The Grammar Jerk Rides Again

I’m both a former English teacher and a former copy editor, a combination that makes me a natural-born grammar jerk, somebody who kvetches about errors in grammar and usage. I can keep my crankiness in bounds most of the time, but there are a few grammatical and usage mistakes that just drive me around the bend. And having access to a blog means I get a chance to vent about mistakes that I’ve been running across in articles and blogs THAT I SHOULDN’T BE SEEING THERE. So cover your ears, girls and boys, here comes another blast from the grammar jerk.

1. Simplistic. The word simplistic does not mean very, very simple. It isn’t a synonym for simple at all. In fact, it means over-simplified and it refers to people who ignore complexities or complications in their explanations. If you use simplistic to describe something, you’re judging it negatively. You wouldn’t call a set of instructions “very simplistic” unless they’re bad. If you actually mean something positive, just say simple. Similarly, the word fulsome does not mean very, very full. It’s another negative word (meaning excessive, particularly excessive praise). If you mean full, just say full.

2. Affect/Effect. Affect is used most frequently as a verb (although psychologists occasionally use it as a noun, in which case it means something rather different). Effect is used most frequently as a noun (although there’s also another, less familiar use as a verb). Confused yet? Don’t be. I’m willing to bet in 90 percent of the cases where you’ll use affect and effect, the former will be a verb and the latter will be a noun. So if you say something like I want to effect the results of the election or The affects of the election will be widespread, you’ve just screwed up. And whatever else you want to say about the election will be disregarded by us grammar jerks.

3. Imply/Infer. This one’s a bitch to keep track of, particularly since it’s the kind of thing grammar jerks like me will come down on you for. In fact, the reason I remember it at all is that I was chastised for screwing it up by the most terrifying professor in my college English department. When you imply something you’re suggesting that it’s so without actually saying it is. So if I say I’ll snarl at anyone who screws this distinction up, I’m implying that I’m a grammar jerk. On the other hand, when you infer something, you’re drawing a conclusion without having an explicit statement to go on. So when I say I’ll snarl at anyone who screws this distinction up, you can infer from that statement that I’m a grammar jerk. I’m guessing most people know what imply means because it’s the more common term. The main thing to remember is that infer means something different—it isn’t just a fancy way of saying imply.

Okay, now I feel better. At least for the moment. Sorry for intruding on your day with my picky criticisms.

Oh for Pete’s sake, did she really just write, “It's alright?” Ah geez, here we go again.…

All right (alright?), all you grammar jerks, I give you leave to vent. What are the mistakes that drives you bonkers?

Stitches and Words

 

In conjunction with getting our foundation repaired, hardwood floors replaced, and other neat stuff done to our house, I've been on a redecorating binge. I got rid of some furniture, recovered chair cushions, etc. etc. We had an old leather sofa that had been passed down through family and friends for 15+ years. By the time we got it, it had a couple of small holes which my dogs promptly turned into big gaping holes. They didn't eat the leather, just ripped out all the stuffing, and it wasn't reparable. It was very expensive when new, and the distressed leather just got softer and more supple as it aged, and it seemed a shame to throw it out. So we skinned the couch before we chunked it, and I decided to use the leather to recover some more chair and couch cushions.

The first cushion cover came out okay but not great. I've discovered that when doing home sewing projects, the first is always the worst - but I don't care, I'll still use it. I did some hand sewing to fix the visible problems, and then I went on to the next cushion---which turned into a nightmare. I don't know how, but I managed to cut each piece - top, bottom, and four sides - about an eighth of an inch too short. It wasn't going to fit the cushion. I could either add strips of leather, or I could start over.

It wasn't the first time that I thought of the similarities between writing and sewing.

At first, of course, I tried to just add leather strips, but it soon resembled some kind of Frankencover. I ended up having to rip out one whole side panel and cut a new one. I think that will solve the problem - but I might still have to completely redo it, and cut all 6 pieces anew.

I hate cutting -- it's absolutely the worst part about sewing, especially when you're doing something like this, and you have to keep cutting the same damn pieces over and over. The idea of having to drop a nearly-completed piece, and cut all new pieces, is too awful to contemplate.

It's the same thing when you're writing a book and you start to notice that things don't fit together as they should. Maybe your plot's too loose, or maybe it's too narrow. Maybe it feels like a randomly assembled group of scenes instead of a coherent plot, or nothing much happens and characters are just hanging around. It doesn't matter; if you're fifty thousand words in, you just can't face the idea of starting over. So you start sticking in little scenes to fit the cracks, or you drop lines here and there to explain the stuff that wasn't making sense, or you cut a character and a secondary plot. But then it's even more of a mess, the literary equivalent of the stuff you see on There I Fixed It.

"Screw it," you think. "I'll just write a whole different story."

If you've been on any writing blogs, you know that writers come in two flavors - pantsers and plotters. Pantsers write by the seat of their pants--i.e., they sit down at the computer and start typing with no idea what's going to happen, trusting in their imaginations to take them where they want to go. Plotters plot - they make out a map of the story and then they follow it, albeit usually with some detours.

I'm a dedicated plotter. There's no way I can just sit down and start typing and have anything happen. I have to have at least an idea of what's going to happen next.

Constructing a story, to me, is like sewing a garment or a cushion cover. First I measure the cushion/create the characters and their general arc. Then I start putting the pieces together. I don't always write scenes chronologically--I tend to write the scenes I "see"  most clearly in my head first. And I don't always sew garments in the same order. But in both cases I have to know ahead of time what I'm making and what it's supposed to look like when it's done.

Of course, you can't sew by the seat of your pants. I mean, I know some people who can sew without patterns, but you can't sit down at a sewing machine and just start going. You have to know at least if you intend to make pants, or a shirt, or a chair cover. But within the confines of what you're making, you can change things as you go along; you can make the sleeves short instead of long, or add pleats to the bottom of the chair cover (although why you'd want to do this, I don't know. Pleats are a pain in the ass.)

There are other differences. If your sewing machine breaks down, you're stuck until you get it fixed. If your computer breaks down, though, you can just switch to writing long hand, which is much easier than trying to hand stitch a skirt.

On the other hand, a sewing project is shorter and more finite than writing a book. A shirt or a skirt or a kid's costume has a limited number of parts, and once you put them together you're done, and it either looks good or it doesn't. Whether a garment fits and is well made isn't as much a matter of opinion as whether or not a book is any good. When I finish covering the couch cushions, I can sigh with satisfaction and sit down on the sofa and enjoy my handiwork. It's a tangible, visible accomplishment. A book, on the other hand, is ephemeral and theoretical and of uncertain quality until it's fully written, and revised, and revised and revised and revised, and then accepted for publication (or not!) and then released and reviewed and for the rest of your life you won't ever be certain if it was really any good. And unlike a cushion cover, which can be ripped up and resewn until it looks exactly as you want it to, once your book is published, that's it. It's fixed, unchangeable, unimprovable no matter how many great ideas you come up with for fixing that weak conflict or the scene near the end that everyone says kind of drags.

Sewing is also a great way to procrastinate on writing and yet still feel productive. Which is why I can't get back to the steampunk until I finish the couch covers...

Sweet Deal

Next week my book Sweet Deal comes out. For those of you who know me for my erotic romance (ménage a trois or BDSM) this book will be something different. It’s not an erotic romance – at least in my opinion.

Recently some of my NNN blogmates and I had a lively discussion about what makes a romance “erotic”. I don’t think Sweet Deal is an erotic romance – but others probably would, since there is a lot of steamy hot sex in the book. (If you were worried about that when I said it’s not erotic, have no fear! I would never close the bedroom door on you!) I think Sweet Deal is a sexy contemporary romance featuring a hero and heroine who have to stop letting their pasts influence the decisions they make in their lives. It’s a guy who doesn’t do commitment and a girl who does – too soon, too fast. They make a deal—a sweet deal—that doesn’t involve falling in love or commitment or anything long term. It’s what they both need right then. But of course it wouldn’t be a story if things didn’t go wrong with that sweet deal…right?

I’m trying something new with Pinterest – I’ve created a board for Sweet Deal and posted some pics that I think look like Shelby and Jake, the setting for the book (California beach city), the coffee shop where they meet, Jake’s dog and some *ahem* inspiring images. For those of you who like some visuals, you might want to check it out!

So what do you think? What makes a book an “erotic” romance?



Here’s an excerpt from Sweet Deal, out June 12 from Samhain Publishing:

The relationship is pretend. The chemistry…isn’t.

After her last job ended with a broken heart and a humiliating exit from the company, Shelby Leighton’s project management career is back on track with a new job and a high-profile project. The problem: her new boss is a little too friendly, and the staff is talking. Can you say, “déjà vu?” The solution: casually mention a fictional new boyfriend.

New problem: she’s expected to bring her new man to the upcoming corporate picnic.

Jake Magill doesn’t do relationships. It’s casual or nothing, but the hot blonde he’s been eyeing at the coffee shop sure is something. Especially when she confesses her problem, and he finds himself offering to act as her date.

Sounds simple. Stroll around the party with Shelby’s sexy curves clinging to his arm? He’s all over it. Until he meets her boss—the man who once stole and married the one woman Jake thought he loved.

Now Jake’s the one with a reason to pretend. If only to save his own pride…and Shelby from the predatory gaze of the man who could ruin her, and any chance of finding out if their fake connection is the real thing.

---

Product Warnings

Contains one desperate lady in need, and a pretend boyfriend who shows impressive dedication to nailing all—and then some—elements of his role. Oh my!

EXCERPT:
 

She tried to relax her tight fingers, tried to calm the flock of fluttering birds in her abdomen. She could do it. Truthfully, heading it up was exciting. She did love a challenge. She wanted to take on additional learning opportunities. She wanted to advance in the company. And she desperately, painfully, wanted to keep this job.

She needed to keep that confident façade firmly in place, even though on the inside she couldn’t help but wonder if Andrew’s faith in her was somewhat misplaced. She’d been successful in the other projects she’d been involved in since starting at Gold Shield Insurance a year ago, but even that hadn’t completely rebuilt the confidence that had been eroded at her last job.

And working her way up wasn’t that much fun when she was as popular with her coworkers as a telemarketer at dinner time.

“This weekend is the big company picnic,” Andrew noted, his eyes still fastened on her with disturbing warmth. “You’re coming, of course?”

“Oh yes, of course I am.”

Another opportunity to network and socialize with management. She knew how important those social events were.

“We should go together,” Andrew said.

What the hell? Go to the picnic together? Her stomach bottomed out and her mind raced. That was such a freakin’ bad idea. She had to get out of this! But how?

“With you and your wife?” she asked, heart thudding wildly.

“Oh, Gianna probably won’t come,” he replied, that faint crease appearing between his brows again. “She doesn’t enjoy company functions.”

Yeah, that wasn’t good. All the other spouses would be there. That was how it went at Gold Shield. Even kids would be there. The social committee had been busy organizing events for the younger guests, including volunteers who would supervise the kids so the adults could still have a good time on their own.

Shelby sucked briefly on her bottom lip, her mind still searching for a way to get out of this. There was no possible way she could go to the picnic with Andrew. People were talking about them enough already, and would be even more after the announcement about the new project was made public.

Shit. She lifted a hand and pushed her hair back. “Actually,” she said, trying desperately for light and casual. “I’ve been seeing someone and I was going to bring him to the picnic.”

Andrew’s brows snapped together and his posture tightened. “Oh,” he said. His gaze lasered onto her. “Really? I didn’t know you’d been seeing someone.”

“Oh yeah, for a while now,” she said, waving a hand and smiling. “He’s such a nice guy.”

Now his eyebrows flew up. “Really?”

She nodded and smiled. Damn, damn, damn. This was a total fabrication but she had to get him off her case somehow. Ambitious and driven as she was, she did not want her reputation being ruined yet again by a horny boss who couldn’t keep his pants zipped.

Although that wasn’t entirely fair to Andrew. Despite all the favoritism he’d seemed to show her, she couldn’t say for sure he had anything more than business on his mind. He’d never been overtly inappropriate. He’d always been friendly and encouraging, even though she’d felt an uncomfortable twinge of unfairness at some of the decisions he’d made, and his most recent statement that they’d be travelling together made her want to squirm in her chair.

The temperature in the room dropped by several chilly degrees. “You never mentioned him before,” Andrew said slowly.

Play Ball!

I love spring.

Sure, the nicer weather is a happy change, and the impending end of the school year is definitely something to look forward to, but that's not why I look forward to the season every year.

No, it's baseball. And fastpitch. And softball.

What can I say? I'm a fan.

Last week, I was sitting with my parents at the second game of the evening, and I was explaining some ruling to them. My mother looked at me and said, "You spent your entire childhood sitting under a tree reading a book. How in the world did you become an expert?"

I joked that it was a survival mechanism, and to some extent that's true. With three kids on three different teams, I had to eventually pay attention to what was going on or end up hopelessly lost. But it's more than that.

The kids first started playing seven or eight years ago, and those first games were amusing, but nothing to write home about. (Although our oldest, that first year, played almost every position - simultaneously - because the rest of the team was busy drawing in the dirt or chasing butterflies. Hey, it was T-ball. That's almost a prerequisite.)

Then something changed. FutureStar ended up on a team with coaches who knew what they were doing, and the kids started to learn how to actually play. Then MidKid got on the same team. This year, that team is now three teams, and FutureStar is on 14U. Meanwhile, MidKid was recruited for a select team, and has been playing in tournaments all season. And GPS finally (finally!) has a decent coach and is learning how to play the game as well.

It's the leaping catch to snag a foul ball and get that out. It's the charge across the field to hold a runner on third. It's the split-second decision to fire the ball at home plate instead of second. It's the perfect bunt down the third base line, or the line drive into the gap. It's the joy when coach puts them in as the position they really want to play.

So yeah, I love this season. I love watching my kids grow as players, work together with their teammates, battle back from a deficit to pull out a win at the last minute. The defeats are hard, definitely, but they're also teaching my kids to be good sports, to learn from mistakes, to pick themselves back up and try again.

This weekend, we've got two tournaments in two different cities for two of the kids, and a game, practice, and team party for the third. I'm not sure how we're going to get everyone where they need to be when they need to be there, but we'll figure it out.

And I wouldn't have it any other way.

Guest Blogger Randi Alexander - AKA Ol' Forgetful

Thank you to the Nine Naughty Novelists for hosting me today. I'm Randi Alexander and I write cowboy erotic romance. I'm published with The Wild Rose Press' Cowboy Kink line. My newest release, Cowboy Bad Boys, is self-published, and available now in digital format and paperback.

I was excited to see my reminder pop up about my guest spot on this blog. Yes, I need to leave myself reminders, write long lists of things I need to do, and financially support the Post-it-Note company on a major level. Because I'm forgetful.

I'll walk around the house saying the same phrase over and over until I can make it into the kitchen and write "juice boxes" on my grocery list. If I don't - poof! it's gone, and nobody gets their juice that week.

It wasn't so bad when I was single, living in an apartment, and working a nine-to-five job. But when you add a whole family, a whole writing career, and a whole house to maintain - lots of poofs! began happening in my brain.

My hubby, Kick, always complains as he pushes his way into the back door and steps over the five or six things I need to take with me. "Why do you leave stuff sitting in front of the door all the time?" Um, 'cause otherwise I forget them! I've recently started to bring my stuff out to the car as soon as I remember I need it in the hope of keeping my marriage a happy one.

But he enjoys hearing about all the kooky trouble I get into with my sluggish memory. My latest one had him chuckling for an hour. I walked uptown to mail a birthday card. It was raining, so I geared up and kept the envelope dry inside my raincoat. I made it the two miles to the post office, carefully tugged the envelope out of my coat, made to drop it into the box and…no postage stamp. UGH!

I checked every pocket for a dollar or a few coins, eyed up the people standing in line to buy stamps, and considered finding a piece of cardboard and writing a sign "Will name my next hero/heroine after you for one 1st class stamp."

But, I decided to cowgirl up and walk home, attach a stamp to the envelope, and make the hike one more time. It was kind of an exercise-punishment for being so forgetful. The memory of those four rainy miles will keep me from ever making that mistake again (ha ha, right!)

Worried about the possibility of early (VERY early) Alzheimer's, I talked to my doctor (physician, not psychologist) about my slippery memory and she confirmed what I already knew. I'm just too darn busy. I need to slow down and find some quiet time for myself where I can organize my brain.

When I asked her to write a doctor's note to my husband requiring I take a month alone on a tropical island, she laughed (um, I wasn't kidding) and suggested meditation instead. She's really no fun at all.

So while I meditate and let things flow out of my memory, emptying it in preparation for refilling it with all those important little things my life requires me to remember, I am transcendentally transported to that beautiful beach. Next to me is a hot cowboy in a sexy Speedo, who just happens to look a lot like the handsome cowpoke on the cover of Cowboy Bad Boys. And in his hand is…oh, shoot!...the edits I was supposed to have back to my editor today!

Cowboy Bad Boys is a collection of short stories I've written over the years.

Body Heat – When a rancher and his gorgeous passenger are buried in his truck under an avalanche, they discover a sensual way to keep warm.

Breakfast in Bed – A ranch foreman has an imaginative idea to keep his woman from bolting out of his bed every time they finish making love.

Hard Headed Cowboy – When a rodeo bull rider needs a lift, his sexy equipment sponsor makes him a proposition.

High Country Ride – Fulfilling her father's last wishes, a city girl hires a hot cowboy to guide her into the Rockies.

Kill Me or Kiss Me – With her life in danger, an exotic dancer has to trust a sexy cattle rustler to keep her alive.

No Way Out – The town sheriff and the beautiful bank president he's been lusting after are cornered by a killer.

Private Lessons – When her girlfriends buy her a mechanical bull lesson with a real bull rider, a college girl gets a sensual ride from her high school crush.

Stubborn Redhead – The rancher's woman left him because of rumors of his cheating, but what will it take to make her believe his innocence?

Takin' a Chance – A barrel racer has one last chance to seduce the sexy rodeo bullfighter she has fallen for.

Where We Left Off – In desperate need of help, a country veterinarian calls the man she'd loved but booted out of her life years ago.

EXCERPT: Over 18 only, please.

From Breakfast in Bed

Nate took Misti's hand and led her to the back of the house. Into his bedroom. He snapped on the light and stepped aside, watching her face.

She sucked in a quick breath and a smile followed. "It's gorgeous." She walked in and ran her fingers along the dark oak dresser, then over the mission-style footboard that matched the headboard. She plopped down on top of the golden bedspread and bent forward, her head between her knees. "You bought a dust ruffle?"

He huffed out a breath. Sissy. "The store lady—"

"I love it, Nate." She sat up and bounced on the bed a couple times. "It's so cozy here."

Cozy enough that she'd stay the night? He crossed to her and pulled her up into his arms. "Darlin'." He rubbed his hard, hot cock against her mound. "Let's break it in."

She laughed and tugged his shirt off over his head, threw it aside, and went right for his jeans. The first time was always wild, but tonight, she was feral. Their clothes ended up in a pile next to one of his new nightstands.

"How do you want it, cowboy?" Her breath panted from her lips, her eyelids drooped, sexy and hungry.

Every drop of blood from his brain rushed to his staff. His ass tightened and released. He needed to be pumping his cock into her soft, hot slit. Smelling her musk, he cupped a hand over her nearly-bare pussy. What creative shape had she gotten waxed into her blonde curlies this week? He'd get a close-up view a little later. Right now, he had to get that first rush of sliding his shaft all the way inside her tight opening. Juices dripped from her swollen lips as his fingers stroked, slowly at first, then faster, carrying her natural lubricant up to her hard little clit.

Each pass of his fingers made her shudder and gasp, until she had no muscle left to stand. He turned her to face the bed, lifted her, and set her face down on his new comforter.

She stretched and writhed on the fabric, sending his balls contracting and his lower back spasming. Fuck. If he didn't get control, it'd be over with one thrust. He grabbed a condom and rolled it on, then crawled onto the bed, up on all fours over her.

"Nathan. Take me." It drove him insane when she called him 'Nathan.' It meant she was close. Right on the edge. The way her hair spread across his bed brought a yearning inside him. This was where she belonged. Her face in profile so beautiful, glimpses of her full breasts teased him as she wiggled and arched her back.

Grasping her wrists, he tugged them up over her head and pressed his body full-length on top of hers, his shaft settling in the sweet crack between her ass cheeks. She gasped for breath under his weight, but he knew she liked it. Liked being restrained. Beneath him, she was soft and warm, smelling sweet and sexy, making his skin tingle where they touched.

With his knees, he spread her legs wide open for him. Under his hips, her ass pushed up as she arched her back. "Now, Nathan. Please." Her voice came out barely a whisper.

Taking both her wrists in one hand, he slid his other hand slowly down her arm, knowing she liked the scratch of his calluses. He brushed his fingers over her armpit, feeling her body quiver, then touched lower, over her side. He found her breast and palmed it, firm and satin-soft, he would spent hours kissing and sucking and nibbling tonight. And hopefully tomorrow morning, too.

When he pinched her nipple between his splayed fingers, she cried out and her body jerked. Her hips moved to an animal rhythm, humping into his cock, nearly setting him off. He needed her. He reared back with his hips and settled the tip of his erection at her slit. Her hot, slick opening burned the head of his pulsing shaft. Then he entered her, his length stretching her as he greedily took her and generously gave her what she craved.

She moaned, long and low, tipping her head back.

He suckled her neck, careful not to bruise. His cock moved into her, then out in mindless, primitive plunges. His body shook, the ache in his lower back spread to his balls. They tightened, ready to shoot his cum into her, needing to mark her as his own.

Releasing her wrists, he slid his hand between the satin comforter and her stomach, then lower, finding her clit hiding in her full, wet pussy lips. His finger touched her, rubbed twice, and she came. She screamed his name, her body shuddering and stiffening, her core clenching around him, forcing him to follow her.

His release was monumental, drowning him as waves of pleasure rolled through him. His hips strained to go deeper, as far inside her as he could get. His mind sank to the bottom of a dark pool, never wanting this to end, wanting her with him every time he felt this release.

When he collapsed beside her, he pulled her close. Her breath panted, her body after-shocking with shudders and sighs.

His last thought before drifting off was selfish. How could he keep her here—permanently?

Nate woke with the first rays of the rising sun on his face, streaming through the curtains he'd left open last night so they could look at the river as they made love. Seven times last night. An all-time record for them. He smiled. Who was counting. He rolled over. Her side of the bed was empty. "Shit."

*********

I'd love to hear about your memory lapses! What's the most important thing you've ever forgotten? Or the silliest? Or the most embarrassing?

To celebrate the release of Cowboy Bad Boys, I'm giving away, to one lucky *commenter, an e-copy of either of my first two releases, Chase and Seduction or Her Cowboy Stud. Just leave a comment today and we'll choose a winner tomorrow. *Commenter must be 18 years of age or older to win.

~ Chase and Seduction/Her Cowboy Stud cover banner here

Good luck, and thank you!

Randi "Rode Hard and Put Up Satisfied"

RandiAlexander.com

Wild and Wicked Cowboys Blog

69 Shades of Smut Blog



-Cowboy Bad Boys available in digital format at Smashwords and Amazon

and in paperback from CreateSpace and Amazon

-Chase and Seduction and Her Cowboy Stud available at The Wild Rose Press

and Kindle versions are available at Amazon

-Pre-order the Cowboy Lust anthology, which includes my short story Banging the Cowboy at Amazon

My Secret Identity

Since I’m in California this week and will be stopping by a few bookstores, I think the time has come to share a secret with you guys. Nothing deep and dark -- just your basic secret identity.

As Juniper Bell, you probably know what I write. Erotic romance, ménage, light BDSM (nothing hard-core). Explicit, sometimes intense, sometimes humorous, but always steamy stories centered on a sexual journey.

But that’s not all I write. As Jennifer Bernard, I write the Bachelor Firemen series -- contemporary romance about single, smoking hot firemen for Avon Books. These books are still sexy, but less graphic; instead of a primarily sexual focus, they follow the glorious and comical ups and downs of falling in love. Put it this way: while Juniper has more in common with Kelly and Skylar, Jennifer is more like Meg, Erin and Kate. I checked with my fellow Naughties and they don’t mind getting two-for-one – we don’t have to become the Ten NN (wait, that has a nice ring to it!)  

So why the two names? In some ways it makes life more complicated. Two Facebook pages, two Twitter accounts, two websites. But in other ways it makes things simpler. When you pick up a Juniper Bell book, you know exactly what to expect. (Well, not exactly, because every story is different – but roughly.) Likewise with Jennifer Bernard. If I wrote everything under the same name, you might be disappointed to find not a single ménage scene in one of my fireman books. Or you might be shocked to find that instead of romantic comedy you’re getting the word “cock” on every other page.

So it’s really for the sake of readers that I decided to do it this way. I love both identities and both genres. No matter what name I use, I’m always going to deliver a happy ending and a relationship between characters I love.

So there you have it: my secret identity, revealed.

The first two books in the Bachelor Firemen series -- THE FIREMAN WHO LOVED ME and HOT FOR FIREMAN -- are out now and the third, SEX AND THE SINGLE FIREMAN will be out in February of 2013. The books are available in paperback at your local Target, Walmart, Barnes & Noble, and of course all the online bookstores as well (Kindle, Nook, etc.)  If you enjoy fun, sexy contemporary romance, I hope you'll check them out! 

Since Jennifer has only been published since April 24, she’s working hard to get the word out about her fireman books. ;-) If you happen to live in the Southern California area, I’ll be at Sunshine Books in Cypress on June 5 at 1:30. And if you call me Juniper, I promise I’ll answer.

If you’d like to check out Jennifer’s books, please stop by my website or Facebook page. I’m also on Twitter as @Jen_Bernard. 

Whew, that's done! I feel kind of naked, to tell you the truth. ;-) Hold me, Naughties!

Why Starbucks Loves Me

I am a night owl.  This has been true my entire life.  I don't like mornings much, but love staying up late.  And I'm very productive at night.  College was awesome for late night study groups.  Not so much for 7 a.m. physics class.

Now, as a writer, theoretically being a night owl would be a good thing.  I can write all night long after the kids are in bed and the day job is done, right?  Well, yes.  In fact, I'd love to do that.  The words would come more easily, faster and be better.  But those kids and day job also expect me to be up in the morning and functioning.  Or at least able to fake it.

Enter my Starbucks card.  This is a plastic card that started as a gift card (love my sister) but that can be reloaded.  And reloaded.  And reloaded.  Seriously, I'm personally sending some Starbucks CEO's kid to college in the fall.

But here's the thing-- I don't stay up just for fun or because there's absolutely no other time I can write.  I know there are writers like that, but my kids are old enough and in tune enough to know that mom needs her writing time for 1. her sanity and 2. their toys.  Yes, they're old enough to understand that my writing gives us some fun money and that benefits them.  Of course I spend time with them and for them, but I'm fortunate to be able to say, "Ok, everyone, I'm going to my office for two hours.  See you after. If you're hungry you know where the peanut butter is.".  No, the problem isn't that I *can't* find writing time.  It's worse than that-- when I find it, it doesn't work.

I swear that if I have uninterrupted time in the middle of the afternoon or nothing planned Saturday morning or Friday night alone at home while everyone else is out, I can't get a lot done generally.  It sucks.  Seriously.  Either the words come slow, or I write an entire scene and then decide the next day I can't keep any of it.  But sure enough, as soon as it's 11 p.m. and I have an early morning meeting, *then* the words flow.  Then the scene comes together.  Then one of my characters suddenly says or does something that makes the whole plot click and things really come together.  Sure.  Because that's the least convenient time for it to happen. 

Oh, and I've learned the hard way not to stop just because its midnight.  I've learned that assuming those words and that idea will still be there the next day is trouble. They'll be gone. Never to be recovered. Never again will those word, that magical rush of dialogue, that same perfect solution to the plot hole come back to bless me.  So, I stay up and write it. 

And I never leave the house without that magical plastic Starbucks card in hand.