got brains?

Stephen Kozeniewski

Weekly Guest Spotlight featuring fellow Red Adept Publishing author, Stephen Kozeniewski.

Oh!  Hello.  Didn’t see you there.  Ray, good to see you.  Cabin Goddess Kriss, how’s it going?  I guess I hang out here so much that sometimes I feel like this is my blog, too, and that Erica’s fans are my fans, too.  I mean, logically I know that’s not true.  At least…not yet.  J  But today I’m hoping to change all that.

Who am I, you say?  Well you might remember me from such past ELD hits as:

How Do You Solve a Problem Like Erica? 

Seriously, Kids, AA is Important 

and

Jeremy Does (snicker) Katie 

Instead of giving me (and you poor, poor people) a break, though, Erica has begged me for another blog post. And with the release of my own novel BRAINEATER JONES, I finally have a chance to sell you all something other than my warped worldview.

So, without any further ado (and, let’s be frank - that was a heck of a lot of ado) let’s move on to the meat of this blog post.

People often ask me about the dream cast for BRAINEATER JONES.  As a serial mental onanist pondering that is, of course, one of my favorite activities.  I think that after noodling it over pretty much daily for the last four years or so I’ve come up with a pretty good cast.  And now, for the very first time, I’m going to share it publicly and you fine people all get to be the first to see it.

BRAINEATER JONES FANTASY FOOTBALL TEAM ALL-STAR DRAFT KAPOW!

BRAINEATER JONES - Ah, the man himself.  The zombie detective made good, trying to solve his own murder.  The main character of my tale.  I think there’s really only one actor in Hollywood with the chops to play this ‘30s era noir anti-hero: Mandy Moore.

KUMAREE TONG - Jones’s love interest.  A dame with legs that won’t quit until the middle of yesterday.  And a bit of a femme fatale with more going on beneath her trenchcoat than she’s letting on.  This is a difficult choice, but for me, only one person really embodies the feminine spirit of Kumaree: the Man of Steel himself, Henry Cavill.

ALCIBÉ - Jones’s partner is a severed head.  They meet in Little Haiti while Alcibé is in the clutches of an evil witch doctor or bokor…but perhaps I’ve said too much already.  Despite his obvious limitations Alcibé proves himself to be a valuable addition to the Braineater Jones Detective Agency and Hunting Club.  Really only one mind jumps out to play the cabeza: Dame Helen Mirren.

LAZAR - The man whose name is Lazar (or is it?!?!?) is the first other zombie that Jones encounters.  He shows Jones the ropes, teaches him that zombies can only survive by drinking copious amounts of liquor, and zaps the rigor mortis out of his bones with a stripped electrical wire.  Lazar is also a bootlegger and he might be hiding some secrets about the booze in the city, not to mention about his own body.  I had to mull this one over, but when it struck me the choice seemed obvious: Loretta Devine.

THE OLD MAN - Hmm.  Really, describing The Old Man physically would ruin the book for you, and probably send all my potential fans running to the insane asylum to request that I be committed.  (Insane asylums still exist/do that, right?)  Suffice it to say that he’s the rum runner kingpin and he happens to live in a Mason jar.  I can think of only one thespian with the sheer gravitas to play The Old Man: Diane Keaton.

Well, there you have it, kids.  I hope you enjoyed my visit and I hope you enjoyed my fantasy cast even more.  If you’d like to hear more from me you can visit me at my blog (http://manuscriptsburn.blogspot.com) or on Twitter (https://twitter.com/oufortune.) 

OH!  OH!  And before you go don’t forget to buy my…darn it, they already left.  Well, here’s the book link anyway. 

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Braineater-Jones-Stephen-Kozeniewski/dp/1940215188/

Barnes & Noble:  http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/braineater-jones-stephen-kozeniewski/1117077618?ean=2940148612100

Kobo: http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/braineater-jones

Apple: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/id715553980 

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take that Monday!

You've heard the rumor...Monday sucks. It's the most hated day of the week. It's lumped right in there with rainy days and crash diets. Monday has been the downfall of many a brave soul.  But today, Monday was my bitch. Today, I kicked Monday's ass!

Despite my two am bedtime, I rolled out of bed before nine this morning. Don't ask why, I may never understand why my body has suddenly decided I need to see the wee hours of the morning. But for the past week or two, I can't seem to sleep past nine. So I wasn't surprised when morning dawned and I was out of the bed to start the day. 

First task: Re-configuring a rustic bench for our entry way. Ok, truth be told, I didn't do anything for that. Yet. Hubby did the hard work, but I supervised. And I will be painting and distressing the finish at a later date. 

Second task: Painting the dining room. Yes, you may recall I started that project some time back, but ran out of paint. And everyone knows when you run out of paint, you also run out of steam. So with my "Make Monday my Bitch" mentality, I grabbed another can of paint and climbed up that scary ladder to finish the job. And that leads me right into...

Third task: Beginning the painting in the living room. Oh yes, I painted the biggest wall all by myself. And I have the sore muscles to prove it.  

So there you have it. While it may not sound like much, the impact is huge! My dining room no longer looks like a refugee camp. My living room is halfway done, and I still have paint left! So that means in the next few days, I'll be rolling more walls. But in the end, I'll have a house I can be happy with. Um...almost two years after moving in. But hey, who's keeping track?

Until the next time...I'll be digging for a tube of BenGay for my sore muscles. 

six things to do today

What is October without scary movies and a raging fire?

That is how I finished my day. Mike started a fire, and I popped a DVD in the PS3 and we watched old black and white horror movies from the Vincent Price catalog. 

I am finally in the mood for Halloween. 

I found an interesting blog this morning. It was largely dedicated to home decorating, but the entry I read was about finding comfort in your home and in your life. It was a list of six things you can do right now to make you like your home more. I went through the list and attempted to do all six. 

I cleaned something. It said to find a small area…spend only thirty minutes…and clean this area thoroughly. Perhaps just sweeping the floors, or de-clutter a cabinet. I chose to sweep the floors in my living room. And as the little wood chips and dog fur were swept away, I did feel better. In fact, I cleaned and rearranged the entire room. And it turned out better than I’d ever imagined.

Next, I painted something. I took an old dresser and painted it in a neutral beige. I added new hardware and antiqued it by sanding the edges until the dresser looked vintage, and very expensive. It cost me less than twenty dollars and no more than an hour to make the change, and it looks amazing in my keeping room! I would have never believed such a simple change would make such a large impact. 

I fixed something. It required three minutes and the sewing machine. I now have a repaired grain sack to hang on the wall tomorrow.

I made my house smell good. I opened the windows, letting the fresh fall air in. Then I opened a bag of harvest potpourri and poured it into a bowl on my newly painted dresser.  

I made a few changes in the rooms, “shopping the house” was what she called it. I was actually able to use the same dresser for this task. I took it from my bedroom where it did nothing more than take up space with its tired old finish, and moved it to the keeping room where it makes a nice addition to the room.

And finally, I did something out of the ordinary. This is where the old black and white movies came into play. I used to love watching old movies, but somewhere along the way, I got too busy. I slowed things down a bit today, and put on movies made back in a time before DVDs, cell phones, and the internet. 

I would love to challenge you to try this list of tasks. Let me know how it made a difference in your day. It certainly made a difference in mine. I feel totally refreshed and ready to start fresh tomorrow…I may just do it again!

Until the next time…I’ll be sleeping peacefully after a nice Friday!

Autumn likes me too

Life is good. Or not bad, as it were. I did eat a bad batch of salsa the other day, so I'm on day two of "botulism watch" as I've decided to call it. Apparently, it can take up to ten days for symptoms to present, so I have eight more days before I'm out of the woods. So, since I might be spending my last days on this earth (because something like 65% of botulism victims die) I decided to enjoy them.

First on my list of things to do: buy cat food. Because if I'm gone, surely the cat will starve waiting for someone else to remember food.  

So as I wandered through the aisles at the grocery store on my epic quest for cat food, I ran across this cute little girl and her mother. Let me back up for a minute. It's important to note, kids and animals like me. It's weird. Like I have these strange pied piper pheromones or something. I walk into the farm yard and the animals flock to me. I walk through a park, kids stop to say hi. And, it's also important to say, I don't encourage this. Ok, maybe I encourage the animals. I like animals. But other people's children? No. I mean, they're ok. I don't dislike kids. I would just prefer I didn't spend lots of time around someone else's kids. It's weird.

So back to my story...this little girl and her mom in the grocery store. She was twirling around the aisle, looking cute, like kids do. And she suddenly climbs on the end of my cart. As if she'd decided she was shopping with me. I immediately scope out the mom. I don't want anyone thinking I'm stealing their kid. And mom smiles as the little girl strikes up a conversation. She asks me about my pretty ring. And the sparkles on my shirt. Little girls like the shiny. And her mom, she seemed kind of embarrassed. She said her daughter never does this. And I know it's because of my creepy pheromones, so I just smile and say it's fine. She's a sweet little girl, and I'm not in a hurry. I needed cat food, that's it. Ok, I needed chocolate too. So what...I'm waiting to die of botulism, remember? I'm eating all the chocolate I can before it's too late. But I didn't tell the little girl about the botulism, because kids freak out about stuff like that.

Instead, the little girl asked me a million and one questions (I may have exaggerated the number, but it was a lot) and then I dug into my purse and pulled out one of my To Katie With Love bookmarks and gave it to her. (Yeah, shameless of me to market to kids, but she had a mom, and moms read.) Then we said our goodbyes and I rolled on out of the aisle to check out.  

I ran into her in the checkout aisle and then again in the parking lot. It was cute, she was sweet, and I was honestly pretty flattered. That little girl acted as if I was a Disney princess, dressed in my denim capris and sparkly top.  I don't get that kind of attention every day, so I basked in it while I could.

And the best part of the whole thing? The little girl's name was Autumn. As in my favorite season. So yeah, I might love autumn, but she likes me too.

Until the next time...I'll be dusting off my tiara for my next trip to the market. 

we interrupt this blog...

We killed a rooster this weekend. But please don't cry for him. He wasn't a nice rooster. He attacked my daughter a few times. Then he turned on me. And if that wasn't enough proof that he needed to go, he decided to take on the dog in a rumble worthy of the Thrillah in Manilla. I have to hand it to him, he put on a good show, coming out with Ali's signature style and swagger. But in the end, he was no match for the mighty Mastiff, or the husband as it turns out. Because not an hour after their throw down, Crockpot Roy was chilling out in the fridge, his brilliant tail feathers in a jar on the counter. 

And that my friends, was the highlight of my weekend. It was all downhill from there. I did finish my content edit for Suddenly Sorceress, and I certainly can't complain about that. But my daughter moved out on Sunday, and as much as I was looking forward to her being out on her own, it still stings to watch her haul her things out the door. The last of my little birds out of the nest. The end of an era. But it would seem that's not the only thing that was over by the time Sunday evening rolled around. 

And truth be told, this is not the first time my relationship has been in the crapper. It seems to be cyclic. And I have to wonder if it's not all my fault. Am I just too quirky and strange to maintain a relationship outside of the printed page? Maybe I really am that difficult to live with. And maybe I'm destined to be alone. It will certainly give me a lot more time to write. And on the upside, I won't have to worry about shaving my legs or any of those other pesky rituals women get stuck with. 

But hairy legs aside, I can't say I'm happy about this new development. In fact, I'm locked in my room, listening to Nina Simone wail sad lyrics on repeat until I don't have any more tears to cry. And then maybe I'll sleep for a while. I haven't had much of that lately. A little extra sleep never hurt anyone.

Until the next time...I'll be reevaluating my future.

crock pot season

It's that time of year again...crock pot time. One of my favorite things to do when the weather turns cool is to load up the crock pot with chili fixings and let it go. It's hours in the making, but worth every minute. Today's dish was potato soup. Tomorrow, chicken stew.  Because when the rooster marks me as his next victim, it's time to toss his ass in a pot!

Crock pot Roy was as it again today. But he wasn't chasing my daughter around the yard with his sneak attack tactics. It was me! And I have the spur marks to prove it.

I was just walking around the yard, minding my own business when I heard a shuffling in the grass. Before I had time to look down, he'd gotten my foot. I waved him away and turned to bolt for the house and he made another pass, catching me in the calf.

I'm not afraid to admit I ran. For a moment there, I felt like I'd wandered into Jurassic Park as part of the lunch menu. Omnivores is one thing, but seriously, Roy! You don't bite the hand that feeds you! 

Perhaps that's why he's pissed. I haven't pulled out the bread lately. Maybe if I pass out snacks tomorrow, I'll be back in his good graces. Or maybe I'll just fatten him up. Crock pot chicken stew sounds delicious.

Until the next time...I'll be chopping up veggies! 

katydids and katydon'ts

I had a giant bug in my house the other night. A huge, leafy green bug with a built-in music maker. It sat on my sofa playing sad songs on its violin legs in hopes I would spare its miserable little life. And truly, I was thisclose to squashing it like a bu...uh...you know. And then I found out what kind of bug it was. A Katydid. And how could I kill a Katydid? 

To Katydid With Raid? I don't think so. And so, I scooted my chair over and kept an eye on the little Katydid until bedtime. Then I tiptoed into my room and shut the door. By morning, little Katydid had perched on the windowsill, waiting for someone to let her out. And that's exactly what hubby did. With the utmost care, he picked her up and promptly deposited her in front of a flock of hungry chickens!

Thank goodness, Katydid could fly. Sorry chickens...that was a katydon't for you. 

The rest of my weekend (not that it's quite over yet) has been spent searching for the perfect iron bed frames for the upstairs guest rooms. Christmas is only 80-ish days away, and we have a house full of people coming. I really want to have the guest rooms ready. I can't believe I'm thinking about Christmas when I haven't even decorated for Halloween! That's an epic fail of the highest order.

Shame on me. 

Until the next time...I'll be organizing the cupboards and finishing my edits. 

a breakdown in the system

I'm back. I'm sure you thought I'd vanished into the ether, never to be seen again. I didn't. I was here all along. Busy, working on my edits for the new book, (insert shameless plug here) Suddenly Sorceress, coming in February.

The book is set in October, so while the inspiration surges, I'm riding the wave. And that left me with nothing to blog about. I even missed the first day of "real fall" as opposed to "fake fall" or the equinox. I know, the equinox is the official first day of fall, but if you ask me, fall doesn't start until October. Hence, my calling it "real fall." But I digress.  

And honestly, I have been busy these past few days. My sister came to town for a visit today, dragging me out of the house to shop for antiques--something I love to do, but rarely take the time. And I cleaned the house yesterday. Even did several loads of laundry--trying to catch up with that "real life" stuff I avoid like the plague. But this makes it sound like I'm making excuses (and I guess I am.) I didn't blog for days. Days! And for that, I'm sorry. Really. I am.

But being a full time writer is hard work. And sometimes you have to wash those pajamas and restock the refrigerator. Every now and then, you're expected to shower, and wander into public. Now that I've done that, I should be good for a few weeks. Maybe even months. Hey, I'll do what I can. I don't want to push it. 

Until the next time...I'll be busy writing (in clean pajamas.) 

confronting the demon

Ciara Ballintyne

Weekly Guest Spotlight featuring author Ciara Ballintyne

This is the first time I’ve ever had cover art commissioned, but as far as I can tell from the writers I know, seeing the cover art for the first time never gets old. I have to agree it’s a definite ‘SQUEEEE!’ moment. And I’m not generally the kind of person who ever says ‘Squee’. In fact, I’m pretty sure the only time I have ever previously said squee was when HarperVoyager requested a partial of my manuscript Deathhawk’s Betrayal.

So here it is – the cover art for Confronting the Demon, my 25,000 word novella.

Many thanks go out to my artist, Nadica Boskovska. Check out more of her work at http://theswanmaiden.deviantart.com/gallery/

Blurb - Confronting the Demon

The gates to hell are thrown wide when Alloran is betrayed by his best friend, Ladanyon, and framed for forbidden magic. He is hunted by the guards and the wizards both, tormented by the gruesome murder of his friends and loved ones, and crippled by fear for the living. Now Alloran must face his demons, or damn the woman he loves.

The novella also includes a free bonus short story, A Magical Melody, which was previously featured in the ebook anthology, Spells: Ten Tales of Magic.

When a lethal spell is stolen from a locked and warded room, Avram must hunt down the thief before the song of power buries a city of innocents beneath a thousand tons of ice.

Confronting the Demon is due to be released 1 October 2013, and I’ll be signing copies at the IndieVengeance Day Book Signing in Dallas, Saturday, October 12, 2013 from 1:00 PM to 5:00 PM (CDT). Register for free here if you’re interested to come along - http://www.indievengeanceday.eventbrite.com/.

I put a spell on you

The high-tech redneck hubby has made it his mission to get all our fall planting done as quickly as possible. So far, we have nine new fruit trees, four blueberry bushes, and several lavender and rosemary plants. But is that enough? Oh no.

Our to-do list for this weekend: a trip to the local nursery.

As I wandered the rows of green, seeking out the perfect shade loving ornamentals for the front porch, hubby called out several familiar names. Artemisia, verbena, hawthorne...all plants I recognized from spells I'd written within the pages of Suddenly Sorceress. So, of course, I couldn't stop myself from blurting out how I'd used each one in a spell.

The lady who owns the nursery giggled when I mentioned spells and plants. I was sure she'd think I was crazy, so I quickly told her I wrote a book about a witch. She was fascinated. But I soon discovered her fascination was born out of her own secrets, when she admitted to being a witch. She asked me all sorts of questions about my book, and the research I'd done for my spells. She seemed genuinely excited to share her personal experiences, as if she'd been bursting to tell someone, but didn't dare. And then I came along, spouting off about my witch and her spells. You just never know who you're going to meet while shopping for plants.

And who knows, she might just be a wealth of information while I'm writing the sequel. Oh, and I got some really nice plants there. I'll definitely stop in again. Who knows, we might swap recipes.

Until the next time...I'll be playing in the dirt. 

fall into Christmas?

We’re not even a week into fall and already I’m seeing things I shouldn’t see. I should be seeking out the perfect pumpkin and hanging spooky decorations. You know…stretching out artificial spider webs to disguise the real ones I just can’t bring myself to knock down. And staking out a giant lawn display with vampires and zombies, to scare off all the children who might lay claim to my stash of bite-sized Snickers bars and Tootsie Rolls. But when I hit the big local discount store to find the perfect fall decorations, what did I find? 

Christmas. 

And not just a few things here and there, either. It was the lights, the decorations, and the boxes of cards to be mailed. And what of the giant scary lawn decorations? They had they’re own aisle but it was off to the side and had Christmas stuff stacked in front of the shelves. Are you with me? 

It’s not even October and the stores look like we’re well into November.  I thought we were in the Halloween season. Time of witches and ghosts. Jack-o-lanterns and ghouls. Not reindeer or elves…not mistletoe or Santa Claus.

I want tricks and treats, not streets filled with shoppers!

Should I really be concerned with Christmas shopping this early? Yes, I know some of you have already done all your Christmas shopping, and I’m here to tell you…I hate you. I do. Every year I tell myself I will shop early to avoid the lines and the stress. And every year I wait until after Thanksgiving. What does this mean? If you ask me, it means the crazy rush to put up Christmas displays is wasted on the vast majority of us who are still in height of Halloween spirit right through the end of October.

I want things to go back to the way it was when I was a kid. 

October was Halloween. November was Thanksgiving. And December was all about Christmas. You didn’t shop until the day after Thanksgiving. You didn’t put up your tree before carving the turkey (let’s not discuss the fact that my bare tree is still in quiet corner of my living room. We pretend it’s not there.) And you damn sure didn’t wander through stores fully decked out with Christmas finery smack dab in the first week of autumn. Is it really too much to ask? Isn’t there more to the holiday season than blatant commercialism?

I guess I’m just old fashioned. But I’m warning the stores today…I’ve decided to boycott every store with Christmas decorations up in October. Sure that means I may have to grocery shop at the gas station…I can live with that .I’m making a statement after all!  Dad always said it only takes one voice to start a revolution. 

Hey…viva la revolucion!

Until the next time…I’ll be looking for pumpkins at the farmer’s market!

cock-a-doodle don't

Remember Crockpot Roy? The rooster that decided my daughter was public enemy number one? Yeah, he's still alive. I'd like to say he's playing it cool these days, and I guess in some small way, he is. He didn't try to attack Alexa when she came home last night, but then again, he was sleeping. And about that? He sleeps less than I do. And when he's not sleeping, all nineteen...twenty hours of the day and night, he's crowing. At the top of his lungs. Cock-a-freaking-doodle do.

He has officially surpassed Clooney as the most annoying rooster of the decade. He doesn't just crow, either. He likes to do a duet with Siegfried, the other adult rooster in residence. They start their show at four am, on the dot. And like a rousing rendition of dueling banjos, or Lambchop's song that never ends, they keep going long after the sunrise. In fact, they keep going past lunch, on through dinner, and don't stop until it's lights out for chickens. And those blissful few hours when Crockpot Roy and his buddy Ziggy are sleeping? Farmyard gold.

I guess that's just one of the many perks of living on a farm. Or being a judge on American Idol. You get stuck listening to the ear-numbing sounds coming out of good intentioned roosters, preening for attention.  But unlike Simon Cowell, I can actually serve mine for dinner.

Hear that Roy? Keep it up and you'll be auditioning for Crockpot factor.  The marinated edition.

Until the next time...I'll be grabbing what sleep I can before the next show. 

that which we call a pumpkin

Today is the first day of fall. You know, the season directly between summer and winter? Where pumpkins and hayrides, witches and ghosts, and warm fuzzy sweaters are in vogue. Also known as autumn, as the world keeps reminding me. It would seem the mere mention of "fall" from my lips brings up images of limbs in a tangle as I tumble down craggy embankments or stumble over imaginary obstacles. But whether we call it autumn or fall, the season is the same, and unquestionably my favorite.

Perfect weather awaited me when I woke this morning, and hubby and I spent the day toiling in the yard and cleaning the front porch. I love my chickens, but they're messy. A little elbow grease and a trip to the local plant store earned me a beautiful porch, ready for the new season. 

And not a moment too soon as I'm hard at work on my Suddenly Sorceress edits. Despite the February release date, the book is set during Halloween, so this is a perfect time to work on it. The crisp evening air and acrid smell of burning wood in the distance keep my mind in the setting.  And I can't wait to share the story with you!

On that note, I'm heading back to work.  

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

a book in the oven

Kate Moretti

Weekly Guest Spotlight.

This week's guest is Kate Moretti, author of Thought I Knew You.

Visit Kate's blog here.

Oops!…. I’m pregnant!

It started with too much wine, as these things often do. And now I’m lying here in the dark, my mind is racing. I don’t have time for this! I’m a mom of two little kids. I work a full-time job. And yet…I find myself planning and plotting and excited. I’m losing sleep, daydreaming in meetings, You guessed it… I’m (book) pregnant!

Um….book pregnant? What the heck is that? Book pregnant is what you find yourself when an idea for a novel, a seed if you will, gets implanted in your brain and you know the rest of your life will never be the same.

Two years ago, I was out to dinner with my girlfriend. She leaned across the table, over her plate of chicken parmesean, half- drunk on Merlot and whispered, “I wrote a novel!”. YOU WHAT?! This is something I’d always wanted to do, and here she was, treating it like some secret. I was motivated, I was envious, I was in awe. The next day she sent me the file and as I read, I thought, Well, heck, this is awesome. And also, pfffttt I got this.  Then, out of nowhere, an idea came to me: Hmmmmm, what if my husband disappeared? That sounded interesting. Where would he go? My mind was off and running. Conception.

For the next several months, I was consumed with the book. Ate, slept, breathed Thought I Knew You (although that was not the original title). I chattered on about plot twists and characters. As the word count grew, I lost sleep, ate too much junk food, and went far too much time between showers. I was consumed by the world I was creating. Gestation.

And finally, one night, around midnight, I typed The End. I scrolled back through my words, all eighty-five thousand of them, gooey-eyed and in love. Look what I created! I was sure it was perfect (ahem,…unlike babies, I was pretty freaking wrong about that). But I couldn’t believe it – I had birthed a book!

Since then, Thought I Knew You has been published by Red Adept Publishing, and it’s out there for the world to judge. I’m a little (sniff) sentimental about it turning one. It’s been a helluva year. You know what they say: Writing a book changes everything.

6 ways writing a book is like having a baby:

1. Initially, it seems like a really awesome idea and generally, conception is a TON of fun
2. During gestation, showers are minimal and yoga pants are abundant. Bras are      optional.
3. You have never craved wine more in your life.
4. It doesn’t matter how many you have, you’ll always wonder if you actually      suck at it.
5. Neither books nor children ever stop demanding your money, and neither one brings in ANY income. 
6. You love the outcome unconditionally. But only sending it out there into the      world will tell you if you've done your job or not.

Thanks for celebrating the big O-N-E year bookiversary with me! I’m excited to give away a signed copy of Thought I Knew You to celebrate, so make sure to enter the giveaway!

Buy the book on Amazon here. 

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Kate Moretti lives in Pennsylvania with her husband, two kids, and a dog. She’s worked in the pharmaceutical industry for ten years as a scientist, and has been an avid fiction reader her entire life.

She enjoys traveling and cooking, although with two kids, a day job, and writing, she doesn’t get to do those things as much as she’d like.

Her lifelong dream is to buy an old house with a secret passageway.

so long, summer

I know, I know, it's still a few days before the official first day of autumn, but based on the thermometer, I think I can safely say fall has arrived. For the past few days, I've sat at my new laptop (can you say, yay?) with the back door wide open, listening to crickets chirp as the cool breezes blow through the room. If I had a fireplace (the only real drawback to the haunted farmhouse--missing fireplace) it would be ablaze tonight.

And with the change of seasons comes the resurgence of my creativity. I've been writing almost non-stop for the past few days. I have two new projects underway, and edits for the upcoming Suddenly Sorceress in full swing. Add to that a short stint at the top levels of Amazon's and Barnes and Noble's best sellers list for To Katie With Love and you have a very happy camper.

All I need now is a few pumpkins, a wool blanket, and hot chocolate. Oh wait...I have all those. Yep. Happy camper, indeed! 

Until the next time...I'll be waiting for the leaves to change. 

spider impossible

The soundtrack plays in my head, "Bum bum bum bum bum...bum bum bum bum bum," and I see Tom Cruise dangling from a wire above the booby trapped floor as tension mounts. One wrong move and he's captured!

But it's not Tom Cruise, it's Spider Cruise, arachnid spy extraordinaire. And it's not the floor he's suspended above, it's my head. Of all the square footage in the living room, he had to drop into mine.

It's an all too common story lately. Spider drops down from the ceiling on web-rope and I catch him out of the corner of my eye just before he lands somewhere on my person. I shudder to think of all the times I didn't see him because he was directly on top of my head. Oh, the horrors! 

I've said it before, but it bears repeating, I can live with ghosts, flies, attack roosters, and even the occasional misplaced wasp, but damn it, I can NOT cohabitate with spiders.  It just goes against nature.

Here is my list of reasons why:

1. They have as many eyes as legs, and they have four times as many legs as me.

2. They can defy gravity by walking on ceilings, up walls, and even in mid-air thanks to their seemingly unlimited supply of silly string.

3. They bite. And even if they don't bite, the idea that they could is enough for me. 

4. They have more hair on their many legs than I do in the dead of winter, and that's scary.

5. I can't even think of any more reasons without completely creeping myself out. 

Let's just suffice it to say, I don't like spiders.  And yet I love fall, and fall is filled with orb weavers and other assorted garden variety spiders. Don't even get me started on the exotic breeds. Just send bug netting. I'm going to build a tent out of netting and live inside it until winter.

Until the next time...I'll be stocking up on Raid. 

attack of the crock pot rooster

Well, Roy--of Siegfried and Roy, our matching pair of Aseel roosters--has struck again. He is determined to attack my daughter, no matter where--or what--she's doing.

Crock pot Roy

She and I sat on a bench outside and watched as the flock of chickens pecked at bugs nearby. The turkeys wandered over to say hello. The chickens had far better things to do. And the roosters completely ignored us. I was certain Roy had overcome his issues. But then, in a bold sneak attack, Roy moved closer, pretending to scout out a worm, then at that last minute made a bold move to rush Alexa.  

She screamed and kicked, and my husband pointed the hose at him. Luckily, he just happened to be watering the new fruit trees. For the hubby, this was the last straw in a growing list of crimes against humanity. It would seem, Roy's bad behavior has landed him on the endangered species list.  

In addition to the attacks, Roy has decided three am is the best time to crow.  And four am. And five am. You get my point. He's turning into a regular Clooney (see archives for poor Clooney's fate.)

So, it would seem we have a future crock pot meal walking around the yard, attacking unsuspecting daughters, and waking the neighbors at all hours of the night.   There's never a dull moment around here.

Until the next time...I'll be looking up recipes. 

doggone men

I’m beginning to think “man” should be considered a four letter word.  It can be an honorary title…like those college diplomas passed out to celebrities who didn’t earn them. “Man” can be the first three letter word given four-letter word notoriety.

Why? Isn’t it obvious?  Man…or rather men…are different from us.  We can love them…cherish them…but by God, we rarely understand them, do we?

First off, men have their own brand of math.  The kind where $30 will buy enough groceries to feed an entire family for seven days, and six inches equals a foot. They’re like under-developed children, fixated on games, sports, and the endless pursuit of getting back into the womb. 

Basically, everything we need to know about men can be summed up using my theory on dogs and cats. If you don’t understand the male psyche, watch a dog in its natural habitat.  Watch the dog play in the mud. Rolling in it.  Reveling in its muddiness. Watch as the dog chases every ball you throw.  Then think of men and their games.  Picture a football game, or a baseball game, where man rolls and slides in the dirt on a quest to chase the ball. 

Women don’t do this…because women are like cats.  And a cat wouldn’t be caught dead rolling in the mud.  Unlike dogs, cats are meticulous about cleanliness. 

A dog will unabashedly hump anyone’s leg.  I have never in all my life seen a cat hump anything. 

Cats like sparkly things…like diamonds.

Need more proof?  Watch a dog eat.  Then watch a cat eat. 

I believe this explains why men are so enthralled with the idea of the convertible.  They have a deep-seated need to stick their heads out the window, tongues flapping in the breeze.

And when it comes to dogs, there are so many different kinds.  Big dogs.  Medium dogs.  And of course, the small dogs. 

Short men are like small dogs. Some people refer to it as the Napoleon complex, but I prefer to call it the small dog syndrome.  Have you ever noticed a territorial Terrier, a persnickety Pekinese or Poodle?  And then by comparison you have the laid back Labrador, the gregarious Golden Retriever, or the gentlest giant of them all, the Mastiff.  Small dogs are almost always noisier, more aggressive, and high strung…as if they come from the Jersey Shore.  And big dogs lay around all day licking themselves and drooling.  Because at their core, both men and dogs are just a little gross. 

Sure, we love them…but do we really need to know everything about them?

I think there is such a thing as too much information, and I think when you’ve reached that point even a good marriage can start to fold under the pressure. Where is it written that husbands and wives should witness each other’s bodily functions?  I absolutely don’t need to see what he discovers upon blowing his nose.  And I most definitely don’t need to come running to see if his latest foray in the rest room would make it into the Guinness Book of World Records.  I want a rule that forbids a man from taking a dump while I’m in the shower.   In fact, I think there should be a law written that that explicitly prohibits men from doing anything gross at all while in the presence of a woman.  The faces they make during sex are bad enough, it’s a wonder we ever invite them for a second go.  But to be forced to see into the seedy underbelly of the male existence just may be too much for many of us to bear.

I’m giving men a hard time here, and maybe they don’t really deserve that.  They have a lot of good points.  For one, men are portable.  Mine would be perfectly content living in a shed or a tent in the woods. He isn’t picky about what I cook, and has been known to eat things that were probably long since destined for the trash without a single complaint.  And most men, at least, don’t mind killing the errant spider as it climbs up a wall within our personal space. 

So for all their icky habits, and dirty ways, men have a place in our hearts, and our homes.  As long as they wipe their feet first.

Until the next time…I’ll be catching shit for this blog for days to come

 

in remembrance...

September 11, 2001

I was working as an administrative assistant in a high-end hair salon in the city of Atlanta.  We'd just had our morning coffee, and the customers were all coming in for their appointments when someone said a plane hit the World Trade Center.  The first thing that went through my mind was that some idiot in a small plane had somehow navigated themselves into the building.  It had happened before.  Tragic, but comparatively insignificant to what really happened.  

It wasn’t until the second plane hit that we realized that this was no unfortunate accident.  This was our generation’s Pearl Harbor.

The circuits everywhere were busy, so we couldn’t call anyone to find out what was happening across the country, but the information we were getting was vast and exaggerated beyond even the horror that was the truth.  The reality was...in addition to the two jets that hit the towers, there were other jets hijacked, and even Washington had been hit.  We could only wonder...where else was under attack?  People were saying we were at war.  In wild exaggerations, we were told the Capital building had been hit, and even the White House.

And it wasn’t just New York and Washington at risk.  Atlanta was the home of the Center for Disease Control and it was suggested the CDC may be a target. My children were in school across town.  I wanted desperately to go to them.  If Atlanta was a target, I was unsure if they would be safe where they were.

And then the first tower fell.

It was worse than anything we were being told.  The one television in our building was surrounded by people trying to figure out what was going on.  The only thing we knew for sure was that nothing would ever be the same again.

Nothing.

More than a decade later, nothing will ever be the same again.  But one thing is certain…those of us who survived that day will never forget.  We will never forget those lost in the attacks on our country.  And we will never forget the sacrifices made by the countless individuals who fought to keep us safe. 

Until the next time...I'll be giving thanks.

 

let there be light

If you read this blog with any regularity, you'll know that in addition to a plethora of crazy farm animals, a few dogs, a cat, and a possible rogue garden gnome or wily fox, we also have a ghost. Ordinarily, our ghost maintains a quiet existence, living (or not living as the case may be) with us harmoniously. We rarely have cause to even remember she's here.

And then there are those other times when there is no question we're not alone.  

The sound of footsteps in the upstairs hall used to freak me out. Ok, so it still sort of freaks me out, but I've become skilled at convincing myself there's a squirrel in the attic, or really big mice. But sometimes, I can't make myself believe the lie because the truth is staring me in the face.

The evidence is stacked in favor of a haunting, and I just can't ignore it. For example...the case of the vanishing stuffed animal. Or should I say, the case of the reappearing stuffed animal?

My dog is now the proud owner of a very expensive stuffed rabbit. It used to belong to one of the girls, and she had no intention of giving it to the dog. But no matter how many times it was hidden in a closet or a dresser drawer where the four-legged family members couldn't reach it, it somehow found it's way back to the living room where Indy could claim it as his own.

Then there were the instances of doors opening and closing themselves, even as people sat in the rooms while it happened. At least two of our kids witnessed a doorknob turn, followed by a door swinging open, only to close again a moment later. This trumps phantom footsteps every day of the week.  

Mady even swears she heard the ghost standing beside her bed one night, and it freaked her out so bad she fled to the main floor to sleep on the couch.  

But the newest evidence takes the proverbial cake.  

The light in the upstairs bathroom has repeatedly turned itself on, even after high-tech redneck hubby has made a point of turning it off on a daily basis. Keep in mind, when there are no kids in the house, no one uses that bathroom. In fact, we don't even go upstairs, since our bedroom and separate bath are on the main level. There isn't anyone here to turn on the light. Oh, except the animals...or the ghost.

So there you have it.  Compelling evidence? Or elaborate hoax perpetrated by the chickens to drive us mad? Only the dogs know for sure.

Until the next time...I'll be sending hubby up to turn off the light again.