William and Kate's Wedding

I was going to talk about book to movies that just didn’t do justice to the book, but I am too wrapped up in watching the wedding of William and Kate!

So a quick change of plans. (*photos from GOOGLE Images)


How about we discuss the royal wedding, the romance of William and Kate and perhaps a romance book containing a royal couple??

My personal thoughts… I love her wedding dress!! Just beautiful. She looks stunning and elegant. While I am not a fan of William in red, he too looked wonderful.

The “double kiss” on the balcony was great and I have to admit I sort of thought they would do that. After the first kiss I said to my television (I frequently talk to my television), I said “Oh come on!! Give her another one!” and I was very pleased when William did! *wink*

So what do you think of the wedding? The dress? The double kiss??

Let’s hear it!!

MsM: The movie is better than the book!

Hello everyone!!

The time I spend here this week, I am reflecting on a few books made into movies and how they measure up. Was the book better? Was the movie better? Did the movie do justice to the book or perhaps the movie made the book even better!

First up, The movie that is better than the book!

This rarely occurs in my opinion, but it does happen. The first book up is
“JAWS” by Peter Benchley. Years ago I was a big Peter Benchley fan and do still enjoy re-reading a few of his books but the famous “JAWS” is not one of them.

The book “JAWS” was more about the mob and political corruption and affairs than it was about the shark. And the characters were NOT likable in the book, but you sure liked and rooted for them in the movie (especially when you heard that theme music kick in!). The book characters were always drunk, plotting, lying, cheating and vulgar. The movie changed the characters likable and believable while we shuttered in terror over the evil swimming off shore. The movie tops the book in hundreds of ways and for those reasons it makes my list of “The movie that is better than the book”.

The second book in this category is “The Prisoner of Azkaban” by JK
Rowling. I know a lot of people will disagree with me on this one, but I think this movie tops the book. That’s hard for me to say, because I am a HUGE JK Rowling fan and continue to re-read her HP books year after year, they never get old to me. I love the scenes of the Midnight Bus, the shrunken talking head and the blown up aunt. Those scenes in the movie are great and either don’t exist in the book or aren’t as entertaining to me personally in the book as they are on the big screen.

And finally, both the Colin Firth and Kiera Knightly movie versions of “Pride and Prejudice” by Jane Austen.
I adore these depictions of the classic novel. They bring the characters to life more vividly than the book does- at least for me.

And I don't just mean the main characters, I love the siblings and parents in the Kiera Knightly version. They come across as a real believable family. They couldn't have picked a better cast. And the music in the Kiera Knightly version just lovely, it adds even more to the story in my opinion. The scenery in both are breathtaking and the acting superb.

So those are my ‘The movie is better than the book’ picks. What are some of your picks?

Book Dilemas

Ladies it is that time again and my boys and I are back to visit the Island. This is the prelude to my escape to the Canary Islands at the end of the week and it has come at the perfect time for me!



I have been pretty absent from the world of blogging of late and oh my gosh I have missed it so much and all the new releases I have missed is astounding. I have so much to catch up on, but it is a challenge I cannot wait to get my teeth into. I am planning on my week in the sun reading as much I possibly can convince my eyes and brain to take in!

My to be read pile is looking something like this at the minute




Although as I was packing this afternoon and deciding what to bring I was faced with the all important question of what books to bring and how many should make the trip with me and what hero's?

Here in Ireland a lot of the flight companies have a strict baggage weight limit and its only 15kg! I don't know about any of you, but I could bring 15kg of books alone before I pack any of the clothes that I am going to need for the few days that I am going to be there for.

Thank goodness for my ereader!




BUT I have just enough room for one paperback and it is an absolute torture to pick just one!! There are soooo many that I want to read and seeing as I have such a hard time getting all the books I want to read on my ereader due to the geographic restrictions (which can be so frustrating) there are so many of the new releases that I just couldn't get on the ereader and have waited for the snail mail delivery of, so I am faced with the indecision of the next few days of changing my mind as many times as there are hours in the day.

How do you make the choice of what books to bring on vacations with you?

Witch Woman Giveaway

WITCH WOMAN GIVE-AWAY

Jeanette Baker

Unlike my other paranormals, LEGACY, CATRIONA, IRISH LADY and NELL, published by Simon & Schuster, WITCH WOMAN is the result of deeply personal, sometimes painful, events. Because I wanted my main character, Maggie McBride, to remain true to my own memories, undiluted by editorial content changes, I decided to take on the task of self-publishing, and the more daunting one of self-promotion. Without the clout of a publishing house, readers’ comments, YOUR comments, are of the utmost importance to the success of my book.

I grew up in Catholic Ireland during a time when the unusual was not appreciated. The nuns’ sole purpose was to stamp out characteristics that did not fit the mold of young Catholic womanhood. The term, sitting at the right hand of the Father, was taken very seriously, the implication being that the left hand was reserved for Lucifer, definitely not a good place to be.

My two genetic mutations didn’t help my situation: I am a southpaw, a lefty, a Ciotogach, as the Irish call them, a trait benign enough to show up in 10% of the population and easily eradicated by ear-pulling, cuffing and public humiliation. To this day I use my non-dominant hand to write.

The other mutation, heterochromidia iridium, is far more unusual, occurring in only one out of a million births, impossible to correct and, therefore, far more disturbing to my mentors. This mutation results in a deviation of pigment in the iris. In my case, I have one blue eye and one green, a sure sign, I was assured by my educators, of demonic possession. Until I grew to appreciate this deviation, contact lenses became my salvation.

Maggie McBride, the main character in WITCH WOMAN, has a much more startling case than I have and her story is much more intriguing than mine could ever be.

Please check out my website, jeanettebaker.com, my Facebook pages, Witch Woman and Jeanette Baker-author, and my Goodreads page, post a comment on the book and enter the GIVE-AWAY for two e-books.

In two different centuries, four hundred years apart, the lives of Abigail March and her daughter, Maggie, play out along parallel lines, both women blessed and cursed by a selective birthright and marked with a startling mutation, heterochromia iridium, one brown eye, the other blue. 

In 1692 Abigail and three-year-old Maggie, are accused of witchcraft. Most women who found themselves facing the hangman’s noose during this shameful time are innocent. Abigail is not. Summoning her powers, she sends her child through a time portal into twentieth century Salem.

Maggie grows to maturity knowing nothing of her birthright until her foster mother’s death bed confession. Using her clairvoyant abilities and the medium of an ancient spinning wheel, she resurrects her past through a series of troubling dreams. Meanwhile Abigail locates the time portal and slips through, changing her identity, hoping to find her child and bring her home through the narrowing portal.

Unknown to both women are the dangers of the old world’s dark forces, a swiftly narrowing time portal, and a missing child who desperately needs Maggie’s “sight” a sight that continues to blur as her ties to old Salem strengthen.

Slan Abwale and thank you.

Jeanette

Reviewers Wanted at Romancing the Book!

Hi lovelies ❤

Romancing the Book is looking for romance fanatics out there -- this should be every one of you :) -- who love not only to read, but also to let their voices be heard. If you're a reviewer, or even just a reader who would love to review some free books, we'd love to have you on the reviewing team!

There are books available for you in every genre, so whether you like spicy erotica or just some clean, sweet romance, or even non-romance (such as mysteries or thrillers), you'll never run out of reading material at Romancing the Book.

Please be aware that most of our request are in ebook format, so if you can only read print books, you might not be able to review as many books. You're still welcome to review for our site, but you won't have as many opportunities since print copies are ever-limited.

If you'd like to join, email me at reviews.bookblog@gmail.com and I'll help you get set up :)

xo and always,
❤ Stephanie (DIK Lady)

A Walk on the Beach with Tara Taylor-Quinn

Thank goodness. A vacation!! I thought we’d never get here! We visited the island last fall, another much needed respite, and have been looking forward to our return visit. There’s so much to do here – and nothing that we, Tim Barney (my husband and the love of my life) have to do. The sun is shining. The light breeze has a hint of warmth. The water is a luscious 87 degrees. I can’t tell which blue is more pristine – the sky or the sea. I can’t decide if I should spread our blanket in the sand and rest, or take a long walk, hand in hand with my lover, along the beach. The beach is calling me, but I know we’ve been going at mock speed so I’m resigned to just sit if must be.

Tim votes for a walk along the beach. We’ve got the camera and you never know what we’ll find. I grab the plastic bag that is a by-product of our recent stop at the store for suntan lotion (it has sunscreen in it, too) and, with our hands interlocked we sink our toes into the sand and start slowly off. I want to fill my shopping bag with shells. Tim wants picture of the boats on the water. And the sunshine reflected in the waves. He wants pictures of critters we might find. Of anything different or interesting. He shoots one of me bending over to retrieve a particularly perfect shell that he spotted in the sand. He’s the best spotter. I’d have to have my glasses on to see as well as he does, but my glasses and I haven’t made friends yet so I leave them behind a lot.

We’re walking in the tide and the water ebbs and flows, swishing over our feet, lapping at our ankles. I watch as it recedes, waiting to see what treasures it brought, what it left behind for us. There’s a crab. It’s alive. I get close enough to look. And to keep my toes away while Tim snaps a picture. He grabs my hand and walks me around the thing. He’s so gorgeous, this man of mine. Perfect proportions, perfect stride, perfectly comfortable within his own skin. And those eyes. They twinkle at me, brighter than the sunshine highlighting our day. He teases me about stuff that could be lurking in the sand. I head to the water’s edge. He reminds me that sharks live there. I hold his arm as well as his hand and figure that if I go, he goes, and as long as we’re going together I’m good.

We meet a mother and daughter, both dressed casually, with shorts and swim suit tops. It’s hard to tell their ages with their hair highlighted and their skin bronzed by the sun. They’ve lived there forever we find out. A young boy comes up out of the water with a can filled with something. He dumps it into a bucket. He’s their son/grandson and they live just up the sand. They point out their place. The boy’s is collecting little sand crabs. He touches them. I back up a step.

They talk to us about turtles. Walk us down the sand to show us a nesting place. It’s pretty cool. I’m thinking about nesting with Tim. On cool sheets and a soft mattress. Indoors where there are floors that don’t shift beneath my feet or have things living in them. With walls that prevent interlopers from washing haphazardly into my space.

A crowd is gathering further down the beach. We walk down to see what’s going on. There’s a beach pub there. Just what I’ve been waiting for! We decide with only a glance at each other that we’re going up for a glass of wine. Or maybe two glasses of wine. After all, we’re here at the island. On vacation. But first…I can’t believe it. I see grey. A lot of it. There are two men in the water. And a fishing pole lodged in something nearby. One man is pulling the line. The other is in the water not too far away from us. He’s approaching something. The waves are huge around him, like a mini tsunami right in front of him. It surrounds him. He lunges. Grabs with both arms. He’s caught a shark!! Oh My Word. A shark. It’s little, I hear someone say. ‘A baby.’ Tim says. It was at least six feet long. Way too long to be any kind of baby I’d ever want to be around. Long enough to have a mouth that opens wide enough to take my arm. And teeth that are plentiful enough, and sharp enough to do so. Two seconds before he’d been in the very water where I’d been splashing around. Someone obviously forgot to tell folks here that I’m here. And on vacation.

Waiter…someone…please, could you pass the word here? I’m here. I’m on vacation. Tim and I need wine. Please!

…And there you have it. It Happened On Maple Street. Sort of. The above is a completely true story. Tim really took the pictures. But it isn’t happening now, here at Desert Island Keepers. It happened last summer, during our anniversary celebration on St. Augustine Beach in Florida. It Happened On Maple Street, our new book, is being marketed as romance fiction. Parts of it are fictionalized – years that Tim and I spent apart are fictionalized. But the story of Tim and I, our love story, the tragedy, and then our reuniting, the healing power of love, are all completely one hundred percent true. The message that we have to bring to you – that violence is wrong, and that victims remaining silent is wrong, too. I am speaking out to prove to us all that victim’s CAN speak out. That we must speak out. That violence is not right and does not win. And that there are Tims in this world who will walk right beside us, see us for who we really are, believe in us, and teach us to laugh again.

This post is brought to you as part of the It Happened On Maple Street International Blog Tour. For a complete tour schedule visit www.tarataylorquinn.com. All blog commenters are added to the weekly basket list. Gift Basket given each week to one randomly drawn name on the list.

If you or someone you know is a victim of domestic violence, or if you suspect someone is, please contact www.thehotline.org, or call, toll free, 24/7, 1-800-799-7233 (SAFE) or 1-800-787-3224 (TTY). The call can be anonymous and is always confidential. There is not one second of life that is worth wasting.

Next tour stop, Friday, April 22, Serve One Another: http://theblogfrog.com/1502893.

To get your copy of It Happened On Maple Street, visit your favorite bookseller, or www.maplestreetbook.com.

Don’t miss The Chapman Files! Still available here at Amazon


It Happened On Maple Street is coming soon on Kindle and Nook, too!

What the bloody hell does that mean?

Please welcome Matthew Lang for his final day on the Island!

So apparently, I just put a bad word into the title. When Tourism Australia was looking for a new way to advertise Australia in 2006, they came up with the Where The Bloody Hell Are You campaign. We Aussies speculate it got through because the catchphrase ‘Bloody Hell’ is very Aussie. It’s encapsulates the slightly anti-authoritarian and larrikin spirit Australia is known for. Culturally it’s used as an expression of surprise, or shock, and is used as frequently for positive surprise as negative surprise. It is, in short, fairly inoffensive.

At least, it’s fairly inoffensive in Australia. Apparently the word ‘bloody’ gets up the nose of the British, and the word ‘Hell’ goes down very badly in middle America. Writing a novel set in Australia with a cast of Australian and British characters for an American publisher (and written in American English) was also an experience trying to work out what would translate and what wouldn’t. There’s a phrase in British/Australian English which is ‘whinging and whining’, which doesn’t appear in American English, for example, and confused all the editors and proofers who looked at it. Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but confusing the American reader is another matter altogether.

The reason I bring this up was to ask a few questions. The big one is: When do you know that you’ve gone from ‘boyfriends’ to ‘partners’. I was at a wedding recently, and partner came with me, and he only knew one other person there besides me. Which meant I was introducing him to a lot of people—especially as there were people there who I hadn’t seen in ages, or expected to see there. And I invariably introduced him as ‘my partner’. Language wise we’ve moved in that direction from around January I think. We were in a professional environment and got asked ‘Are you partners’ and his immediate response was ‘yes’. It was immediate, confident, unthinking and without the glance at me to assuage any insecurities. Part of me was very touched, and part of me was wondering if that was just for the benefit of the interviewer.

Yes I can be just as insecure as the next person.

My partner and I are approaching our one year anniversary, which is in about a week, and I do consider him my partner, which I would define as someone who is more than just a special friend who is a boy. I was with my ex for thirteen months, and we hit issues about six, seven months in. The funny thing is, I don’t think I ever once thought of him as my partner. I don’t think I ever once referred to him as my partner. And looking back, that’s a bit upsetting, because he is and remains a wonderful guy. But I never asked myself the questions I’ve just posed to you. And here I am now, less than a year in, and having spent less time with my partner than I have with my ex, and I’m more or less comfortable referring to him as that.

One of the reasons I raise this if to raise the point that love and relationships move at different paces. I also raise it because of a conversation I had recently with a Sydney friend who at one point could have been more than a friend (but realistically probably wouldn’t have worked out long term). He was in a long term relationship for eight years, which went very badly, and he now wonders if that’s damaged his ability to connect to other people. He also uses the terms ‘partner’ and ‘boyfriend’ in the opposite way to me. The man he was married to for eight years was his boyfriend and the guys he slept with (open relationship), he considered partners. Possibly along the lines of sexual partner. He’s also one of the guys who can’t have casual sex. Sex for him always has to be with someone he has an emotional connection to, which can muddy up the waters even further. The long suffering and very evasive point of this ramble is that he uses the terms ‘boyfriend’ and ‘partner’ in almost the exact opposite way to me. I’m not sure I even want to ask about when you go from ‘dating’ to ‘boyfriends’ (although according to my definition a few weeks). Also, when do you measure you anniversary from? From when you met, from when you started dating or from when you decided you were more than dating?

What do you all think? Really, I want to know, because I’m still massively confused.

Oh, I’m about to take my bamboo raft across to that island over there to see if I can track down Bear Grylls. If you miss me, pop your message in a bottle and float it over to me! Oh, and if I don’t find Bear, expect me back soon. There’s a number of books here I haven’t read yet...

Oh look! Shiny! Shiny? Aw... shiny gone...

Please welcome Matthew Lang to the Island once again!

Do you miss television on a desert island? I would. Actually I’d probably miss music more. Eventually I’d start writing songs. The thing with music is that unless someone’s making it, you can’t listen to it without electronic power. Unless you have one of those wind up music box thingies I guess. Books on the other hand, you can enjoy without electricity. You don’t have to. But you can. I probably don’t read as much as I should—or as much I’d like (or as widely as I should, as my partner is very quick to point out).

The thing about reading is that it confirms writing as a communication medium...which is supposedly why people write. We write to tell stories, to communicate a message and I find it difficult to understand how a person can hope to be an effective communicator if he or she isn’t familiar with the medium he or she is working in. I was recently asked what I read and why I read, and the thing I love about reading is that it shows you another person’s mental processes. It can expose you to great ideas, sentence structures, give you surprising ways to play with words. If you’re ever surprised at the way a word is used, take note of it. If you’re feeling particularly inspired, write it down. Read more of that author’s works (and hope they remain brilliant), because that will inform your own attempts at communication. I’ll give you new ways to surprise others, or make witty banter, or even write if that’s what you want. I was out on the weekend and had a conversation with a friend that went something like this.

“Oh we’re going back to Misty? Really?” Gordon said as we turned the corner.
“Is there something wrong with that?”
“No, I just thought we wouldn’t still be drinking after the show.”
“Seriously, is there seriously a time when you’re not drinking?”
Gordon scowled and pointed at me with mock anger. “Hey, sometimes I’m sleeping.”
“Really? You don’t have an IV by your bedside to make sure your alcohol doesn’t get a blood problem?”

He lost it. He was pissing himself—or maybe that was just the rain and a lack of an umbrella. But that surprised me. I was expecting a small laugh. Or possibly a ‘Yeah, whatever, really funny man’, and I ended up asking him if he hadn’t heard that expression before. And he said

“Of course I have—but never quite like that. You surprised me.”

In other words, I was unintentionally hilarious and witty in a good way because I played with words. Now you can work out how to play with words from television or other mediums (which is one of the reason I miss TV here on the Desert Island), but there’s some things you can only get from reading because there’s some tricks you can only get away with in writing. And again, it’s one of the few narrative mediums you can enjoy without other people or electricity.

I’ll leave you today with a small excerpt from my debut novel, The Secret of Talmor Manor, which I hope you’ll like. As a bit of background, Jake is a modern day man and Nate...isn’t. Not to give too much away, Nate has somehow found his way into Jake’s time and he’s having to juggle culture shock and his attempts to figure out what happened with the necessity of hiding the fact that he’s a little out of his time from everyone around him. And the likely suspect for the cause of his displacement? A wizard did it. Kinda. Maybe.

~*~

The next Thursday found Jake, Nate and Logan in the city, walking through Royal Arcade on their way to Logan’s favorite occult shop. The Spellbox itself turned out to be a small, elegant place with a few “mystical” items in its windows.

“Most of its stock is books,” Logan told them. “Admittedly, most of it seems to be New Age books about crystals and holistic world peace and cosmic harmony, but there are a lot of older books as well—I just don’t think they sell many of those.”

“Why not?” Jake asked. “I mean, I’m assuming that the older books are probably what I’d be looking for, right?”

“Maybe,” Logan said. “But then, they’re not all written in English.”

“What are they written in then?”

“I don’t know. Greek maybe, or Latin. At least one I peeked into had Egyptian hieroglyphs.”

“The way you say that a man might think you did not believe in the power of crystals,” Jake said dryly.

“I don’t.”

“But you’re going to buy some for Katrina?”

“Maybe. Just because I don’t believe in them doesn’t mean she wouldn’t appreciate them.”

“Logan, you don’t even know what crystals to buy.” Jake and Nate trailed along behind his friend as Logan stepped into the dimly lit store, the air inside thick with the smell of sandalwood incense.

“Greetings and blessed be,” said a dark haired lady in a dress of purple velvet. Her demeanor was sultry, and her hair had been straightened to hang down past her shoulders in a fashion that was now considered more emo than gothic. There was a mole on her upper lip, although Jake was almost certain it had been penciled in with the eyeliner that defined her eyes. Around her neck hung a red pendant of glass or crystal in a silver setting on an equally silver chain. Heavy bangles jangled on her left forearm, and three silver rings sat around her middle finger, pinkie and thumb of her right hand as if to balance them out. Unfortunately her look was somewhat spoilt by the plastic nametag pinned to the front of her low cut dress reading “Hi, my name is Jane.”

“Welcome to The Spellbox,” Jane was saying. “Was there something in particular you were after, a love charm perhaps?”

“Ah, no…I’m looking for a gift for a friend.”

“Well, candles are always a good choice. We carry a full range, but we Wiccans prefer the unscented variety.”

As Jane led Logan around to the display of candles, Nate and Jake wandered the rest of the glass display shelves, looking at the various magical paraphernalia for sale. Idly, Jake wondered just how much of it was useful. How much of it was real? It was a strange thought, and one that wouldn’t have gone through his brain even a few weeks ago—but now his mind buzzed with questions. Was magic an extra arm of science that had yet to be “scientifically” discovered and analyzed? Was it fuelled by belief in the arcane, or the spiritual? Did the knives really have to be brass colored and wavy bladed and inscribed with serpents and berries—or were they grapes? And what was the deal with the black book surrounded by fat beeswax candles sitting on a plush red cushion all by itself? Why did it not have a title, just a pentagram on the cover?

“Those are the same runes that Katrina’s notes were in,” Nate said in a low voice.

“I know. I wish I could read them.”

“They look dangerous, do they not?” Nate turned through the pages of the leather bound volume, revealing page after page of cramped runic script.

“Perhaps. Do you think serious magicians use all of this stuff?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m just wondering if magic is a belief system or a scientific system. Does magic happen because you believe it does?”

Nate stepped back and folded his arms. “Did you expect to wake up in Talmor manor? Or for me to accompany you back from your dream?”

“Well…no, I suppose not,” Jake said.

“Did you believe it was real the first time?” Nate continued, his eyes narrowing.

“Okay, okay, point taken.” Jake threw up his hands in surrender. “I was just wondering.”

Nate shrugged. “I don’t understand any of it. It is beginning to look like Katrina was dabbling in this magic—but I do not know how she worked, or even where she learned it.”

“Did she speak any other languages?” Jake asked, glancing to where Logan was looking at ornamental boxes and tarot card decks.

“I…don’t really know,” Nate replied. “I guess I never really spent that much time with her once we left the nursery. We were never that close and we had different lessons.”

“Different lessons?”

“Yes. Father insisted I get an education, so I went to school—but my sister didn’t. I was away most of the year.”

“Boarding school?” Jake asked as Logan walked around to yet another set of bookshelves.

“Yes. I did not see very much of my family at all.”

“Oh.”

“Not that the schools were very good,” Nate continued. “They were more interested in ‘refining’ us into gentlemen than teaching us about economics or technology. Engineers were not seen as ‘refined’ gentlemen.”

“They often aren’t,” Jake said.

“Well yes, I suppose so, but that doesn’t mean that they’re unimportant.”

“True. In Australia a trained engineer can make a lot of money—sometimes more than a businessman. We export a lot of the raw materials the rest of the world wants, so there’s money and power in engineering.”

Nate snorted, a decidedly unrefined sound. “Britain certainly never did, I know that. Anyway, that’s what happened to us back then. So I have no idea when or how Katrina learnt what she did about magic.”

“I should have realized she wouldn’t have received an education,” Jake said. “I’m far too used to the way things are now.”

Nate grinned. “I’m not. I’m still trying to get used to the fact that a woman no longer expects you to hold the door open for her, or pull out her chair.”

~*~

And that’s all we have time for today. I think I saw Bear Grylls over on the horizon and I’m tempted to see if I can build a raft out of bamboo to go after him... hey, a boy can dream, right?

Who the Hell is Matthew Lang?

So by the looks of both the author line up and the url of this website, I have to admit being a little surprised to be writing here. I appear to have the wrong set of genitals. On the other hand, I suppose the currents aren’t always picky about which desert island they wash man loving authors up on. Or maybe they are. I have to say, this looks like my kind of desert island. Seriously. I mean, love the coconut trees, the distinct lack of large predators and the fact that there’s a convenient source of fresh running water leading into a pool that’s both picturesque and perfect for bathing...or watching other bathe. Incredibly sexy, muscular men, not wearing a stitch of clothing, water glistening on their skin as they rise from the... excuse me I need to go talk to my partner for a bit. Be right back!

Okay. That was... where was I? Oh right, desert island, with fresh water, coconuts, and an abundance of seafood. Now all I have to do is learn how to spearfish and we’ll be right. Thankfully we’ll have no problem with kindling for fire given that we have all these b... brown coconut husks. I have to admit I’m not too keen on firelight to read by though. It’s always hard getting it at the right angle to view the text from, and the smoke eventually makes me want to sneeze.

Am I overthinking this? I’m overthinking this aren’t I?

Let’s try this again. Hi, I’m Matthew, and I’m a compulsive writer. The first story I ever wrote was terrible. It was a very bad attempt at retelling a story I had read in class that week. Or had read to me that week. My sister was typing something up for school (my father worked for a computer company before the rise of the PC), and needed to print it out at my dad’s work, and I didn’t want to be left out. I can’t remember exactly what the story was. I think it was about a triceratops who wanted to fly like a pteranodon and in the book it was several beautifully illustrated pages of saurian joy. My version was about four lines in one paragraph that told the story in a much worse way. I kinda wish I still had it though. It was a cool story and had dinosaurs in it. I like cool stories with dinosaurs in them. The funny thing is I don’t think I ever really wrote other stories with dinosaurs in them. I started writing stories with elves in them instead. Then, being the big geek that I am, I eventually joined a Buffy The Vampire Slayer Role Playing Game. I noticed in the official character sheets that Willow got herself a drawback point for being a minority ‘gay’. Prior to that the sexuality of my characters never really came into play...literally or figuratively. Once I found out I could get build points out of it, I was like ‘bring it!’.

It was probably around that time that I seriously started questioning the material I was reading: why weren’t there stories with stories I related to on a personal level? And yes, by personal level I meant why were there no epic stories where the main character, was a gay man? Or where there was a gay character not played for chuckles or stereotypes or strictly there to fall in unrequited love with the straight male protagonist? And then I decided the only way to rectify the situation was to write.

I was sixteen when I first realised I was a writer, and it was another four or five years before I came out even to myself. And since then it’s been about a decade of study, writing and procrastubation before I buckled down and seriously took the steps on the journey of publication. And given how recent those first steps were, I don’t know if I’ve hit the mark, or even come close, or how much further I have to go. You might have to read my work yourself and let me know.

But that’s going to have to be enough for one night. The fire is burning down to embers and I want to get under the mosquito net before the bugs get me. I hate getting bit by mossies, don’t you?

The Chronicles of an RT Virgin Day 3 by Leslie Soule

 Day Three: YA, FBI, Faery Ball

At the start of day three of the convention, I was already feeling a bit exhausted from the whirlwind of events that is the RT convention. 

Since I am a YA Fantasy author, I looked at the RT brochure and was intrigued by a workshop titled “Young Adult: Pretty In Pink: Girl Power, Feminism, and the YA Revolution”. The workshop featured a great panel of authors, and I took copious notes. During the course of the workshop, I was reminded that it is writers who steer the course of public discourse regarding social issues. The next workshop I attended was called “How to Create the Ultimate Female FBI Agent” and afterwards, I felt a strong compulsion to write an FBI/crime novel. However, the entirety of my knowledge on the subject comes from what I learned in the seminar. So I decided to put that idea on the back-burner for now. It was well past noon when the workshop ended, and I felt the pangs of hunger. I called my friend Colleen and we met up for lunch. Soon we were joined by Heather Bennett of Decadent Publishing. Shortly thereafter, Colleen and I spotted fellow Decadent author Robert C. Roman, and welcomed him to our table. Lunch came and went, and it became time to go to the RT Book Reviews Awards Ceremony. After the ceremony, we were each given a bag full of books.

I went up to my room, to change into something vaguely Victorian and to get ready for the Steampunk tea. My day had already been filled with activity, but the main event was yet to come – the Venetian Masquerade Faery Ball. 

To my surprise and enjoyment, I found that my fellow Decadent author Deanna Wadsworth had dressed up as the Beer Fairy, complete with hat of beer boxes, yellow wings, and a tool belt of shot glasses and Bud Light. Another of my fellow authors, Robert C. Roman, dressed up as a Redcap, with edible blood all over his hat – he assured me that it was a tasty mix of cinnamon, corn syrup, chili pepper, and food dye. So of course, I had to taste it, and it was yummy! There was a contest for best costume – and everyone lost to a hot guy holding a puppy with little fairy wings. 

With half of the week over and gone, and the other half still yet to come, I began to reflect on my overall impressions of the RT Convention. It had been a crazy whirlwind of an event – chaotic, insanely fun, and from what I’ve seen and experienced, well-worth attending.

You can read more from Leslie on her site. Click on the banner to head on over

The Chronicles of an RT Virgin Day 2 by Leslile Soule

Day Two: Books & Bollywood

At 9AM, my roommate and I were able to sign in at registration. We were handed our RT convention passes, along with cards for book bags and the Book Room. The Book Room is a room that you can walk around in, with books piled high on the tables. Participants in the convention get to walk into the room and select a designated number of books to take with them and keep. I was surprised to learn that this year, participants were allowed to select nine books from this room. Then, we went to the seminar for RT virgins, hosted by Amanda McIntyre and Sahara Kelly. Our hosts managed to make this presentation both lively and entertaining, which is a feat. If I was hosting the RT Virgins seminar, it would have been a complete snoozefest.

After the seminar, the workshops and seminars began, and we were free to pick and choose which ones we wanted to attend (the RT Virgins seminar wasn’t required, but was definitely helpful). We attended a “Western Reader Roundup” in which we got to meet a whole table of friendly authors, who autographed free books for us. There was also line dancing, and I think I did alright at it. Not knowing any line dancing prior, I was a bit nervous. The dance leader informed me that we would be doing “kicks” and this delighted me, since I’m a martial artist. A little voice within said “Yes – kicks! I can do kicks!”

Then we went to a pirate workshop, held by three pirates, one of which was our own Maureen O. Betita from Decadent Publishing. Upon entering, a free book was on my chair, waiting for me. Argh! Free booty! This workshop was great – we had to come up with our own pirate and ship names. The girl sitting next to me was “Stink Eye” the pirate. I nearly died laughing.

I met up with my friend Colleen, and together we went grocery shopping, to by supplies for the Decadent Publishing author party. This party was one of the big highlights of my trip, since I finally got to meet so many authors who I’d only known by name or author photo before. The night ended with the Ellora’s Cave Bollywood party. 

The saris that attendants wore were gorgeous. The ballroom was decorated beautifully and I was delighted to find a hip scarf and finger cymbals waiting for me. I watched the Bollywood dancers and was reminded of the time I’d spent in India about five years ago. 

Day two of RT was amazing, and though I was thoroughly exhausted, I definitely looked forward to more positive experiences that would be sure to come with day three.

The Chronicles of an RT Virgin by Leslie Soule

 Day One: The Run Devil Run Show

This begins the chronicling of the first three days of the RT convention. I have decided to share my experiences with you. So, I went to the Romantic Times Booklovers’ Convention for the first time, not quite knowing what to expect. Being a native of northern California, I was not expecting hot weather to hit so soon upon my arrival in southern California, which we locals refer to as SoCal. I stayed with my sister in Oxnard for a week prior to meeting up with my RT roommate in Torrance, and fortunately my sis was willing to teach me the ways of more fashion-savvy SoCal women. But some habits die hard, and I walked away from Oxnard with a pair of shoes that looked like they belonged to Cleopatra’s wardrobe instead of a fashion-trendy modern woman’s. 

 Arriving at the hotel with only about twenty minutes in which to get settled in, we quickly checked out appearances and then made our way down to the lobby and out to the bus that would take us to the Viper Room on the Sunset strip. Our hosts on the bus ride were Heather Bennett of Decadent Publishing and Dave, drummer for Run Devil Run. They kept the mood lively and gave out prizes. Soon, we reached the Viper Room. The black curtain surrounding the stage parted and Run Devil Run appeared, bringing their classic rock sound and intense energy to the performance. Jeremy Aric channeled AC/DC for the band’s rendition of “Dirty Deeds” and Dave twirled his drumsticks in the air. The show was over all too soon, and it was amazing. 

Well, Run Devil Run is a smart band. Lead singer Jeremy Aric is the embodiment of rock star hotness. I met him after the show and he was the one selling the band’s swag. Confronted with his good looks, I felt compelled to purchase a CD and t-shirt. Then, a woman passed by, selling roses. I had some cash in my pocket, so I bought one and gave it to Dave. I had never given a rose to a band member before. Dave graciously offered to take a photo with me, and then my roommate and I returned to the bus and went back to the Westin Bonaventure. I had a great time and looked forward to another exciting day’s adventures at the RT Booklovers’ Convention.

Spring Giveaway!

Hello again DIK! I've enjoyed your company for the past two days and am going to round up my visit with a nice little giveaway. *As if Matthias and Miguel weren't enough!*

Head on over to SVZ Book Reviews for a chance to win...

Master of Desire
by Kinley MacGregor

The King himself ordered Draven de Montague, Earl of Ravenswood to take in his foe's daughter, Lady Emily for a year to forge bonds of peace between their two feuding houses.


And for an extra entry, leave a comment HERE and tell me if you think you would be able to live in medieval times? With out your gadgets?! (Don't forget your email.)

Spring Pets

Hello again DIK! I'm back and this time I brought Mattias' friend, Miguel, who is tending the side bar over at SVZ Book Reviews this week.

This sand feels wonderful in between my toes and Matthias is doing a great job of bringing me Chocolate Martinis (though he does tend to get more chocolate ON him than in the glass - see yesterday for a refresher). But back home, spring has sprung and it sure does make everyone flirty! Pretty soon there are going to be so many baby animals wandering around my backyard I'm gonna wonder if I am Snow White reincarnated.

But really, I have a soft spot in my heart for animals in romance.



No matter a paranormal super-sexed werewolf (Unbound by Lori Devoti) ...





Or a common canine (Love is a Four-Legged Word by Kandy Shepard), the story always feels that much sweeter with a little fur to pet.


Any bookish "pets" you've ended up adoring lately?

Spring Chocolate

Spring is flirting with me this week giving me lovely flowers and cold sunshine. What I wouldn't give for some warm sand to squish between my toes right now! Freshly pedicured toes, of course.

So here I am with you girls enjoying our lovely desert island weather.

Speaking of dessert, I'm in the mood to talk about food in romance.

I'm pretty sure we are all familiar with Matthias. He's been making the rounds and the blogs seem to eat him up. I know I would!

He's a perfect example of food and sex. Just imagine all the different kinds of naughty that look would lead to.

I know I enjoy reading about it in a book, especially when there are scenarios that have strong potential for at home reenactment!

But I think the most sensuous food scene I have read recently was with one hot hunky man all alone with his fantasies. Let me set this up for you a little: BLANK is eating a specialty dinner and daydreaming about a woman he has never met. But he will soon! Read below, an excerpt from Beauty and the Feast by Julia Rachel Barrett, page 41.

"He picked up the small fork and took a taste of the salmon. The mouth feel was smooth, soft. Gabe savored it. The salmon tartar felt exactly like a woman, like he was tonguing a woman.

The same sweet salt, the same tenderness. It seemed to him as if he was tasting Eva. He found himself growing erect and his swollen cock pressed uncomfortably against his zipper.

Gabe stood up and stretched. He grabbed his glass of wine and stepped out onto the patio. The sun had set an hour before. The night was cool, as nights tended to be in the hills above the valley.

He wanted to finish everything she’d prepared for him, but he didn’t know if he could stand it. One more bite and he might come in his pants."

What book has really whet your appetite recently?!

Review: The Rifter Part 2: Servants of the Crossed Arrows by Ginn Hale

*Warning: It will be impossible for me to discuss this second part of The Rifter without giving away spoilers for part 1!*

After the excitement of Part One of this serialised novel (reviewed HERE) things begin to settle into what looks like a duel storyline for our two heroes. The first story tales up about two thirds of this 140-odd page second part and follows John as he seeks a way to get him and his two companions, Laurie and Bill, into the city of Amura’taye where he hopes to locate a key to get them back to Earth. In order to do this John becomes embroiled in a fight between rebels and a convoy of soldiers who are conveying a boy who wishes to become a priest in Amura’taye. The second story follows Kahlil who is struggling with his lack of memory and has become a mercenary. Whilst working undercover he discovers a plot to kill a prominent war-lord from the North, Jath’ibaye, and is startled when it becomes clear that he may not be the only man to be able to manipulate gray space.

As you would expect this second part builds on what has come previously. More than that, it also starts to expand the setting away from the waste lands of Basawar and into the civilisation of Amura’taye. With this change of setting comes a switch in the importance of the characters as Bill and Laurie begin to fade a little into the background and newer characters such as the soldier, Pivan; the Lady Boursim and her son Fikiri come to the forefront. With this change of focus in character comes a move away from the survival plot of earlier in the book to one of political intrigue as John gets drawn into life in Amura’taye. This was a quieter part of the book, especially after a heart-in-your-mouth battle scene at the beginning of the second part, where the foundations are being laid for later in the book. As with the beginnings of all good books it is difficult for John to know who to trust in this strange political landscape and there are many characters who could be either a friend or enemy for him. This doesn't mean these scenes were dull, because they weren't, but their relevance to the story as a whole is a mystery as yet and it remains to be seem how much of this is important for John as the book progresses. One interesting thing to note is the way that John's decisions are starting to change the course of history. It's very subtle but as we move into the second story involving Kahlil we can see the effect these ripples cause in the future.

The section with Kahlil is shorter than the events with John, and is almost like another beginning to the book. Kahlil has somehow been thrown nearly thirty years into the future. Thus tendrils of links are made between the two stories as we are fed bits and pieces of information that Kahlil is able to glean about past events and we meet characters who appear alongside John in the first half - who are now much older. Like the first section involving John, this part was heavily political in tone as, again, the foundations are laid for later in the book. I have to say that I found this section much slower moving than the first part and my interest began to wane a little. However, this part ends with a shocking revelation which certainly regained my attention and left me clamouring for more in part three.

Overall, this second part of The Rifter was a quieter and more complex affair than part one. The complexity is good as it shows how the different layers of the story are being built. A slight niggle that came out of this is the proliferation of unusual place and character names and I have to admit getting a little lost at times, especially in the system of honourifics and titles and in particular those which used apostrophes. The handy glossary at the back will be fine for those who can easily switch to the back few pages to look things up, but were not so handy for me on my book reader. However, that was just a slight niggle in a story which is slowly gaining momentum and promises to deliver an intricate, multi-layered plot as we move into part three. My only complaint is having to wait another month to read the next part!

You can either buy this second part - and then any subsequent parts - separately for $3.99 each, or buy the whole book at $29.95 and each month the new part will be sent to you via email. More information about this and the buy now page can be found HERE.

These Boots Were Made For Ass Kicking

Welcome back for my third and final day in the DIK Blog takeover!

Today, we’re going to talk about a subject very near and dear to my heart: boots.

If you follow me on Twitter or Facebook you know that I have a mild—okay, huge—obsession with boots. Tall boots, specifically. The more buckles and straps, the happier I am. Boots make me feel like a badass, ready to take on any adventure or danger.

So you can bet that when it came time for me to write my sci-fi heroine, the scavenger Mara Skiren, I made sure to put her in boots. Mara is, as the kids say, a BAMF (bad-ass mother f****r), and I wanted her footwear to reflect that aspect of her. When Mara’s on her ship, trolling the galaxy for merch to scavenge, she wears boots that are pure utility, like these:

Practical, yet seriously kick-butt.

But when Mara has to visit the thieves’ den known as the planet Ryge in the infamous Smoke Quadrant, she wears different boots with a lot more flash. Why?

The scavengers and smugglers on Ryge liked to dress flamboyantly. Calling cards for how successful they were. A drab scavenger clearly wasn’t doing well, and they were a collection of braggarts. Nobody respected the soft-spoken, the humble. Reputation wasn’t everything, but it counted for a lot.

Mara’s reputation gleamed, and everybody in the Smoke knew if they wanted merch moved, or prime scrap, she was the one to see. So she dressed the part.

I imagine her flashy Ryge boots look something like this:

I could have gone with a stiletto-heeled boot, but, honestly, who can run and kick ass in pointy, tottering heels? No, Mara might want to look sexy and showy, but she also knows that Ryge is a dangerous place, and she needs to be ready for anything.

Of course, the most dangerous thing she faces on Ryge is the explosive sexual chemistry between her and the man with whom she’s forced to partner, Commander Kell Frayne of the 8th Wing. And let’s just say that when neither of them can control their desire any longer…certain articles of clothing are lost, but Mara’s boots stay on.

And on that very naughty note, I bid you all a fond farewell. It’s been tons of fun hosting my takeover of the DIK Blog, and I hope you had a good time, too! Please visit me at my website, and on Twitter, Facebook and Tumblr. And you can find links to buy COLLISION COURSE here.

(Please note: this post was merely an excuse to look at pictures of boots online and call it “work.”)

Talkin' Tech

Welcome back for Day Two of my DIK Blog Domination!

Today I’m talking tech. Sci-fi technology, that it. One of the awesome things about writing sci-fi romance (or any science fiction, for that matter) is that you get to make up amazing technology. Sometimes the tech is stuff we’d love to have (like the replicators on Star Trek), and sometimes it’s terrifying (like unstoppable cyborg assassins from the Terminator films).

The only thing that limits the technology in sci-fi is imagination. Almost anything you can think of, you can put in your story. In fact, it’s actually difficult to rein in one’s ideas, especially if you want to keep the characters’ thoughts and feelings as the central focus of the story.

Still, I knew that with my own sci-fi romance, COLLISION COURSE, I would need to come up with some cool tech and gadgetry to make the world of the 8th Wing resistance fighters versus the tyrannical mega-corporation PRAXIS both believable and fun. But since I am slightly science-challenged (I am a Literature major for a reason), I had to consult with my own in-house mad scientist—aka, my husband, aka sci-fi romance author Nico Rosso. Between the two of us, we came up with a some very cool technology that adds to the drama of the story.

Within the ranks of the 8th Wing, there is a squadron of elite fighter pilots known as the Black Wraith Squad. Only these pilots can fly Black Wraith ships, including our hero, Commander Kell Frayne.

[Kell] held up his left hand, revealing the square of slightly raised flesh in the center of his palm. “Biotech implants. Without this, the Wraith is an inoperable hunk of metal. But with the implant, the pilot and the ship become one.”

So the pilot’s thoughts command the Black Wraith, making it faster and more responsive than flying a ship using manual controls. Further, Wraiths are adaptive:

He concentrated, and couldn’t help but smile when Mara gave a startled yelp. The ship responded to his mental commands, actually shifting and reconfiguring its interior. A process both liquid and mechanical as components altered, remade themselves. No longer did the ship seat just one person. At his directive, the Black Wraith could now accommodate a pilot and a gunner in a rotating turret, and all within a few seconds’ work, rather than losing days on making modifications.

Pretty cool, if I do say so, myself. ☺ And that’s been one of the most fun aspects of writing sci-fi romance: creating technology that could never exist except in the writer’s imagination.

What’s your favorite piece of sci-fi technology? If you could invent anything, what might it be?

Leave an answer, and I will be a random commenter to win a book from my backlist! (US and Canada only)

See you here tomorrow!

Zoë Archer's DIK Domination Begins!

Welcome to Day One of my three-day DIK Domination!

Today, I’m going to give you a little taste of my sci-fi romance, COLLISION COURSE, now available from Carina Press.

The ship was too small. It never had been before. There had always been plenty of room for her. Mara knew that technically, the Arcadia hadn’t actually shrunk. But now the bulkheads felt too close, the passageways too narrow, and the cockpit felt like a Meruvian snuffbox.

Not very difficult to find the culprit behind the Arcadia’s sudden loss of size.

As she piloted toward the Smoke Quadrant, she sent another wary glance out of the corner of her eye. The 8th Wing flyboy was studying the control panel intently, his dark brows drawn down in concentration. His presence beside her was large, warm, masculine. Foreign. Unwanted.

“Planning a mutiny?”

Frayne didn’t look up from his scrutiny of the controls. “If I jettison you, I can’t get to the Smoke Quadrant.”

Nice. “Why the inspection?”

“I always learn whatever ship I’m on. Never know when I’ll need to take the controls.”

Mara bristled. “You aren’t getting your hands on my ship. I promise you that.”

He turned to her, and even this slight adjustment of his posture made her feel hemmed in, overwhelmed. She told herself it was because he was 8th Wing, a representative of everything she avoided—order, discipline, regulations. Obligations. Yet she knew, deep down, that his gray uniform accounted for only a very small part of what unsettled her.

His eyes, darker than the depths of space, held hers. “Tell me what I can get my hands on.”

“Keep them to yourself,” she snapped, but a pulse of heat worked through her.

He lifted his broad shoulders in a negligent shrug. Yet he wasn’t as indifferent as he tried to look. Mara felt his gaze on her as she slid out of her seat to make some adjustments to the ship’s climate controls. Felt his gaze all over her body. It was too damned hot in here.

For another excerpt, plus links to buy, find it all here.

See you tomorrow!

kris' bookstore confessions

Tracy is letting me make a flying visit to DIK to try and crack on to as many of the menz as possible within a short period of time wiggle my toes in the sand a bit so I thought I'd take the opportunity to make you aware about my latest discovery about bookstores.

You're welcome.

While it is true I am in the Top 10 Bookstore Nazis of all time, they are, as much as it might seem hard to believe, one of my favouritest places in the world.

They also appear to be a temporary cure for my wee obsession with cleanliness.

I kid you not.

The proof:

BTW, this is not me, but he's hella cute.

I can't tell you how many times I've ended up sitting on the floor of a bookstore to go through shelves or to start flipping through a book/s.

Do I care about when the last time the floor might have been cleaned or vacuumed?  Do I care I might end up scratching for the next two days because I'm allergic to the cheap-as-shit carpet?  Do I care about the fact I could be sitting in the exact same place where someone tracked in dog poo? Do I even care that the dog itself might have come in and sat down thus sharing it's fleas with the world?

No!

It's a miracle!  OCD cured!

Or it could just be my OCD is so focused on fixing up the categorising and shelving of the books  that it doesn't notice anything as disgusting as dirt, germs and dust mites.

Gross.

So, are you a bookstore-floor-sitter-downer?  Or are you way too fastidious for that?  Maybe you bring your own sterile cushion because you know you won't be able to resist the beckoning floor?

Now there's a thought...

What a Hottie Wednesday (probably NSFW)

Unfortunately our scheduled author couldn't be with us but be sure to join us tomorrow, Friday and Saturday when Zoe Archer comes to play on the Island!

Here's some Eye Candy just to pass the time while we're waiting for Zoe's raft to float up to shore.

The Hero and the Grovel

This past week I read an interesting review where the reviewer took issue with how the hero didn't take enough responsibility for his actions in their relationship, and that the grovel at the end felt tacked on.

Now, I'm willing to put up with a lot in my heroes: alpha-bordering-on-asshole-ish behavior (all to "protect" the heroine, of course), jumping to conclusions, etc. HOWEVER, while I'm reading about these misquided actions and character flaws, I'm thinking two things:

1. "I'd better be seeing to really great character growth in this guy."
2. "I'd better be reading a great grovel scene at the end." The late, lamented Rip My Bodice blog had a great definition for grovel, which fortunately, I'd quoted over at Renee's Book Addiction, so I have it saved for posterity:
   

   Grovel, The [Pronunciation Key: gruhv-uhl] -verb 1. situation whereby hard-headed hero who has greviously [ sic ] wronged the heroine through unforgivable actions (see also entry for Alpha Male, The) is made to prostrate himself before her in an attempt for forgiveness. The Hero will often resort to tears, impassioned pleas and grand gestures. Artfully perpetuated by certain authors (see also entry for Ms Judith McNaught), the potential for heart-wrenching drama and tearful emotion is enormous, especially if The Hero is normally taciturn and unfeeling . . .

And, undoubtedly, the bad behavior must be proportional to the drama and size of the grovel. Of course, the grovel isn't meant to emasculate the hero, but demonstrates that his acknowledgment of how fucked up he's been, how sorry he is, and thus makes him an even more awesome hero.

I remember reading Anne Stuart's Ice Blue, and really liking the hero, Takashi O'Brien, though he was one of those bordering on asshole-ish. Throughout the book, I kept thinking, "Oh, his grovel's going to be goooood." Yet, when he finally meets up with Summer, the heroine, and the climactic reunion at the end, the grove never happened. I was SO pissed! I felt like I'd been cheated out of something after over 350 pgs. It made Takashi appear not to be a man who has seen the error of his ways (and is man enough to admit it), but just a guy who is kind of a jerk.

My stand out grovel scene comes at the end of the Adrien English series, in the last book The Dark Tide.
If you haven't read this and don't want any spoilers, skip to the end of the post. To read the scene, highlight the blank area, below:

Jake, who has admittedly put Adrien through hell over the course of the 5-book series, finally comes clean with Adrien. It's an emotional, soul-bearing scene:

He spoke so quietly I had to strain to hear, “You remember asking me if I'd ever begged?”. . .

“And you said you did beg once—and you got what you asked for.” I waited, wondering if I was going to like what I was about to hear.
Jake said, “When your heart stopped on that fucking boat.” The sudden fierce glitter in his eyes had to be a trick of the light. “I begged then.”
I couldn't think of a thing to say. It was the last thing I'd expected. Almost the opposite, in fact, of what I'd expected.
“I've never been that afraid. Not even close. I worked over you, and I called you every name in the book.” His face twisted. “I cried. And then I begged. You're damn right I begged. I promised—not that I had anything worth promising—but I was willing to give anything for you to be able to walk away from that.” His smile was the rare one, the wide and unguarded one. “And you did.”
I caught a ragged breath. Sat up so fast, we nearly head-slammed each other. “Jesus, Jake. If that's true, why the hell can't you say it?”
He looked confused.
“If you do feel that way, then why have you never said it? It would have helped. Because to not say it at this point feels like you have some reason for not saying it, that you're making some point by not saying it.”
He was shaking his head. “I don't know what you're talking about. Of course I—what do you think this is about?”
“Knowing and believing are two different things.”
He was looking at me like something had been lost in translation.
“Why can't you say it?” I hardened my voice. “Because I'm telling you, you never have. I'd have remembered.” He stared at me with disbelief. Then he lunged forward, pushing me flat in the pillows once more. He leaned over me, his mouth a brush of lips away from my own, his breath warm on my face.
“Love you? Of course I love you. Baby, I fucking worship you.”


*clutches heart*

So, what about you?
Do you like this kind of hero?
Do you need a grovel scene at the end to make things right with the world? If so, what is the best grovel scene that you can think of?

Thanks for visiting me here at the Island. And, don't forget
to come by and visit me at Renee's Book Addiction.

April Foolin'

Yesterday, I was totally sucked in by this April Fool's Day tweet.



Of course, part of it was that they were a day early and it WASN'T yet April 1st. The other part that sucked me in was that there was just enough truth to it to make it believable. James Marsters--Spike, to Buffy the Vampire Slayer fans--narrates the audiobooks for Jim Butcher's Dresden Files series, and Bob is Harry Dresden's talking skull sidekick. I can totally see JM as Bob's voice.

However, the mere thought of Robert Pattinson, in all his freakish sparkly vampire glory playing my beloved knight errant-wizard, Harry Dresden, was enough to make me do this:

But, the tweet got me, and it gave me a laugh.

Now, I'm not much of a prankster. Even something as relatively innocuous (though ludicrously funny) as this one is beyond my imaginative abilities. However, I am appreciative of a good one.

How about you? Do you like to pull pranks for April's Fools Day?

If not, why?

If so, what is the one you were most proud of?