Plot Monkeys

I “met” Harlequin Intrigue author Elle James in the normal way…I read one of her books, ALASKAN FANTASY, was blown away by it, so decided to write to her and tell her how much I love, love, loved her book. We emailed back and forth and she’s truly a generous and interesting woman…and a fantastic writer. Me and the Plotmonkeys are THRILLED to have her here today. Thanks so much, Elle, for sharing your knowledge with us!

At home in Northwest Arkansas, Elle is busy writing tales of murder and suspense for Harlequin Intrigue. Her first Harlequin, BENEATH THE TEXAS MOON, was released in March 2006 and was a Romantic Times Top Pick for the month! She had three Intrigues out in 2006 and 2007 and she has three more lined up for 2008. Stay tuned for more from Elle James!

Please give her a warm jungle welcome and check out her dead-on (and very funny) advice!

Ten Things I’d Wished I’d Known When I started Writing

When you’re a beginning writer you have soooo much to learn about the writing, markets, agents, editors and…well, the list goes on. If I had to choose from my top ten I wished I’d known when I started, I’m going to go with the list below. Granted, if you’d asked me two years ago, or ask me two years from now, I’d probably come up with a different list altogether. You’re a victim…er…product of your current circumstances.

Deep breath…breathe in…breathe out. Here goes (jumps in, holding her breath).

1. That is a four-letter word! If I had a dollar for every that in my beginning manuscripts, I’d have made more money than I did from my first advance! No, make it from my first book! Yes, Virginia, that killed Santa Claus and that had to die! You mean if I eliminated 99% of my that’s the meaning of the sentence is still clear? Let’s try it…

Myla knew that the car wouldn’t start, but she had to try anyway.
Myla knew the car wouldn’t start, but she had to try anyway.

Saints preserve us! It’s true! If only I’d known that I didn’t have to use all those thats in my sentences, I might have scored better on my contests, I might have appeared more intelligent to the editors to whom I’d submitted. Egads! How embarrassing, like having your skirt tucked up in your panties as you exit the ladies room!

2. POV does not mean personally owned vehicle. Although, by the time I got the hang of point of view, I could have driven my personally owned vehicle over a cliff (with me inside) and been quite happy with the results! If only I’d known Point of View is like being the movie camera in a particular character’s head. Only the things the character can see, feel, touch, smell, hear, and think can be recorded on the movie camera. The character cannot read another character’s mind, or know what the other character is doing if he has his back to him. If only I’d known!!!

3. Wabop is not the latest dance craze. It’s a catchy word and could be the next Electric Slide, but that’s (there’s that word again. Oops and again!) not how my contest critiques defined it. Who knew Wabop meant wandering body parts? I sure didn’t. One of my favorites is:

His eyes dropped to her shoes.

OMG! If a man’s eyes dropped to my shoes, I’d scream and run for a telephone to call an ambulance. Can they reattach eyes? Can you say ewww?

4. -ing leaves a bad ring when you’re making your characters do things that are physically impossible. Yeah, like that was clear as mud. Maybe the example will make it better:

Running through the streets, she stopped to peer into the store window.
(Is it possible to run and stop at the same time?)

She ran through the streets and then stopped to peer into the store window.
(Notice how this is more sequential. She has to stop one action to perform the next, thus not performing them simultaneously.)

5. -ly gets irritating like a rash that spreads throughout your manuscript. If I’d only known that -ly was a symptom of the deadly boring verb. The adverb is trying to resuscitate the verb! God golly, give the sentence a better verb! Can you see the muscles bulging in the verb used in the second sentence?

wimpy verb: Jack quickly ran to his car.

MIGHTY VERB: Jack raced to his car.

6. Start writing your book at chapter three. Huh? WTF! (What the fool, for those who would think I used the F-bomb. I didn’t) Start a book in chapter three? What about all that great backstory in chapter’s one and two that you have to know before you understand why Jill decided to go for the gold? Doesn’t everyone want to read through pages of history about your characters? I like to think of the backstory dumps as the cure for insomnia. I read them to go to sleep at night, don’t you?

7. Torture is good. I wanted my characters to fall in love at first sight. I wanted them to be happy. Face it, I’m a mediator, I want everyone to get along. Isn’t that how life is? Everyone should get along and everyone will be happy, right? Wrong! If your characters aren’t suffering, we’re back to the insomnia cure. If everything is hunky-dory, why read the rest? If your hero and heroine aren’t finding reasons to hate each other, they’ll get together at the beginning and you won’t have a book. If you can solve the murder in the first chapter, why read to the end? If someone isn’t jumping out and trying to kill your main characters while they struggle to find the answers, while fighting their attraction to each other, you might as well go to bed and sleep! It’s hard, but someone has to be the bad guy. Let it be the writer, churning out pages of conflicts for her characters to overcome. Get tough! Get mean! Play dirty!

8. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Okay, so this one can hurt. I thought that if I wrote a book, I’d submit, and some insightful editor would love it as much as I did. It’s my baby after all, and isn’t my baby beautiful? Not everyone is going to love your baby as much as you do. Don’t take it personally, just take it and move on. What one editor might hate, another will fall in love with. Think of all the editors who turned down J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter? Don’t you know they’re kicking themselves now?

9. Right place, right time is just as important as a good book! So my first book didn’t sell. I wrote another. Did it sell? Uh…no. Book three? Nope. Gulp. Book Four? Uh-uh. Not until book seven! Holy smokes! If you’d told me I had to write seven books before I’d sell, okay, maybe that’s something I’m glad I didn’t know when I started writing. I know authors who’ve written a lot more than seven books and still haven’t sold. It doesn’t stop them! They love each and every one of their babies. And just because they didn’t sell, doesn’t mean they’re bad. They may be well-written works of art. Luck has a lot to do with selling. Your book has to hit the editor’s desk when she is looking for a book just like yours. She might love your, but she also might have just bought one similar yesterday and doesn’t have room for it in her list. Love your babies, submit them and when you’ve exhausted the possibilities, stick it under your bed and wait. Some day you might land that contract with another book and the editor might ask you “what else do you have?” Don’t toss the baby out with the dishwater!

10. Never give up! Never surrender! I wish I’d known from the start that getting published never gets easier. Just because you sell your first book doesn’t mean you’ll sell the next one or the next one. If you get a bad cover the buyer for the book distributors hates, she won’t buy your book for all the chain stores. That’s disaster for your sell-through. Editors look at your sell through. If your book tanks, it’s not because it had a bad cover, it’s obviously because people hated your book. Never mind, it never made it to a major portion of the market. You might find yourself in a worse situation than never having sold in the first place, having a bad sales record. So, what do you do? In the words of the fabulous moving Galaxy Quest, Never give up! Never surrender! Park your butt in the chair and start your next book and repeat the writer’s mantra until it sticks:

WRITE, REVISE, SUBMIT
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Thanks, Elle, for that wonderful advice! I wish I’d had it before I started writing. And I still struggle with that. It’s one of those words I simply have to cut, cut, cut during revision.

Plotmonkey readers: check out Elle’s latest Intrigue release, UNDER SUSPICION, WITH CHILD by clicking this link to Amazon! And new copies of ALASKAN FANTASY are still available!

I’m cleaning my office today…so I’m offering a box of books–two hardcovers, three trade paperbacks and four mass market paperbacks! Not all are romances, but they are by authors who write romance (and one of the hardcovers is Diana Gabaldon.)

Winner gets the box!!!

US residents only on this one, folks.

Put in a comment!

My next Phantom book, PHANTOM’S TOUCH, comes out in December, so you can imagine how excited I was when I received my box of ARCs today!

Yeah!!!!!!

(Jolene, if you’re reading this…the one you won way back when will be in the mail today!)

But first…at the Literacy signing this year, I had so many people come up and even if they didn’t buy a book, stop to admire PHANTOM PLEASURES beautiful cover (which for those of you who own the book know, it’s twice as gorgeous in person as it is online.) To be honest, I was afraid that the cover would be impossible to top. Fortunately, I was wrong. Feast your eyes…

So in celebration of the new cover and the ARCs, I’m giving away TWO MORE COPIES to two lucky commenters who tell me why they absolutely must have a 3-month head start on reading this book before everyone else!

I met Cami Dalton through our own, Leslie Kelly, who has been friends with Cami for, well, forever. Cami is one of the most fun, most loving people I know and I can’t help but laugh myself silly whenever I’m around her. I’ve had the pleasure of spending much time with her, going to Disney with our kids, drinking margaritas, talking about family stuff, writing stuff, girl stuff. She’s irrepressible and genuinely fascinating. Please welcome her to the jungle!

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Okay, so I get this really great email from Leslie Kelly’s uber fabulous hubby, Bruce, a couple of weeks ago. (I’ve been good pals with the Kelly clan for years now, and generally annoy them on most non-major holidays.) Bruce had spotted my newest book for the Blaze line (and, by newest, I mean the other book I wrote) on a store shelf in Maryland and sent me a quick cyber shout out. In his note, he mentioned that Leslie was going to call me about being a guest blogger for the Plot Monkeys. I was flattered and scared. I’m a huge talker, but blogger? Not so much. Blogging involves writing. My writing style is fairly slow and mostly neurotic.

Through a series of unfortunate events, I didn’t get to speak to Leslie, and my oldest son must have erased her message from my cell phone. This would’ve been the message, or so I assume, for me to get off my fat derriere and get busy jotting down my clever and insightful thoughts on the craft of writing. Good Lord…

Unfortunately, Sherry Thomas hacked into my computer, took my post, and used it last weekend. Okay. Not true. But, dude, she’s awesome. My first thought was– why, why, am I the author that has to go right after her?! Talk about a bummer. For all of us. (It’s sort of like being stuck in a beauty pageant- the bathing suit part of the competition- and having to waddle out after Miss California.)

Anywho, since there’s no topping that puppy, (and, by puppy, I mean anything written now or in the future by Ms. Thomas, including her Plot Monkeys article) I guess I’ll just have to share a few random things that I’ve found helpful when writing and selling my masterpieces. Er, both of them.

In regards to making that first sale, my biggest piece of advice is to join RWA and make friends with other authors. There are dozens of articles out there about how great RWA is and invaluable to the new writer. I won’t belabor the point. However, let me stress that I would not be published without RWA. I would not have made the friends who encourage and inspire me. It’s a well known fact that good company corrupts bad morals. (Well, something like that, anyway.) In other words, I find it hard to blow off my writing when I regularly interact with such smart, successful women.

Without the amazing conferences and workshops, I would not have learned so much about the basic tools of writing. I also would not have met my editor. I would not have embarrassed myself in front of my editor– a painful memory, but it all worked out in the end and I’ll move on!

Be yourself. That’s the secret to making friends. Even with editors and agents. Being professional is all well and good, but, unless “yourself” is a tequila swilling hootchy mamma, (though, this has been known to work, too) most people you meet want to get to know you. Not what you’re writing. That comes later. When I met my editor, she thought I was funny and liked my natural “voice”, so to speak. We never talked about the current story I was working on, which was good, because it didn’t exist past the third chapter. However, she flat out told me that if my characters had dialogue like the stuff I was rattling off, then she wanted to read my book. This was great news and I went straight home and wrote one. On a side note, I was introduced to my editor because I was friends with one of her authors, Leslie Kelly. At my first national conference, way back when, Leslie introduced me to Brenda Chin. Leslie also introduced me to Julie Leto, Janelle Denison, and Carly Phillips. How cool is that? But see, that how friendship works when it’s real. Also, the Plot Monkeys rock. Out loud.

Write what comes naturally. I often like to read about dark, twisted characters full of angst and pain. However, whenever I try to write them, they start cracking jokes and having sex like horny jackrabbits. As a relatively new author, I’ve learned to stop fighting my voice. It is what it is. Not everyone’s going to love it, but my efforts are more natural and engaging when they come from that place inside me that flows. My editor is awesome. She always tells me to go for it. It’s her job to reign me back in if needed. It’s my job to flood her with greatness. Okay, I went a bit overboard there, but you get the point.

When I get stuck and don’t know where to go in a scene, I pretend that I’m one of my favorite authors and write the pages as I imagine they would. Obviously, do not take any actual scenes or written sentences from your fav author’s work! This is bad. A huge, whopping no-no. However, since I don’t sound like, oh, say, Jennifer Crusie, and never will no matter how much I fantasize, then this helps get me over the hump. I find this especially helpful when I’m starting a book. How would author x grab my attention? Where would they start the story if they were telling it?

Unfortunately, I’ve taken too much time to give you the real secrets of writing that are passed down in the secret RWA sect and I have to wrap this up. However, if I’m ever invited back, then I’ll reveal the super-duper mysteries of the secret society of romance writers. How’s that for a final hook? LOL!

A huge thanks to Leslie, Julie, Carly, and Janelle. You guys are my heroes!!!

On Monday, my daughter goes back to school. I have to say that this has been the shortest summer in the history of summers. I guess because I spent so much time recovering from my surgery or dealing with my father’s surgery, I feel like the whole of the season slipped away without me hardly noticing.

What we didn’t do this summer:

Go to the movies once a week, or even once a month. We saw ONE movie. I’m trying to fix that on Friday.

Go to the beach. We like to spend the Fourth at the beach, but not this year. My surgery even had me passing up a free weekend at the Grand Floridian in Disney World. Can you imagine?

Spend time hanging out at my parent’s house, on the lake or by the pool. My daughter did go waterskiing for the first time, which I was sure was going to make my youngest brother, who is an avid skiier, though not of his four children share his obsession, die from happiness. Then the boat broke down (as boats are wont to do) and there was not a follow-up. As much as I was miffed that my daughter was allowed to ski without anyone consulting me first, I was glad she showed aptitude and interest. It’s not a video game, you know?

Read a ton of books. I think I read four. That’s pathetic.

Now, I shouldn’t be focusing on the negative. So here are the things I did accomplish this summer, just to make me feel better:

Painted my bedroom a beautiful shade of blue.

Finally got the surgery that I’ve needed for years and I’m feeling FABULOUS!!!

Rediscovered my love for Star Trek: Voyager.

Finished a Blaze!

Plotted a new novella, plus worked on my next Phantom book.

HUNG OUT WITH MY PLOTMONKEYS!!! (That was THE BEST PART of the summer…and it’s no wonder that coming home from San Francisco has resulted in my renewed energy. They were just the tonic I needed!)

So what did you get done this summer that you planned? What didn’t you? Anything unplanned…say, like a parent’s triple bypass? (Dad’s doing really well, btw!)

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Warm wishes for a Happy Birthday go out to Plotmonkey Pal, DONNA McCLURE, today! We hope you have a fabulous, fun-filled day!

I am so excited to have Sherry Thomas here at Plotmonkeys today. Her book, PRIVATE ARRANGEMENTS, was one of my favorites for the year. It’s amazing on so many levels…great plot, amazing characterization, unusual and unique storytelling technique, underused time period, super sexy…I can’t say enough good things about the book. And for me, it all started with a book trailer.

I saw this and figured an author with that great of a sense of humor was someone I wanted to read. So I did and I wasn’t disappointed! Now, her new book, DELICIOUS, is on my TBR pile (having just arrived from Amazon!) and I can’t wait to dig in!

I also couldn’t wait to share my love for this new and amazing author with the readers of Plotmonkeys. So many of us cut our reader teeth on historical romances, it’s fabulous to have such a fresh voice in the genre with us today! Without further ado…

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Beyond Boobs and Buttocks

First I would like to thank Julie Leto for her lovely invitation to guest blog here at Plot Monkeys. And I can’t tell you how glad I am that she told me it is a craft topic—I get bored talking about myself and I don’t know enough about publishing to give anyone a whole column of advice. But writing? Bring it on.

For the longest time, the topic I had in mind was Chemistry. It is one of the most important ingredients in a successful romance, and one that is seldom addressed. And then I realized, of course, why it doesn’t come up very often in craft topics, because trying to teach romantic chemistry is like trying to teach someone how to live a rich, fulfilling life: the topic is so vast and cmplex that I either have to devote my entire life to it or I’m reduced to meaningless slogans like “Beyond Boobs and Buttocks!”

So I decided to whittle down the scope of my post to physical desirability, or rather, the successful portrayal of it. In a romance, the lead characters are generally reasonably attractive people. Therefore, their physical desirability has less to do with their looks—most heroes are handsome and fit—than what else they bring to the table. For example, Brad Pitt is often cited as the western male ideal. Is Brad Pitt really that beautiful? I think there are other actors in Hollywood who are equally if not more gorgeous. But very few exude the kind of charm and sexual charisma that buttress Brad’s physical allure.

How does a writer make her hero or heroine stand out in a sea of dazzling good looks?

Here’s an example from Susan Elizabeth Phillips’s Match Me If You Can on a hero whose nickname is The Python:

The Python’s office was the color of money: lacquered jade walls, thick moss carpet, and furniture upholstered in varying shades of green accented with bloodred pillows.

Color of money? It was at that point that I knew the book was going to be awesome. Now I couldn’t wait to meet him.

The Python turned slowly in his chair, and Annabelle felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach.

He was square-jawed and tough, everything about him proclaiming a brash, self-made man—a roughneck who’d flunked charm school the first couple of times around but had finally gotten it right on the third pass. His hair was thick and crisp, its rich color a cross between a leather portfolio and a bottle of Bud. He had a straight, confident nose and bold dark brows, one of which was bisected near the end with a thin pale scar. The firm set of his well-molded mouth proclaimed a low tolerance for fools, a passion for hard work that bordered on obsession, and possbily—although this might be her imagination—a determination to own a small chalet near St. Tropez before he was fifty. If it weren’t for a vague irregularity to his features, he would have been unbearably gorgeous. Instead, he was merely drop-dead good-looking. What did a man like this need with a matchmaker?

As he spoke into the phone, he turned his eyes on her. They were the exact green of a hundred-dollar bill singed at the edges with displeasure.

Gorgeous? Sure. But much more than that was the alpha-ness of this man, his worldly success, his ruthlessness and still-unappeased ambition. I’m convinced that the Python is one of the most vivid characters Susan Elizabeth Phillips ever created, in a body of work that is densely populated with extraordinarily vivid characters.

My personal reaction? I am torn between a pressing need to run away screaming from the Python and an equally great urge to be devoured whole by him.

Because SEP is such a master—I really should rush to Chicago to abase myself at her strappy-sandaled feet—our next example also comes from her, from Breathing Room, her Tuscany-set romance between a very good girl and an exceptionally bad boy.

…so she studied the statues on the other side of the piazza, copies of The Rape of the Sabines, Cellini’s Perseus, Michaelangelo’s David. Then her eyes settled on the most amazing man she’d ever seen….

He sat three tables away, a portrait of Italian decadence in a rumpled black silk shirt with dark stubble on his jaw, long hair and La Dolce Vita eyes. Two elegantly tapered fingers curled around the stem of the wineglass that dangled indolently from his hand. He looked rich, spoiled, bored—Marcello Mastroianni stripped of his clown face and chiseled into perfect male beauty for an avaricious new millennium.

In three sentences, SEP has given us a man who emanates sex, sin, and danger from every pore. This time I don’t even have the sense to want to run away. I go at him in a kamikaze craze, whimper “Corrupt me. God, please corrupt me” as I rip into that rumpled black silk shirt.

Now from 21st century to the 14th century. Here’s a little physical description from Laura Kinsale’s For My Lady’s Heart,

She felt herself strangely daunted by him, overpowered by his greater size, the black line of his legs, the heavy square links of the belt that hung at his hips. He wore it as if it had no weight at all, though each joint, ornate and thick, studded with the silvery sable of marcasite crystals, would have balanced a cobblestone on the measuring scale. But in his velvet he moved effortlessly.

This passage does not come at the beginning of the book, but quite late in it. The hero has been established as a thoroughly good, trustworthy, wonderful knight. But until this point, I don’t really think of him as sexy. The belt, however, clinches it for me, that heavy, square, masculine belt. (It is the details, always the details that do the trick, particularly if it is an unexpected detail.) Can you imagine the magnificent physique it takes to wear such a tremendous belt? I can and someone please pour a bucket of cold water on me.

Heroes can be simply presented in their glory, and when done well, readers of romance, largely female, largely heterosexual, will respond. With heroines it is slightly different. At least for me it is different. I need to see the heroine from the hero’s eyes, to see why this one particular woman is so special, to a vastly desirable man who is often jaded, and who has sometimes slept with legions of beautiful women without ever committing himself. In other words, I need an emotional response, something from deep inside him, from places that he himself does not care to frequent, for whatever reasons.

Our next example come from one of the most celebrated romances of our time, Loretta Chases Lord of Scoundrels. What makes LOS so wonderful is the continual destablization of our black-hearted hero by every encounter with the heroine, starting from the very beginning.

She looked up.

And a swift, fierce heat swept Lord Dain from the crown of his head to the toes in his champagne-buffed boots. The heat was immediately succeeded by a cold sweat.

“My lord,” she said with a curt nod.

“Miss Trent,” he said. Then he could not for the life of him produce another syllable.

…

For one deranged instant, while he contemplated licking her from the top of her alabaster brow to the tips of her dainty toes, he wondered what her price was.

But out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed his reflection in the glass.

His dark face was harsh and hard, the face of Beelzebub himself. In Dain’s case, the book could be judged accurately by the cover, for he was dark and hard inside as well. His was a Dartmoor soul, where the wind blew fierce and the rain beat down upon grim, gry rocks, and where the pretty green patches of ground turned out to be mires that could suck down an ox.

What’s in the ellipses? Three paragraph of more or less what she looked like. Why did I not put it in? Because I could care less–her hair could be another color, her eyes and nose and mouth shaped differently altogether. What interests me is his reaction, that his thoughts immediately turned to his own beastliness. He is alarmed, uncomfortable, and, in a way, enraged. Now we are talking.

Because I’m a major Laura Kinsale fangirl, she too supplies a second example of a deep emotional response on the hero’s part to the heroine’s physical desirability.

Already he walked the public streets in a mist, halfway between reality and fantasies of her. He was aroused by nothing more than the neat, straight line of her back, from her demure collar down to the curve of her hip. Knowning the real contour beneath the gathered abundance of fabric and padding stimulated him; a trace of shared scent or the sight of the tiny, tender wisps of hair at the nape of her neck when she bent her head over some glass-topped counter were electrifying.

And the sleep, heavy and dreamless, that overcame him after he had her; it scared him. In its own way, it carried more power and attraction than the act itself. To hold her close and drift into limbo while she talked in that gently animated voice of what they’d bought and seen that day—talked, for God’s sake; when the lethargy took hold of him like a blanket of dusky cotton unrolling, and he could not answer, nor help himself; utterly lax, wholly vulnerable and happy—he felt it must be someone else who lay there. It could not be himself.

Sigh. Sigh again. I just melt when a man loves a woman so madly, so much that it scares him. Do I believe he finds her to be the most beautiful creature alive? You bet I do.

I wanted to round out this post with an example from the great Judith Ivory’s Beast, one of the most ravishing books I’ve ever read. But alas, as I looked around my bookshelves, I realized that I’d loaned my copy to a friend.

So with a good deal of trepidation, because I’m not worthy of being mentioned in the same breath as these other authors, I offer up an example from my own book,
Delicious. It is, in its way, a curious example, because it takes my point—that one does not need to give into elaborate description of the heroine’s looks to convey her desirability to the hero–to something of an extreme.

Chocolate. He’d never had chocolate before he came to live at Fairleigh Park, but
when he was seven someone had given him a shred of paper that had once been wrapped
around a piece of imported chocolate. He’d pressed the wrapper to his nose and inhaled
as deeply as his lungs allowed, dreaming of chocolate enough to bury him.

Her custard smelled like that, a good smell made mythical by fervid imagination
and true hunger. Suddenly he was famished again. He wolfed down the whole content
of the ramekin in seconds, barely tasting anything as he ate.

Only as he slumped back into his chair did the residual flavors ambush his senses.
For a moment the inside of his mouth tingled and luxuriated, a burst of glory. But the
sensation faded just as quickly, leaving in its wake only the same obstinate, inexplicable
craving.

A craving that was not limited to chocolate custard. He saw himself invading
Mme. Durant’s kitchen and trapping her in a dark corner of her domain. He imagined her
wordless consent, the urgency of her ungentle grip on his arms.

She would be thin and frail, with the heartbreaking strength of those too long
accustomed to hard work. He’d cup her face between his hands and kiss her. She’d taste
of whiskey freshly consumed, hot and pure. And all about them would billow the scent
of high summer, strawberries ripened to the seduction of juicy red lips—

He came out of his chair. He was thinking of her again, when he’d already
decided, most firmly, not to think of her anymore. A man could not set his life by the
eclipses of the sun.

At least, try as he had, he could not.

That her is a young woman the hero had met briefly years ago and loved ever since. Little does he know that she and the notorious cook he’d just inherited are one and the same. But he is going to be—oh, is he ever going to be—thinking rather obsessively of the cook from this point on.

Craft posts are dangerous. Because they are very much one person’s definition of good writing and how to achieve good writing. You the writer should feel absolutely free to discard any and all advice, no matter how well-meaning, that does not suit you and your story. And there is no need for you to ever read authors you don’t enjoy just to see if you could learn from their writing—you won’t.

That said, I think the books I’ve quoted here today (with the exception of mine, bien sur) are shining examples of everything a romance can be—terrific prose, beautiful characterization, killer emotional intensity—and I highly encourage everyone to study them at length.

Thank you again to Julie for inviting me and thank you everyone for taking time out on your weekend to read this @#$%ing long post!

Hi, all. Julie here. Before I give you the long-awaited (and worth waiting for!) report from Paula, I have a special request. At 12 noon Eastern time, my father is having bypass surgery. You all know I’ve spoken about my Dad a lot and how close we are…to say I’m a wreck is an understatement. But I’ll get through it because we Letos are nothing if not tough. But if you could all take a look at my dad, Sam, and say a little prayer for his safe surgery and recovery, I’d really appreciate it. Prayers work best in numbers!

And now, without further ado, heeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrreeeeeeeee’s Paula~!
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30Jul08

Hey jungle buddies! I am one of the “reporters” for the author signing. I was sort of on an undercover mission and only one of the Plotmonkeys really knew what was going on. Today was insane. I got to the hotel really early, I mean, hours early, and just hung around near the Starbucks Coffee Shop in the hotel. This hotel, San Francisco Marriott, was amazing. The foyer is unbelievable and it was so busy.

When I first walked in, I was wondering who I was going to see, and thought about how I would react if I ever did see anyone of my favorite authors. Needless to say, I didn’t really see anyone until it got really close to the time for the author signing. So many of them walked by, and sat near me, but I was too shy to speak to them. I was somewhat intimidated by all of them.

I actually went to the hotel early because I was meeting up with Kate Douglas before the author signing, just to chit chat and such. She was awesome. It was incredible sitting down and spending some time with her. Kate is so full of energy, and it was great to finally meet her in person. We talked for about half an hour, and then she had to leave.

It was almost time for the author signing to start, and when I went downstairs to the Yerba Buena Ballroom area, I was amazed at how many people were in the line already. I don’t know how they got passed me without my noticing them. I guess there was just too much going on around me. Anyway, I joined the line, and it felt like we were waiting forever. I started to get a little anxious; can you tell this is my first time? I was so scared because I didn’t know what I was going to do when I got inside. Finally, the doors opened and I took a deep breath. It was great because I wasn’t too far back in line so I was able to get inside really quickly.

Let me describe how I felt when I first walked in. After I stepped into the room, I stopped in my tracks. The lights were blazing and I was stunned at the number of authors that were in the room; there were hundreds of them. I felt like I was let into a forbidden space, or rather, like a kid in a candy store. I know that sounds crazy, but I didn’t know what to expect, and I was absolutely blown away by them. The noise level was low until all the people who were waiting finally got into the room. I finally unfroze and then my mind started racing, “Where do I go?” “What do I do?” “Where do I start?” are just some of the questions that ran into my mind. I felt like there was so much going on in my head and I had to get out of the doorway and go into a corner for a little bit. I gave myself a little pep talk, and I finally calmed down. Once I was ready, I went off to find my beloved Plotmonkeys.

I found Janelle first, and I was so excited. I didn’t gush all over her like I wanted to, but I couldn’t stop smiling as was the case with all the monkeys. She recognized me, and I was a little surprised; I don’t even know why. I didn’t get a picture of her, and I am “bumming” about that, because something happened to my camera. Janelle, I was able to fix it later, but I failed to see you again before I left the ballroom. I didn’t realize that Janelle was so tall, and her hair looked fabulous. She then directed me to
Jules, who was so awesome.

When she saw me, Jules had a look on her face that said, “I know this person, but I am not sure.” Jules, that’s my interpretation. She also knew who I was, and I was still a little surprised, you think it would sink by then that they knew who I was. I went to find Les next, but I stopped a lot to take pictures and just look around. My camera was still acting up, but I was able to take pictures the “old-fashioned way.” I couldn’t believe that I was actually in a room with some of my favorite authors.

Les was awesome too, and yes, she recognized me too; we talked for a bit, and she wanted pictures. She looked absolutely wonderful, by the way. Carly was just as welcoming as all the other monkeys. She is very personable. It was nice talking to her. It felt so good to actually meet and talk to them in person. I felt so privileged to have their attention for more than a few seconds. I was and am still ecstatic about the whole experience.

Even now, as I sit here writing up this “report,” I can’t believe how fortunate I was to actually be there. It was a little overwhelming at first, but I was able to maintain. I was so giddy when I met the monkeys, some of my other favorites like Gena Showalter, who also recognized me. When it came time for it all to end, I was a little sad that it was over, but hey, there is always next year. After it was all over, I was going to meet up with Les, but she wasn’t able to make it. As I was coming down in the elevator, I was fortunate enough to get on one with just Carly and Janelle. I wanted to say so much to them, but I didn’t want them to think I was following them around. They talked to me though. Gosh, looking back I realize that I was such a rube; I like that word. I barely looked them in the face while I was with them. I was so self-conscious, and star-struck, believe it or not. If it happened again, I would probably do the same thing. I am a lot shier than I appear to be when I am in the jungle.

I hope to have the opportunity to go to another one of these signings. Maybe, I won’t be so nervous about talking to Jules, Les, Carly and Janelle then. If you guys haven’t had a chance to meet them, make every effort to do so. They are really and truly what I expected and more. Thank you, guys, for being a part of one of the most memorable moments in my life. I felt loved and appreciated. I love you guys…

Peace and love,

Paula R.

Hey, all. Julie here. Leslie is off drinking wine somewhere in Sonoma, so I’m taking over her blog for the next two days…well, Paula and Cher are with their delayed reports…totally my fault due to email problems. They were both so enthusiastic and creative…I’m posting Cher’s today and Paula’s tomorrow. THANK YOU, LADIES!!!

Without further ado…
————————–

Day One
This is Cher Gorman, reporter for WMIR-Monkey Internet Radio—on special assignment for The Plotmonkeys, aka Julie Leto, Carly Phillips, Janelle Denison and Leslie Kelly, four fabulous fantastic and fabled authors whose books light up the bestseller lists. Don’t forget to sign on to the legendary Plotmonkeys blog – www.plotmonkeys.com each day to stay informed about the latest and greatest from these swinging jungle babes themselves.

I’m here in beautiful San Francisco at the Marriott hotel to report on the celebrity sightings, the gossip, the intrigue that is happening now at the Romance Writers of America 28th Annual National Conference.

Hold it! This just in! The 2008 “Readers for Life” Literacy Autographing has officially begun! With heightened anticipation I make my way into the ballroom crowded with an array of celebrity writers including *gasp* the famous Plotmonkeys whose glittering presence adds a bewitching touch to this magical evening. Their tables are teeming with salivating fans eager to get their hands on the latest Julie Leto, Carly Phillips, Janelle Denison or Leslie Kelly book! The excitement is palpable! I reluctantly tear my gaze away from the Plotmonkeys to look around the room. I see authors of every sub-genre of romance, including BLAZE au thors, Cindi Myers, Jacquie D’Alessandro, Hope Tarr and Rhonda Nelson among many others lending their star status and donating their time to this worthy cause.

And now, I must join in the fun and bid you all a good night. Tomorrow, I will be back with another report that is sure to titillate so stay tuned!

Day Two
Thursday – First Day of Conference

This is Cher Gorman, reporter for WMIR-Monkey Internet Radio—reporting to you live from the Marriott hotel where the Romance Writers of America 28th Annual National Conference is in full swing. The air is rife with intrigue and speculation as the night of all nights, The Rita and Golden Heart Awards Ceremony looms closer and closer. Just two days to go before the winners are announced. Who will walk away with a Rita statuette or Golden Heart pendant?

The finalists in the Best Single Title Contemporary Romance Category are engaged in a battle royal for the coveted Rita prize including our own Leslie Kelly. Have you seen the Rita trailer featuring the finalists? Check it out on You Tube! It’s called “Trash Talking Romance Novelists: Bring on the Ritas baby!” And boy do these ladies talk trash including Leslie “Lone Wolf” Kelly. That’s right folks, Leslie Kelly has picked up her sword and is slashing her way through the competition. Go Leslie! The Plotmonkeys are ready for war!

I spy several Rita finalists discussing their chances, shooting steely glares at their competitors including *gasp* Leslie Kelly! Folks, this is so exciting. Leslie Kelly is up for a Rita for her book, “She’s No Angel” edited by the intrepid, profound and genius Harlequin editor, Brenda Chin.

And ladies, I must say Leslie Kelly is looking marvelous and every inch the star! I’m walking toward her, I’m going to try and get an exclusive interview…Sorry folks, her publicist informs me she is on her way to a private meeting with her agent but has agreed to give me 5 minutes later on today if her busy schedule permits. I’ll do my best to bring that interview to you—live! So stay tuned! In the mean time I’m off to uncover some more juicy tidbits for your listening enjoyment!

Day Three
This is Cher Gorman, roving reporter for WMIR - Monkey Internet Radio bringing you an update live from San Francisco the site of the 28th annual RWA National Conference. As you might guess, things are really starting to heat up in anticipation of the Rita and Golden Heart Awards tomorrow night. For those just tuning in, one of our own Plotmonkeys, Leslie Kelly is a Rita Finalist in the Single Title Contemporary Category for her book, “She’s No Angel”!!!!!!! Go Leslie!! I for one will be cheering her on–hopefully into the winner’s circle. Please everyone send as much good luck and well wishes for Leslie toward San Francisco.

Also I was lucky enough to speak to Brenda Chin, Senior Editor at Harlequin yesterday down in the lobby. We had a really nice chat in which she reminded me of the trouncing she gave me during a heated Trivial Pursuit game in May of last year. Yes, folks she is a brutal Trivial Pursuit player!

Last evening I attended a reception in the Rotunda at Neiman Marcus. It was lovely but quite high up–I hate heights! The ceiling of this place was stained glass, there were windows all around with a spectacular view of the city and of course it was built around an open atrium. A long, long ways down. Needless to say I stayed away from the railing. I was hoping to catch a glimpse of some agents from Trident Media Group who were invited along with several other agents and editors but alas they all must have had prior committments because most everyone who attended was a member of PASIC.

But at national conference there will be thrilling moments as well as disappointing ones. Sometimes the food will be fairly good and sometimes not. A case in point, the typical dry chicken that was served at lunch yesterday. But hey, we eked it out with a good salad and bread. And of course, Victoria Alexander was a wonderful speaker.

I’m off to workshops. I will try and ferret out some more interesting tidbits for you and report back to you tomorrow live from San Francisco.

One more thing, on the way to dinner last night we saw a woman get her purse snatched right in front of us. She ran after the guy in hot pursuit! That is some excitement I can do without. There were several street musicians as well, one playing a guitar and one guy beating drumsticks on some overturned white buckets. He also rat-a-tat-tatted on the telephone pole. San Francisco has an eclectic mix of interesting people from all walks of life. This reporter has really gotten an eye full!

Day Four
It’s Cher Gorman, the roving reporter for the Plotmonkeys. Today was a fabulous day. The first wonderful thing that happened to me today was that I attended one of the best workshops I’ve ever been to. It was taught by Blake Snyder, a Hollywood screen writer. His workshop was called, “Save the Cat”. He also has a book by the same title and another called “Save the Cat Goes to the Movies”. He was the most intelligent, funny, charming man and I soaked up his words like an arid landscape. In fact as I listened to him, a light bulb went on in my head. And it is a lightbulb that I have been waiting a long, long, long time to turn on. As a writer–it was thrilling!! You writers out there know what that feels like. :-)

Okay the second wonderful thing that happened to me today happened during lunch. I was seated directly behind the great Cherry Adair. I LOVE her books and I mean LOVE. To find her sitting behind me was a thrill you can’t imagine. I’m afraid I slobbered all over her. She was so, so nice to me. She even asked me for my card! MY CARD people!! I’m nobody! I was flabbergasted! I mean CHERRY ADAIR has MY CARD!! Holy Cow!! She asked me about the book I am writing now. She asked me to write the title and the date I planned to finish it–completely polished, ready to send out on the back of my little business card. I’m pinching myself as I write this. She said she is going to hold me to that date, she is going to e-mail me and make sure I am on track. She also asked if I had an editor appointment while I was at national. I told her that I did make one but they lost it, so my name was not on the list. Then I signed up for open call but still was not able to get one. I was planning to pitch a romantic suspense I’ve been sitting on for two years–not written yet but all plotted and ready to go. She said, “I will hunt them down like a dog, who is it?” I told her but she didn’t know them. It was Nataysha Wilson at Silhouette. Oh, and I had my picture taken with her and she asked me to send her a copy and she would post it on her web site!! How cool is that!!! My picture on Cherry Adair’s web site!!!!

The third wonderful thing that happened to me today was another workshop I went to taught by the fabulous editor, Brenda Chin and two of her BLAZE authors, Rhonda Nelson and Jennifer LaBrecque. For asking a question I won a BLAZE poster!! YAY!!! Very, very cool. I also learned a lot and had some laughs which is always a good thing. :-)

All three of these things that happened to me today were gifts, plain and simple. Great, Gigantic, Golden gifts. But furthermore all of these gifts made me feel important. So Thank You to the Universe!

Last but no least, tonight is the RWA Rita and Golden Heart Awards Ceremony. Don’t forget that our girl, Leslie Kelly is up for a Rita in the Single Title Contemporary Category. I will be there Leslie, cheering for you all the way. I hope to see you walk away with a statuette. :-))

RWA will be posting the winners as they are announced onto the web site. So, here’s the web address so you can check out all the winners: www.rwanational.org

Leslie, I wish you all the luck in the world tonight, sweetie! And Plotmonkeys I wish you every good thing including many, many, many contracts and ship loads of sales!

The conference this year has been wonderful for me. I’ve seen old friends and made new ones. And for some reason I was gifted in a big way today. Stay safe and remember never stop reaching for your dreams. :-)

Farewell from San Francisco,

Cher

Note from Julie: Absolutely no offense to Kristin Higgins, but Leslie was robbed.

Hi, everyone! Greetings from San Francisco. I’m posting an excerpt of my next Blaze, which is the long-awaited follow-up to my August 2007 Blaze, STRIPPED. This prologue is a continuation of that book. Enjoy!

EDITED TO ADD: Blame the exhaustion of traveling, but the book title is SOMETHING WICKED and it’s a February 2009 Blaze release!
—————————–
Six months ago…

Rick punched Josie Vargas’s number into his cell phone. He’d only dialed the seven digits twice since he’d met her, but the sequence flowed from his memory, with a bit of a song behind it, as if he’d memorized it with the song like the alphabet. Their first real date, just last night, had been incredibly ordinary and ultimately fantastic. Dinner. A movie. Talking. Lots and lots of talking.

And then, the kissing.

Lots and lots of kissing.

He’d had to harness every ounce of his self-control not to try and seduce her out of her clothes the moment they’d stepped into her apartment.

Not an easy task for either of them, but they’d managed to remain upright and fully dressed.

Damn it.

They weren’t teenagers. And clearly, both of them knew a good thing when they saw it. So they’d disentangled from each other with a promise to take things slowly. Get to know each other.
Become friends first.

Good thing they lived in Chicago, where cold showers were cheap and easy to come by.

Rick hit the talk button on his phone, then adjusted the crotch of his slacks as he walked away from the office building where he’d just engaged in an unauthorized and unwise operation with his former boss. He’d much rather think about Josie. Her silky hair. Her soulful eyes. Her curvy, sensitive breasts. Thinking about her got him hard as a rock, which made it so much easier to forget just how many rules he’d broken in the past twenty-four hours and how, in all likelihood, his career was about to nosedive into a backed-up toilet.

Might not be so bad with Josie around. She certainly made all the other parts of his life a lot more interesting.

Rick hadn’t been the same since the moment she’d literally run into him at the precinct. She’d been searching for her best friend, Lilith St. Lyon, the department’s on-call psychic. Since Rick had been trained since birth by his Cuban-American mother and his equally old-school sisters to socialize only with women who would someday make a good wife, he might not have noticed her otherwise. Her blond, sun-streaked hair, hippy-dippy tunic, long skirt and lace-up sandals put her in the “do not touch” category. And yet, he’d been intrigued.

She broke every rule his familia had laid out.

Good, preferably Latino family?

Her last name was Vargas, so she had a Latina connection, but every member of her family came with a rap sheet? Catholic? Ha! Wiccan. Loves children?

He hadn’t yet garnered her opinion on niños or niñas, but she’d hinted that her crazy childhood hadn’t left her unscarred.

Adored cooking and cleaning and tending to her man’s every need?

Again, Rick chuckled. He could certainly imagine Josie preferring to live her life barefoot, but pregnant and in the kitchen? Never in a million years.

And of course, his family wasn’t stuck entirely in the previous century. They also wanted Rick’s future wife (as any and all girlfriends were considered to be) to have an advanced degree from college so that she could, if necessary, support the family should Rick’s career in law enforcement come to a violent end. And as far as he knew, Josie had graduated exclusively from the school of hard knocks. While her skills as a shop keeper seemed successful enough, her business selling custom aromatherapy candles and pagan paraphernalia from a coveted location just off Michigan Avenue was firmly entrenched in Chicago’s Magnificent Mile. There would be no moving to Miami once the kidlets arrived, as was expected.

The perfect woman she was not.

And yet, Rick couldn’t get her out of his mind.

“In the mood for pizza?” he asked after she finally answered the phone with a breathless, “Hello?” that made his skin dance with a shamefully electric thrill.

“Deep dish?”

The relief in her voice was unmistakable and incredibly appealing. She knew he’d been on the job tonight. She’d been worried, too. And as much as he didn’t want to cause her any anxiety, he liked the idea that she cared.

Liked it a lot.

“Is there any other kind of pizza in this town?”

“Want to go out or order in?”

“In,” Rick said instantly, then caught the eagerness in his voice. After the make-out session they’d shared last night, he didn’t want Josie thinking he just wanted to get her into bed. Even if he did. Badly. “Unless you want to go out.”

Josie hummed shyly. “I’m okay with either. Let’s decide after you get here. How’d everything go? Are Mac and Lilith with you?”

Rick glanced back at the service door he’d used to exit the office building, expecting his former boss and his lover to appear at any moment. He hadn’t wanted to tell Josie about tonight’s operation. Hell, he hadn’t wanted to take part in the interrogation in the first place. He wasn’t a stickler for every single rule in the law enforcement handbook, but he did have limits. And tonight, nearly every single one had been pushed to the breaking point.

If Mac Mancusi hadn’t been the one asking for his help, Rick would have refused. Mac had been chief of detectives in the Chicago PD since Rick joined the unit. But while Mac had been suspended from the job a few days ago for pissing off the mayor, he was still Rick’s friend. Rick trusted him implicitly—even after he’d come to him with a story that might have made a great feature film. A mutually-hated defense attorney had supposed ties to a massive drug shipment their sources reported was about the hit the streets. Believable enough. But then Mac had added in the possibility that the well-connected lawyer was also, possibly, a warlock.

Cue the creepy soundtrack.

And yet, Rick still listened. Lilith St. Lyon had verified Mac’s outlandish suspicions and though she was a little woo-woo herself, she’d never steered Rick wrong, even if she did scare the crap out of him. He’d grown up in Little Havana and while he had a healthy respect for the brujas and santeros, he certainly didn’t ascribe to their ways. The one and only time he’d met his maternal great-grandmother, a woman whose Sight had reportedly once caught the attention of Fidel Castro, Rick had been freaked out enough to never want to visit his parent’s homeland ever again. When Lilith, a psychic, had asked Rick to be a conduit through which she could listen in on his interrogation of Boothe Thompson, the defense attorney suspected in the murder of a low-level drug dealer, Rick had reluctantly agreed. The ends justified the means. And he wasn’t six-years old and in a foreign country anymore.

But they’d learned nothing new. Rick had left the building and Mac and Lilith, supposedly, had been right behind him.

“Maybe they came out in the front,” he said, more to himself than to Josie.

He started walking as he told her more than he should about their operation. He’d already fractured just about every department regulation tonight by conspiring with a suspended officer to interrogate a respected defense attorney. Telling Josie the outcome wasn’t going to get him any more fired.

“We got nothing,” he admitted. “The man is slippery. I didn’t think we’d get him to ‘fess up to anything and I was right.”

“And Lilith couldn’t sense anything?” she asked.

While Rick asked the questions, Mac and Lilith had been in a nearby room, listening in through a psychic connection Rick didn’t even try to understand. But Lilith hadn’t discovered anything they could use to connect Thompson to the murder of the dealer or the impending drug shipment.

“Nothing we could use,” he admitted, gulping down his frustration.

For as long as he could remember, Rick had wanted to be a cop. He’d finished high school a year early so he could study criminal justice in college and join the Miami-Dade department as a detective before he was twenty-one. Known for his efficient, cool and reasoned thinking, he’d moved up quickly. After five years of an endless battle against the influx of drugs in Miami, he’d moved to Chicago, hoping to broaden his knowledge base. Deal with crimes that weren’t always about smack, crack and pot. But now, he was back where he didn’t want to be—in the middle of yet another drug war, one that was being influenced by someone very powerful and as of yet, very unknown.

“And what did it feel like, having Lilith use you that way?” Josie asked. “Was it cool?”

The fascination in her voice made him chuckle and forget how the whole set-up had initially freaked him out. As a cop, he was used to dealing with hunches, and he’d always guessed that Lilith just had better hunches than most. Growing up in Little Havana, however, he’d met a few brujas, like his great-grandmother in Cuba, whose insight had been downright scary. A witch in Miami had predicted his father’s heart attack only days before he’d been felled by a cardiac episode that should have killed him. But because of the witch, he’d put an aspirin in his pocket–and that little pill had saved his life.

“It was freaky,” he admitted. “I could sense that she was there, listening in. At one point, she even suggested that I ask a certain question and I just–”

Rick, help us.

What the hell?

He pulled the phone away from his ear. A few people strode beside him on the sidewalk with heads down and strides swift. At the curb, driver leaned lazily against a stretch limousine, his face hidden behind a newspaper. Rick peered into the office building’s lobby. No sign of Mac or Lilith, even though he could have sworn he just heard her voice.

“Rick? Rick, are you there?”

Tinny and distant, Josie’s voice echoed from the phone, which he lifted back to his ear.

“Yeah,” he confirmed. “I just—”

Rick, please. Hear me. He’s not a warlock. The mayor is. Thompson’s a witch. Black magic. He’ll kill us.

“Just what? Rick, what’s wrong?”

He shook his head, but the crowded feeling in his mind didn’t lessen. Lilith was invading his consciousness, but this time, she was calling for help.

He stopped walking and turned. He spied the plates on the limousine. City government issue.

The mayor?

He cursed. “It’s Lilith. She’s connected to me again. They’re in trouble. He’s going to kill them. He’s a witch and he’s using black magic.”

Josie gasped. “Can you–”

“Yes,” Rick said, “I’ve got to go.”

“Be–”

He snapped the phone shut. He didn’t need Josie’s warning. For the benefit of the limo driver, he strode casually back down the sidewalk, but broke into a run and yanked out his firearm once he cleared the side of the building. If Lilith had called for help, she and Mac were in deep. Witches? Warlocks? Black magic? This was all too fucking weird, but he had to try and help. He couldn’t leave them to die.

He’d used a service door to exit the building, but it had locked automatically behind him. If he tried the front entrance and alerted security or the mayor’s driver, all hell could break loose. Demanding instant cooperation from his frazzled brain, Rick spotted a ratty cushion protruding from a nearby Dumpster. He grabbed it, placed it over the unyielding knob and fired his weapon into the lock, muffling the sound best he could. For a split second, he considered calling for back-up, but this had been an unauthorized operation from the start. Rick had helped Mac out of loyalty, out of trust. The backlash against both of them could ruin their careers forever. He’d trust Mac a little while longer. His suspension notwithstanding, Mac was a good cop. And a good friend.

As Rick dashed into the elevator, he closed his eyes and thought hard, trying to communicate to Lilith that he was on his way. He felt her screaming just before the elevator reached the floor he somehow knew she was on. As the doors slid open, he saw her standing across from the recently elected mayor of Chicago, whose hands sparked with electricity that swirled before his eyes and formed into a stunning lethal ball.

Rick couldn’t speak. He couldn’t move. No one had noticed the elevator, but when the doors started to close, he instinctively stepped out and stood, motionless, unable to fully comprehend what he was seeing. The defense attorney, Boothe Thompson lay motionless and empty-eyed at the mayor’s feet. When Mac drew his gun, the mayor shifted and waved his sparking hand. The gun flew across the hallway. Mac dove to retrieve the weapon and before Rick could act, Lilith plunged forward, the glint of her knife flashing only a split second before it disappeared inside the mayor’s chest.

Then, they both crumpled to the ground. The mayor, dead and Lilith…? Rick shouted Mac’s name. He turned, followed Rick’s line of sight and saw Lilith on the floor. He screamed her name and flew to her side.

Rick stepped forward, but was stopped by a dark shadow that poured out of the mayor’s eye sockets and mouth, then surrounded Rick like a blanket in July. Itchy. Hot. Smothering.

Take me in, human.

The voice pounded hard against Rick’s skull, as if demanding entrance. The excruciating pain stole Rick’s eyesight and squeezed his trachea shut. The chain he wore around his neck tightened and the crucifix at the end burned. He dropped to his knees. His gun thumped to the ground beside him.

I am not through with this world, the voice continued, cutting into Rick’s ears, stabbing at his brain. So young. So powerful, the voice expressed lustily. Your rewards will be endless.

A million jumbled thoughts exploded in Rick’s mind all at once. Images of decadence, luxury, power and limitless freedom splayed before him, a grand temptation to someone who had not been forewarned.

But Rick had heard his great-grandmother, even if her prophecy had gifted him with a lifetime of nightmares.

You will fight a great evil who will offer you everything you’ve ever wanted, she’d said in Spanish. But only you can resist him, niño. Only you can destroy him.

Rick concentrated on the memory, holding onto it like a life-line, fixing the image of his bisabuela’s rheumy blue eyes, kind toothless grin and the saint’s medal she clutched in her hand as she spoke. Fire exploded on his chest and a scream of anguish unlike any he’d ever heard burst through his eardrums. The pounding in his head intensified, nearly knocking him unconscious as the shadow tightened around him, then in a flash, dispersed. Behind him, the dark entity slid into the cracks of the elevator door and disappeared.

Rick gulped in the cool air as his eyes adjusted, allowing light to penetrate where moments before, there had been only darkness. As he struggled, he had the unmistakable urge to throw himself into the nearest steaming hot shower to wash away the filth that seemed crusted, invisible, to his skin.

Grabbing blindly, he found his firearm and attempted to stand. He lifted his weapon, but just as Mac’s had moments before, the gun shot out of his grip, landing in the hands of a regal, dark-haired woman dressed entirely in purple and who’d materialized directly in his path.

“I mean you no harm,” she said calmly.

Rick threw himself back against the elevator doors. “What just happened to me? Who the hell are you?”

“I’m Regina St. Lyon, Lilith’s sister and Guardian of all Witches. Josie called me. I’m here to help.”

She spun away from Rick and immediately slid to the floor beside Lilith and Mac.

“What’s wrong with her?” Mac asked.

Regina passed her hand over Lilith’s face. “She’s unconscious. I believe she overloaded psychically when she touched the warlock. Take her out of here, Mac. Get her someplace safe.”

“But what about–?”

Regina stood. “I’ll take care of this situation, detective, but the evil vibrations still linger here. She needs a healing place. Please.”

Mac scooped Lilith into his arms and dashed toward the elevator. Rick pushed the button. The doors swung immediately open.

“Help her,” Mac said, nodding his head toward Regina. “She’ll need you to fix this.”

The doors closed and Rick turned to see Regina surveying the two dead bodies, shattered glass and scorch marks in the hallway with all the calculated coolness of a well-trained crime scene analyst. He gasped, suddenly realizing he hadn’t taken in enough oxygen. Stars shot through his vision and he had to grasp the wall to keep from stumbling.

When he righted himself, he caught Regina staring at him with eyes the color of purple gemstones.

“Tell me what happened here,” she demanded.

Her superior tone snapped him out of his fugue, but he had no doubt that she was one of them. Not human. Not normal. One of them.

“Two people died,” he answered curtly.

She arched a careless brow. “I observed as much. But I need you to point to the evidence that proves how they died.”

Clearly, she had no idea that he’d been attacked seconds before her arrival by a shadow that had emerged from the dead mayor’s body. And he wasn’t about to tell her. Had he imagined the whole episode? Had the connection with Lilith cost him his sanity? He’d have suspected she, too, was a figment of his imagination if Mac hadn’t just spoken with her seconds before.

“Why?” he asked, anticipating an answer he didn’t want to hear.

“Do you really need for me to tell you?”

He was a cop. He had to think like a cop. Assess the crime scene. Catalogue the evidence. Formulate a working theory that could be backed up by proof.

Her gaze flicked toward the elevator doors, where Mac and Lilith had just escaped. Mac and Lilith, who would, from the evidence he observed and what he’d seen with his own eyes, be charged if not convicted of a double-murder.

Unless he told Regina what she needed to know.

Unless he ignored what had just happened to him and deny the moral path he’d followed since birth.
Something unexplainable had happened here. Something evil. Something wicked. But mostly, something unjust. He couldn’t allow Mac and Lilith to pay the price.

“First,” he answered, his chest cracking open with each syllable he uttered, “we get rid of the fingerprints on the glass.”

…to the theater to see MAMMA MIA!

I’ve been looking forward to this movie for weeks, not only because I knew it would be one of my first “days out” since my surgery. I saw the Broadway production several years ago with the Plotmonkeys when we were in NYC for a conference. Carly left early (she HATES musicals/plays) but Janelle, Leslie and I had a blast. By the end, we were on our feet, dancing…as was just about everyone else in the theater. It was amazing.

Here’s the movie trailer, if you haven’t seen it…

When I caught wind of the all-star cast of the movie, I just knew it was going to be good. I love Meryl Streep…I think she’s amazing and my respect for her as an actress went through the roof when she was in THE DEVIL WEARS PRADA. I saw her in interviews and I really thought, this lady knows how to live. It is that joie de vive that Streep brings to the role of Donna in MAMMA MIA, which made the film just w-o-r-k.

If you don’t know the story, basically, it goes like this. Twenty years ago, Donna had a summer where she lost the love of her life, Sam. In the months that followed, she had affairs with Harry and Bill. So when she finds herself pregnant with Sophie, she wasn’t sure who the father was. Now Sophie is getting married to Sky and she wants to know who she is–she wants to know her father. So after finding Donna’s diary, she deduces that either Sam, Harry or Bill are her father. She invites all three to the wedding and they all show up. Hilarity and poignancy ensue.

What I haven’t mentioned yet is the music. The story was created around the tunes of the 70s smash super-group, ABBA. I don’t know many people who can listen to “Mamma Mia,” “Dancing Queen,” or “Fernando” (which isn’t in the movie, but is one of my favorites) without wanting to sing or dance. The writers worked the music in brilliantly to the story. It’s not always literal, but hey, on Broadway, does it need to be?

Donna was also once the lead singer of a girl band. Her co-horts are played by two of my favorite actresses, Christine Baranski and Julie Walters. Now, you’re probably all thinking that I love Julie Walters because she plays Mrs. Weasley in the Harry Potter movies, but honestly, I’ve been a huge fan of hers since I first saw her in EDUCATING RITA, a brilliant movie starring her and Michael Caine. (Which if you haven’t seen it, SEE IT. Great movie.) She has amazing comic timing and she can sing! Baranski, of Cybil fame, is also a fine performer. I loved her in BIRDCAGE. The combination of Donna with her friends reminded me of the Plotmonkeys…the ease of their friendship and their incredible sense of fun! Put us on a Greek island and we might get a little nutty, too. I’m sure Leslie & I would have no trouble breaking out into song!

Now, on to the men. Okay, okay…Pierce Brosnan is no Michael Buble. He’s not a great singer. But he’s decent enough and if there is a man who can make you believe that an independent woman like Donna has pined for him for twenty years, it’s Pierce. The man is hot. Especially unshaven. Good Lord. Just stand there, Pierce. Now who can sing? Colin Firth! And he’s so cute and really plays the role to the hilt.

The cinematography of the movie is lovely and lively. The choreography captures the goofiness of the stage production and the side players, as on Broadway, were a great mix. Not all beautiful and perfect. I like that in professional actors and actresses! And I should also note that Amanda Seyfried is perfect as Sophie. She looks like Streep, but still has that youthful innocence and exuberance that is infectious. And she’s probably the strongest singer in the cast.

But back to Streep. First of all, yes, she can sing. Very, very well. She can dance, too. She plays the role no-holds-barred. She is Meryl Streep, after all. If she wants to have fun making a movie, then who is going to stop her? That sense of liveliness and utter joy just permeates the whole film. I challenge anyone who is having a bad day to come out of that movie without a spring in their step.

So…there it is. My review in a nutshell. I could go on for hours, but I’m going to have to see it again first!

Oh…and another thing. I’m getting really, really sick and tired of Hollywood getting so SURPRISED when a chick movie (though my husband went with me and while he’s not as enthusiastic as I am, enjoyed himself) has done so well. Um…SEX AND THE CITY anyone? When are the suits in LA going to get the message that movies featuring women in lead roles ARE GOING TO MAKE MONEY if they are good? The men in this film really are just icing…and I don’t know about you, but that’s okay by me.

So have you seen it? Will you? What do you think about Hollywood’s shock every time a great female-lead movie makes money?

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CARLY HERE: I need to explain. I’m weird. Dark theaters put me to sleep. I can’t hear what is going on on stage. I can’t figure out a plot based on music. I was also going through a funk at the time (at least as I remember it when I walked out!). BUT … that said …. I saw the previews, knew I’d love it, saw the movie and DID LOVE IT! And Pierce? Serve him to me on a silver platter, baby. MINE!
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CARLY AGAIN! I did an online radio interview you might want to HEAR at WORDSTOMOUTH.COM I hope you’ll check it out!
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