Delilah Devlin's Blog, page 528

Guest Blogger: Leah Braemel

The Dark Fairy contest continues. See Monday's blog for details—then post a comment today for another chance to win!

On Friday, my husband and I will be celebrating our thirty-third anniversary. I always kid him that he owes me TWO presents since we renewed our vows on our fifteenth wedding anniversary The last thirty three years haven't been easy—we've had our share of spats, generally because of outside pressures that make us snap at each other because we can't say what we're thinking to the person who really deserves it. But through it all, I've always known Gizmo Guy would be there, a sounding board, someone I could turn to in those dark wee hours and unload all my worries.

I noticed that about him from our very first date—that he'd listen to what I say and not fob it off as unimportant or worse, me being overly-emotional or ridiculous. I'd say something, he'd listen and comment in his usual soft thoughtful way. No judgment, just quiet reason. Which he would then often follow it up with a very sly joke. He still does, and I hope that he knows that I'll always listen to him too. (Actually, he does know that—but it took him about four months to figure that out because I can be rather…passionate…about topics but I'll always respect someone else's opinion.) Even before we were lovers, we were friends. He's still my best friend even after all these years.

It wasn't until I started writing this post that I realized all of my stories are about friends-to-lovers. They weren't necessarily best friends at the start of the story, but every single one of my couples have known each other for a while before they start dating. There's already a certain amount of trust established, and often a fair bit of carefully hidden lust.

It's true with my upcoming release, Deliberate Deceptions too, but this time I switched things up. Chad and Lauren had not only been best friends, they'd been married for several years. Except they lost the trust that is so essential to a good relationship which doomed their marriage—and their friendship.

When I wrote Personal Protection back in 2008, I already had it in the back of my head that Chad was divorced and that he regretted it, that he'd never stopped loving his wife (I've cleaned it up a bit and removed some of the F-bombs they dropped during this conversation):

When Sam flipped him off, Chad sighed. "You're exhausted because you've been staying here late every night for the past week. Go home, Sam. Go talk to Rosie. Straighten this mess out before you lose her completely. Before she comes and asks me for a transfer because damn it, Sam, that's going to happen too fricking soon."

"This from the man who let his wife slip through his fingers because he was too frickin' busy feeling sorry for himself to pay any attention to her."

Chad stiffened. When he spoke his voice was quiet, but he couldn't disguise the bitterness filling it. "Who better to give advice? Yes, I messed up a good thing with Lauren. I was too blinded by everything that happened to see that I was driving her away. That's why I hate to see you make the same stupid mistake."

But when I wrote it I hadn't a clue why he'd been feeling sorry for himself that he'd let his marriage shatter, I just knew he was still hurting and blaming himself for the break-up. Which meant that I also knew that part of his story was going to be about him healing that self-loathing. There's a lot of Gizmo Guy in Chad—he's one of those quietly determined guys who knows what he wants and goes after it without a lot of fanfare. (Although I wish Gizmo Guy were as organized as Chad is, I'm glad he's not when you discover the reason for Chad's slight OCD tendencies.)

Writing Chad's story was a challenge because how do you go about restoring a trust that's been broken so badly your marriage hasn't just failed but failed spectacularly, and in Chad and Lauren's case, failed very publicly? If figuring out what made Chad feel sorry for himself was one key, then the mysterious Lauren was the other.

I often watch people in the malls (it's all in the name of research—honest!) and wonder what attracts that particular man to that woman, or that girl to that other guy. It's no different when I write my characters. So I asked myself what type of woman Chad would be attracted to and why would she walk away from him or him from her? Given that they were both FBI agents and dealt with secrets as part of their jobs, there would be things they can't tell each other for national security reasons but I wanted something more than just the obvious "I'm working on the west coast, you're on the east, and we're never together" type of conflict. And that's where things started to bubble for their story. What if the line blurs between your professional life and your marriage when you start keeping secrets? And what event would be the tipping point?

For them? The tipping point was the loss of their daughter. Locked in their own pain, they forgot to talk to each other. They drifted apart because of lies others told them, and lies they told themselves.

GG and I are lucky—we've not experienced the loss of a child, but we have had some other fairly major problems we've had to deal with, including one that was darned close to breaking us apart. If we hadn't both felt like we could talk to the other openly and honestly about it, that we could deal with the situation as a united front, it is possible that I might have been counting the years since our divorce instead of our impending anniversary.

So how could I get my characters who had been geographically apart for years together again to talk everything out? It wasn't easy. Lauren discovered one of the lies someone else has told her—and Chad—and realizes she still loves Chad enough that she wants to set the record straight. As the truth slowly comes out, one question Chad and Lauren must ask themselves is if good intentions are a good enough excuse for deliberate deceptions?

"It doesn't matter anymore. Our marriage is over. You got what you wanted. You don't get what you want this time." He released her and opened the door between their rooms. He stopped on the threshold and spoke over his shoulder. "I'll make sure you're protected from this Harris a**hole. But once he's neutralized? I don't want to see you again."

Once the door closed behind him, Lauren walked up to it, pressed her forehead against the cool panel and whispered, "I'm not going let you walk away until you've listened to me. Until you believe I left you because I loved you. Not because I didn't."

More than once I found myself asking both myself and Gizmo Guy what we'd do in that situation. Is there ever time when a lie even one of omission is justified?

And thanks to Delilah for inviting me to be her guest today.

Leah

* * * * *

You can visit Leah at her website, follow her on Twitter or on Facebook. If you want to read more about Deliberate Deceptions, you can read an excerpt at Leah's website. Deliberate Deceptions is available for pre-order from Samhain Publishing, Amazon or Barnes and Noble.

Does this inspire a story?

The Dark Fairy contest continues. Post a comment today for another chance to win!

Watch this. It's annoying because she's speaking English but the narrator speaking over her is French, but you don't really have to know what she's saying to understand what she's doing. Don't you think this would make a terrific scene in a shifter book?

Tell me a story…

Winner…and new Dark Fairy Contest!

The name of the winner of the Queen of the Kitchen spoons is at the bottom of this posting!

Good lord, more storms last night—although it did feel portentous given who fell last night (HE, whose name we shall not speak here). It rained and rained and rained. Lightning cracked in our front yard and the power fluttered off then on. I'm hoping school buses can get through the water…

Like the necklace? It's not very expensive, but it did catch my eye. It's beaded, and the pendant is a painted ceramic with a picture of a pretty, dark fairy. If you want a chance to win it, you have to post a comment on my blog. If you want more than one chance to win, come back and post every day over the coming week. The winner will be announced next Tuesday!

To give you something to talk about when you do post today, here's a question…

Aside from any family, friends, or pets,

what would be the most difficult thing for you to give up in your life?

The winner of the Queen of the Kitchen spoons is…Tammy Ramey! Congratulations, Tammy, and be sure to send me an email with your snail mail address.

The Warrior's Touch is here!

The Queen of the Kitchen contest continues (see Tuesday's post for details)!

The Promo Whore contest ends today. You have a little time to enter before my sister and I get together to choose our winners!

I hope the snippets I've fed you were enough to convince you to go buy the book. I'd love for it to be a success. I'm dependent on you to provide me the chance to write more stories for Nocturne.

And y'all know the drill. Please tag it, "like" it—and if you've read it—review it as soon as possible! Anything to get the word out to other readers would be appreciated. You have the power! (Why do I feel like a dozen She-ra's are raising their swords into the air? )

Here are the buy links:

TWT at Amazon

TWT at eHarlequin

TWT at B&N

April Wrap-Up

April was a not a good month. I fell ill the moment I stepped off the plane in LA where I went to attend the Romantic Times convention early in the month. I still have a lingering cough and suffer fatigue. Then there were the storms. One after another—thunderstorms accompanied by tornado watches and power outages. Three very big and frightening storms.

There were some high points.

* MOONSTRUCK and HANDY MEN released!

* My proposal for a collection of lesbian shapeshifter stories, BEASTLY BABES, was accepted by Cleis Press!

* HER SOUL TO KEEP was revised and is being formatted for publication as I am writing this. So, at least something was accomplished!

* And of course, I attended the RT convention in LA.

In May, I hope to get back into the swing of things and accomplish the following:

* Write the next LONE STAR LOVERS story for Samhain.

* Write a lesbian novella for an EC anthology.

* Write the next chapter of BAD MOON RISING—that's my free, serialized panther-shifter story.

* And lastly, if I can ramp up quickly enough, write a short story for submission to Harlequin as a Nocturne Bite.

Send good wishes. I'll need them!

One Day to The Warrior's Touch!

Remember, the Promo Whore and Queen of the Kitchen contests continue!

See details in Tuesday's post! Post a comment here to win!

The Promo Whore contest ends tomorrow!

It's a Nocturne, so you know there has to be some danger, action, and magic! Here's another little taste. And remember, tomorrow's the day it releases—pre-order now!

* * * * *

Caleb rode, only part of his attention on the road and his surroundings. His focus was on the wisps of green light ahead of him. A horse. A rider. In the center of the road. Then suddenly, the pair veered off the path, toward the ridge above.

Not bothering to signal Fari, because she was right on his horse's tail, Caleb reined right, leaned low over his mount's neck and flew up the slope. Near the top were boulders and a stand of conifers. The ghostly green shadow weaved among the trees, although he appeared to be slowing down, because his outline was sharper, the green color more brilliant.

Caleb held up a fist to warn Fari, and slowed his roan.

The trees were thicker here, the darkness pressing around them. The rider ahead of them dismounted.

Caleb did the same. He listened for the sounds of Fari following, but kept his gaze ahead, peering into the darkness.

So many places to hide. His heart thudded. His breathing deepened as he focused. If the Centaurian knew he was being followed, he might strike out. The only way to keep Fari safe was to meet him first.

Caleb tied his horse to a branch, glanced around for Fari and motioned again for her to stay behind him. Then he took off through the trees.

His footsteps crunched on the pine needles, but there was no point in being quiet. They didn't have time. If the Centaurian reached his headband, they would fail.

Ahead, he caught sight of another wisp, then a darker, blacker shadow. The figure bent near the base of a tall tree that leaned at a slant, half uprooted.

Caleb stalked closer, careful to muffle his footfalls now.

But the Centaurian stiffened, glancing over his shoulder.

Before he could reach the belt glinting beside him, Caleb leaped, taking the alien to the ground.

Immediately, Caleb knew he was in trouble. His opponent was preternaturally powerful, and without the impediment of a weakened shoulder.

Caleb plunged his fist into the alien's side while wrapping his injured arm around the Centaurian's body to hold him. "Fari," he gasped. "Get the belt and jump!"

"Got it!"

The Centaur roared, slammed his fist into Caleb's shoulder and leaped off him to run after Fari.

Caleb saw stars for a moment, then shook his head and lunged to his feet.

He heard hoofbeats in the distance, knew Fari had gotten to her horse to lead the Centaurian away from him. "Dammit, this is no time to be a hero, woman!"

Caleb ran for his own mount and swung up, then kicked it into a gallop, following the traces of the two figures ahead of him. They were weaving through the trees toward a clearing that dropped away sharply to the sea.

In the moonlight now, he watched Fari zigzag left and right, then pull hard on her reins to head toward the cliff. The Centaurian was gaining on her.

Suddenly, the ground in front of both riders fell away, the cliff wall crumbling.

Caleb knew it was a flare. But so did the Centaurian. However, both horses balked, shying to the side, backs arching, bucking in revolt.

Fari held tight to her mount's reins, her expression focused as she threw another flare.

Caleb's heart stopped for a beat as he saw a huge, golden gryphon diving toward the Centaurian's horse, wings extended and flapping. It dipped toward the animal, claws outstretched, then pulled up sharply, only to dive again.

The Centaurian's horse bucked harder, twisting and jouncing the rider on its back. The alien roared again, his head thrown back in rage.

Two Days to The Warrior's Touch!

Remember, the Promo Whore and Queen of the Kitchen contests continue!

See details in Tuesday's post!

So I know that no one's gonna be checking out this blog today—not with all the hoopla going on the TV. I taped THE WEDDING to watch when I go to bed tonight. So don't tell me what I missed!

In The Warrior's Touch, both the hero and heroine have specialized psychic powers. Here's a little taste.

* * * * *

She blew out a breath. "Dinner's over. Most everyone's settling in for the night. We might take a look around."

"And if we're caught?"

"I'll think of something."

"Do you know where the queen's chambers are?"

Fari nodded in crisp assent. "She's above stairs. Only those closest to her are allowed up there."

"Heavily guarded?"

"Hippolyta has guards inside her chamber with her and Theseus. She may be besotted with the man, but she doesn't trust him."

"That's where you think the belt is?"

Fari nodded again. "It's that or the temple, but she doesn't seem like the kind to hand power over to anyone. She'd want to keep it close."

"Did you hear any mention of it at dinner?"

"No, and I didn't ask. First night here and I didn't want anyone suspecting I was after anything other than to serve my queen."

Caleb leaned back on his hands and studied Fari's expression. "You're enjoying this."

She seemed caught off guard by the comment, but shrugged. "And why wouldn't I? I'm going to train with the Amazons. The only militaristic culture in history to prize female warriors above their men."

"Just don't lose sight of the mission," Caleb said quietly. "Or lose that cuff and decide to go native."

One elegantly shaped eyebrow arched. "Babe, I'm all about the mission."

He chuckled. "So, shall we do some scouting?" He pushed himself off the bed and opened the door. Together they slipped into the hallway.

The palace, so far as he could see, wasn't much of a castle as he'd always pictured them. Certainly nothing like Sadam's gold-and-marble palaces in Iraq, which Caleb had visited while assigned in the region.

The wood-framed building had plastered, whitewashed walls. Murals covered the larger ones, and built-in niches displayed small sculptures of gods. Mini shrines, as far as he could tell.

They backtracked through the hall, which servants, male and female, were currently putting to rights. A Greek man brushed past them, weaving on his feet.

"So how'd you manage it?" Caleb asked softly.

Fari raised her chin, pride glowing in her eyes. "I showed my stuff."

"Stuff?"

"A little kung fu."

"Not exactly true to the era," he murmured.

She lifted one shoulder. "But effective. Told the queen that Mongols from the East taught me the moves. She's impressed. Wants me to instruct her guards in hand-to-hand."

"Is that wise?"

"I won't teach them anything too identifiable. Can't have embroidered cloths showing up in the kurgans with Amazons in kung fu stances. Let's head to the second floor."

At the bottom of the stairs, he paused. "So what's your plan if we're seen?"

She climbed up the first step and tilted her head. "Who says anyone will see us?"

Caleb narrowed his glance. "What exactly is your talent? General Ashton mentioned that you flare? What's that?"

"It's best to show you what I can do, Caleb. Somehow I don't think you believe anything unless you experience it for yourself. Am I right?"

He gave a grunt, figuring that his psychological profile must have been among the documents she'd reviewed. He ignored an inward wince at what else she might have learned about him. While he'd found many high value targets, his commanders weren't always happy about the personal risks he took. Still, results trumped caution. Or they had until he'd walked into an ambush and gotten the soldier on point killed and himself seriously wounded.

Following her up the steps, he said, "You wondering why I refused the cure, too?"

At the top, she turned to face him. "Unless you're into pain, I don't get why you wouldn't take advantage of Professor Carswell's offer."

Caleb's face tightened. It wasn't something he liked talking about. "Seemed like cheating. Taking the easy way out."

"Because someone else died during that mission?" she asked, her expression softening.

Caleb shook his head. "Didn't feel right," he said, keeping his tone dead even, "erasing the injury from my body when someone else didn't walk away."

Fari touched his arm. "I get that," she whispered. "I do . Soldier long enough, we all lose friends."

Standing so close, breathing in her fresh scent, he felt the urge to bend toward her. "Yeah?" Before he could follow through on the inappropriate urge, footsteps approached, the steady stomp of someone marching. "Quick, we need to hide."

Fari's mouth curved. "I've got it handled, cowboy."

"How?"

She pressed him back against the wall, then flattened herself beside him. Suddenly, the corridor in front of them was blocked by a barrier. Although light from the torches on the opposite side shone through, he and Fari seemed to be wedged between the new wall and the old.

The female guard strode past, within inches of them, without slowing.

"What the…?" He reached up, to find his hand passing through the wall. "That's flaring?" he whispered.

"Yeah. I can hide you from sight, create a vision of something that isn't there. But if you make any noises, that wall doesn't do a bit of good."

"Could have warned me," he growled.

Her lips stretched into a grin. "And miss your expression?"

Three Days to The Warrior's Touch!

Remember, the Promo Whore and Queen of the Kitchen contests continue!

See details in Tuesday's post!

Okay, so maybe my upcoming release is not as exciting as watching the news today. The storm that swept through here the night before, downing a tree in our back yard, really gained momentum as it ripped through the states to the east of us. My hearts go out to the folks in its path. Here's a picture of the hackberry tree that fell across our fence behind the house. The picture doesn't do it justice. The tree's over 80 feet tall. That was our excitement. As soon as the sky turned green, we huddled in the basement and didn't hear a thing.

Back to the book. It's a time travel story, with soldiers sent into the distant past to retrieve part of an alien medallion that they believe is the center of the myth surrounding the Amazonian queen's magical belt. The mission gets complicated when Fari and Caleb can't ignore their growing attraction…

* * * * *

Caleb eased his back against the wall, eyeing the woman stretched on the cot. She hadn't been kidding about making him sleep on the floor. And although the room was hot and stuffy, heated by warm air running in channels beneath the wooden floor, she'd removed only her tunic. She'd kept the sleeveless, thigh-length shift in place and her pants tied with a serious knot. Did she really think all those layers would keep what was happening between them contained?

He raised a knee and wrapped an arm around it, watching her sleep. Or pretend to.

Her breaths were too even.

"Stop looking at me," she whispered.

"I can't sleep."

She groaned and turned toward him, sliding a hand beneath her cheek. Her eyes glittered in the moonlight spilling through the narrow window. "Floor that bad? As many years as you've been in the army, I'd have thought you could pretty much sleep anywhere."

"Not used to sleeping with women."

She chuckled, the sound warm and sexy.

He grunted at his own choice of words.

"You're not sleeping with a woman," she said slowly.

Caleb glanced away, his mouth twisting. "But I want to," he growled.

"That's the problem?" she said, amusement lightening her tone. "I thought you didn't like me."

"I like you plenty. That's the trouble. Don't want to worry about having to save your ass."

"Worry about your own."

"Can't help the way I'm made. Women are supposed to be protected."

She raised her head and leaned on an elbow. "How'd you manage to make it this long in the army without some female busting your chops about your chauvinism?"

"I'm not a chauvinist. Just a man. It's something hard-wired. And it doesn't help a bit that you're…tiny."

She sighed. "I'd tell you to get over it, but I'd be wasting my breath. Tell me the truth. Is your shoulder bothering you?"

The dull ache was so much a part of him now that he'd forgotten. But why had she asked? Was she looking for an excuse to let things move to the next level?

Caleb tried to rein in the excitement humming in his veins, but her position, propped on an elbow, exaggerated the deep indentation of her waist and the swell of her hip. Damn, he'd love to get closer.

He grunted, which Fari took as a yes. The closest the macho man would come to admitting he was human and hurting.

"Tell you what. There's room for both of us—if we sleep on our sides." She rolled to face the wall, and held her breath.

After a few moments, he moved tentatively onto the cot, sliding in behind her, his body pressed to hers. "Anything comes up, ignore it, ma'am."

She smiled in the darkness, liking the low rumble of his voice.

His hand settled on her waist, and his knees bumped the backs of hers as he gently forced them into a closer embrace.

"Don't go getting any ideas," she whispered breathlessly.

"Too late," he murmured, his breath gusting against her hair.

His face nuzzled her neck and his breathing deepened, then evened out.

Was he going to fall asleep that quickly? Because she was wide awake now. All her previous warnings to herself about keeping this strictly professional were losing their starch with tall, dark and brawny plastered to her backside .

"'S nice," he said sleepily.

Not the adjective she would have used. Not in a hundred years. She remembered the lazy slant of his eyes each time he'd challenged her.

Gradually, however, the warmth at her back, the feeling of complete safety, sheltered as she was in his arms, eased her toward sleep. Fari nestled closer, pushing her butt deeper against his groin and snuggling her head on the arm he'd slipped beneath her.

"Move again and I swear I won't be responsible," he muttered.

Her lips twitched. "Thought you were asleep."

"Maybe this isn't such a good idea."

She'd just gotten used to being up close and personal, and now he was the one with complaints? "I was only trying to be nice."

"You don't feel nice."

"Excuse me?"

"Rub that sweet butt against me one more time…" His hand tightened on her hip. "Babe, I'm holdin' on by a thread."

Something long and hard ground against her rear.

How had she missed that he was aroused? "I'm supposed to ignore that?"

Laughter gusted against her ear. And then her own body shook. Their laughter rose, and Fari turned in his arms to face him. "Looks like we've got a little problem."

"Nothin' little about it." His arms tensed, but didn't pull her any closer.

She knew he was fighting the urge to test her, to see whether she'd fold beneath the enforced intimacy. And if she was honest with herself, she'd have to admit she was tempted.

"This is strictly against protocol." She said the words, but even she could hear the breathy tremor in her voice.

"Who's gonna know?"

"You will. And tomorrow, you'll have that cat that licked the cream look." She shut her eyes, realizing how her words could be construed.

His chuckle vibrated against her. "Could I get that lucky?"

She didn't answer, but opened her eyes, meeting his steady gaze.

He didn't seem to expect an answer. He leaned toward her, and she angled her face to meet his kiss. It was surprisingly sweet, and over way too quickly.

"Stop me anytime now," he warned.

* * * * *

You can read the opening scene here: Time Raiders: The Warrior's Touch

Pre-order the book here: Buy Link

Guest Blogger: Carol Strickland

The Promo Whore and Queen of the Kitchen contests continue. Read yesterday's post for details! ~DD

The Ol' Kabong of Life

By Carol A Strickland

Golden Corral used to run a commercial in which a tiny chef-fairy would KABONNNNGGG!! people on the back of their heads with a huge, cast-iron skillet. This reminded them that they needed to partake of a meal at said restaurant. The commercial made me wonder if only those with brain injuries would want to eat there.

I experienced my own kabong, but it was a more spiritual if just as deeply vibratory experience. You see, I hit Mid-Life.

KABONNNNGGG!!

People joke about Mid-Life Crises. Oh, isn't it so silly when men have to have their red convertibles and mature women start to dress like teenagers in an effort to regain their youth? They're nuts!

Yeah, it's a laughing matter until it happens to you.

Well before my own crisis I'd taken courses at a psychic school—the kind where the classroom was in the house's basement next to the water heater, and the teacher assumed we could all detect the cosmic energies she spoke of. There we learned that Mid-Life Crisis occurs around age 42, give or take a year or two.

At that age, the planet Uranus (pronounced: "YOUR-uh-nus," not the "I've got a joke for you!" way) (my college professor explained that very carefully on our first day of astronomy class) has managed to half-complete an orbit so it stands opposite from where it was when you were born.

Uranus has to do with your life mission, what you were put on Earth to accomplish. When the planet faces its original position, it challenges your birth energy and reminds you of what is truly important. How does it do this?

With a big ol' cast iron skillet, administered to the base of your fortyish skull.

KABONNNNGGG!!

How did it affect me? First of all, I had one of the most vivid dreams I'd ever had, full of my favorite sexy superheroes, Capt. Picard and his Enterprise, and me saving the day by being your basic Mary Sue-type character.

That darned dream stuck. I'd go to work and be almost unable to function because I couldn't get it out of my head.

Finally, I said the heck with it, recalled that back in elementary school and college I'd written some fanfic, sat down with my (don't laugh) used Mac IIcx, and wrote a book.

Quickly enough I decided that this would be something that I might want to publish. Bye-bye, Capt. Picard. I rearranged my superheroes so they weren't the actual ones who appeared in the comics. (I always felt I could improve those guys anyway.) And most of all, I tried my darnedest to get rid of the Mary Sue aspects of my lead character, bless her too-perfect heart.

But Mid-Life Crisis affected me in other ways. I wanted to write more than this one book. I wanted to move. I wanted to change my name. One long week when I had writer's block an overwhelming urge hit me to paint a big patch of blue instead.

Ransacking the back of my closets, I discovered my old college art supplies (art major here), dragged out a canvas, and by gosh, painted it flat blue.

Whew. Amazingly, I could write again. But now I also wanted to renew my interest in painting.

If Mid-Life hasn't happened to you yet, it will. Don't even try to fight it. You will be kabonged and you'll never see it coming. It'll be time to sit down and reassess your direction in life. What's really important for you to do? What interests have you been ignoring that shouldn't be ignored?

As for me, I finished the book. It was about 1500 pages long, and holy moly, it was a romance! I didn't know anything about romance novels, so I joined Romance Writers of America. The book was split and reconstructed into five novels. The first volume, Touch of Danger (in which a psychic healer with a phobia meets the world's sexiest but much-too-strong superhero), was published by Ellora's Cave Blush. The second volume, Star-Crossed, will be out in a week or two (add three weeks if you try to find it on Amazon), and plans are to get the third volume out before the end of the year.

I now have an art business that is beginning to attract attention. That name change I wanted? Oy. That's an entire column unto itself, so let's just summarize and say that my non-legal new name was actually a much better name for the now non-Mary Sue character, so I gave it to her.

I did indeed move to the next town over. And it is true enough: every now and then I visit the Golden Corral. But I try to do it before that chef-fairy can brain me!

Who else here has been kabonged? What did you change in your life? Or did you stay the same? (Or do you know some folks who did pretty goofy things when they hit mid-life?) And who here is old enough to recognize the cartoon character who heads this column? There was so much kabonging that he decided to join the party.

—

Carol A. Strickland is a writer, artist and Wonder Woman expert. You can visit her website www.CarolAStrickland.com to learn about her books, artwork, and more than you'd ever want to know about the Amazing Amazon. There you will find book excerpts (page link: http://www.carolastrickland.com/ficti... ) and even a contest where you could win a free DVD! Her fantasy romance, Touch of Danger, and the historical romance, Burgundy and Lies, are available online in both e- and print form. Star-Crossed will be out soon.

Winner…and new contest(s)!

I had tons of entries for this one, mostly from Facebook. Woohoo! It appears you all love fairies, which is a good thing, since next week's prize features another lovely fairy gift!

I do have a winner for the journal, but she'll be named at the bottom of this post. In the meantime, I have TWO contests to announce.

One's more of a reminder. We'll start there.

Contest #1—or, the Promo Whore Contest

Myla and I would appreciate your help getting the word out about our two recent self-published books, Sex Ed and Moonstruck.

What we'd love you to do for us is:

1) Tag, Star, and "Like" wherever you buy the books!

2) Review it! Please, please, please!

3) Post the cover/blurb on your blog (Ask! One of us will send you a jpeg!)

4) Most importantly, BUY them!

For our contest, we're offering two $25 gift certificates to two lucky winners for the MOONSTRUCK blurbs and links, and a $25 gift certificate to one lucky winner for pimping SEX ED. So that's THREE winners—and a total of $75 up for grabs!

Te be entered, you have to send us a link to where you talked about the book, posted a review, posted the cover and the blurb—BY APRIL 30th!! And you can enter multiple times, so if you're smart, send a link for each individual posting to this address: Myla Jackson [mylajackson@earthlink.net]

Winners will be announced in Myla's and Delilah's May Newsletters!

Contest #2—Queen of the Kitchen Contest

I don't cook, but I saw these and had to buy them. It's a compulsion, I know. A mental disorder, I'm sure. But hey, you get the benefit of my illness!

I took lousy pictures, but these two pictures are of a set of measuring spoons. The handles are topped by a crown that says "Queen of the kitchen" and they have decorations all the way down. You can certainly put them to use, but you also might like to hang them from a hook in your kitchen for decoration. To win them, all you have to do is post a comment. As many as you like over the next week, on my blog and on facebook. Every entry increases your chance of winning!

Okay, back to the winner of the very pretty fairy journal… She's Betty Lewis! Betty, email me with your snail mail address. Congratulations!