Miss Worded

Happy Hanukkah! The Han-liest Holiday of the Year!

2011-12-20T05:00:00.000-08:00

In Which I Share a Heartwarming (or Heartburning) Holiday Story

2011-12-12T11:18:00.000-08:00

Hi Kids,

I'm over at Persephone Magazine today sharing the cheery story of a holiday shopping trip that involves a shopping cart, the kindness of gawky teenage strangers, and kicking. Lots of kicking. Read more here.

Oh, Swish!

2011-11-27T11:44:00.000-08:00

h/t to The Mary Sue for this video.

See with your very own eyes the wonders of fashion in the year 2000! At least according to one 1930s newsreel.

Apparently, I was unfashionable when I married in 2001, as my wedding dress was not made of glass. I guess instead of stepping on a glass after the ceremony, one could just step on the unfortunate bride.

Happy to Give Thanks

2011-11-24T05:00:00.000-08:00

Happy thanksgiving to all my American friends, and anyone else celebrating the holiday.

On Monday of this week I got laid off from my day job, so I'm looking forward to drowning my sorrows in turkey gravy and pumpkin pie. But not together. That's gross.

BUT! I have so much to be thankful for that I'm not gonna let some &^&%$#@-ey corporate persons ruin my happy day.

REASONS TO GIVE THANKS:

My beautiful husband, who came home on my firing day and said, "Look on the bright side. In a month you never have to look at those jackwads again!" The truth will set me free.
My wonderful family, who immediately offered to perform evil acts upon my fire-ers. Which I turned down. Ahem. I did!
My cat, who threw up in honor of my emo feelings.
The roof over my head, the food on my table.
The glorious California weather.
My blankie, who is always there for me.

I pray you have many, many reasons to give thanks today and every day. God (and the employment fairy) bless us, every one.

PS: You know, if you're reading this thinking "Oh, no! Lucy lost her job!" feel free to buy a copy of my book RAGNAR AND JULIET. Read the opening chapter first (see links at the top of the page) to make sure you'll like it before you spend your cashola. XO

Pardoned Turkey Says, "Thanks for Forcing Me to Live Alone in a Worthless World Without My Entire Family, Assholes."

2011-11-23T13:41:00.001-08:00

Washington D.C. / November 23, 2011 — In a press conference today, President Obama’s pardoned turkey gave the straight gobble about his new life as a free bird.

“Well, I guess it’ll nice to not be on the dinner table tomorrow,” said Liberty the Turkey. “I need that day to go to the memorials for my wife, Freedom, and my cousins, America, Constitution, and Pursuit of Happiness.” Liberty’s parents were gutted last Christmas at the family home of a politician. “I won’t say who,” said Liberty, “but he knows who he is *cough*RickPerry*cough*.”

Liberty shuffled listlessly on his spindly legs as he pondered the fate of his entire family, ruthlessly slaughtered so that humans could eat too much and burp on the couch in front of football. “Of course,” he added in sad turkey tones, “I’m not the first to suffer losses. Let’s ask our Native American friends how they feel about this holiday. Bueller? Bueller?”

Several reporters remarked that this press conference was a real fucking bummer, but that they would forget it all tomorrow when they dug into a nice pumpkin pie. Also noted with surprise was Liberty’s ability to flip the bird, even without possessing fingers.

My Humps, My Humps, My Stupid Writer Humps

2011-11-22T08:55:00.000-08:00

NaNo Update! (Cue exciting drum music.)

I put "the end" at "the end" of my manuscript! Problem is, I'm only 16K words into NaNo, and 60K words on the entire manuscript. So, I've still got some work to do.

Gotta add more conflict, more sensory details, more feelings, more hot sex. It's a tough job, but someone has to do it. And since the book is mine, that someone is me.

There's no way (barring some sort of hour-expanding miracle of space-time) that I will get to 50K words in November. The book doesn't need 34K more words, anyhow. Adding scenes and making what I've already got better is much slower going than just trucking forward with new stuff on a manuscript. But I'm going to call this year's NaNo a success. My goal was to get going on a stuck manuscript -- one that had languished at 44K words for a loooooong time. And I did! I'm in love with this book again, and I think putting the goal out there for NaNo was exactly what I needed to work through the "I can't do it!" hump.

Do you have any tips on getting over the hump that is a stalled manuscript?

NaNoWriD'Oh!

2011-11-01T08:47:00.000-07:00

I'm participating in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) this year in order to finish a stalled manuscript. So I'm starting from the mark of 44,444 words (really) and trying to finish it with 40-50K more. Putting it out there in public so that I have the courage to jump back into this book. I've spent the last week or so looking back over my old work, removing the clunky stuff (I began it two years ago and I think I've actually grown as a writer since then. Who knew?!), and trying to figure out where the &^%$#$@ to go with this beast.

I'm username lucywoodhull over there, so please add me as a buddy and together we can do this thing!

I'm Chuffed. Just Chuffed!

2011-10-28T05:00:00.000-07:00

I’ve gotten a few nice comments about Ragnar and Juliet here and there and good ratings on the web and such (Goodreads and Amazon readers, thank you!), so I’m gonna share a really nice review. Because I'm braggy like that.

This is from Just Erotic Romance Reviews:

Juliet Lawrence, of the New York Lawrences, is a successful bounty hunter, successful enough to have decorated her ship in antiques and herself in large wardrobe of trollop-sexy clothes. Having accepted a contract from King William the Nefarious, she hotly pursues Ragnar Manscape, only to find herself deeply attracted to the alien space captain, whose crime was liberating one of King William’s enslaved concubines. As Juliet debates whether to bed her captive or turn him over for the money, King William’s staff of Bad Guys captures them both. As Ragnar helps devise an escape plan, Juliet discovers the joys of having a partner, especially one with such a talented tail, and finally finds herself in a relationship that could last a lifetime.
Ragnar and Juliet, a lovely spoof of space operas and romance, is grounded in a fine storyline, with strong, well-developed characters. Juliet is a delightfully New-York-mouthy woman with a taste for trash in clothes and one-nighters. Ragnar, on the other hand, is an alpha male with a soft heart (he let his little sister name his ship Bobo), who wants to bring her home to meet his family, after having mind-blowing sex with her. And the sex is hot! The supporting characters are nicely done, as well, particularly King William the Nefarious, whose taste in women runs toward the totally submissive dressed in Princess Leia. Ms. Woodhull’s humor avoided slapstick and had me laughing almost every page. When Juliet finally handles her commitment issues and quits running from Ragnar, I wanted to cheer. Ragnar and Juliet definitely deserves the JERR Silver Star Award. It’s delightful! This book definitely goes in my re-read stack to keep me warm this winter!

If you’re wondering what the JERR Silver Star Award is (I was), it’s this:

Silver Star: This rating is for those exceptional short books consisting of 100 pages or less. The ones the reviewer feels she won’t forget because of its exceptional quality. It engaged the senses in a way that she became the story, that she couldn’t lay it down and would return time and again. These books are the best of the best.

DAYUM! My hubby found this review and he got all choked up and proud of me over it. Thanks, JERR!

Taking Shifting to a New Dimension

2011-10-03T05:00:00.000-07:00

Today I'd like to welcome romance author Jennifer Colgan to chat about her latest release, MARRIED TO THE MIB. It sounds awesome, so read on!

***

Thanks, Lucy, for inviting me here to talk about my novella!

I discovered a long time ago [in a galaxy far, far…well you get the picture] that alien shifters are HOT.

So when I sat down to write my sci-fi rom-com MARRIED TO THE MIB, I knew I wanted there to be an alien shifter involved somehow. I put out the intergalactic call for shifters, and a steady stream of amazing creatures paraded through my brain. None of them seemed quite right, though. Not until Ruben Throckmorton showed up.

Ruby is the long-suffering partner of MARRIED’s hero, Spencer Ward. While Spence is the down-to-earth, upstanding half of their dynamic duo, Ruby’s the one who’s a little bit better at riding the ragged edge of disaster. He’s got skills. Chief among them his ability to shift into his anteater form.

Sexy, am I right?

Yep. That’s right. He can shift into an anteater. Well, an alien who looks suspiciously like an anteater - enough to fool a class of pre-schoolers and a couple of crafty canines at least.

Spence may be the hero of the piece, but Ruby is the guy with the plan, the guy with the tail and the guy with the leather leash. Here he is in action:

Excerpt:

“We’re overdressed.” Ruby’s remark, designed to draw Spence out of his emotional cesspool, received no response.

Spence adjusted his black tie and the cuffs of his jacket. He pursed his lips in concentration and followed his ex-wife’s path along a small man-made pond, around which an eclectic collection of four-legged pets and their largely oblivious owners paced off their morning constitutionals. Those humans who weren’t sipping half-caf lattes from Styrofoam cups or chatting on cell phones clutched bright white or yellow “doggie doodie” baggies in their free hands.

“We should have worn jogging suits,” Ruby whispered.

“It doesn’t matter. This is just recon. I’m not going to approach her now.”

Ruby stared sidelong at Spence. The whole point was to get the mission over with as quickly and cleanly as possible. Too much recon would just prolong Spence’s well-hidden agony. “When, then? You don’t want to draw this out any longer than you have to.”

“Soon. She’s heading around the pond. Let’s go, keep visual contact.”

Ruby scanned the park. In the golden glow of the autumn morning, their black suits would stand out like tears in the space-time continuum. They’d already gotten a curious glance from a lady walking two Irish Setters and a questioning yip from a passing Chihuahua.

“Why don’t we request telemetry on her apartment and meet her there when she’s done with her walk?”

“Because she’s not going there.”

Ruby raised a brow. Dulcie had reached the far side of the pond now and stopped to talk to a woman on skates, who led a slender platinum-brown Weimaraner by a silver chain. Her floppy-eared mutt eyed the purebred dog with visible disdain.

“And you know this because…?”

“That’s not her dog. It belongs to her friend Vivienne.”

“Oh.” Without Vivienne’s DNA, they couldn’t get telemetry on her place.

“So we have to follow her.”

“I thought that was the plan anyway.” Exasperated, Ruby initiated genetic resequencing. His ears and nose began to elongate. His forearms and legs shortened, and his clothing even transformed into a coat of coarse, mottled gray and black fur.

With his head now at the height of Spence’s knees, Ruby glanced up into his partner’s horrified face.

“What the hell are you doing? Somebody could have seen you.” Spence did a quick scan around, but their shadowy hiding place was secure for the moment. “I didn’t tell you to shift.”

Ruby lifted a four-clawed foot. “I took matters into my own…hands.” Half-Myxmerian on his father’s side, Ruben possessed the ability to shift his molecular structure from human to alien form. Myxmerians had perfected their long-tailed, quadruped form as a defense mechanism, which allowed them to hide in plain sight when the occasion called for it.

“And what is this going to do? No one’s going to believe you’re a dog.” Spence’s harsh whisper grew louder.

Ruby snorted and pawed the grass. “Of course not. This form is far more attractive than a canine but just as serviceable.”

Spence closed his eyes. “Just how is a bushy tail and a long snout serviceable in this situation?”

Ruby chuckled. With his voice somewhat compressed to fit into a slightly smaller body, the sound came out a bit too high-pitched. He tried to clear his throat, which in turn sounded like a wet slurp. “It’s not the tail and snout that are important at the moment.”

“Oh, and what is?”

“The extremely hyper-developed leg muscles.” Ruby would have grinned, but his extra long upper lip didn’t move that way. He snorted instead and took off running toward the pond.

* * * *

The sight of his four-legged, fur-covered partner loping across the manicured lawn leading to the artificial pond might have been hilarious in some alternate universe. In this one it was nothing short of a mid-air collision. Spence could have named any number of realities he’d rather have been in at the moment—most of them post-apocalyptic.

Cursing, he ran after Ruby. He should have let him chance being picked up by a roving dog catcher, if any still existed, but something propelled him from his hiding place, halfway around the pond at a dead run and right into Dulcie’s path.

When he and Ruby had left ISTA headquarters a few hours ago, he’d thought he’d had the scenario all figured out in his head. They’d find Dulcie, and she’d seem less vibrant and beautiful than Spence remembered. There’d be no spark of humor in her eyes, no lilt of laughter in her voice, nothing to touch the empty spot her absence had left in his heart. It would be easy for him to hypnotize her, take her statement about Y’Nori’s death and be on his way to a cold, sour Rangorian beer and a long, lonely night in his bunk. Case closed.

He’d managed thus far to ignore his own racing pulse and the bittersweet memory of how she’d felt nestled in his arms in the VIP stateroom the Bojzhan had given them aboard Decadence after their wedding ceremony. He’d had everything about this mission under control—except for Ruby.

On his stubby legs, the Myxmerian barreled toward the fluffy, white dog standing next to Dulcie. It took the mutt a moment to process, but once she noticed the black and gray ball of fur heading toward her at warp speed, she did what any canine in her position would do. She barked, ran around Dulcie’s slender ankles looking for cover then yanked hard on the leash, toppling Dulcie.

Now caught on the ground between a yapping dust mop and a crafty alien, Dulcie spent all of three seconds looking stunned.

Spence raced toward her, afraid she’d start to scream and work herself into an emotional state not conducive to hypnosis.

“I’m so sorry, miss. Are you all right?” Those hadn’t been the words he’d planned on saying to her when he saw her again. This mess bore no resemblance to the fantasies he’d harbored of their eyes meeting across a crowded room one day as he strolled back into her life to reclaim the love he’d been forced to give up.

Her response, however, was dead on. “Oh my God! I can’t believe it.”

Spence’s heart stopped. Did she recognize him? Maybe the mind block ISTA had used to wipe her memories hadn’t taken. He met her gaze, and his breath stilled in his lungs. “I know…it’s—”

* * * *

If you want to get to know Ruby better, look for MARRIED TO THE MIB at:

Amazon.com
Smashwords
All Romance eBooks

I can guarantee you’ll never look at anteaters the same way again.

Jennifer Colgan
www.jennifercolgan.com

Live Your Romances!

2011-09-23T05:00:00.000-07:00

Dear Palmolive,

I used Palmolive Soap to “live my romance.” It worked! I was magically transformed into a secret princess named Sophiey with violet eyes and was kidnapped by a renegade pirate duke named Sebastian — but the experience was not at all what Rosemary Rogers and romance novels have led me to believe.

First of all, I suddenly found myself in 1798 and let me tell you, it stunk. What stunk? EVERYTHING AND EVERYBODY. My special fucking soap lasted about a day on that gross-ass ship and after that my charming duke smelled like the dumpster at Long John Silver’s.

Secondly, I was forced to wear a super uncomfortable gown made of wool even though it was approximately nine million degrees Fahrenheit in the East Assies or wherever we were.

Lastly, even though renegade pirate dukes are supposed to be awesome at ship-ey things, we ran aground and thereafter died of scurvy. It was better than eating each other, which is what the duke suggested. No, I don’t mean in the fun way.

I’m afraid I simply cannot recommend Palmolive. Ladies, use some damn Irish Spring — please!

Sincerely,

An Unsatisfied Customer

The Great Debate: Cake vs. Pie

2011-09-17T05:00:00.000-07:00

Today I'm visiting with the authors of Killer Fiction to discuss baked goods and give away a copy of RAGNAR AND JULIET. So clicky and comment to win. Where do you fall in the earth-shattering cake vs. pie debate? I HOPE YOU'RE A CAKE PERSON, or we may have a serious disagreement.

Win a Copy of RAGNAR AND JULIET and Watch Uhura Kick Ass

2011-09-15T05:00:00.000-07:00

When you got up this morning, blog friends, did you think to yourself Hey, self. I wish Lucy would give away another copy of her book?

Well, it's your lucky day!

I'm at Killer Chicks talking about my favorite kick-ass scifi heroines. Come on by and tell me all abut yours.

Warning: Very Sexy Cover May Melt Your Computer Screen!

2011-09-14T05:00:00.000-07:00

Hey, romance fans! Today I'm going to give you a break from the endless shilling of my book and have you read about someone else's rom-com. May I present to you fine peoples: Lillian Grant! She's going to tell you about her awesome new book and about the scorching cover for it. Is it me, or does her cowboy look like Daniel Craig? Oh, baby. I need to go take an ice bath, methinks. Take it away, Lillian!

* * *

Thank you Lucy for letting me loose on your blog…I’ll try and leave it nice and tidy.

When Lucy and I discussed swapping blogs for our new books we had no idea we were both releasing with Liquid Silver Books on the same day, and both writing comedy. What a fantastic co-incidence.

So, let me share a little about my book, MALE ORDER, REIGNING MEN VOLUME ONE. This book has been affectionately nicknamed ‘The Man in the Hat,’ although more than one flustered female fan has made the comment, ‘He’s wearing a hat?’ The hero has a habit of making out with himself in his reclining chair wearing a cowboy hat and socks. How does my heroine know this? Well, if you kept hearing your flat mate yelling, ‘Yeehaw ride ‘em you got it babe’ wouldn’t you want to investigate?

Available now at http://www.liquidsilverbooks.com/books/maleorder.htm.

Want to know more?

Here’s the blurb.

Meg’s mother can't even say the word sex. Her great aunt is a nymphomaniac. The few men she’s slept with left her frustrated. The closest she’s come to sex was as the unwitting visual aid for hot flatmate, Sam’s, cowboy style, wanking session. No wonder her libido went on permanent vacation and she substitutes ice-cream and chocolate for sex.

With so many hang ups, why does she agree to no strings sex with Sam? Why is
hunky, strip club manager Michael bent on seducing her? And why the hell does she invest in a male escort business offering extra services?

Sam’s delighted when he convinces Meg to let him go looking for her missing G
spot. A ride on his wild stallion shows her how good sex can be...with the right
man. One encounter leads to a dozen. Sam is living every man’s dream, sex with no commitment, too bad it’s not his dream.

His new life turns nightmare when Michael enters the scene. Will the Irishman steal her away, or will his involvement in her Male Order business lead to a disaster that gives Sam a chance to prove to Meg their relationship is more than a sexual rodeo?

RAGNAR AND JULIET: The Book Trailer!

2011-09-13T09:00:00.000-07:00

As you can see from this, my husband is a very generous and understanding person. It's not every man who would look at the script for this thing and agree to film it, edit it, and not divorce me. Then again, he's pretty used to my nonsense...

Dancing With Myself and All of You!

2011-09-13T08:28:00.000-07:00

Gaaaaah! RAGNAR AND JULIET broke the top 100 in Fantasy, Futuristic & Ghost on Amazon on my first day! HOLY CRAP!

AND I am 4000something in the Kindle store!

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!

I'm Giving Away Another Copy of RAGNAR AND JULIET today!

2011-09-13T05:00:00.000-07:00

The SFR (Science Fiction Romance) Brigade has welcomed me into their ranks (well, at least until I swing from the robot chandelier). I'm running a contest there today to give away a copy of RAGNAR AND JULIET, so please come and play!

The Greatest Book Ever Written (Mostly) is Finally on Sale!

2011-09-12T05:00:00.000-07:00

Yes, you can finally buy RAGNAR AND JULIET! (That's a link to Liquid Silver, where you can buy direct. You can also get the book at AllRomance and Amazon.)

There are many ways you can celebrate this blessed day. Here are a few suggestions:

1. Buy the book. Duh.
2. Throw a ticker-tape parade down Fifth Avenue. No, I will not bail you out of jail, but I will applaud your commitment to the cause.
3. Name your cat after me.
4. Name your child after me.
5. Name yourself after me.

Check out the right side panel for a my blog tour dates and links. Lots of hijinks and some giveaways, so go look now. Well, after you read the rest of this post.

I'm over at Smart Girls Love SciFi today giving away a copy. But that's no excuse for not buying your very own copy. It's the least you can do if you won't name your son after me. And you call yourself a fan...

Hey, Goodreads says I'm an AUTHOR!

2011-09-09T05:00:00.000-07:00

WHAT ARE THEY THINKING?

I have fans and everything. Hope I still have them after the book comes out. Maybe I should take a screen shot...

So please be my fan and mark my v. v. important book (RAGNAR AND JULIET) as a to-read. If you do, the First-Time-Author Fairy will visit you and leave a tooth under your pillow. I know that doesn't sound too appealing, but what if I said that the fairy looked like this? Now we're talking.

Coming Soon to an Asylum Near You

2011-09-07T09:55:00.000-07:00

I don’t know what you did this weekend, but my husband and I finally got down and dirty…

filming the Ragnar and Juliet book trailer.

Our house is a disaster of spaceships made of shoe boxes and duct tape, Barbie dolls in stupid outfits, and cat hair in the shot, except we didn’t notice it until we’d done four takes. So if you watch this crapfest and see giant cat hairs, well, that’s just “ambiance.”

I spent most of the time painfully laying flat on my belly, arms way out in front of me close to the ground, making Barbie and Ken (Ragnar and Juliet) hump, or jump, or chase. There were actually moments when my husband wanted them to get too graphic for my taste. Yes, turns out I have taste.

This thing is so stupid. I really wonder if it’s a good idea of a spectacularly bad one in which I scare off more readers than I attract.

But we laughed so very much, even more than we snapped at one another. Too bad no one will hear any of the dialogue I gave to the dolls. My husband lost it several times. Of course, I think the liquor helped. There is no part of this thing that was produced 100% sober, and I’m proud of that.

We broke out the fog machine. I decided that we are awesome because we own one to just use whenever we want to.

Now my man will edit it, hopefully to be completed by Sept 12th, my release date. When you see it, please lie and tell me that the hours of work that went into it were not a waste of our precious lives.

My Cover Is Too Sexy For (Just) This Blog

2011-08-18T19:16:00.000-07:00

Lovely Heather Massey is being very kind about my Ragnar and Juliet cover art over at her blog The Galaxy Express. She talks about sci-fi and romance, so you know she's awesome. Check it out!

My Book Cover Brings all the Romance Readers to the Yard

2011-08-17T05:00:00.000-07:00

And I'm like
It's better than yours.
Damn right, it's better than yours.
OMG I love it so, so much!

Okay, that last line doesn't rhyme, but can you blame me for going a little crazy for this cover by Lyn Taylor?

Clear Your Calendar on September 12th!

2011-08-14T09:32:00.000-07:00

Guess what, blog friends?! My romantic comedy space opera RAGNAR AND JULIET will be released on September 12th by Liquid Silver Books! Take the day off! Lock yourself in your home! And read the best rom com set in space since Star Wars!

Don't listen to them. The book is wonderful!

I'm setting up a blog tour for September with links, giveaways, miscellaneous fun crap, &etc. I've also added a sample from the book under "books," so you can get a succulent taste right this very moment.

I AM SO VERY EXCITE!

You Should Read This Blog. (Not This Blog, Another Blog. But Please Keep Reading Mine, Too.)

2011-06-29T05:00:00.000-07:00

Now hear this! All of you writers need to immediately check out the Writer Beware! Blog.

It's chock-full of useful information to any writer (regardless of genre) about scams, nefarious contract terms, icky people to avoid, etc. From the blog:

Writer Beware™, a publishing industry watchdog group sponsored by the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America with additional support from the Mystery Writers of America, shines a bright light into the dark corners of the shadow-world of literary scams, schemes, and pitfalls. We also provide industry news, writing advice, and a special focus on the weird and wacky things that happen at the fringes of the publishing world.

Subscribe and get their goodness in your email inbox. Knowledge is power, writer friends.

Go Buy This Book: Gnometastic Edition

2011-06-27T05:00:00.000-07:00

As due diligence during my agent decision, I spoke with two writers who are happily represented by my now-agent, Sorche Fairbank. The second was Chuck Sambuchino, author of How to Survive a Garden Gnome Attack. I was excited to speak to Chuck, for his LOL-worthy book was already on my shelf, and it was one of the reasons I decided to query Sorche with my own humor/gift book.

This is him -- ain't he a cutie?

He was so very helpful to me on the phone, even answering my dumb questions with aplomb.

Not only is he well-versed in the art of defeating crafty, evil gnomes, but he created the wonderful blog Guide to Literary Agents, to which I referred again and again when I researched potential agents.

He's nice and helpful, and his book is hilarious (and I do not say things like that lightly -- humor is my raison d'être), so GO BUY HIS BOOK How to Survive a Garden Gnome Attack. After all, who wants their obituary to read "chopped to bits by lawn ornaments"?

Somehow I Thought the "Miracle of Birth" Would Be... Messier

2011-06-23T05:00:00.000-07:00

Via Retrogasm:

I bring you the HIPPO-BATOR. (Go ahead and giggle. I know it sounds dirty. Especially if you're a hippo.)

Please know that I would like one of these. Maybe if all four of you who read this could pool your money or something? $44.98 isn't that much, but I'll require a much larger bathtub. Also, hippo feed. Do they like Creamsicles?

Go Buy This Book: Get Bent Edition

2011-06-20T05:00:00.001-07:00

During my agent due diligence, I spoke with two writers who are happily represented by my now-agent, Sorche Fairbank. Today I'm going to tell you about the first lovely client I spoke with about her, Terry Border, author of Bent Objects: The Secret Life of Everyday Things.

Terry's journey to publishing began with his blog, Bent Objects. On his site, Terry describes himself as "not an artist, but an arteest." He makes incredibly witty photographic vignettes from everyday objects and photographs them, as well as pieces of art to sell. I bet you've seen his stuff around them thar interwebs. Here's a pic from his website.

Genius.

I loved chatting with Terry on the phone. He was very kind and funny, and I felt an immediate kinship with him. I remarked to him that I've often been told that I was very funny, but no one knew quite what to do with me, publishing-wise. He laughed at that and said that sounded very familiar. Sorche sure what to do, however, and sold his first book Bent Objects: The Secret Life of Everyday Things.

I bought the book as soon as I got off the phone with him and have guffawed my way through it more than once. (I actually annoyed my husband the first time I read with with my loud laughing. I also kept making him stop what he was doing to admire the book. He liked that part, though.) I really cannot recommend it enough -- I've never seen such a clever marriage of wit and art. Buy one for yourself and for a friend. He has a second book coming out, which I will buy as soon as it's released. I can only dream of making a reader laugh as he did me.

This is the guy who invented Strangely Orange Snack Appreciation Day (this Tuesday the 21st!), so is it any wonder I'm a fan?

So GO BUY THIS BOOK!

PS: You should also check out his smexier blog Really Bent (The more graphic, black sheep cousin of Bent Objects). He just gets better and better (that's what she said!)

Updated with Winner! Yet Another Contest! Meet My Friend Nico, Who Makes a Mean Dish of Pasta!

2011-06-14T05:00:00.000-07:00

UPDATE: Camille is the winner, chose by Mr. Rosso himself! He'll be in touch with you very soon!

I'm in a great mood, blog friends. Did you read that I have an agent? She's a real person, too -- not just a stuffed animal I throw my manuscript at. And since I'm in such a great mood, I have another book giveaway for you!

Meet Nico Rosso, who's going to tell you about his latest from Liquid Silver Books. I, too, have a book with Liquid Silver coming out sometime this fall. I think that makes us cousins or something...

Take it away, Nico!

***

It’s very bright and sparkly over here on Lucy’s blog. I have to give her big thanks for hosting me today. Usually I’m dark and dangerous landscapes, with doom lurking around every corner. My brand of sci-fi romance is serious business. I created the Limit War to tell stories of combat, espionage and conflict while developing hot romances between strong men and women.

My funny-fu is nowhere near as badass as Lucy’s, but if you’re looking for interstellar adventure and some spicy lovin’, check out my latest, PUSHED TO THE LIMIT.

It takes place on a distant planet, where a local communications tech deceives a Core Army spy because he thinks it’s the only way to save his world. But in the Limit War, things don’t always work out they way we hope. Our guy has to help the spy escape the clutches of the evil Dusk, then the two of them must figure out how to stay alive while saving the planet. And they’re both hot.

Like I said, serious business. So to keep things from getting too dour, I try and have my characters lighten the mood for each other. A little quip here, a sly joke within the danger to break the tension. In reality (if we were really on a distant planet, pursued by armored and armed aliens), there probably wouldn’t be much talk in the action. But that’s part of what makes the characters heroic: handling the crisis with enough calm to crack wise. And my advantage as a writer is having days to come up with a line it seems as if the character just thought up.

So my question to you: You’re dangling on the edge of a ten story building, trying to grab a nearby scaffolding rail while shooting back at the coming Dusk Warriors who are making you late to lunch with your significant other. What do you quip?

Answer back and you could win a PDF of my latest story: PUSHED TO THE LIMIT

Get cracking (wise).

Ciao,
-Nico

Links:
You can find Nico Rosso here.
Or follow on Twitter.
Or like on Facebook.
Or follow on Tumblr.

And you can buy PUSHED TO THE LIMIT here.

And Now Happens the Part of the Blog When We Dance!

2011-06-08T15:16:00.000-07:00

Sometimes you cast your work out there, and out there, and out there and no little agent fishie wants to chomp on your bait.

And sometimes an overzealous cat helps you get one step closer to publication.

And sometimes you mix all kinds of animal metaphors on your blog so that your readers are confused.

Anyhow, I have a story to tell you.

Once upon a time there was a writer who wrote a SEKRIT ZOMBIE BOOK. She queried far and wide, eliciting some chuckles, but little else. Then, one morning, about two minutes after she sent a query, she got a reply. Usually fast replies are of the "aw, heck no" variety. But this morning, the answer was "I LOVE IT! Please send the entire manuscript right away."

The writer, being a smart sort, did.

About ten minutes later, she got a voice mail*. The voice mail was from the enthusiastic agent. Awesome agent said she rarely, if ever, made phone calls of this nature, but she wanted to talk about my book right away.

*(The writer was on the toilet when the call came. That sounds about right.)

When the writer called the agent back, the agent said that her cat had eaten a people vitamin that very morning. The agent was hanging out, observing her daring feline to make sure the bewhiskered vixen would not get sick from the vitamin. In the meantime, she'd been reading queries real time, which would never, ever ordinarily happen. That's the moment when the author's query came in. In the space of no more than an hour, the writer had acquired a very enthusiastic agent for her book.

Thanks to a cat. (Who was totally fine, thank goodness!)

As you may have guessed, smart blog reader, the writer is me. The agent is the estimable Sorche Elizabeth Fairbank of Fairbank Literary Representation. She's repping me under my real name (Lucy Woodhull is my romance nom de guerre). We hope to have SEKRIT ZOMBIE BOOK ready to be handed over to unsuspecting, innocent editors by mid-July. Next step: WORLD DOMINATION!

Under the heading: When it Rains it Pours -- the same morning Sorche called me another agent called me. Yes, I had two fighting over me. For real! I decided on Sorche because of her excellent track record selling humor/ gift books, and because I just plain got an amazing feeling about her every time we chatted. I also spoke with two of her clients before I signed on, and I'm going to share their books with you in subsequent blogs.

I feel so unbelievably fortunate. Some mornings I get up and check my email and think to myself I don't have to send out any more queries! Whoopee! I'm still getting rejections on SEKRIT ZOMBIE BOOK and now they make me laugh (ha ha ha!), for I have an agent already -- one with an adventurous cat!

Now we shall commence with the HOLY CRAP I HAVE A REAL, LIVE LITERARY AGENT dance party!

Make a Confession, Win a Book!

2011-06-06T05:00:00.000-07:00

It's a very exciting day in LucyLand (Home of the Foot-Long Unicorn Dog!*) Today I have joining me one funny, lovely writer by the name of Gemma Halliday. Here's her pic. Cute, right? Not that these things matter in a modern, civilized society, but cute, right?

She's here to talk about her book Hollywood Confessions, and to give away a book! Ooooooooh. So sit up straight, stop passing notes about cute boys (or girls, we're very open here), and comment at the end for a chance to win one of her books!

* Not actually made of unicorns.

***

A huge thank you to Lucy for letting me crash her blog today to talk about my latest release, Hollywood Confessions. This is only day four of my two week Hollywood Confessions Blog Tour, so please check out my website for more tour stops, as I’ll be giving away cool prizes (including gift cards, free books, cameo appearances, and Hollywood Headlines collectibles) at each stop!

In Hollywood Confessions, Chester Barker, a reality show producer, is poisoned in his Beverly Hills estate. Luckily for reporter Allie Quick, it’s just the kind of story she needs. Allie has high aspirations - much higher than reporting on the latest celebrity gossip for the L.A. Informer, Hollywood's most notorious tabloid. But if she's going to join the ranks of the real reporters, she's going to need a headline worthy story under her belt. Luckily, she convinces her editor, Felix Dunn, that this story has her name written all over it. Between an aging dance-off judge, a family with sextuplets and triplets, and the star of a little person dating show, Allie has no shortage of reality stars to question. But when she finds herself falling for her prime suspect, Allie's relationship with her editor is suddenly on the rocks, and her life is in danger. This is one deadline Allie can't afford to miss!

I dedicated this book to reality TV stars everywhere. Speaking for myself only, they have provided me countless hours of mind-numbing entertainment. While I appreciate the sacrifice of freedom and dignity they have all made, there are a few I need to acknowledge more than others…

Kate Gosselin, Jon & Kate Plus 8, Kate Plus 8, Dancing with the Stars

For making mothers everywhere feel better about themselves. Hey, if Kate can do it, so can we, right?

Bret Michaels, Rock of Love, Nashville Star, Life as I Know it, Celebrity Apprentice

For making skanks everywhere feel better about themselves. Who says a tube top can’t also be a dress?

Richard Hatch, Survivor, Celebrity Apprentice

For making everyone feel better about themselves. Dude, even I look better naked than that guy.

While no actual reality stars were harmed in the making of Hollywood Confessions, I will admit that several fictional ones might have been bruised. ;) And since this is the 3rd book in the Hollywood Headlines series, today I’m offering a FREE autographed copy of the 2nd book in the series (Hollywood Secrets) in print format to one lucky winner. Just post a comment below to enter, telling me who YOUR favorite reality star is, and I will post the name of the lucky winner in the comments at the end of the day.

Happy reading!

~Gemma Halliday
http://www.gemmahalliday.com

HOLLYWOOD CONFESSIONS
available now in:
Paperback Print
Kindle
Nook
Ebook

Why You Should Say ScRuYu to NaNoWriMo and Just Write

2011-06-03T12:29:00.000-07:00

I blogged over at Persephone Magazine about NaNoWriMo and why it might not work for everyone. And that's okay!

Happy Friday, kids!

The Catcher in the Crapbucket

2011-05-22T13:13:00.001-07:00

I read a very interesting article about the upcoming book Go the F**k to Sleep by Adam Mansbach.

It appears that piracy may have helped the book reach number one on Amazon before it is even released.

Via Gawker:

But in this particular case, fighting piracy may not be doing a service to the book. Piracy, it seems, is what has driven the book's real-world, money-making, flying-off-the-shelves success. The bootleg copy hasn't replaced the actual artifact. It has only served as a sort of free advertising. Piracy can hurt publishers, but it can also help them. Call it the double-edged cutlass.

"I'm not sure we'd think it's a bad thing," the publicity director of McSweeney's, Juliet Litman, told The Bay Citizen, of this instance of rampant piracy. May other publishers be so fortunate as to have their booty (profitably) plundered in the same manner as Akashic's.

The multi-billion-dollar question, though, is this: When does piracy work to a publisher's benefit, and when does it work to its detriment? If Go the Fuck to Sleep weren't a children's book of sorts, would parents be so eager for hard-copy versions? Or if it didn't have its irresistible illustrations? Books with artwork have a tactile, archival appeal lacking in the latest Grisham potboiler, say.

It's not much plain piracy, but piracy plus viral internet explosion that did the trick.

What this says to me is that if you've written a humor book (as I have), some charming art might just help. The more I blog and such on them thar interwebs (a.k.a. dicking about wasting time), the more I realize that funny prose helps you get noticed, but some amusing art sure as shit helps, too. People are more apt to notice a post that has a visual element to it.

Also, you should always add a curse word to your title. After all, wouldn't you pick up a book called War and Shit, or The Goatblowing Gastby?

You're Not the Boss of Me

2011-05-11T09:48:00.000-07:00

So I read this awesome thing (via Media Bistro):

In the upcoming book A Billion Wicked Thoughts, neuroscientists Ogi Ogas and Sai Gaddam studied thousands of romance novels looking for clues about social expectations.

After analyzing 15,000 Harlequin books, they came up with the most popular professions for heroes in romance novels. The complete list follows below–what do you think?

Follow this link to read an excerpt from the book. They also write about these topics in a Psychology Today blog by the same name.

1. Doctor
2. Cowboy
3. Boss
4. Prince
5. Rancher
6. Knight
7. Surgeon
8. King
9. Bodyguard
10. Sheriff

In my book Ragnar and Juliet, Ragnar (our stalwart hero) is a trader in space. I'm sad that that profession didn't make the cut. But I guess I could call him a "boss." He's his own boss, which is a nice way of saying "he probably doesn't have insurance."

I don't think I've ever read a romance in which the hero was just a "boss." I did read a book in which the heroine was a "consultant." She would jet all over "consulting," but the author never said what the hell she actually did. It was very annoying. After a while, I figured she was an upscale hooker, and that she "consulted" a lot of dudes who I imagined to look like Steven Seagal.

I imagine a "boss" hero would go like this...

Desiree batted her eyelashes. "So, what do you do, Mr. Manlington?"

Guy Manlington ever so subtly adjusted the crotch of his six thousand dollar pants. "I'm a boss."

"Of what?"

"No, No." He placed one long, tan finger over her lips, smearing her lip gloss. "Just a boss. I boss things and people. Sometimes places."

Hoping that he washed his hands (and his six thousand dollar pants) regularly, she took a step back and fished in her purse for her compact. "So you just randomly give orders?"

"Yes!" he answered silkily. He suddenly grabbed her waist and pulled her into his ~~pants~~ body. "When I speak, people listen. Just the other day I ordered a special coffee from Starbucks. And by God they made it correctly!"

Desiree wished, not for the first time, that she lived in a small town instead of a made-up island in the Mediterranean. The only guys she ever met on the island were bosses or billionaires. And they only ever seemed to speak "silkily."

Relevant to My Interests, You Dill Smurf

2011-05-10T12:00:00.000-07:00

Lucy's Writing Rules, #57746:

Everyone should have one character in their book who would call someone a splooge waffle.

Happy Star Wars Day!

2011-05-04T09:18:00.001-07:00

We're fine. We're all fine here now, thank you. How are you?

2011-05-04T05:00:00.000-07:00

I'm getting requests for the SEKRIT ZOMBIE BOOK. They make me simultaneously ecstatic and terrified. It's scary to share with people, too, for if they all come to nothing, it's embarrassing on top of being depressing. It's deprarrassing.

The hardest is composing the e-mail back to the (glorious, wonderful) agent with the pages attached.

Dear ~~Glorious Wonderful~~ Agent ~~With Really Freaking Great Taste~~,

I was ~~holy boogerballs excited~~ very pleased to get your kind response to my query for SEKRIT ZOMBIE BOOK. I've attached the ~~oh, God please let me not have mistakenly misspelled my main character's name in the~~ manuscript as requested. ~~Did you really want it in size 24 wingdings font? I re-read the e-mail seventeen times but I think I may be having a joy seizure so I can't be sure....~~

~~I hope you have a great evening and are in a good mood when you open my manuscript. Please don't do it right after your dog yakked all over your phone.~~ Have a great evening!

BY SWEET MERCIFUL BUDDHA PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE SIGN ME. THE WORLD NEEDS TO READ MY SEKRIT ZOMBIE BOOK. MY CAT THINKS IT'S MOSTLY GOOD. MY THERAPIST SAYS THEY DON'T MAKE PILLS THAT CAN HELP THE LIKES OF ME. I WILL CLEAN YOUR VOMIT-LADEN PHONE FOR YOU. I'LL EVEN CALL AT&T AND LIE FOR YOU, AND I REALLY HATE DOING THAT. I MEAN I HATE THE "CALLING AT&T" PART, NOT THE "LYING" PART. NOT TO SAY THAT I'M A GOOD LIAR. I'M A NICE PERSON, I SWEAR! OH NO AM I SOUNDING DESPERATE? I'M NOT DESPERATE, I'M DEPRARRASSED. Sincerely,

Miss Worded

* Bonus points to any of you nerds who can tell me from where I stole the title of this post.

Welcome to my new home!

2011-04-30T12:30:00.000-07:00

Hello, internet neighbors! Yes, I've changed my blog URL. I, Lucy Woodhull, will be blogging as Miss Worded. It's a pun. Get it?

Please update your blog roll, links, hate mail lists, etc.

If you want to follow me, it looks like you have to click the "FOLLOW" button all over again. I know it's a pain in the butt, but you don't want to miss out on scintillating posts like this one, do you?

Sorry. I promise my other posts won't be all housekeep-y like this.

When THE CALL Comes, Sometimes It's an Email. It's Still AWESOME.

2011-04-28T12:49:00.000-07:00

Hello, blog friends. I have not, in fact, disappeared into the gray beyond. I just took a break for a while to figure out what I want to do, writing wise. To ask the big questions in life: Who am I? What am I? And why are Cadbury Creme Eggs only available at Easter? I already miss those things.

Funny that just as soon as I decide "no more romance for me, I'm going to write humor exclusively," a door opens, or a dumbwaiter, or something.

My friend Nico Rosso met up with his editor at Liquid Silver Books at the recent Romantic Times conference and told her that he had a friend with a space opera novella. (Friend = me, novella = Ragnar and Juliet.) The editor said to send it her way. I didn’t even ask Nico to do this! He is just a boss like that. So go buy his book Taken to the Limit because he’s awesome.

Saturday, mid-afternoon: Lucy takes a final spit 'n' polish to the MS, e-mails editor.

Saturday, very shortly after: Editor says she's itching to add the rom-com space opera novella to her e-reader. Lucy figures hey - at least the query letter is good!

Sunday, mid-afternoon: A new e-mail from editor lands in Lucy's in-box. Lucy says to self, "Well, self. That was the fastest rejection on a full ever. Where's the booze?" Except that it wasn't. It was a contract offer. With the words "please say yes."

PLEASE SAY YES?

DOES NOT COMPUTE. WE ARE USED TO BEING CALLED “HILARIOUS BUT TOO WEIRD FOR PUBLIC CONSUMPTION.”

What does a girl do when there's no BUT?

She says, "YES!" of course. Said girl is not stupid. (I still reached for the booze, but instead of sad whiskey, I drank celebratory champagne!)

In a few short months, you will actually be able to pay for the privilege of reading my ~~insane rantings~~ high quality prose.

In other booky news, I'm about to start querying my SUPER SEKRIT ZOMBIE BOOK, a humor/ gift book. AND I GET TO SAY I HAVE A PUBLISHING CONTRACT IN THE QUERY LETTER! How freaking great is that?!

So, I'm back. I feel refreshed from my social networking hiatus, but I'll be here more regularly now to share the process of being published for the first time, and random thoughts, and stupid pictures, etc. I'm sorry that the quality of this blog will not improve.

For All You Ladies Who Have a Serious Indiana Jones Hard On

2010-09-20T05:00:00.000-07:00

Everybody sit up straight, for I have a very special guest today! Zoe Archer, author of WARRIOR, the first of The Blades of the Rose four book series.

Alltogether now: Hi Zoe!

Here's some book info from Zoe to get us started.

WARRIOR is the first book in my four book BLADES OF THE ROSE paranormal historical adventure romance series. The Blades of the Rose are a secret organization of men and women that protect the world’s magic from ruthless exploitation. Each of the BLADES books features a new hero and heroine in an exotic location, with plenty of adventure, action, magic…and hot, hot sensuality.

Here’s the back cover blurb for WARRIOR:

To most people, the realm of magic is the stuff of nursery rhymes and dusty libraries. But for the Blades of the Rose, it’s quite real, and in danger of being misused by a powerful enemy.

IN HOT PURSUIT

The vicious attack Capt. Gabriel Huntley witnesses in a dark alley sparks a chain of events that will take him to the ends of the Earth and beyond – where what is real and what is imagined become terribly confused. And frankly, Huntley couldn’t be more pleased. Intrigue, danger, and a beautiful woman in distress – just what he needs.

IN HOTTER WATER…

Raised thousands of miles from England, Thalia Burgess is no typical Victorian lady. A good thing, because a proper lady would have no hope of recovering the priceless magical artifact Thalia is after. Huntley’s assistance might come in handy, though she has to keep him in the dark. But this distractingly handsome soldier isn’t easy to
deceive…

Neat, huh?! I've read this book and I LOVED it! It's full of action and hot, hot romance! The hero is completely sexy, and manly, but not in an obnoxious way. He reminded me of my husband, actually: a guy's guy who can also think and acknowledge his, gasp, feelings. The heroine kicks total ass while also being real about it. (I.e. she's not going from the ballroom to Angelina Jolie in three seconds flat or anything stupid.)

And check out this cover - total Indy or what? And you won't be mortified reading it in public.

Now, for a brief, mostly dumb (my fault) Q&A:

Lucy: The action in WARRIOR happens mostly in Mongolia, which I thought was amazing and totally different. Why Mongolia? Have you ever been there or to China?

Zoe: A note to readers: I am wearing my snark hat today. Please don't take anything I say seriously, except when I'm extolling my own genius. I never joke about my genius.

The bigger question is: why not Mongolia? I discovered this weird book called an atlas, and it's full of places that aren't Regency-era English ballrooms. Weird, right? And it's hard to be an ass-kicking dame in a country where dressing in satin before 9 p.m. is considered shocking. To my knowledge, I've never been to Mongolia and China, but I have a few missing months from the mid '90s that I've never been able to account for, so anything is possible.

Lucy: Did you learn any Mongolian cuss words?

Zoe: I didn't learn any Mongolian cuss words, but I have a Mongolian phrasebook. According to the book, "Miniil buruu bolloo" (transliterated from the Mongolian) means, "It's all my fault." It's surprising how many situations I find myself in that require that phrase.

Lucy: I could probably use that phrase a lot, too, but I choose not to. Have you ever ridden a camel?

Zoe: I have not ridden nor smoked a camel. The strangest method of transportation I have ever used was the shuttle around the UC Santa Cruz campus. Patchouli = yay! Bathing = boo!

(Note from Lucy: I have ridden an elephant (twice! Once in a real, actual circus.), but never a camel.)

Lucy: If you could have a Source (i.e. an item from the Blades' world imbued with magic) that did anything you wanted it to do, what would the source be and what would it do?

Zoe: Sources scare me. When it comes to magic, I always think there's a catch. I don't want to wish for wealth and wind up with a solid gold keester. That sounds promising, but it would get hot and heavy, and not in a good way.

Lucy: If I could have a Source, it would be a STFU Ray imbued in some sort of really ugly knick-knack. I could point it at anyone and they would be obliged to go away and STFU. I'd begin with the Lohan family.

So, are you convinced yet? GO BUY WARRIOR at Barnes and Noble, Amazon, Borders, Books A Million, or Indiebound.

From Me With Love: The Serenading Unicorn

2010-09-19T05:00:00.000-07:00

My friends know me well. It's because they are awesome, and, also, because I am a simpleton with the taste of a nine-year-old. Zoe send me this link. Please enjoy "The Serenading Unicorn." I am in love.

The Serenading Unicorn sings Culture Club:

The Serenading Unicorn sings Boyz II Men:

The Serenading Unicorn sings Michael Bolton (!!) (with Special Guest The Guitar-Playing Owl) (!!!!!!!):

Vacation, All I Ever Wanted

2010-09-18T12:45:00.000-07:00

Tra la, blog friends! I have been on a little vacation, and feel much refreshed by it. Except for the plot bunny that practically humped me. I don't need any more plots! I can't decide which idea to work on next as it is!

We (the hubs and I) made our yearly trek to the desert to listen to music, drink too much, each too mucher, and just let the worries of the world fade away. This time, Ricky picked out for us a little cabin done in a 1950s theme, complete with vintage appliances! Have I mentioned that I LOVE the 50s? That man it too good to me.

This range burned his knuckle hair off the first time he lit one of the burners. I was asked more than once, "Are my eyebrows still there?" Thankfully, the answer was always, "Yes."

The fridge had rotating, swing out shelves! Ricky said I would freak out when I saw them. I did. I really, really need to get me a sixty-year-old ice box.

The immediate area surrounding the house was filled with dirt; Joshua trees; and old, vintage signs the owner had collected. Neato, huh?

Old cars and paraphernalia littered the grounds, too.

The last night, Ricky made a bonfire (eyebrows: intact!).

We roasted marshmallows. I MacGyver'd myself a Unicorn-Powered Super Excellent Triple Marshmallow Roasting Device from a spatula, bamboo skewers, and masking tape. It rather goes without saying, but I am awesome.

I'm Very Busy and Important

2010-08-24T05:00:00.000-07:00

I'm here, just not here. My writing partner and I are finalizing our manuscript and submission pieces-parts (query letter, synopses, etc.) so that we can get our parody on the road. Or something.

Anyhow, I'll be blogging less. I recently had a friend say that until you have a book to promote, what's the point, anyway? Hmmmmm. Well, I do like blogging, but more concentration on the important part, the actual novel writing, might not go amiss.

Until my next, here's a funny thing:

A, E, I, Go You

2010-08-11T05:00:00.000-07:00

I, for one, am glad that tagging hoodlums are finally promoting important things, like vowels. If I ever take up graffiti, I shall paint "ADVERBS" all over the town!

Meow Minx

2010-08-10T05:00:00.000-07:00

Amazing psychic World Cup winner-predictor Paul the Octopus has an agent and a book deal!

From Spiegel Online:

Paul the psychic octopus may have retired from predicting football matches, but his advertising career has just begun. The eight-legged oracle recently appeared in an advertisement for a German supermarket chain and has received more than 160 endorsement offers, including a book deal, according to the mollusk's agent.

I would just like to point out that my cat is also psychic. She didn't pick the World Cup winners (she's more of a competitive eating fan), but she has channeled the ghost of Edgar Allen Poe before.

Also, she is 100% accurate in predicting when I will be walking up and down stairs, for she is always attempting to trip me.

Wouldn't she be cute in your advertisement, corporate America? Just look at that face! I'm sure you could get a few shots in which she's not trying to bite someone.

Some suggestions for my kitty's book title:

Psychic Unicorn Kitty: A Tail of Butt Licking, Hairballs, and Family

The Cat in the Turban

God, I Wish That Woman Would Stop Trying to Pet Me: A Memoir

Call me, agents!
Call me, agents!

Monday (Afternoon) Miscellaneous Mischief:When It's Right, It's Right

2010-08-09T05:00:00.000-07:00

We saw "The other Guys" this weekend, and it put me in a Will Ferrel mood.

I hope your Monday is full of such delights! Although, maybe not at work. Your boss might frown on that.

NoH8

2010-08-04T18:08:00.000-07:00

California's (Unconstitutional) Proposition 8:

"relied heavily on negative stereotypes about gays and lesbians and focused on protecting children from inchoate threats vaguely associated with gays and lesbians. [...] The evidence shows [that] Proposition 8 played on a fear that exposure to homosexuality would turn children into homosexuals and that parents should dread having children who are not heterosexual. [...] The evidence at trial shows those fears to be completely unfounded.

Moral disapproval alone is an improper basis on which to deny rights to gay men and lesbians. The evidence shows conclusively that Proposition 8 enacts, without reason, a private moral view that same-sex couples are inferior to opposite sex couples. Because Proposition 8 disadvantages gays and lesbians without any rational justification, Proposition 8 violates the Equal Protection Clause of the Fourteenth Amendment."

This is how I feel today!

WHAT DID THE UNICORNS EVER DO TO YOU?

2010-07-30T05:00:00.000-07:00

Friends, I see a shameful trend of unicorn-hate galloping through the internets. First there was this, and now this (via Regretsy):

Unicorns are magical creatures who spread love and awesomeness in the galaxy. They are not weirdos who sit in the park playing with faux fur and scaring children. He looks like a reject from a My Little Pony-themed furry convention.

Let us save the dignity of the unicorn. My only solace is that this guy will never get laid, ever.

Thank you to the fabulous Count My Stars for the link!

I'm Not Bitter

2010-07-28T05:00:00.000-07:00

This week, for those of you readers who don't write romance, is the Romance Writers of America Conference, a.k.a. Mecca for romance writers. It's full of parties! editor meetings! workshops! parties! famous authors! more parties! all the coolest people in the world!

But not me. Sigh.

Yes, I am missing conference. In fact, the above is pure conjecture/ information gleaned from internet stalking, as I have never been to conference. I'm unpublished (so far!) and I don't have a book ready to sell yet (full length that is), and therefore I decided to save my cash because I have nothing to pitch/ promote. And I can see a lot of the workshops (recorded) through the check-out system of my RWA chapter.

I have decided to hold my own conference this week. Let's call it the Lucy Totally Doesn't Mind Staying Home Like a Loser Conference (LYDMSHLALC).

FEATURES OF THE LYDMSHLALC!

Workshops:

Wednesday, 12:00pm: How to Edit During Your Lunch Break (subtitled "Don't Log Onto Twitter")

Thursday, 6:30pm: Write Instead of Making Dinner - How to Convince Your Husband That He Wants to Eat Chunky Soup

Thursday, 10:30pm: Reading The Princess and her Pirate is SO Research

Friday, 12:00pm: How to Edit During Your Lunch Break, Part 2 (subtitled "Don't Log Onto Jezebel")

Parties:

Thursday, 7:00pm: The "Desperate Housewives" Party. Dress in your favorite holey sweatpants and have a beer while you throw some Chunky Soup in a can! Take a drink every time your cat gives you the side eye for not giving her people food. End the night by scratching your butt and watching Futurama.

Saturday, 8:00pm: The "I Get to Go See Patton Oswalt, so Suck it RWA Attendees!" Party. Put on the dress your husband always feels you up in and go see Patton Oswalt for a night of hi-larious comedy.

Book Signings:

Friday, 6:00pm: Imaginary Tea Party with an Octopus. Brew up some tea, fortify with whiskey, and curl up with the first book you bought on your brand new Kindle, Sense and Sensibility and Sea Monsters. Every time Hateful Mother Ocean is mentioned in the text, take a sip of tea and a three Cheez-Its. After finishing your *hic* tea, begin chatting with whatever rampaging creature has magically appeared in your living room.

Editor Pitch:

Saturday, 2:00pm: Practice your pitching skills in a low-pressure way. The hardest part of this editor session is putting the glasses on your cat. Once your cat has stopped fighting you, give her your three sentence book pitch. Works best whilst also giving treats.

All of this can be your for seventeen easy payments of $35.99!

Things I Learned on My Summer Weekend Away-Vacation Thingie

2010-07-26T17:45:00.000-07:00

1. That when you've spent a month or two slowly succumbing to the pressures of writing and attempting to sell a fabulous breakout novel (plus the pressures of general life stuff) and it manifests itself in tears several nights in a row in an existential eruption of mucus and whining, make sure you have a very nice husband who will suddenly whisk you away to the Queen Mary for the night to blow off steam and "for the love of God just please quit crying, you crazy person."

1b. That I shouldn't think of fun weekends away as a reward for having an existential snot crisis.

The ship's bell

1c. Ditto for unexpected presents of a super awesome Kindle.

2. That we should live in the now and have fun, like the puppies who play in the surf at Long Beach do. Run run run bark bark bark frolic! frolic! and then S H A K E!!

3. That when you go the Queen Mary you should bring (a) vintage clothes to wear because then you'll match the amazing gorgeous pre-war styling of the ship,

and (b) a ghost costume. Seriously, running down the empty decks saying, "woooooooo! WOOOOOOO!" was very fun, but I really should have had a ghosty-lady-in-white costume to go with.

4. That apparently no one cares if you carry around open containers and make out on the bow of the ship.

5. That staying up into the wee hours and running around the decks like a drunken moron with your equally moronic drunken husband is better than therapy.

6. That DAMMIT WHY DIDN'T I HAVE A GHOST COSTUME?

7. That the happily-ever-after at the end of the romance novel is not the end, but the beginning, if you're lucky. And I am. And I vow to remember that when I feel an existential mucus explosion coming on.

What Form Rejection Means to Me

2010-07-22T17:30:00.000-07:00

Our friend the Rejectionist has done it again. She gave her minions an essay topic, and, as a good lemming, I follow directions. Behold, my essay:

What Form Rejection Means to Me
an essay by Lucy Woodhull

In considering the question at hand, it is important to understand what a form rejection is. Let us dissect the phrase "form rejection." First, we have "form," from the Latin "impersonalus," which has the double meaning of, "piss off, fuckwit" and "don't quittus your day jobbus." Next, "rejection," which derives from the Old English word "crusheth," specifically in relation to dreams. As we can learn from this etymology, a form rejection is one person's way of stomping upon the lofty dreams of another, often with great and resounding malice mixed with a dash of fun.

Upon reflection, I have reflected that form rejections suck. How can we, as writers, foil them? I have developed a multi-tiered approach for the obliteration of form rejections:

1. Don't send one to me.

Awesome, huh? I don't give a crap about the rest of you unwashed masses who probably should just resign yourself to being waiters for the rest of your life. But I have TALENT! GREAT AND LITERARY TALENT. This essay is about what form rejections mean to me... I don't care about the rest of you.

I shall direct the rest of my ~~deranged tirade~~ brilliant thoughts to the agents/ editors of the world and explain why I should never, ever get a form rejection.

A. I am awesome. Here's a chart outlining why, in case you don't already know.

Why Lucy is Da Bomb:

B. My book will totes make you four million American dollars, at least.

C: I'm excellent with the grammar and shit. You'll bearley have to edit my brilliant prose.

D. I can wiggle my ears.

E. I should never really get a rejection at all. If you send me back a letter that's not an immediate contract offer, it should read something like "Lucy, this book is so wonderful. Is it possible for you to fit even MORE wonderfulness into it?" and I will be all "Of course, smart and esteemed agent/editor! My Tank of Wonderfulness will never be empty."

In conclusion, I would like to compare my literary style to J.K. Rowling, Ernest Hemingway, Muriel Hemingway, and Oprah. I will outsell Stephenie Meyers, and the dudes who wrote the Bible. In interviews, I will be wittier than Jon Stewart, and prettier than Angelina Jolie. The movies made from my books will be fawned over by the likes of Roger Ebert, the Academy, and The Denver Post. When you sign me with your agency/ publishing house, you'll surely be given impromptu awards from your colleagues with titles like "Agent of the Epoch," or "Sexy Publishing Badass." You will own a yacht and two helicopters. It is highly likely that you will be elected "Emperor of the Earth." I guarantee all these things!

So, what do these insightful words mean? "What Form Rejection means to Me" is exactly nothing. I reject the notion.

I also reject a large portion of your "reality," which is obviously rigged.

* * *

(I hope this goes without saying, but I would like to note that the above is a joke. I have nothing but respect for the agents/ editors/ other writers of the world. Please send me not only one form rejection, but many, over and over again!)

Needed: AMAZING Intern Needed for Up and Coming Writer!

2010-07-20T18:36:00.000-07:00

(Ideal Candidate)

Are you an energetic muti-tasker, good at making cupcakes, and eager to learn all about bodice rippers? If so, then my incredible intern position is perfect for you. I am a soon-to-be-published writer (any day now -- I can feel it!) who needs some help with the small things in life that interfere with the uber-important creation of masterpieces of literary art. Fart jokes do not write themselves. (See, that fact about fart jokes is just one of the many valuable things you can learn from me.)

The ideal candidate have the following skills:

Bathroom sanitation
Dish-waste removal
Knowledge of the merits of Pizza Rolls vs. Bagel Bites
Operation of sophisticated cat-hair reduction appliances
Cute shoe scouting (If you enjoy gladiator sandals, this isn't the internship for you)
Manipulation of web content to source videos/ photos of James McAvoy*
Understanding of money-type software for tax/bill/boring things

You have the opportunity to get in on the ground floor of Operation: Lucy Makes a Million. There is no "pay" right now per se (except in excitement!), but in the future I'm definitely going to be a big success and I'll totes make it up to you later. If this sounds like something you would like to be a part of (and you'd have to be stupid not to be), please e-mail a cover letter and essay about how great the movie XANADU is to totallylegitimatejob@lucywoodhull.com and write "LUCKY INTERN" in the subject line. I look forward to meeting you! Please hurry -- my floors haven't been vacuumed in, like, a year.

* If you know James McAvoy, you have the job.

Location: Los Angeles, Ca
Compensation: Personal satisfation / all the Olivia Newton-John you can listen to
Please, no phone calls about this job! I hate answering the phone -- that's one of the reasons I need you.

I'm Up in Short Arms!

2010-07-19T05:00:00.000-07:00

As of late, I've noticed a lot of short heroines in romance novels. It's about time that Hobbits got their own romances, and were not just shoved to the side as amusing, hairy-footed, ring-carrying sidekicks. This phenomenon is accurate, for did you know that there are diminutive ladies in real life? It's true! When my personal romance novel is written (which I have titled PASSION'S UNEXPECTED BELCH), it will star me as a 5'1" batty redhead with a heart of gold (and stomach of gas), and my husband as a 5'11" geek who lives to tickle her feet even though she kicks a lot.

But the covers, faithful readers! THE COVERS!?

Why do romance novel covers always feature an Amazon woman?

The hero must be six feet tall (like, duh. There are no shorter men in real life, unless they are villains or comical persons), so if you judge the heroine's height on the cover, you do it against the hero. And she's always only about two inches shorter than he is. TRAVESTY! FRAUD! ATTICA! ATTICA!

If they made a cover for PASSION'S UNEXPECTED BELCH, I would be played by Heidi Klum. She's nice and all (for a supermodel), but short people are people, too!

Hath not a shorty (small) hands, (miniature) organs, (scanty) dimensions; fed with the same food (well, maybe less of it) as a tall person is? If you tickle us (especially our freakishly small feets), do we not laugh?

I know that most romance covers do not match the characters' appearances, but replacing the short girl with a tall one feels like an insult. Sniff. It matters more than her hair color. It just does.

I've made my own cover for PASSION'S UNEXPECTED BELCH, so that The Man can't ruin it. Can you believe I did all my own art?

So there.

Rats and Orgy a.k.a. I Love Patton Oswalt

2010-07-16T05:00:00.000-07:00

Disclaimer: THIS IS SUPER INCREDIBLY NOT SAFE FOR WORK. LOTS OF BAD WORDS AND TALK OF ORGIES.

But it's funny. Holy buttrockets, is it funny.

Have a great weekend, everyone!

What Not to Buy Your Executive Assistant

2010-07-15T05:00:00.000-07:00

FYI, next Secretary's Day, don't get your assistant this (via Regretsy):

If you get this Ode to Everything Bad in the World for your beleaguered E.A., she will be forced to put it on her desk. And look at it. Others will look at it and think she thinks it's great. Her coolness factor will drop by 97%. The likelihood that she will tamper with your coffee increases by 49%.

Ugly "folk" art is never the answer!

What to get her instead:
A gift card to Starbucks
A gift card to Nordstrom
An extra day off on her birthday

This message paid for by The Committee to Ensure Your Assistant Doesn't Spill All Your Secrets to Your Work Colleagues.

On Notice: A Womb with a Screw

2010-07-14T05:00:00.000-07:00

Warning: I am going to post a picture of lady parts, for to educate everyone.

Please to note item A - the uterus, a.k.a. the womb.

Please to note item B - the vagina, a.k.a. the sexytime place

I have seen more and more romance authors refer to the vagina as the womb. "Her womb clenched," "her womb shuddered from his manly onslaught," &etc. They are not the same place. They even have a lovely cervix in-between them.

Ladies, if you can feel his manly onslaught UP INSIDE YOUR UTERUS, then maybe he needs to drink less caffeine. Or be a porn star. Or both.

But ICK, amIrite? My ladyparts are clenching in horror at just the thought. So when I read about wombs doing gymnastics or being violated, I die a little inside.

Let's all refer to our handy chart above and stop referring to the womb during sex scenes, shall we? Mine thanks you.

All Hail the Overlords From the Sky!

2010-07-13T05:00:00.000-07:00

Via Gawker:

UFO Temporarily Shuts Chinese Airport, Remains a Mystery

Just in case there's a soon-to-be alien apocalypse, I'd just like to say that I enjoy meeting new beings, and that humans never did much for me.

Come on over, new spacey friends, and teach me your ways. I bet I can write some fun romance for you, as long as you show me how you... um... do "it." As long as it's not too nasty. No tentacles is all I'm saying. Okay, okay tentacles are fine! Please don't laser melt my brain!

Smurf Porn -- the Winners!

2010-07-12T05:00:00.000-07:00

Smurfette is like one of those hippie summer camps who gives prizes to everyone who so much as farts, so everyone who entered my contest is a winner!

I'll let her give away the prizes:

Hi everysmurf! I hope you're feeling Smurfy today. I know I am. My life is exactly like your contest entries, so I'm Smurfing my Smurf all over the Smurf.

My first prize goes to LAmonkeygirl! Here's her Smurfy Choose-Your-Own-Smurf entry:

"Come on down to my Smurf dungeon and let me Smurf you up and Smurf you all night."

Do you:

Go to the Smurf dungeon for hours and hours of Smurfy pain? Turn to page Smurfty Nine.

Tell Kinky Smurf to go Smurf himself, then you go down to the Smurf Bar and pick up a random Smurf for some back-room Smurfing action? Turn to page Smurfty Six.

Amazing! But I choose option three: Smurfy pain PLUS Smurf Bar. What can I say? I'm a total Smurf.

LAmonkeygirl, you win a book! It's a Harlequin Intrigue from August 1987 called MURDER MOST STRANGE by Christine Smith.

It has ropes all over the front, just like Kinky Smurf likes to use. The heroine has some serious frizz going on, though. Smurfette would never allow her blonde locks to be in such a state!

Next, I have a prize for Anonymous #1:

"Smurf with me to the Casbah! We will Smurf beautiful muzak together." Smurfette batted her eyelashes battily and Smurfed, "Oh,Randy Smurf, I would Smurf you anytime, anywhere. No need to Smurf our blue asses all the way to the Casbah!" To prove her point, Smurfette ripped her Smurfy white dress from her nubile, azure bod, and leapt leapily upon a big, Smurfy mushroom. She Smurfed up and down, and her Saphirine bosoms bounced bouncily. Handy Smurf and Brainy Smurf ran over to watch. So did 397 other Smurfs. Smurfette, aroused by all the Smurfy voyeurs, Smurfed all the more vigorously. Randy Smurf jumped onto Smurfette's mushroom and then jumped onto Smurfette. He tore off his white britches and Smurfed her until she Smurfed out in ecstasy. Handy Smurf ran over and began caressing her Smurf while Randy finished Smurfing her doggie-style. "They don't call me 'Handy' for nothing," Handy said, as Smurfette Smurfed yet again. The 397 other Smurfs all removed their Smurfy white trousers and joined the orgy, Smurfing, Smurfing, and Smurfing in a wild frenzy of naked blue. And the Smurfed Smurfily ever after. The Smurf.

FYI, "doggie-style" was originally called "Smurf-style." For your adventurous ogry of Smurfing, you get a Harlequin AmeriSmurf Romance from April 1983, THE SAME LAST NAME by Kathlees Gilles Seidel.

I thought it appropriate since the Smurfs all have the same last name - Smith. Haha! just kidding. It's Smurf.

My Super Grand Prize goes to Anonymous #2:

…“I want you to smurf to the smurfiest mushroom patch at smurf-thirty tonight and wait under the smurfest mushroom.”

Her smurfmirer was promising her the most smurf filled night of her life and hoped that her smurf could handle it. Smurfette smurfsped when she realized she had less than a smurf to smurfpare her smurf. Luckily she’d had a Smurfzilian wax smurf days before so she only had to smurf her hair and apply some smurfscara and smurfstick before smurfing off to the mushroom patch. She smurfed the smurfest mushroom with just smurfs to spare and smurfed off her smurfdress. A voice smurfed down from the smurfcap of the mushroom smurfing her to smurf the ladder to join him. She smurfed when she smurfed the he was out of smurf with obvious smurfticipation. She put some extra smurf in her hips while smurfing her way up the ladder. All the smurf smurfing, “This is a very smurftable looking mushroom, lots of room for smurfing. And I need a good smurfing, none of that ‘smurf back and smurf of Smurfland’ like it is with Lazy.” Finally smurfing the top she smurfed something that made her smurfsom heave and her smurf smurfy. What she hadn’t been able to smurf from the ground was that it wasn’t just the one smurfmirer! There were smurf of them, from all over the smurf, ready to smurf her. And some of them had been smurfy while waiting, smurfing some very smurfable looking toys from some of the smurfer mushrooms.

This entry was like reading my very own diary, what with the mentions of Smurfzilian waxing, smurfscara and smurfstick, and the heaving smurfsom! Are you a Smurf, Anonymous #2? Cousin Smurfelle, is that you? Why haven't you friended me on Smurfbook, bitch?

Anyway, for this masterSmurf of Smurfyness, you get a Harlequin Superromance from July 1989, OUT OF THE BLUE by Elise Title.

This book is very Smurferior because it has "blue" in the title.

Thank you everyone who participated! Please e-mail your addresses to my minion, lucywoodhull [at] gmail [dot] com, and she'll Smurf off to the Smurfpost to Smurf your books!

Reading about all this Smurfing makes me want to Smurf Smurf my favorite Smurfs, so I'm off to chill with Limber Smurf and his best friend, Long Tongue Smurf.

Smurfette out.

Hjh dfzudh UHUH gsduhfusdh ............

2010-07-09T18:05:00.000-07:00

I generally consider myself a smart person. I have the internet IQ tests to prove it! But this week I am an official dunce.

At least the cap covers my zit.

I cannot do anything right. I can't dial phone numbers properly without trying three times first. I cannot eat a meal without wearing half of it. I'm behinving* like a dunderhead at work, even thought* I am actually trying. And I'm pretty sure I'm the reason Lindsay Lohan is going to jail. Well, that and the coke. Coke is a helluva drug, folks.

What do you do, friends, when the going gets tough? I have chosen to quit, contrary to the advice dispensed by many pithy sayings. Yup, it's only Wednesday**, but I wash my hands of the whole week. Feel free to misbehave, as I'll be in the corner sucking my thumb and watching 30 Rock with my blankie. Blankie dreams of winning the EGOT, just like Tracy.

Good luck, normals! Win one for the Punner.

* Yes, I know those are typos but I don't care I give up.

** Yes, I wrote this blog on Wednesday and I'm posting it on Friday. I TOLD YOU I WAS A FAIL.

How to Be Patient, A Primer for Writers

2010-07-06T05:00:00.000-07:00

How to Be Patient
A Primer for Writers
by Lucy Woodhull, Perfectly Patient Person

9am: Check Your E-Mail
Checking your e-mail should not cause anxiety. Just because one horrid little e-mail could dash all your literary hopes upon the craggy rocks to total despair is no reason for your heart to beat faster as you hit refresh.

10am: Click "Refresh" No More than Once an Hour
You are a bona-fide adult person who does very adult things like write novels, not some teeny bopper waiting for a missive from the "do you like me yes or no" guy from math class. Have some dignity!

10:15am: Check Twitter
Casually read your Twitter. Make sure to re-Tweet all the happy Tweets from your fellow writers who have actually sold a damn book. Do not feel bitter. This is beneath you. Just because you work just as hard as they do and are a misunderstood artist is no reason to not feel happy for them.

10:20am: Notice that Dream Agent/Editor is Writing Tweets
Well, look at that! Your Agent/Editor just Tweeted that they have a new acquisition!

10:21am: Check Your Cell Phone
Nope, the acquisition was not you.

10:22 am: Check Your Voice Mail
Still Not You.

10:23am: Eat Twinkie
...because Twinkies always love you.

10:32am: Do Not Check Your E-Mail
You have many things to fulfill you in life! Go smell a rose or something. They'll write soon, for you are brilliant and have written a novel for the ages.

10:35am: Eat Twinkie
...Because the first one was so good. And because they are a totally a breakfast food. Creative types like you owe it to themselves to break the rules.

10:36am: Wipe Twinkie Off Your Keyboard

10:37am: Hit Refresh
Oh, look! Mod Cloth is having a sale!

10:38am: Frown
...Because if you sold your amazing novel you could afford to shop at Mod Cloth

11:00am: Resist E-Mailing the Agent/Editor
DO NOT DO THIS, EVEN IF THE TWINKIES TELL YOU TO.

11:10am: Begin Composing E-Mail to Agent/Editor
Make it charming, but not desperate! You're so witty! They won't mind your adorable missive. After all - you're the voice of a generation.

1:07pm: Finish Brief, Fifty-Two Word Letter
Whew! That only took two hours. You should have been working, but your literary career cannot wait.

1:08pm: Convince Yourself Not to Send the E-Mail

1:10pm: Convince Yourself to Send the E-Mail

1:11pm: Convince Yourself Not to Send the E-Mail

1:13pm: Convince Yourself to Send the E-Mail

1:32pm: Send the E-Mail!
But first rub your special troll doll and turn in a circle three times. Shakespeare did this for good luck.

1:37pm: Hit Refresh
Have they responded yet?!

1:55pm: Attend to Real Life Things
It is healthy to do things such as go to the bathroom and feed yourself, even when you're a brilliant artiste.

2:17pm: Check Twitter
Your dream agent/ editor is OUT AT STARBUCKS? What the hell are they doing? They should be in the office, preparing their contract for your amazing book! Has the world gone topsy-turvy?

2:19pm: Hit Refresh
Have they responded yet?! NO? But they have an iPhone - they Tweet about using it all the time. They should be able to offer you a contract even if they are at Starbucks.

2:45pm: What's That, Twitter? Dream Agent/Editor is at Chuck E. Cheese?!?!
It's not even lunch or dinner time! Are they so lazy that they laze about, lazily, eating pizza with their kids instead of scooping up the Greatest Literary Masterpiece of the Twenty-First Century?

2:57pm: Maybe They Should Not Be Your Dream Agent/Editor
This person is clearly undeserving. You bet their five year old named Madison has more taste in her little finger than her parent.

3:01pm: Begin Composing Scathing Break-Up E-Mail
This one will be even better than the time you told off Time Warner Cable.

3:06pm: Finish Composing Scathing Break-Up E-Mail
Not only is the note in rhyme, to help drive home the message that you're the Most Amazing Writer Who Ever Lived, but it's addressed, "Dear Shit for Brains." Ha!

3:07pm: Maybe This is a Bad Idea
Hmmmmm.

3:08pm: But Someone Needs to Stand Up to These Arrogant Agent/Editors!
Grrrrr.

3:11pm: Take a Drink From Your Work Flask
For fortitude in the face of adversity.

3:14pm: Take Another Drink
It worked for Hemingway.

3:27pm: Hit "Send"
Take that, publishing establishment!

3:28pm: Freak the Fuck Out

3:29pm: OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD
Why doesn't G-Mail have a recall feature??!

3:33pm: Take Another Drink
They're not even checking their e-mail anyway, so it's all going to be okay.

3:35pm: Be Depressed
It worked for Sylvia Plath

4:02pm: Hit Refresh
O
M
G
You have an e-mail from them. Subject: Your Book.

4:03pm: Stare at Browser

4:04pm: Take a Really Big Drink
You should have brought your bigger flask.

4:05pm: Open E-Mail

4:05pm: Cry

4:06pm: Delude Yourself
They don't understand you, like your mother. You stood up for yourself, and you feel proud, really. Just because you've been called a "nut-job" doesn't mean it's true.

4:22pm: Finish Box of Twinkies
There are a million other dream Agent/Editors in the sea.

4:25pm: Wipe Twinkie Crumbs Off Boob

4:30pm: Check Twitter
Dream Agent/Editor is Tweeting. Uh oh.

4:31pm: They Can't Mean You
You cannot possibly be the new hashtag #howtonevergetpublished

4:40pm: Dream Agent/Editor Has Written a Brand New Blog
Uh oh.

4:44pm: Prizes!
Dream Agent/Editor has posted your poetic hatemail. They are holding a contest, asking writers to compose a response to you.

4:57pm: There are Forty-Seven Entries Already
...And they all start "Dear Shit for Brains."

5:00pm: Time to Go Home
There is more liquor at home. It's hard to be a writer.

6:32pm: At Least No One's Outed You as the E-Mail Writer

6:43pm: Shit
Someone just did. They were your Beta reader once upon a time, but you let them go because they didn't understand your deep, underlying themes.

7:43pm: You Are Famous, Which is What You Always Wanted
Congratulations. You are now an internet meme.

9:00pm: Learn Lesson About Patience
It's about time, shit for brains.

Ode to A Writing Area

2010-07-01T18:00:00.000-07:00

The Rejectionist, my evil-gollum-lesbian-girlfriend, has issued a fun blog challenge to only her favorite author-friend-bloggers. Okay, fine, she issued it to everyone, and, since I am an "everyone," I have decided to play! (Bonus points to anyone who can tell me what poem I am parodying.)

I present:

Ode to A Writing Area

by Lucy Woodhull
(of the Infamous Writing Area,
as Mentioned in the Famous Ode,
Which is Below)

Thou much ravish'd bride of messitude,
Thou birthplace of hilarity and mania,
Cheez-It receptacle, who canst thus inspire
A silly tale more stupid than our rhyme:
What red-fring'd lady haunts about thy space
A layabout or dreamer, or one lost,
In Romance or the tales of Inanity?
What short lady is this? A maiden? Ha!
What mad stories? What struggle to create?
What puns and adverbs? What wild adjectives‽

O couch-ey shape! Squishy cushions! with blanket
To warm its mistress’ feet heatingly,
With laptop blinking ‘round the trodden word;
Thou, silent cursor, dost tease us out of thought
As doth “new document”: Hail, plot bunny!
When old age shall the giddy writer waste,
Thou shalt remain, in midst of living room
Of ours, a friend to woman, to whom thou say'st,
"You could stand to lose some weight,--that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know."

PS: Have you entered my Smurfy contest? (Heh heh -- I said "entered.")

PPS: Have a Smurfy Fourth of July, fellow Americans. USA! USA!

I Am the Countess of Sandwich

2010-07-01T05:00:00.000-07:00

Recently my romance novel book club (Bodice Rippers' Local 1) met to sip genial beverages* and serenely discuss** our most recent book, ONE DANCE WITH A DUKE by Tessa Dare.

* = "inhale cupcakes"
** = "cackle about Smurf porn"

I do not review books around these parts per se - I usually just write a brief bit about a book I've read that I really enjoyed. ONE DANCE WITH A DUKE was certainly such a book - hither you then to yon book seller and buy it! Well, finish reading this blog first, and then hither your butt.

Anyhoo, I feel very proud of the nibbly things I made for the book club meeting. Behold - cucumber sandwiches with dill and smoked salmon sandwiches with capers! (Click the links above for the recipes I shamelessly stole from Gourmet Girl.)

Ain't they purdy?

With such amusing nibbles around you'd almost think that we were a respectable club. Not to call the dignity Ms. Dare's book into question - no. But our group is more rowdy than subdued - as in, there was a tale passed around the room in which one of our members had recently met, and been molested by, Ron Jeremy. Best Celebrity Story EVER. In other words, we're a book club you'd actually want to join.

Our next book will be actual vintage smut - FANNY HILL (Or, the Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure) by John Cleland. (FYI, the cover of that Google Book is fairly NSFW.) I'm very excited (so to speak) to dive in (so to speak). Ahem.

Happy reading, everyone!

Smurf Me

2010-06-29T05:00:00.000-07:00

It seems I can't spit nowadays without Hollywood, well, spitting all over my fond childhood memories. The long, painful pillage of the 1980s has finally hit rock bottom (I hope!) with The Smurfs movie:

When the evil wizard Gargamel chases the tiny blue Smurfs out of their village, they tumble from their magical world and into ours -- in fact, smack dab in the middle of Central Park. Just three apples high and stuck in the Big Apple, the Smurfs must find a way to get back to their village before Gargamel tracks them down.

Yes, it's The Smurfs Take Manhattan. And they're 3D (UGH WHY?) with live action Gargamel and various other human persons.

WHY WHY OH WHY NO NO NO NO NO OH THE HUMANITY

I MEAN... THE SMURFANITY!

I was discussing this horrible, bad, no good idea with my romance book club (Bodice Rippers' Local 1) and the subject naturally fell to Smurf Porn. Don't ask how. I don't even remember how we got there - suffice it to say if you've been around my blog for a while, you're not surprised in the least.

Naturally, I must now hold a contest.

I am now holding a SMURF PORN CONTEST to protest the unnecessary movie. How a Smurf Porn Contest protests the unnecessary movie, I'm not sure - but it'll make us all laugh, certainly.

So Smurf if to me, gentle readers! Give me your best Smurf porn scene in the comments. There will be prizes! But the ~~extremely dubious honor~~ glory of winning will go to only one! Points will be awarded for the following:

Creative use of the word Smurf (which is both a noun and a verb).
Original art.
Inventing a new Smurf.
Creative use of 400 male and one female Smurfs.
Creative use of mushrooms (either by using them yourself during the writing process (hey, I don't judge), or in the story).
Use of invented adverbs - you know how I love my invented adverbs!

The contest shall be judged by my childhood Smurfette doll. She'll pick winners next week sometime, so get crack-a-lacking!

I shall get you started - continue on from this scene...

Smurfette flipped her glorious golden locks Smurfily and Smurfed a peek at the Smurf before her. Short, blue, and bulbous of nose, he was everything a Smurfette Smurfed of. Indeed, she had been anticipating this very moment all the Smurf long day, her Smurf tingling with Smurfy abandon. Suddenly, he Smurfed and said, "...

How I Love Thee, "Literature"

2010-06-28T05:00:00.000-07:00

Mr. Fillion, I absolutely refuse to READ anything until you take off your shirt.

I'll wait.

Goodknight, Terrible Cliche

2010-06-25T05:00:00.000-07:00

Isn't it time to retire the whole "knight" as "night" thing? Please? I'm starting a movement here and now.

I, as a content creator, agree to never use knight/night in a cutesy way. It's not original, it's just lazy, like eating microwave popcorn for dinner -- the first time, it was novel, but over and over again it's sad. I also agree to never give a character the last name of Knight, because Knight Rider did that better than I ever could and every further use of Knight as a last name is obnoxious.

Signed:

1. Lucy Woodhull
2. _________________

PASS IT ON

If You Want to Sneak Away to theWaterfall With the Dastardly Duke,Turn to Page 12

2010-06-24T05:00:00.000-07:00

I recently mentioned to my husband that I was thinking of attempting a "Choose Your Own Adventure" romance. Awesome, right? I had been looking for one of the original 80s CYOA books in every thrift store I visited to no avail. Since it had been many years since I read one of them, I needed a primer on exactly what the format was and how the possibilities and choices unfolded for the reader.

Last week I began fleshing out a plot bunny that first attacked me months ago, and I considered that it would be especially fun as a Choose Your Own Adventure romance novel. Ricky to the rescue! After he visited his parent's house for a couple of weeks he came home and handed me this boxed set:

Isn't he the best? It's from 1981 and the set contains CYOA numbers 6, 8, 9 & 10. Poor number seven appears to be MIA. Perhaps it chose to be a lone ranger.

Number ten is The Lost Jewels of Nabooti.

It looks as if it will prove to be mildly offensive in that 1980s un-PC sort of way.

I intend to read them to get a sense of how they flow and how the stories loop back on themselves. They promise "You can read each of these books at least 100 times and never read the same story twice!" I'm curious to see how a story that could end 36 different ways could apply to a genre in which the story must end with a happily ever after.

And lookee! I had forgotten that these books had illustrations.

Just think of the possibilities in a romance picture book. Yeah, baby! I'll take the Duke on page 25, please - and the position on page 42.

SAVE THE UNICORN!

2010-06-21T17:45:00.000-07:00

Friends,

I believe that you know, if you've read the blog for more than one minute, that I love the Unicorn. 'Tis a noble beast, and magical, and pretty to look at. Plus, they are super good at making those pretty rosette things out of radishes.

As such, it came as a great shock to me that Unicorns are being ruthlessly slaughtered for their meat:

Woe betide me! How can such a great tragedy happen here in America, land of the free and home of the braves? (Um, except that we slaughtered a lot of Native American braves, so maybe this shouldn't come as such a surprise.)

This disgusting verbiage comes straight from the murderers' website, ThinkGeek.com:

Pâté is passé. Unicorn - the new white meat.

Excellent source of sparkles!

Unicorns, as we all know, frolic all over the world, pooping rainbows and marshmallows wherever they go. What you don't know is that when unicorns reach the end of their lifespan, they are drawn to County Meath, Ireland. The Sisters at Radiant Farms have dedicated their lives to nursing these elegant creatures through their final days. Taking a cue from the Kobe beef industry, they massage each unicorn's coat with Guinness daily and fatten them on a diet comprised entirely of candy corn.

FIRST OF ALL - Unicorns fart rainbows, they don't poop them. Sometimes they vomit them (see Exhibit 1). What they poop is harmony. EVERYONE KNOWS THIS, EVILDOERS. How can you betray the beautiful Unicorn and not even get their sciencey biological facts right? It is a slap in the face to every Unicorn, which is not worse than slaughtering them, but is still not nice.

EXHIBIT 1

SECOND OF ALL - The fact that the Unicorn killers are nuns just makes it all the worse. Maria from The Sound of Music would never do that! She would sing to a unicorn, or at least dress it in a curtain, no matter how old it was. Would you, vile sisters of ~~God~~ Satan, want to be ground up for Nun Spam when you got too old to say a Rosary without spittle flying off your maws? I think not. Plus, how could you waste all that Guinness? Wasting beer is the ninth deadly sin. (Listening to the soundtrack to High School Musical 2 is the eighth.)

AND PART C OF MY COMPLAINT - Anyone can get their daily recommended dosage of sparkles at Joanne's Fabrics and Crafts, or by reading Twilight. (Um... better get it at Joanne's - fewer side effects.) This is the non-evisceratey way to obtain sparkles. If you need them to work quickly, you can always inject them. This is really basic sparkle knowledge, folks. Just go consult your food pyramid, Exhibit 2.

Exhibit 2

ThinkGeek, you may think you are blameless in all this, as you are merely the purveyors of the murdered Unicorn carcasses - BUT YOU ARE NOT! You are just as guilty! How can you sleep at night, or play Red Dead Redemption, knowing the calamity you are spreading in the world? And not computer-simulated calamity, either - real, actual calamity.

I want you to Think about this, Geek, every time you shill a glittery can of repugnance. Actions have consequences. Every time you kill a Unicorn:

- A Teen Miss USA cries.

- Eight puppies develop the horrible puppy-poison ivy/hemorrhoids hybrid. They don't make a topical creme for that.

- Hugs become 7% less effective.

- George Lucas fucks up another Star Wars movie.

- BP blows up an oil well.

- A typhoon wipes out an orphanage.

- Angelina Jolie wipes out an orphanage.

ANGELINA CAN ONLY ADOPT SO MANY KIDS, PEOPLE. The madness must end!

WHAT YOU CAN DO TO HELP

If, like me, gentle readers, you want to help protect the Unicorns so that your children and your children's children* may enjoy their sunshiney goodness, please do one of the following:

- Put down the Unicorn meat, asshole.

- Call your congressperson.

- No, to hell with that. Call Barack Obama. He is a special friend to the Unicorns. How else would an illegal Communist Nazi Kenyan AntiCrist Socialist kitten-kicker be elected President? **

- Sharpen your Nun Stabber

- While praying.

- Call Jesse Jackson. People pay attention to shit when JJ is involved.

* Even though I don't think that children should have children. That's gross. They should be, like, eighteen at least.

** I cannot take credit for the Obama/Unicorn pic. Whoever made it, I salute you!

I'd Make Short the New Tall

2010-06-20T17:00:00.000-07:00

I'm back!

The intrusive real world took me away for a little while, blog friends. I had to work twelve hour days of actual day job work work, which is less fun than blogging nonsense, but currently pays more.

As I was slaving away and pleasing my masters like a monkey butler, I would fantasize about the good life.

So I pose a question to you, gentle author-readers: What would you do with J.K. Rowling kind of money?

Here's the scene:

The phone rings. It's your high-powered, yet friendly literary agent. "YOU!" she says, "I have a three book, three million dollar book deal for you with your dream publisher!" Kalu-kalay! The books sell out within days! Then they sell out their extra printings! You appear on Oprah, who has continued to do her talk show and book club just to feature you!

Soon, you have heaps of money, gobs of fame, and millions of book lovers the world over clutching your masterworks to their bosoms in pure, unfettered joy.

What do you do?

Yes, you help yourself, your friends, and family with money and debt and such. And you'd give your money away to needy causes, of course. Yeah, that's nice. We'd all do that.

But what else do you do? What crazy, maybe secret things would you do with it?

Here's what I would do.

Get a unicorn. Yes, they are real. It's just that they are a rich people animal that you, as a plebe, have never seen, like the Fantastapotamus.

I'd re-build the Pan-Pacific Auditorium.

You may recognize it from the movie Xanadu - they used the exteriors for the Xanadu roller disco itself. It burned down ten years later. I'd house my unicorn in it, and, of course, it'd be a rollerdisco rink for me and my friends.

My husband and I would travel.

Lucy: Would we buy a villa in some glamorous foreign country?

Ricky: Well, we'd have to do that.

Lucy: Which one?

Ricky: We'd have to test them all out first.

Lucy: Naturally.

Ricky: I'd buy a bunch of fast cars and race them through Europe.

Lucy: With all that money, you could buy friendship with the Top Gear guys and drive with them.

Ricky: Yes!

I would hire someone with a great and slightly evil imagination to do nothing but annoy all the jerks who were mean to me or mine. Nothing really bad... just stuff like follow them to a movie and cough next to them the whole time, or randomly tell them they look fat in that outfit, or send them official-looking letters telling them they have $2000 in old speeding tickets and then set up a fake government phone number just to jerk them around. Stuff like that. Come to think of it, maybe I could set up a business like that...

I'd have a vintage wardrobe to rival Dita Von Teese's.

I would help women. Brilliant, creative women. Invest in their companies, mentor them, introduce them to the right people. I'd start an Old Women's Network the way the men have the Old Boys' Club. But I'd give it a catchier name, like "Bitches Be Taking Care of Business" or something.

Now tell me: WHAT WOULD YOU DO?

Underlings Are People, Too, and Other Business Facts

2010-06-09T05:00:00.000-07:00

I think the setting of the modern executive office is one of those things that writers assume they know all about, even if they've never set foot in one. Watch a couple of episodes of Mad Men, and BAM! You know all about executives and assistants and business! It's just some suits and laptops and shit, right? Unfortunately, I've read very few contemporary romances set in an office that were even close to being accurate.

But an office is like anything else - do your research! Don't just assume. If you fudge and just kinda throw in words like "Board of Directors" and "CEO" and such -- that doesn't make it real. Business is structured rather rigidly, so find out about your hero/heroine's occupation before you submit. What kind of degree do they need to hold that position? Would it likely be a small office or part of a Fortune 500 company?

I recently read an excerpt in which the businesswoman heroine referred to her executive assistant as "the assistant." Wow, thanks a lot, asshole! That right there, in one sentence, made me hate the heroine. I'm an assistant, and I have a fucking name. Your heroine would know that name, or else "the assistant" might spit in her lunch after she picks it up. Not that I would ever do that. Erm.

Most of these contemporary romances love to throw the word "client" around without any more details, which, to me, doesn't add verisimilitude through its lack of specificity, but just makes the writer sound lazy.

If the hero is some sort of powerful CEO (and when aren't they?), then consult a CEO if you can, or some sort of executive. You should know what a VP is vs. a CFO vs. an EVP vs. a CFO. Also consult the assistant to an executive - because they will know the business from both sides. Lest you think it's not important, I just decided not to buy an e-book because the details of the "business" in the excerpt were laughable. Well, that and the fact that I hate reading about an office when I have to go to one every day. I'd rather read about inaccurate Dukes or inaccurate FBI agents.

Love,

"The Assistant"

P.S. If any of you dear readers ever want help from me on this point, just e-mail me. I'd be happy to help if I can.

Putting the "Her" in "Hero"

2010-06-06T08:56:00.000-07:00

* Gazing at her in the bewitching glow of candlelight, he sniffed her hair again. There was always an elusive hint of rosethere, just as there was always the hint of a taste of berries inher lips; sweet, but with a bit of tartness that made his mouth waterfor more.

Poor, poor hero. Unmanned by an overzealous writer. I don't believe that the word "bewitching" has ever once entered my husband's head. That's because he is a man. I read romance all the time in which the hero is given to baroque sentiments, and it sounds strange to me.

(A caveat here: I generally fight gender norms, especially when they are of the "women are just naturally better at housework!" oppressive bullshit variety, but I must acknowledge that men and women do tend to speak differently. Nature or nurture? Probably nurture, but who the hell knows?)

I give a bit more leeway to historicals, but I confess, I giggle when a contemporary hero finds the heroine "bewitching in candlelight" or thinks of elaborate metaphors involving fruits and flowers. It just screams of "lady author being lady authorey" to me. Even in historicals, I find myself rolling my eyes when the hero compares the heroine to rolling vistas and scarlet sunrises.

As I pondered (not weak but somewhat weary), this question of "masculine" vs. "feminine," I decided to ask my husband how he thinks.

* Passage has been tweaked somewhat to disguise the source, but maintain the tone.

NSFW: The Best Website Evar

2010-06-02T05:00:00.000-07:00

Friends, I know I call a lot of things the best ever. It is because I am given to self-aggrandizement and hyperbole.

But this site I recently came across really is a wonder.

It is a community called WEEPING COCK (The Velvet-Sheathed Steel That Proclaimed Him Male).

It's a collection of bad, bad sex writing. It's hi-larious. And a virtual treasure trove of amazingly clunky euphemisms for me to 1) avoid when I'm writing real romance and 2) inspire me when I'm writing parody.

Anyhoo, don't visit it at work, in case they are tracking every time you come across a site that has the word "Mansicle" in it.

On Notice: The Idea That My Period Is About You

2010-06-01T05:00:00.000-07:00

So there’s this thing - called the FloJuggler. From the site:

Track the periods of girls you know. Seriously.
All you need is an email address to sign up. 100% discreet and confidential. No connections to your social networks etc.

Seriously, guys. Track the periods of girls you know! Because that's not weird, right?

Is Marybeth saying no to a date with you because you’re a creepy guy who does things like track her period? Of course not, she’s just on the rag and being a bitch, amIrite?

No more guessing
Wondering if she will be on her flo when you book that romantic weekend or that family camping trip? Flo-Predictor can save you trauma and money.

On her flo? Flo?

I guess it’s a different flo.

“Flo” is a fun name for periods, which are traumatic for men and ruin their vacations. And romantic weekends? Brother, those get destroyed by the “red present” all the time. It’s a true fact that there is absolutely no easy, simple way to find out if your wife will be on her period during your romantic vacation. Nope. No way at all. It’s a mystery for the ages, like the yeti.

You can screw your woman, but you can’t ask her about her period. ‘Cus she’s a wimmen! And bitches be crazy!

Here’s my question. How do you know when to start stalking your woman’s screw-up-your-fun-activities time? I mean, women are weird all month -- how do you know she's on her period?

Lucy’s here to help:

The day your woman starts her period is day one of her menstrual cycle. According to popular culture, clues to this disturbing phenomenon include:

Crying
Screaming
Crying and screaming
Eating tons of chocolate and then crying some more
Cock blocking you
Ruining your good time
Sprouting hair all over her body and baying at the moon

Her period can last anywhere from 4-7 days. On the day when she stops irrationally bitching about you showering on a regular basis, you know it’s over and you can stop hiding in the basement. THANK GOD!

One last (sincere) thought - I have to share this from Shakesville:

On Periods: Let's put this shit to bed right now: Women don't lose their minds when they have period-related irritability. It doesn't lower their ability to reason; it lowers their patience and, hence, tolerance for bullshit. If an issue comes up a lot during "that time of the month," that doesn't mean she only cares about it once a month; it means she's bothered by it all the time and lacks the capacity, once a month, to shove it down and bury it beneath six gulps of willful silence.

Oh, wait that can’t be true. That would mean women were actual human beings, and not punch lines who bleed in order to inconvenience you.

Let Flora's Rarest Banners WaveAnd Fold About The Soldier's Grave

2010-05-31T05:00:00.000-07:00

Have a happy Memorial Day, and say a prayer for the safety of all our men and women in harm's way.

YEAH! Lucy Is FREAKING GREAT!

2010-05-26T19:56:00.000-07:00

I sometimes think that one of the hardest things about being a writer is the delayed gratification. You write, sometimes for years, and query, and try, and wait and wait and wait and work and wait. You can feel like such a failure as the months roll by - full of so much effort but few rewards.

Well damn it, I want an award.

YES, DAMMIT, I AM AWESOME!

I am awesome for trying when I should not try, and in the face of impossible odds.

So are you! Feel free to borrow my awards and make yourself feel better.

Here's another award for me:

Yeah! I made a sex pun today. I rule.

Sometimes we have to appreciate the every day efforts we make.

... and the monumental ones, too.

And finally, sometimes you just need to say fuck it, eat a Big Mac, and go to bed.

Tomorrow is another day!

Monday Morning Mel Brooks: The Stone Age

2010-05-24T05:00:00.000-07:00

From History of the World Part I.

Funny how critics are the same, even now.

What Day Is It, Anyway?

2010-05-21T17:59:00.000-07:00

Dear Friday,

Hi Friday. How are you? You look nice today - are those new shoes? Awesome.

Anyhoo, we need to have a talk. While I usually find you a valuable member of the team, today you really let me down, Friday. See, there are certain rules that must be obeyed, and today, well, you screwed the pooch. Screwed it so hard that Benji is now shaking and whining plaintively in the corner.

Are you proud of yourself?

You are supposed to be the happy day, Friday. The looking-forward day. The I'm-wearin'-jeans-shit-yeah! day. Let's list the things you are NOT supposed to be:

Headachey
Full of stupid
Aggravatey
Intestinal-problem-ey
Zit-ey
Get splinter from chopsticks-ey
Dizzy
Frizzy
Ear-achey
Insomnia-ey
Bad music on the radio-ey

Do you see that list, Friday? That's much more of a Monday list. If Monday had pulled this crap I'd be all, "Hey! That's Monday for ya. Hahahaha let's go drink." But you, Friday? I'M SUPPOSED TO FART RAINBOWS DURING YOU. There is no phrase that goes "TGIM," is there?

You're on probation, Friday. I expect better performance. Here are some items you could include next week to bring your work up to par:

Free hot dogs
A parade in my honor
Money
James McAvoy
A unicorn (can be a small one)
A vintage dress in my size
Strangers telling me I'm beautiful
Olivia Newton-John
Candy
A movie in which Daniel Craig takes his clothes off (all of them)
Spontaneous four inch hair growth (hair on my head - don't get cute)

Please keep these items in mind, Friday. You have one week to improve or Tuesday is getting your slot. Tuesday doesn't really have much going for it now that Lost is ending, so it's ambitious.

Sincerely,

Lucy

Not Even a Scrunchie Can Save Me

2010-05-20T05:00:00.000-07:00

I have bad hair this week.

Really.

Bad.

Hair.

It's limp and sticky-outy all at the same time. It's full of hair dye yet has the luster of a chalkboard. If Farrah Fawcett farted all over Vidal Sassoon and then they both mated with Grover and had a muppet/chia pet baby, that's what I look like.

[Approximation.]

The question is: can a person still write with such unfortunate stuff atop her head?

Can I write a love scene without the reader eventually saying to herself...

What... what is that? Is it a smell? The stink of despair? What? This is a perfectly nice love scene I'm reading. Hero has a nice butt. And seems to know how to find the clit. And wow - the heroine can wrap her leg around her head AND the bedpost at the same time. Impressive. But what is wrong with this? I can't put my finger on it... WAIT. On, no. OH NO! I know what it is! THE LEAST ATTRACTIVE PERSON IN THE UNIVERSE WROTE THIS! Gah! GGGGAAAAAHHHHH!!!! Farrah Fawcett, NO! GROVER WHAT ARE YOU GOING???? EI FOJAIF89Q UMCJjh faoif98ajf skj.....................

Sigh.

So what should I do? Should I:

A) Only write scenes rife with horror already, so that my bad hair will only add to the tension
B) Not write at all, but go hide and eat Cadbury Creme Eggs
C) Break all the mirrors in my house and pretend really hard that I look like a Breck girl

I Win at Punching.I Fail at Marriage.

2010-05-19T05:00:00.000-07:00

I write romance. I hope that some day, some super smart person will publish my awesome romance, because it is awesome.

But there are days when I feel like a fraud, a sham, a sham-un-wow! Because while the husband and I love each other an epic amount, and I truly believe we are soul mates in manner of Han Solo and Princess Leia...

sometimes I punch him in the face.

It happens in the middle of the night, and I think it may be caused somehow by zombies. It's not my fault, no matter what Ricky says. Here's what happens.

* Indicates me guessing the events, since I am asleep *

Lucy: Zzzzzzzzzzz.

Ricky: *Rolls over. Scooches toward Lucy. Touches her lightly on the arm in a loving manner.*

Lucy: "Hgggnthhthg."

Ricky: *Sighs handsomely. Puts head on Lucy's shoulder. Whispers: "You're the most beautiful woman who lives, and who ever lived, and I'm including supermodels."*

Lucy: "GgGGGGGGrrrrrrr!"

Ricky: *Kisses Lucy's cheek.*

Lucy: LUCYSMASH!!!! FLAIL! KICK! PUNCH! OMG SOMEONE IS ATTACKING ME!!! PUNCH AGAIN AND THE FLAIL FLAIL FLAIL!!

Ricky: "Aaaaaaaaahhhh!"

Ricky flees to the edge of the bed, crying in horror and rocking and moaning "Why? Why? Why?"

The next morning, Lucy awakes refreshed! She tosses her raven locks and turns to greet her love, her husband, her little cuddle muffin!

Lucy: I love you, cuddle muffin!

Ricky: Cuddle muffin your face, stupid mean nasty... (random muttering). I hate you.

Lucy: What? How can you say these things, my darling one?

Ricky: You punched me in the face!

Lucy: That doesn't sound like me. Was it zombies?

Ricky: NO IT WASN'T FUCKING ZOMBIES! GRRRrrrrr.

Lucy: It must have been zombies. Kiss me!

Ricky: [Unprintable.]

About the 837582865th time this happened, I began to believe his version of events, despite its lack of zombie action. I punch him in the face when he tries to love on me in the middle of the night. I don't know why. You'd think he would stop trying, but every once in a while my fabulocity gets the better of him (naturally) and he tries again, only to be kicked in the elbow and/or thyroid.

I would like to put this in a romance novel, but I don't think an editor would let me.

So what have we learned today?

Punching is the opposite of romance. Don't punch!

My Cat Has Approved of These Winners

2010-05-17T05:00:00.000-07:00

Hello all!

Yes, I have WINNERS today! Huzzah!

Thank you to everyone who tweeted or whatevered for Jen! I know we sold a few books, and hey, that was the whole point :)

As some pointed out in the contest thread, my cat, Sparkle Unicorn Kitty, got rather protective of the copies of Jen's book, A TOUCH OF SCANDAL. In fact, one is a bit used because Sparkle Unicorn Kitty read it. Oops. Sorry. When I asked her if she liked it, she thought for a moment then replied, "Meeeeow. Mew mew, meowwwrwr mmmoreerwr meow." Snothead. She never says stuff that nice about my books.

I got the books away from her by tempting her with the power to choose my winners. She jumped at the chance! Actually, she's lazy so she kind of waddled at the chance. Anyhoo, as is her wont, she put on her psychic cat hat to make her decision.

As you can see, she channeled Nora Roberts to help her decide.

She ordered me to write out all the names, and I did so.

The first, she chose with a point of her paw: RFLONG!

(Sorry these pics are so blurry - that cat can't pose for shit.)

For the second, she wandered about in circles, and then licked her butt, and then sat next to the second winner: EMILYLZBTH!

Then, she became uninspired (La Nora had left her to go bathe in a bathtub full of money) and had to be "encouraged" to go on with her taxing duties. (Here we see Ricky "helping" her choose.)

The third winner is: TRISHA!

YAY!!!

Winners, please e-mail me your address and I shall get these (mostly new) books off to you post haste!

Lucy's Roundup O' the Week

2010-05-14T05:00:00.000-07:00

...Date Ending May 14

Number of job interviews Ricky had last week: 2

Number of job offers Ricky got last week: 2

Number of new jobs he started this week: 1. Huzzah!

No sooner do I post this whiny drivel, and dream of poop, but I get a response! And it wasn't terrible! I got a revise and resubmit from Carina Press for my first novella, Ragnar and Juliet! So, number of times I was validated as a real, bona-fide writer* this week: 1!

* (Usually my validation involves my friends enjoying my puns about inserting, which is worth ~~nothing at all~~ a lot.)

So, what can we take away from this week's experiences, hmmmm? Well, it seems to me that I have definitively discovered the secret to literary success:

WHINE IN PUBLIC IN BALLGOWN-FILLED METAPHOR

+

POOP

=

ONE SMALL STEP FOR LUCY IN PUBLISHING!

Be sure to spread the word by purchasing my new merchandise, obtainable for the low, low price of $19.95! All the cool kids are wearing it.**

** Your definition of "cool kids" may vary.

At Least It's Not Farting

2010-05-13T05:00:00.000-07:00

My name is Lucy and I have a problem.

Actually, I have a lot of them. In no particular order:

I'm short.
Really short.
I have feet so small they only make Hello Kitty shoes for me.
I have a pathological obsession with my blanket, Blankie.
I think I'm funny.
Really funny.
Hahahaha I just thought of a terrible new pun.
I have a short attention span, like my height.
I never remember how to spell deliscious. Deliicius. Oh, fine YUMMY.
I think gargly is a word*.

But the problem I am going to talk about today is my burping.

I burp. A lot. And I do it aloud. In a big, resonating, gargly* way. Now, I am a small lady, as I may have mentioned, and I love to look girly and flowery in dresses and heels. So there I'll be, bopping around LA LA LA and then BBBBAAARRRUUURRPPPPPPPPP!!1!

Oops.

Children flee in terror. Animals bark and/or roar. Old ladies shake their canes.

And I laugh.

Yes, not only do monstrous burps that sound like they ought to come from James Gandolfini escape my red-lipsticked lips, but then I think they're cute and amusing.

THEY'RE NOT, OKAY?

Everyone tells me they're not:

My husband
My co-coworkers
Random strangers
My cat
Santa
The cast of Battlestar Galactica

But I can't help it! Sometimes I try to stifle them and make the sound stop. But then, other times, they just fall outta me like spray tan oozes off the cast of The Hills. Uncontrollably!

I don't know what to do. Doesn't matter what I eat.

I am Lucy, and I'm a burper. THERE I SAID IT.

Stay tuned for my book "THE ITALIAN RICH GUY'S SHORT YET BURPY SORTA-VIRGIN BRIDE"!

Yeah.

You Have to Accentuate the Positive,Eliminate the Negative...

2010-05-12T05:00:00.000-07:00

Ricky: ... He's the nicest producer I ever met out here.

Lucy: That's cool. It's so good to see nice people succeed in this town. [L.A.]

Ricky: Yeah.

Lucy: I just wish for once that the nice people succeeding were us!

Ricky: (Laughs.)

Lucy: But don't worry honey -- I dreamed about poop last night.

Ricky: Um... what?

Lucy: I dreamed about poop last night. Twice. It was gross, actually. But my dream book says that to dream of feces is a sure sign of an increase in material wealth.

Ricky: Aaaaahhhhh. So, don't worry, you dreamed about poop.

Lucy: Yes!

Ricky: You should put that on a tee shirt.

Pretty in Pink Slips

2010-05-11T05:00:00.000-07:00

“Honey, I’m worried about you.”

Mom sat down on my bed, her weight causing Han Solo’s face to frown even more than it had been. How I loved Harrison Ford’s gruff scowl! “What’sh up, mom?” I sucked in a slobbery breath, my headgear vibrating.

The space between her eyebrows knotted in an I’m-going-to-be-boring-now way. I gave a pre-emptive eye-roll. “Lucy, you have to stop doing this.”

I knew what she was talking about. I clutched my orange princess phone closer to my almost B cup boobs.

“Stop waiting by the phone. He may call. He may not. But you can’t just sit here and wait to be asked to the prom.” She pried the fingers of one on my hands off the receiver. “Go out! Live life! And if he never calls, then it’s his loss.”

I blinked back tears. It had been nine weeks since I sent him my e-mail, with its Word attachment containing months of love and work. “Do you like me, yes or no?” it said. His automated response said he would get back to me in eight to ten weeks. And to have a nice day. But I couldn’t have nice days! The suspense! OH, THE SUSPENSE! It was like flea-ridden monkeys scraping at my insides with metal files whilst telling me I was untalented and looked fat.

“But mom,” my voice had taken on an alarming whine, “The e-mail I sent him was so good! How could he not like it and reject me from prom? All the cool kids are going. I just want the chance to dance!”

“I know, honey.” She put an arm around and squeezed in that gentle, yet firm, mom way. “But you can’t live your life waiting for a phone call. You have to leave your room.” She wrinkled her nose. “And shower once in a while.” She pulled back and examined me. “And take off that dress. You’re going to have ruined it by the time you do go to the dance.”

I looked down. Yards of tired mauve taffeta drooped around me, like a molted bird. Willing the salty teardrops back into my eye sockets, I stood and flung the phone toward Princess Leia’s downy face. “Okay, mom. You’re right. I’m shtill a good pershon with talent, even if thish one guy doeshn’t want to take me to prom."

“That’s right. Of course, you could cuss a little less.”

“Mom.”

“Okay, okay -- just saying.” She smiled and left, closing the door behind her.

Sighing, I changed out of my kinda stinky gown and galumphed toward my bathroom. If I couldn’t ~~sell a book~~ go to prom, at least I’d have a bubble bath and the latest Elizabeth Peters book.

Eff You, Cancer

2010-05-09T19:00:00.000-07:00

Blog friends, please meet Jennifer Haymore -- she's a wonderful, kind romance writer in my RWA (Romance Writers of America) local chapter. You may remember that I recommended her book, A HINT OF WICKED, on this very blog.

Jennifer recently announced that she is battling breast cancer.

Now, everyone knows that cancer is an asshole. And since cancer is an asshole, and since Jennifer is awesome and has just had a book released, we're going to help her promote it. It is clinically proven that book sales kill cancer cells!

Yes, IT IS A CONTEST!

I have purchased four copies of the sequel to A HINT OF WICKED, A TOUCH OF SCANDAL, and I am giving away three of them. (One of the copies is for me, because her books are teh coolest, so neener neener.)

The role of Vanna White will today
be played by Sparkle Unicorn Kitty.

Here's what you have to do to win one:

1) Blog about A TOUCH OF SCANDAL or THIS CONTEST (your choice).

AND/OR

2) Tweet about A TOUCH OF SCANDAL or THIS CONTEST (your choice).

AND/OR

3) Facebook about A TOUCH OF SCANDAL or THIS CONTEST (your choice).

AND/OR

4) Do some other creative merchandising of A TOUCH OF SCANDAL.

AND THEN

5) Leave a comment in this post telling me how you have promoted this awesome book. You get one entry for every generous spreading of the word!

I will draw three winners on May 17. It's that simple. I only promote books/authors I really like on this blog, so you can rest assured that Jen has received the Lucy Seal O' Approval and that you'll enjoy her sexy as hell book.

Here's a short URL to use in your tweets or whatnot (http://bit.ly/aC456I), or just use the Tweet This button below.

If you don't win, why not go out and buy the book yourself, or the first in this series, A HINT OF WICKED, for fun?

You win, Jennifer wins, CANCER LOSES.

Anatomy of a Home Improvement Project:Husband Edition

2010-05-07T05:00:00.000-07:00

Step 1: EXCITEMENT!

Saturday, 1pm.

Ricky: You’re going to love it when I’m finished! It’ll just take a couple of hours.

Lucy: Wonderful!

Step 2: HANDY MAN... IS HANDY!

Saturday, 2pm.

Hammer, hammer, hammer. Grunt, grunt, grunt! Manly man wipes his forehead on his shirt, looking manly. Lucy approves and thinks dirty thoughts about her husband, but knows better than to interrupt the thump, thump, thump & drill, drill, drill sequence of events.

Step 3: CUE OMINOUS MUSIC

Saturday, 4pm.

Drilling gets louder. The hour grows later.

Lucy: What would you like for dinner, honey?

Ricky: What did you do with my drill bits?

Lucy: Drill whats?

Ricky: *growls*

Lucy backs away slowly toward the wall, in her best “Crouching Wife, Hidden Scapegoat” manner.

Step 4: WON’T SOMEONE PLEASE THINK OF THE CHILDREN!?

Saturday, 5:00pm.

Lucy jerks her head. What was that noise? She looks up. Tiny pieces of ceiling scatter, floating gently to the ground like snowflakes. A wire protrudes from the hole, slinking down, down, down. She holds her breath in the silence. Should she say something? Is the wire supposed to be there, in the middle of the ceiling? Deciding that the entire ceiling could fall in before she’d go upstairs and interrupt Captain McGrunty, she goes back to her yoga.

Ricky descends the stairs -- clop, clop, clop. His unfocused eyes, beneath dusty eyebrows, narrow at the cord dangling above. He lets out a breath and heaves in another gulp of air. Then, slowly, he releases a series of foul invective the likes of which the world has never known! Words so curse-ey, so profane, they are illegal in most countries, and not even allowed on Fox!

Lucy cowers on her yoga mat in rabbit pose, lest a stray “fucking” or “goatblowing assclown” pockmark her dewy porcelain skin. Even the cat has the good sense to flee and sit in the bathtub, like they tell you to do during a tornado.

Step 5: DENIAL

Saturday, 5:10pm

Ricky: [Expletive.] [Expletive.] [Expletive.] This was supposed to be easy! Why is the *&%$#@#@$%$ wire going through the ceiling?

Lucy: ~~Because you drilled a hole there?~~ You look very handsome, honey.

Ricky: I put two holes through the wall upstairs.

*Crickets*

Lucy: Is that a new haircut? Aren’t your muscles bulgey today!

Ricky glowers, clops back up the stairs, and slams the bedroom door. The skies crackle and open up, releasing a deluge of Heaven’s tears upon the unsuspecting apartment. (Not really, but that would have been totally poetic. And wet.)

Step 6: GIVING UP

Saturday, 7pm

Lucy dons her flak jacket and oven mitts.

Lucy: Dinner’s ready.

Ricky: [Expletive.]

Only one [expletive], thinks Lucy. Progress!

Ricky: This was supposed to be done by now!

Lucy: (Grabs a butter knife just in case.) I made pasta.

Ricky: Don’t go upstairs.

Lucy wonders what has become of her bedroom. She imagines a scene from Apocalypse Now, but with more pillows.

Step 7: PROGRESS

Sunday, 1pm

Ricky’s sandy brown hair gleams in the sunlight as he stands on the balcony, working. He tells something out there to “fuck off.” Lucy grins, glad she’s not that thing. He comes back inside and fiddles at the wall. A few moments later, he smiles and poses, hands on hips.

Ricky: Look!

Lucy: At what?

Ricky: It’s a wall jack.

Lucy assures Ricky that it is the most wondrous wall to ever jack! She has never seen such a wall jack! That wall jack will surely go on to cure rabies, and win the Nobel prize in physics!

Ricky: My hands are all sticky.

Lucy: That’s what she said.

Ricky smiles at Lucy.

Step 8: HALLELUJAH!

Turns out that Ricky has connected the bedroom and the living room DVRs. They have become MEGA-SUPER-AWESOME-ROCKET-POWERED DVR, with twice the capacity and twice the unicorn powers of a single DVR.

Lucy tells Ricky that she has always dreamed about, nay, lusted for a MEGA-SUPER-AWESOME-ROCKET-POWERED DVR, and that her life is now complete! Kalu kalay!

The happy couple sits upon the couch and browses the cornucopia of television available to them.

Lucy: What’s that on your shirt?

Ricky: Spackle.

Lucy: I can get it off for you.

Ricky: That’s what she said.

FIN

I Place a Hext on You

2010-05-06T05:00:00.000-07:00

WHEN IT IS OKAY TO TEXT LUCY AT 3 A.M.

You want to buy my book.

You want to represent my book.

You are my best friend and have had a really terrible thing happen to you.

You are too drunk to drive.

You are bleeding.

You are on fire.

You are in jail.

You are bleeding and on fire in jail.

You are being rolled to the juicing room by little orange men singing in rhyme.

You are Gene Wilder. Because he is awesome.

You are giving me one million dollars out of your lottery winnings.

You are James McAvoy arriving at my door for a three way.

You are about to be encased in Carbonite.

The apocalypse is about to happen and you are going to give me and Ricky spots on your secret escape spaceship.

WHEN IT IS NOT OKAY TO TEXT LUCY AT 3 A.M.

You are a colleague at work reminding me to send a birthday card to someone the next day

I know I have recently resolved to not sweat the small stuff, and to love everyone, but I believe that I CAN LOVE YOU MORE IF YOU DON'T TEXT ME FOR NO REASON AT 3 A.M.

On Notice: The (Queen) Victoria's Secret Heroine

2010-05-05T05:00:00.000-07:00

An excerpt from 32DD Ways to Seduce a Rapscallion*.

Oh, drat! thought Naomi. That Lord Sweetecok is one luscious specimen of manhood. Too bad I am far too tall, and my legs far too long, and my breasts far too big for propriety's sake. Alas, with such terrible physical assets, he shall never notice little old me.

Sweet Jesus, thought Peter. That Miss Campbelle is one gorgeous vixen! I know that she is too tall, and much thinner than society deems appropriate, and her breasts constantly strain against her too-tight-for-some-reason bodice, but dagnabbit! I think she's the sexiest thing I've ever seen, despite her rabidly unconventional physique. She's so sexy, I just invented the word sexy, which it totally not historically accurate.

* Not a real book.

I just read about the thirtieth book which described the heroine's assets *rimshot* in the above fashion. Must EVERYTHING we women consume inform to us, yet again, that being built like a tall, skinny, languid Victoria's Secret model is the ONLY acceptable way to be?

Even our historical romance novels?

I actually find it worse when this modern female body ideal is presented in the above way. When I look at a sexist Axe body spray commercial (shudder), at least I know what I'm getting. But when the heroine's fashion-model physique is presented in this disingenuous "oh, gee, the hero sure is noble to love her despite her willowy body and big tits!" manner, I get stabby.

I have read books with short, or plump, heroines, but they are far and few between.

Romance is written (mostly) by women and for women, so why this obsession with the oppressive modern-day body ideal? Do authors think it's aspirational? That readers consuming a romance, with its many idealizations, cannot handle an average-bodied heroine? Maybe so. This Elle magazine editor thinks that "Average women are not inspired by women who look like them."

I say, "Bullshit!"

This is why I don't buy lady magazines anymore. And I've decided that I am not buying any more books with the kind of heroine I see above. I'll start reading the first chapter in the bookstore and when I get to the "woe is me, I'm built like a supermodel" part, I'll give it a good toss and save my money. And my blood pressure.

There's nothing wrong with all kinds of body types. All are beautiful - tall, short, fat, thin - but can a shortie get a what-what once in a while? How about a heroine who likes to chew on some mutton now and then?

Women get bombarded with beauty and body shame every minute of every day. It's a billion dollar industry, designed to coerce us into spending gobs of money and tons of time fixing what isn't broken. It's a way for woman-haters to keep us full of contrition and insecurity.

You know one way I escape? I read romance.

* Thank you, dear Zoe Archer, for the name Sweetecok.

Come On Over... to the ONJ Fan Club

2010-05-04T05:00:00.000-07:00

Do you have that one idol who, more than any other, helped to shape who you are? Not that we should try to make ourselves into graven Hollywood images, but fess up. There's that one person, right? Mine was/is Olivia Newton-John.

On Sunday night, I emerged briefly out from under the house that had recently fallen on my head...

[DRAMATIZATION]

...and saw an advertisement for the new episode of Glee, FEATURING OLIVIA NEWTON-JOHN.

Friends, do you think I:

a) Set my teacup and saucer upon the coffee table and remarked, "My goodness! How delightful. Back in my day, she was the cat's meow."

or

b) Leaped upon the sofa, Tom cruise-style; almost smacked my glaring husband in the face; and screamed, "OLIVIA NEWTON-JOHN! OLIVIA NEWTON-JOHN! ZOMG ZOMG!!1!"

*Ahem*

I didn't just love her -- Lady ONJ was who I wanted to BE growing up. She could sing, she could dance, she was Sandy from Grease! I had all her albums, and Xanadu was my favorite movie. It still is. Yes, I am am adult now, why do you ask?

The first real musical I ever auditioned for was Annie. I was nine years old. I may have mentioned before that I am roughly Hobbit-sized now, and I was very small back then. Nevertheless, I wanted to be Annie, and sing and dance like ONJ. I got up on stage, amongst unimaginative little borings singing "Happy Birthday" or similar, and belted out the full rendition of the song Xanadu, complete with dancing! I can still remember the gaping faces of the adults in the theatre. I was either super cute, super horrible, or super ballsy. Probably a combination of all three. I didn't get to be Annie (BECAUSE I WAS TOO SHORT, SHORTY-HATERS! SOB!), but I did get cast as Molly, and it set me down a road of performing that has lasted my entire life. My performing led me to writing.

So at 8pm tonight, I'll be in full delight, watching my very first idol on the tee-vee and dreaming all my dreams. I hope you have just as delightful an evening.

PS: If you don't watch Glee, you really should. Especially if you are a girl. Or a gay dude. I think it's required viewing for gay dudes, actually.

In Memoriam

2010-05-03T05:00:00.000-07:00

I wish I could say I was back from some lovely vacation, but I've had a heartbreaking couple of weeks. My best friend lost her baby when she was seven months pregnant, and I traveled to be with her as she buried her son, her first child. The experience has reinforced for me something I have long tried to live by -- to remember that people are the important things in life. To love, and to help each other, nothing else matters. Not really. We can control little, but we cam love each other through the good and the bad.

She's getting by through the grace of Valium, praise be its name. I always knew she was a strong woman, but I marvel at her ability to comfort others at this horrible time. She wanted me to ask my readers to say a prayer for her, her beautiful son, her husband, and their families. So no matter to whom you pray, or if you send your wishes and dreams to the Universe, please say a prayer for all of them. Thank you.

Hiatus, Part Deux

2010-04-23T05:00:00.000-07:00

Hello, faithful few readers.

I'm experiencing some personal stuff over here, so I'm putting the blog on hiatus through the end of next week at least. I'm hoping to be back in fighting form in early May.

XO

Lucy

And Now a Word From Our Sponsors

2010-04-18T20:01:00.000-07:00

Thank you, wonderful blog friends, for naming my bad guy! I shall go with majority rule, so Blaine Ryan Bradford IV it is! I have inserted (heh heh -- inserted) him into my manuscript. We shall see what mischief he makes.

In other news, I think I shall take a blogging break for a week. For personal reasons.

No, not those kinds of personal reasons! I just need a little break is all. From the great pressure that is entertaining you lot. And yes, I understand that "entertaining" is a relative term.

Have a lovely week!

XO

Vikings Do It Whilst Horny

2010-04-14T18:34:00.000-07:00

Oh, bloggie friends. I think I may have found a new writer to lust after from afar. My beloved writing partner Fellatia sent me, for my birthday, this book:

THE VERY VIRILE VIKING by Sandra Hill.

Fellatia said she was sending me a great book, with the best title ever.

She was right. THE VERY VIRILE VIKING?! Poetry.

I'm only a few pages in now, but I'm loving it.

Ms. Hill, I hope you won't mind if I share the first few lines with my three readers.

In days of old when men were... whatever...
Magnus Ericsson was a simple man.
She loved the smell of fresh-turned dirt after springtime plowing. He loved the feel of a soft woman under him in the bed furs... when engaged in another type of plowing.

I don't think it's too early to declare my love for this book.

I read the above aloud to my husband and he said, "That sounds like something you wrote." I needed to hear/read this, especially on a night when I was wondering if my sometimes crazy voice was too crazy to ever sell. Yes, I get reassurance from plowing jokes. I am what I am.

On Notice: Well Bred Ladies Don't Leap In That Fashion

2010-04-12T05:00:00.000-07:00

Friends, I must bring an urgent issue to your attention. There is a terrible affliction afflicting the romance novel heroines of to-day. Scores of perfectly lovely heroines are being damaged willy nilly by irresponsible and inexplicable conclusion-leaping.

Many romance novel heroines progress for several hundred pages establishing intelligent, fun, sassy, and/or clumsy characters. They make mostly good decisions, and fight hard to get the guy. But then, at the end, usually around page 300 or so, they suffer from Leap to Conclusion-Itis.

Leap to Conclusion-Itis happens when the author needs one more conflict with the hero before the end of the book, even when the heroine has just been kidnapped, chased by rabid cannibals, or almost violated sexually. You'd think she'd be happy to see the hero after one of these horrible events, but no. She must go a-leaping for some reason.

An example of Leap to Conclusion-Itis:

"What do you mean Reginald enjoys tomatoes? Reginald never told me he enjoyed tomatoes in the one week since we met. What else has Reginald not told me? Everything he ever said must be a lie because I was unaware of this fact about him. Oh, dear heavens! He is unmistakably the mad axe murderer who has been decapitating pigeons, and girls, in Hyde Park!"

The disease typically follows this pattern: If A, then B. If B, then L. If L, then OH MY GOD LIFE AS I KNOW IT IS OVER, EVERYTHING IS A SHAM, WOE IS ME, I SHALL NEVER LOVE AGAIN AND HAVE NO CHOICE BUT TO RUN AWAY AND BECOME A NUN.

Side effects of Leap to Conclusion-Itis may include:

Hammertoe

Broken pelvis

Teeth grinding

The book is made unnecessarily longer by 20 pages

The reader throws the book across the room and writes a blog about it

How does one know if they are about to inflict their once-proud heroine with Leap to Conclusion-Itis? Ask yourself, dear author, this question: is this made-up conflict one that could be resolved by a very, very brief section of dialogue? See my example below:

"Reginald! Get away from me! You are unmistakably the mad axe murderer who has been decapitating pigeons, and girls, in Hyde Park!"
"No, I'm not."
"But you never told me you liked tomatoes!"
"We have never taken a meal together, dearest. We were too busy disliking each other and having sex."
"Oh, I see. Never mind then. Let's have sex, er, get married."

If it is such a conflict, dear author, back away from the histrionics and just end the frigging book. In this manner, you guarantee that I will buy the sequel.

feminism n (1895) 1 : the theory of thepolitical, economic, and socialequality of the sexes

2010-04-08T05:00:00.000-07:00

I just discovered this, and it really is better than unicorns, friends. Read. Learn. Have joy!

From Tomato Nation: Yes, You Are (a Feminist.)

Please Don't Read This One, Mom

2010-04-07T05:00:00.000-07:00

Via Jezebel:

So many jokes.

SO MANY JOKES.

Okay, friends. Best "Big Dick" joke gets a gold star from Lucy. Give it to me! (...she said to Big Dick!)

Go Together Like a Horse and Carriage

2010-04-06T05:00:00.000-07:00

You NEED to read this amazing article from Stanford Magazine:

Here's the title/blurb:

The Sex Scholar

Decades before Kinsey, Stanford professor Clelia Mosher polled Victorian-era women on their bedroom behavior—then kept the startling results under wraps.

By Kara Platoni

Here's a quote:

The Mosher Survey recorded not only women's sexual habits and appetites, but also their thinking about spousal relationships, children and contraception. Perhaps, it hinted, Victorian women weren't so Victorian after all.

Indeed, many of the surveyed women were decidedly unshrinking. One, born in 1844, called sex "a normal desire" and observed that "a rational use of it tends to keep people healthier." Offered another, born in 1862, "The highest devotion is based upon it, a very beautiful thing, and I am glad nature gave it to us."

I think Victoria was the only one who was really Victorian. Everyone else just pretended in order to fit in.

XO

Yes, This Is How I Spend My Free Time

2010-04-03T19:24:00.000-07:00

War and Peeps

by Lucy Woodhull

Every year the same thing. Damn the humans and their thirst for Peep blood! Er, marshmallow! Captain Peeter Peecker of the Twenty-First Peep Infantry spit out the last of his cigar and sauntered to the stair banister. Usually he was able to fight the human scourge with a clear head, but this year, this year was different. This year, this year they had captured his girl, Peeptunia.

"C-c-captain Peecker?"

"Yeah, Private Peenaski?"

"The kitchen is clear. I r-r-recommend we go in immediately. I heard the humans go upstairs and turn on the B-b-barry White, sir. They should be up there for three, four minutes. Maybe less."

Peecker leaned against the cool metal rail. "Sure, Private, sure." He had seen many a Private like Peenaski. Young, eager, green. But they didn't know shit from shinola.

Peecker leaned against the cool metal rail.

Sure, war seemed glamorous at boot camp. I wonder why they call it boot camp, he thought. We can't wear boots. We have no feet. In the real world, war was hell. H-E-double-hockey-sticks hell. He spit. Bah! He was a soldier, not a philosopher.

He had seen many a Private like Peenaski. Young, eager, green.

And today he had the most important mission of his life. He must save Peeptunia.

His men, er, Peeps assembled, he led the column to the linoleum floor. Peenaski shimmied to the countertop and down again. "C-c-captain!" he panted. "I s-s-see her. She's on the chopping block!"

"Yeah, I know. It's very dangerous under the human lash."

The Private rolled his eyes. "Um, I mean literally, sir. S-s-she's sitting on a chopping block.”

“Don’t be a dick, Peenaski.”

“Sorry, sir. S-s-several other of our P-p-peep brethren are there, too. They... they didn't make it."

“Don’t be a dick, Peenaski.”

Peecker sneered to the heavens. What kind of God would allow such brutality? It was beyond comprehension. He spit. Bah! He was a soldier, not a theologian. He scaled the cabinets and struck a dashing pose against the dishwasher. Once that was complete, he crept across the counter.

"Peeter!" Peeptunia called. Her shining pink skin looked like sweet sugar candy to his hungry eyes, er, eye. "Peeter! Help me!"

Hurrying to his girl's side, Peecker gasped to behold the carnage surrounding her. So many good Peeps - murdered in the evil humans’ game. To what purpose? Many Peeps were killed by the giant ones, yes -- ripped head from body and eaten. But this slicing and dicing? It was butchery! It was the kind of sick experiment that had cost him his eye back in Easter '08.

It was butchery!

Peeptunia clung to him, quivering. "Let us escape, my big, strong Peecker!"

The Captain flexed his 'mallow and called, "Private Peenaski!"

"Yes, s-s-sir!"

"Take Peeptunia to safety. I'll meet up with you back at base. I need to investigate what treachery is afoot, er, aPeep here."

"No! No, Peeter, you must come with us!" Peeptunia clung to him. Peecker gave his best chick a long, hard kiss. Reluctantly, he let the Private drag his protesting girl to safety.

Peecker gave his best chick a long, hard kiss.

No more time for mushy stuff.

Peecker crept along the sink to the far side of the kitchen. He could see something in the distance -- maybe a dish of some sort. I have a bad feeling about this, he thought. Or maybe that was the goulash he had for lunch. He spit. Bah! He was a soldier, not Jacques Péepin.

He pressed on.

At the edge of the plate he took a deep breath. Rolling up to the very front of his marshmallow belly he saw... he saw... some really bad shit. [He’s a soldier, not a writer. Give the guy, er, Peep a break.] He yelped and drew back in horror. Then... voices!

"Wow, Ricky. That was amazing. I mean, that was the best ever!"

"You were wonderful, Lucy. When'd you get so flexible? You're the most beautiful woman in the world, and that's counting Angelina Jolie."

"I know. It’s a burden. And now my darling, I have something to show you."

The humans approached Captain Peecker. He dove behind the platter of slaughter.

"Voila!" said the female one. "It's Peepshi! Peep sushi."

Rolling up to the very front of his marshmallow belly he saw... he saw...
some really bad shit.

"Awesome! Lucy, you're the best wife ever. You're never annoying or anything. You'd never make me dress Peeps in costume and take infantile pictures of them."

"Of course not. What kind of freak spends Easter morning doing that?"

They began to feast upon the eviscerated bodies. Peecker could do nothing but wedge himself under the edge of the serving dish in terror.

"Look at this one," said the man.

Peecker looked up in slow motion. It was happening -- just like his recurring nightmare, the one that always ended with him dressed in drag and singing "La Marseillaise." The man's humongous hand gripped his helpless body. Peecker struggled, but could not fight the monstrous strength.

"Uh, oh. I guess I missed one."

"Not for long." The male one laughed, the sound more menacing than Peeptunia giving him a marriage ultimatum. Peecker flew through the air for one split second, every fiber of marshmallow wallowing in dreadful anticipation, until CHOMP!

The end.

Happy Easter Part Deux: Muppets

2010-04-03T10:19:00.000-07:00

I awoke to this in my inbox from my darling Ricky. You'll laugh.

Happy Easter!

2010-04-02T17:54:00.000-07:00

No matter what you believe, no matter what holidays you celebrate, I think we can all agree that Peeps are awesome.

And thus I bring you... Peepshi.

Peep. Sushi.

Go visit Serious Eats and learn how to make it! I'm making some on Sunday to surprise the hubs.

Happy day!

This is Why I Don't Write Books For Children

2010-04-02T05:00:00.000-07:00

Via FailBlog:

Lucy: Did we write this book?

Fellatia: Someone has plagiarized our work!

This photo is a page from our soon to be released (ahem) work entitled Jen and the Repressed White Water Rafting Trip.

Hello My Name is Weird and I Am a Lucy

2010-04-01T05:00:00.000-07:00

From VeryDemotivational.com.

It's April Fool's Day. Do not get fooled by the draculas, ladies.

Hey Mom? I Wanna Be a Drug Dealer.

2010-03-31T05:00:00.000-07:00

I recently re-read the first forty or so pages of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. It was Fellatia's copy, actually. She and I read Harry Potter when we need a boost, or just need that magical (pun intended) something from our for-pleasure reading.

I read the Harry Potter books before I ever began to write seriously. And I loved them. And I mean the word "love." Harry is my buddy and I'll kick your teeth in if you say otherwise.

Upon reading Book One anew, I was shocked to notice something I never picked up on the first time I read the book as a plain old "reader."

J.K. switches point of view (POV) FOUR times in the first chapter with no breaks or warnings of any kind. The book begins in an omniscient POV, talking about Mr. Dursley and Privet Drive. It then switches to inside Dursley's head. After a few pages, it switches to the cat sitting outside the house (Professor McGonagall). She doesn't even get an entire page before the POV switches one last time to Albus Dumbledore. You could argue that it switches more than that, as I felt her swerving into omniscient territory several times.

If you frequent, well, anywhere in the writing community nowadays, you realize that J.K. should have been strung up by her toenails for daring to attempt a POV switch mid-stream. I'm pretty sure the punishment for doing it four times in one chapter is death by paper cuts. It's CONFUSING to switch POV, dontcha know! It's ALARMING and FRIGHTENING, according to most out there. But funny, when she did it four times I wasn't confused at all. At all. I followed the story and I was hooked. She doesn't even get to the hero's POV until chapter two!

For all my bluster, as an unpublished newbie (especially when I'm writing straight up romance (as opposed to parody)), I do not attempt a POV switch mid-scene, lest I give some poor critique partner the vapors. I rail against the "rules" of writing, but I am cognizant of them, and break them only with intent and a reason, because I understand that these arbitrary things are partially (mostly?) the line items upon which I am judged.

But whither the story?

You've heard of it? Story. The entire reason I pick up a book. Not to count adjectives. Not to shake my head at gerunds. But to get lost in the story. J.K. tells one helluva story, and that's all that matters.

When I go participate in online writer on writer critique exercises, the story is almost never mentioned in the critiques. You'll see a critique like "never use the word 'quite' - it's unnecessary and shouldn't be used", or "try to challenge yourself to say the same thing in ten words." Basically, 100% arbitrary suggestions that miss the point of the story, intent of the scene, and the voice of the writer. Often, anyone with an unusual hook or a distinct idea gets clobbered.

I'm not saying we shouldn't try to improve as writers - all of us can (with the possible exception of Saint Rowling, blessed be) and should, but I hate to see the baby thrown out with the bathwater.

I'll leave you with a few thoughts by Moriah Jovan, author of The Proviso and Stay.

Moriah posts on a writer board I frequent, and the other day she posted this gem*. She's been at this a lot longer than me, so I'll let her take it from here:

In the early/mid 1990s, when I was going to all the conferences and attending the workshops and getting The Rules beat into me by my critique group and chapter mates (who didn't know any more than I did), the Shiny New Rules just coming on the scene were 1) getting rid of all "be" verbs (i.e. "was, were" ALWAYS equals passive voice) and 2) ceasing to head hop ("What's head-hopping?" "Dunno. There's a workshop on it next conference, though.") and 3) getting rid of all -ly and -ing words (regardless of if they were necessary and thus led to needlessly tortuous writing to avoid them).

All of us in my critique group and in my RWA chapter all struggled to change our wild, wicked "be"ing and headhopping and "-ly"ing and "-ing"ing ways. Unfortunately, the basic misunderstanding of the "be" verb ALWAYS equalling passive voice stuck, propagated, and now seems to be written in stone. Same with head-hopping, adverbs, and gerunds. Comes from amateurs teaching amateurs what none of them really know.

It was never about the story. It was always about the hook and the proper amount of tension (GMC before it was coined) and killing passive voice and head-hopping and what's HOT right now!!! I'll tell you what. I've never read a batch of more boring books in my life but they were perfect.

And...here we are 20 years later and nuthin's changed.

Whatever my personal feelings about the way Nora or Dan Brown or Stephenie Meyer write, for them, it's about the story. And the readers know that and respond to it because that's all the readers care about.

Readers are junkies and all they want is the next fix of their crack. They may even know it's BAD for them, but by golly, they want it and they'll do what they have to to get it. My goal is to be the drug dealer.

Yes. That's my goal, too.

Let's all be drug dealers!

*Re-posted here with her permission.