Started NaNoWriMo today...1,900 words so far.
List of things I've been meaning to write about:
1. Once Upon a Pillow by Christina Dodd and Connie Brockway was a good anthology. A series of stories about a bed and the sex had, I mean the relationships forged, on the bed. Interesting way of connecting the stories together. Liked the first "medieval" (what DOES that mean in the context of a Romance) and the "Regency" stories the best--mostly for the characters. The Modern tale of the private museum tour guide and the fabulously handsome, fabulously muscular, and fabulously wealthy (OOOPS! It's a secret--but come on, a handyman wearing a close fitting black turtleneck? Anyone in a black turtleneck obviously is fabulously wealthy in Romancelandia.) lover did not, once again, ring true. I am hopelessly unable to deal with comtempt romances. Just can't suspend the disbelief.
2. Ordered Meljean Brook's Hot Spell from my local bookstore. I've been ordering a lot of books from them recently. Small town: I'm in the grocery store and one of the bookstore clerks comes up to me in the aisle.
"Your order is in," she says with a little smile.
"Oh, thanks. I've been ordering a lot. My daughter is devouring books this Fall."
"Oh, this doesn't look like a book for your dawww-terr," she says with a wink and a nudge.
Oh please! Oh pul-ease. It is a book, yes? Must we be so very catty about the fact that it has, ::gasp:: SEX in it? Enough to single me out in the grocery store??
3. I pick up Hot Spell from the bookstore later that week and two clerks (not the same one from the grocery, mind you) are behind the counter. "Oooo! That one looks good. Is it a romance? With Angels?"
"Well, it's an anthology, and I think one story involves an angel-like character, and at least one of the others has a vampire. I think."
Younger clerk says quickly, "I don't read romances." Older clerk looks as if she'd like to fess up to reading the occasional one, but is concerned about seeming to be unhip or a target of scorn from the younger clerk. She admits to having read them when she was younger, but not now.
"I read a lot of romances," I say, ensuring eye contact with the older clerk. "Some are good and some are simply awful. But there are a lot of good ones out there."
Older clerk is pressing her index fingers to her thumbs and rubbing them in circles. She says all in a rush without stopping to take a breath, "Will you let us know how it is? We'd be interested in hearing how you like it. The angel looks like an interesting idea. How did you hear about this one?"
"I read Meljean Brook's blog, so I ordered it for her story. I really don't know anything about the other authors, although I know that Emma Holly is supposed to write some fairly firey stuff." I can't stop looking at her hands. Is she warming her thumbprints? Is that some sort of secret sign that I should know? ("I am a reader of chick porn, but I cannot let it be known abroad. Leave your review handwritten in green ink at the back door of the bookshop between 2 and 3 am on Tuesday morning.")
The clerks and I have an entertaining chat about the rise of vampire and paranormal fiction. I do strenuously point out that many romance authors are writing about these topics fairly well, girls, if you'd like to take note. And then I leave.
4. I'm part way through Hot Spell and, eh, wow. It's like, you know, got a lot of sex in it. Like, eh, I told the clerks I would write a little reader review thing for the book. Which I like very much, but eh, I'm not sure I can write a reader review for this particular bookstore. Because eh, this has a lot of sex in it. Like, a lot.
5. I am trying to write a review for it---but finishing it would be a good prerequisite. I've read in this order, Meljean Brook's Falling for Anthony(angel-like Guardians are a cool idea, relationship works well because characters have known each other from long before the start of the story), then Emma Holly's The Countess's Pleasure (I am very very confused by the demon thing. I haven't read her before and I need a primer.), then Lora Leigh's The Breed Next Door (genetic engineering in contemp romance--what Beauty & The Beast could have been if Vincent had had testosterone). I haven't yet read Shiloh Walker's The Blood Kiss.
6. I survived Halloween. But only just barely. My son could not cope with the excitement of a parade and classroom parties. He woke up out of sorts, and finally we had to put our feet down and say, "Behave yourself or you don't go to the school parade." Well, he didn't behave, and I took his two sisters instead. He stayed home with his Dad. It is a mournful thing to watch a school parade by in their Halloween costumes and know that you are doing the right thing by setting boundaries for your child's behavior and that he will not be able to show off his joy that morning. I cried as his second grade walked past. (I did not know that while I was at the back of the school crying my son and husband were at the front of the school waiting to leap into the parade when it snaked across the front circle.) Later that afternoon I was called to come pick up my son from school since he had fought on the playground. I was weepy the rest of the day. Damn. I hate when I turn into a labile mommy, sniffling at parades and tearing up at commercials. Damn. Damn. Damn.