Wednesday, December 26, 2007

Writing Life

Just popping into update a new project! Love starting new stories--and this one is half way there already!

Previous new project is resting with more wall painting and real life stuff to get squeezed in before February vacation.

Sunday, December 16, 2007

Happy holidays!

This past year brought tears and joy, lots of firsts, and amazing kindness from new and old friends. I'm grateful for every minute of it. I want to wish you all a joyous holiday and a wonderful new year.


(Who's giving up the virtual world for a couple of weeks to savor the 3-D one.)

Saturday, December 15, 2007

One more joke

I am working, honest. And so is the New Concept Publishing website--so for anyone discouraged from purchasing Dangerous Surrender because of their technical difficulties--here's your chance!

Okay, here's that joke I promised.

Here's a prime example of "Men Are From Mars, Women Are FromVenus" offered by an English professor from the University of Phoenix.

One day, the professor told his class, "Today we will experiment with a new form called the tandemstory. The process is simple. Each person will pair off with the personsitting to his or her immediate right. As homework tonight, one of youwill write the first paragraph of a short story. You will e-mail yourpartner that paragraph and send another copy to me. The partner willread the first paragraph and then add another paragraph to the story andsend it back, also sending another copy to me. The first person will then add a third paragraph, and so onback-and-forth.Remember to re-read what has been written each time inorder to keep the story coherent.

There is to be absolutely NO talking outside of the e-mails and anything you wish to say must be written in the e-mail. The story is over when both agree a conclusion has been reached."

The following was actually turned in by two of his English students, Rebecca and Gary.


(first paragraph by Rebecca)

At first, Laurie couldn't decide which kind of tea she wanted.The chamomile, which used to be her favorite for lazy evenings at home,now reminded her too much of Carl, who once said, in happier times, that he liked chamomile. But she felt she must now, at all costs, keep her mind off Carl. His possessiveness was suffocating, and if she thoughtabout him too much her asthma started acting up again. So chamomile was out of the question.

(second paragraph by Gary)

Meanwhile, Advance Sergeant Carl Harris, leader of the attacksquadron now in orbit over Skylon 4, had more important things to think about than the neuroses of an air-headed asthmatic bimbo named Laurie with whom he had spent one sweaty night over a year ago. "A.S. Harris toGeostation 17," he said into his transgalactic communicator. "Polarorbit established. No sign of resistance so far..." But before he could sign off a bluish particle beam flashed out of nowhere and blasted a hole through his ship's cargo bay. The jolt from the direct hit sent him flying out ofhis seat and across the cockpit.


He bumped his head and died almost immediately, but not beforehe felt one last pang of regret for psychically brutalizing the one woman who had ever had feelings for him. Soon afterwards, Earth stopped its pointless hostilities towards the peaceful farmers of Skylon 4. "Congress passes a law permanently abolishing war and space travel," Laurie read in her newspaper one morning. The news simultaneously excited her and bored her. She stared out the window, dreaming of her youth, when the days had passed unhurriedly and carefree, with no newspaper to read, no television to distract her from her sense of innocent wonder at all the beautiful things around her. "Why must one lose one's innocence to become a woman?" she pondered wistfully.


Little did she know, but she had less than 10 seconds to live.Thousands of miles above the city, the Anudrian mothership launched thefirst of its lithium fusion missiles. The dim-witted, wimpy peaceniks who pushed the Unilateral Aerospace Disarmament Treaty through the Congress had left Earth a defenseless target for the hostile alien empires who were determined to destroy the human race. Within two hours after the passage of the treaty, the Anudrian ships were on course for Earth, carrying enough firepower to pulverize the entire planet. With no one to stop them, they swiftly initiated their diabolical plan. The lithium fusion missile entered the atmosphere unimpeded. The President, in his top-secret mobile submarine headquarters on the ocean floor off the coast of Guam, felt the inconceivably massive explosion, which vaporized poor, stupid Laurie.


This is absurd. I refuse to continue this mockery of literature.My writing partner is a violent, chauvinistic semi-literate adolescent.


Yeah? Well, my writing partner is a self-centered tediousneurotic whose attempts at writing are the literary equivalent of Valium. "Oh, shall I have chamomile tea? Or shall I have some other sortof F--KING TEA??? Oh no, what am I to do? I'm such an air-headed bimbo who reads too many Danielle Steele novels!"







(Gary) Go drink some tea - whore.


A+ I really liked this one.

Thursday, December 13, 2007

Out of the mouths of babes

HOW DO YOU DECIDE WHO TO MARRY? (written by kids)

You got to find somebody who likes the same stuff. Like, if you like sports, she should like it that you like sports, and she should keep the c hips and dip coming. -- Alan, age 10

No person really decides before they grow up who they're going to marry. God decides it all way before, and you get to find out later who you're stuck with. -- Kristen, age 10


Twenty-three is the best age because you know the person FOREVER by then.-- Camille, age 10


You might have to guess, based on whether they seem to be yelling at the same kids.-- Derrick, age 8


Both don't want any more kids. -- Lori, age 8


Dates are for having fun, and people should use them to get to know each other. Even boys have something to say if you listen long enough. -- Lynn , age 8 (Isn't she a treasure?)

On the first date, they just tell each other lies and that usually gets them interested enough to go for a second date. -- Martin, age 10


When they're rich. -- Pam, age 7

The law says you have to be eighteen, so I wouldn't want to mess with that. -- Curt, age 7

The rule goes like this: If you kiss someone, then you should marry them and have kids with them. It's the right thing to do. -- Howard, age 8


It's better for girls to be single but not for boys. Boys need someone to clean up after them. -- Anita, age 9 (bless you child)


There sure would be a lot of kids to explain, wouldn't there? -- Kelvin, age 8

And the #1 Favorite is........HOW WOULD YOU MAKE A MARRIAGE WORK?

Tell your wife that she looks pretty, even if she looks like a dump truck. -- Rick, age 10

Guest blogging at Sizzling Pens !

Please stop by and say hello! I love company and comments are always welcome. To give you even more incentive--there's another excerpt....

Also, despite the message about New Concepts Publishing's network problems the purchase and download process is working fine. If you do run into a problem buying my book, please let me know! Either with a comment on this blog or myspace or an email (evannelorraine at hotmail dot com is the one I check most frequently).

Thanks for your support it means the world to me. I have lots more dangerous stories I want to tell!

Wednesday, December 12, 2007

Guest blogging

Don't forget to stop by the Sizzling Pens tomorrow! The four lovely regular Sizzlers--Lori Borrill, Karen Erickson, Leeanne Kenedy, and Tracy Wolff kindly invited me to join them. If you don't already read them--you should! These women know how to turn up the heat!

Tuesday, December 11, 2007

Teaser from Dangerous Surrender

First another peek at my favorite cover--

Ahh, first books--nothing will ever be quite the same. Speaking of firsts, here's a excerpt of the Zach and Ciara's first meeting for your reading pleasure--

An hour later, Zach tucked a bottle of his sister’s favorite zinfandel under his arm, strode up the walk, and then rang the doorbell.
The door opened, revealing a long legged goddess with red hair. His heart accelerated into action range. Then he noticed that she wasn’t his ex-girlfriend, Joanne. His pulse eased back to lazy appreciation.
The evening took on new possibilities as he drank in the scenery. He’d always had a weakness for redheads. Her eyes were big, but they were brown instead of green and she had way fewer freckles. Like none. A fast glance south, revealed perky breasts. Not that he considered size the only mark of a good breast, not at all. No ma’am. Further south, a narrow waist, and a sweet curve of hip lured him on to amazing legs.
“Hi. You must be Zach.” A cool water voice issued from a plump mouth, touching zones he’d thought permanently frozen. He tore his gaze away from that x-rated mouth only to fall into the caramel eyes shimmering with sexy secrets.
“I’m Ciara, a friend of Regan’s.” She sounded tentative, as if she wasn’t certain he’d believe her.
He liked her name—soft, feminine, like the rest of her.
“May I take that for you?” She smiled a heart-flipping arc of perfect lips that zinged straight through his body armor. Then he noticed that she was holding out her hand, presumably for the wine.
It dawned on him that he wasn’t holding up his end of the conversation. His sister’s entrance into the room covered his lapse.
“Hi, you made it,” Regan said as she moved toward him. Then she turned to smile at Ciara. “I see you’ve already met my brother. Come on in, you two. Nick just came in the backdoor.”
Zach followed Ciara into the living room.
His sister kept the ball rolling. “Nick, you remember my brother Zack?”
“Of course I do. And Ciara, too, another beautiful woman, I’m developing hetero-envy.” Nick smiled, casting a sad glance in Regan’s direction.
Regan gave Nick’s arm a pat. “Pretty, but it won’t get you out of kitchen duty.”
Ciara smiled at Nick. “Nice to see you again, I love the gray-blue of that shirt. It’s perfect with your eyes.” She kept the smile, when she glanced at Regan. “Can I help with anything?”
“No, I think Nick and I’ve got it covered.” Regan glanced at him over her shoulder as she towed Nick toward the kitchen. “Why don’t you fix Ciara a drink?”
“What would you like?” Zach crossed the living room to the chrome bar cart where Ciara had deposited his contribution to the party. Normally tucked behind the overstuffed sofa, the portable bar now gleamed proudly in front of the fireplace.
He itched to touch Ciara. She was so fresh, clean, and feminine in a sleeveless dress that reminded him of sunsets. She smelled as good as she looked, like summer, warmth, and woman.
Thank God, he had a face that didn’t reveal his thoughts. He could see she was already edgy. She was as easy to read as a rap sheet. His appearance had that effect on some women. The nice ones. As he stared at the pulse beating in the hollow of her throat, color raced up her slender neck to light her face. Maybe his thoughts weren’t as hidden as he’d assumed.
“A glass of that wine you brought, please.” Big brown eyes met his, and then locked. She issued a challenge on some primal level, which he couldn’t access or explain.
He felt as if he’d been sucker punched. He tried to tell himself that she’d hit him so hard because his love life was the pits. A rotten mood and a killer work schedule had combined for the longest celibate period of his adult life. Even before that, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d looked forward to a woman’s company.
Considering his sister’s matchmaking record, he’d expected nothing tonight beyond good food, a few awkward moments, and getting away without any hard feelings.
Now he had new problems, but none of them involved getting away from Ciara.
“So you’re a police officer too?” she asked.
“Yeah.” That’s the ticket-- dazzle her with your wit.
“Regan said you work undercover. Narcotics-- right?”
“Usually but I’m on loan right now ....” He shut up just in time. Damn, he’d almost forgotten he was talking to a civilian.
“It must be exciting work.”
He noticed that she was watching him with caution, which was at odds with her friendly warmth toward Regan and Nick.
“Nah, its ninety eight percent boredom and two percent adrenaline rush.” Zach tore his gaze away from that sinful mouth.
“So what do you do when you’re not bored or rushing?” Ciara asked.
“Blend in, keep in shape for the next rush.” Damn, he’d missed a chance to say something good, like—wait for a beautiful woman to show up. No, he could do better. Hang out at my sister’s hoping like hell one of her girl friends would turn out to be you. No, coming on too strong. Just as well he’d kept quiet. Getting involved with one of his sister’s friends was a bad idea on lots of levels.
Still, he could see she was studying him and he would’ve given a fair price to know exactly what she was thinking.
Using the wine as an excuse, he brushed her arm with his knuckles. An electric spark arced between them, and she whirled toward him, eyes wide with alarm.
He offered her the glass. “Your wine.”
“Thank you,” she said softly, blushing. She was very careful not to touch him as she took her drink. He decided to view her reaction as a compliment.
He almost smiled. The blush did nice things for her pale skin. Just watching her was entertaining. Before he had a chance to take the game any further, his pocket buzzed and vibrated. Stifling a crude expression, he pulled out his cell and clicked receive.

Want more? Gee, I hope so! I'll be guest blogging at Sizzling Pens-- on Thursday, which will include another excerpt.

Monday, December 10, 2007

Dangerous Surrender is available!

You can order it here ! I'm on the home page second from the top on the right hand side of the screen. And the links work--I bought a copy to be sure.

Hyperventilating now, when my panic subsides I'll be back with an excerpt.....

Sunday, December 09, 2007

New patterns for living

Finally figured out what to get for Christmas--a life of my own. All these years I thought I was maintaining an individual identity. Yeah sure, I was a wife, a mother, a friend, a sister, a daughter, and an employee but I was still me too. Then my husband’s health took an ultimately fatal turn, changing everything.

Some of those changes were abrupt. In the span of a few weeks I quit working outside the home. Over months and years as his health declined, the time I spend focused on his needs expanded until that was all that existed--except for the barest minimum spent on keeping myself and the animals alive. All that lovely advice, well-meant, and no doubt sensible, about taking care of the caretaker was ignored.

I credit writing with maintaining my sanity. However, writing alone didn’t fill up the well--in order to write I needed a real life that worked.

Figuring out what needed done to the house was a snap compared to finding even a clue about how to nurture myself. Warning: commercial endorsement ahead. A friend’s post about something unrelated mentioned a website she’d found helpful. FLY stands for Finally Loving Yourself. What a concept!

Their advice is primarily aimed at stay-at-home mothers, but it can be adapted to anyone’s circumstances. The important parts of the program are universal.

I’m through with editing and polishing and revisions and am indulging myself in an unplanned story for the next few weeks as I learn to enjoy the adventure of living solo, un ongoing process that will take me the rest of my life.

I hope this holiday season brings joy and magic to your heart.

Wednesday, December 05, 2007

Still goofing off

The other night I was invited out for a night with "the girls." I told my husband that I would be home by midnight. "I promise!" were my last words.

Well, the hours passed and the margaritas went down way too easy. Around 3:00 a.m. and a bit loaded, we piled into a cab and headed for our respective homes. Just as I got through the door, the cuckoo clock in the hall started up and cuckooed 3 times.

Realizing my husband would probably wake up, I quickly cuckooed another 9 times. I was particularly proud of myself for coming up with such a quick-witted solution to cover my tardiness. (Even when totally smashed, 3 cuckoos plus 9 cuckoos totals 12 cuckoos. MIDNIGHT!)

The next morning my husband asked me what time I got in, and I told him midnight. He didn't raise an eyebrow or anything and continued to read

Then he said, "I think we might need a new cuckoo clock."

When I asked him why, he said, "Well, last night our clock cuckooed three times, then said, "Oh, shit," cuckooed 4 more times, cleared its throat, cuckooed another 3 times, giggled, cuckooed twice more, then tripped over the coffee table and farted."

Tuesday, December 04, 2007

Another joke

A very confident James Bond walks into a bar and takes a seat next to a beautiful woman. He gives her a quick glance then casually looks at his watch for a moment.

The woman notices this and asks, "Is your date running late?"

"No," he replies, "Q has given me this state-of-the-art watch. I was testing it."

The intrigued woman says, "A state-of-the-art watch? What's so special about it?"

Bond explains, "It uses alpha waves to talk to me telepathically."

The woman says, "What's it telling you now?"

"Well, it says you're not wearing any panties....

"The woman giggles and replies, "Then it must be broken because I'm wearing panties!"

Bond smirks and taps his watch. "Bloody thing's an hour fast."

Monday, December 03, 2007

A men are from Mars and women are from Venus Joke

Husband store

A store that sells new husbands has opened in New York City , where a woman may go to choose a husband. Among the instructions at the entrance is a description of how the store operates:

You may visit this store ONLY ONCE! There are six floors and the value of the products increase as the shopper ascends the flights. The shopper may choose any item from a particular floor, or may choose to go up to the next floor, but you cannot go back down except to exit the building!

So, a woman goes to the Husband Store to find a husband. On the first floor the sign on the door reads:

Floor 1 - These men Have Jobs.

She is intrigued, but continues to the second floor, where the sign reads:

Floor 2 - These men Have Jobs and Love Kids.

'That's nice', she thinks, 'but I want more.'

So she continues upward. The third floor sign reads:

Floor 3 - These men Have Jobs, Love Kids, and are Extremely Good Looking.

'Wow,' she thinks, but feels compelled to keep going.

She goes to the fourth floor and the sign reads:

Floor 4 - These men Have Jobs, Love Kids, are Drop-dead Good Looking and Help With Housework.

'Oh, mercy me!' she exclaims, 'I can hardly stand it!'

Still, she goes to the fifth floor and the sign reads:

Floor 5 - These men Have Jobs, Love Kids, are Drop-dead Gorgeous, Help with Housework, and Have a Strong Romantic Streak.

She is so tempted to stay, but she goes to the sixth floor, where the sign reads:

Floor 6 - You are visitor 31,456,012 to this floor. There are no men on this floor. This floor exists solely as proof that women are impossible to please. Thank you for shopping at the Husband Store.


To avoid gender bias charges, the store's owner opened a New Wives store just across the street.

The first floor has wives that love sex.

The second floor has wives that have big boobs, love sex, and have money.

The third, fourth, fifth and sixth floors have never been visited

Sunday, December 02, 2007

Let it snow

Here in Seattle snow is a rarity. Yesterday we had an inch or so and I ran outside (actually I walked cautiously the stuff is slippery!) to take a photo from the front yard through a couple of birches. Alas today we are back to the regular cold drizzeling rain that is the norm for winter.

I'm taking a writing break--have you noticed all the blog entries this week? Gotta get my writing fix one way or the other. While not writing, I'm keeping busy reading, cleaning, cooking, puttering around the house, and playing with the dog--all the usual stuff. It amazes me how busy I can stay without writing.

This year the TBR shelves have seen more progress than in the last three years combined. In fact, I got to order a supply of light contemporary titles because that shelf actually had room! How have I accomplished this? I'm getting tougher and pickier about books. They get a reasonable amount of pages to enthrall me--if they fail they go. Been thinking about the authors who do entertain me consistently. There are some common elements--the alpha hero being the most obvious. It's almost as if the author's all know the same guy. The styles I enjoy reading have no relationship to my writing--strange as that may seem.

All sensible writers have to tell their own stories in their own voices. As a reader I love a diversity (alpha heroes not withstanding) of styles and voices. Light contemporary romance, historical romance, mysteries, thrillers, erotica, and literary fiction I like it all. Currently, I'm reading Elmore Leonard's Killshot it's brilliant.

Saturday, December 01, 2007

Random notes

Did you know that Outback’s cheesy fries are the worst food in America? And here I’ve been avoiding their bloomin’ onion, apparently for no good reason. I’m sure it’s tasty. Do you think Outback Steak Houses actually have anything to do with Australia?

Since it’s Saturday it’s time to take photos and write descriptions for ebay. There’s still a lot of excess stuff around here. After listing items for several weeks, here’s what I’ve learned. I’m no judge of what sells. I’ve got a huge stack of vinyl records, which I assume are worthless (but I need to check it out) and an excellent working order record player. These are not things I need or will ever use. In fact, no one has used them in years. Sell or toss? Maybe sell--I could spend many hours just looking for the record player’s original packing material--odds are excellent that the box it came it is stored downstairs. But so are a lot of other things.

Some of the excess around here is mine. I like to read--a lot. Therefore, I buy books and if I think I might want to re-read that book sometime then I save it. There are eleven full bookcases in this house. I’d like to cut down to nine bookcases (it’s a start). Even that small reduction is a lot of books to cull. Then there’s the current influx of new books. What to do with the already read stories, which do not merit rereading? Sell? Nah, there’s no market for most of them. Trade--possibly--depends. I already have a handsome surplus account with my local used bookstore. My library holds an annual book sale to get rid of their excess. I do donate books, but with a steady stream leaving my hands it’s an ongoing problem. A great many of the current mass market titles wind up in recycling. It bothers me, but I haven’t found a better solution.

There are five full closets also. Another problem that rivals that of the books. I find going through things, deciding what to do with each item sad work. Unfortunately, it’s not a task I can delegate. My ultimate goal is to winnow the piles down to things which add quality to my life.

The unexpected bonus has come from some of the buyers. I’ve gotten lovely notes from new and thrilled owners of some of the culled items. It makes me feel good to know someone else will cherish what was only taking up space and gathering dust around here.

Now, if I could only figure out how to do that efficiently with the books....
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