Is it the Publishing Apocalypse?

Good question and I was just telling a buddy of mine it had to be after she sent me an article that sent my heckles bristling faster than a porcupine on speed. You see she knows there are certain things I can’t abide such as Twilight for example. Not because I’m jealous of Ms. Meyers’ success, but because of the unfortunate influence her material has on the young girls who are growing up in this era.

To my utter shock and dismay the article was entitled “Twilight To Be Taught in Cambridge Literature Class”.

Something Rotten in Academia?

What is wrong with this picture? Cambridge, the second oldest university in England, a beacon of higher learning for centuries has fallen into the barrel of rotten apples known as Twilight. It must be the beginning of the apocalypse; that my friends is the only reason I can think  of for a place like Cambridge to torture their students with the fantasies of a grown woman who writes stories as if she’s twelve years old.

So I continued to read said article in hopes of coming up with a sane, logical reason why this institute would even consider Twilight worthy of their academic attentions. Okay, so Cambridge has a newly opened center for the study of children’s literature. Twilight is only one of a number of books, Harry Potter among them, and video games that they will be treating as literature in an attempt to understand the material that is influencing young people.

Whew, that was a close one. *wipes sweat from brow* And here I was thinking that the good folks of academia had lost their bloody minds. So, this is all a psychological research project of sorts. A way to get inside the minds of our youth and understand what is so influential in their lives. That is something I can get behind to an extent. Parents in particular need to be made aware of what their children are reading and how it may influence their judgment. My friend who sent me the article above, we shall call her R., and I have had a number of discussions about Twilight and the negative influence it may have on the young girls of today.

Now to be honest I have not read the series, but I did try to read an excerpt from the first book and I have watched both the movies. I am aware that when Hollywood transfers books to film they often change and/or drop things from the actually books. Often it is because of time or budget constraints that these changes are viewed as needed. When I tried to read an excerpt from Twilight as well as New Moon I was horrified by the writing alone. If I sent in a manuscript written as Ms. Meyers wrote hers my editor would tear me, pardon my French, a new asshole to be honest.

I was surprised and disappointed to discover that something written so immaturely had been picked up by a big publishing house. My first thought was that perhaps it was because it was a young adult book, so I decided to give the excerpt from her first adult novel The Host a try. Unfortunately, I found the writing just as immature and just as awful. My next thought was if this is the kind of writing that the big publishers in New York were seeking, then maybe I should rethink where I want to go with my own writing career.

Yes, I write gay erotic romance.

Yes, I may not be mainstream.

Yes, my work is far more mature.

These are truths that I face every time I look in a mirror. Each time I set down at my laptop and open up that manuscript that holds yet another small facet of my soul, I know these truths. With every word I write I share a part of my heart, mind, and soul with those who care to open up one of my stories. Perhaps, I’ll never be on the New York Times bestseller list, be on the cover of Entertainment Weekly, or have my books sought by Hollywood. But, I do know one thing I will have–my integrity as a writer and a human being.

Cut one head off? Another takes its place.

Enjoy the attention and the money while it lasts Ms. Meyer because eventually it will fade away. Unless this really is the apocalypse and you my dear Ms. Meyer are the Anti-Christ. I’m starting to think that might be the case. After all everywhere I go there you are. Think about that theory for a moment.

Sweet dreams. *insert evil laughter*

Interview with Author Ann Siracusa

Welcome to the February 07, 2010 edition of The Fox Hole. Today I’m joined by author Ann Siracusa. So let’s make Ann feel at home as she shares a little of her life and her work with us. Grab a cup of Joe, snatch a Crispy Creme, and have a seat as I welcome Ann to the fold.

Avail @ Sapphire Blue Pub.

Welcome to ‘The Fox Hole’ Ann it’s a delight to have you. Could you tell the readers a little bit about yourself?

Here’s the short version.  My pen name and real name is R. Ann Siracusa, but I go by Ann.  I’m retired from a 35+ year career as an architect and urban planner, which makes me older than dirt.  I’ve been married to the same man for more than 45 years (an Italian policeman from Sicily whom I met at the Fountain of Love on my first day in Rome).  We have three grown children, seven grandchildren, and an eighth due in March.

A more revealing version.  After graduating in June with a degree in Architecture from UC Berkeley, I went directly to Rome (via a week in London) to take a doctorate in Urban Planning.  Instead, on my first day in Rome I sat down next to a very handsome Italian at the Fountain of Love in Piazza Esedra, and the rest is history.  I didn’t speak much Italian, he didn’t speak much English, and a few weeks later I had to look up the word fidanzata in the English-Italian dictionary to find out I was “engaged.”  I did attend the University of Rome but basically “audited” classes because final examinations at that time were oral, and I didn’t have the language skills to pull that off.

When I wrote to my parents in October to tell them I wanted to marry an Italian policeman from Sicily, my mother showed up in Rome, without warning, to take me home…and I hadn’t even told them yet that he was a widower with a three-year-old daughter.   (I was 24 at the time.)   Of course, I refused to go and promised if I didn’t have a job by the end of the year, I would come home.  My mother left me the plane ticket, which I cashed in.  With that and a hundred dollars I borrowed from my ex-boyfriend in New York (Thanks, Ronnie, I still owe you), Luciano and I got married in a civil ceremony in December.

Okay, now here’s how naïve I was.  I had this great plan that if I didn’t get a job, I would go back to California, work for six months to save up money and convince my parents I hadn’t turned into a raving lunatic, then go back to Italy.  He was going to “wait” for me.  Yeah, right!  This would never get past an editor.  It’s too unbelieveable.  “The heroine is TSTL (to stupid to live).”  Fortunatly, a week before I was booked to return, I did get a job as an architect with an Italian land development firm.  Lucky for me, because I was already pregnant.

It took until August to get permission to marry in the Catholic Church, but first I had to take instruction since I wasn’t Catholic.  So there I was, six months pregnant (but not showing much) meeting twice a week with a priest at the American Catholic Church.  I did fine until we got to the part about birth control.  Then we had a major confrontation.  The priest explained that birth control was a sin because it was a perversion of a natural function.  I pointed out that using anti-perspirants was also the perversion of a natural function, but I didn’t see the Church opposing that.  Long story short, I was willing to convert to Catholicism for my husband’s sake.  The Church said, “Thanks, but no thanks.  Just sign this promise to bring up your children up as Catholics.  We’d rather you remain an Episcopalian.”

How’s that for rejection?  (I guess I was born to be a novelist.)

Avail @ Sapphire Blue Pub.

My oldest son was born in Rome.  I worked for the Societá General Immobiliare as an architect/planner for several years until we came to the United States.  My husband, Luciano, and I, his daughter and our son, and then our second son (all five of us) lived with my parents for a full year.  You can’t begin to imagine!  But that’s another story.

If you want to know about my long and somewhat distinguished career in urban planning and my some of my non-fiction credits, look at my resume on my website.  Enough!

Have you always wanted to be a writer? If so when did you start writing?

My mother was a librarian and big on books.  I’ve always liked to read and write stories.  In high school, my wonderful English teacher encouraged me to write fiction, but I never considered writing as a profession.  I earned a degree in Architecture at UC Berkeley, worked in Rome and got married there, then was caught up with family and profession (where I did a lot of non-fiction and professional writing).

I didn’t follow up on my interest in fiction writing until I was in my forties.  I read a novel that everyone was raving about and said, “Oh, man.  Even I can write better than this.”  So I sat down with the serious intention of actually writing a full length novel and finished my first one in about eight or nine months (along with working about 60 hours a week and with two kids still living at home).

As a writer what inspires you?

The human experience and world travel are my inspirations.  I like to experience other cultures, religions, architecture, attitudes and values, and I want to share those experiences with others.  I set my novels in the foreign countries I’ve traveled in, and I want the reader to feel as though they have been there with me.  I use my travel experiences and those of others, most often as comic relief and secondary characters.

Many things trigger my imagination.  Everyone has a story, and ideas are everywhere.  I read the newspapers, watch television, listen to stories friends tell about their eccentric great Aunt Amy, and observe and take notes, particularly when I’m traveling.  I ask people questions.  Maybe only a single event or incident will stick in my head as a general premise, or maybe it will be an entire plot.

The key is to observe what is happening and to ask myself , “What would happen if…”

Do you have any favorite writers?

I’m very eclectic about reading, just as I am about writing, but at any given time I’m generally reading in the same genre that I’m writing so I know what’s selling, what ideas have already been beaten to death, and so on.

Some of my more-or-less contemporary favorites include: P.D.James, Janet Evanovich, Katie MacAlister, Sue Grafton, Erlene Fowler, Tony Hillerman, Ken Follet, Dick Francis, Issac Asimov, C.J.Cherryh, Andre Norton, Carl Hiaasen, Bob Mayer, Ann McCaffrey, Helen MacInnes, Linda Howard, J.D.Robb, Daphne DuMaurier, S.L.Stebel, Thomas Harris, Rosamunde Pilcher.  That only scratches the surface.

I like the classics, too, and favor Dante, Shakespeare, and Mark Twain.

If you could live in any time or place–where and when would you choose?

Avail @ Sapphire Blue Pub.

That’s a tough question.  I’ve been so many places I think I’d like to live, at least in more or less contemporary times, but those inclinations aren’t based on the realities of day to day living.  You never really know until you live there.  And so much of the “choosing” involves who I could be as well as when and where.  In the here and now, I would love to live in Rome again or Florence.  In my fantasies, I would like to be alive at the time and in the place when sentient life on another planet is discovered.

Being a professional cook at one time, I have to ask this one. Do you have a favorite food?

I hate to admit this, particularly to a professional cook, but my favorite food is Ice Cream.  (I’m using the term “food” loosely.)  It’s my comfort food.  Too bad it has the least amount of nutritional value of anything a person can put in their mouth, except maybe cardboard, which has the advantage of no calories or cholesterol.

Since my husband is Italian and does all the cooking, I have to say my second favorite foods are pasta and cotolette alla Marsala.

Now that I’ve picked your brain, can you tell us about your latest work? Don’t hold back.

Like most writers, I’m always working on something.  My most recent published work, however, is a humorous romantic suspense series featuring a young tour director and a handsome Europol spy.

(Four books, so far, all full length novels of from 70,000 to 90,000 words.)

All For A Dead Man’s Leg, the first book in the series (published March, 2009), introduces Harriet Ruby, who is a well-balanced, cute, intelligent, and hardworking over-achiever whose life has been good but ordinary.  Her biggest problem is that she doesn’t have any real problems and is much too trusting.   After graduating from MIT, she’s taken a job as a tour director in Europe to experience life and “find herself” before she settles down to career and family.

Directing her first solo tour in Spain and Morocco, she and her group get lost in the medina in Tangier.  There, one of her tourists becomes ill and needs a doctor.  Harriet can’t find her way out of the old walled marketplace and doesn’t speak Arabic.  A handsome and mysterious stranger, Will Talbot, appears and offers to help her.

Unbeknownst to Harriet, Will is a Europol spy and sometimes contract operative for the U.S. Government.  He has a dark and mysterious past, lots of problems and cannot, and will not, trust anyone.  Driven by a terrible burden of guilt over something he did in his past, he constantly risks his life to Apay back@ society by fighting evil in the world.  Harriet, being a trusting person and a bit desperate, accepts his help.  Will examines the tourist, pronounces him dead, and warns Harriet not to report the death.  Trust him, he says, and he will help her transport the corpse out of Morocco and back to Gibraltar.  At this point, Harriet=s ordinary and predictable life turns upside down.  And that is just the beginning.

Together they take a fast-paced romantic romp through Spain and Morocco in pursuit of murders, smugglers, international terrorists, and excellent sex.

Here’s where the not-holding-back and braggin part comes in.

“What a wonderful book! All For A Dead Man’s Leg by R. Ann Siracusa is one of the funnier romance novels I have read in a long time.  I can really identify myself with Harriet Ruby, the heroine of this novel, and her knack for getting into awkward situations.” Romance Junkies Review (Dec.2009)

“All for a Dead Man’s Leg is a comical romantic mystery. Ann Siracusa has done a great job weaving this tale.  For those who enjoyed “Romancing the Stone,” this is reminiscent of the film.  While the plots are very different, the story was in the same tone.  “All For A Dead Man’s Leg” is a good rainy day–or any day read.

Reviewed by Lisa Mitchell, WRDF Review (Between The Lines, July 2009)

In All For A Fist Full Of Ashes , the second book in the series (published October, 2009), Harriet and Will, who’ve been seeing each other for a year since their first meeting in Morocco, come together in Italy where their work assignments again overlap.

Harriet is conducting a custom tour for fourteen members of an Italian-American family.  The family matriarch is on a quest to find the unknown location of her mother=s grave so she can bury her brother=s cremated ashes, which have been smuggled into Italy wrapped in Cuban cigars.  Will has one of the family members under surveillance as a suspect in an assassination conspiracy.

Charming the matriarch, Will coaxes an invitation from her to join the tour.  The quirky family members, including four unruly teenagers and a pet green tree python named Fluffy, sweep through Italy in search of relatives and a lost grave, leaving chaos, hilarity, and danger in their wake.

Will and Harriet, on their own personal journey, find traveling together for twenty-four hours a day threatens their budding relationship, which is fraught trust issues. Harriet wants to be involved in everything, and Will won=t tell her anything about his case.  Harriet=s intervention leads her to intuit the time, place and victim of the conspiracy.  Unable to reach Will, she puts herself in danger to thwart the assassination.

More shameless self-promotion.

“Full of colorful characters and hilarious situations, A Fist Full of Ashes is just plain fun.  If you like Janet Evanovich’s Stephanie Plum novels, you’ll like this series by R. Ann Siracusa. It’s spunky and well-told. Definitely kept me entertained.” Night Owl Reviews, Dec.09

“In All For A Fist Full Of Ashes you will follow them (Will and Harriet) in expert detail as they travel through Italy and you will learn a lot about Italy and the Vatican while you are being entertained.  This novel has everything – intrigue, murder, romance and some comic relief, and you will be immensely entertained by the various and diverse characters that grace its pages.  A fun book that you will truly enjoy reading.” Coffee Time Romance Review (Dec.2009)

Destruction of the Great Wall, the working title of the third book, takes place in China about six months after the events of book two.  The fourth book, with the working title Russian Roulette, takes place (you guessed it) in Russia, approximately 6 months after the events in book three.  These are fast-paced, action-driven adventures in which the spy story is resolved within the book, but the romance between the hero and heroine developes over the course of the series.

Sapphire Blue has published a short story featuring Harriet and Will entitled First Christmas Follies (December, 2009) which is about Will and Harriet’s first Christmas together.  A second short story, featuring Will and Harriet’s first real “date” will be out in the near future.  These are “bridges” between books and feature events which take place between the novels, and hopefully there will be others.

Hopefully so! It sounds like you’ve been quite successful thus far and here’s wishing you have many more successes in the future. Thank you so much for stopping by and sharing your work and life with my readers. Unfortunately, we’ve run out of time, but I’d love to have you back in the future.

If you would like to learn more about R. Ann Siracusa and her work check out the following links:

Publisher/s:  http://www.sapphirebluepublishing.com/catalog/

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/SapphireBlueFans (Go to Photos)

MySpace:      http://myspace.com/nonna8582

Website:       http://www.rannsiracusa.com

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/

Filed by:       http://filedby.com/author/r_ann_siracusa/ (Note underscore: r_ann_siracusa)

She Writes:  http://www.shewrites.com/profile/RAnnSiracusa

Which Goddess Lurks in Your Soul

Which Goddess lurks in your soul? Demeter You are a true earth warrior! Demeter is the Greek Goddess of the fields, grain and harvest and inhabits those souls who long to be a part of the green. You have a special connection with plants and care deeply for the Earth. You tend to be motherly and protective of those that are in your care and are not above severe aggression when one of your charges is harmed or threatened. Click Here to Take This Quiz

Quizzes and Personality Tests

Samhain’s Embrace #3 of 2009

I just wanted to share some wonderful news with my readers and fellow writers.

Erin Schmidt, a writer and reviewer listed her Ten Best Romance eBooks of 2009 over at ezinearticles.com. My novella Samhain’s Embrace published by Dark Roast Press (Oct. 2009) was selected and listed as #3 out of 10.

Check out the list HERE!

Personal Ghosts

A Ghost of the Supernatural Variety

When one mentions ghosts as a general rule the mind normally goes straight to bedsheets, rattling chains, and/or horror movies with lots of gore. Not all ghosts are bad and not all ghosts are paranormal. Sometimes we are haunted by memories that are so vivid that they seem to be in the room with you in Technicolor, High Definition glory that would make James Cameron and his SFX people jealous.

These ghosts are what keep us going sometimes when everything in our world seems to be spinning out of control. They give us strength with their presence no matter the hour of the day or night. They visit us in our dreams as we lay curled beneath layers of blankets on  a cold winter’s night.

Two of my own personal ghosts are my parents.

Above my desk, hanging on the wall, is a framed photo of my parents from their first date back in the summer of 1965. It’s a black and white picture taken at a small country fair against one of those fake roll-down backdrops. My father is smiling, eyes shining with a happiness I rarely saw in them growing up. When I did catch a glimpse of that light it was when he was looking at my mother. My mother is leaning into his shoulder, contentment clear on her face, dressed in gingham trimmed in lace and ribbon. This photo, although taken before I was a twinkle in my dad’s eye, represents so much to me.

My ever present ghosts are so young, younger than I am now, and filled with such joy in that single moment. It’s clear that even then on that first date, my parents were in love. For me they are the epitome of love and always will be despite the fact they both have passed on to the other side. They live inside me always and it is in those moments that I feel like giving up that they call to me. I can hear my father’s gruff voice telling me not be scared and not to cry. I can smell his menthol cigarettes and his Old Spice aftershave. Against my cheek I feel the brush of my mother’s wild dark curls and that laugh that used to annoy me when I was a kid. It was as if she had a secret joke that she wouldn’t share. I can smell her scent, baby lotion, and sunlight.

They formed my idea of what love was. It’s not easy or perfect and often it’s painful, but moments like that one caught on film so long ago is all worth it. There is no need for words for all that needs to be said can be communicated with just a touch and a glance. They are the ghosts that haunt my mind as I spin my tales of love lost, betrayal, and love rediscovered. They are my muses when all else fails.

But they aren’t the only ghosts that haunt me.

The ghost of that little ramshackle house I spent my childhood in whispers to me as well. The rough siding, tiny pebbles against tar and beneath my fingers, metal roof shining in the summer sun, and the wild blood red climbing roses that wound around the silver pole of the television antenna just outside my bedroom window. Cool worn linoleum beneath my bare feet, pale lilac colored walls in the living room, and that old high-back chair sitting in front of the small black and white television that was one of my many escapes.

Catalpa aka Cigar Tree

A huge oak tree and towering sugar maple shaded the front yard, flowers of every description surrounding the fence line and house with explosions of color. Then there was the swing-set, pale green, yellow, and rusty orange that sat beneath the widespread branches of an old catalpa tree. In late spring and early summer it’s branches were heavy with virgin white bell shaped blooms that nearly hid the huge green leaves. I would sit on the swing and stare up into the white cloud of flowers and imagine that each blossom was the cap of a nature spirit, beautiful ethereal creatures that watched me with dark eyes. The first good summer storm would send the flowers spinning through the air and dusting the  grass with a carpet of white.

I remember storm clouds rolling in over open fields, dark underbellies shimmering with the distant lightning and the echoing thunder  swirling around me on the rising wind. My mother scuttling between the clotheslines and fighting with the sheets that whipped around as if they were angry ghosts. Then raindrops begin to fall, hesitant at first, as I turned my face to the sky, laughing, and stretching out my arms to dance barefoot in the thick grass.

Summer Storm

Yes, memories are just like ghosts. They haunt us at the most inopportune times, inspire our imagination, and linger long after they are nothing more than dust on the wind.

Would I perform an exorcism against those ghosts if given a choice? Even if they may be painful and bring tears to my eyes would I wipe them away as if they were raindrops on my face?

The answer is never!

These ghosts are a part of my foundation both as a human being and a writer. Without their constant presence I would forget who I am and where I come from. To do that would be a disservice not just to the parents who raised me, but to myself, and to where they may lead me in the future.

Let them haunt me, good, bad, or ugly until I take my last breath.

Blessed Be.

2009 Preditors & Editors Poll – Final Standings

Just wanted to post an update on the Preditors & Editors. The final standings have been posted  and considering I’m not a high profile writer I did fairly well. Below are the categories in which I have a standing. I’d like to say thank you to all the people who believed I deserved a vote enough to go over and push that button (so to speak). Blessed be!

Mystery Novel

#18 Blood Noir (Jul. 2009)

Romance Short

#17 With Love, Casanova from the anthology My Dark Roasted Valentine (Feb. 2009)

Author

#27 Jesse Fox

Interview with Jeanne St. James

Welcome to the January 31, 2010 edition of The Fox Hole. The last Sunday of January 2010! Can you believe we already have one month under our belts for the new decade? Frankly, I can’t and time seems to fly when you get older. LOL

Today I have the lovely and spicy erotic-romance writer Jeanne St. James as my guest.  Jeanne has not only agreed to an interview, but has provided us with a tasty tidbit of her writing. I love it when writers share. So, pour a cup of Joe, grab a warm pastry, pull up  a chair (snuggy optional), and join me in welcoming Jeanne on this chilly winter morning.

Avail @ Loose Id

Welcome to ‘The Fox Hole’ Jeanne St. James it’s a delight to have you. Could you tell the readers a little bit about yourself?

I live in Pennsylvania, near Hershey, PA. I work full-time as an emergency dispatcher and am married to a State Trooper. I love the romance genre. I love to read it and write it. Oh, and I’m a huge Steelers fan!

Have you always wanted to be a writer? If so when did you start writing?

Since I was a tween. I started writing when I was 13 years old. I’ve been writing off and on ever since! I had such an imagination as a child and even now! LOL!

As a writer what inspires you?

A great movie. A really good book. A song. Anything that teases my creativity. Or gives me a spark of an idea.

Do you have any favorite writers?

Yes, a few. But I always name Katherine Sutcliffe and Laura Kinsale because I love their heroes and heroines.

If you could live in any time or place–where and when would you choose?

Wow, that’s a toughie. Right now it’s so cold where I live that I would pick anywhere tropical. I hate winter. As for the past or future, I think I’d stay right in the current time. Okay, maybe I’d like to be 20 again.

Wouldn’t we all love to be 20 again? LOL Okay, being a professional cook at one time, I have to ask this one. Do you have a favorite food?

Not really. I love a variety of food. I like to eat healthy. I love fresh veggies like spinach and zucchini and squash, broccoli. You name it. I really like eat ethnic food too: Kosher, Japanese, Thai, Mexican…

Now that I’ve picked your brain, can you tell us about your latest work? Don’t hold back

I just had my latest release on January 5^th at Loose Id. It’s an interracial ménage a trois titled Double Dare. I had a lot of fun writing it and I wrote it pretty quickly. Here’s the blurb:

What could be better than waking up next to a hot guy? Waking up sandwiched between two of them.

Quinn Preston, a financial analyst, is not happy when her friends dare her to pick up a handsome stranger at a wedding reception. What better reason to give up men when her previous long-term relationship had not only been lackluster in the bedroom but he had cheated?

Logan Reed, a successful business owner, can’t believe that he’s attracted to the woman in the ugly, Pepto-Bismol pink bridesmaid dress. And to boot, she’s more than tipsy. After turning down her invitation for a one-night stand, he finds her in the parking lot too impaired to drive. He rescues her and takes her home. His home.

The next morning Quinn’s conservative life turns on its ear when Logan introduces her to pleasures she never even considered before. And to make things more complicated, Logan already has a lover.

Tyson White, ex-pro football player, is completely in love with Logan. He has mixed emotions when Logan brings home Quinn. But the dares keep coming…

Don’t ask me why but I just love the publisher warning:

Publisher’s Note: This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable: Anal play/intercourse, BDSM theme & content, male/male sexual practices, ménage (m/m/f).

Double Dare Excerpt:

When Logan glanced up again, he saw a pink vision stalking toward him, and he sat up straighter. Shit, the cause of his earlier hard-on was coming his way.

She looked determined, and she still had a grip around her glass like it was a lifeline.

She stopped directly in front of him and put one hand on her hip.

“Are you Logan Reed?”

Oh shit. “Yes?”

“You don’t know for sure?”

“Oh, I’m sure.”

“Are you fucking anybody right now?”

“Right this minute?” He glanced around to see if anyone else was hearing this surreal conversation. Luckily no one was paying attention.

“No. Do you have anyone who is going to get mad if I ask you to dance?”

“Uh. No.” Well, hell, that was a unique way of asking someone to dance.

She placed her drink on the table, and he asked, “Is that still your second one?”

“No, third.”

“I was afraid of that.”

She grabbed his hand and pulled, but he was too heavy for her to lift, so he unfolded himself from the chair to accommodate her.

“Are you asking me to dance?”

“You have a problem with that?”

“Not at all.” He interlaced his fingers with hers and led her to a corner of the dance floor. Luckily for him, the DJ had turned the lights down and was playing a series of slow tunes. Ones he could dance to. There was no way he was doing the chicken dance or line dancing. He had his limits.

As the slow, wailing tune blared through the large speakers, Logan slid his palms around her waist, his splayed fingers coming to rest at the small of her back. The fabric of her dress felt terrible, and he didn’t know why women wore shit like that and suffered. The dress certainly wasn’t flattering.

But it wasn’t the outer package that mattered to Logan; it was the prize he found inside when it was unwrapped.

He stepped in a little closer and pulled her hips against his. He swore he heard a little gasp. He smiled into her overstyled, dark blonde hair and nuzzled it. Underneath all the hairspray, he caught a scent of wildflowers. It smelled nice.

“What’s your name?” he murmured into her hair.

“What?” She turned her head a bit, and she ended up nuzzling his neck. Her lips, the shape of which reminded him of an archer’s bow, were warm and soft, and he could detect the fruity scent of the slammers on her breath.

She was average height for a woman, which made her a bit shorter than him, so he had to lean down a bit to place his lips against her ear.

“What’s your name?”

He felt the shiver of her body against him, so he traced the delicate shell of her ear with the tip of his tongue. The touch was light enough, but she unmistakably felt it. In response, she arched her back slightly, pressing her hips harder into his.

“Quinn,” she finally answered him, her voice breathless.

“Quinn,” he repeated while moving one hand up her back to the bare skin rising out of her dress. He drew the pad of his thumb along the smooth expanse of flesh, along her exposed spine, moving up to her neck to cradle it in his palm. His thumb continued to stroke her skin along the vein in her neck.

He pulled away a little and looked down into her face. Her eyes were heavy, and her lips were parted. Her breaths were short and quick.

He struggled to keep from thrusting against her. If she looked this good in that god-awful dress, he wondered what she looked like in normal clothes. Or no clothes at all.

Or just a pair of handcuffs.

His balls tightened, and he released a long breath out of his nose to steady his pulse.

“Quinn, do you like sex?” He placed his cheek against hers, and they swayed to the music, their hips, their thighs brushing against each other.

Her eyelids fluttered a bit before she answered, “Sometimes.”

“Why only sometimes?” he whispered against her ear.

She shrugged slightly, and one of her off-the-shoulder sleeves slid down a bit, exposing more creamy flesh.

Logan brushed his lips along her collarbone. It was delicate and covered with smooth skin. When he got to her shoulder, he worked his way back, and in the hollow of her neck, he placed a kiss.

There was a groan. He didn’t know whom it came from. Her? Him? He didn’t care. His hand at the small of her back slipped lower, to just where the rise of her ass was. The fabric of the dress kept him from feeling details, but his imagination took over.

One song transitioned into another, and they weren’t even aware of the other couples dancing nearby.

His hips kept a steady side-to-side rhythm, while his hand on her back kept her close and in perfect time with him.

He was hard. There was no doubt she could feel it. Even with the yards of fabric around her midsection, her belly brushed against his length, teasing his cock.

“What kind of sex do you like?” His voice sounded low and gruff to his own ears.

“The kind when I get to come.”

Logan chuckled against her temple and slipped the hand he had around her neck to her shoulder. His fingers brushed her skin lightly. He couldn’t help but notice goose bumps suddenly appearing everywhere he touched her. Which meant her nipples were probably hard and aching for his fingers and mouth.

Her dress had slipped down a bit, and the neckline rode low on her chest. The fabric rested just on the crest of her breasts; he could see she wasn’t wearing a bra. In fact, he thought he could see the crescent edge of one nipple, even in the dim light.

He wanted to dip his tongue between her breasts.

“Quinn?”

“Hmm?”

“Why did you ask me to dance?”

“Because my friends…” Her soft voice faded off.

“Your friends?” He prodded.

“My friends dared me to. They think I am such a loser when it comes to men.”

“Ah.”

“I always pick Mr. Wrong.”

“Am I supposed to be Mr. Right?” He brushed the backs of his knuckles over the rise of her breasts.

“No. Just Mr. Right Now.”

She was direct. He wondered if it was just the alcohol talking. “So you just want to use me.”

“Basically.”

Her boldness wavered, disappointing him a bit.

He raised his eyebrows. “Huh. And you don’t think I’d care?” He leaned back a bit and looked down at her, her skin a canvas for the colorful light bouncing off the mirrored disco ball above the dance floor.

She wouldn’t meet his gaze. “Do you?”

Wow! That was…*waves fan* Thank you for sharing that and for stopping by to visit. Unfortunately, we’re out of time, but I’d love to have you come by again in the future.

Avail @ Liquid Silver Books

Publisher/s: Loose Id, Phaze, Liquid Silver Books

MySpace: http://www.myspace.com/jeannestjames

Website: http://www.jeannestjames.com

Blog: http://jeannestjames.blogspot.com

Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/jeannestjames

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/jeannestjames

Avail @ Phaze

Buy links:

Double Dare: http://www.loose-id.com/Double-Dare.aspx

Rip Cord: http://tinyurl.com/phaze-ripcord

Banged Up: http://tinyurl.com/bangedup

Interview with Rie McGaha, Author & Reviewer

Welcome to the January 24, 2010 edition of The Fox Hole. Today I’m tickled to present fellow pagan and author Rie McGaha to my snug little hideaway. Rie is a wonderful lady who has been a blessing to me as well as many other authors in the pagan community and I feel blessed to have her here, not to mention a bit nervous. After all I’m interviewing not only a writer, but one of the reviewers who read my m/m mystery novel Blood Noir. *giggles nervously*

Any who…on with the show folks! Pull up a seat, grab a cup of Joe and a pasty, and join me in welcoming the lovely Rie McGaha!

Coming Soon @ Noble Romance

Welcome to The Fox Hole Rie, it’s a delight and an honor to have you. Could you tell my readers a little bit about yourself?

Thanks for having me, Jesse. I’m such a fan of your work, it’s really a pleasure to be here with you!

Besides writing, I also review for The Pagan & The Pen and a couple of other sites, and I have a blog called Author Offerings where I interview other authors about their new and upcoming releases.

In real life, I’m a wife, mom of 12, and Nana of 25. I rescue abused and abandoned animals, fix ‘em up, and try to find homes for them. Those that don’t get homes remain with me. I currently have 3 cats and 7 dogs, so you can imagine that I spend more on pet food than I do on people food!

Wow it sounds like you have your hands full there. It’s wonderful what you’re doing for the animals out there. My mom was the same way in a time when people didn’t give much thought to such things.

So, Rie have you always wanted to be a writer? If so when did you start writing?

I don’t remember a time when I didn’t write. As a child I used to write stories for my cousins and classmates, and as a teen I wrote song lyrics and morose poetry, and as a new mom I wrote stories for my kids. I kind of tapered off on the writing after I had a few kids and a full time job, but there was always this desire inside me to write again. Once the kids grew up and began moving out, I had some free time and was able to begin writing full time.

As a writer what inspires you?

I have a pretty warped sense of humor and a dark sense of the world around me…I’m just a tad twisted, so I find inspiration in some very weird things sometimes. Sometimes ideas come as a dream, or sometimes it’s just the voices in my head telling me what to write.

It seems that we have a bit in common there. I always groan when people ask me the same question that I just asked you. This one question always gets a groan as well. Do you have any favorite writers?

I do. I love James Patterson and his Alex Cross series. I devour them as each new one comes out! I’m also a huge fan of Karen Marie Moning, Lynsay Sands, Sherrilyn Kenyon, and many others.

Now for something a bit more lighthearted. If you could live in any time or place–where and when would you choose?

That changes with my moods, but I’d love to have lived in the Scottish Highlands in the 16^th or 17^th century with some braw Highland lad! Or the old west, or during the Renaissance, or during the Crusades. I love history, especially American history, and would love to be able to just travel through time, stopping off at each event that I missed by being born in the 20^th century, and of course this whole mortal thing that keeps me attached to the here and now!

Being a professional cook at one time, I have to ask this one. Do you have a favorite food?

Seafood! Any kind, any time! I also love Italian food, Mexican food, Indian food…okay, I love food—period!

Now that I’ve picked your brain, can you tell us about your latest work? Don’t hold back!

I currently have 5 books published with Noble Romance Publishing, and my sixth, Ancient Blood, the sequel to Blood Line, is coming soon.

As you know, Blood Line actually came from a dream my truck driver husband had several years ago that I just expanded on and viola, a book was born! The story is about Joshua & Jessie Kaine, high school sweethearts who have been married for ten years and drive big rigs cross-country together. One night on a deserted country road they hit an animal and stop to make sure the truck isn’t damaged, only the animal isn’t dead and it’s pissed! Josh winds up getting bit and from there the story develops into a shape shifter/erotic/romance/paranormal/adventure that takes the reader across the United States and across the world in pursuit of the beasts. Blood Line has had awesome reviews and I received a lot of emails wanting to know where the rest of the story was!

Ancient Blood picks up right where Blood Line left off, and readers will just have to wait for the release date to find out what happens! But I will tell you that Ancient Blood is Ganda’s story, and she seems to be a favorite character of most readers.

I hadn’t intended to make this into a series, but sometimes characters take on a life of their own and demand their own stories. Such was the case with Ganda, and while writing Ancient Blood, one of the characters, Garan, seemed to have a story to tell, so I think there will be a third book!

I definitely know what that feels like. Right at the moment I’m having discussions with my characters from a new series I’m working on. They can be quite demanding.

Unfortunately we’ve come to the end of our time together, but I would love to have you pop in again sometime in the future. Thank you, Rie, for taking the time out of your busy schedule to visit with me and my readers.

If you’d like to learn more about Rie and her work check out the links below.

Coming Soon @ Noble Romance Publishing

Rie McGaha’s Website

Rie on Twitter

Rie on Ning

Rie on MySpace

Noble Romance Publishing

Dream Images: Subconscious vs. the Spiritual

Dreams are still as mysterious to modern man as they were to ancient man with one exception. Modern science will tell you that dreams are your subconscious mind communicating to you those things you suppress in your conscious state. Ancient man believed dreams were messages from the gods and goddesses. Being an open-minded and spiritual individual I’m open to the idea that perhaps both sides are correct. Who is to say that our subconscious isn’t a doorway into the divine?

Subconscious or Spiritual?

I started thinking about this recently for a number of reasons one of which is the reappearance of an image in my dreams that has been absent for nearly 15 years–a deep purple rose.

The first time I recall this particular image was when I was sixteen. It was around that time that I began remembering my nocturnal wanderings via my subconscious. I recall a man in a long robe with intensely blue eyes  standing at the foot of my bed. He seemed to glow with a brilliant light and he reached out towards me hands cupped around said rose. He never spoke, but rather smiled, and nodded at me.

A year later my aunt offered me the opportunity to escape the small town I felt crushed in and so desperately wanted to flee. I said yes and after finishing high school headed for St. Louis, where I’ve resided for nearly 24 years.

It was a number of years before the rose and the mystery man appeared again in my dreams. It was around 5 or 6 years later right before I took another huge step in my life. I’d been living with my boyfriend for nearly 8 months and it wasn’t going well. The guy who’d been so loving and attentive before was disappearing into the night, no explanation, and no phone calls. I spent more than one night letting my imagination run wild about what I’d done to cause this. Yeah, I was stupid, young, and insecure.

One night I feel asleep, crying my eyes out because yet again I came home to an empty apartment. I thought I was awake at first, but then it dawned on me that I was dreaming. Again this stranger appeared, but this time he seemed sad, shaking his head, and again held out the rose again. As he did I woke. A week later we would end the relationship and the following month he moved out of state. I haven’t seen or spoken to him since.

Now these were the only two times that the man appeared, but I went on to have numerous dreams featuring the deep purple rose. Then around the time I was 28 or 29 the dreams stopped. Nearly 15 years have passed since the last appearance of that beautiful image. No roses, no blue-eyed man, and though they had confounded me and sometimes terrified me I ultimately missed them. Despite all that time the image stuck with me and anytime I’m near flowers I recall that rose. I’ve never been able to discover a rose quite that color in real life. Then last night–the rose returned. As I sit here and type this I’m intrigued by this sudden reappearance of an image I’ve come to consider a sign of things to come. Every time that image has appeared something big has happened/changed in my life. Each time that change ended up to be something good even if I didn’t believe it in the beginning.

Now I ask you readers–how can this be my subconscious? How could I know that my aunt would, all those years ago, offer me an escape from a life I hated? How could I know that my relationship would dissolve over what might have been just a bump in the road? I’m not saying there is no logical explanation, I’m saying I’ve never found one. To me that rose represents a message from my guardian angel/spirit. Perhaps the first two times he knew I needed to see him and thus he appeared. But what about the dream last night?

This time I recall his eyes so brilliant and sparkling with almost a blue flame and the rose he held seemed to glow with this inner light. Maybe this time the change is going to be even bigger than anything I’ve known before. I guess we’ll see…

Blessed Be.

P&E Readers’ Poll Standings & Thanks

Just saw the standings at the P&E Readers’ Poll. Thought you’d like to see how well I did. Not shabby considering all things. I’d like to thank everyone who voted for me for their support. Looks like I have more fans than I thought.

Much love and chocolate kisses!

Mystery Category

Blood Noir – 19th

Romance Short Category

With Love, Casanova – 22nd

Other Short Category

With Love Casanova – 19th

Art Category

Blood Noir – 20th

Book/E-Book Cover Art Category

Blood Noir – 21st

Artist Category

Jesse Fox – 21st

Author Category

Jesse Fox – 29th