Sommer Marsden's Blog, page 129
December 3, 2010
This is Charlie....
and I gotta say, I would so not mind finding him in my stocking ;) My new Christmas novella Pretty In Pink is out today from Excessica. Woohooo! And Yippee!
Here is the blurb:
Kimber Daniels knows what they say about assuming and how a person should never do it. But she can't help but assume her new neighbor Charlie Brewster is gay. What with is matching curtains, brand new filigree bird bath and that pink flamingo on his front lawn dressed in its cute little holiday Santa outfit. It's wrong to assume, but she does anyway, especially when he answers the door in a bright pink tulip covered robe.
It seems only logical that Charlie's a safe guy to be around when all other men are on her naughty list. While her best friend Sarah is trying to convince Kimber to make the moves on Charlie because he's a good guy, Kimber's trying to convince Sarah that Charlie is totally off limits and is simply the kind of man that sugar plum dreams are made of.
An excerpt can be found on the site.
Beyond this nice shiny release, today is looking like a poop cracker as the man would say. So I would very much love it if you'd send me some nice happy vibes. Think... Om...it's okay you dizbang frantic woman...Om...
LOL. That should work!
XOXO
Sommer
December 2, 2010
A nifty Christmas gift...
My next Ellora's Cave book I'm On Fire is slotted for Christmas Eve. Woohoo and ho ho ho! I'm super excited because this is my very first contemporary novella for EC. All my other work has been paranormal. Go figure. The girl writer who once said they scared her now writes them regularly. Freaky deaky. But not this one, this one is a contemporary and I'm stoked.
Anyway, all my others have been chock full of ghost and phantoms and angels and werewolves (Oh my!) but this one has a hunky hot fireman and a woman who decides to set her own kitchen on fire. Okay, so it was an accident. But hey, hunky hot fireman are just as intoxicating as supernatural creatures. In fact, I think they have their own range of special um...abilities.
;)
XOXOSommer
December 1, 2010
FINAL NOTICE: THE FINAL YEAR...
Now I'm running to answer the ringing phone. The countdown begins: the last December 1st as a 30-something...
XOXO
Sommer
November 30, 2010
More Time To Write Porn Slow Cooker Turkey Breast:
And easy squeezey recipe so you don't go mad. I'm on day two of feeling behind the moment I wake up. Tomorrow I am 39! How DID THAT HAPPEN!? Today I have to shop for the stuff so the man can make my dinner (he took me out last week for an early fun-birthday-date day :) ) and I did edits and I have proofing and...*gasp*
The older I get, the more frazzled I feel during the holidays. But I still love them. You'd think now that the kids are older, I'd feel less stressed, the answer is um...no! Anyway, I tend to make up super fast easy "recipes" during the holidays to save myself a step. Say, oh, dinner cooking all day while I'm running errands and working on edits. I'll post some here on the blog during the holidays. You can thank me later. Heh ;)
More Time To Write Porn Slow Cooker Turkey Breast
by Sommer Marsden:
#One boneless turkey breast. Leave that little napkin-sized bit of skin on if they give it to you.
#Smear skin with about 2-3 pats of butter (real butter!)
#Sprinkle heavily with your favorite spice blend. We use Todd's Bayou Dirt or Cajun Foreplay
#Cook on LOW in the slow cooker for 8-10 hours#Use your drippings for gravy. #Serve with egg noodles for non-GF folk or rice/rice noodles for Gluten Free option.#Thank me later.
Seriously, the juiciest, most perfect turkey breast. Boy child aka the complainer lights up when I make this and it is gone almost before it hits the plate. That is what a frazzled pron writer calls a successful meal.
If you make it, make sure you let me know your results!
XOXOSommerp.s. how badly do I want this apron? I mean, it even has a pocket for a flask. Can you put wine in a flask???? Oh, Santa...I have a new item to add to my list...
November 29, 2010
and now we enter...
the time of year where I feel behind the clock about ten minutes after I get up. Most days. Other days, I feel all glowy, cockle-warming, domestic bliss, Martha Stewart wanna be happiness as I putter and bake and craft. It's a crap shoot and I simply never can tell.
I'm also finishing my current book (which came out of nowhere and has blown by) so that makes the balance of birthday/decorating/shopping/prepping Christmas month that much more um...tweaky.
Here's a nibble of the current WIP as I strike things off my To Do List. So far I'm doing pretty good. How long until I lose steam and pop in the DVD of Fringe and veg out? Anyone wanna bet???
Happy Cyber Monday!
from Sommer's WIP:
"Put your shirt back on," I growled. Mason froze. "You told him to say that, didn't you?"
Mason chuckled, but buttoned his shirt. "No. But I'm just screwing with you. Hey, babe, I would so not be averse to a nice romantic encounter with you here or anywhere, but not under duress."
"It's a ghost. A spirit. Smoke and mirrors. Even if it is real, what could it possibly do to us?"
"I wouldn't say that, Darl—"
Just then the overhead chandelier started swinging. Not an original part of the house, I'd wager, since this had been the main house on a working farm. However, it was huge and wrought iron and dominated the tall ceiling in the foyer. If it fell, I realized, not much was going to be spared. I moved down toward the sealed doors.
"There. We're out of the line of fire," I said to Mason in a calm conversational voice. Nothing like the coked up gerbil feeling I had on the inside.
"Yeah, I have a feeling that they—"
He didn't get to finish when a piece of glass flew off the chandelier to crash at my feet. Then my breath stalled and my lungs kicked and panic swelled in me because I couldn't quite breathe. It was as if my throat was wrapped in a icy cold hand that was squeezing for all its worth.
"Darla?"
"Grmph," I said.
"Darl? Your face is turning purple."
I clawed at invisible hands that Mason couldn't see. Hell, that I couldn't see. But nothing worked. I waved my hands to him and he stepped forward, pulling at my neck and giving a startled hiss when he came in contact with the icy nothingness.
"Frmph!" I said. And then I grabbed Mason and kissed him as much as a woman being strangled can kiss.
Mason's tongue found mine and the warm touch of wetness sizzled through my oxygen deprived brain. The grip on my throat loosened and I sucked in a sweet rush of stale historical air. "Oh god, that's good," I said.
"I am a good kisser," Mason said, mellowed by the physical contact.
"I meant the air."
XOXOSommer
*fabulous non-working (my favorite kind!) clock here
November 27, 2010
I can't remember why I walked into the kitchen...
on any given day, but I remembered this song by Coach line for line. And I remembered what show it was from and who sang it. I think that's the first sign of senility. Anyway, the word Albania came into my sphere today and I immediately started singing this. Too good to pass up sharing this oldie but goody clip from Cheers. Which back in my day was a no-miss show that you raced home from wherever to catch!
Hope your Thanksgiving was full of love and laughter and good food. Hmm. Speaking of Thanksgiving, where is that classic food fight scene from Cheers...
XOXO
Sommer
November 23, 2010
Mmm...
Cheesecake-Stuffed Pumpkin Cupcakes. I'm in a reading/watching TV/baking/puttering state of holiday nirvana. Hope your holiday, however you celebrate, rocks. Happy Thanksgiving, peoples. :) See you Monday!XOXO
Sommer
p.s. eat gluten free and want to make these? visit Silvana's Dish Towel Diaries for the steps. Don't eat GF? Replace the GF flour with regular. Or just eat as is. You'd never freaking know. Trust me. There's a 14 year old boy sitting next to me inhaling one right now who just said so.
November 22, 2010
I got better things to do with my time...
I get songs out of the ether. They slip out and wave when I need them most. I tend to replay music to death because certain 'albums' will be soundtracks to chunks of my life. This one slid right out of the past tonight and kissed me on the cheek. Seems I needed it.
I've spend the better part of 39 years (come December 1) trying to please those looking on. And I'm learning every day that slips by that that's a hunormous waste of time. I've known it for a while, but it's hard to break old perfectionist attitudes, especially self-imposed ones. My worst jailer is me. My worst warden is self. I'm trying to focus on how I feel about stuff only. And those closest to me. The people who form the nucleus of my life. It's hard for me. I'm sort of a rabid people pleaser who likes to appear in whatever pretty package the onlooker expects or desires. It's kind of exhausting, though. I think I might be embarking on a slice of life titled: Cutting Self Some Fucking Slack...
So this song is in my head on a loop at the moment (though The Black Keys are my current work soundtrack). I'm taking a bit of time off this week to enjoy the fam. It seems well deserved and hugely needed. I hope you and yours have a superb holiday where you can sit back, stuff yourselves whether it be turkey or tofurkey or turkey-like-substance burritos from the 7-11. I hope it's full of laughter and fun and peace and sharing.
As an aside, Phil Collins was huge when I was a freshman and sophomore in high school. I do think that Face Value and No Jacket Required are at the top of my formative years play list. I thought he was a sexy motherfucker. My friends--all Tom Cruise and Emilio Estevez addicts--laughed at me. But I was a word whore, English Lit centered, GT student then and to me, anyone who could write lyrics like that and sing them so you felt the tug and pull of emotion in your belly was...well, a sexy motherfucker, no matter the package. That's how I roll to this day. I don't care if you're wrapped in a short man in a suit with an accent and thinning hair or a six foot six athlete. It's all about the innards. No turkey pun intended.
Peace.
XOXO
Sommer
November 20, 2010
dude, those are like...claws
There is a tiny affliction in my family, that odd object speak to us. I had it happen in high school with a Buddha pendant from and antique kiosk and my mother ended up buying it for me for Christmas that year because it was all I talked about. I still have it and I still wear it.
It happened to boy child this summer down in Hampden on the Avenue at an antique store. We ended up bringing home a carved wooden statue of a Japanese fisherman with what appeared to be a alien-like head. Like close encounters alien. The head, though human and matching the body, seems oddly disproportionate to the rest of him. But I digress...
As you can see, it happened to girl child today at a local bazaar with "The Chief". That is how he was labeled. I think they missed the words "Creepy Pants". Big Chief Creepy Pants seems about right. Yes, it is plaster, yes it is huge (about 2 feet), yes it is hand painted by a non professional--no, no! I know you think it was but I assure you, despite its impeccable facade it is definitely the work of an amateur. (Oh. My. God) AND...it appears to be sporting rather deadly talons instead of fingernails on the hand that is clutching the AXE!
(funny aside: she says to me "Maybe he is a Cherokee chief, Ma" as if this will make me feel better about her purchase. Our bloodline is heavily peppered with Cherokee, but somehow I don't think he'd care if we're related or not)
The amusing part of this to me is not that I have a blood thirsty half shifter Indian Chief armed with an axe in my home, it's that it was purchased by the same child that once made me lock a ventriloquist's dummy in the trunk of my car because she thought it was going to come into her room at night. Does she not fear Big Chief's death claws?
Anyhoo, here are some other pics
Our sunset tonight. The photo does not do it justice. It was pinky pinkerson and gorgeous.
When I turned around on the deck, this was on the other side. A gorgeous plump moon.
The fake fire where I mope and wallow (see blog below). I am glad I have this fake fireplace to hang out in front of now that the sun has set, the moon is full and chief creepy pants is dragging his bodyless torso through my house with his deadly shifter talons so he can finish me off with his...AXE.Maybe I'll lock him in the trunk of my car.
XOXO
Sommer
November 19, 2010
other stuff i assume i could be if i quit writing...
When I get a not so nice review I usually allow myself to wallow for one day. One day to bury my head in the sand and hide and feel sorry for myself. ONE. If I go beyond that it is just ridiculous because it is unreasonable and sad to expect that everyone in the whole world should like you and/or your work--whether your work is phone service or fiction writing.
I found a bad review quite by accident. It was buried amidst so many good ones, and still, that one bad one instantly negated all the numerous good ones for me (because I have issues, yo). So today is my official wallow day.
Since finding the one bad kernel amongst a whole can of good ones, I have watched episode two of The Walking Dead on demand (nothing says self loathing like zombies), I have written several pages of new book (and questioned and second guessed every durn word), the man dragged me to the home improvement store--which was oddly soothing and nice in a bizarre "this is like a mental institution but with power tools" kind of way, walked his fatness with the man.
I am now sitting in front of my fake wood burning stove heater thingy my mother-in-law bought me contemplating the virtues of a self-shaming nap. (I would like to note that the fake fireplace heater thing is next to our actual functioning gas fireplace that we are too cheap to run). Whilst I sit here and enjoy this false blaze, I have made a short sad list of things I could be if I quit writing (and apparently assaulting folks with my thin veil of fiction wrapped around gobs of sex). Here goes:
$ dog salon receptionist (There is a dog salon by our home. Twice now they have put HELP WANTED signs in the window and I have chic
kened out to go in and apply. For whatever bizarre reason, this has become my mental dream job (no, I am not kidding) should people stop buying my books and we require stuff like food and heat and shelter)$ home improvement store worker person (like I said, oddly soothing in bright, clinical, soft rock being piped in overhead way)
$ the 'would you like fries with that' girl at any fast food restaurant (this needs zero explanation)
$ grocery store worker (again, oddly calming to me, possibly because I own one tween, one teen and one man and I am CONSTANTLY there, so to me it is like an extension of home only with food cold storage, bright lights, stock boys and again with the soft rock)
$ professional TV watcher (again, no explanation needed. seriously, if you need one, call me, we'll talk.)
That's my list for now. There might be others, but those are all I can think of. That nap is looking pretty good, wallowing is exhausting.
XOXOSommer
