Plot Monkeys

I’m officially old and it’s not because of my age.
Some days (most days) my kids think I’m so lame. Admit it, you have the same problem. Anyone who has children or nieces or nephews or any version of rugrats who have to either live with you or take orders from you, suffers from THE LOOK. You know what I’m talking about. It isn’t subtle, it’s direct and in your face. The prolonged sigh. The roll of the eyes. And if it’s a particularly mortifying moment for said rugrat, it’s accompanied by the long-suffering wail: “M-o-m!” drawn out for the world to hear.

What do we chauffeurs, I mean mothers, do to deserve such disdain? Well in my world, it varies. And I decided to make a list of the things that bring on THE LOOK. I’m sure there are more, but this post is long enough as it is.

1. My choice of music. Sometimes my kids appreciate me, after all, I can sing the words to “Hips Don’t Lie” by Shakira and “Ridin’” by Chamillionaire. But that’s only when I’m awake and perky and with my kids. Alone, about to go into the shower, I’ve been recently caught with these oldies: Neil Diamond’s songs and I’m not talking America. I’m talking about Brother Love’s Travelin’ Salvation show. And the other day I found a remake by Michael Buble of Save the Last Dance For Me. My children cringe. I should add though, I’ve caught them humming Meatloaf songs when I’m not supposed to be listening. I taught them well.
2. My choice of what to listen to when I’m alone in the car. I’ve become my mother. Now most of you will probably expect me to follow that up with “I listen to classical music or 1950’s stuff.” Uh … no. I listen to sports radio. WFAN or ESPN on the AM dial. First, this is baseball season. In the winter I’ll search for trade rumors but I’ll fall back on 100.3 in NY (Z-100) which really is what the kids prefer. But when they get into the car, they find out I’ve been listening to Mike and the Mad Dog. Oh the humiliation. My mom, the Yankee fan, talks while we’re driving and mid-sentence will say, “Let’s see what’s going on in the world of sports” and hit the power button and we’ll have AM radio/sports. It rubbed off on me. So what if she’s looking for Yankee news and I’m looking for the Mets? I’ve become my mother. And my husband’s greatest fear is that they’ll one day drag his car out of the Hudson River or the Atlantic Ocean because he drove off the bridge in horror after hearing a caller say: “Hello, this is Arlene (my mom, FYI) and I live in Purchase, NY. First time, Long time. Let’s talk about the Yankees.”
3. The News – when did I become so … adult? If I’m home, I like to have the TV on. My first choice is always afternoon Soaps. On the weekends I’ll even put on Soap Net on the one TV that has Satellite. But I’ll just as easily flip on MSNBC or FOXNews or CNN just to have company to listen to. I tell the kids it’s so I can get the weather, but I lie. I don’t enjoy what’s ON the news these days, but I’ve come to enjoy ::gulp:: the news. Give my kids a chance and it’s MTV: My Super Sweet 16 or Date My Mom where, I kid you not, the mom goes on a date with three people and picks one for their beloved daughter; or the other one that gives me chills is Parental Control where the parents have a problem with their child’s current significant other, so they interview candidates then each choose a date for their son/daughter who then goes out on a date while the parents and current boyfriend/girlfriend sit together at home and watch – while the current one insults and curses at the parents; and on the date, they actually make out. And to think I used to have nightmares about Barney the purple dinosaur! I told the girls I think these shows are trash and my oldest said I ruined them for her forever. GOOD! Just don’t tell her I said so.
4. Shopping – I love the mall. I’ve said so. Just don’t make me go into Abercrombie ever again. PLEASE!!!!!!!!!! I’ll do whatever you want, even clean my child’s room if it means avoiding that head banging, loud music where the sales people are gum chewing teens, there’s never an open fitting room, and did I mention the LOUD music? Oh God, I’m turning into my mom again!
5. MOM – How could you show up and think you can joke with my friends like they’re YOUR friends? Go away! Oh, wait, I need a ride to the mall, to the movies, to said friend’s house. And I need money for the mall, the movies, something to eat. PLEASE don’t make me stuff SASE’s!!!!!!!!!!!!! It’s SO boring! But you need money, so you have to work for it. She stuffs. (you should be getting your goodies soon, folks ). She asks to be paid. I hand over cash. “THAT’S IT?” Hey it’s double minimum wage, kid. If you worked in Abercrombie, you’d only make $6.75 an hour.

Can someone please tell me why she ran out screaming? And who invented the concept of STOMP, STOMP, SLAM (the door). Why do I want her out of her tomb … I mean room as much as I want her in there until she turns 18?

Seriously though, parenting is challenging. It’s tough. It’s rewarding and not rewarding enough until they ask for a hug. Then you’ve been given the moon, the stars, and everything in between. Until I open my mouth again and one of them gives me … THE LOOK.

What do YOU have to do to earn the dreaded glare from your offspring or any child in your care? And how old is that child who thinks they’re due MORE rights than any other tax paying citizen in the United States? Come on, share the wealth …

And FYI when you’re finished here, I’m guestblogging today at: Romance by the Blog so stop by and read my HOT ITEM blog, it’s all about hot atheletes. What else? Not even my kids can complain about THAT unless it’s my CHOICE in hot athletes. And for that, you’ll have to check it out for yourself. :d But first you have to comment here!

Hey everyone, welcome to another Monday with the Monkeys.

I just realized that Julie and I have a book coming out in a week or so, and neither of us have really said much about it. It’s a Blaze anthology called BOYS OF SUMMER and it really is lots of fun. She, Kimberly Raye and I worked on our stories, which surround a major league baseball team. Julie wrote about the owner of the team, Kimberly about the manager, and I got to write the star pitcher’s story. That was pretty funny, since anyone who knows me knows I am sports illiterate. Fortunately, so is my heroine, Janie Nolan. I had a lot of fun hooking up the plain Jane with the sports superstud–Blaze Style! (Just picture Prince Charming and Cinderella cruising past third base straight to home…woo hoo!)

Anyway, I thought you might enjoy an exclusive, Plotmonkeys-only excerpt. So here you go…from my novella, “Sliding Home” in the BOYS OF SUMMER anthology…hope you like it!

This scene is the “first meet” of the hero and heroine. They’re both visiting elderly relatives at a nursing home, and the heroine has just retrieved a sex manual from her grandmother’s room.

“So you’re little Janie.”

She stiffened. At five-foot-four, she’d heard her share of petite/little/diminutive comments. “I’m just Janie,” she bit out.

He rose slowly, his muscular body moving with innate grace. When standing, he was only a head taller than she, probably of average height, maybe six feet. Not too tall for her. Perfect, in fact.

Forget about it, he’s perfectly out of the question, she reminded herself.

He extended his hand. “Gramps has told me a lot about you.”

She wished she could say the same. “Funny, he never mentioned your name at all.”

“Well, Riley likes to keep a low profile,” Mr. Smith said.

The low-profile sex god was still standing there with his hand out, so Janie lifted hers, forgetting the book.
If fate had been kind, the manual wouldn’t have fallen to the ground. If it had been at least decent, Sex For The Ages wouldn’t have landed face-up at Riley Kelleher’s feet. And if it had any heart at all, the man wouldn’t have been able to read.

But fate screwed her over again. Because as Riley bent over to pick up the book she’d dropped, he began to chuckle.

Oh, God, just let me die now.

She didn’t know which was worse: him thinking she was the one reading the sex manual, or finding out her grandmother was.

“Uh, yours, I believe?” he said, his voice not disguising his laughter. He held the book out to her. “Interesting reading for a Sunday afternoon at the old folks home.”

Oh, great, now he’d done it. Before Janie could warn him of the fire he’d brought down on his head, Grandma Anne was on him. “Who’re you calling old folks?” she asked as she struggled to her feet and grabbed the book. She wobbled on her pale, skinny legs, revealed by a pair of pink shorts that hung to her knobby knees.

“You pushed one of her hot buttons,” Janie murmured, almost feeling sorry for the ballplayer, who suddenly looked sheepish.

“My apologies, ma’am. I mean, the retirement home.”

“Community for the enlightened years,” she snapped.

To give him credit, Riley didn’t laugh at Grandma’s haughty tone. Instead, he replied, “That’s a perfect description.”

Grandma Anne jerked her thumb toward her own frail chest and poked herself with it. “I came up with it myself.” The power of her own thrust almost knocked her off her feet. Fortunately, Mr. Smith had slowly followed her up and was there to support her.

Not that a strong breeze wouldn’t have blown him over, too.

Janie couldn’t help it. She started to giggle, lifting her hand to cover her mouth so Grandma Anne wouldn’t see.

“I think I’ll take Anne to her room now,” Mr. Smith said, frowning at his grandson. “She’s had enough of an upset.”

Saying goodbye to her grandmother and kissing her smooth, papery cheek, Janie watched as Mr. Superstar suffered under his grandfather’s glare. When the older couple had gone, he said, “Has she got a problem with being old, or what?”

“Or what,” Janie said dryly. “She has no problem being old. She has a problem with anyone telling her she’s old.”

“Like it doesn’t exist if nobody says it aloud?”

“Kind of.”

“Sounds superstitious. Bet she’s a baseball fan.”

“Are they superstitious?”

“Not as much as the players,” he said with a lopsided grin.

His grandfather hadn’t introduced him as a famous baseball player, but Riley obviously expected her to recognize him. She didn’t try to pretend otherwise. “Including you?

He nodded. “I’ve been known to wear the same socks for ten games when I’m on a great hitting streak.”

Janie wrinkled her nose. “Ew.”

Laughing, he crossed his arms. “I have a washing machine.”

With a challenging lift of her brow, Janie retorted, “Even when you’re on the road?”

“There’s always somebody to wash the uniforms on the road.”

Her smile faded. Though she knew he almost certainly meant the Slammers had staff to care for the uniforms, she couldn’t help thinking of all the other people dying to help the players on the road. Help them into the nearest bed, most likely. That was supposedly what had caused his ugly divorce.

She fell silent, wondering why he was still standing here talking to her when she was so not his type. He said nothing, either, watching her watch him, so Janie took a moment to notice the little things. Like the tiny curls of gold-tipped hair at the nape of his neck. The small lines beside his mouth that said he smiled a lot. And oh, the way he smelled.

She loved man smell. Not heavy cologne, but that clean, fresh scent that seemed to emanate from a strong, masculine body.

Keep your nose to yourself, girl. Swallowing hard, Janie took a step back. This guy was completely out of her league. He had groupies, actresses and beauties after him all the time and would most assuredly not appreciate a completely un-seductive social worker sniffing him up.

He suddenly chuckled, as if remembering something. “She took it with her…so the spunky old lady was reading the sex book?”

“To your grandfather,” she replied with a smirk.

Some of the color fell out of the handsome face. Janie almost felt sorry for him, knowing what was going on in his head.

“I could have gone my whole life without knowing that.”

“Me too,” she said, watching the way his lips pursed a little when he winced. Great lips. Incredible mouth. God, it had been a long time since she’d kissed a man.

It had apparently been a long time since she’d learned how to hide her thoughts, too. Because suddenly Kelleher was pushing his sunglasses onto the top of his head, looking at her closely as if he’d caught her staring. “So do you volunteer here often?”

Tearing her stupid fan-girl gaze off his mouth, she focused instead on his eyes. And was lost. Spring-green and heavily lashed, Riley’s eyes twinkled with humor and self-confidence. Not to mention knowledge. He knew how he was affecting her.

She felt her face grow hot. “Not as much as I’d like to.”

“That’s great of you. Not a lot of young people would give up their Sunday afternoons to make a bunch of strangers happy.”

So, he didn’t know Janie was also visiting her own grandmother. She didn’t volunteer the information, not certain why she didn’t want him to know. “He’s a nice man.”

“He’s a shark,” he said with a laugh, his admiring tone saying he meant it as a compliment. “Old school all the way.”

“Old school?”

“Tough, proud, honorable and honest.”

Qualities Janie liked in a man. Qualities she wondered if Edger Smith’s grandson shared. The tabloids hadn’t made him sound like he lived up to the honorable and honest parts back during the last days of his marriage, but in recent years, he appeared to have lived down his reputation with his quiet lifestyle and powerful game.

“Anyway, sweetheart, I appreciate it. You’re an angel.”

Janie was a modern woman and a strange man calling her sweetheart and angel would normally have set her right off. But Riley’s soft, lightly southern accent and nod of genuine appreciation made the words seem like harmless endearments. Which was why she went all melty again. Soft and weak, wanting to giggle like a kid, scuff her toes on the ground and simper.

Who was this man and how was he turning her into a mutant?

Whoever he was, she needed to get away from him. So without another word, she tore her gaze off his handsome face and broad shoulders. Still a little shaken, Janie swung around and bent down to pick up her blanket. It was only after she’d doubled over that she realized she was practically wagging her butt at the guy. A quick glance over her shoulder revealed he’d noticed. He’d definitely noticed, and was staring. That sparkle was still in his eyes, and he made no effort to hide his amusement. And maybe…just maybe…a hint of appreciation.

She shoved the hint of pleasure that thought gave her into the recesses of her mind. She’d take it out and play with it later, when she was alone. Not now when the man was probably thinking she was some sex-starved groupie like the ones who must throw themselves at him every day. She’d probably imagined the appreciation, anyway, because no way should her tiny self in baggy jeans have inspired a reaction from a hunky superstar.

Quickly dropping to her knees, she rolled the blanket into a sloppy, lumpy ball, which she clutched to her chest. Yanking her satchel, which contained this week’s newly priced sports items, she rose to her feet and offered him what she hoped was an impersonal smile. “Nice meeting you. I’ve got to go.”

He just stared, saying nothing. A long silence stretched out, during which Janie could have whirled around and marched to her car, confident that she’d just made a fool of herself in front of the sexiest man she’d ever seen.

But her feet wouldn’t move. The longer he stared–so intent, so silent–the heavier her limbs felt. The laughter of the children faded into the distance, until she heard only the buzz of a passing bee…and the sound of her own breaths. Finally, unable to stand the tension, she whispered, “What?”

“Well, Just Janie, I’m trying to figure something out,” he murmured, still staring intently at her face.

“What’s that?”

With an almost helpless shrug he admitted, “What I want to see more—your beautiful brown eyes without those awful glasses? Or your great ass in something other than those hideous jeans.”

Janie’s jaw dropped open and she sputtered something. Her heart pounding in her chest, she tried to fathom it—he was flirting with her. Riley the Rocket was flirting with her?

Before she could say anything, the man with the magic hands on the field reached out and tilted her mouth closed. His touch was warm, the scrape of his fingers on her skin utterly electric.

“Don’t worry, darlin’,” he said, his voice sounding thick, less flirtatious, as if he didn’t like what he had to say. “I may have a reputation, but I don’t go after innocent little coeds like you.” With a shrug that looked almost regretful, he
muttered, “Damn, I know I’m gonna regret this. Someone musta shined my halo today.”

And turning on his heel, he walked away, striding toward the building without a single look back.

BOYS OF SUMMER

Congratulations to…Denise Jones! She is the winner of Carly’s super Digger the Dog prize package! The winner was chosen entirely randomly by Carly’s husband, in honor of Father’s Day.
Denise, send your snail mail address to Carly at carly@carlyphillips.com and she’ll make sure the prize gets out to you!

And in honor of Father’s Day…

To the BEST MONKEY DADS IN THE UNIVERSE…

WE LOVE YOU!!!

(Can you guess which Dad belongs to which Monkey?)

Kelly Francis asked:

How do you come up with the titles for your books???

CP: Personally I try to go with something catchy that I can work into either the idea of the book or the marketing. For example, The Hot Zone series came from the name of the PR firm the Jordan sisters ran/the sports agency their uncle owned, The Hot Zone - hence Hot Stuff, Hot Number, Hot Item.

For Cross My Heart, it came from that old childhood saying and it’s used in the prologue, for it’s sequel Sealed with a Kiss, it came from looking for a similar type of saying and I saw the anacronym SWAK in a women’s magazine and it just struck me at the moment. Same for the Simply’s … I liked Simply … and worked with the alliteration. I think from reading this, there is no great secret or method to my titles! And of course, the publisher has to OK and approve, so I like to get that OK b/c I need the title in order to write. The only published book other than my first, Brazen which started as Weekend Lover, which was changed, was Under the Boardwalk which began as Jersey Girl but ultimately proved too limiting. And we often ask each other or other writer friends for help!

JEL: I have a love/hate relationship with titles. I’m actually pretty good at coming up with my own titles and have for more than half my books. My “Dirty” titles came after I’d already turned in the first Marisela book as Mighty Aphrodite, which was Marisela’s codename within Titan. Pocket couldn’t use that for various reasons and as I was flicking around the Internet looking for ideas, I saw a connection between Dirty Girls Social Club (a Latina lit book that inspired me to try writing a Latina character,) Dirty Dancing and a short time later, Dirty Harry. Those three elements combined into Marisela. Since I’m a big Eagles fan, the song Dirty Laundry came to mind, which inspired Dirty Little Secrets and Dirty Little Lies from the lyrics. Coming up with titles is definitely a collaborative effort with friends and editors and marketing.

I actually came up with the title A Fare To Remember for the taxi-cab collection that’s out now. I can’t remember how it came to me (I believe I was at IMDB trolling titles,) but I remember being really excited about it and I would have been crushed if they’d said no. But it happens. I’ve lost a few titles to other authors, which is annoying. (Meaning that I came up with something PERFECT for my book, but other authors had books with the same title coming out before mine or just after and I had to change.) That’s how I got stuck with my most unfavorite title–Brazen & Burning.

LK: I almost never get to keep my titles because my editor usually comes up with very good ones and overrules my generally lame suggestion. But when I do come up with one, the title usually references the story in some particular way.

For instance, my next HQN release, Here Comes Trouble, refers to the town, Trouble, Pennsylvania, where the book takes place. Since I’ll be writing more books set in Trouble, I developed a list of Trouble titles (with Janelle’s help!) and presented the list to my editor. Here’s hoping lots of them get used!

Sometimes I have a certain word I want to focus on, go to Internet Movie Database and do a title search with that word just to see if it sparks any good ideas.

JD: Back when I was just writing category romances for Harlequin, most of my titles were changed because mine were so blah. My editor wanted something sexy to reflect the line I was writing for (Temptation & Blaze), and she usually came up with something I really liked. However, when I was writing sweeter romances for Harlequin Romance, I was never able to keep my titles, because the marketing department had “code words” they liked to make sure was in the title for the book. They tracked which books sold the best, and decided that the words within the titles were what drawing readers (never mind the author writing the books!). Some of these code words were Baby, Bride, Cowboy, Daddy, and Wedding. So, I ended up with titles like Bride Included, Ready-Made Bride (geez!), A Dad For Daniel (can it get any more cheesy?), Substitute Father (even though the hero in the book was never a “father”!), and The Baby Surprise (well, they gave away the “surprise” in that book, didn’t they? LOL!). Anyway, I never liked any of those titles all that much, but I didn’t have a choice in the matter.

Now, I pretty much title my own books — with the help of the plotmonkeys. If I have connecting books, I always try to keep a “theme” within the titles. Usually a word I carry over from book to book. I had a set of Temptation & Blaze books that were connected by characters and the word “Seduction” in the title: A Wicked Seduction, A Shameless Seduction, and The Ultimate Seduction. I think that really helped readers to identify the book as one of the “Seduction” series, especially if they were looking for a particular character’s story.

Then there’s my most popular series to date, and what I’m best known for — my “Wilde” series. I knew when I first developed the Wilde brothers that I wanted something catchy that I could use in numerous titles (because there were also Wilde cousins waiting for their stories to be told, as well!) and that’s when I decided that the last name “Wilde” held a whole lot of possibilities. To date, I’ve had six Wilde titles released, and I think since no one else has ever had a series of “Wilde” books, that one word is enough for readers to see on a book on the shelves and know that the story inside is part of the “Wilde” series. The word “Wilde” has also been a great marketing and promotional tool — readers recognize the word, as do booksellers. That one word has had a huge impact on my career.

Welcome to the Jungle and Jungle Madness Friday!

This week I’m giving away HOT NUMBER (MICKI Jordan’s story) along with a pink (what else?!?)Timbuk2 Marina computer bag (or whatever else you’d like to carry in there!), Digger the Dog playing cards and Digger himself (Digger is from Cross My Heart and his doggie tag will explain his view of the story!) along with a Carly mug and door hangar. As usual, whoever posts today is eligible to enter (except for plotmonkeys, of course!). Remember to check back on Sunday to see who won!
GOOD LUCK and HAPPY FRIDAY. Thanks for visiting us in the jungle!

In a writer’s world, no two sweeter words are ever written. I wrote those two words this past Tuesday when I finished my current manuscript, and THE END to a story is always a cause for celebration. It’s also a time to regroup and de-stress before diving into the next story and upcoming deadline.

First things first, I must clean my office. During the last week or two of writing, when it gets very intense because my deadline is fast approaching and I have to scramble (and burn the midnight oil) to make up for all the time I’ve goofed off, my office becomes a catch-all. I have piles of papers and other things covering every bit of surface on my desk. Piles of mail that I have to go through. A stack of “must do” items that I need to take care of as soon as the book is done. A list of writing related and promotional things that have to be taken care of (like updating my website!!). There’s another pile of stuff, courtesy of my husband, and I know it’s more stuff that I’ve neglected during deadline dementia that needs my attention. It takes me a good day to go through everything, but when I’m done I can see my desk again, and it’s such a wonderful feeling! (Even if I know it won’t last long!)

Next, is cleaning the house. Not just a quick surface cleaning like I’ve been doing for the past few weeks, but really taking care of the nitty-gritty, down and dirty stuff. Cleaning the showers, toilets, refrigerator, mopping the tile floors and vacuuming the cobwebs that have sprung up here and there in various corners of the house. During this time the dog gets a much needed bath, too. I love a clean house, and even though I know it won’t last long, I can at least enjoy it for a few days.

Now, comes “me time”. Time to relax and de-stress before diving into the next book. I need a hair cut and color badly, and that’s first on my list. My finger and toe nails are chipped and are looking pretty scraggly, so a manicure and pedicure is definitely in order. There’s movies I want to see at the theater (The Lake House with Keanu Reeves and Sandra Bullock), and movies I want to rent that I missed when they were on the big screen. I’ll go to lunch with girlfriends and read a few books from my to-be-read pile.

Life will be very good for the next week. This is like my vacation time from my job, and I plan to enjoy every moment of it, because too soon I’ll be right back into the writing frenzy and another deadline fast approaching.

So, how do you like to relax and de-stress?

You guys should already know that I love to travel. I’ve been to lots of big cities in the US, but haven’t been overseas at all. I’m waiting for my daughter to get just a little older. My parents are going to Greece and Italy in the fall and I’m dying to pack myself in their suitcase. But I think a year or two more and we’ll be ready. Unfortunately, my daughter has become quite the traveller–but a spoiled one. We used American Express points to upgrade to first class when traveling to Hawaii. She’s completely convinced one should never travel anywhere longer than four hours without being in first class. Hmmm…wonder where she got that from?

We went to Hawaii for Spring Break. It was our first trip there. I liked it. Can’t say I loved it. Isn’t that weird? I mean…what’s wrong with me? It’s HAWAII! It was beautiful. But I mean…if you’ve seen one palm tree and sugar cane plant, you’ve seen them all, right? I was the same way when I went to the Grand Canyon. I went to the side, looked over and said, “Yup, it’s big” and I was done. I mean, it looked like the pictures.

What excites me is STUFF TO DO. That’s why I liked Oahu WAY better than I liked Maui. Oahu had the Arizona Memorial, the Bishop Museum, Honolulu and a cute aquarium with these monk seals that are only in the Hawaiian islands. Maui had whales. It was cool to see them jumping outside our hotel…but well, once they jump three or four times, you’ve seen it, right? I don’t sail or snorkel or jump out of helicopters, so Maui was a bust. I wanted more than anything to go back to our hotel in Oahu that we’d been miraculously upgraded in, sip Blue Hawaii’s in the morning and watch my daughter swim on the private beach (our Maui hotel had no beach) and then spend the afternoon looking around. Buying art. Trying to decide why Waikiki was such a big deal. (Never figured that out.)

Maybe that’s why I’m most at home in Chicago or New York when I vacation. I have stuff to do. I mean, A CHORUS LINE IS OPENING ON BROADWAY AGAIN! Oh! It was one of the first shows I saw back in 1983. Even then, my parents knew I wasn’t your average teenager traveler. You see, it was a great rite of passage here in Florida to go to Beach Week every summer–a celebration at nearby Clearwater Beach. Every year I was in high school, I asked if I could go and my mother, who knew from my older brother that Beach Week was mostly about drinking and hooking up, said no. Now, for my senior year, she knew she’d have trouble with the no since I’d be 18. So instead, she made a brilliant mother move I hope to emulate someday. She said, “If you skip Beach Week, I’ll take you and two friends to New York City.”

Score.

We did go. We saw 42nd Street, La Cage Aux Folles and some Tommy Tune musical that didn’t last long (it was called My One and Only…gotta love the Internet Broadway Database!) I saw A Chorus Line on my next trip, I think…not too long after that first one. But anyway, I remember walking around the city at 2am with my friends (I’m pretty sure my parents didn’t want us to do that, but we were 18!) We met two hansom cab drivers who took us around the city for free, then took us to Studio 54. We saw Rick James. We saw people free-basing cocaine (though I had NO CLUE that was what they were doing, innocent that I was!) It wasn’t the hey day of Studio 54, but I can say I went there.

It was a whirlwind weekend. We dined at Tavern on the Green and Sardi’s. We went to museums. We stayed up late and slept in and walked in the city in the rain.

You can see where my love for doing stuff when traveling started. My husband wants to take us camping up at his brother’s house in North Carolina. As in…his brother stays in his gorgeous renovated house and we sleep in a tent. I should mention that he lives on a mountain that is an hour from anything…including a store. In fact, the nearest store is a old-fashioned convenience store. If you want big shopping, you have to hit the Kmart another half hour away. Oh, yes, you can go into Charlotte…two hours away. And it’s just mountains and tourist shops. And the Biltmore, which, by the way, I’ve seen three times. Can you tell this is not a big draw for me?

On the other hand, I’m very glad that we’re not going anywhere this summer. Except when I go to Atlanta for the RWA conference–and frankly, my daughter is dying to go with me because Atlanta now has the world’s largest aquarium and has the only whale sharks in captivity in North America. I’d prefer to take her up in the fall when the weather isn’t quite so Atlanta hot. World of Coke. CNN. Stone Mountain. So much to do, so much to do…

So…if you were allowed to pick someplace to go…anywhere…where would it be? My dream trip? Well, barring another trip to NYC or Chicago, I’d say Italy. Venice. Florence. Rome, of course. But mostly…Sicily. I’d love to see where my paternal grandfather and maternal grandmother came from. But of course, only if we fly first class. :-)

Apparently it’s my day to blog and I have nothing to say. Nada. Zilch. Wouldn’t those who know me well be surprised? So I’ll ask my fellow plotmonkeys forgiveness as I use this space to thank everyone for their support in buying my books. HOT ITEM is doing phenomenally well and I have all of you to thank. It’s a NYT Bestseller, a USA Today Bestseller, a Publisher’s Weekly Bestseller … and though this probably means little to readers who just want to read their book, it means everything to authors. So THANK YOU for buying the book and putting me on the bestseller lists.

By now I hope you’ve seen my brand new website at www.carlyphillips.com created and designed by Heidi Mack at www.xuni.com. I’m in love with the site and I hope you are too!

Hmm … where was I? Aah, yes. HOT ITEM is doing well and I have two more books coming out this summer. Which brings me to my newest panic. You see, authors are neurotic beasts and if we don’t have something to angst about, we aren’t happy. So while people are buying and reading HOT ITEM in what is for me, record numbers, I’m worried that because they’re loving funny Uncle Yank and the lightly comedic Hot Zone trilogy, they’re going to be disappointed when they buy (I hope!) and read CROSS MY HEART, the hardcover out at the end of July.

You see, I’d decided that if I was going to ask people to pay more money for a hardcover, I should give them something more for their purchase. CROSS MY HEART takes you deeper than a Carly Phillips book has done before. Yes there are some light moments (and there’s always Digger the Dog) and I hope you’ll smile, laugh and cry, but it’s different from the Hot Zone. From Summer Lovin’. But different is good, right? It’s still a Carly Phillips story. But I am in a panic, that I can tell you. The better HOT ITEM does, the more I seem to panic about CROSS MY HEART.

Yes, we authors are insane. Or at least I am. And, I guess I had a blog topic afterall! Maybe now I’ve freed my mind so I can get back to work on SEALED WITH A KISS, next summer’s hardcover sequel to CROSS MY HEART, which is also a deeper story. But don’t worry. My paperbacks will remain light and hot. CROSS MY HEART is hot. It’s the light versus depth which I’m angsting over.

If you’re curious what I mean and what the differences are, you can read an excerpt of CROSS MY HEART and see for yourself. And if reading gets you interested enough to preorder, I wouldn’t mind in the least!

Hopefully you all have things that drive you crazy, things you can’t control but you angst over anyway. If so, you’ll understand and take pity on me. If not, chalk it up to a day of ranting and raving by a nutty author. :p

As I just said to my kids:

That’s it for now … back to the looney bin for me!

I am currently engaged in one of the most painful, hideous projects known to man and I just have to kvetch about it: I’m trying to sell my house.

I’m sure you’ve been through it, so you can understand my misery. But because of the awful housing market in my area, you probably haven’t experienced it quite this bad–at least not in the past few years of the U.S. housing boom. Our house has been on the market for six months. Yes. Six. If we’d listed it a year ago, I imagine it would have sold in six days. That was the average turnaround time last spring/summer, when buyers competed and prices just kept going up. But suddenly (I think right around the time Katrina hit) people started deciding they really didn’t want to move to a coastal area in a hurricane-magnet state (huh, who’da thunkit?) and the housing market here just died.

So. Six months of trying to keep the house clean despite having three girls. Two of them are teenagers who are incapable of throwing away a single thing and have posters of Johnny Depp and Hugh Jackman all over their walls. (Okay…the posters stayed…I’m only so strong.)

Magnify the housecleaning because you have a small dog who enjoys peeing in the corner when she doesn’t get taken out often enough. After seeing lots of her little yellow spots, let me tell you, I’ve considered letting her walk around in my back yard to greet the alligators in the lake. But I love the rotten little mutt too much.

Now, if you haven’t tried to sell a house, let me acquaint you with the typical life-in-a-house-for-sale:

You have to make your bed. Every day. If your kids are in a hurry and forget, you have to make theirs too.

FYI: They’re usually in a hurry. And they ALWAYS forget.

You have to pack up half your stuff and get it the heck out, paying exhorbitant storage fees, because the last thing you want to do is have stuff stored in your own house, giving the impression that it’s not big enough for your stuff, much less anyone else’s. Like, uh, as if the new owner isn’t going to have twenty Christmas boxes too!

You have to keep your bathrooms clean and God forbid there’s a magazine lying around in there. Because prospective buyers just don’t want to think about the fact that a bathroom has actually been used.

No dirty clothes on the floor. Ever. But they’re not allowed to accumulate and overflow in the laundry baskets, either. And oh, you never want them piled up on the floor of the laundry room. Therefore, you must do laundry every day. And not just the “wash it and dry it and leave it in the basket” laundry, either. That stuff has to be folded and put away into drawers that are already too full, while ensuring that the full drawers actually close all the way, with nary a sock sticking out the top. (In my house, not one person has a dresser big enough for all their clothes. That works fine when we’re in a “normal” laundry routine…but when all our clothes are clean? Chaos reigns!)

A dirty glass in the sink means punishment. One left on a bedside table is instant death.

The grass has to be mowed every 6 days to keep it at that perfect height. No cheating and cutting it shorter so you can cut it less often–because it’ll be too short that first day or two and, of course, that’ll be the day Mr. Landscaper Professional home-buyer wants to look at your house.

You may use the kitchen, but if the boiling pot of soup overflows onto the flat cooktop surface, you will face my wrath.

The back bathroom with the glass doors is for absolute emergency showers only. Because the slightest fingerprint or streak of soap scum must be avoided at all costs. Stick with the front one with the shower curtain. Better yet–just grab a bar of soap and head to the back yard. Gotta keep those sprinklers running to keep the grass green, anyway.

Now that you have fixed every crack, painted the rooms, put in new carpet, updated the bathrooms, redone the kitchen and paid a fortune for shiny new appliances…you can sit back and imagine someone ELSE enjoying them after they buy your house.

You must be prepared to get out at a moment’s notice because some realtor driving by with a client spotted your house, called your agent and said, “I know the owner requires an hour’s notice, but we’re here, so can we just come in?”

While you’re getting out of the house–sweat dripping down your face because you’ve just vacuumed the living room, washed the kitchen floor, Windexed every glass door, cut the grass, cleaned the pool, wiped down every cabinet and countertop–you spy the potential buyers, make nice and pretend your house always looks as immaculate as it does right now. Then you get in your car and watch as the group of complete strangers–often with children who run wildly unsupervised straight into your living room toward your cabinet containing your Swarovski crystal collection–stroll into your house and begin to verbally rip it to pieces.

Yeah. Wow. Six months of this much fun. What a lucky girl I am.

Gotta sign off now–someone’s coming to see the house. And I still haven’t washed the bathroom floors, swept the patio or gone after the dozen spider webs that have sprung up around my front door since yesterday.

Anyone wanna move to Florida?

Hi everyone! Hope you’re having a terrific weekend.

Thanks to all those who commented on Friday. After a random number drawing by my 10 year old, turns out…Minna is the winna! *g*

Minna, message # 22, congratulations! Please drop me a line at leslielou@lesliekelly.com and give me your snail mail addy so I can get your prizes shipped to you.

Thanks so much for visiting and hope you’ll all tune in next week for more Plotmonkeys fun!

Leslie

PS: This made me laugh…