Ginger Voight's Blog, page 21

On the fourth day of Christmas, your Geevie brings to you...

A favorite holiday song:

Just a little 80s diddy, the quintessential ode to lost love. Haven't we all been there? (Say... like Andy in "Groupie"?)



A favorite holiday movie/show:

I can't even get into how much I love "Bloom County." I discovered it one Sunday morning when the creator of the comic strip used his Royal Purpleness (aka Prince) to wake up one of the characters courtesy of a loud alarm clock. As a devoted Prince fan, I immediately grew fond of anyone who would reference him, so I ended up looking for that strip every single week. After that I bought the books, I inhaled the weekly and daily installments in the newspaper... I even began my collection of Opuses (Opi?) in a shameless display of penguin lust*.

1985



2006



Don't judge us for our love.

I even played the heck out of the little vinyl floppy record that came as an insert in the 1987 collection of toons "Billy and the Boingers Bootleg", in which our favorite BC characters decide to form a glam metal band to make $$ quick. I still know the songs by heart and have been known to randomly belt them out with little to no provocation. When I found the following on YouTube, I squealed like a twitterpated Belieber who just got retweeted.



In all the years I circled the idea of getting a tattoo and couldn't figure out what image I wanted permanently etched into my body, this image was what finally convinced me to commit to the idea, only personalized with my books surrounding my favorite penguin. (And I will get this once I land on the NYT best seller list. Mark my words.)



There's an excellent chance that you missed the 1991 Bloom County TV Christmas Special, "A Wish for Wings That Work," the story in which our earthbound penguin Opus asks Santa Claus for a Christmas miracle... to finally know what it is like to fly. It is a heartwarming tale that is silly and irreverent, like many a Bloom County fan (myself included.) It doesn't get played much anymore (if at all) but it remains a holiday favorite for this stalwart BC fan.



A holiday recipe:

Another family favorite on my holiday table is a lime jello salad that my mother made as far back as I remember. It's tangy and sweet, with a burst of pineapple in almost every creamy bite. Since pineapple was my very favorite fruit growing up, I started dreaming of this sweet, green treat by Halloween. That it also allowed me to sneak what was left in the 7-Up can once my mom was done with it was just icing on the cake, figuratively speaking. Soda was a special treat when I was a kid because my mom never allowed them in the house. She was afraid they'd make me fat. Instead I was hooked up to a perennial IV drip of sweet tea, the house wine of the south.



Needless to say, I carried this tradition forward when I took over holiday cooking. We have this every year without fail, which allowed me to give my kids a tiny slice of my childhood. I've tried to minimize the caloric damage with sugar free or fat free ingredients and it really doesn't lose any of its sparkle. Feel free to experiment, but make plenty to share.



Geevie's Holiday Lime Jello

1 large box lime jello mix
6 oz cream cheese, cubed
1 can pineapple tidbits
1 can 7-Up

Measure one cup of boiling water into dry jello mix and stir until jello is dissolved. Add cubed cream cheese and beat with mixer until blended. Drain pineapple juice into measuring cup, fill to one cup with 7-Up and add to jello mixture. Add pineapple and chill until set, preferably overnight.

Book of the day:

"Love Plus One" was the first Rubenesque romance I tackled, plopping a shy size-12 introvert in the middle of a televised dating show with the handsome best friend she thought was way out of her league. I wrote it in 2007, around the time I was overdosing on shows like "The Bachelor" and "Rock of Love," so ... me being me... I hopped right into the reality TV sandbox and created a story a little more accessible to girls who never got cast on the show. It remained my most popular book until "Groupie" came along, and ultimately my favorite L+1 characters popped up in Mogul and the Fierce trilogy. As I'm writing Book #2 of the Fullerton Family Saga, Shannon, Jake and Jorge all make an appearance (as do Vanni, Graham and Jace,) further expanding the Groupie universe that began a long time ago with a heroine a lot like me.



EXCERPT OF LOVE PLUS ONE:

She waited for Jake in the living room. As the clock ticked closer to the time he was due to arrive, Shannon became more and more excited. She had looked forward to this date more than she could have consciously admitted, and now that it was here she didn't want to think of anything else but spending time with her very best friend.

All that crush business... it was just an act.

Right?

She had herself fooled right up until he walked in the door. Like Shannon he was dressed casually, and no one wore casual quite like Jake Dalton. It was so much more than just how he looked, but how he carried himself. His aura radiated kindness, generosity, self-confidence.

She'd always known that. What was new was the way she noticed how his dark lashes framed his amazing blue eyes, or the large strong hand that reached out for her... the way he smelled as he bent in for a hug.

Jake was a hugger. He gave some of the best hugs around. They weren't stingy, shy hugs. They were full body, head to toe bear hugs.

She found herself fully aware of how his body felt molded against her own. Despite her size, his arms were big enough to sweep her into an embrace that engulfed her. She felt safer there than she had ever felt anywhere in the whole world.

At least until she felt the immediate emptiness the minute he pulled away, but his eyes held her fast and refused to let her go. She could tell how happy he was to see her. Try as she might, she didn't remember him looking at Kayleigh this way.

That made her happier than she'd been all week.

They ducked inside the limo and were alone at last.

Except for the camera, but Shannon was quickly learning how easy that was to forget.

They sat close together, comfortable old friends.

“I've missed you,” he said. “I don't know what to do with my nights without my favorite IM buddy.”

She laughed. “I've seen the video. You have plenty to keep you busy.”

An embarrassed grin crossed his face. “Well, you know.”

She nodded. She knew. As much as he'd begun this journey to help her reclaim what Rex stole, he was still human.

“So what's it like for you? I don't get to see any tapes,” he reminded her.

Purple feathers and misplaced underwear flashed in her mind. “Thank God.”

That got his attention. “Okay. Now you have to tell me.”

Her entire face turned red as she shook her head. “No way, buster. That's not how this game is played.”

“You know,” he said, donning his best German accent, “ve have vays of making you talk.” He held up two hands in prime tickle position, which made her giggle before he even touched her.

“You wouldn't dare!”

He dared. He dove right in and tickled her until she was laughing so hard she could barely breathe. “Okay, okay!” she gasped. “Uncle!”

Mercifully he stopped, but he didn't move. As she caught her breath she realized that he had her pinned against the seat, their faces mere inches apart. Time seemed to stand still as she stared into those baby blues up close. She had dreamed of being in his arms like this, but nothing compared to actually being there.

“Well?” he whispered with a crooked grin.

“Well what?” she whispered back, having completely forgotten the original line of questioning.

Jake seemed extremely amused. He didn't move an inch. “What goes on at the Bachelorette Pad when I'm not around?”

“Oh,” she said. She licked her lips which drew his gaze that direction. The butterflies in her stomach clog danced their way to her feet when his eyes briefly glanced down at her mouth.

“Gossiping. Grooming. Sacred shaving rituals. You know. Girl stuff.”

He nodded, but he didn't look as if he believed her.

And he also didn't look like he had any intention to move.

Only Shannon couldn't take it anymore and she scooted out from underneath him to open the tiny refrigerator. “Soda?” she asked without looking him in the eye.

It crossed her mind only briefly that if Kayleigh had been in her position she'd have taken full advantage of the situation. The date wouldn't have even made it from the back seat.

But Shannon wasn't Kayleigh. And no one knew that better than Jake.





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On the third day of Christmas, your Geevie brings to you...

A favorite holiday song:

Another one from the "Love to Laugh" files, I defy anyone to remain stone-faced to the following tune. It is completely absurd with its juxtaposition of silly delivery of sad lyrics, and the listener in the background just sells it with contagious laughter you can't help but mimic. Plus it's Looney Tunes. What's not to love? (If you heard that in Daffy's voice, you're doubly awesome.)



A favorite holiday movie/show:

John Hughes was/is a personal hero of mine. I loved the way he blended humor and laughter with heart and soul. His movies were the forerunners to shows like "Modern Family" and "The Goldbergs." If comedy didn't intimidate me so much to write, this is the level of perfection I would aspire to as a storyteller. And it fits Christmas like a glove, which you'll find him not once but three times on my list. We'll start with the Griswolds.



A holiday recipe:

More cookies! Bake and share!

SUGAR COOKIES

A Christmas memory:

In 2005, becoming a published writer was still a dream waiting to be realized for me. My favorite elf, my husband Steven (whose birthday is today by the way,) wasn't very covert in his plan to professionally bind one of my manuscripts as a Christmas present. He insisted he needed a first draft to do it, which, as any writer will take you, isn't exactly the draft we want to immortalize. It's ridden with flaws that, when you revisit the material, will make you cringe... especially after years pass and you grow as a writer. But he was insistent and I finally relented. I knew what the heavy present was under the tree, and I hoped that I could muster the enthusiasm he wanted the minute I opened the gift.

What I couldn't have predicted was the powerful impact seeing my name in print for the first time would have on me. I wept shamelessly as I stared down at the book in my lap, physical proof of my lifelong dream. I have often said I wouldn't have have realized this dream without Steven... my Graham, my hero, my partner and my friend. His passion to make me happy is unparallelled, and this gift was proof positive of that. It's fitting that the content inside was imperfect, because that was how he found me. It was good enough, because *I* was good enough. And he made it beautiful in the same way he made me beautiful, warts and all. There could be no better gift than that.



The book of the day:

What else?





EXCERPT FROM MY IMMORTAL

The minute he walked in from the other room, clad in an elegant suit, his hair long and wild about his shoulders, the rest of the world seemed to fade away. What had been and what would be seemed insignificant to what was. All that mattered was they were there in that moment together. Adele had quickly learned from nearly losing Dani that the present was all anyone ever has. He approached, drinking her in his burning gaze. Her breath caught in her throat as he took her hand in his and brought it to his lips. She shivered though his skin was warm. “You look wonderful,” he murmured.

She shook her head. She was wearing jeans and an old ratty sweater. She didn’t even wear a speck of makeup. She was white as a ghost, making the circles under her eyes stand out even more. “You lie so effortlessly, Mr. Sterling,” she kidded.

He held a free hand to his chest. “On my honor. I wouldn’t lie about that.”

Her eyebrow cocked. “And what would you lie about?”

He just laughed. “Always the reporter.” He led her toward a beautifully set table. “Come. Let’s eat.”

He pulled out her chair and let her sit. He reached around her, so close she could feel the heat from his body, and took the silver dome from her plate. “I hope you like quail.”

“I love it,” she answered. “How did you know?”

He shrugged as he sat. “Call it a lucky hunch.” He uncovered his own meal. “I used to do quite a bit of hunting when I was younger.”

The memory seemed to pain him. “For her?” she asked quietly.

His eyes shot to hers. “How did you know?”

She shrugged. “Lucky hunch.” Thaddeus approached with a bottle of champagne. “What’s the occasion?”

Thaddeus popped the cork and filled her glass while consuming her with his eyes. It was almost tiresome how on the spot he made her feel.

Nicholas didn’t bother to answer as Thaddeus filled his glass. Their eyes met – a silent duel as Nicholas sent him from the room with nothing more than a look of disapproval.

Nicholas waited until Thaddeus had gone before holding his glass up to her. “That you finally answered my messages and joined me again.”

She held up her glass, unable to tear her eyes from him as she sipped the champagne. “How could I not reward your tenacity? It’s a quality I can appreciate.”

She proved her point as she relentlessly grilled him on his background over the course of their dinner. He answered every question calmly and directly. Every time he tried to turn the table to have her talk about herself, she would give him a vague answer and then meet it with more questions.

By the end of their meal, she knew when he had started Sterling International, how he’d built it from the ground up, acquiring other companies along the way, turning himself into a self-made millionaire through his world travels.

What she still didn’t know anything about was Nicholas the man.

“What are your parents like?” she asked, swirling the last of the champagne in her glass.

“Dead,” he answered simply. There was no pain, no mourning, just a simple statement of fact. “They died long before I enjoyed true success. A shame, but life is like that, isn’t it?”

He saddened her when he talked like that. This was clearly a man deadened by the weight of his losses. “And what about your love?” she queried softly.

There was a slight pause. “The same,” he finally answered. His eyes misted over as he looked at her. She could feel his sadness sweep across the table. He scooted his chair back and walked toward her, offering her a hand. “How about some fresh air?”

She nodded and allowed him to lead her onto the balcony that overlooked the city. “Have you ever heard of the red string of fate?” he asked as they leaned together along the stone railing. She shook her head. “There is an Eastern legend that says we are tied to significant people in our lives by a red string around our ankles. Destiny links people who are supposed to find each other, help each other, and even love each other, by this unbreakable cord. It knows no distance, no time, no circumstance. No matter what happens, this string will never break.” He glanced toward the sky. “Maybe I believe it because I have to, but I believe that red string will restore what was once stolen.” He glanced down at her upturned face. “Do you believe in destiny, Adele?”

“I never did,” she said softly as she lost herself in his eyes. “But life has a way of testing our beliefs, doesn’t it?”

He gave her a slow smile. “Indeed.” He reached out with his hand to brush her hair from her face as the wind danced around them. “Maybe it’s silly to believe in anything more than the here and now. All we really have for sure is this moment,” he added.

There was a question there, but Adele couldn’t even remember why she was supposed to turn away from it. In her heart she agreed, her life had been a series of wasted moments. She knew that the moment she had found Dani dying in the forest. Now that a much nicer moment was before her again, promising more than just the absolute loneliness she’d always known, she wondered if it was a moment worth seizing. This showed in her eyes. Like a current between them, Nicholas pulled her into his strong arms.

No words were needed as her body melted against him. All remaining doubts melted to nothingness as she wound her arms around his neck and met his kiss with equal passion. His mouth was warm as it covered her full, parted lips, capturing her soft sigh. Fire raced through her veins until she went up like a bottle rocket when he took full possession of her mouth. Her fingers clutched handfuls of hair as he lifted her to him, the force between them raw and electrifying. When he pulled away she could barely stand.

“I’ve wanted to do that since I first laid eyes on you,” he muttered into her hair.

Her head tilted back. “So what took you so long?”

He groaned as he bent for another scorching kiss.



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On the second day of Christmas, your Geevie brings to you...

A favorite holiday song:

Little known fact about me: I love 80s music. Well, now, anyway. Back in the 1980s, I preferred 70s "classic" rock to the flashier, many times cheesier 80s alternatives. At least that was what I told myself back then, as I tried to carve out this very elitist music snob identity for myself. Truth was, however, I lived by my radio. Most of my memories I can link back to a song or an artist of the era. This is especially true for Christmas music, and you'll see quite a few 80s holiday tunes over the next week. The 1980s took cheesy holiday music and made it cool, even for a pseudo-snob like me.

Plus my 80s holiday music featured long-haired rocker boys. And you just can't get much better than that.



A favorite holiday movie/show:

If you read yesterday's excerpt from San Francisco Serenade, you probably figured out the movie that I alluded to Vance and Sabrina watching on their first "date." It is a movie that, without question, is one of the best Christmas movies ever made simply by taking a familiar holiday classic and slapping some 1980s irreverence onto it. This is courtesy of Bill Effin Murray's portrayal of Scroogy Frank Cross, a nasty TV executive, the epitome of the Greed is Good era of the 20th century. It is rousing and heartfelt, and gave the 80s "Me" generation something to think about besides themselves for a change.



A holiday recipe:

A familiar sight on my family's holiday table (both Thanksgiving and Christmas,) is a big bowl of pink fluff that lasts about a day. I started making it way back when I took over the holiday dinner, and historically every guy in my family, except for Steven, will inhale this "salad" like it was left by Santa himself. I use the term salad because "technically" it is a dish that combines fruit and nuts, there's just a ton of sugar holding it all together. This recipe is in no way healthy, and it's quite impossible to make it so.

I know. I've tried.

But if you want to splurge a little and appeal to the kid in all of us with a sweet, pink treat, then give this tried and true recipe a go. Just be sure to use finger quotes every time you refer to it as a "salad."



Cherry Delight "Salad"

1 can cherry pie filling
1 can Eagle Brand Milk
1 can pineapple tidbits, drained
1 small package chopped pecans
1 tub whipped topping

Mix together and chill overnight.

Book of the Day:

I love Christmas so much that you'll find it used quite a bit through my work, and never was this truer than with my book, "Picture Postcards." I wrote this story back in 1995, and prior to self-publishing it was the closest I came to making my writing dreams come true. It landed me my first agent and gave me direction how to make my characters more three-dimensional. Once I found my niche writing fiction for plus-sized heroines, I wanted to revisit this story and finally publish it for a wide audience.

There was one teensy, tiny problem. It was horribly outdated.

I crafted the plot for PP in the mid-90s because of a call for submissions by Harlequin or some such imprint, that wanted romances that centered around the written word. I mentally toiled and toiled until I came up with the idea of a hopelessly romantic heroine intercepting some anonymous picture postcards written to someone else entirely. Fast forward to 2011/2012 and I realized that the 17 years that had passed rendered my plot obsolete. We are far too connected for this happy "accident" to have happened.

I was overjoyed when I realized that all I had to do to fix the problem was to fudge the dates a little bit, and relay the story within the story... as a mother telling her child how she had met and had fallen in love with her father... as a Christmas tale of romance dated - wonder of wonders - in the 1990s.



EXCERPT "PICTURE POSTCARDS"

Prologue

Christmas Eve, 2004

With nary a creek, a tiny bundle of boundless energy opened the door that led from her bedroom, a cheerful pink oasis tucked in the large neocolonial style home on a tree lined street in Pasadena, California. She pulled some of the playful tangles of her tousled dark hair from her dancing blue eyes before carefully and soundlessly padding down the carpeted hallway. Her feet followed the sound of carols playing in the warm and cozy living room downstairs to find her mother putting the finishing touches on their cheerfully decorated Christmas tree. She held each trinket like a cherished treasure, turning it over in her hands with a nostalgic smile as she examined each memento. The Eiffel Tower, the old jalopy, even the pink pair of slippers found their place among all the other ornaments that told the story of their family.

Her mother looked so happy and peaceful the little girl almost didn’t want to disturb her. But despite her best efforts to stay concealed her mother turned with a barely contained smile. “It’s not morning yet, you know.”

“I know,” the little girl sighed as she plopped onto the sofa. “But I’m too excited to sleep.”

“Santa won’t visit as long as you’re awake.”

That piqued the child’s interest. “Where is he now?”

“Let’s see,” her mother responded as she abandoned the decorating to head toward a computer sitting on a desk in the corner. Within a few clicks she had the information. “Looks like he’s headed to New York. That means he’ll be here in just a few hours.”

The child pouted. “But I can’t sleep. Maybe you should tell me a story.”

Any reprimand died on the woman’s lips as she glanced over at her beloved child. How could she deny her anything, much less a bedtime story? “Okay,” the mother agreed as she came to sit beside the little girl. “Which one?”

The child smiled wide. “You know.”

Her mother giggled as she pulled the cuddly little girl close. “Yes, I suppose I do.” Her eyes fell on the computer sitting across the room from where they huddled on the sofa. “It’s a story that took place only ten years ago, but things were a little different then. Back then we couldn’t get a lot of our information in the blink of an eye like we do today. People still got letters in the mail and sent special cards to let those they loved know they were thinking about them no matter where their travels would take them.”

“Postcards,” the little girl supplied.

“Postcards,” the mother affirmed with a smile. “We still send and receive postcards today, but back then it was different. You could connect people all over the planet with brave little messages even a stranger could intercept. But you know what makes them extra special?”

“It was how you met Daddy,” the little girl whispered, in awe at the power of fate.

“It was how love brought your daddy to me,” the mother said softly. The little girl always thought her mother grew even lovelier when she spoke about the special bond they shared.

So the little girl snuggled in her mother’s arms and waited for the story she had heard many times in the previous seven years, but one that seemed to get better each and every time her mother told it.

“It was 1994,” the woman said, a softness creeping into her voice as she remembered how it all began. “I had just moved to Los Angeles to start my new career. I was pretty excited, and a little scared. And I had no idea that fate was about to change my life in a remarkable way.”





Spread some joy!

One charity near and dear to my heart is St. Jude's Research Hospital. I lost my youngest son Brandon to health complications in 1995, just days after he was born. Of all the things I've been through in my life, the helplessness of not being able to save my son tops the list as the most horrific. St. Jude's has a commitment to help children who need them the most, no family is billed for the life-saving services that they provide. People can partner with St. Jude's for only $19 a month, to provide for care and partner for a cure so that our youngest and most innocent will not fight this battle alone... and hopefully, one day, not fight the battle at all. For every dollar, $0.81 goes towards this research and treatment, which includes care (transportation/meals/housing) for the family.



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On the first day of Christmas, your Geevie brings to you...

A favorite holiday song:

Anyone who knows me knows that I love to laugh, so funny Christmas songs are all over my playlist, case in point "The Twelve Pains of Christmas." Let these folks have the holiday meltdown. You can just smile with sympathy and understanding.



A favorite holiday movie/show:

I grew up in the 1970s/1980s, back when there were only three channels from which to choose for your viewing entertainment. That meant an entire generation had a collective experience when viewing TV, so annual broadcasts (like watching the Wizard of Oz) were more of an event. The same is true for the Christmas Classic, "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer." It wasn't Christmas until I heard those familiar songs, watched that carefully crafted claymation, or cowered behind the living room coffee table as Bumble terrorized the North Pole. Even now, in the DVD age, there's nothing more special than sitting down to watch the annual broadcast of "Rudolph" when it airs, which I will be doing tonight. Join me, won't you?





A holiday recipe:

Cookies are most fun to make at Christmastime because you get to share your bounty with the ones you love most. Here's a family favorite!

Snickerdoodles

A Christmas memory:

I've mentioned on this blog before how I used my Barbie dolls to create all kinds of stories as a kid. One of the first dolls I remember getting, I got for a Christmas gift.



I ended up naming her "Laura," since I got her right around the time I started watching "General Hospital," and Laura was my favorite character. Over the years, my Laura married (an original sounding character named Ken) and had four kids. She was the rock of my cast, the most stable, the one everyone would go to with their troubles because she was centered and had her stuff together. She taught me a lot about the limitations we put on our characters when we love them too much to hurt them. The stars of the show always, ALWAYS suffer.

The Book of the Day:

I have written a Christmas romance with my novella, "San Francisco Serenade." It is my own personal rock-star romance that used one of my own idols as a prototype for the hero.



I won't say who, that might get embarrassing and weird. Besides, I'm never one to be that obvious.



But suffice it to say, it is a story near and dear to my heart. These characters popped up in a special Easter Egg in "Epic," and I wouldn't be a bit surprised if you see them again and again, cuz that's just how I roll. But until then... enjoy their Christmas romance with this lil' teaser:



I closed the door feeling that familiar melancholy I couldn’t quite explain. It lingered long into the night when, even though I was exhausted, I couldn’t fall asleep.

All I could think about was the lonely man who had shown me a bit of his soul that night. It lingered in my subconscious and even managed to seep into my dreams once the dreams came. I dreamed of meeting his mother over a Christmas dinner surrounded by music and candlelight.

This set me on my mission that following day while I was out in between my interviews and public relations engagements. I told my driver what I was looking to do and much to my delight he drove me right to the kind of boutique that could supply exactly what I was seeking.

I was still smiling to myself as I exited to the hotel late that afternoon, carrying a festive gift bag in my hand. I liked playing elf and I was pretty excited to provide an unexpected gift to my new friend. That surprise was nothing compared to what I found when I opened my suite. The golden splendor was now accented by green garland with cranberries and frosted pine cones around the window facing out over the bay, which now framed a huge and completely decorated Christmas tree. Red candles that sparkled subtly with gold glitter sat atop the coffee table, along with a bowl full of nuts and fruits.

Christmas was still technically three days away, and yet here it was right in my lonely hotel room.

I shrugged out of my coat as I crossed the room toward the tree, placing the gift bag on the coffee table. Dozens of delicate crystal ornaments sparkled where they sat on the tree, in between strands of gold beaded garland. White lights shot brilliant prisms through the different shapes of the crystals, some balls, some bells, some snowflakes, and as I drew closer the tree twinkled at me gleefully.

As I reached out to touch the ornament an unexpected tear fell from my cheek. I hadn’t been looking forward to the holiday, but this was so beautiful I could do nothing but well up with appreciation for the reminder of lovely Christmases past. My cell phone rang almost as if on cue.

I glanced down at the caller ID. It was Vance.

“Merry Christmas,” he said, and from the playful tone of his voice I knew that I had been out-elfed.

“You did this?”

“Did what?” he asked innocently.

I had to laugh. “The tree, you goof.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.

“You really do lie beautifully,” I told him with a grin of my own.

“So it’s been said,” he retorted. “But I can’t have my first real human contact in a decade thinking I’m a creep, just because I impulsively violated the sanctity of her hotel suite. Especially to decorate it for a holiday neither one of us were particularly looking forward to.”

I sat on my sofa and glanced over at the gift bag I had brought from downtown. “I dunno,” I offered vaguely. “I think it’s definitely looking up this year.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” he said in a low voice that shot electricity down to my toes. “So what are your plans tonight? Aside from taking over the literary world?”

“Already done,” I answered with a cheeky grin. “So my evening is wide open. Although I feel like I should be making cookies for Santa or something in this winter wonderland I suddenly now occupy.”

He laughed. “Let me take care of that. How about I meet you at your room in about an hour?”

I agreed instantly, never pausing to think that this was virtually a stranger I was inviting to my room. In no way did I feel threatened by him; instead I was excited at the prospect of spending an evening with him where I didn’t have to share his attention with anyone.

I quickly freshened up, getting cozy in my comfy jeans and a soft knit turtleneck sweater. I kicked off my shoes and instead wore some funky socks covered in neon colored peace signs. It wasn’t exactly seasonal, but it wasn’t like I had packed anything Christmasy to begin with.

Maybe I’d have to go out shopping again the next day, this time to elf myself.

Vance arrived promptly at the top of the hour, looking casual yet dapper in his dark sweater and slacks. He wore his hair in a tight, neat ponytail and a playful smirk that gathered tiny lines at the corner of his dark eyes. He held out a small giftwrapped box.

“What’s this for?” I asked, thinking he’d already done so much.

“Nothing sadder than a Christmas tree with no presents he said as he entered the room.

I shut the door behind him. “What makes you think that there are no presents?” I asked.

He cast me a glance before he walked over to the tree, where he saw my gift bag sitting there all by its lonesome under the heavy low branches. “What’d you do?”

“You think you’re the only elf staying in this hotel?” I grinned.

“Well you’re definitely a much cuter elf,” he said as he placed the box under the tree next to the gift bag.

I warmed to his flattery as I walked over to the sofa. “So what are your plans, Mr. Gale

As if answering my question there came a knock at the door. He motioned that I go ahead and sit as he went to answer it. A bellboy rolled in a brass tray laden with Christmas goodies. Vance tipped him and sent him promptly on his way before rolling the tray over to where I sat.

There was egg nog chilling in an ice bucket, a plate full of homemade cookies and fudge, next to a stack of Christmas DVDs and CDs. He also thought ahead for a little protein to counter the carb overload with a cheese and sausage plate and some mulled wine. “This is some spread,” I complimented as I reached over for a wedge of cheese.

“It’s my first Christmas to entertain,” he confessed as poured me a mug of wine. “I figured it better to have lots of options rather than not enough.”

“I like the way you think,” I mumbled between bites, which made him laugh. “Remind me to invite you back for the Fourth of July so that we can have burgers and s’mores.”

“It’s a date,” he agreed as he held up his mug to toast. Our eyes met and held for a tiny moment longer than necessary, which made us both look quickly away. He cleared his throat and reached for a DVD. “What shall we watch first?”

On the top of the stack sat one of my favorite Christmas movies, a comedic re-imagining of Dickens’ classic Scrooge story. “I love to laugh. Let’s start with that one.”

He agreed and he set up the machine on the TV sitting just across from the couch. We settled next to each other under a throw blanket and let he movie begin. Though it was a movie I had seen dozens of times before, it was an entirely different experience sitting cuddled next to Vance. I felt the heat of his body next to mine, and with each shift to get more comfortable we got closer and closer together until we sat flush side by side.

I wanted to blame the rush of warmth through my body on the wine, but every little part of me that touched him became acutely aware that I was sitting beside Vance Gale – a man I had dreamed about as recently as the night before. That was his throaty laugh that sent tiny chills over my heightened senses, that was his cologne I could smell coming from a body he still kept healthy and fit even into his 40s.

Never in my wildest, adolescent dreams would I have ever thought I’d be there, like that, with him. This was a man who had always been behind a velvet rope, and now I sat practically in his lap while we watched movies in the low light of a private hotel suite.

It was the stuff of fantasies for any girl who had ever lusted after a rock star. Somewhere in me was that same awkward 15-year-old who blushed when our eyes met with shared laughter over the movie. Those eyes weren’t looking into a camera anymore. They were looking right into mine.

And, being slightly older than 15, I already knew that the interest I saw there was real. Maybe it was because we were lonely and fending off the holidays with a convenient friendship. Or maybe it was simply a matter of two people who shared a mutual attraction.

Whenever he looked at me, however, it really didn’t seem to matter. Suddenly I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else. I wanted to be there in that moment with him. And we were both single adults… so why not enjoy it?

But as God as my witness, when his arm slid across the back of the couch I didn’t know quite what to do. I stared at the screen although I had ceased to care what was going on there. I felt my blood thunder in my ears as electricity singed each and every nerve ending. I felt his hand on my shoulder and whether he pulled me into the crook of his arm or I just found my way there on my own was unclear. Yet in a second I found myself comfortably situated right in his embrace as we cuddled together under the blanket for the climax of the movie.

It ended with a rousing and uplifting song, which made me glance up at him to see if he’d actually find his voice to sing it. Instead there were tears glistening in the corner of his eyes. My soul ached for the pain he still harbored losing his beloved mother. Without any conscious thought on the matter my hand reached up to caress his cheek. It inadvertently captured one of his tears.

“Are you okay?” I whispered.

He gave me a brave smile as he pulled me into the circle of his arms. He held me close and whispered in my hair, “I am now.”





Spread some joy:

A lot of folks bitch and moan about the "true" meaning of Christmas being lost. Some blame political correctness, some blame commercialism, but the truth of the matter is Christmas is alive and well wherever there is one person who seeks to bring "peace on earth and goodwill toward man." In honor of that, I will feature charities over the course of the next 12 days which all do their part to make a difference in our world.

RED CROSS

You've read the blog, now ENTER THE GIVEAWAY!

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12 Days of Christmas Giveaway!

Have I mentioned that I absolutely love Christmas? It's my favorite holiday of the year and I love almost everything about it. I will OD on Christmas tunes from Thanksgiving to Christmas Day, and leave my tree up all the way to January 1st. (OK... 2nd.) I love the lights and the sparkle, the dazzle and the surprises. So I figured what better way to celebrate this year than to include all of you?

I am so grateful for every single person who bought and/or reviewed a book, wrote a blog, retweeted/followed/fanned me on social media and helped promote me in ways large and small. Not only have you given me the career of my dreams, you've all been so kind and generous when you meet or interact with me. Truly it is one of the best gifts ever.

Since I had so much fun with the birthday scavenger hunt, I decided to come back to the blog and host a Christmas event. What better way than with the 12 days of Christmas?? Twelve whole days, tons of gifts? Sign me up!

So every day from December 14 all the way to December 25, I will post a blog to talk about my favorite Christmas memories, traditions, movies, etc. And every day you can follow along, comment, share your favorite parts of the holiday, for the chance to win one of 12 prizes.

Yep, that's right... 12 winners... 12 prizes, and with gifts a little more practical than turtle doves or a partridge in a pear tree. (Or, in the immortal words of Beaker, mememememe.)



Ten third place winners will get the e-book "Enticed: Book 1 of the Fullerton Family Saga" prior to its January release, with their own digital Advanced Review Copy. A second place winner will win a signed paperback copy of "Enticed," and the grand prize winner will win a $25 gift certificate to either Amazon or Barnes and Noble.

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It all starts this Saturday, so save the date! Let's have some fun this holiday season, cuz that's what it's there for!

The Art of the Tease

If you've read my books, you're well aware that I like to take my time getting to the "money shot." This is because I love, more than anything, the art of the tease. I love the chase, the pursuit, and that will-they-won't-they tension that keeps you turning the page. Maybe it's part of being a Scorpio, maybe being a redhead, maybe because I came of age nearly 30 years ago, but sex is all about the power of seduction to me. If I want wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am, I'll watch a porno to scratch the itch. But if I am going to fall in love with a couple (or a man) you gotta make me ache for it, or else I grow bored like a cat who killed a mouse with the first swat.

I learned to savor the chase a long time ago, when I first started watching soap operas. These storytellers, especially in the 1970s when I started watching, knew a thing or two about making their audience turn in day after day. You couldn't miss one episode because that day might be the one where the couple you rooted for finally consummated their attraction. Each near-miss was a delicious frustration that left me wanting more.



I started watching General Hospital in 1978, where I promptly fell in love with troubled teenager Laura Webber. I was invested in her journey to find happiness and love almost from the get-go. When she met Scotty Baldwin, I wanted her to get her happy ending because that was what she wanted. That is... until Luke Spencer rolled into town and turned us all on our ears. Luke was a bad boy, and even at the age of eight I found this titillating. (Still do.)



Scotty quickly bored me in comparison as I switched allegiance to #teamluke. The chase was on.

Thanks to 21st century technology, you are able to fall right into a L&L hole on YouTube, starting with that clip above. I caught up with them back in 2010, and I watched - obsessively - for a week or two straight, which was torture enough. In real time, however, each day was agonizing. And I loved every freaking minute of it. I couldn't get enough. I quickly forgot about the afternoon cartoons that followed GH every weekday. I lived for 2:00pm, Monday through Friday, so I could get one more hit.



The longer they made me wait, the more I wanted... needed... for these two star-crossed lovers to get together. And precious little stood in between me and my favorite show. By no coincidence, 1979 was the year I learned how to play hooky. Nothing was more annoying than wasting a "sick day" on a day that didn't feature my favorite couple at all. That following summer, when L&L went "on the run," it was absolutely Must-See TV. Every time they got closer and closer to consummating their love affair, my heart swelled with pre-pre-teen squealiness as I realized the romance was in the waiting. I felt every touch, tasted every kiss. I was enchanted.



From the time I started watching the show until they finally did the deed (the disco scene notwithstanding,) lasted from 1978 all the way to 1980. If you follow the playlists on YouTube, you have to get to part #292 in order to reach "the moment." This was agony at the time, but the payoff was ah-may-zah-zing. Short lived... but amazing. The writers at GH gave us our moment, but they quickly tore our young lovers apart for yet ANOTHER year and ANOTHER adventure. There was always something, somewhere, postponing their Happily Ever After. Somehow it made their love affair even more exquisite.



Stolen kisses were enough to keep us all on the line all the way up to their wedding in November of 1981, which - btw - drew in 30 MILLION viewers. Even all these years later, it remained the most-watched hour in soap history.

Not bad for a show that as on the verge of cancellation just four years before. From 1978 to 1981, Luke and Laura drew us in and saved General Hospital. I credit this all to the art of the tease. They gave us just enough crumbs to keep us coming back for more, day after day, week after week, year after year.

I, myself, stayed on that line until Genie Francis (aka Laura,) left the show, but I came right back in 1983 when she returned for a guest appearance. Even the reunion dragged out, but the payoff was worth all those years that Luke thought his beloved angel was dead and lost to him forever. (Long story.)



They rode off into the sunset together and I could finally put their love story to bed, figuratively speaking.

Fast forward to 1985 and I found yet another frustrating couple to champion... namely David Addison and Maddie Hayes.



You wanna talk about a lesson in waiting. Moonlighting kept us on the hook for three seasons before they put us out of our misery. Maddie and David were so completely mismatched yet their chemistry was off-the-charts hot. For more than two years we watched the "will-they-or-won't-they" until they finally DID... then after that no one cared anymore and the show tanked.

Guess I'm not the only one who likes the chase.

Needless to say, I learned these lessons well. When I was a pre-teen and working out my own salacious storytelling with the help of my cast of Barbie and Ken dolls, I took my time telling these stories that kept me so invested I didn't stop playing with my fictional people until I was 17 years old. I wanted to put my characters through the wringer because I suffered every agonizing moment along with them.

And I loved it.

When one of my Barbies got pregnant, I would - no lie - tape tissue to their bellies in increasing increments so they could experience pregnancy in real time. When my obsessed photographer, Kevin, kidnapped my married actress, Jenny, she stayed on that island her entire pregnancy. She returned home to her husband (Bobby,) who believed her dead, with their baby (Mindy) in her arms.

It was a beautiful reunion.

What I'm saying... I love the agony because it makes the payoff a bazillion times better. And I write like this to this day. Though many contemporary romances get to the boot-knockin', baby-makin', wall-bangin' scenes early and fast, I'm known to make you wade through half of a book full of near-misses until I let my folks do the deed. One of the better compliments I've received from a reader is that my books stand out because of this, and she loves the build-up in contrast to the flash and burn.

Mission accomplished.

The reason I'm telling you all this? Well... next year you're going to be introduced to a new series that celebrates this art of the tease like nothing I've written in the past. This series, like my Groupie series, will have several disclaimers... the biggest of which is that it is not a book about sexual conquest. You want that kind of book, read Raven Walks. That horny vampire hooks up often and well, with just about every human who strikes his fancy. But my Fullerton Family Saga, which begins in January with Enticed, will test us all how long we can tolerate the buildup. And I put a triangle in there, too... just to further complicate things. I'm going to draw it out as long as it makes sense to do so, and I've given myself three books to get it right.

If that isn't your thing, save your money for other books who give it to you hard and fast. Me? I like it slow. I want to tease and be teased until we're about to explode with anticipation. We're going to take our time this next time out and revel in the chase, in the angst, in the agony.

Join me... if you dare. ;)



EXCERPT FROM "ENTICED: BOOK 1 OF THE FULLERTON FAMILY SAGA"

We didn’t have much time before he would return, so Drew didn’t mince words. “I think you misunderstood exactly what kind of tutor I was seeking for my son. He is going to be a titan in business, following four generations of Fullertons before him. He needs to be prepared. You’ll forgive me if I don’t think measuring ingredients and shopping at the market qualify as the higher education for which I’m paying very good money.”

I placed the fork on the plate, my appetite totally obliterated. “You wanted me to teach your son, and I have done that. More importantly, I’ve reached him. He knows he can trust me, especially after I shielded him from that family debacle yesterday. This morning I gave Jonathan three different tests. In math, he was tested on fractions and word problems. The skills he learned with a simple cooking lesson or quick trip to the store helped him score in the 99th percentile. Likewise on the history essay, where he researched and wrote a thousand-word document on the Greystone Mansion and Park where we walked and explored, which – if I’m not mistaken – qualifies under your physical fitness requirement. I also tested him on the book he’s been reading for pleasure, with a questionnaire that helped him think critically about the material he was reading simply for the joy of it. It is a book that has been in my own curriculum for years, and I’m confident at least one student who has read it will go on and get an Ivy League education.”

His jaw clenched as he realized what I had done. I had taken Jonathan from a stale, unchallenging classroom environment with endless tests and bookwork, which had been crippling his curious and playful nature. By putting him in an entirely foreign setting, he learned how to do the things Drew wanted him to do, right down to the budgeting skills at the market, but in a new setting that would naturally keep him more engaged than the boring ol’ status quo. And he never even realized what I had done until I had quizzed him on it.

My green eyes glittered just as hard as his icy blue ones. “You may question my methods, Mr. Fullerton, but my results are indisputable. Considering I did all this in two days, even playing go-between between you and your ex-wife and your pain-in-the-ass brother, I’d say I’ve done a hell of a lot more than the previous tutors you have hired to do this job, with exceptional results.”

Normally I wouldn’t have cursed at an employer. But his elitist attitude really pissed me off. Did he really believe his son was too good to wash a dish or cook a meal, as if these mundane tasks held no value for such powerful, wealthy people? And if that was true, how did he regard anyone who had the misfortune of being born average? Did he think we were all beneath him, simply because we had no one to treat us like gods? The Texan was coming out, and he was either going to prove he could deal with that or he was going to send me home anyway. I had nothing to lose. In fact, the only one who had anything at all at stake was Jonathan.

“Now, if you don’t approve of my more unconventional methods, then you can gas up the jet and send me home tonight. But I’m willing to bet that you won’t find anyone else who can reach Jonathan the way that I have done. I have a connection with him. That was what you wanted. That is what you got.” I grabbed a glass of ice water and gulped it down. “Do with that what you will.” Before he could reply, Jonathan raced back into the room, wearing a new jade green kimono, and holding the entire box set of his favorite Anime program. “Thanks, Dad!” he said as he rushed to hug his father. “Let’s watch it together,” he pleaded hopefully. I used that opportunity to slide my chair back and rise from the table. “I think I’ll retire for the evening. Let you two catch up.”

Jonathan was crestfallen. “No, Rachel,” he said with a plaintive whine in his voice. “Please don’t go. You haven’t even had any pudding.”

“Pudding?” Drew echoed.

Jonathan nodded. “She made homemade Southern banana pudding.”

I shook my head. “You enjoy it. I’m stuffed,” I lied easily. “The dinner was excellent, Jonathan. You did a great job.” I turned to Drew. “It was very nice meeting you, Mr. Fullerton. I trust you’ll think about what I said and let me know if there has been any change in plans.”

Jonathan was panicked as he looked between his father and me. “Change of plans? You’re not leaving, are you, Rachel?”

“No decisions have been made,” Drew filled in before I could speak. “Why don’t you go get us some pudding, Jonathan? That sounds delicious.”

Jonathan nodded and disappeared into the kitchen. Drew rose to his feet and walked around the table to face me. “Obviously I’m not used to being spoken to in such a way in my own home,” he said, his voice hard but quiet. “But obviously I offended you. I apologize.” He offered his hand.

It was a gesture of civility, but his eyes were still lethal as they stared down at me. My hand shook as I placed it in his. His fingers closed around mine powerfully as he pulled me closer. I gasped as I stopped short mere inches from that massive chest. I hadn’t been this close to a man in many years, much less a man as intimidating. I was certain that he could feel the tremble in my grasp when my eyes shot to his and his face broke apart in a victorious smile. “Start over?” he asked softly. “Rachel?”

I gulped hard. I should have told him to gas up the jet anyway and just leave Beverly Hills in my daydreams where it belonged. Had Jonathan not been a factor, I probably would have done just that. But he was very much a factor, so I owed it to him to make it work with Drew, who now had five days to prove to me that I could work for him. He had to trust me and my methods, and respect the job that I was hired to do. So I tipped my chin again and said in as steady a voice as I could muster, “You’re the boss,” I said, adding, “Mr. Fullerton,” defiantly.

I pulled my hand from his and carried myself on unsteady legs all the way to the guest room.

The Grinch that Pirated Christmas

One of the more aggravating parts of my job includes tracking down pirated copies of my book listed on the Internet without my consent. These books are not authorized by me and I receive no compensation whatsoever whenever they are downloaded or read. Often I have no clue that they are posted and available until I take valuable time out of my schedule (that I could spend writing new books) to track them down. Once I am made aware, I will send these file hosts a cease and desist notice so that my work will be removed from their site, a process that varies from site to site and is a ginormous pain in my ass. They're the ones stealing my work, but yet I have to go through their hoops to have it removed. Welcome to the 21st Century.

This is especially upsetting considering I deliberately price my content so that it fits almost any budget, and I give away quite a bit of my work for free. I even allow lending on all my books, which you can locate courtesy of book-lending websites. In other words, there is no need for pirating any one of my books, or listing any of my books on these pirating websites for others to read "for free." Doing so takes away *my* option for distribution, and as the one who created this content, this is a direct violation of my rights. I am the sole owner of the copyright on each and every book, and as such I should be compensated whenever a site makes my book available for a reader. Given that some of these piracy sites are classified as "sponsored" and likely have ad revenue going directly to those who run the sites, that means someone is getting paid for this service and it isn't the creators responsible for the content driving visitors to their site in the first place. Our sales undeniably take a hit when the content is available for free elsewhere, even resulting in returns of legitimately purchased material. This drives up the price for all the people who actually value the written word enough to pay those who worked so hard to create it.

In short, piracy is no bueno for anyone but the thieves.

To say it's a sore spot is an understatement. I put all the work into my book and as such deserve the compensation. Anyone who thinks writing a book isn't a "real job" clearly has never put the time in to actually write a book start to finish, much less do the work to perfect it for a sale. I'm not a typist, I'm a writer. It takes time and effort to take a blank page and create a whole new world. No third party deserves to get paid for a book's unauthorized availability, because no one else put in the months of hard work (unpaid) to create/edit/format/market the material in hopes that it will eventually recoup the cost. Which, btw, it takes thousands of copies sold to recoup months of work just at a minimum wage level. Only four of my 15 published books are currently "in the black," earning profit... mostly because I low-ball my own prices just to reach a wider audience.

Which brings me to a very upsetting recent discovery: people are now selling pirated copies of my book through illegitimate sites created to undercut authorized dealers.

It came to our indie community's collective notice that these new websites were selling our content without our consent, which was upsetting to say the least. Our content was virtually stolen so that others could pocket the profit rightfully owed to us. An argument could be made that a person who pirates a "free" book wouldn't pay for the book anyway, as they see no value in the finished product enough to pay the creator for their hard work. These new websites, however, are targeting honest buyers who still want to buy the books, but want to get it at the best possible price they can. Some authors have noticed that their return rate at authorized distributors like Amazon have gone up curiously after these new counterfeit sites started popping up. Some of us have seen our sales plummet despite the busy holiday shopping season as well, which isn't making for a very merry Christmas.

Many of these sites are taken down immediately after they are created because our indie author community is on top of it just as much as any attorney hired to protect traditional publishers... and both types of authors are being targeted. Unfortunately they pop back up under a new heading the very next day, which means you could stumble across a site that hasn't yet been flagged. Should you run across one of these sites, here are a few pointers that you are not dealing with an authorized dealer:

1.) The books offered are priced very different from more recognized dealers. Unlike sales your authors and their publishers are likely to alert you to, the sale prices on these new websites will often significantly undercut the published price at Amazon and Barnes and Noble, the two major ebook dealers most of us opt to sell our books through because they reach the widest readership. It is important to note that Amazon price-matches other authorized dealers even if the author sets different prices through different storefronts. If you find a brand new website that offers books at prices that don't match the two major ebook titans, buyer beware.

2.) Contact information is often not provided through these new websites. The contact form simply does not work, or has a generic "free" email from sites like gmail. These dump-and-go email addresses allude to "fly-by-night" business practices. A site big enough to offer thousands and thousands of books from authors big and small should have enough capital to invest in a legitimate website with its own email server, because it should be building a business for the long term and credibility is key.

3.) It is a "new" e-bookstore that you've never heard of before, but it has all the books available that a big dealer would. Some will even try to make their website *look* like the legitimate sellers, which is another major giveaway of dirty dealing.

4.) They will often charge a set rate for all books regardless of author or book, another big tell. I don't have to include big publishers/agents/publicists/attorneys in my purchase price like Stephen King would, so his cost is generally going to be higher. If his book, listed on Amazon for $9.99 for a Kindle copy, is $1.90 (same as mine) on a no-name site, you can safely assume those copies have been pirated and the people who should be getting paid to cover the purchase price are getting screwed. Also, while I can sell a single book for $0.99, bundled books do and should cost more. If you find book bundles of mine for considerably less than the already discounted price on Amazon or B&N, it is being sold without my consent and I am not getting paid... i.e., it's stolen.

For the record, here are the authorized dealers for my e-books:

Amazon

Barnes and Noble

Apple/iTunes

Kobo

Sony

Diesel eBooks

Smashwords

All Romance eBooks

When you buy from these authorized dealers, you pay the price that I have set and I get properly compensated as the sole copyright owner of the content. Any other price set by a no-name dealer means they have obtained a copy of my books and are offering it for sale without my knowledge. This is theft, plain and simple. Please don't support it by giving them your hard-earned money, especially since many of my prices are nearly half of what they are charging for stand-alone books anyway.

If you happen to see my content on an ebook website not listed above (aside from Google/Goodreads,) please let me know.

Holiday Savings

Starting on Black Friday and lasting through Small Business Saturday, Cyber Monday and beyond:

$0.99 e-books



$1.99 e-book bundles



Holiday Exclusives!!

Eight books have been bundled together to include the books that connect the GROUPIE universe. Whether you gift it to someone else or to yourself, buy fast! It will be discontinued by January 2014!



Deals apply for your Kindle, Nook or iPad!!

Happy Holidays!

*If you cannot see thee links above, check out my blog here.

Winner of the Scavenger Hunt

And the winner is...

Drumroll please....

Denise Carter!!!

Denise wins The Complete Books of the Groupie Universe PLUS a $25 gift certificate. Details will be emailed to you.

And guess what... since EVERYONE who participated kicked major ass... everyone who entered gets...

'Nuther drumroll please...

The e-book super bundle "The Complete Books of the Groupie Universe," a $9.99 value!!

We will contact you with details.

Here are the answers:

1. What is the name of the song and artist used for the book trailer for "My Immortal"?

"Indian Summer" by Zero 1



2. Ginger's first novella was inspired by what song/artist? BONUS what grade was she in when she wrote it?

Ships, by Barry Manilow. Bonus: 7th grade.

3. What did Ginger give her husband for his 40th birthday, and which of her talented friends helped her pull it off?

A painting of Steven as the Doctor and me as the companion, by Chris Bonno



4. What books are included in the mega-bundle The Complete Books of the Groupie Universe?

Groupie, Rock Star, Mogul, Fierce, Unstoppable, Epic, Love Plus One and a surprise book.

5. Who does Ginger cite as her idol?

John Hughes.



6. Which of her books are Ginger's favorites?

Comic Squad, My Immortal and Groupie.

7. What are the titles in the new biker series Ginger wants to release by the end of 2014? BONUS: What was the song/artist that inspired them?

Biker Wild, Biker Lost, Biker Strong BONUS: Welcome to the Jungle, Guns N' Roses



8. What book is Ginger reading right now?

"Ready Player One"

9. Ginger also publishes straight erotica under a pen name. What is that name and which title is available?

Ivy Greene, "Raven Walks"



10. What two physical characteristics make Fierce's Jordi and Jace atypical?

Jordi is plus-sized, Jace lost his leg in the war.

11. In Ginger's short story, "The Waiter," what was the waiter's name and what was unusual about him?

Gus. He was a ghost.

12. In what US city do "Groupie's" Vanni and Andy meet?

Philadelphia.

13. What is the name of the heroine in "Taste of Blood," and what makes her special?

Reese McKenzie. She's psychic/clairvoyant.



14. "Under Texas Skies" was inspired, in part, by what theme album by what classic rock group? BONUS: Where was the photo on the cover taken?

Desperado by the Eagles. Fort Phantom Hill, near Abilene, Texas.

15. Ginger herself cites being a groupie to which three celebrities?

Davy Jones, Steve Perry, Hal Sparks

16. Ginger's "Comic Squad" opens to which two characters?

Dr. Horror and Twitch.

17. Which best-selling author provides the foreward to "Dirty Little Secrets"? BONUS: What charity do a certain percentage of the proceeds of sales go to?

Marie D. Jones. BONUS: RAINN

18. Ginger wrote a script based on her favorite TV show. What was the name of the show and the name of the script?

Moonlighting, "O Teacher Where Art Thou?"

19. Which of her heroes does Ginger say she married in real-life?

Graham, Groupie/Rock Star/Mogul/Fierce/Unstoppable/Epic (and surprise appearance in The Undisciplined Bride.)

20. What is the name of the song/band used for the Groupie trailer?

"She Waits," Zero 1



21. Which author inspired Ginger to add "Easter eggs" within her books and join the worlds within her universe? BONUS (and it's a toughy) Which of this author's books affected Ginger in a memorable way when she was a teen?

Stephen King, BONUS: Salem's Lot

Prepare to be ENTICED.

November is National Novel Writing Month, or, as it's more affectionately referred to, NaNoWriMo. Writers are challenged to write a 50,000-word novel in 30 hectic, sleepless, manic days just for the sake of having finished a book. Many people want to write a book. Fewer actually start said book, and even fewer actually finish it. NaNoWriMo exists solely to close the gap from wanting to do something to having done it by giving a concrete stopping point. I hopped on board this crazy train back in 2004. Since then I've participated seven of the last nine years and "won" five times. By winning, it simply means I wrote more than 50K words in novels completed in 30 days. The other two years I either didn't finish the book by the deadline OR the book didn't meet the 50K-word requirement. I personally consider these triumphs rather than failures. I finished the books, that was the bigger objective.

Historically I've used NaNoWriMo as a kick in my arse, to get words out of my head and onto the page. Even if I didn't write anything else that year, in one month I could churn out a book from start to finish and really accomplish something significant. One month out of the year I could juggle the life of a writer, despite having "real" jobs, a family or a home to manage. But even after I began my professional writing career in 2010, the lure of Nano was far too tempting to ignore. For instance this year, after completing four other books, one might think I wouldn't feel the urge to immerse myself in the craziness. I should take the rest of the year off, enjoy the holidays and maybe even enjoy a rare, extended vacation.

But honestly I love the process. Deadlines are great motivators. Without a deadline, you have the luxury on waiting around for your muse to show up. You don't have to scan the skies for that brief glint of inspiration so you can rob it right out of the clouds to harness your own bolt of lightning. You can fit it in when the conditions are perfect, which they so rarely are. "Real life" is filled with distractions that can be far more tempting sometimes than just churning out a set word count every day, which varies in time spent depending on which words, exactly, you're writing. Some days it can take a couple of hours, other days it can take a full day. Setting up a plot, connecting each dot from chapter to chapter, laying the foundation for a book... that all takes time and can be fairly tedious. It's work that goes so far beyond mentally playing in the sandbox and typing whatever words pop in your head at the time. You're creating worlds that come with real rules you must obey, otherwise you create much more work for yourself.

Planning and research are the reasons books can take so long to write, but even then you could have a finished product in no time at all if you piece it out to a certain number of words per day. If we all followed Stephen King's example and wrote 2000 words a day every day no matter what, we'd all be writing 730,000 words a year. That's at least seven, count 'em, seven 100K novels PER YEAR.

Kinda makes 50K in a month seem like child's play.

Bottom line: writers write. NaNoWriMo just means we're not doing it alone.

Some critics have derided NaNoWriMo because it seems unthinkable to finish a good novel within such a short period of time. Whenever you picture a writer in your mind, he's usually toiling hard over his keyboard, tearing his hair out to get THE perfect turn of phrase. This romanticized image of a tortured artist suggests the more time spent on the struggle is the only way to ensure that it is "good." The longer it gestates, the better it gets, right?

Well... sorta.

The books I write today are light-years away from what I wrote two years ago, or five years ago, or ten years ago. If you put the first book I wrote (which took much longer than one month to complete) and put it side by side with the first draft of one of my recent NaNoWriMo projects, the writing that took less time is actually shades better. And the only way that happened was through time, because it gave me something far, far more indicative of value: experience.

That critical time passing HAD to be spent writing. The more you "exercise the muscle" as it were, the stronger that muscle gets. That's a universal law no matter what you endeavor to accomplish. That is the very nature of evolution.

Funny thing about evolution, though. It has a limit posed only by what the thing evolving truly needs. It's adaptive to the situation. If you take a thin piece of fish and cook it on a rock, it'll take way less time than a thick steak. Cooking it any longer than what it needs won't make it any better, anymore than adding more stitches than a dress needs makes it any prettier. In fact, often the reverse is true. The longer we fuss over something, the more we risk compromising its value. Would the Mona Lisa be any more valuable with another stroke of the brush? Would Gone with the Wind be any better with another few chapters spent on sub-characters? Art is way, way too subjective to assign a time limit on what makes something "good." So one cannot state empirically that all NaNoWriMo novels are bad simply because of the limited time it took to write them. If Stephen King tackled Nano, his book would be light-years ahead of someone who has never written a book before. His writing muscle is honed through decades of developing it, and the only way it got that way was because he repeatedly and tirelessly did the work.

The difference between writing for self and writing for a job is that you simply can't afford to wait for excellence to happen in some mystical, far-away future. You do your very best to get the stories right as they come to you, but you have bills to pay. That product, at some point, has got to be "done." They say that art is never finished, only abandoned. You learn that quickly the minute you are tasked to meet publishing deadlines, imposed on you by whoever it is whose livelihood depends on you completing a project.

See, that is what they don't tell you. Working writers don't have the luxury of waiting around for inspiration. We are, at the heart of it, manufacturers. Books are our product, and we need product to make profit. A working writer can't just write when the mood strikes or when the conditions are perfect. We have to summon the muse by planting our butts in the seats and willing inspiration to come to us. Exercises like NaNoWriMo train us to do this fairly efficiently. If anything, it was the best training tool for my writing career.

The fact so many other writers join in the fray and can commiserate/support/understand this particular journey makes the process more bearable. For one month out of the year, we're not alone. There's a sense of community that links a lone writer to the rest of the creative community.

I wouldn't miss it for the world. ANY excuse to write is a good one, IMHO.

This year, I decided to write the first book of a new series, THE FULLERTON FAMILY SAGA, as my NaNoWriMo project. But, overachiever that I am, I decided to write ALL THREE books in this new series without a break in between, completing them all by mid-January, so I can release the complete series by no later than March 2014. If I am able to pull off this hectic and crazy deadline, I plan to release each book within TWO WEEKS to ONE MONTH of the other. These are not novellas, shortened to entice you into paying $0.99 per "book" by slicing one book into three separate parts. These are full-length novels with three different, distinct plots to tell one larger story. "Enticed", book 1 in our new series, weighs in at nearly 60,000K words and is about 2/3rds done. It should be ready for release by January 14.

These books are actually based on a monster novel I wrote back in 1995, which was way too much story for a stand-alone. As I reviewed it last year to consider it for publication, I realized that this story would best be served in a series, which I knew I'd have to tackle as a page-one rewrite. Virtually nothing but the timeline of events is transferring over into the new story, which makes it far more contemporary.

It also makes it a lot of fun to write, so the next few months, while hectic, sleepless and crazed, will be absolutely worth it. So happy Nano, everyone brave enough to dare the challenge. And for those anxious to read something new, you won't have long at all to wait.

For your consideration, Chapter One of "ENTICED: BOOK 1 OF THE FULLERTON FAMILY SAGA":

My entire life changed with an e-mail. Granted, my life desperately needed changing, and it really wouldn’t have taken much of a nudge to move me in another direction. I just didn’t expect the 180-degree turn Fate had offered me when I opened my work e-mail that Friday morning right before Spring Break.

Dear Ms. Dennehy: it read.

My name is Drew Fullerton, and I am a prominent businessman located in Los Angeles, California.

I couldn’t stop my snicker if I wanted to. “Prominent businessman,” indeed. Like I had never seen the cover of Forbes magazine.

I wanted to congratulate you on your nomination for Secondary Teacher of the year. Your work with your seventh-grade students in the advancement of green energy has been quite commendable. I truly applaud your forward-thinking and your ingenuity, and the passion you so clearly instill in your students.

My brow furrowed as I wondered what the catch was. Why was one of the most important businessmen in the nation contacting me over a mere nomination?

You probably are wondering why I have decided to contact you.

Smart cookie. No wonder he was worth a gazillion dollars and change.

I am scouting a new personal tutor for my son, Jonathan. He is nine years old, which is – granted – quite younger than students in the grade you teach, but I assure you that he is quite advanced. Too advanced, maybe, given our current issues. Unfortunately, my son has not reacted well in the wake of my divorce with his mother. He has managed to get kicked out of nearly every private school in Los Angeles, and at least two boarding schools overseas. Placing him in a respected institution with this prior record of misbehavior has proved challenging. It is my hope that one-on-one instruction with a dedicated teacher will give him the motivation he needs to remain focused on his education. I have combed the entire country for a candidate who could provide him this crucial instruction. Suffice it to say, it has been a proverbial needle in a haystack to find a professional who could fit my very specific criteria.

This is more than just a job, Miss Dennehy. I want someone who could dedicate their time to my son as both an educator and a mentor. He would be your only student, and you would be expected to engender his trust over a long, hopefully successful, tenure as his personal tutor. This is a pretty drastic change for any public schoolteacher because it includes immediate relocation to Southern California where we live. But we would provide more than adequate compensation, as well as personal, private living arrangements in our estate so you can have immediate and total access to Jonathan on whichever schedule works best for the both of you.

The email went on to detail the six-figure salary I could expect, along with a very generous benefits package, should I sign the contract for exclusivity for at least one year. These terms would be negotiable in the future, depending on how well I managed to detour the junior heir from his current road to ruin.

It wasn’t a Nigerian promising me I won some International lottery I had never entered, but it was close. I was supposed to believe that one of the richest men on the planet had resigned himself that a servant of the public school system three states away should educate his son? Clearly this was a scam, and I, for one, didn’t buy it. I clicked out of the email without reading any more.

I closed my laptop, drank my last little bit of tea and padded softly into my tiny, cheerful yellow kitchen to rinse out my cup and set it in the dishwasher with the one plate, one fork and glass leftover from dinner the night before.

I was at school by seven o’clock that morning, preparing class for the day. Normally I would organize lesson plans and fill the blackboard with instructions on what materials needed to be studied for which examination. But this particular day I knew I couldn’t corral my excitable group of teenagers if I wanted to. Spring Break was that necessary part of the year where we all could put a stop to the endless monotony of homework, studying and tests and just recharge the batteries for the week. Well, that’s what it meant for them. For me it was a matter of spending the week cleaning out my apartment or taking care of plants and pets for my colleagues who would use this precious week of freedom for family vacations. I also had a stack of books I wanted to tackle. That was really the only vacation that I needed. My library card was old-school, but it was my first-class ticket to anywhere in time and space.

A short knock caught my attention and I glanced toward my classroom door, which was partially ajar. I saw her sky-high hair before I saw her face, but I would have recognized my best friend Nancy Gilbert anywhere. “Hey, girl. Please don’t tell me you’re going to be here all week.”

“Can’t,” I offered with a sardonic grin. “I’m going to be at your house, watching the dogs, the cats, the gerbils and whatever plants you haven’t killed with your notorious brown thumb.”

“You could still come with us,” she said. “Think about it. Five days in the Caribbean. The cruise may be sold out, but you could probably bunk with the kids. It’d be a slumber party all week. They’d love it.”

I couldn’t help but smile. All four of her kids had adopted me as Aunt Rachel from the time they were born, and I lavished attention (and gifts) on them at every available opportunity. I had no one else to spoil, so they cleaned up big time whenever Aunt Rachel stopped by to visit. Despite how fun a tropical cruise with my favorite people sounded, the simple truth was I looked forward to this week to myself even if Nancy could never understand why.

“Thanks, but no thanks. These hips do not belong in a bathing suit. And have you seen my legs? They glow in the dark.”

She waved her hand. “Stop it. You’re gorgeous. And fuller figures are in now. You’d probably know that if you, you know, ever went out on a real date.”

I suppressed a sigh. Here we go. “Nancy…”

She held up her hands in defeat. “Another battle for another time. At least tell me that you’re coming to my party tonight.”

My eyebrow arched. “Do I have a choice?”

“Nope!” she chirped happily before she twirled and headed off to her classroom down the hall. I had to chuckle to myself. My best friend was certainly irrepressible, which had drawn us together in college. She was the one who got me the job in Grand Prairie after my life fell apart three years before, so I really did owe her for helping me piece my life back together. Only now she had decided that I needed to find a man as the final stage in my healing process, and it was an ongoing battle between us these days. I wasn’t ready to date again, and I doubted sincerely I ever would be.

Once bitten, twice petrified. I was kind of like an unyielding block of fossilized wood, and about as exciting.

I had a sneaking suspicion she was going to use her “Bon Voyage” party as one more excuse to set me up, and true to form, that was exactly what it was.

I arrived early, to help out, and she dragged me to her bedroom to ply me with makeup and jewelry. “Black, Rachel?” she complained of my simple dress. “It’s like you’re going to a funeral.”

“I like black,” I told her as she did her best to gussy me up for her big party, which… by no small coincidence, was full of eligible bachelors. I glared at her over the spiked punch, and she just shrugged her shoulders innocently as if it was all a happy coincidence.

She grabbed me by the arm and dragged me from possible suitor to possible suitor. “This,” she said, as we came to a brief stop in front of a tall man with sandy brown hair and a mustache, “is Phil Monroe. He’s a biology teacher at the high school.” I gave her a side-eye glare at her ever-so-slight emphasis on the word, ‘biology.’

Phil offered his hand. “It’s so nice to finally meet you,” he drawled easily. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“I’m sure,” I murmured with a polite smile.

Nancy looked triumphant as she made a speedy departure that was about a subtle as a wrecking ball. “If you’ll excuse me, I have more guests to greet. Don’t have too much fun without me, you two!” she winked before she danced away, leaving the both of us in an awkward silence.

“So you teach at the high school,” I offered first.

Phil nodded. “I’m also assistant coach with the football program,” he said with a proud grin worthy of any Texan when it came to the subject of football.

“So you work with Greg,” I said, referring to Nancy’s husband.

“One of the best guys on the planet,” he said and I nodded my agreement.

“They’re the best,” I said begrudgingly as I spied Nancy out of the corner of my eye. She was keeping a close watch on our interaction, probably waiting for me to blow it – again.

“I hear that you will be housesitting for the week,” he said as he studied me hopefully. “Maybe we could go out for a cup of coffee or something.”

I smiled politely, but inside I was seething. Nancy was so determined to set me up she was planning reconnaissance missions even while she was away. “I don’t really drink coffee,” I murmured easily as I stepped out of the unwanted conversation. “It was nice meeting you, Mr. Monroe.” By using his last name instead of his first name, I firmly established any further intimacy was unwelcome. He looked bewildered as I set my drink on a nearby table and made a hasty departure.

Nancy was on my heels by the time I slipped through her front door. She chased me down the sidewalk toward my car. “Rachel! What happened? What’s wrong?”

I spun on her. “You, Nancy!” I finally yelled. “You are what’s wrong.”

She was dumbfounded. “I’m just trying to help.”

“I don’t need your help!” I snapped. “Not with this.”

She took a deep breath to steady herself. “Rachel, it’s been six years.”

My eyes hardened as I stared at her. “So what? Ten years, twenty years… no amount of time can fix what’s broken, Nancy. Time can do a lot of things, but it can’t raise the dead,” I finished flatly.

“No, Rachel,” she agreed. “It can’t. But you can. Do you really think this is what Jason would want for you? To be alone?”

My chin tilted. “Neither Jason or I had a say in that, did we?”

Nancy softened. “Rachel…”

I spun away from her before I started to cry. I hadn’t cried over Jason in a long time, and I didn’t want to start now. If I started again, I feared I may never stop. “Find someone else to housesit,” I said over my shoulder as I headed to my car. “Maybe your good friend Phil.”

Nancy ran after me. “Rachel! I’m sorry!”

My eyes met hers before I got into my car. “Me, too.”

I slammed the door and gunned my engine before I sped away.

I was still an emotional wreck by the time I got home to my empty, darkened apartment.

I tossed my phone onto the table after silencing the ringer. Nancy was frantically trying to get ahold of me, perhaps finally realizing how far she had pushed me this time.

You would think, after all these years, she would have known better not to bring up Jason to me, especially to manipulate me into doing something I had told her in a hundred different ways that I didn’t want to do. I silenced my phone and went into my bedroom to change.

I got even angrier as I scrubbed the makeup off of my face. She had truly outdone herself to “fatten” the lamb for slaughter. I took a hot shower and emerged ten minutes later in my fluffy robe. I stomped angrily toward my computer to fire off the email I had mentally crafted while I furiously rinsed away all the pretense of the evening. When I opened my email, Drew Fullerton’s proposition sat right there on top.

Los Angeles, I thought to myself. Fourteen-hundred miles, give or take.

Maybe I was ready for a change… a really, really big one.

I ended up writing only one email that night, and that was to accept Drew Fullerton’s invitation to fly to L.A. for an interview over Spring Break.

Sure, it sounded too good to be true. Why would some business magnate like Fullerton want anything at all to do with a secondary schoolteacher from Texas when there had to be hundreds of acceptable teachers much, much closer to home?

It was a paid vacation no matter the outcome of the interview. More than that, it was a break I desperately needed right when I needed it, like it had landed on my lap on purpose.

For once, though I had no reason whatsoever to trust good fortune, I’d give Fate the benefit of the doubt.

I could only hope the bitch wouldn’t screw me over again. ***