne ceaselessly back into the past.
 
Then I thought to myself, “Self,” I thought, “You’re overweight.  Significantly.  You need to get off the god-damn couch, put this computer away for a couple of weeks, and take a walk around the block once in a while.  Maybe stop scarfing down your midnight Big Macs and put down that bottle of Old Crow that I know you drink every night, you sow!”
 
To which myself replied, “Go get stuffed, jerkola!  I’m the one who does all the work here!  You give me all the Big Macs I want!  In fact, right now, I want a Double Quarter Pounder with Double Cheese!”
 
After I got back from McDonald’s, an idea for a blog post occurred to me.  First, vamp for time with a lengthy, mostly nonsensical introduction.  Then, talk about how Erica and I both got published this year!  Brilliant!  And well worth the now critical blood pressure level.  Erica, of course, will be getting published before me, mostly because of all the bribes she passes around like candy.  (It gives whole new meaning to all those posts about chasing pigs when you realize all the real pork she’s greasing palms with.)  That aside, though, we both followed a very similar course to publication.
 
So, without further ado, here are the three steps to getting published.
 
STEP 1: MERCHANDISING!  MERCHANDISING!  MERCHANDISING!
 
It’s never too early to start thinking about this!  Most of your time as an unpublished (or “pre-published” if you’re a jagoff) author should be spent doing mockups of movie posters, lengthy revenue flow charts, purchasing bulk cotton t-shirts for heat pressing, planning tie-ins and crossovers with more popular properties, and writing awards speeches.  You should write SO MANY awards speeches.  First, write a speech specifically targeting each of the following: the Emmys, the Oscars, the Grammys, and the Cable Ace Awards.  Then, write an all-purpose speech combining the general gist of your last four speeches into one, just in case someone springs a surprise awards ceremony on you. 
 
This is also the step where you should be considering whether thetitle of your novel or textbook rhymes in any way with Mountain Dew (or can be easily inserted into Mountain Dew commercials.)  Go Tell It On the Mountain?  Clunky, but serviceable.  Mountain Stu?  Better.  Mountain Stu’s Extreme Carbonated Soft Drink-Fueled Adventure Series, Part 1: Maximum Hyperdrive?  “Pitch” perfect.  (That’s a little advertising humor for you.)
 
STEP 2: QUERYING
 
It is a well known and popular fact that query letter writing is a once-and-done process.  See, your subconscious mind knows what’s best before your conscious mind is ever aware of it.  That’s why, in multiple choice questions, if you’re ever not sure, your best bet is to select the choice you gravitated towards first.  Scientists have proven this (citation pending.) 
 
Similarly, your query letter is best in its first draft.  Whatever you write first, never change it, specifically if you did it in around fifteen minutes.  Doing it fast ensures your subconscious was really cracking that morning, especially if you got over the bourbon hangover.  Even better if you were still hung over.  That’s like having a direct connection to the little man in your mind telling you what to do.  I think his name is Super Id.
 
Still don’t think you can do it?  Right you are.  Therefore, I will help you out EVEN FURTHER and this is SOLELY OUT OF THE GENEROSITY OF MY HEART.  (But if you have bourbon, I will take it.)  Use the following Mad Lib™ to generate your query letter.  (And remember, the more profanity you use the better.
 
Dear <profanity>,
 
My name is <profane gerund> <name or better yet a more famous author’s name>.  Stop what you’re doing right now, <compound profanity>!  Take your hands off your genitals, <gender-specific profanity>, and buy my book!  It’s got robots and explosions, it’s about the human condition, it’s got a setting and everything!  Patent pending.
 
Peace, <taboo profanity>,
 
<different name from the one listed above>
You know where to find me.
 
I know what you’re thinking.  You’re thinking, “Steve, my book doesn’t have ANY robots or explosions.”  Well, that was your first mistake.  Go fix it right now.  But if you don’t, doesn’t matter.  The query letter is solely to ensure that the, I don’t know, bookbinder or whoever you’re sending it to reads the sample pages.  Better to pull the old switcheroo first rather than put the truth in the query and the lie in the pages.
 
STEP 3:  PROFIT
 
There you have it, folks.  Kick back and watch the benjamins roll in.  Or, if you’re Canadian, the loonies.
 
In all honesty, though, I want to thank Erica for giving me this chance to write a little something (and, yes, she was the one that told me “be funny”) and if you enjoy my unique skew on the world, you can visit me at my blog here (http://manuscriptsburn.blogspot.com/) or on my twitter account here (https://twitter.com/outfortune)

Stephen Kozeniewski lives with his wife of 9 years and cat of 22 pounds in Pennsylvania, the birthplace of the modern zombie. He was born to the soothing strains of “Boogie With Stu” even though The Who are far superior to Zep, for reasons that he doesn’t even really want to get into right now.

During his time as a Field Artillery officer, he served for three years in Oklahoma and one in Iraq, where due to what he assumes was a clerical error, he was awarded the Bronze Star. The depiction of addiction in his fiction is strongly informed by the three years he spent working at a substance abuse clinic, an experience which also ensures that he employs strict moderation when enjoying the occasional highball of Old Crow.

He is also a classically trained linguist, which sounds much more impressive than saying his bachelor’s degree is in German.

Until the next time...I'll be doing damage control after Stephen's, ahem, advice.

I need a vacation

Another day…another pig chase. Can I just say I’m getting tired of chasing pigs? I think this may have permanently turned me off on bacon. Bacon! That’s like saying, “Chocolate? Oh, no thank you, I’ve had plenty in my lifetime.” You don’t just stop desiring the delectable taste of bacon. Well, I do. After chasing pigs, I think I can say I’m not interested in pork, ham or bacon anymore. But I am interested in taking a vacation.

A. Nice. Long. Vacation. Somewhere I won’t run into pigs. Somewhere like the beach. It’s been a long time since I’ve been to the beach. I think the last time I went for fun was the time my sister and I took the kids to Savannah. And that was forever ago. We had a blast on that trip.  But like most things involving me, it wasn’t without incident. 

We rented a two bedroom beach condo in the sleepy little town of Tybee Island, Georgia.  It was right on the sand, just a bit of a walk through the dunes to the water.

Our plans were to cook most of our meals at the condo so we could splurge on dinner in Savannah a few nights during our trip.  But after a quick outing to the grocery store we discovered we had a little problem. The kitchen was supposed to be fully equipped with everything we would need for our stay but there were no pots or pans.  Only microwave safe bowls.  Nothing that could be used on the stove top or in the oven.  Our lunch plans were ruined.  It is impossible to make hard boiled eggs without a pot of water to boil them in.

Or is it?  There was a microwave. 

Don’t worry. I was smart enough to know that you can’t microwave eggs in the shell to cook them.  They’ll explode. And that would be bad.  Eggs need to be boiled in water in order to reach a hardboiled state.  But of course, you can boil water in a microwave.  I’d done that many times.  So I figured if I boiled the eggs in the water in the microwave it should solve all of my problems. 

So, I filled the microwave bowl with cold water, placed half a dozen eggs in the bowl and set the microwave for ten minutes.  I didn’t want to overdo it. 

I may have overdone it. 

It’s amazing how much power is packed inside a tiny little egg.  When an egg explodes, it sounds like a gun shot, and when more than one egg explodes, well…it blows the door off the microwave!

There were bits of egg literally everywhere.  Egg hanging from the chandelier, egg clinging to the popcorn ceiling, egg on the baseboards…the back of the sofa…in the air ducts…my hair.  And the entire room smelled like an egg fart.

After the initial shock wore off, (and we’d checked each other for bullet holes) we all broke down into fits of hysterical laughter. I called the management company and they sent over pots and pans right away. 

The microwave wasn’t actually broken, but I’m sure it was never the same.  It’s impossible to get that much egg out of the vents. 

Every vacation needs to have at least one catastrophe, and that was ours.  No one was hurt, so we were free to experience the rest of our vacation.  Most of which was spent at the beach. 

Our vacation house was separated from the water by a dune with lots of thick tall grasses.  There was a path every twenty yards or so, but the paths were narrow and long.  You couldn’t see the ocean until you were most of the way down the path.  It would be easy to lose a flip flop or snorkel if it was dropped on the way to the beach, so we had to keep a close eye on the four kids. 

Even then, my sister liked to take midday naps so we made several trips through the dunes each day to the water.  By the third day, we knew the trail like the back of our hands.  Or so we thought. 

I don’t remember which of us had the brilliant idea to trek out to the water after dark, but there we were—kids in tow—walking from the condo to the path with our towels and cameras and not a single flashlight between us.  A security guard stopped us on the way and asked what we were doing.  He was a nice old man with white hair and glasses and he walked a little hunched over, but he seemed to know a lot about the area.  We told him we wanted to see the beach at night, and he offered to walk us to the water by the light of his security guard issue flashlight.  We agreed that it would be a great idea.

He started to the path, and as he led the way, he spoke…

In a very thick, very unusual accent.

“Gotta be kefful out hyar ‘specially at naht.”  He started.  We understood most of what he said, and the rest we picked out by context.  “Gotta watch out fo’ dem snicks!”  

Snicks?

It was dark, but I’m pretty sure we all looked at each other and mouthed the word back to him.  “What’s a snick?” One of us dared ask.

“Snicks!  You know…”  He waved his hand in a slithering motion “snicks!” 

We all stopped moving for a second while it sunk in.

“Specially dem rattle snicks!” 

I grabbed my kids’ shoulders and pulled them closer to me and my sister did the same with hers.  “Rattlesnakes?” We asked in unison.

“Oh yeah.  Gotta watch out fo’ dem rattle snicks.  Day sting a bit!” He went on as if he was talking about a mosquito, or a bee. 

We didn’t have a chance to reply before he went on again.  “And deez raccoons out hyar…Day got da rabies.  Gotta stay away from dem else you be foamin’ at da mouth!” He dragged out the last part of the sentence in grand dramatic fashion and gestured with his hands to make his point. 

We got it!

We broke through the trail finally and we were standing on the beach, the beam from the flashlight barely reflecting off the waves in the distance as they crashed against the sand.  We were out of the dunes, and away from any rattle snicks or rabid raccoons. 

“Ok den.  Y’all be kefful now.”  He waved the light again, sending a wash across the sand before turning and heading back the way he came. 

We wandered away from the dune and headed toward the surf to dip our toes in the warm water and let the kids play along the shore line.  We had no intention of staying out late.  It was actually way darker than we expected.  There was no moon that night, and without the flashlight, it was hard to make out more than the shapes of the waves in front of us.  We hadn’t spent more than ten minutes alone out there—there wasn’t a single other soul other than us on the beach that night—and we were ready to head back.

We quickly corralled the kids and turned back toward the dunes. 

It was very dark.  Very, very dark.  Without help from a flashlight we couldn’t see the narrow opening to the trail we had come down.  The crazy old security guard who had warned us of stinging rattle snicks and raccoons foaming at the mouth had left us out there without a way to get back!

We gripped our children in each hand and walked toward the dunes to find the trail.  We had strayed around the edge of the water long enough to completely lose our bearings.  We decided to hike along the dunes for several yards in each direction until we could find an opening. 

That took a while.  And it didn’t look like the same path we had taken down to the water, but we didn’t have any other options.  With visions of coiling snakes and rabid raccoons in mind, we started up the trail.  We made noise, snapping a towel out in front of us as we walked—with at least two of the children crying “we’re going to die out here aren’t we?”—and we hoped that if anything was in the path ahead of us, we would scare it away. 

When we finally reached the building, we were on the back side.  We decided to creep around the other side so the security guard wouldn’t see us return.  We sort of hoped he wondered if we all drown out there.  Or maybe struck down by giant venomous snakes.  He might be telling that story to unsuspecting guests now…as he walks them down to the beach at night.

“Gotta be kefful out hyar…some folks disappeared few years back.  Got bit by dem rattle snicks and day done drowned!”

Until the next time…I’ll be watching out for the rattle snicks in my own back yard!  I hear they sting a bit!

another day closer

I don't remember the first thing I wrote. Probably because I've been making up stories since before I even knew how to write them down. My parents used to talk about my imaginary friends and my elaborate tales, and flights of fancy. Thank goodness they've reached the age where they've forgotten all about those and moved on to other embarrassing memories. I'm sure the first several (hundred) stories I wrote were silly and ridiculous. I say that only because the first few I do remember were. Hell, I still venture into the silly and ridiculous from time to time.

My significant other (also known as the IDP, or Imaginary Dead President for those of you out of the loop) likes to tease me about living in an alternate universe...the place I spend most of my time. I try to rationalize it as a writer's prerogative, but maybe I am just weird. Hey, if I am, so what. I'm a writer.

Basically, I've always been a writer. It's more than what I do, it's who I am. And in just a few more days (four if you're keeping track) for the first time since those first goofy stories, I'm going to see one in print...with my name in bold letters across the bottom. My book.

Come Monday, it's gonna feel pretty damn good. I can't wait to write all about it.

Until the next time...I'll be looking forward to my last weekend as an unpublished author.

To Katie With Love - Cover

just another day on the farm

Here's another photo blog summing up the last few crazy days on the farm.

Chicks dig the dog

Oh no! Another breakout! Whatever shall we do?

Escaping pig! You'd better run...Indy's on the job!

"That piggy's not supposed to be in the yard, is he?"

This little piggy cried, "Wee, Wee, Wee!" All the way home.

And the mighty hero rests with his fan club.

chasing bacon

Isn't Monday bad enough on it's own merits without tossing in a game of chase the bacon? And I'm not talking about a breakfast, or the newest thing in porn. I'm talking about five bad little piggies stampeding their way out of their fortress to run rampant in the yard...again.

I was busy working on interview questions at lunchtime, paying little attention to the goings on outside the window, but when my daughter came downstairs and looked out the window, her exclamation of, "Pigs!" had me on my feet and out the door in record time.

It took the two of us, and a bucket of feed to coax the pigs from the next yard over back into the pen. But within a few minutes, they were blissfully wallowing in their water trough again, and I was back to work on my interview.

I'd done it. I'd captured them. I'd secured them. All. By. Myself. I was officially a pig whisperer, and those same pigs were happily  locked up, doing whatever pigs do in the daytime.

And then they weren't. Happy that is. In fact, they were downright miserable.

It was almost eight o'clock in the evening and the sun was heading down over the horizon when the pigs started to stir behind the gate. Their squeals carried into the house like the mournful cries of sea monsters or rodents of unusual size. I didn't know what they wanted, they'd already been fed twice. It was obvious they wanted something because the leader, Napoleon, was bashing his head against the gate in what appeared to be an attempt to break the latch.

It's funny how cute, seemingly sweet, pigs can so quickly morph into raging bulls when they band together with a common goal. That goal being escape. Even as I'd armed myself with a bucket of feed and a broken rake handle (hey, one can never be too prepared around pigs) they broke free and went on a rampage.

The first stop was the chicken's feed, where they decimated every bite, stomping on the empty feeder before (literally) heading for greener pastures.

I called out to the dogs. I don't know why I did it. It's not like the dogs have been much help to me in the past, where the pigs were concerned, but I was here alone and it gave me a false sense of security to have them near me.

Did I say false sense of security? Because my dogs rose to the occasion this time, running circles around the pigs and barking like junk yard dogs. My beloved Indiana Jones, Mastiff extraordinaire, took it upon himself to herd the wild and crazy party pigs around the property at top speeds, nipping at their...errr...bacon, as they went.

I felt like I was in a front row seat at the coliseum watching my mighty mastiff go up against a lion. The dog that was terrified of the pigs just a week ago was suddenly circling and attacking with vigor. He was not about to let these pigs out of his sight until they were back in their paddock.

"No, Indy!" I screamed as panic gripped me. It was a high speed bacon chase, but he was chasing them in the wrong direction. "Not toward the open road!" I ran behind them, still waving my broken rake and a handful of hot dog buns, being trailed by a group of chickens, just waiting for the bread to drop. (This is where the film crew would have come in handy.)

Somehow I managed to break the language barrier with Indy and he circled a small group of pigs around again, chasing them toward the pen. I couldn't keep up, but I watched, panting along behind them (chickens running behind me, still waiting for me to trip and drop the hot dog buns) as Indy clamped his teeth into the pig's rump pushing it forward until it ran directly into the former duck pen.

Holy crap! He did it!

I don't know who was more surprised, me, the dog, or the pig. We had one locked up, and Indy went back out after the rest. Once he'd captured the leader, the others followed soon after, and as the sun finally set, blanketing the farm in darkness, all five pigs were back where they belonged, and my poor dog was exhausted. As the chickens feasted on buns.

The moral of the story? It's a dog eat pig world out there, and you pigs better not forget it! I guess it's all in a day's work on the crazy haunted farm, right?

Until the next time...I'll be taking a few Advil and a long ass nap!

cupcakes are in the air

Weekly Guest Spotlight

This week's guest is one of my favorite people...erotic author, D.C. McMillen.

Spring is in the air, sort of. The weather in Toronto keeps alternating between sun, rain, snow, excessive wind and even hail. And I don’t mean that one day it is sunny and the next I see snowflakes clinging to my window. Nope, it seems to be changing by the hour. The other day, I had to don my goose down coat and stuff a light jacket into my bag for later. After walking half a block, I gave up on wielding my umbrella against the rain because the wind kept threatening to turn the damn thing inside out. I do not even want to describe what my hair looked like when I arrived at my destination.

So what’s a girl to do in these circumstances? I mean, am I supposed to be shedding my winter layers and hitting the gym or hunkering down on my sofa with warming comfort food? After careful consideration, I’ve come up with a plan. Out of necessity, the layering of clothes will remain. I have, however, packed away the winter stuff and instead assembled outfits in bright spring colours. Sure, I run the risk of looking like a walking bed of tulips but these are the chances one must take in such dire circumstances. I’ve also ditched the winter stews and biscuits, casseroles and such in favour of more seasonal comfort food; cupcakes! Cupcakes are colourful and cute and they’re so small that they seem practically harmless. Spring and cupcakes – they just sound like they should go together, don’t they?

Here are a couple images I took while scouring the city in search of cupcakes. Take a look and tell me if they don’t just scream spring is in the air.

Oh, and while perusing the goods at a cupcake shop in Toronto, here is a cute drawing I found:

You and I are so alike, kid. So alike.

Of course, while adorable frosted cupcakes look innocent enough, those little buggers are filled with carbs and sugar...all the stuff that reminds me I need to hit the gym to get ready for summer. Or do I?  *asked in my sly, I-am-so-smart voice*

Just like dealing with the odd spring we’re facing, I now need a strategy to deal with the excessive carbo-loading. So here is what I’ve come up with.

That’s right folks, I’ve turned to my old friend erotic romance. The Wedding involves all of the ooey-gooey, naughty goodness of cupcakes without the excess calories. And let me tell you, after writing this short book, I had definitely worked up the inspiration to work off some of that extra winter weight in ways that are much more fun and exhilarating than hitting the gym. *insert any variation of bow-chicka-bow-wow here*

And since The Wedding has just been published through MuseItHot Publishing, you too can follow my air tight plan for expertly handling the bi-polar, multiple personality bitch that is Spring, 2013.

Here is some more info about the book:

The Wedding, blurb

Karen is not the type to attend a wedding with a guy she’s only slept with once but, in a rare display of empathy, she agrees to accompany her new landlord Allan to this sure-to-be-boring function. Fortunately, Karen knows how to have a good time, and she’s pretty sure she and Allan can make their own fun...even if they have to do it in the outdoors just steps away from a couple hundred stuffy wedding guests.

The Wedding, excerpt

Carefully balancing the overflowing glass in one hand and a smutty paperback in the other, I sauntered into the living room. After placing both beside my open laptop on the modern glass coffee table in front of me, my body sank into the ridiculously comfortable sofa. Where did Allan find such a gem? My landlord—and guy I had sex with once—had excellent taste. I kicked off my hot pink stilettos, tucked my feet under me and wrapped a cream coloured cashmere throw around my lower body.

I reached for my book but paused when the familiar bloop bloop of Skype announced someone was video calling. Scooping up my laptop, I clicked accept. Allan’s charming face appeared on screen.

“Hello Allan, It’s nice to see you,” I said, amused. The guy just Skyped me three days ago. This was starting to become a regular thing. Truthfully I didn’t mind. If it were not for the fact that Allan was in Philadelphia while I was stuck here in Chicago, the guy would be much more than just a one-time lover.

“Hi Karen, I’m not, uh, interrupting am I? I can call back later...” his voice trailed off. I rolled my eyes.

“No, Allan. What can I do for you? Would you like me to get naked for the camera again?”

His face blushed to the colour of my heels. “Well, that was a fun experiment. Perhaps I could hold off my question until later,” he answered. Even through the shitty quality of video, his eyes flashed, complimenting the wicked smile smeared across his face. Good. Confident Allan was back, if only momentarily.

“What question is that, Baby?” In the little corner of the screen that held my image, I could see my lips curled upward, matching Allan’s expression.

“Oh, um, I’m going to be in town next weekend,” he said.

“Mmm, I like where this is going,” I interrupted.

“I have to attend a wedding. My best friend from childhood is getting hitched that Saturday.”

“Not the one you caught in the shower with your ex and his wife?”

Allan’s eyes dulled. “No, not him,” he answered. “A real friend.”

A tiny stab of guilt landed in my gut. I considered apologizing for bringing up the painful memory, but dismissed the thought. That happened, like, eight months ago. The guy should just get over it.

“So what, you want to meet after the wedding? I’m free on Sunday so that could work out perfectly.”

“Well, no...er...”

I rolled my eyes again, a twinge of annoyance fluttering in my stomach.

“What can I do for you, Allan?”

“Come to the wedding with me?”

What?!

“As your date? To the church and everything?”

“Well that’s generally how it works, yes,” he said, his tone dry and a little hurt.

“I, um, well...”

~

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~

D.C. McMillen enjoys writing about dirty sex in questionable places but has been known to write about other subjects, on special occasions. She is featured in MuseItHot’s Short & Spicy line up with The Rental, The Wedding and A Decent December. D.C.’s short stories and flash fiction can be found in several anthologies and other print and online publications. She is obsessed with Twitter and invites you to look her up at @mcmillendc, on her blog, or Facebook.

Thanks to D.C. I'm not only craving cupcakes but questionable sex. Neither are on the menu at my house tonight. Oh well...guess I'll just have to read her book.

Until the next time...I'll be baking cupcakes!