Julia London's Blog, page 90

Book Spotlight: To Hell with Love

JANE SLAYRE is my latest title, but it was not my first foray into paranormal fiction. Before Jane, there was TO HELL WITH LOVE:

"You like to sin, Kate?"

When Boston interior designer Kate Markham meets real estate mogul Owen Glendower at a dinner party, sparks fly. Not only is Owen GQ-cover, drop-dead sexy and filthy rich, he has a maddeningly seductive way of knowing intimate details about her. Details that send heat rushing to her cheeks not to mention certain other parts of her body. Swept deliciously off her feet, Kate lets herself fall into a breathtakingly sensual journey she hopes will never end, even when Owen reveals his little secret: he happens to be Hades, ruler of the underworld and the devil himself!

Caught in the fiery-sweet grip of a desire so consuming, Kate must choose between her business, her family, her life on Earth, and spending eternity in Hell with Owen. Then, out of the blue, family tragedy strikes, shaking her out of a rapturous trance to face the decision of a lifetime. Will she spend eternity with this devil of her dreams or follow her conscience back to earthly reality?

THWL has apparently gone back to print and there are new copies available at Borders, Amazon, B & N, and probably your favorite bookstore. The story continues in the holiday-themed NAUGHTY OR NICE. Something to consider when you're spending your $25 gift card, if you're this week's lucky winner.

This week's lucky winner, of a $25 gift card to the bookstore of your choice (Borders, Amazon, or B & N), is…

VB! I'll be in touch via email, VB, and you can tell me your bookstore preference.

Driving (with) Miss Dee

[image error]Last week at some point I was discussing a friend's daughter who was turning sixteen.  The inevitable conversation about driving occurred and I was thrown back to my first days as a driver.  (It didn't make me think of my own child because in NYC nobody drives.)  

Anyway, although I could write an entire post about my attempts (note the plural) to gain a driver's license and the various fender benders that resulted from said license, I'm choosing instead to remember my first car.  I think everyone in America has a love affair with their first car.  No matter if it's old or new, in mint condition or held together with safety pins.  And I was no exception.  Except that I wasn't even supposed to have a car.  

In 1976, when I was a junior in high school, I was given the choice between taking a pretty spectacular trip or getting a car.  Being a live to explore kind of girl, it was a no brainer for me, I went on the trip and never looked back.  

But I had the most amazing grandfather and when I got home—I got a car after all.  A 1967 Impala Super-Sport.   It was the coolest car ever.   A good friend of my grandmother's had bought it (in 1967) and apparently, being unable to say 'no' to the car dealer, she bought it fully loaded.   To start with, it had a 385 horsepower, 427 cubic inch V-8 engine.  (I have no idea what that means actually except that it had game).   It was butternut yellow with a black vinyl top and a black leather interior.   The gas cap was hidden behind the license plate (a gas station attendant had to show me, or I'd probably still be walking around it trying to fill it up).  It had the shift on the floor and a manifold vacuum.  (Still, no idea what that really is).  And it was the size of a tank.  I kid you not.  Had we been confronted with a battle, I'd have put my money on my car. [image error]

In short, it was a cool car, even though it was ten years old when I got it.  My grandmother's friend hardly ever drove it so it only had like 20,000 miles on it.  And it was in mint condition.  Of course I immediately decided it needed a name.   So she became Big Mary Virginia.  (A combination of my grandfather, my grandmother, and her friend's names.)  She took me and my friends everywhere.   The endless circle to the lake and MacDonald's and back again, to out-of-town football games, to concerts, great parties (she once wound up sideways in a ditch thanks to my inability to drive in reverse) and too many road trips to count.  She joined me at college after I made my grades my freshman year.  

And she aged…sometimes gracefully.  Sometimes not.  Her engine once caught fire in a part of Little Rock I shouldn't have been in at midnight.  She had to be towed after the above parking disaster.   She spent the night at an impound lot once after I suffered a parking meter incident.  She broke her water pump and had to be "watered" every fifteen minutes until I got her home from college and to my dad's mechanic.  

And then she died, in 1981, on the side of a road just outside Texarkana, as I drove home from college for the very last time.   (The heat light had burned out –so I didn't know I was in trouble until smoke poured from the gear shift and the block was cracked and the piston was welded—or visa-versa—never can remember that, either).  Anyway, after a trucker came to my rescue (no cell phones in those days) my dad had to drive from Dallas to pick me up, and Big Mary Virginia was left behind (and later sold for parts, I think).   

But she holds a huge place in all my memories from those days.  And she was loved.   Really, really loved. 

So what about your first car?   Good memories? 

*note, the pictures here are not of my actual car.  I have lots of course, but like most of my other older photos—they're in storage in Queens.     And BMV actually is set to appear in next year's Deep Disclosure–or at least her fictionalized version.

November 11th

Today is Veteran's Day, a day meant to honor and thank all who have served in the Armed Forces. All over the country, banks will be closed, flags will fly, bands will play, and some restaurants are giving away free entrees to vets (limit one).

As for myself, I have revisions to finish up today, so I'll be at home, safe at keyboard, while 7500 miles away in Afghanistan, 100,000 US troops will be facing things a gazillion times more worse than advancing my plot. There are currently 50,000 troops in Iraq, a slightly less perilous situation than Afghanistan, but certainly a lot more stressful than thinking of character choreography.

For most Americans, it is easy to forget we are at war on two fronts. Tom Brokaw recently wrote in the New York Times:

The United States is now in its ninth year of fighting in Afghanistan and Iraq, the longest wars in American history. Almost 5,000 men and women have been killed. More than 30,000 have been wounded, some so gravely they're returning home to become, effectively, wards of their families and communities.

In those nine years, the United States has spent more than $1 trillion on combat operations and other parts of the war effort, including foreign aid, reconstruction projects, embassy costs and veterans' health care. And the end is not in sight.

So why aren't the wars and their human and economic consequences front and center in this campaign, right up there with jobs and taxes?

The answer is very likely that the vast majority of Americans wake up every day worrying, with good reason, about their economic security, but they can opt out of the call to arms. Unless they are enlisted in the armed services — or have a family member who has stepped forward — nothing much is asked of them in the war effort.

The all-volunteer uniformed services now represent less than 1 percent of the American population, but they're carrying 100 percent of the battle.

Most of us are untouched by war. I was looking through my old coin collection a few nights ago, coins that had been handed down from my grandfather to my father to me, and I saw a lot of French coins dated 1917, some from Portugal, and I realized that my grandfather didn't get those from some exotic vacation. My grandfather was in WWI. My husband's grandfather fought for the Russian Army, and was in Berlin in 1945. My father was in Korea, running communications several miles from the front. He doesn't talk about the war, or share touching stories about what he saw. In generations past, wars were not transparent on the homefront, everyone knew the effects of war.

In many ways, I don't think we now know how to handle wars and our vets. In movies, wars are romanticized or criticized, the way we imagine a war would be. The everyday hell of war exists only in our imaginations, not our lives. In the end, when the curtain rises, we all get to go home.

Not like the lives of the 150,000 men and women who are currently out there, living it every day. Going home is not an option.

Nearly fifty years ago, General Douglas MacArthur spoke to an audience of cadets at West Point, and his words explain so much about what we as civilians will never understand:

Yours is the profession of arms, the will to win, the sure knowledge that in war there is no substitute for victory, that if you lose, the Nation will be destroyed, that the very obsession of your public service must be Duty, Honor, Country.

Others will debate the controversial issues, national and international, which divide men's minds. But serene, calm, aloof, you stand as the Nation's war guardians, as its lifeguards from the raging tides of international conflict, as its gladiators in the arena of battle. For a century and a half you have defended, guarded and protected its hallowed traditions of liberty and freedom, of right and justice.

Let civilian voices argue the merits or demerits of our processes of government. Whether our strength is being sapped by deficit financing indulged in too long, by federal paternalism grown too mighty, by power groups grown too arrogant, by politics grown too corrupt, by crime grown too rampant, by morals grown too low, by taxes grown too high, by extremists grown too violent; whether our personal liberties are as firm and complete as they should be.

These great national problems are not for your professional participation or military solution. Your guidepost stands out like a tenfold beacon in the night: Duty, Honor, Country.

You are the leaven which binds together the entire fabric of our national system of defense. From your ranks come the great captains who hold the Nation's destiny in their hands the moment the war tocsin sounds.

The long gray line has never failed us. Were you to do so, a million ghosts in olive drab, in brown khaki, in blue and gray, would rise from their white crosses, thundering those magic words: Duty, Honor, Country.

This does not mean that you are warmongers. On the contrary, the soldier above all other people prays for peace, for he must suffer and bear the deepest wounds and scars of war. But always in our ears ring the ominous words of Plato, that wisest of all philosophers: "Only the dead have seen the end of war."

Our wars continue, our soldiers still fight. These wars will end, most soldiers will go home, but not all. And then, another war will start, and the great captains stand tall and true, unblinking, unwavering, telling the world they are unbreakable, invincible. But the heart knows that no man is unbreakable. No man is invincible forever, and yet they still stand. Unblinking, unwavering. That is what duty, honor, and country truly mean.

While we sit safely at home, keep a cherished place in your heart, your mind, and your prayers for the war guardians, for those who are serving today, for those who have stood for this country in the past.

We owe them so much more than a day, a marching band, and a free entree (limit one).

The Start of Something New

[image error] A Light at Winter's End, the follow-up to Summer of Two Wishes, will be out in February, and that concludes my current contract.  That means I am thinking of what to write next.

Some of the whine sisters know I have been toying with ideas. Part of me wants to strike out in a new direction and write in ways I've never written–multiple view points, multiple conflicts.  Perhaps more grounded in reality than I have previously written.  Another part of me wants to stick with the tried and true–I am building a reputation in this new blend of contemporary romance and women's fiction, and there is a prudent voice in my head that says to give that a chance to grow.

Frankly, I'm stymied. I was complaining to my agent, the incomparable Jenny Bent, about how I wanted to try something diffrent, but I don't know, I don't know…and she gave me great advice. She said, "Write ten pages and see what you've got."  Brilliant!  Why didn't I think of that?  She pointed out that for once in my life, I have the time, I have no deadline, and I don't even have to have an outline.  I can write what I want and see where it takes me.

I remember doing this once before.  I wasn't published, I had never written a book, and I decided to write a few pages and see what I had.  At the time, those pages were my first and last attempt at a book.  I had to write like I knew what I was doing or never write again.  Voila, it turned out I had some talent and a good story idea, and shortly thereafter, I was published and embarking on a career.

So I have decided to take my agent's advice and just write for the sake of writing.  But I have to write like I am writing my last book.  I have to pretend this is my legacy, that this is what I want to be remembered for, because if I don't approach it like that, I won't know if I have the skill and talent to step outside my assigned box. If it turns out I do, I'll decide then what to do with it.  I'll decided it that's what I want to do, or if I want to go back to doing the kind of book I have a blossoming reputation for doing. It's kind of scary but it's also so freeing!  The canvas is bare! The possibilities are endless! Wish me luck in writing my last book!

How do you embark on a new project?  How do you get your engine revved and imbue yourself with the confidence you need to pull off something new?  If you could write something entirely different than what you are writing now, what would it be? What would you like to read more of? What do you want to talk about today?

BOOK RELEASE DAY—LET'S CELEBRATE?

[image error]   Today is the official release day of my latest book, A HARLEQUIN CHRISTMAS CAROL, a Victoria-era anthology with stories by Betina Krahn, me, and Hope Tarr, all inspired by the Dickens' classic tale.  And since it's the official release date, that means I get to celebrate!  Which means a fun dinner, champagne, and best of all, friends to share it with!  I was lucky enough to have my "girl posse" with me over the weekend–six of my best writing buds and we did it up in style–champagne, yummy food, live music, hot tub, sleepover.  And a good time was had by all. 

 It seems like all my celebrations revolve around or in some way include food.  A special occasion usually means a special meal.  And a special mean usually includes lobster and champagne.  I've also celebrated by buying myself a book I've really wanted.  Or purchasing a pair of shoes I had my eye on.

How do you celebrate?  Meal?  Gift to yourself?  Jewelry?  If it includes a trip to the store, be sure to pick up a copy of A HARLEQUIN CHRISTMAS CAROL (shameless plug, LOL!)  

It's Only Rock and Roll

[image error]But it's fascinating. Have you followed the press from Life, Keith Richards's memoir (with writer James Fox), out now? I'd heard some snippets:

Keith doesn't really like Mick Jagger.

He calls Mick "her majesty" and "Brenda."

That Mick has a small penis. (A fact disputed by Mick's ex, Jerry Hall).

John Lennon was, to Richards, a "silly sod in many ways."

He didn't realize his son's friend was Johnny Depp until sitting across from him at the dinner table when it finally hit him. "Whoa, Scissorhands."

All of this, I admit, made me laugh and meshed with my impression of Keith Richards and the Rolling Stones. I never really liked the Stones, but I do like a few of their songs. Up until now, my biggest impression of Keith Richards has been to wonder how is he still alive, or to laugh at the old joke that when the world ends, all that will be left is Keith Richards and some cockroaches.

What can I say? My teen years were in the 80s. The Stones were still making music, but the Tattoo You album didn't do it for me.

I could buy Keith's assessment of Mick. I could totally see him calling Mick "Brenda." Curious, I picked up the book recently (picked it up, didn't buy it) and looked for some interesting passages. More interesting to me now? Mick Jagger has written a response that also fits with my impressions of Keith, Mick, and the Stones.

Mick Jagger's Response, published by Bill Wyman (the reporter, not the Rolling Stone) in Slate magazine, a supposed mistake as Bill speculates the article was intended for Bill Wyman, the Rolling Stone, but I am not buying it.

[image error]

It amazes me that these guys have been in the spotlight for so long, making some serious money, and going through some astounding ups and downs. I guess I started writing romance because the dynamics of human relationships intrigue me, and though this is not a romantic couple, it's still a long-term, very involved, and simply amazing relationship to study.

Mick's response is staggeringly honest (from Mick's point of view, though the truth always lies somewhere closer to the middle with complex relationships) and earns some new respect for Mick Jagger. Well done! And perhaps better for Mick's version of events- it's a lot easier to read a 6 page summary than it is to have to slog through a whole book of birth-to-old-man details. Note to celebrity couples: wait until your ex comes out with the long dirty, drag out book and then write an article in response.

Which rock n roll memoir would you want to read? What celebrity relationship most intrigues you? Comment this week and be entered to win a $25 gift card for Borders, B & N, or Amazon.com (your choice).

Jane Slayre

"Reader, I buried him."

A TIMELESS TALE OF LOVE, DEVOTION… AND THE UNDEAD.

Jane Slayre, our plucky demon-slaying heroine, a courageous orphan who spurns the detestable vampyre kin who raised her, sets out on the advice of her ghostly uncle to hone her skills as the fearless slayer she's meant to be. When she takes a job as a governess at a country estate, she falls head-over-heels for her new master, Mr. Rochester, only to discover he's hiding a violent werewolf in the attic– in the form of his first wife.

Can a menagerie of bloodthirsty, flesh-eating, creatures-of-the-night keep a swashbuckling nineteenth-century lady from the gentleman she intends to marry? Vampyres, zombies, and werewolves transform Charlotte Bronte's unforgettable masterpiece into an eerie paranormal adventure that will delight and terrify.

Winner!!!

Hey everyone! This week's winner is infinitieh!!! Please email me at jk@jkbeck.com and let me know which book you'd like (When Blood Calls, When Pleasure Rules, or When Wicked Craves) and send me your mailing address!

I'm off today to listen to my daughter sing in a choir recital, then to pick up our new barbeque grill! Steaks on the grill tonight! Yum!!

Hope everyone has a fabulous weekend, too!

True Music Confessions

[image error]I have bad taste in music. So my daughter and husband tell me. I like classic to current rock and pop, some cheese in the mix, some classical and oddball choices (like Greensleeves- I am a big fan of Greensleeves. Show Tunes. Disney Songs). Hey, it works for me.

My new habit? I keep my iPod on Shuffle. I play ten songs in the morning and consider the ones that come up at random to be my soundtrack for the day. Because I'm a fiction writer (imaginative), I take some meaning out of the songs that happen to come up, as if it's a message from the universe of how my day will go. Today's soundtrack? (which is yesterday's, because I'm writing on Thursday and I don't know today's yet):

[image error]1. The Grouch – Green Day.  (Fitting, I was driving my daughter to school in the rain).

2. Dead! –  My Chemical Romance (Uh-oh. That one always makes me worry).

3. Telegram Sam – T. Rex (Good mail coming?).

4. Thank You for the Venom – My Chemical Romance (Watch out for nasty people).

5. High Times – Trashmonk (Could be some fun ahead).

6. Hungry Like the Wolf – Duran Duran (Yay, one of my favorites. And my latest manuscript involves werewolves, so that seemed promising).

7. Crocodile Rock – Elton John (I can't get anything out of that one, but fun song).

8. Don't Talk – 10,000 Maniacs (Aha, a lesson. Keep my mouth shut).

9. Fame – David Bowie (You're right, David Bowie. I should have Fame. Of course, it went to Julia London instead– she made the NYT again).[image error]

10. Movin' Out- Billy Joel (There is a house I've had my eye on… but not today).

Looking back, the songs didn't represent my day at all. They usually don't, but I like to fool myself in the mornings. Kind of like reading a horoscope, I guess. Perhaps I'm a songologist.

But there are songs or bands that represent periods of my life. Duran Duran, my early teen years. Pink Floyd, during a hard time in my life (particularly Division Bell, their later years without Roger Waters). Mambo Number Five (terrible song) always makes me think of my kids when they were little and that song was everywhere. Elvis Presley's Can't Help Falling in Love reminds me of my husband- it is "our song." The Beatles, my college years (my roommate and I loved them, classic rock). Highway to Hell (my old ringtone), reminds me [image error]of when I started writing paranormal romance. Take On Me (best music video ever, my new ringtone), Ah, the 80s, feeling young and free…

Well… you get the idea. I think we all have a soundtrack. Songs that take us back, remind us of people, or events. What's playing on your life soundtrack? What's on your iPod? Do you have a song for your ringtone? Find any great new music lately? ( I need some new tunes).

Twitter-lating—or Not

Recently for some reason I've been spending more time than usual on Facebook and Twitter.   And it occurs to me that maybe some people are a little too occupied with social media.  You know the ones I'm talking about.  You open your Twitter feed and they're the only ones there because they've crowded everyone else out with their 326 posts about pretty much nothing.  

I mean a little nothing can be a lot of fun—I certainly don't have a life that leans toward titillating twitter.  But a little goes a long way.   You guys don't need to know that I stayed up too late because I got hooked on Top Chef-Just Desserts and glommed all the old episodes.   Or that I walked the dog (okay I did post about that, but it was Halloween), or that I took a shower and shaved my legs (finally).   It's just not that interesting.  And inquiring minds don't want to know.

Then there are the people who post poetic.  Everything they do is colored with glowing imagery.  Crisp autumn winds and blowing leaves wafting across well-manicured lawns.  These folks are either lying through their teeth, or they have the perfect life.  I'm voting for the former.  Of course there are a few people who are genuinely interesting and/or funny every time they post.   But they're the exception not the rule.   (I follow one guy, I've don't even know just because his posts are hysterical.) 

But like it or not, social media seems to be here to stay.  It was even featured in a Law and Order-SVU episode.  A woman's twitter posts with GPA location allowed the detectives to verify her alibi even though she was on her own at the time. 

Thanks to smartphones we're able to update our pages with moment by moment color commentary on our lives:  I'm at the drug store.  They're out of Halloween candy.  Well, after all it is Halloween.  Have to go to another drugstore.  Oh God, I have egg on my shirt from lunch.  Maybe if I pull my coat just so no one will see it.  Still no candy.  Maybe I'll just not answer the door.   No, I'll buy individual Hershey's bars.  Or maybe Nestle's Crunch.   Yum.  Or maybe both?  I mean, there should be a selection and I can always eat them if no one comes.  Hmmm… 

See what I mean?  You don't need a blow by blow of my life.  It's BORING. 

Anyway, enough of me talking (blogging is after all another form of social media).  Channel 4 in Dallas puts it much better than I.  Check out this You Tube send up of social media in their newscast.

Click here to view the embedded video.

So what are your thoughts on social media?