Chat with the Naughty Nine

We're celebrating the completion of the Zillionaire Vampire Cowboy's Secret Werewolf Babies and talking about our favorite and craziest parts of working on the serial and awarding our grand Prize, the Nook. Join us at 3pm EST this Sunday, January 9th. Hope to see you there. http://www.oberoncalifornia.us/Chat_Room.html

Interval Training Times Two

Like most people out there, a New Year means setting up resolutions (that most of us end up struggling to keep) and like most other years, working more regular exercise into my day is right at the top of the list. I've taken a different approach this year, though, one that follows a similar pattern to my writing--Interval Training.

They say (they meaning a number of bloggers, health writers and fitness experts) that Interval Training is a more efficient way to burn fat/lose weight with the added bonus of giving your heart one hell of a workout. It's pretty simple really, instead of say jogging for 45 mins every day, you jog for just 20, but instead of running at a steady rate the whole time (which your body apparently adapts to and may lead to the plateau effect with weight loss) you mix things up. You jog regularly for a couple minutes, then for the next minute you sprint, then slow back down for another few minutes, until you've caught your breath, then sprint for another minute, repeating the intervals until the end of your twenty minutes.

The awesome thing about cardio (especially using interval training) is that not only does your body have to be always adjusting and not adapting when it comes to calorie burning, your body will continue to burn calories better for hours after the workout.

I find writing works the same for me. Sure, I try to have a steady daily word count, but my muse seems most inspired when I go from writing 1000 words a day to having two or three day sprints of 2000-3000 words before slowing down again. It even works in smaller chunks when I get my timer out and really turn off that internal editor and do a writing sprint.

I'm hoping that making this connection between exercise and my writing approach will make it slightly easier to stick with in the long run. Keep your fingers crossed for me.

So how about you, what different approach are you taking to exercise this year? Anything that failed miserably in the past that you've learned from? Anything you've found that works really well for you?

And as an added bonus, I'll draw a winner from one of the comments left today for an ebook of Trust Me, my latest release.

*** Contest is now closed. Congrats to Zina whose name was drawn via the awesome random.org Thanks for playing everyone!

The Zillionaire Vampire Cowboy's Secret Werewolf Babies - Chapter 18

I wanna Rock and roll all night.

Rock felt himself smiling as the world seemed to spin behind his closed eyelids to the drumming beat of Kiss. The taste of perfection lingered on his tongue, sweeter than a Texas sunset and drowning out everything but the flavor of something so foreign and yet so familiar...

Something he ached to sink his fangs into.

The world screeched to a halt like the sound of his Kiss record being snatched off the turntable after Babs Braveheart had gotten her hands on it. Better the record than him, who she’d come to stake after his herd had flattened a section of her fence.

Funny how he hadn’t thought of that busted record or the smell of garlic from the homemade necklace Babs had worn that night in decades. Now that he thought about it, he couldn’t quite remember what triggered the memory to begin with. It was damn hard to think at all when he felt hotter than a billygoat with a blowtorch and his gums ached like Buffi had hit him with her meat mallet.

Both of which should have been enough to silence the Kiss song stuck in his head. Instead he heard himself singing the words aloud like he was having some kind of out-of-body experience. He knew it was him—and damn he could sing—but it felt like he couldn’t stop singing along any more than he could stop craving the flavor that was already fading away.

He needed more. And he really needed to replace that Kiss album.

“Rock? Rock!”

“I wanna Rock and roll all night—” He hissed out a breath at the sudden stinging pain in his cheek. “Tarnation.”

“Rock, baby? Are you okay?”

He opened his eyes and saw his gorgeous lupine lover leaning over him. He gave her a lopsided grin, thinking he’d wipe away the water on her cheeks—had it rained?—but somehow he missed touching her.

Laughing at his sudden lack of coordination, he closed his eyes. Christ, he needed to take a piss. “I wanna Rock and roll all night and party every day.”

“Are you…drunk?” Buffi’s disbelief had him trying to sit up, though he rather liked lying there feeling the world dip and spin and… Sweet heavens he was hungry.

He glanced at the deep valley between Buffi’s breasts and was instantly harder than the time he’d been roped into being part of the test group for Viagra for vampires. Not that he’d ever had a problem in that department, as those cheerleaders could attest to.

No, it wasn’t sex he was hungry for. There was something else he was craving. Something…

He saw the shattered glass on the floor, and the drops of…blood? His stomach clenched even as he realized that the red liquid’s consistency didn’t match the B-word. Neither did the smell. Beneath the coppery fragrance that usually had him seeing stars was a richer, full-bodied scent that had his mouth throbbing like his fangs had burst clear through his gums.

Whatever it was on the floor—he needed it. Now.

Vaguely aware that he was still singing and had forgotten part of the second verse—Buffi was likely too distracted by his throaty baritone to notice—he rolled onto his belly and shimmied over to the broken glass. He dipped his fingers in the liquid.

“Wait—”

“Can’t.” Too late, he lifted his fingers to his mouth and sighed at the exquisite taste. Before he could stop himself, he licked every drop off the floor with the same enthusiasm his wanton wolf would attack a bowl of water after a run, only without the drool—he hoped.

Twice he had to spit out a sliver of glass, but he didn’t care, not when it tasted better than anything his temperamental chef Marcel had ever dreamed up.

Feeling a little dizzy again, he grinned, then remembered he still needed take a piss. He should go find the boys—his boys—and teach them how to take a leak like a man. Assuming they were potty-trained. God, he hoped so.

Yeah, he’d do that, right after another drink from the bottle of wine Buffi had snatched off the tray next to Vince Yardley. Poor guy looked white as a ghost. Maybe he needed to have a drink.

Looking both relieved and confused, Buffi leaned over him, her gaze sliding between him and the bottle of wine clutched in her fingers. She sniffed the contents. “I definitely smell blood, and some kind of poison.”

“Billy Bob Bobson,” Rock growled, the tip of his fang dragging across his bottom lip when he snarled. “He and Chastity were trying to poison you. He must have cut himself in the process.” After three tries Rock made it upright. “I’ll protect you from the likes of him. You and our boys.”

Her eyes widened. “You mean, you believe they’re yours and forgive me for not telling you about them sooner?”

“Not even the fact that you occasionally drink from the toilet would stop me from making the four of us a family.”

Her face broke into a wide grin before she scowled. “You sure this isn’t some lame-brained attempt to get your hands on the winery?”

“I swear it’s the truth. Cross my heart and hope to die a painful, sun-blistering death.” Which he’d come awfully close to on the ride back to his ranch and his return ride to save the woman he loved.

Buffi cocked her head as though she could tell by the sound of his voice if he was sincere.

She hesitated only another moment, then flung herself at him. “I’ve never seen such a reckless, selfless act as deliberately drinking a glass of poison meant for me when you could have just as easily tossed it aside. You really do love me, don’t you? Rock? Rock!”

His gaze had drifted down to the bottle she still held at her side. “I think I need another drink, Buffi.”

She leaned back, bringing the bottle up for closer inspection. “But it has blood in it. Are you sure you can handle that?”

He nodded, waiting a second for the fleeting nausea to pass before he spoke. “It’s more than just blood now. It’s hemovino.”

“Blood wine?” She glanced at the contents of the bottle. “I suppose it is.”

“You know what that means right?”

“That now you’ll able to drink blood?”

“Of course not.” He took the bottle and brought it up to his mouth. “Now it means I’ll be able to drink blood.”

Buffi gave him a strange look that he quickly dismissed. Sometimes understanding this female was as hard as nailing Jello to a tree. Assuming this was one of those times when he was just better off ignoring the puzzled look on her face, he whooped and swung her around in his arms.


“Need a ride?” Chastity turned her head just as Billy Bob pulled his car up alongside of her.

“Go away.” She strutted forward, dragging her Louis Vuitton suitcase behind her. It was full of every expensive gift Rock had given her that she could round up, plus a few other items she’d liberated from Rock’s house.

It was the least she deserved for being passed over for that hussy Buffi. She’d bet the scheming home-wrecker was already banging Rock like a screen door caught in a hurricane. Although Chastity refused to think about what kind of kinky things the pair of them had been up to, for Buffi to end up pregnant with dog boys.

She shuddered and continued along, wincing at the blisters on her heels. She’d only reached the end of Rock’s driveway and already she suspected her five-inch heels wouldn’t survive another mile, much less stopping and wasting time with the likes of the vampire hunter responsible for her losing her gazillionaire cowboy.

“Chas, baby—”

“Leave me alone.”

“You know I can’t do that after all we’ve been through together.”

She rolled her eyes, then staggered when her right heel snapped. She limped along anyway, even when her suitcase tipped off its wheels and she dragged it behind her.
The car stopped and she heard the mini Cooper’s door flung open. “Chastity, just listen to me.”

“I have nothing to say to you.”

He caught her arm and swung her around. “Well I have something to say to you.” The harsh, possessive tone of his voice seemed to surprise him as much as it did her.

She blinked up at him, letting go of her suitcase to push him away. He didn’t budge, his chest impossibly hard and muscular beneath her palms. Despite her better judgment—which she did have no matter who thought she was one fry short of a happy meal—she ran her hands over his chest.

Pleasure speared through her dewy womanhood, and she purred like a stray feline in heat.

Billy Bob glanced around. “What is that god awful sound?”

She tried to pull away.

“Chastity.” Billy Bob caught her by her breasts, gently cradling them the way she’d seen men cradle women’s faces between theirs palms at the climax of all those romantic movies she loved to watch.

Her heart sped up at the tenderness in his eyes.

“We belong together. It doesn’t matter to me if you’re as sharp as a cue ball or have slightly uneven boobs or that your master plans are about as useful as a trapdoor on a canoe.” He tugged at a strand of hair stuck at the corner of her mouth. “I’ve fallen for you, Chastity. Run away with me. We don’t need vampires or cowboys or expensive things that aren’t nearly as breathtaking as you. All we really need is each other to be happy.”

“Oh, Billy Bob.” She leaned up and pressed her lips to his. “You had me at, ‘Need a ride.’”


Two Years Later

“I shouldn’t be surprised to find you out here.”

Buffi lifted her head off her paws and wagged her tail when she spotted Rock step beneath the grape arbor. She glanced once more at the moon-drenched landscape stretched out in front of her where they’d expanded the thriving vineyard to accommodate their new cliental. Who knew there were so many vampires out there with the same affliction Rock suffered from? They’d started out catering to that group exclusively, then branched out as much of the vampire race embraced hemovino.

With a happy woof, she circled Rock, then shifted back to her human form. His gaze instantly heated at the sight of her naked body, and she took a playful step away from him.

“Are the kids all sleeping?”

“Just got the twins down. They had to help me hogtie the triplets to their beds after their bloodshakes. Good thing those troublesome vixens are as adorable as their mama.”

Buffi propped a hand on her hip. “Bloodshakes? At this time of night? I swear those girls have you wrapped around their chubby little fingers.”

“Not as much as their mama does.” He stepped up behind her and ensnared her wrists faster than the calves he roped from his brief stint on the rodeo circuit a few months back.

Buffi held the twins responsible for that that short-lived fantasy. Monk had been stung after stirring up a hornet’s nest and had tried to buck Rock off his back. Stubborn vampire that he was, Rock had rode it out and the boys had looked at him like he was some kind of rodeo god ever since. Of course Rock had taken their adoration to a whole new level, but after witnessing a few too many bloody injuries on the circuit, he’d thankfully hung up his bronco buckle for good.

“Don’t tell me you came out here to try and seduce me, Rock?”

“Good looking zillionaire vampire cowboys don’t try anything. They get ‘er done.”

Buffi rolled her eyes. “You’ve been watching Larry the Cable guy again, haven’t you? You didn’t let the twins watch this time, did you?”

His callused hands slid up her stomach, distracting her. “Do we really need to waste time talking about appropriate television programing when we could be playing ride the fangy stallion?”

She sighed dreamily. “I love it when you talk dirty to me.”

“I’m just getting warmed up, darlin’.”

“Good, now shut up for a second and kiss me.”

“Yes ma’am.” He spun her in his arms and captured her mouth in a sizzling kiss that stole her breath.

“Mmmm,” she murmured against his lips. “I like the way you say that.”

“Ma’am,” he repeated again, coaxing her down to the ground and covering her with his rock-hard body.

She looped her arms around his neck. “I love you Rock Fangsworthy.”

He grinned. “You always say that right before I give you the best eight seconds of your life.”

“I really mean it, Rock. You’re the zillionaire vampire cowboy of my dreams.

THE END

Not a hockey blog...

But it's killing me!! WE HAVE AN NHL TEAM AGAIN!!!


Ahem. I also have a print book to promote, and since I have a pile of shiny, pretty print books (see there it is, right there  ↓) I'm going to give one away!

 

Lost and Found comes out in print next week. Blurb is below and read an excerpt here. This is a book that takes some risks, dealing with subject usually not found in romance novels -- sex for the sake of getting pregnant, infertility, infidelity...and oh yeah, a menage a trois. It's gotten some really great reviews!! Yay!!  But how about today I talk about the setting of the book just for something different?

If you’ve seen the trailer for the book (view it here) you’ll know that the ocean features prominently in the story. Krissa and Derek live in Montecito, California, in a fictional house on the Pacific Ocean. (If you’ve read the book, I encourage you to watch the trailer again, I think it’s much more moving when you know the story!)

Some of the images I used in the trailer are ones taken by my husband, a professional photographer who went to photography school in Santa Barbara, California, which is now one of our favourite places to visit, and which is why I set many of my stories there!

© Lance Thomson Photographic 

The heroine of Lost and Found, Krissa, likes to wander on the beach when she has important things to think about. The vast, seemingly endless ocean helps put her problems into perspective and the ceaseless rhythm of the waves onto shore soothes her.

When Nate arrives in Montecito, he’s a photographer in danger of losing his career. He’s made his fortune photographing water – often the ocean – in calm conditions and using long exposures that make the water smooth and glassy and tranquil. He too, finds comfort in walking on the beach and sitting beside the ocean.

A number of images in the story are symbolic of Krissa, Nate and Derek’s lives –  turbulent, crashing waves; a tangled mass of seaweed, impossible to unravel; a seashell that’s beautiful and perfect on the outside, but empty and lifeless inside.

As well as photographs, here are a couple of poems that provided some inspiration to me when writing Lost and Found:

From Ralph Waldo Emerson’s Sea Shore:

Behold the Sea,
The opaline, the plentiful and strong,
Yet beautiful as is the rose in June,
Fresh as the trickling rainbow of July;
Sea full of food, the nourisher of kinds,
Purger of earth, and medicine of men;
Creating a sweet climate by my breath,
Washing out harms and griefs from memory,
And, in my mathematic ebb and flow,
Giving a hint of that which changes not.

And ‘maggy and milly and molly and may’ by ee cummings:

maggy and milly and molly and may

went down to the beach(to play one day)  

and maggie discovered a shell that sang

so sweetly she couldn't remember her troubles,and  

milly befriended a stranded star

whose rays five languid fingers were;  

and molly was chased by a horrible thing

which raced sideways while blowing bubbles:and

may came home with a smooth round stone

as small as a world and as large as alone.  

For whatever we lose(like a you or a me)

its always ourselves we find in the sea

I hope the setting adds to the story for you!

BLURB:

 To find happiness, first you have to find yourself.

Krissa has always been the responsible one. Driven to fulfill her mother’s abandoned dreams, to make her husband Derek happy. She’s brought that single-minded determination to the one dream she has for herself—a child. Except she and Derek can’t conceive, and Derek refuses to consider using a stranger’s sperm. The result? Guilt that her desperation is causing their marital rift.

The last thing they need is a long-term houseguest, but Derek’s best friend Nate, a nomadic photographer recovering from a career-threatening eye disorder, has nowhere else to go.
Nate thought his friends’ home would be a temporary haven from the grief that has dogged his heels since his wife died. Instead he’s in the middle of a marriage in meltdown. Soon their friendship develops an underlying hum of forbidden sexual tension. When Krissa proposes a wild idea—that Nate be their sperm donor—Derek has an even wilder proposal: bypass the fertility clinic and accept Nate’s donation straight from the source.

At first, Krissa believes she’s on the fast track to having her dream. But it quickly becomes clear that when the heart gets involved—and secrets are revealed—the simplest of arrangements can become entangled beyond belief. Or repair…

---

Product Warnings

This title contains a man who’s lost, the woman he finds, sizzling ménage sex, tender romantic sex, love lost and love found.

OKAY!! TO WIN A PRINT BOOK ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IS LEAVE A COMMENT WITH YOUR FAVOURITE NHL TEAM!! (C'mon y'all can come up with something...Jets, Jets, Jets...)
I know it has nothing to do with Lost and Found  but humour me! Leave your email addy if you can or be sure to check back tonight for the winner!

New Year, New...Everything?

While 2010 was an awesome(ish) year, I did get stuck in a rut. Less writing than I wanted to do. Less housework than I'm proud to admit. Fewer hours at a job (any job!) than I'm comfortable with.

But change is a-comin', I can feel it. Something clicked on in my brain on January 1st. I decided this was the year to get my $#!7 together. I decided that instead of making big, sweeping goals--because those never work out--I'll create daily or weekly bite-sized goals to get me to my end goal of finished manuscripts, an organized house, and successful work/home life.

This week is my research week. I'm a little anal about this--I need to research and organize before I can begin a new project. This is also the week that Kait Nolan's ROW80 begins. I pledged to write for 20 min. a day for 80 days. Whether I sit and stare at the screen or bypass my time limit and continue writing, this is my current goal. When I prove that I can consistently meet it, I'll move on to something bigger.

Flexible goals--I like it. Which is why I'm also starting to practice yoga ;) I have my mat and my DVDs, so the only thing missing is me. Starting a new routine takes 21 days, or so they say, and that's just the amount of time I have before my new job starts, so here goes nothing. I'll do yoga (or pilates or Tai Chi) at least five days a week.

But to do that, my floors must be clean enough for me to roll out my yoga mat. While we aren't crazy-messy here (Our floors are indeed clean and organized), our cabinets and closets are not. And don't get me started on the backyard. Each week, I'm assigning myself an organization task. This week, even though I'm still getting my research on, I'll be organizing my shoe collection. By Sunday, they either need to be posted up on Craigslist or given to the local Goodwill--but they will be moving out of the house.

Finally, to indulge my non-writerly creative side, I'd like to do a craft project every week. Between knitting, crocheting, and DIY beauty products or house repairs, there's plenty to be done. This week, I'm making myself a nice crocheted hat. I'll post pictures on my blog when I'm done.

Now I need your help--where do you go (websites, books, magazines) to get organization, craft, or health inspiration? And how do you set manageable goals for yourself, and make sure you reach them?

Happy belated New Year!!!

Guest Blogger Shoshanna Evers - Resolutions

Happy New Year!

This year I haven’t been as hardcore about making resolutions, since part of me feels like New Year’s resolutions are just one more way to make people feel like they’re failing at something. The other part of me feels like if we don’t put our goals out into the universe, how can we expect them to happen?

And to that end, I find myself having vague wishes but no real plan to get there. Like, I’d love to stop spending so much money on eating out, but that would mean learning to cook, which I haven’t been able to do successfully in the past six years I’ve been with my husband. I can’t imagine I’ll wake up with a sudden ability to not burn things.

So that’s not really a resolution. If I wanted it to be a proper resolution I’d have to say something like “I will make a meal plan at the beginning of each week, shop at the grocery store for the ingredients on the weekend, and cook a new recipe for dinner each and every night.”

Yeah, I know plenty of people do that. I’ve even tried. Once DH – bless his heart – started eating the dinner I made, and after two bites he set his fork down and said “You wanna go out?” LOL!

Cooking is just not my “thing.” I wish it were my thing, since my darling husband is a total foodie, and if I was one of those wives who had an awesome meal ready for him every night when he came home he’d probably think he’d died and gone to heaven. I have a girlfriend who makes everything from scratch—I’m talking this girl makes her own baby food and sauces and stuff. Her house smells amazing.

She’s the sort of girl who would actually use freshly grated ginger to make ginger snap cookies. I, on the other hand, have discovered other uses for fresh ginger.

Much more interesting uses.

And then, since writing is more my “thing” than cooking, I wrote a book about ginger-figging. If you don’t know what ginger-figging is, you can check out this excerpt, which explains it all: http://www.jasminejade.com/productspecs/9781419931079.htm

I hope you enjoy Ginger Snap, my Christmas Quickie about a burning hot kink. Here’s the blurb and buy link if you want more information: http://www.jasminejade.com/ps-8862-50-ginger-snap.aspx

Happy New Year, everyone!

About the Author

Shoshanna Evers writes erotic romance for Ellora’s Cave, and in November she’ll be published in the Berkley Heat anthology Agony/Ecstasy. She is a stay-at-home mom during the week, an advice columnist for a local newspaper, a registered nurse every other weekend, and an erotic romance writer on the opposite weekend. She does not sleep, preferring to spend her evenings doing “research” with her incredibly sexy husband. Shoshanna lives with her family and four dogs in a lakefront cottage in upstate New York. She welcomes emails from readers and writers.



Email: shoshanna.evers@yahoo.com


Website: www.ShoshannaEvers.com


Blog: www.TheWritersChallenge.com

follow Shoshanna on Twitter 


friend Shoshanna on Facebook

Yes, Size Matters!

Since I'm one of the world's shorter people, you wouldn't think I'd be such a sizist, but I am. In fact, I think it's safe to say that the majority of the time, I think big is better. There's one place where this does not hold true, however, and that's in bed.

No, it's not what you're thinking. I'm talking about the bed itself.

The bed my husband and I are currently sleeping in was a gift from my sister in law. She was moving back east and didn't feel like hauling her brand new, very expensive bed cross country with her because she had one there already. I'm sure she meant well, and I know my husband was thrilled at the time, but the truth is I have never liked king sized beds. They're just too damned...big.

My brother, who happens to be a whole foot taller than I am, (genetics, what can I say) thinks they're great, but if I'm sleeping in the same bed with someone, I want to know about it.

As it happens, I'm a light sleeper. The kind who always knew when my kids were awake even when their bedrooms were on the other end of the house, or on another floor. Which is a handy trait to possess when one of your kids is a sleepwalker. But during the last six months, my husband could've gotten up and left town while I was sleeping and I probably wouldn't have known until the following morning. I swear that damned bed is so large I can't even hear him snore anymore.

Call me perverse, but I like his snoring. And, no, my kids don't understand that either.

Part of the problem is conditioning. Over the course of the past several decades my husband and I have gotten used to sharing smaller beds. Much smaller beds, in some cases. When we first got married our bed was a single twin mattress perched 8 feet above the floor on a barely-larger-than-the-mattress sized platform. With no rails. I insisted on the outside because I move around less (a lot less!) and I'm the lighter sleeper. If I would have had to be worried about my husband toppling out of bed, I'd have never gotten any rest. 

Even after we graduated to larger beds, we kept our cling-to-your-own-edge habits pretty much intact. Even so, we were always able to maintain physical contact with each other while we slept. I like that. A lot. Lately, I haven't been getting much of that and even my husband has begun to complain about the fact that, no matter where we start out sleeping, by morning we've gravitated apart.

Of course, we've both...uh, grown some since those early days, and I don't mean taller. I doubt we'd both be able to sleep all that comfortably on a twin mattress now, although at the time it was nice and cozy. Nowadays, I figure a double bed is great for a couple; a queen size bed is perfect for a couple with cats or small children; but there's only one thing that's going to make this gargantuan mattress bearable for me and that's a really good sized dog. Or possibly a menage, I guess...but let's not go there.

Luckily, as it happens, I now have such a dog. His name is Tatanka, which means Buffalo--a very apt name, as it turns out. He's sweet, he's funny, he's good natured, he's the living embodiment of the phrase Immovable Object. I swear it's easier to pick him up than push him.

At six months he's already sixty pounds and I know I probably should be making him sleep on his own bed...but he does such a great job of taking up all that horrible extra empty space that I just can't bear to do it!

Now, if only I could keep him from trying to sleep in between us, I'd be a happy camper.