Having a Day? Plus a Sneak Peek at my Pre Editing Project!

One of my favorite non-commital phrases when I ask someone "how are things?" is:
I'm having a day.

It's a few words that can mean a lot.

As in: I won the lottery today.

or

Someone rear-ended my car today.

or even

After I turned in the winning lottery ticket and collected my huge ass check, I got rear ended by a garbage truck at the same moment I realized my insurance had expired.

For me, "having a day" is more like the last one.  Mixed.  Weird.  Like I should be grateful that something has gone so right (got a new contract/got another submission off my plate/got a new follower for my blog) that I have no reason to be pissy (because I can't get a decent review/because my daughter has another dent in her car/because everyone else on the planet can get published by houses that keep rejecting me/because I want one of those damn silver stars on AllRomanceEbooks so bad I can taste it).

So I take a deep breath, remind myself that I've really only been at this "published author thing" for little over a year, have had some very nice releases within this year and I must be patient.

Doesn't help when My "Day" includes the fact that I packed my Tap Room to the rafters for a great event on the same day I lost a crucial tap handle (draft account at a local popular restaurant) thanks to distributor politics I have no control over.  ARRRRGGGGHHHH....

Have day kids.
It's nearly the weekend.
I'm off to pre-edit my newest: Cheeky Blonde, a brewery intrigue/sabotage/funny/love story releasing in 2012 from Decadent Publishing.
here's a fun *unedited* excerpt to whet your whistle for what I promise will be one of the most unique, funny and uber hot romances you will read next year:

They are at the National Beer Festival where Jennifer Baxter has just hosted an off-site premiere party for her new brew, a wine cask conditioned pale ale: Cheeky Blonde.
Sean sorta looks like THIS guy:

while his fraternal twin Liam (who is bi- but the single father of a baby from a badly timed "moment" with a former girlfriend) looks like this guy:
These two are WHITE HOT...Rock Stars of the craft brewing world.  
And Sean is about to turn Jen Baxter's life inside out.


 As another reporter walked up to interview her, Jen's scalp tingled.  She turned and immediately clashed eyes with a set of deep sapphire ones that belonged to the supreme Alpha male of their craft-brewing world. She shivered as her mind registered who it was.Sean Garrison, half of the team of twin brothers who owned and ran the most successful brewery in Michigan stood, glass in hand, part of a large group of nationally famous brewery owners, with his gaze trained right on her. She swiveled her head around, thinking someone was over her shoulder. Why the hell else would the man be looking at her? Months later, she'd realize that was the split second her life changed forever. Garrison Brothers Brewing was the Sam Adams of her state, having started small, and made bigger by huge injections of family and investor money. The expert marketing guidance from the man now openly staring at her from across a clichéd crowded room hadn't hurt either. She gave a little wave, as if they were old friends. He raised his glass, which brought instant heat to her face, as she attempted to re-focus on the guy asking her questions. She gave rote answers, and mentally reflected on Sean's unparalleled reputation as class-A prick and marketing genius. She couldn't figure out how he garnered so much publicity with such a colossal attitude, but perhaps that was exactly it. Rumors abounded about rampant infidelities that led to a messy divorce from the woman whose family had given him start up cash. She'd never so much as been in the same room with him until now; yet there he was, all six-foot-plus-inches of compelling male.  Impressed, but unnerved by how absolutely gorgeous he was, she started to walk to another group of reporters. She nearly jumped out of her skin when a hand touched her bare shoulder. Her first thought--that eyes that blue should be criminal in a man--faded as her brain took in his ruggedly handsome face, coal-black hair that just skimmed the collar of a soft white cotton shirt hugging a classic male V-shape. Her toes curled and she gripped the beer glass in an effort not reach out and touch to see if his hair was as silky as it looked. She also struggled not to stare too obviously at the dark indigo crotch of his jeans. The small "Garrison Bros." logo on the left pocket brought her crashing back to reality. The din of the bar seemed to die down when their eyes locked. But the man stayed silent. She tossed her hair back, attempted nonchalance and glanced at the large hand still on her bare shoulder. Knee-jerk sarcasm won out over fear. "Holding me down, Garrison?"   He smiled—a lazy, crooked, thing. His eyes narrowed in a way that made her feel utterly undressed. A chill ran down her spine. She reminded herself this was Mr. Supreme Asshole of the Beer Universe, known for cutthroat tactics when it came to preserving his company's hold on large account tap handles. He was well known for making promises to retailers that small breweries like hers had no chance against, effectively shutting them out of major restaurants and bars. The distributor who handled his product in her area had done just that to her less than a week ago, and she still smarted from it. That memory gave her strength to shake his hand off and take a step back. He looked like a GQ model but was still a major jerk.  His smile never faltered, as he put the offending hand into his pocket, raised his own glass of Cheeky Blonde at her and took a long pull of what she knew was a damn better beer than anything his company had put out for a while.  "Nice gimmick," he said after he'd drained about half the glass. She just nodded, speechless, and processed the left-handed compliment. Her insides coiled in a combination of irritation and no small measure of lust—two warring sensations she'd come to closely associate with him.  Just as she was about to walk away, because he seemed inclined to take the whole "strong, silent type" thing pretty seriously, he took one step forward right into her personal space. He loomed over her, unsettling her with his sudden proximity. Lips brushed her ear. Did she imagine his fingers on her arm? An aura of malt, cigars and subtle citrusy cologne enveloped her.

"Couldn't have done it better myself." His voice was just a whisper.