Plot Monkeys

As you all know, I’m stepping further into the realm of the paranormal romance this year, beginning at the end of this month with my Blaze release, STRIPPED. You may not know this, but I actually wrote the first paranormal Blaze back in 2004 titled, UNDENIABLE, which is a hard-to-find book, unfortunately, but one of my favorites. UNDENIABLE was also tied very closely to another hard-to-find novella of mine, “Surrender” in the ESSENCE OF MIDNIGHT collection–and this story was nominated for a RITA, which is the romance world’s equivalent of an Oscar. So to say that I have a love for the paranormal is an understatement.

I know some of the Plotmonkey readers do not like paranormal romance, but I’m hoping you’ll give my work a chance. I will still, I promise, deliver a strong, sassy, uber-sexy romance! There will just be freaky things going on every once in a while!

STRIPPED stars a typical Julie Leto (no Elizabeth anymore…that’s a story for another blog!) heroine is Lilith St. Lyon. Lilith is a witch who was gifted with psychic powers. Unfortunately, she’s also a bad girl (this book is part of the Bad Girls Club miniseries, which also features by books by Tori Carrington and our own Leslie Kelly!) and in the beginning of the book, has had her powers stripped by her very own sister (Regina St. Lyon, who will star in her own story next month). Just a few months before, she’d lost the love of the only man she’d truly cared about–Mac Mancusi, a Chicago police detective who could not handle the fact that Lilith had used her powers to become his fantasy woman. He broke up with her in a big, dirty, ugly way.

Now, just a few days after Lilith has her powers taken away, he needs her to solve an important case. She tries to help him, but Mac ends up assaulting the smarmy defense attorney of the guy he’d needed Lilith to help interrogate. This is the scene immediately after he’s nearly lost his job…and the first time they’ve seen each other since their horrendous break-up.

Mac peeked one eye open, then immediately pressed his lids tight. “Go away, Lilith.”

Mac shoved his hands into his pockets. Those words, hard as they were to say, were woefully overdue.
For a split second, her gaze softened. But before she could respond, his office door banged open, nearly knocking her against the wall.

Just a bit of the sexual tension and conflict…I thought that might draw you in…next week, I’ll post a bit more.

And of course, who can forget…

I’m going to see the movie Friday night with my editor and Blaze authors Jill Shalvis and Rhonda Nelson. NO ONE SPOILS IN THE COMMENTS THIS WEEK OR UNCLE GUIDO WILL BE CALLED TO TRACK YOUR ISP TO YOUR HOUSE. Capisce?

Today is Tuesday which means it’s my blogging day. This week it’s also my travel day so as you read this I will be on my way to Dallas for the Romance Writer’s of America’s National Conference where I am Emcee’ing the RITA and Golden Heart ceremonies, giving two solo workshops, etc.

As any long time plotmonkey blogger knows, when I travel, hell is known to break loose. Here’s hoping nobody I like too much is on the plane with me or they just might be stuck in an airport for hours. :wallbash: I HOPE NOT!

OK so for those of you HERE, I decided to give you a HUGE SNEAK PEEK – into SEALED WITH A KISS out SEPTEMBER 25th (yes, this is a date I will insist you burn into your memories. If you haven’t already purchased CROSS MY HEART which went on sale JUNE 26th, another day I burned into your memories, then shame, shame!)

And now … HUNTER AND MOLLY’S SNEAK PEEK!

Almost a year has passed since Cross My Heart – Molly left Hunter behind and went in search of herself. She’s since discovered the man she thought was her father wasn’t – and she’s found the acceptance she’s always craved with her real father (although not everyone in his household is thrilled to have her there …). Just when she’s getting herself together, her father is arrested for murder – and Molly must turn to Hunter, the man whose heart she broke – and the man she still loves – for help. How has Hunter’s life been since Molly left? . . .
*****
Daniel Hunter rolled and stretched his arm across the width of his King sized bed. His hand hit something solid and he came awake quickly but not easily. His head pounded from drinking last night and his mouth tasted like cotton, but neither of those things bothered him as much as the realization that he wasn’t alone.
He peeled open one eye and glanced over at the brunette in his bed.

Shit.

Allison had stayed over. Although she wasn’t a one night stand, she was as close as he could get in his small town. No strings and safe sex partners would better describe their relationship, such as it was. He’d always made sure she left right after sex, after he’d complimented and cajoled her into taking off. He glanced at her sleeping form and wondered how to keep an easy thing going yet avoid an awkward morning after. He had no damn clue, so he closed his eyes in the hopes she’d wake up and leave in silence.
One hell of a way to wake up, he thought and immediately wondered what the hell he was doing to himself. He worked like a dog by day and pounded alcohol and screwed easy women at night. It wasn’t a routine he was proud of and when the woman beside him stirred, she merely reinforced the fact that the instant replay of his life in general wasn’t particularly appealing.

A quick glance at the clock told him it was already almost noon. On Saturday. Yeah, things going to hell and fast, he thought, just as the jarring ring of the doorbell jolted his aching head, preventing what would have been a trip down memory lane that detailed why his life had taken a downhill dive.

He grabbed for the jeans he’d left on the floor by the bed and headed to the door of his Albany based apartment. Before he made his way there, the doorbell rang again. And again.

Whoever was behind it had the patience of a woodpecker. “Shut up, I’m coming,” Hunter muttered. “What do you want?” he asked as he swung the door open wide, then stared at his visitor in utter shock.

The woman standing in front of him had to be a ghost or a vision because she sure as hell couldn’t be real. He wondered if he could be hung over and having a nightmare at the same time. Molly Gifford had walked out of his life without looking back.

“Molly?” he finally asked stupidly.

“Hi, there.” She raised a hand before dropping her arm back to her side.

Her familiar voice assured him he wasn’t dreaming. And a thorough once over told him she hadn’t been suffering during their time apart. She wore tight fitting jeans tucked into red cowboy boots he remembered well, mostly because he’d envisioned those legs wrapped around his waist as he drove into her moist, slick heat.

Not that he’d had the chance. During the last months he’d decided that he must’ve been the only guy in the history of mankind to fall in love with a woman he’d never fucked.

He cleared his throat and leaned against the wall for support. Between his aching head and cotton filled mouth, thinking let alone speaking clearly was beyond him.

Her hair had grown longer, the blond strands falling over her shoulders and a wisp of side bangs dipped over her forehead. She brushed them out of her eyes and studied him, her nose crinkling. “I woke you, didn’t I?” she asked, her normally confident voice tinged with uncertainty.

Suddenly he felt self-conscious too and he ran his hand through his messed up hair. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s a long story. Too long to tell from the hallway. May I come in?” She leaned up on her toes, trying to look past him into the apartment.

He was barely awake, his head pounded like a son of a bitch, and now Molly decided to show up for a talk. “Yeah, yeah. Come on in.” He waved his arm and gestured for her to come inside.

She walked past him. Her fragrant, delicious scent smacked him in the face, reminding him like nothing else could of all he’d never have. Of why he was living day to day and not giving a shit about much of anything at all.

She gingerly stepped towards the TV room and he followed, taking in his living space at a glance. “I’d ask you to sit but as you can see there’s no room.“

“I can see that.” She turned towards him, questions in her eyes.

And in her green eyes, he saw his life for what it had become. Really saw things for the first time. As a teen in foster care and a later a juvy facility, he’d promised himself he’d overcome his past – not just the parents who hadn’t wanted him, but the dirt and poverty surrounding him. Although he lived in an upscale high rise in Albany, he lived like his parents and foster parents had. Beer cans littered the table, papers legal and otherwise were strewn across the couch and the floor, and an empty pizza box sat open on the pass through counter separating the kitchen from the rest of the apartment. Nothing like being caught at his worst by a woman he’d once have done anything to impress, Hunter thought. Somehow he managed not to wince.

He straightened his shoulders to face her. He didn’t owe Molly an explanation. He didn’t owe her a damn thing. “Molly, why the hell are you here?”

“Well –“ She breathed in deep. His gaze settled on her chest which rose and fell beneath her tight but unusually bland beige colored tee. He hated the affect she had on him, hated himself for wanting her though he knew she no longer felt the same. Assuming she ever had.

“Hunter? Come back to bed.”

Allison. He’d forgotten all about her. “Shit.” He glanced upward, seeing his life reduced to nothingness like the lone cracks in the ceiling.

Allison shuffled into the room, wearing only his unbuttoned long sleeve shirt wrapped around her body, secured only by her arms. “It’s cold in here alone, Baby.”

“Oh my God. You have company,” Molly said, the stark horror in her voice clear.

“Who’s this?” Allison asked, sleepily.

Molly jerked at the sound of Allison’s voice. “You weren’t sleeping. You were …” Her voice trailed off. “Oh God.”

And Hunter stood frozen, staring at Molly’s stricken expression. The pain in his head had nothing on the sudden gut wrenching cramp in his stomach. He had no reason to feel guilty or feel like he’d been caught doing something awful, like cheating on her. She’d left him.

“Hunter?” Allison asked again. “Who is she?”

“I’m … nobody. This was a mistake.” Molly pulled her bag closer to her side, turned and ran for the door.
Her sudden movement brought Hunter out of the hangover, out of the fog of the past year, and out of the shock caused by seeing Molly again.

He turned to Allison long enough to issue an order. “Get dressed. Please. We’ll talk when I get back.” Then he bolted towards the open door and ran into the hall, following Molly.

He wasn’t fast enough. The elevator doors slammed shut before he could reach her.

“Dammit.” He slammed his fist against the closed metal doors, then headed for the stairwell instead.
*****
SEALED WITH A KISS: AVAILABLE SEPTEMBER 25th in PAPERBACK!
Your thoughts welcome …

Okay I am the only monkey who will be in town alll week so I should be the one doing something original as all the rest of the monkeys are posting excerpts since they’ll be at the RWA conference in Dallas.

BUT…I am also the only monkey with a new book hitting stores this week!!! Can you believe it?

So, because my finger is still sore and my shoulder still throbbing and because I just tried to keep up on a Writerspace chat tonight with fabulous Bad Girls Club member Tori Carrington (aka Lori & Tony Karayianni) I can’t type much more. Therefore, I simply have to give you guys an exclusive sneak peek at my novella, “Getting Into Trouble” which appears in Harlequin’s HEAT WAVE anthology, hitting stores this week. This story is connected to my Trouble, PA series, and features Allie Cavanaugh, the pregnant younger sister from last summer’s HERE COMES TROUBLE.

The story: Allie is a single mom trying to walk the straight-and-narrow in the town of Trouble. That proves challenging when the super-sexy “Gypsy King” Damon Cole comes to town with the carnival and hypnotizes her into revealing her deepest desires…in front of an audience!

This scene takes place a few weeks later, when Allie tracks Damon down, determined to find out what in the heck she said while under his hypnotic spell. Hope you enjoy…”Getting Into Trouble.”

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Before she even really had time to prepare herself, much less figure out what to say, Mortimer had left, following the last audience members out. Now, just she and Damon remained in the tent. He didn’t say anything. Not a single word. The man was obviously going to make this very hard on her.

“Hi,” she mumbled, mustering the courage to approach him.

He stared down at her from the stage, a few feet above, looking big and remote–powerful–like some sea captain on the deck of a ship. Okay, enough with the romance novel images!

“Miss Cavanaugh.” Ignoring her, he headed to the prop box on the side of the stage.

“I guess you’re wondering what I’m doing here.”

“No, I’m not.” He didn’t even look over, instead reaching for the top button of his silky shirt and slipping it free.

Allie had just inhaled a breath of air, but when she saw him slowly strip the shirt off his hard, golden body, that air turned into a lump in her throat. She choked on it, coughing into her fist, looking down–looking anywhere–but at that taut, rippled chest, sprinkled lightly with dark, wiry hair. Not to mention those broad shoulders, flexing with muscle and slick with sweat under the hot lights. “Wh-what are you doing?”

He didn’t even look at her. “Changing.”

“Don’t you have a dressing room or something?”

Shrugging, he snagged a T-shirt out from amid the props and walked over, holding it in his hands. He took his damn sweet time putting it on, too, stretching it over his head, lifting his arms up and tugging it down over those impossibly broad shoulders. Each moment he delayed gave her another chance to drool over the incredible body. While every bit of him flexed and rolled with power, every bit of her went soft and gooey with want.

God, had she really come within minutes of having a wild, sexual affair with this man? And could she possibly do or say anything to make him offer it to her again?

Once he’d pulled the shirt on, he muttered, “Makes it easier to get from here to my camper if I’m not as easily recognizable.”

Oh, sure. A tight T-shirt was going to disguise that hard form, that handsome face, those amazing eyes. It’d be easier for Leonard Nimoy to go incognito at a Star Trek convention.

“Well, bye,” he said, hopping off the stage and heading down the aisle toward the exit. He sounded so completely unaffected, uninterested, that she almost believed it was true. Almost.

But the tension illustrated by his clenched fists and his rigid, hard steps away from her told her he was lying. He was affected. He was interested. He was just too angry to admit it.

“Stop. Please. I want to talk to you.”

He glanced back over his shoulder, raising a bored brow. “You don’t have to say anything. I’ve had plenty of ladies follow me from town to town. Frankly, it seems kind of desperate. Especially because, once I leave a place, I always lose interest. In it…and in the people.”

Direct hit. She flinched, as if he’d thrown a rock at her rather than just some harsh words. “Wow, you’re really angry at me for standing you up.”

That got a reaction and he spun around and stalked back until he towered directly over her. A blast of heat enveloped her, sparked by his tense form and his electric anger. “Don’t flatter yourself. I get offers every night of the week.”

Yeah. He probably accepted a lot of them, too. Which meant she should be giving thanks she hadn’t just been one of his harem. Somehow, though, looking at his handsome face and stormy eyes, feeling the almost magnetic pull that urged her to wrap her arms around his neck and slide closer–just a bit closer–so that her breasts rubbed against that broad chest, she couldn’t manage to be grateful. All she felt was an indefinable sense of loss.

The sadness over what might have been colored her perceptions of this man and her time with him. It probably always would, especially because she knew she’d blown her one and only chance. Men like Damon Cole weren’t used to women saying no, and they definitely weren’t the type who were stood up. Allie had done both from the minute she’d met him and he had obviously run out of patience. And interest.

She could try to explain, tell him she’d been called to the hospital for her baby. But she sensed it wouldn’t matter. He’d moved on–to the next town, to the next woman. No second chances. The only thing left to do was get the information she needed to reclaim her normal life back in Trouble.

“I’m sorry I stood you up. But I need to talk to you,” she finally said, blinking away a hint of moisture in her eyes, a product of regret for something that might have been. “I didn’t come here to stalk you.”

A disbelieving smirk told her how much he believed that one. “Right. I guess you were just passing by…like you were that first night in my tent.”

Lifting her hands helplessly, she said, “I know it sounds crazy, but it’s true. My boss is thinking of investing in some condos here and needed me to come along.”

“Sure.”

“You probably saw him–the old man sitting beside me?”

He thought about it for a second. Then, though she might have been imagining it out of wishful thinking, she thought his clenched arms relaxed the tiniest bit.

“I was stunned when I saw the carnival set up here. I swear to you, Damon, I’m not a psycho, game-playing woman pulling some Fatal Attraction stunt.”

The jaw clenched. “I don’t think the woman in Fatal Attraction went nuts until after the guy had nailed her in every way known to man and then dumped her.”

Her mouth opened and she sucked in a quick breath at the hot look he raked over her, as if he knew he was being aggressive–threatening–but didn’t give a damn. Both anger and awareness dripped off him. Sex–thick and raw–hung in the air between them. They were both thinking about it, hinting about it.

“Tell me what you really want, Allie, I’ve got things to do.” A thin smile widened his mouth, completely devoid of humor. And warmth. “I’ve been on the lookout for the local woman I’m going to spend this week with.”

She shivered. Damon was different tonight…a little rough. A little mean. This wasn’t the nice guy she’d walked with in Trouble. She’d liked that man…but this one made her shiver in pure, primal hunger. This was the dark, dangerous gypsy king she’d fantasized about from the minute she’d seen his image on the side of that truck. And she wanted him desperately. Whether he had a woman in every town or not.

Too late, too late, too late, a voice screamed in her head.

Licking her lips and mentally reminding herself it wasn’t polite to leap onto a guy and ride him like a pony unless he asked you to, she focused on her mission, the reason she’d come here tonight. “I need something from you.”

A half-smile curled that sultry mouth up on one side and he crossed his arms, watching her. “Oh, yeah?”

Not your body. Well, yes your body. But something else, too. “I need to know exactly what I said that night.”

His sudden start proved she’d taken him by surprise. “What night?” he asked warily, shifting back, creating more distance between them which was probably just as well for her sanity but didn’t do her tingling breasts or quaking thighs any good.

“That night on the stage, when you hypnotized me. Strange things have been happening since then and people are talking about me. But I don’t know why, or what I said.”

His eyes shifted away. “So ask them.”

“I have. Nobody will tell me a thing.” Grunting in disgust, she added, “Women whisper about me and I’ve been propositioned by more men than a prison nurse.”

Grabbing her arm, he asked, “Has anyone hurt you?”

He said it like he cared, which made an absurd gurgle of optimism leap around in her stomach. “No, of course not.”

He nodded. “Good.” In a move so blatantly casual it had to be calculated, he shrugged and moved away. Damon didn’t like that he was reacting to her again. He didn’t like it one bit. Which she liked a lot.

“I…well, I wouldn’t want something that happened during one of my shows to cause anyone problems.”

“But it has. I’m being whispered about like I live next door to Mrs. Kravitz from that old TV show Bewitched.”

A small chuckle emerged from that sexy mouth, but he quickly quelled it, his frown returning. “I’m not surprised.”

His remoteness–his refusal to unbend as much as an inch–infuriated her and she stuck an index finger in his chest. “Tell me what you did to me.

That finally did it. He not only unbent, he stepped in close again, and kept stepping until Allie had to back up for fear of being knocked down. It was only when her butt hit the edge of the stage that she could stop, and then she found herself entirely trapped. Blocked by the stage behind, by his hard body ahead. And by his strong arms, which snaked around either side of her to rest on the stage floor behind her. “What I did to you?”

Allie somehow found the strength to nod, even though every molecule in her body was firing and exploding. Her fight or flight instinct kicked into high gear, though fighting him was the last thing she wanted to do. No. If he put his hand on her–his lips, his mouth–she’d do anything but fight or run.

She’d take. Have. Indulge. She’d grab whatever she could get and be grateful for every bit of it.

“Tell me,” she urged, wanting him to go over the edge.

“You know, maybe I will,” he whispered, his voice throaty, almost a purr. His mouth was beside to her temple, his breaths brushing her hair. He was crowding her, touching her with every part of himself except his hands. If she were so inclined she could lift a leg and wrap it around his thighs, tug his sex to hers and rub against him like a feline in heat. Could use his strength and his arousal to gain her own satisfaction.

Then give it back to him.

But before she could do it–do anything–he started to talk, to give her the information she’d asked for. And Allie realized she might very well get the climax she needed just from the hot, sultry words he whispered in her ear.

“You want to be touched. Intimately. Sexually.”

Since I never did hear back from the person who won my LAST contest, I’m announcing TWO winners today. One to replace the winner of the last contest who didn’t respond, and a winner from this past Friday’s contest. Both winners were picked from this last Friday’s contest (July 6th). So, the two lucky winners will be:

Tammie (Comment #34) - She will win my last prize package,which was a Jaqua gift pack that includes four delicious body washes: Buttercream Frosting (My personal favorite!), Maple Syrup, Tuscan Orange, and Caramel Cappuccino. Also included is a YUMMY Strawberry Shortcake candle and my very first Blaze book, HEAT WAVES. However, if you already have this book, you may choose another from my backlist (depending on availability).

Alice (Comment #45) - She will win this past Friday’s prize, which is the Brighton pagemarkers and an autographed book of her choice from my backlist (depending on availability).

Congratulations, Ladies! All you have to do is email me with your full name and mailing address, along with what book of mine you’d like to janelledenison@sbcglobal.net.

And now, a Sunday funny:

A GAMBLING BLONDE

Two bored casino dealers are waiting at the crap table. A very attractive blonde woman from Oklahoma arrived and bet twenty-thousand dollars ($20,000) on a single roll of the dice. She said, “I hope you don’t mind, but I feel much luckier when I play topless.”

With that, she stripped to the waist; rolled the dice; and yelled, “Come on baby, Southern Girl needs new clothes!” As the dice came to a stop, she jumped up-and-down and squealed. “YES! YES! I WON! I WON!” She hugged each of the dealers and then picked up her winnings and her clothes, and quickly departed.

The dealers stared a each other dumfounded. Finally, one of them asked, “What did she roll?”

The other answered, “I don’t know…I thought you were watching.”

Moral of the Story:
Not all Southerners are stupid.
Not all blondes are dumb.
But, all men…..are men.

First…HAPPY BIRTHDAY CARLY!! :present: :cocktail:

(Yes we celebrated yesterday but today’s the “official” day. Hope it’s a WONDERFUL one!!)

Now…one of the nice things about finally having my own house again is that I finally have my desktop computer back, out of storage, and can help with our professional/writer’s help Saturdays! I have some fun & (hopefully) helpful writing articles to share. Here’s one I wrote for my chapter newsletter a few years back.

PS: Back Monday with tales from moving hell!

FROM INSTANT CREATIVITY TO A HARD SWEAT

Most writers start out as dreamers. We write not because we think we can make a living at it, at least not initially, but because the creative urge pushes us to write. We see stories in our minds, pictures of people we’d like to get to know, images of scenes begging to be explored.

It can sometimes be incredibly frustrating, even intrusive, when an idea invades your brain and won’t let go until you give it life on paper. Your thoughts drift, your attention wanes, your murmur your character’s name at a most inopportune time (okay, so far so good, I haven’t gotten to that point!)

Finally, you have to just give yourself over to it. Let the laundry pile up, let the kids buy their lunches for a few days…and hey, maybe they’re offering a different one of those cute Barbie toys with the happy meals at McDonald’s this week.

That’s the blissful part of writing. When the urge to create grips tightly and you have to either write or explode. That’s when you churn out page after page of emotion and drama, and do the kind of writing you dreamed you could do. Visions of your future as the next Nora Roberts dance in your head as you imagine this well of talent will go on and on allowing you to write book after book.

Then you wake up. Or you dry up. Same difference. Suddenly, forty pages into this amazing, wonderful new piece, you stare at your computer, put your fingers on the keys, and cannot produce one single word. It’s gone. The wellspring that has flowed for hours or days, forcing your words to spew out onto the page, is empty. You’ve got the explosive beginning, the dynamic characters, the initial conflict, the attraction. But no story.

Believe me, I know what I’m talking about. It’s happened to me with everything I’ve ever written. I’d like to tell you I know the secret formula to getting past this, but the truth is, I’m clueless. All I can tell you is how I deal with it.

There is no instant on-off switch writers can access when they need to shape a story. I have found, so far, that the compelling urge that grips me until I have to begin a story or scream, usually disappears before the one-third point.

That doesn’t mean I’ve lost my creativity.

I like to think of it in terms of a relationship with another person. When you start a new book, just like when you get involved in a new romance, it’s exciting, dramatic, fast-paced and passionate. You lose yourself in what you’re doing, flying forward, not pausing to think too much during that initial rush. Then you reach a point where you really do have to start thinking. The intellect intrudes. In a relationship, this is where you question what the future holds with the other person. In your story, it’s where you actually have to start adhering to a specific plot.

In my opinion, “plot” is a four letter word. I hate plotting. So I try to put it off as long as possible. I start my books with characters, with a germ of an idea, and that creative urge just brings them to life before my eyes. Until about page forty. Then that nasty old “plot” issue rears its ugly head, and I come to a screeching halt. I have come to view this point, finally, in a positive light. Here’s my break, my breather, my chance to take a step back, look at what I’ve done, and think logically about what I’m going to do next.

Now’s when creativity slides to the background, and sweat and hard work take over. The words don’t appear magically anymore. The scenes don’t pop into my head like pictures in a dream. I actually have to plan how to get my characters from where they are to where I need them to be.

It sometimes feels as if too much planning means too little creating. I’ve come to accept, however, that there can’t be one without the other, at least not in fiction. As nice as it would be to just spew out an entire book without having to think about what will happen in it, I don’t believe it ever really happens that way.

Some suggest different ways to put yourself in a “mood” to create. I’ve heard writers espouse certain music, lighting, atmosphere, all of which are supposed to help writers tap that “creative state” inside them. Maybe it works for those people. Not me. I personally believe that creativity is a gift that can’t be forced. It oozes out when we need it, sparking us, inspiring us to undertake a project that will demand our blood, sweat and tears. But it doesn’t necessarily sustain us all the way through. Creativity must be compensated with flat-out determination and a sincere work ethic.

So, when that creative euphoria grabs you, jump at it, give in to it heart and soul and write like there is no tomorrow. But when it dries up, don’t moan, don’t despair. Look at those dry spells as opportunities. Creating doesn’t always just happen. Sometimes you need to plan it a little.

Other than today being a giveaway Friday in the jungle, it’s also a very special day for a very special person. Today we’re celebrating Carly’s birthday! Happy Birthday, Carly, from the Plotmonkeys!

Actually, her real birthday is tomorrow, Saturday, but since not all of you come out to play on Saturday, I’m bumping it up a day so everyone can join in on today’s fun! And what’s a birthday party or celebration without a hunk to brighten up our birthday girl’s day? Since George Clooney and Michael Vartan were otherwise engaged, this hunk readily agreed to step in and grant Carly’s every birthday wish. Have fun, Carly, but don’t wear him out too much! Aww, hell. Wear him out all you want — he looks strong and capable enough to handle it!

For Carly today, my BFF, I wish her a stress-free day filled with guilt-free shopping and eating, no glitches on her iPhone, and a blissfully quiet, non-barking puppy. :doggie: Oh, and lots of great presents! :present:

And now, before we get to today’s jungle madness contest, I need to make a special announcement. The winner of my last giveaway contest never replied to me with their full name and mailing address. The winner of my last giveaway contest, which you can check out by clicking HERE, was Julie T. (Comment #22). If you’re Julie T., and you posted comment #22 on that blog, please contact me at janelledenison@sbcglobal.net with your full name and mailing address so I can mail your prize out to you. If I don’t hear from Julie T. by tomorrow, Saturday, I’ll pick another winner from that day to win the prize package and that winner will be announced on Sunday.

And I (Carly) still need to hear from: Jess on the iPhone guess book giveaway … since it’s not on a Sunday announcement, it’s easy to miss! (The actual # on line for the iPhone: 103 - nobody even guessed close … the winner is: # 11, Jess who said 60th!
Email me at: carlyphillips @ mac.com with your backlist book choice! )

For today’s prize giveaway, I found the cutest bookmark/pagemarkers at my very favorite store: Brighton! And I thought they’d make a fun giveaway for one of our lucky plotmonkey pals here at the jungle. There are three pagemarkers — in bright colorful enamel and with swarovski crystals! There’s a pink heart, two lady bugs on a leaf, and a bee buzzing around a pretty flower. I tried to take a picture, but the photo doesn’t do this set justice. They’re absolutely beautiful! Winner will also receive an autographed book of their choice from my backlist (depending on availability).

All you have to do to enter today’s contest is post anything below, then check back on Sunday to see if you’re the winner!

A few weeks ago, when my oldest daughter Danielle (16), asked if the two of us could drive up north to just outside of San Francisco (from Southern California) so she could visit a friend of hers for a few days, I saw this as the perfect opportunity to take along my laptop and get some much needed writing/work done. While she was off doing things with her girlfriend, I would go back to the hotel and sit in my air conditioned room and write to my heart’s content. A little mini-vacation for me, since I’ve spent the past three weeks taking care of Don and his foot. I was really looking forward to just relaxing and doing my own thing for THREE WHOLE DAYS.

First though, I had to find a decent hotel for the two of us to stay at, which wasn’t difficult to do. I found a Crowne Plaza that had three restaurants inside the hotel, spacious air-conditioned, non-smoking rooms, and ROOM SERVICE. That last amenity sold me, because while I spent my days writing in my room, there would be no reason at all for me to leave. When I was hungry, I either had the many junkfood snacks and drinks we’d brought along for the trip to sustain me, or I could order something up for room service. Perfect.

So, last Tuesday we ventured out on our drive up toward San Francisco. It was over four hundred miles and a six and a half hour drive. No problem. Danielle and I were going to share the drive up there, so it wouldn’t be so bad. Also, we had snacks and our iPods to listen to when the radio went out in those rural areas, so we were set. We started the drive at ten in the morning, and after stopping for gas once and lunch, we arrived at the hotel around five. We got our room, unpacked, then went downstairs to the café to grab dinner, then headed over to her girlfriend’s house where we spent three hours visiting with her and her family. By the time we returned to the hotel, it was ten at night and we were both exhausted from such a long day of driving and being on the go.

I knew the first day, with driving and getting settled in, I wouldn’t get any writing done. I wrote it off as a “transition” day, but I just knew that after a night of rest and much needed sleep, I’d wake up in the morning on Wednesday feeling refreshed, relaxed and . . . sick. Yeah, you read that right. I woke up nauseous and with a horrible headache and sore throat. I tried to eat breakfast and couldn’t, and every time I tried to sit up for long periods of time I’d get dizzy. Not a good sign. So, after getting Danielle hooked up with her girlfriend for the day so they could do what they had planned, I went back to the hotel and crashed . . . for the whole entire day. By the time I woke up and felt fairly human again, it was seven o’clock at night. The whole day was shot and I didn’t even get a word written on my manuscript. But I did feel a whole lot better, and I was certain that I’d make up for my sick day by writing a good ten pages the following day, on Thursday.

That was my intention anyway. Everything went well Thursday morning, until Danielle and I got into the car for me to drive her to her girlfriends and an emergency light flashed on my dash and my car began to “chime” every time I tried to drive. Great. The flashing emergency light and annoying sound was an indication that something was wrong with my brakes – this after we had the car completely and totally serviced BEFORE driving it all the way up to San Francisco. :cursing: Needless to say, I wasn’t happy, and I called Don immediately to get his opinion, and guidance, on the situation. He had me pop open the hood and check a few things that immediately came to his mind – all of which were fine. Then he had me get out the car’s manual to see what it said about this flashing brake light and sound. I wasn’t happy to read that this light and sound meant something was wrong with the brakes (duh! ), and that when it happened I shouldn’t drive the car. Instead, it recommended that I get the car to a service station as soon as possible to diagnose and fix the problem. Being a woman all alone in a city far away from home, and knowing I had a six hour drive back home on Saturday, I knew I couldn’t go anywhere or do anything until the problem was taken care of.

So . . . after making arrangements to get Danielle off for the day with her girlfriend (her friend’s mom came and picked her up), I went back to my hotel room (11 AM) and found a Chevy dealership and service station about ten miles away, then debated whether to have the car towed to the service station, or drive it myself. I could have called Triple A to have the car towed, but they couldn’t come and get the car until mid-afternoon, and I needed this problem taken care of NOW. So, after talking to Don, we decided that I’d go ahead and drive the car there taking side streets (thank you, Mapquest!), and if the brakes went out on me for any reason, I’d coast to the side of the road and call the tow truck. Luckily, I made it to the Chevy service center just fine, and with my brakes intact.

It’s twelve-thirty by now and the service guy informs me that they are booked for the day, but they are going to try and squeeze my car in for a check within the next couple hours, to assess the situation and problem. Anticipating that this might take a few hours, I brought along a book and settled in for the wait. Finally, after sitting at the dealership for FOUR HOURS, the service guy informs me that they finally had a chance to inspect my car, and yes there was/is a problem. My car’s emergency brake switch/fuse went out and needed to be replaced. They had my car up on the rack, already pulled apart, and he wanted to know if they had my okay to fix the problem. Of course I said yes, and then he informed me that the part they needed to fix the fuse they didn’t have on hand and it had to be ordered. He assured me that it would be there by the following morning (Friday), but since the car was all apart, I couldn’t drive it back to the hotel.

I was NOT happy. I called a cab and made it back to the hotel by 5:30 PM. I was starved and grouchy and had a splitting headache. I ate, took a few Advils, and even though I didn’t DO anything all day long, I was completely wiped out and writing was out of the question. Again. :wallbash:

Friday, our last day at the hotel, held little promise for getting lots of writing done, but I was determined to do SOMETHING. Danielle was off to spend the day with her friend by 11 AM, and by 12:30 PM I got a call from the dealership that the car part had arrived, they made the fix, and I could come and get my vehicle. Another cab ride down there, and after paying for the work that was done on the car ($7.50 for the fuse and $400.00 for LABOR ), then grabbing some lunch, I arrived back at the hotel room around 2:30 PM . . . tonly to find that the air conditioning was no longer working. The room was hot and stuffy and there was no way I could sit in there and write. I made a call to the maintenance guy, then walked across the street from the hotel to get a cold Starbucks to drink while the maintenance guy fixed the air conditioning. By four PM that afternoon, I was sitting in my hotel room, my computer booted up, and I wrote . . . all of three pages before it was time to pick up Danielle from her friends. ::sigh::

Danielle and I went to dinner, then came back and packed up our things so we could leave early the following morning (Saturday). We woke up at 8 AM, ran a brush through our hair, brushed our teeth, ate a quick breakfast at McDonalds, and hit the road for the drive back home. We pulled into the garage a little after three in the afternoon. Ahhh, home-sweet-home.

Danielle had a great time visiting with her friend. As for me, I think I came back from our vacation more tired and exhausted and stressed than before I left – and feeling like I needed another vacation to recover! But all in all, I made the trip for Danielle, and writing would have been a bonus. Maybe next time things will work out differently.

So, today’s question is – do you ever feel like you need a vacation AFTER taking a vacation? Does it seem that you come home more tired and exhausted (instead of rested and relaxed), than before you left? That seems to happen to me a lot – and I’m just wondering if I’m the only one!

Also, feel free to share the best de-stressing vacation you’ve ever taken. For me, it was a two-week cruise to Hawaii. Ahhh, that was pure bliss!

We’re interrupting today’s blog (and giving Leslie a break this week) to wish everyone a Happy 4th of July! We hope you all are having a wonderful day filled with family and friends and good times! Oh, and good food and drinks, too! :cocktail:

So, how are you celebrating your independence day?

No, this isn’t about my air conditioner that isn’t quite working as well as it should in the 90 degree heat. It’s about the fact that Leslie and Bruce and the girls have finally moved into their new house!!! (I know Jodie, it’s still Tuesday…I warned you!)

They should have Internet by tomorrow…but after all the struggles they’ve had over the last two years, I want to throw a virtual housewarming party!!!

I have no idea what they have, what they left behind or got rid of in Florida, what they’ve yet to buy, so let’s fill up the house with wishful gifts and good wishes!

First, a larger house in a different style than the one in Florida is going to require art. I’m a classical girl myself, but I found this modern piece called “Homecoming” by Allan Jay Balisi that I really loved. So happy and colorful and whimsical. Should inject a little sunshine into those cold, icy winters yet to come, don’t you think?

But since you have left Florida, I will also virtually present to you a Dan Mackin. Mackin is my favorite Florida artist. I have two of his paintings (well, one is a print) that are the centerpiece of my soon to be redesigned kitchen and living room. I love the peaceful warmth with slight whimsical tones…so relaxing. I’d buy more of his work if I could afford it! Here’s one for you, free of charge.

I think art is essential to any house. A print. A drawing from the children. A photograph of the family, which I know you have plenty of. If there was one thing I wish I had that I don’t, it was more room…and that you got for yourself in your new home!

But I do love the heaters in my bathroom. Yes, I know it’s Florida. Yes, I know it doesn’t get that cold. But I hate being cold and wet, so the best thing we did when we first bought our house was install bathroom heaters. Love them!!

So come on, Plotmonkey readers…if you were able to buy anything for your house that you don’t have…or want to share something that you have that is indispensable, what would it be?

Congrats, Kelly family on your new home!

And for anyone going to the RWA conference next week in Dallas…

Carly and I will both be at a huge Harlequin booksigning on Friday…as will some of our favorite authors. The signing, I believe, is only for people who have registered for the conference, but if you’re going (or know someone who is) please stop by and say hello! Get a Plotmonkey button while supplies last. Bookmarks, too!

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Carly’s Winners from Yesterday:
I hope you had as much fun guessing as I did reading your posts!

The actual time I arrived: 1:15 PM - the winner is # 3 CHERYL who said I probably arrived at 1:00 Pm - closest so she wins her choice of a backlist book (CMH not included!)
The actual # on line for the iPhone: 103 - nobody even guessed close … the winner is: # 11, Jess who said 60th!
Email me at: carlyphillips @ mac.com with your backlist book choice!
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And proud of it.
As an aside, I’ve been married 18 years yesterday. Quirks and all, we are a great fit together.
That said we each have things we don’t understand about the other. Such as the subject of today’s blog.

ASK ME WHERE I AM as I write this . . .

Sitting on line outside the Apple store in the mall on June 29th.
The iPhone goes on sale at 6 PM.

Ask me what time it is? I won’t tell.

I do have my dignity to protect, after all.

My husband told me if I come to the mall early and wait in line, I should put a bag over my head so nobody can recognize me.

But when I saw News 12 (local) I put sunglasses on (there was a skylight over head and it was bright) and I

I informed him that he may not touch my iPhone, look at it, drool over it or sniff in it’s direction – not because he isn’t here with me or because he is on the golf course – but because he made fun of me for coming here at all … :biteme:

I’ll be the one with the shiny new iPhone and he’ll be the one begging to see it.

Obviously by the time you read this, I know whether I got one or not. I admit I’ll be really upset :cursing: if after X hours, I find out that they don’t have enough for me. I’ll be doubly mad if tomorrow morning, they have more than enough for people who didn’t wait in line and show up tomorrow.:cursing::cursing:

But you’re all lucky I’m a crazy Apple fanatic. Because I’m going to have fun and choose . . . 2 prize winners: One to the person who guesses closest to what time I arrived on line at the Apple Store and one to the person who guesses closest to what # I am on line (keep in mind I’m in a mall, not an outdoor store and the mall locks up at night so no one was here overnight.) Your choice of a Carly Phillips book to the winners.

GOOD LUCK!
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POST MORTEM:
I’ve had my iPhone for 2 days.
There was a limit of 2 phones per person. I bought 2 knowing I could sell one.
No, I didn’t sell one. I caved. Hubby took one look at mine and adopted the 2nd one.
Yes, come Saturday morning there were still iPhones to be had in the store.
No, in the end I did NOT regret waiting in line. Sick as I am, it was a not to be missed experience.
Seriously.
I had a blast.
This phone does everything - EXCEPT write a book for me, Janelle … (she’s been making fun of me - but with love)
Anyone else pick one up?
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Lastly, in case you’ve been living in a cave the last week:
CROSS MY HEART by Carly and SHE’S NO ANGEL by Leslie
are both on sale in bookstores NOW!
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Also know that I realize I owe a TON of gifts and prizes and before RWA National in two weeks and after I finish HOT PROPERTY, I will mail! Thank you for your patience

HAPPY MONDAY!
PS - You can also visit me TODAY at:
Romance Reader at Heart
and
The Idea Boutique