Ann Wesley Hardin's Erotic Romance Comedy: Booklist, Excerpts & News

The Sherpas Will Go No Further...

2009-04-20T19:18:00.004-04:00

"There is a fifth dimension beyond that which is known to man...

On the advice of a friend, I recently signed up with yet another online dating site. I'd basically taken a break from dating, wanted to learn more about myself by spending time alone, doing things with myself as my partner, braving the world with only me to rely on. Finally, a few weeks ago, I felt ready to date again. Just date. No destination in mind, enjoying the journey, getting out and meeting new people. Specifically men.

Did I have love in mind? Sure! Who doesn't? Did I want a relationship? Sure! Eventually.

But did I want it now, now, OMG NOW? Not necessarily.

It is a dimension as vast as space and timeless as infinity...

Five days after signing up, I opened a new email. The first word in it was Wow. That got my attention. I might've even patted my hair or adjusted my bra. Dunno. I probably wiggled a little. Or at least wagged my tail.

Stop laughing. Something in that Wow spoke to me. Hey. I'm just a girl!

I eagerly read more. I really like your profile and I'm interested in alot of the same things that you are. History, particularly American history, especially the Civil War...

Besides the impressive grammar and the ability to speak in full sentences, I liked that he added "(not a re-enactor)" because that kind of thing just takes interest to a whole 'nother height. 'Nuff said.

It is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition...

...If you like what you read (and see) in my profile, maybe we can talk a bit.

I liked the see part. A realistic guy. And a man who obviously liked what HE saw, or else he wouldn't be talking to me via email. Yeah baby. Pump a fist for the old broad. I took a gander.

And liked what I saw! Really liked what I saw. And read too. Yeah, read. Because reading is important, ya know.

and it lies between the pit of man's fears and the summit of his knowledge...

We arranged a date. It lasted five hours. No more deets for you!

The next day he called and asked me out again. On date two he said he'd been aware of my profile for a while. I asked him why he didn't contact me sooner. He said it's because he thought -- kinda, maybe -- that I might be The Real Thing. Took him a few days to wrap his brain around that.

My first thought upon seeing him was: there's my boyfriend, and, concurrently, something that's better suited for between the sheets of one of my books.

No more deets for you!

This is the dimension of the heart...

We didn't begin this journey with a destination in mind. Just see in each other a good travel companion. And, since the guides have abandoned us, I guess we'll stick together until we reach a sensible stopping point, junction, or, the end of the road.

Who knows? After all...

It is an area we call...

the Love Zone."

Because Bev Asked

2009-04-02T05:14:00.001-04:00

Me and the momster under the dragon at Uwajimaya.

Happy 83rd!

Just When You Thought It Was Safe To Come In Here

2009-03-31T20:09:00.009-04:00

Ya'll know I'm cheap. I've confessed it ad nauseum before. Part of my cheapness is an outright refusal to pay $100/month for cable TV. It's insane. I won't do it. The only show I watch anyway is Dexter.

Yet, I missed channel surfing on a lazy night and finding a random and interesting show. So, for $8.99/month, enter Netflix. Not only do I get as many movies as I want, I can also watch selected TV shows instantly, on the computer. Here are a few of my latest addictions:

Who else can't get enough of Jim, that irrepressible prankster? Or Michael -- so delusional, so damaged. A man without any emotional boundaries whatsoever. Yet so caring of all his employees...except Toby. Hehe. And Dwight? Has a more richly drawn, odd-without-being-entirely-ludicrous character ever been written or portrayed?

It's one of those shows you can watch over and over and still pick up new stuff. Oh, and laugh til you pee.

Testosterone fumes, ahoy! This show is like crack to me -- to the astonishment of my nearest and dearest. Hey. Why not? Alpha men doing manly things under fierce conditions? What's not to get hot and bothered about?

Edgar Hansen of The Northwestern is a fav. His sarcasm and mischievous, slightly psychotic wit floats my boat. But he's married and thus banned from the crush list. I'm nothing if not practical with my heart -- Jonathan Hillstrand of the Time Bandit owns those rights!

The other day I told the boss of my tiny, three person office that I was gonna write and ask him to help research an erotic romance, with a crabber hero.

"I'll hold your job for you!" she shrieked.

I'd do it, too, if I wasn't sure to be sucking my thumb in a closet at the first howl o' the Bering Sea wind.

This one took a while to start loving, but as the first season progressed and the characterizations deepened -- as well as the satirical laughs -- I got hooked. Besides, it reminded me of those early days in the Belfry, when we'd line up a chat and brainstorm like crazy. Cap't Hillstrand aside, there's nothing like the creative high of a writer's room!

What about you? What are your favorite shows?

Got any cheap addictions?

Seattle Girl's Weekend, 2009

2009-03-28T10:54:00.014-04:00

It all began at 5:30 am at Newark International, February 11th, 2009. I'd purchased a non-stop ticket on Alaska Airlines. I always get in to Seattle at 11am PacTime. By noon we're always at Hill Top Ale House.

I cherish this ritual.

When I arrived at the terminal, I went eagerly to the Departures Screen and scanned it for my flight.

USAIR...Flight 1009...SeaTac...Gate 17...Departing 0700...Terminal A
USAIR...Flight 100987...SeaTac...Gate 184...Departing 0701...Terminal M
USAIR...Flight 10098786...SeaTac...Gate 1,947...Departing 0702...Terminal Y
USAIR...Flight 666...Anyone'sGuess...Gate Pi...Departing Never...Terminal Hell

No Alaska Airlines listing. Nada. Zip. Maybe I got off at the wrong terminal. I go outside and check the signs along the Unloading Zone. Sure enough, Alaska Airlines. Go back inside, follow the All Gates arrow while checking every single Departures Screen along the way. No posters, no brochures. Absolutely no indication whatsoever that Alaska Airlines even exists. I check my boarding pass. Yup. Yup. Alaska Airlines.

The TSA Agent assures me I made the right choice by going through his line. But I'm suspicious. Maybe he's a little bored this morning and wants to taunt someone into flipping out. It happens.

I get to the tiny rotunda of gates. There are some small, but significant, signs of life -- a coffee cart, a handful of snorers. Yet, a quick glance around confirms that I'm still deep in USAIR territory...

but wait...a sheet of looseleaf paper taped over a sign at the ticket desk. There's writing on it. Warily, I move closer. The writing says: Alaska Airlines.

Relief washes over me. But where are the planes? I look around at the smattering of people already there. Do they look like eccentric Northwesterners? I'm inspecting for clues when a 200 pound rottweiler bounds over and lays down across from me.

Two men and two women follow him in and sit down. I make eye contact with one of the men. "Does he get his own seat?"

The man smiles and says, "No. He squishes down on the floor."

I nod and glance away as if this happens every day.

A pug trots by.

A woman passes, carrying a little tote. There's something white, fluffy and alive inside.

Yup. Yup. I'm in the right place.

The flight starts boarding. From behind, a wave of tawny hair prances to the front of the line. An Afghan Hound. By now I'm texting the children, and my best girl Megan.

"The rottie snagged a window seat!" I write, to gales of texting laughter. "Must be the Westminster Dog Show," Meg shoots back. Turns out, she's right.

When I finally get to my seat assignment, it's next to a teen plugged into his iPod. Smart guy, I think. This might be a noisy flight. But I was wrong. You could hear a pin drop around these dogs. I snuggle in. There's an empty seat between me and my mate, I got an aisle to stretch my legs. What could be better?

A Giant Schnauzer makes a last minute run for his seat. The doors are sealed.

My teenmate starts singing...

Loudly.

More like howling if you ask me.

I frantically search for another open seat, and text Meg: "Fuck! Now I have to change seats. You know what happens when you change seats -- certain death in the inevitable crash. Fucking airplane singers!"

But we made it in one piece. At 10:45 am we soar over the Cascades under

The bluest skies you've ever seen
In Seattle
And the hills a-greenest green
In Seattle

Every year FabDame and I fight over credit for the first line of that song -- the theme to that old TV series, Here Come The Brides -- because every year we manage to choose the ONE sunny weekend that occurs in Seattle between October and May.

I cherish this ritual.

This year, because she chose the dates, and, of course, because I feel sorry for her because she was sick, I'll let her have credit. But don't tell her! And whatever you do, don't tell her that when I spotted that sparkling, snow-cap of hair in Baggage Claim, I could've fallen to my knees in gratitude.

This trip we did nothing but shop, eat and celebrate. Oh, and snap our yearly pic under the dragon at Uwajimaya.

I cherish this ritual. Here's to many, many more.

Whoa!

2009-03-28T07:22:00.003-04:00

Did the threats work? Blogger let me in on the first try! Hmmm. Maybe I'll be here a while longer after all.

Well, come on now. It's dusty in here. Help me clean up!

Unfortunately

2009-03-22T09:40:00.002-04:00

Since Blogger seems intent on NOT fixing these sign-in problems, I'm going to have to shut this blog down and relocate somewhere else. Hate to do it, have loved it here, and it's going to be a giant PITA. But I have no choice.

Will keep ya'll in the loop!

Hallelujah!!

2009-02-25T06:25:00.001-05:00

Blogger let me sign in!! Was locked out for two weeks. Let's see how long this lasts...sigh

A Celebration!

2009-02-09T21:22:00.004-05:00

Last year, we didn't know if we'd have another Seattle Girl's Weekend. But...

She beat the beast within, and this coming weekend, we are going to rock the town!

Watch out Seattle. Here we come!

The Long Awaited, Much Anticipated, RT Review for BONDED!

2009-02-02T10:47:00.001-05:00

BONDED by Ann Wesley Hardin RT Rating: Category: EROTICA Publisher: EREDSAGE.COM Published: January 2009 Type: Erotic Romance, E-book
When a sassy female challenges an alpha male head-on, he uses subterfuge to win her over in this laugh-out-loud short comedy. The pacing is brisk, the characters appealing and the sex titillating. Summary: Sela Wilson reluctantly goes on a fantasy weekend with her friends, who immediately find their designated dates. Using the worst possible disguise, Daniel Bond, the billionaire owner of the hotel, substitutes for Sela's gothic date when the missing man calls in sick. Sela dumps her "date," electing to stay in her room for the duration. Fascinated by the elusive Ms. Wilson, Daniel assumes another disguise in an attempt to charm her. With each costume, he gets closer to her sexually, but he reaches a roadblock when he tries to reveal his true identity. (EREDSAGE.COM, dl $2.99) *—Donna M. Brown*

The Little Stray Puppy

2009-01-25T18:13:00.007-05:00

Ok I lied. I do have something to say. So sue me. Ya'll know that the minute I publicly declare myself unavailable, and no one complains, I come back. There's something vaguely sick about that, but we won't go there just yet.

Anyway.

Ever have a stray dog follow you home? Or come out of the grocery store to see a puppy sitting in the passenger seat of your car?

My grandmother got two long terms dogs the same way. Every day she'd take a walk to the post office in Clovis, New Mexico to get her mail. Moochie, a brindle, female mutt with epilepsy, followed her home one day in the...I wanna say early 60s? Not sure when but it was probably the early 70s when she died. Can you help me here oh Fab one?

Within a year, maybe less, Lady, a cocker spaniel mutt -- who also happened to be pregnant as we discovered when she was taken for a hysterectomy -- followed Grandma home from the post office. She died too, as dogs have a tendency to do, but I can't recall when. It was close to ten years later, though. I think...

I've heard stories of dogs literally jumping into open car windows while people sat at red lights. I've also heard the grocery store scenarios. They fascinate me, these tales. Some mysterious force drives them to choose their owners. If they could speak, they probably couldn't explain it. It just is.

Like two horses standing together in a field. They don't say anything to each other. Communication is unnecessary. They just stand there and it's fine.

Or like Denali, The Wonder Dog, making eye contact with me across a crowded kennel and I knew...

I recently made an acquaintance that metaphorically feels like this. Not sure which one of us is the puppy, but, in the end, it doesn't matter. It's a friendship that feels on some level child-like, or animal-like. We seem at peace in each other's air space, just being.

What's up with that?

Have you ever been chosen on instinct? Have you ever done the choosing. On a feeling. A whim? What do you think this force is?

This is Bad

2009-01-24T00:06:00.002-05:00

Hey, guys, I see you coming in here, looking for witticisms or pics of Audrey Hepburn (who knew her pic would draw 17,000 visitors? Not me or I'd have posted it years ago). But I am so overwhelmed with Being in The Moment and other crap, that if you truly, truly want to know what I'm doing, either sign into Twitter and follow me, or join Facebook and friend me.

I can't do more than sound bites right now.

BUT, I loves youse!

Happy 2009!

2008-12-31T19:18:00.000-05:00

Wishing you all the best in the new year!

Merry Christmas, the whole Christmas Season!

2008-12-24T17:03:00.001-05:00

As Seen On TV...

2008-12-17T18:42:00.002-05:00

My name is Ann and I'm a nostalgic sap.

This is my "new to me" Kirby vac, vintage 1964. Note the rockin' attachments. Please. I paid muy extra for them.

Everything is metal!

So what if the headlight doesn't work. Shiny!

Behold the most giant, vacuum bag of awesome the free world has ever seen! It drives like a Mercedes, costs less than a plastic Dirt Devil from Target, makes me want to wear pearls, heels and a frilly apron, is friendly to the environment, smells like grandma's house...

and, a year from now when you see me out by the dumpster, beating the bag clean, remind me of all this awesomeness.

Kthxbye.

More Reviews for Bonded

2008-12-14T17:30:00.003-05:00

Romance Junkies gave Bonded 4 1/2 stars, and Romantic Times gave it 4 stars!

Unfortunately, only members can read the RT review online until two months have passed, or in the magazine when it arrives in the mail. I'm not a member anymore :(

If there's anyone out there who is, and would kindly forward me the review, I'll post it here and love you 4evah. Promise!

Pssst, kid. I got sumpthin' for ya...

2008-12-09T11:24:00.002-05:00

I really, really wonder who his fence is...

Man charged in theft of 77 books

Posted in News on Monday, December 8th, 2008 at 10:17 pm by Bill Devlin

Brodous J. Peterkin 48, may or may not be a bookworm, but Upper Moreland police said the Trenton man certainly is a book thief.

They have a bag of 77 books to prove it.

Peterkin was arrested Saturday in Abington after police said he fled the Barnes & Noble bookstore on Park Avenue in Willow Grove without paying for the books valued at $1,578.45.

According to police, Peterkin entered the store with an empty gray bag and walked throughout the store. A store manager became suspicious and followed Peterkin. When Peterkin left the store an alarm sounded.

Another Barnes & Noble employee told police that Peterkin got into a van with a New Jersey license plate. Abington police stopped the van on Old York Road and The Fairway, and the store employee was brought to the scene to identify Peterkin.

Peterkin was charged with a felony because he had two prior convictions for retail theft. Peterkin, who was placed in Montgomery County Prison, will have his preliminary hearing on Monday in Willow Grove.

Weekend Wackiness

2008-12-08T22:14:00.001-05:00

Been catching up with High School friends on Facebook!

Join us and friend me if you haven't already.

Being In The Moment

2008-11-26T20:28:00.010-05:00

I've made one New Year's resolution that stuck. I like to imagine that's one more than anyone else in the world. If you can best me, speak up! I'd love to hear about more disciplined people than I...so I can shoot you in your sleep.

I'm serious.

Anyway. What happened was this: I turned forty. And no, I'm not gonna tell how long ago that was. Suffice to say, the resolution I made that year has stuck, and I'm incredibly happy and content because of it.

After FabDame got sick I made another resolution. While not technically a New Year's one, it happened close enough to almost count. I decided that henceforth, I was going to live in the moment. Neither thinking of the past or the future (with the exception of a secure retirement portfolio, so sue me) only the NOW. After all, now is all we have. Truly, it is. As soon as you blink its gone and there's only, guess what? Another now.

I have to say I've been pretty good at it! Was kinda surprised since for the last several years I'd been caught up in the dream of getting and staying published...future living at its best! The dream that might never come! The pot of gold over the rainbow.

But I've lived in The Now for quite a while and have come to love the details you notice while in it--things like the changing light throughout the day, a laugh with an unpleasant stranger, the sound of a dead, skittering leaf, the musty smell of a vintage vacuum cleaner (which I'll expand on in another post), a glass of ice cold water, an elephant bell, a camel bell--any bell. Friendship bracelets given to me by Elizabeth Gilbert. Even the mundane puzzle of engineering a hundred dirty glasses into an undersized dishwasher.

Don't look at me like that! Did you expect me to say raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens? Ya'll know me better than that. But, hey, we could learn alot from that song.

These are the things that make up our lives and if we can't engage with them on some level, we'll never enjoy very much.

So, I've lived in the moment. Problem was, I haven't written a damn thing. Not. A. Damn. Thing. For almost a year. And it pains me to publicly admit that, even though ya'll know I haven't even blogged much. I've been too busy in the moment! The moment, people!

Another reason I heven't written is that the project I'm aching to write is so huge and intimidating I got paralyzed. Not blocked. Paralyzed. Catatonic. Frozen in fear.

But guess what? Tonight I met DIP at our coffee shop for a writing session. Beforehand, I made him painfully aware of my dilemma: I haven't been writing, don't know if I'll ever write again, I need to write, love to write, but have no will, blah blah whine blah blah blah-dee-fucking-blah.

Yet, in one hour I wrote a normal day's word count -- on the huge, honkin' kick-ass scary project I've been avoiding for about two years now.

How did I do this? Hell if I knew. Until I suddenly paused at the keyboard and looked over at DIP. "I'm living in the moment with my characters."

He nodded. "I was just talking about that with my crime writer friends."

I did it by being in the moment. By not thinking about the future, or how many words I had to write, how many plot points to hit, characters to introduce, facts to keep straight, research to do, who to market the story to, if I'd need an agent, if I could even write something this big.

I did it one word at a time. Living in my heroine's moment. How the sun felt, the growing humidity, a silky dog's fur, a fleeting fear, suspicion, lust, worry, disbelief. A toothbrush. A can of Barbasol. Some OCD.

One moment at a time.

That's how all stories get written. How are you gonna write yours?

This One Time in Band Camp...

2008-11-05T18:37:00.009-05:00

So my friend Meg and I met these hilarious guys the other night -- cry-laughing, side-splitting, fun-a-rama, wanna-see-them-again-so-bad kinda guys.

We had decided to go "out of town" for the evening, in other words, hit different places, shake things up a little. Our town is small. We see the same people every. single. weekend. It's boring after a while, you know?

Anyway. We cruise down to a pub a few miles away, drink a beer, have some food. Meg attracts the eye of a cutie across the bar. As soon as I go to the bathroom -- because God forbid he'd have my penetrating blue stare upon him -- he makes his move and exchanges numbers with her. We're stoked as we walk out to her car. See what going out of town can do??

Full of ourselves, we decide to stop at another pub on the way back to a local bar we've never been to together. We find a parking spot, park (d'oh) and head in. All of a sudden we hear a voice bellow, "We just got kicked out!" I turn and spot what looks like two frat boys hulking in the parking lot. Big frat boys. Mentally, I dismiss them. But...

Is it the writer in me? The asker? The wonderer? Do I always have to acknowledge people when spoken to? Will my curiosity someday kill me? Am I too nice to ignore two sauced idiots in the parking lot of Houlihans? Or did I have a feeling...

Obviously all of the above. Or at least one.

"Why?" I ask, turning and taking a step toward them.

"There's a wedding party in there," one of them says. He looks older up close. Something tells me he's about my age. The other one looks younger. And hotter. And younger. As it turns out he is, but not by too much.

"Who the hell has a wedding party at Houlihans?"

Meg laughs.

"I know!" one of them bellows.

"I'm not going in there if there's a wedding party."

"Where are you going?"

I name the diviest bar in town.

Meg falls down laughing. Literally.

They follow us up there. Wind up being two responsible, thoughtful, smart, funny, sexy, gainfully employed, funny, and did I mention sexy, guys?

We end up having the. most. fun. we've had in years. Literally. Hours of playing pool, aching laughter, dancing, high school antics, phone calls that night to make sure we got home ok, a day later, declarations of we have GOT to do this again -- how they'd been laughing and reminiscing about meeting me and Meg.

Romance? Maybe. Who cares? It was so. much. fun.

All with these two guys who picked us up in the parking lot of Houlihans. And how we let them.

A feeling. A risk. Taking a chance on fate.

This one time at band camp.

What's yours?

Current Events

2008-10-28T09:27:00.003-04:00

Here are a few gut reactions from recent days:

To: Friends up and quitting their jobs:

Are you mad, people? In this depression, I mean economic crisis, WTF?

Monday Secret: To The Nice Dental Hygienist:

You asked me why my gums were so much healthier than last time. I told you I'd been flossing more. I lied to please you. The truth is, I'm less stressed. I wish I had told you that!

To: Some male friends telling me I'm too emotional, and others telling me I'm not emotional enough:

Come closer, then, bite me.

Re: Dexter:

Serial killers make the bestest boyfriends evah.

wie Sie tun Sie, gehen zu sagen der Abstand auf Deutsch?

2008-10-02T12:03:00.005-04:00

Oh mein Gott! Going The Distance has been released in Germany. Take a gander:

Going The Distance

Here's a literal translation of my author bio: “ANN WESLEY HARDIN buildup on Long Iceland as a daughter of a pilot and loves since then aviation. As a child it conversed” with the secret natures in the walls of its children's room “plentifully fertile soil for the writer career.

No wonder I've had 17,000 website hits from Germany these past couple of days *gg*

Say It Ain't So...

2008-09-27T15:36:00.003-04:00

A powerful spirit has moved on. Kinda unreal. Sounds strange but to me he seemed like a super-human who would go on and on. Thanks to celluloid and his amazing charity work, he will.

Wow. I'm seriously going to miss his presence in the world.

All A-Twitter!

2008-09-26T09:19:00.000-04:00

I've gone and joined Twitter! Now ya'll can sign up for inane snippets of my daily world. How about that?

Go see!

http://twitter.com/annwesleyhardin

Rent-a-Rant

2008-09-25T20:05:00.006-04:00

For the second time in two days, car rental customers have accused me of not disclosing some of the terms of the rental agreement. K, fine.

You didn't listen to my spiel in person the same way you don't listen to a greeting on the phone. You're too impatient to get out and go about your all important day to understand that we're giving you the keys to a 30,000 dollar piece of equipment. You're also too dumb to realize that you do have to answer some questions and prove you will bring it back before we'll surrender it to you.

K, fine.

Now, I've been in some sort of service job my whole frickin' life. I know how to defuse most explosive situations. But what I've got here, lately, is a whole different ball game.

First let me tell you how both of these men, YES MEN, accused me of not telling them A) that the collision damage waiver fee was 15.00/day, and B) that the fee for an additional driver was 2.00/day.

We have a speech. A speech. A written speech that we memorize. If we don't memorize it and recite it exactly as written, we, the agents, are responsible for any financial loss to the company resulting from that oversight. You think I don't know my speech? You think I'd risk my rent on not saying it? If you do, you're an asshole and I can't help you.

Understand?

K, fine.

But apparently I didn't recite the speech to these two men.

One year, 1500 hundred customers served the same bat speech, same bat tone, same bat time in the process. Yet for these two whiny bastards, I mean men, I didn't recite the speech.

And here's what they told me, "I know in my deepest heart of hearts, Ann, that you never told me I would have to pay for collision/extra driver"...

...giving birth in the front seat/blowing my brains out in the car/shattering the headlights/stealing the tires/keeping the car an extra day/shredding the upholstery/using it as a kitty litterbox...Wah. Wah! You didn't tell me. Nevermind that I put my signature on the legal contract while saying "yeah, yeah I know" to your speech. You didn't tell me. You didn't stop me from signing and make me understand what I was doing so therefore I am not responsible for what I did....

"In my deepest heart of hearts."

They actually used these words. Both of them.

Men. MEN!!

"In my deepest heart of hearts."

Is there something in the air? A full moon that I missed? Am I prejudiced? Sue me. No real man would say that about two extra bucks a day. Did they think I'd soften? Were they trying to appeal to the woman in me? The romance writer in me? Non. Because when that didn't work, they bullied me.

"I want this done now, Ann. Make it go away now, Ann. Get me your boss now, Ann."

In your deepest wet dreams, bud. Words are my life. Truth is my life. Combined, words and truth are something I'd probably die for.

You, young wimpy man, are a liar! Liar liar pants on fire!!! Burn bastard burn.

There.

I feel better now.

No one calls me a liar. And lives.

What punches your buttons? Do tell.

Eight Million Stories, and I've Written Six

2008-09-25T05:12:00.004-04:00

Over at the Red Sage blog I've revealed the top-secret mind processes that spawned Bonded.

Later on this week, my editor will be blogging about the reasons she decided to publish it. And no, no bribery was involved, unless you count the fact that she had to fill me up with beer at RT 2007 to get me to understand that she wanted me to submit a story to her. Yes, I can be a dodo. And yes, I was schmoozed! I still can't believe it (the schmoozed part, not the dodo... nevermind)

Anyway, check out The story behind the story: Bonded.

Avio-a-Go-Go!

2008-09-18T11:45:00.016-04:00

Two friends with opposing views on love have a passionate affair with the same Spanish artist, unaware that his crazy ex-wife is about to show up...

So, over the weekend we went to see Vicky Cristina Barcelona, Woody Allen's latest. It was an apropos movie for me to see at this point. I felt like I was watching an allegory of my life -- with early me represented by the prudish Vicky and, as my friend commented, free-spirited Cristina representing the real me.

Woody even got the hair colors right!

And yet, I was pleased to realize that although Cristina is far closer to current me than Vicky, there's a better balance between the dual personalities than there used to be, now that I've achieved a, er, certain age. And I was proud of myself for making the choices I have -- to bring out the Cristina while celebrating the Vicky -- and to live rather than endure.

We enjoyed the movie. It had smooth grace, gentle humor, and a sort of affectionate, if back-handed, respect for the characters as it poked fun at their angst and inability to move forward. Even the tortured, tragic artistes who existed to feel were every bit as ludicrous, pretentious and shallow as the materialistic culture they'd spurned.

And perhaps Woody nailed it. Because now I want to go to Barcelona, but not for the passion, music, food, museums, art or culture. No. I want to go to Tibidabo Amusement Park to ride on the Avio!

What about you? Are you Vicky, Cristina, or both? Would you rather ride the Avio, or Javier Bardem? Which one do you think would be more exciting?

An Interview!

2008-09-11T14:43:00.003-04:00

Ten Questions With Ann Wesley Hardin

This month Red Sage Presents ... Ann Wesley Hardin! Ann has had many incarnations. After spending seven years earning university and post-graduate degrees in Anthropology, Museum Studies and Earth Sciences, she worked as a bartender, a radio weather forecaster, an environmental groundwater consultant and, finally, a novelist. A native New Yorker, she spent countless months traveling the world, and finally found a European style village in rural Pennsylvania, where she settled with her family.

Ann's story Bonded has been wowing readers and reviewers alike.

1) Did you ever think you would be doing what you do?
Are you kidding? Of course I knew. It was destiny! Don't laugh because that's actually pretty close to the truth. But that belief, as strong as it was, didn't stop me from spending years crying in my closet over the stacks of rejections.

2) How did becoming a writer change your life?
In a funny way it gave me permission to be myself, strange attributes and all. We're conditioned from birth to fit under the bell jar and some of us just don't. Getting that validation, feeling necessary, and able to contribute to society in some small way is a wonderful thing for a wacko.

3) Are there common themes that show up in all your stories? If so, what are they?
I think acceptance is probably a recurring theme. Gee. Wonder why? (see answer # 2)

4) What draws you to the setting you chose for this story?
I usually use places I've been. It's important to get the lingo right because my books are dialogue heavy. It also depends on the character. Sela, from Bonded, had to be from New York City with her bold, brassy attitude. In A Lick and A Promise, a neighborhood in Seattle called Fremont inspired the setting because the local nickname for Fremont is "The Center of The Universe" -- extremely appropriate and inspiring for that book.

5) You write wonderful sex scenes. What makes a sex scene really sizzle?
Thank you! Sex sizzles when it's all about the characters, who they are, and what they're learning while they're going at it like lunatics. I do try never to stray from my character's heads when they're in bed. That's when they're most vulnerable and the wrong word or phrase -- something they wouldn't think or say -- will be jarring and untrue. Nothing is less sexy than a lie.

6) Which comes to you first, the plot or the characters?
Characters. Like for many writers, they speak to me in some way. I let them tell me what the plot is. There's no way I could manufacture some of this crazy stuff otherwise.

7) Your story is very funny. Do you think it's harder to write comedy than to write straight contemporary stories?
Alot of people think comedy is harder to write. I suppose on some level I agree, but then, why wouldn't I? Agreeing enables me to whine, "Woe is me. My life is so much harder than any other writer's!" The truth is, comedy comes easily to me. I simply can't resist it.

8) Any plans to step out of your usual genre?
I'm starting to dabble in Urban Fantasy. But rest assured there will always be romance, and the sex will always be hot. There's no going back from there. Who would want to?

9) Of all the heroes you've created, which is your favorite and why?
Here's where I'm supposed to say I love them all. But I don't. I like them all. But they're my heroine's dream men, not necessarily mine. My dream man is brainy, sexy, alpha in his own way, and also very weird. Totally my kinda guy!

10) Will Jorge the Masseuse be making any cameos in upcoming stories?
Jorge is a man of mystery and allure. Jorge keeps us guessing...

Read the rest of the

Red Sage Newsletter

What Do Romance Writers Do in Their Spare Time?

2008-09-07T22:32:00.001-04:00

Why, find hot heroes to crawl all over. What else would they do?

A Five Star Review and Back Cover Copy!!

2008-08-10T17:11:00.003-04:00

Title: Bonded
Author: Ann Wesley Hardin
Publisher: Red Sage Books
Publisher URL: www.eredsage.com
Reviewer: Signey E. Scott
Rating: 5 Stars
Heat level: O

Sela Wilson loves her Girl Weekends with her best friends Carla and Robin. This time, they are partaking in the seasonal Fantasy Weekend where rich women could bring their fantasies to life. That is if their fantasy hasn’t called in sick and there is no one to replace him. Daniel Bond is not used to loud mouthed, opinioned, independent women making him drool. He is definitely not prepared for Sela. Once he decides that he will be her replacement Hero for the weekend, he is a lost cause because Sela demands one hundred percent customer satisfaction. The customer is always right, right?

Bonded was one of the funniest quickies I have read in a while. Ms. Hardin wrapped me in the excitement of Fantasy Weekend and I felt as if I were experiencing Sela’s emotions. The writing was very detailed and I laughed out loud quite a few times. The characters and situations were very realistic. I could visualize Sela getting louder and louder in the lobby of the hotel waiting for her Hero to show up and then getting an inexperienced replacement that had her deciding her toy, Charlie, would be her Hero for the weekend. Sela made me laugh with her, “I know you didn’t” attitude. I admired her tenacity and drive for life and living it to its fullest.

Daniel, Daniel, Daniel. Daniel was an alpha male through and through. He thought he had everything he needed and if he didn’t, he could buy it. But the thing he needed and desired no one was brave enough to tell him about, until Sela came along and had nothing to lose nor gain from giving her opinion. Or so she thought.

The attraction they felt towards each other was instantaneous and consuming. The teasing and sex that went on would have burnt my fingerprints off if I were holding the book. I loved both of these characters because they showed that you can live a full life after love and you always need someone to tell you the truth about yourself. Pick up this book but be prepared to laugh and tingle.

Signey E. Scott
Just Erotic Romance Reviews

And if that great review isn't enough, the back cover copy for Bonded just came in!

When Sela Wilson requested a gothic hero during Fantasy Weekend at a luxury hotel, she didn’t expect to be stuck with the worst actor ever. Daniel Bond, womanizing, billionaire hotelier, didn’t expect to have to go under cover to play the part, nor did he expect Sela to ditch him for a dildo. But soon, his offer to fulfill all her sexual fantasies has him peeking out from under his mask, and finding that only Sela can coax out the real man he is inside.

A New Man in My Life

2008-08-10T15:48:00.005-04:00

Well, in Child Number One's and Two's to be exact. But I'm living the romance vicariously!

He's a three-year-old Toy Manchester Terrier. Very calm and loving. They named him Dente, after a mountain in France. Our late, great dog-wonder, Denali, was named for the Alaskan peak. I see a trend here.

This morning I called him Denante. I have a sinking feeling that might lodge in my brain.

Isn't he sweet? Ooh and ahh at will!

Never Knew Exactly Why I Loved Audrey Hepburn Until Now

2008-08-07T16:19:00.003-04:00

Below is a poem Audrey Hepburn wrote

when asked to share her 'beauty tips.'

It was read at her funeral years later.

For attractive lips,

speak words of kindness...

For lovely eyes,

seek out the good in people.

For a slim figure,

share your food with the hungry.

For beautiful hair,

let a child run his/her fingers through it once a day.

For poise,

walk with the knowledge that you never walk alone...

People, even more than things, have to be restored,

renewed,revived, reclaimed, and redeemed;

never throw out anyone.

Hey, Hey, Hey!

2008-08-01T20:10:00.004-04:00

In exactly one month, Bonded releases! My how time flies. Guess I need to do some promo here. What do ya'll think I should do?

A contest seems so pedestrian. Gimme some ideas. Gimme gimme! I have four e-ARCS to spend and they're burning a hole in my pocket.

Feeeeeed me Seymour. Tell me what to do with them!

Recyclorama

2008-07-31T21:37:00.002-04:00

Since I can't seem to get and keep my act together about blogging, I've decided to repost some classic entries from days of yore. Join me in this trip down memory lane until I get my ass in gear!

Here's one from November of '06

Not George Clooney's Dream Gal (but maybe his dream horse...)

Read a tidbit-o-gossip about George Clooney today in which he described his perfect woman as possessing Nicole Kidman's laugh, Julia Roberts' personality, Michelle Pfeiffer's beauty and J.Lo's ambition. It got me to thinking about what celebrity traits I might possess. Here's my list:

Julia Roberts' laugh--Yeah. That big, obnoxious, masculine HA! HA! HA! But only when something is really, really funny.

Elizabeth Montgomery's face (?)-- Kathy Love swears I look exactly like Sam on Bewitched. I don't really see it, but there it is. My kids think I'm a mix of Lindsay Lohan and Nicole Kidman. I tend to agree more with that one.

Alice Kramden's deadpan humor--technically, she's a character, but she's alive to me and since this is my blog, that's all that counts. It's a style I tend to use around men more than women. The openings they leave are just too hard to resist.

Lassie's hair--I look like a collie, and shed like one too!

Since no one reveals their real personality in Hollyweird, I won't even take a wild guess. But if I had to channel someone, I'd probably pick Mr. Ed .

What about you? What celebrity traits do you possess? More importantly, are you George Clooney's dream gal? Dream pet? Tell the truth!

Who's a Dexter Fan?

2008-07-15T20:35:00.006-04:00

So one of the myriad reasons I've been absent from the blog lately is a phenomenon that's sweeping the nation: Dexteritis.

Possibly the most brilliantly original premise to come down the pike ever -- a serial killer who's a blood spatter expert for the police. Oh how I wish I thought of that.

I watched season one on Netflix in about three days, read the first two books, and am currently eating the third book while waiting for season two to come available.

Have to say I'm enjoying the Showtime version almost more than the books -- something that rarely, if ever, happens. The only beef I have with the show *spoiler alert* is that Rita's children aren't little sociopaths too. I miss Dexter mentoring them. It just appeals to the blackest, burnt and crispy side of my soul when he does that.

Does that make me a bad person? Does that make you a bad person?

Is there a little Dexter in all of us?

Do you have Dexteritis, too?

Being UnderGround Hog Day

2008-07-06T21:10:00.011-04:00

A selfish man is doomed to repeat the same day over and over until he learns The Meaning of Life.

What a quietly great movie that is quickly becoming one of the most esteemed Romantic Comedies of our time. Tonight I finally sat down and watched it. I know. I know. I'm slow.

I wanted to see what all the buzz was about. Now, I've been a Bill Murray fan since he replaced Chevy Chase on SNL so why have I never watched this gem of a movie? Was it the groundhog? I don't know. I don't know. I'm slow. Sue me.

It's funny, really. Because just the other night at the watering hole I said to my watering buddy, "The most important thing in life is love. We all agree on that. But I've always wondered: is it more important to love, or to be loved? Which comes first, being loved, or loving? I think it's more important to love."

After all, what's the last thing a dying person always says? Always. "I love you."

No one ever asks, "Do you love me?"

Nope. It's always the same old same old, "I love you."

Gets kinda redundant after a while.

But why do they say it? Is it because the world is filled with unoriginal drones who have nothing better to say on their deathbeds? On second thought, don't answer that.

They say it because feeling is living, that's why. Dying people are really confirming that by loving, they've lived.

My watering buddy started crying. A teenage, single mom, she confessed that she'd always thought she'd had her baby so it could love her. But now, tonight, she realized she had that baby so she could love it.

And when Bill Murray realized he loved -- finally, purely loved -- he was able to move into another day. So he said to Andie Macdowell, "What can I do for you, today?"

Those words reminded me I have a job to do!

Thanks to all my wonderful readers, who check this blog every day, who've supported me through rough times and have stayed true while I was blue. It's time to start loving again. Time to start living again.

I think I owe some people another book!

Collecting the Capricorn Way

2008-07-05T12:17:00.003-04:00

Cappies are known for practicality and I'm so totally there it distresses even me sometimes. My dad hammered "quality over quantity" into my receptive nature so thoroughly it's part of me on a cellular level. The first question I always ask when confronted with a purchase is, do I need it and is it made well? I can't think of a thing I own that's shoddy. It actually hurts to see friends spending money on cheap, new furniture when they could get a solid piece at a yard sale for a fraction of the cost. Well-made trumps beauty almost every time.

Yet, a paradox has always battled within: the need to collect. The need to own things of beauty that also appeal to my emotions, or to my impractical, romantic, sensual side as well as that deep seated love of nostalgia.

Who among us doesn't have this need?

I finally found a way to indulge this duality. I collect vintage airline memorabilia -- but only stuff I can use. And I do use it, on a daily, hourly basis. Take a look at some examples of my stuff!

A new acquisition! Just bought a set of four after waiting about five years to find a set that matched my meager budget.

I have two of these 60s/70s Braniff coffee cups. They're made by Hall China. Totally indestructible.

Eastern Airlines nut cups -- and we all thought pilots had bigger ones! Embossed logo on the bottom. I have six.

The crown jewel of my flight bag collection, this one was used in the 50s.

What collection would be complete without some inflight silverware? I have scads of it that I've picked up for a song -- TWA, Eastern, United, American. How much more fun is it to eat with these utensils than some cheap Target ware?

My favorite bag. I use it all the time and get stopped constantly in airports by people who want to reminisce about those old grand and glamorous days of air travel. There aren't too many people left who remember them! I'm one of the fortunate few.

What about you? What objects appeal to you so deeply they're irresistible? Do you use them, gaze at them, or hide them like treasure, only to be brought out on special occasions? What do you collect?

And Then A Miracle Occurred

2008-07-02T18:07:00.003-04:00

So all these years, whenever Child Number One had to go anywhere -- even around the corner to the bus stop -- something terrible would happen to prevent her from walking.

Too cold
Too hot
But I walked all day!
Too wet
I'm stressed out!
Too icy
My shoes have holes in the bottom
My feet hurt...

Now, with a sparkling new license, she's finally able to drive herself. But that's not the miracle I'm talkin' 'bout.

A year ago a used Outback fell into our laps at a price no sane person would refuse. About 3k under book value. Child Number One had exactly the amount she needed to buy it in her bank account. Even though the car had had major work done on it already, I knew there'd be nickel and dime stuff. Isn't there always?

Fast forward a year. Gas prices have doubled. A nickel and a dime have become euphemisms for $500 and $1000. A solid dime later, combined with the exercise of digging into her own pocket for fuel, and suddenly the aches and pains of her youth have magically vanished.

She can walk!

That's the miracle I'm talkin' 'bout.

Top Ten Penalties We Really Need, NOW

2008-06-27T19:59:00.012-04:00

1) $1,000 for opening the rental car window and then not knowing how to close the rental car window.

2) $500 for messing with the tire pressure because the rental car "drove differently".

3) Forgot your EZ Pass and blew through the toll gate thinking nothing bad would happen: $2,000

4) Unable to locate the gas tank/headlights/brakes in the rental car: Suspended license.

5) Unable to figure out the controls in the same make/model you own because the rental car is a different color: Loss of license.

6) $3000 if you accuse us of not disclosing that you could NOT:

Go airborne with the rental car
Let your dog drive the rental car
Tow a Semi with a rope looped around the rental car's bumper
Use the rental car as a boat

7) Complaining that it costs $31.99 a day to rent a $40,000 vehicle, but gladly forking over $4.50 to rent a $20 movie: Seven Benjamins.

8) $4500 for asking why we need to see your drivers license.

9) $5500 for getting mad that you can't drive without one.

10) If you can't start the rental car because the steering wheel is locked and you don't know how to unlock it,

and...and...

*drumroll*

When informed that the steering wheel is locked, you say that you didn't realize it could be moved to the other side of the rental car!: Full price of the vehicle, plus, we relieve your home of large appliances and sharp objects, and alert child services for the safety of your offspring.

Your Friday Feature challenge: Guess the scenario that did NOT happen in real life.

The Incredible Shrinking Womb Mass

2008-06-15T11:51:00.005-04:00

FabDame's cancer markers are below normal!! She is kicking some serious tumor ass. Give her a cheer!

Vox Bleating in Deserto

2008-06-12T10:18:00.004-04:00

2 busy 2 blog 4 now.

Acktion!

2008-06-06T14:00:00.003-04:00

I wanted to blog this week. Really I did! Where did the time go? Gah.

Got my ARC edits for Bonded and handed them in, worked 40 plus hours, proudly watched Child Number One snag one of only four underclassmen awards at her HS -- she won a bookstore gift card for being the most energetic and enthusiastic female Social Studies student! -- filled my car with gasoline (yikes), helped Dennis pick out a sofa and flat screen TV (a rollicking good time I'll blog about at some point) and blah, blah, blah.

Tomorrow it's into NYC for a visit with Best Peeps. Next week I'm gonna start a new book. Yes, I am. Come hell or high water!

What's on the agenda for you?

Can You Hear Me Now?

2008-05-31T07:24:00.004-04:00

So Child Number One runs over to her dad's place to search for my ancient tennis racket. She wants to play with her BFF. While there, she encounters her father's girlfriend's shetland pony, I mean, Doberman. Being the dog lover she is, she replenishes the dog's water. And drops her cell phone into it.

The next day Child Number Two takes a class trip to an amusement park. I say, "Make sure your cell phone doesn't fall out of your pocket on a ride." She says, "Okay!". Several hours later a strange phone number appears on my caller ID. Sensing doom, I answer. It's Child Number Two. "Mom, my cell phone fell out of my pocket on a ride."

I call the ex to talk about replacement phones and go straight to voice mail. Hmmm. Sensing doom, I call on the land line. He answers. "I can't find my cell phone. It's been two days."

After much research, scrambling, shopping, worry, and, thankfully, not too much dinero, they can hear me now.

And hopefully, this week, you can too.

Memorial Day Tradition

2008-05-24T21:08:00.002-04:00

Since it's Memorial Day weekend I've decided to annually post an essay about my father that I wrote about ten years ago. I wrote it for a website devoted to the 446th Bomb Group, of which my father was a member, and it details a couple of the missions that earned him his DFCs.

HANGING THE MOON
By Ann Wesley Hardin

Editor's note: The author is the daughter of 1st Lt Frank Baker, the pilot of "Rubber Check". Lt Baker was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross and 3 Oak Leaf Clusters for his service with the 446th, including one for the mission detailed here. Click here to see the extract.

Shortly after my father folded his wings in November 1996, I began a quest to find out as much information about his war record as I could. I had before me several military extracts detailing the courage that won him three oak leaf clusters and a Distinguished Flying Cross. So I knew there were wonderful stories out there. If only I could find them.

Like many who served in WWII, my father didn’t like to talk about it much. While I was growing up, he watched war movies, read war books, and commented on the technical errors he found in them. But he never discussed his own experience. One day, I asked him.

He expressed surprise that I wanted to know, could not recall anyone ever asking him before. And he proceeded to tell me about a landing outlined in one of the extracts. He was very matter-of-fact about this mission to Germany, April 22^nd, 1944:

Shortly after leaving the target area, the Rubber Check (named for its propensity to come back) is attacked by enemy aircraft. Rudder control cables are frayed; radio compass is shot out; mixture control cables severed, and a propeller is frozen at minimum power.

Maintaining control on the return trip, my father is unable to land because of enemy activity around the airfield. Proceeding to a second field, my father avoids collision with a plane that cartwheels in front of him and crashes as he prepares to land. Pulling out all stops and using every trick he can think of, he regains altitude and lands on a third field. No one is hurt.

“Were you scared?” I asked.

“No time to be scared,” he answered. “I had no intention of losing that plane.”

The only time he faltered in the various tales he told me that day was when he mentioned the presumed death of his co-pilot, Foster Hinton. As a member of the 707^th squadron, my dad never lost a crewmember on one of his missions, and he was distressed by the loss of Hinton, even though he wasn’t responsible for it.

Lieutenant Hinton got sick and missed a raid with my father. As a result, he had to make it up on the Black Widow – an ill-fated voyage. My father remarked on the tragedy with a pilot’s bravado, “Hinton shouldn’t have gotten the flu.” But I had already detected the sorrow in his voice.

As it turned out, Foster Hinton was not killed when the Black Widow went down. But my father didn’t live to know that. Following his death, I called Hinton’s widow and she told me he had been captured and imprisoned. I wish my father knew that, but I guess he does now.

After speaking with Mrs. Hinton, I called Franklin Calhoun, a gunner on the Rubber Check. It was a sunny afternoon, about 2:00. Mr. Calhoun lived in Florida, and I heard the TV in the background when he picked up the phone.

“Is this the Franklin Calhoun who was a member of the 707^th squadron in WWII?” I asked.

His voice trembled in reply. “Yes,” he said. “I am”.

I told him I was Frank Baker’s daughter. Did he remember my father?

“Oh,” came his shocked reply. “Oh I can’t believe it. I never pick up the phone at this hour because it’s usually a sales person. Of course I remember your Daddy.”

We talked for a few minutes about the nature of war. He said that he didn’t know my dad very well because my dad was an officer and Franklin was not. There was little fraternization between the groups – a fact that I did not realize. Mr. Calhoun told me that the bomb crews were not buddy-buddy like in the movies. They were just a group of men out to do a job. But he had always admired my dad.

“Do you have any stories you can tell me?” I asked. “My dad told me a few, but I want more.”

“Well,” Mr. Calhoun drawled. “Did your Daddy ever tell you about the time we busted up the plane?”

“No!” I shouted. Mr. Calhoun laughed and told me the following story:

On a day in 1944, with roughly half it’s missions completed, the Rubber Check heads home. The daylight is fading, and so is her fuel level. As the crew prepares her for landing, a terrible discovery is made. The ball turret won’t retract, trapping the artillery gunner in a bubble beneath the airplane and dooming him to hit the runway before the wheels.

Frantic efforts are made to retract the turret, without success. Because of the approaching night and empty fuel tanks, a life or death decision must be rendered.

Through the headphones comes a confident declaration from the pilot. “Don’t worry Fielder, I’ll take care of you. We are going to bring this baby in.”(I suspect a more colorful term was used for “baby” but I have no proof).

As promised, my father landed that plane – and broke it in half. In the back, Sergeant Calhoun “hung on for dear life.” He said that when they carried him out, everyone was alive. Everyone stayed alive, and miraculously unhurt. Even the ball turret gunner, Roy Fielder.

Since then I have learned that Roy Fielder kept in touch with my brother in Texas all these years. He met with my dad on at least one occasion, and exchanged Christmas cards with my sister-in-law. When I called her for Mr. Fielder’s address –I wanted this story in his own words but sadly never got it – my sister-in-law said, “Oh, he thinks your dad hung the moon!”

And you know what? I do too.

Footnote: My father left behind many mementos from the Good War. Among them was a clock from the control panel of a Liberator. He swiped it from another plane and I often wonder if it was from the plane that broke in half. He never said.

My brother traced the tail number of the “new” Rubber Check to a B-24 bone yard. In the words of a fellow aviator, “It’s probably a beer can now.”

The crew of "Rubber Check". Standing L to R: Sgt John Thomas, Sgt Albert Cochran, Sgt George Blank, Sgt Franklin Calhoun, Sgt John Roberts, Sgt Roy Lee Fielder. Knealing L to R: 2Lt Adrian Perrault, 2Lt Frank Baker, 2Lt Arthur Bailey, 2Lt Foster Hinton.

At the same time my father was bombing Germany in a notoriously difficult aircraft, without fighter escort to protect him from enemy fire, my former father-in-law was learning to arm the P-51 Mustang--a new, scrappy fighter with long-range capability that would single-handedly save countless lives and change the course of WWII.

My ex-late-father-in-law was also stationed in England with the Mighty Eighth. During his tour he witnessed horrifying B-24 crashes. Heavily laden with bombs, the planes often floundered and exploded on takeoff. But he also witnessed the mass ascension of the Normandy Invasion fleet and said he'd never seen anything so magnificent.

A few years ago we took him to the WWII weekend in Reading. A beautifully restored P-51 Mustang was in attendance and he hadn't seen one in over 50 years. Although we'd been warned against touching the precious aircraft, we wanted a picture of him near it.

As we approached the Mustang, I told the owners who he was and what he had done during the war. They dropped everything they were doing, shook his hand and with a reverence that makes me cry just thinking about, honored him by asking if he'd like to stand on the wing.

They helped him onto the wing, and we took this picture. Later, my mother-in-law told us she'd never seen him so happy in his life. If his ear-to-ear grin the whole day was any indication, she was right.

Happy Happy Oy! Oy!

2008-05-20T20:36:00.001-04:00

My sixteen year old daughter got her driver's license today.

'nuff said.

Wonder What the Ladies Room Would Look Like...

2008-05-18T20:15:00.003-04:00

Here's a good one, compliments of Bev:

Men's Restroom Mural

Edge Designs is an all-women run company that designs interior office space. They had a recent opportunity to do an office project in NYC.The client allowed the women of this company a free hand in all design aspects. The client was a company that was also run by all women execs...... The result.........well.....We all know that men never talk, never look at each other....And never laugh much in the restroom....The men's room is a serious and quiet place...But now...with the addition of one mural on the wall......lets just say the men's Restroom is a place of laughter and smiles. (click pic to enlarge)

Real Men, Part I

2008-05-16T20:18:00.013-04:00

Dennis claims that male love is "largely theoretical".

A man might not sweep the floor, change a diaper, or listen to his teenage girl rant about global injustice, but, he'll gladly take arms and defend his family to the bloody death -- when the aliens arrive.

So, he sits on the sofa, channel-surfing and swilling beer, awaiting the invasion. After all, he needs his strength for when they come. As they surely will.

A couple of months ago, the Visigoths came to the Fab household.

They invaded swiftly, under cover, with no warning. For a few, tense minutes, the Fab household was unprepared, surprised and oh so vulnerable. Tears were shed, hair was torn, muscles spasmed and panic seemed imminent.

But then, the last man standing in the family met his True Purpose. He took arms -- took his family in those arms -- turned, and faced his opponent.

FabHub stepped up to the plate, spent every second with FabDame as she was poked and prodded, tested and toasted, needled and nipped, cat-scanned and cut, drugged and dopey, grim and gutted, rayed and re-sectioned.

Through it all he mowed the lawn, delivered children to music lessons, shopped for food, made the meals, texted me back (endlessly, patiently) and watched Oprah.

Without one, single complaint.

I don't know about you, but there's no way I'd have tolerated Oprah.

Proving the man that he is, he continues to bear most of the load normally carried by two, three, four, or an army.

As FabDame says, it's not easy being married to a sick person. As he replies, it's what I signed up for, and it's finite. She's going to get better.

You know, after my dad and both my brothers died, my sister-in-law cried to me over the phone, "Where are all our men?"

I knew what she meant. I felt it. That loss of protection from the aliens, the visigoths. I was willing to endure the everyday shit of diapers and global injustice just to have that protection again.

It wasn't until two months ago that I realized, we still have it. We still have protection. He's alive. He's with us. We still have a hero.

Right there, over the rainbow.

Everyone's Up and Great in Kansas City

2008-05-14T19:51:00.011-04:00

Day one, Friday: FabDame sleeps until 7:30. She's still tired from chemo. And I came all this way...

Later on she makes me back her seventy-five foot van out of the garage, making one lame-o excuse after another. I drive us to the cancer center where FabDame has blood drawn and pressure tested.

I can see this is going to be a really fun trip.

But, the afternoon improves when we meet Sunny for lunch and FabDame perks up enough from the TexMex to stop in a cool little thrift shop we pass on the way home. Finally!

FabDame takes a nap. She is such a slacker.

Day two, Saturday: FabDame is up and dressed as I stumble into the kitchen, scrabbling for my iced coffee. She makes oatmeal, scrubs the kitchen and folds the laundry.

I check my email.

At noon, her friend shows up enroute from Iowa to Albuquerque. We go out for the best Kansas BBQ in the nation. Later, while tornadoes rip a swath of death and devastation to our south and west, we make this neat-o card for the mater:

Afterwards FabDame mops the floor, does the grocery shopping and prepares a seven course gourmet meal.

I snooze on the sofa and surf the 'net.

Day three, Sunday: FabDame sleeps until 8 O'clock. Christ. I have to make my own coffee. Oh wait, FabHubby makes it. She finally drags her lazy ass out of bed to make me toast served with homemade jam from fruit she picked off her tree last night in the windstorm.

I text Dennis.

In the afternoon we go shopping at Kohl's. FabDame tries on every single outfit in the whole freakin' place to find something that fits her new, slender frame.

I buy discounted underwear.

You know how tiring it is trying on bras. By the time we get home I need a nap. While I sleep, FabDame makes three quilts for the tornado victims. Three. Like that's gonna help. We go to Costco and she purchases her Mother's Day meal. FabHubby cooks it.

I wash the lettuce.

Day four, Monday: FabDame still needs clothes, but it's almost time for me to leave. As we're walking out the door, my cell phone rings. It's USAIR. My flight was cancelled. I spend the next hour on the phone with Sukresh from Punjab trying to get another flight. Sukresh offers me a seat on a flight to Stuttgart, connecting to Nairobi, a layover in Malaysia, and thence a spot on the standby list to Philadelphia. I say that's unacceptable. Sukresh politely finds me a direct flight the next morning.

FabDame and I get one more day! A gift from the gods. Where are we going to go? The mall!!

FabDame has to return some Dockers she bought before she lost weight. While there she finds the most beautiful sweater and tunic that totally rocks her boho, scarf look. I find a $7.99 summer top.

She's so jazzed when she gets home she rotates the tires on the van, reglazes a window, and moves the baby grand to dust underneath.

I relax with a beer.

Day five, Tuesday: By the time I crawl out of the shower at BF O'Thirty, FabDame has hot eggs and toast on the table. Her daughter comes down and FabDame packs a nutritious school lunch for her.

Fabdame reads the news, feeds the animals, trims a few trees and paints the living room.

I print out my boarding pass.

If there's one thing I learned this weekend, it's this. If anyone can beat cancer...

Tomorrow: FabDame builds a B-24 in 19.2 minutes and ends the war in Iraq...

Gone Visiting

2008-05-08T06:03:00.001-04:00

Going to see FabDame in Kansas for the weekend!

Clean up before I get back, k?

Home Sweet Home

2008-05-03T06:56:00.010-04:00

Whenever anyone dies in my family, I usually have a dream about them at some point down the road. Just one dream, and always a sweet one. I await these mental encounters with great anticipation. They mean so much to me.

The dream about my dad came three months after he passed. My brothers were six months and two years, respectively.

The other night I had my Denali dream. It was an interesting one. She was standing there on a leash and I noticed her head looked strange. Eventually I realized she had a stainless steel mask over her head and that it had been there for a long time. I removed the mask and there were wounds underneath it. I stroked away the wounds and she came over to me and leaned her forehead against mine, obviously thrilled to be free of her "iron mask". We nuzzled, she gazed happily, thankfully, into my eyes, and then I woke up.

Cool, huh?

Over the years, I've come to believe these dreams are messages from my loved ones that they've reached their final destination and that they are ok.

Have you ever received messages from the ether? Don't you appreciate it when folks you love let you know they got home safely?

Thanks Denali. You're a good dog.

The Big FugUski

2008-04-29T05:48:00.017-04:00

Den and I went bowling the other night. Some of you might know I used to be in a league. I was never a great bowler, but certainly serviceable, if inconsistent. And my partner at the time who had a 180 average, was actually content to have me, the 128er, as a partner.

Anyway, I haven't bowled in four years or so and the last time Den and I tried it, I had to use a house ball and shoes instead of my own super ball. What a disaster. I mean, my ball even has my name engraved on it. How could I possibly, ever, use another? My scores were fully reflective of this horror.

"You call yourself a bowler?"

"I didn't have my ball!" And I obviously had no respect, either.

So when we got to the lanes this time, I proudly displayed my shiny, marbled red ball, and informed him it was made out of a speshul Reactive Urethane. Until it came to room temperature, and unless it was clean and free of bowling alley oil, it wouldn't gather enough friction to curve properly on the lane. My scores would reflect this horror.

"Making excuses already," he said.

Let the seething resentment begin. I showed him the label on the ball. "See? Reactive Urethane."

He rolled his eyes. "So you have this super duper radioactive uranium ball and you're still telling me you're gonna do lousy."

Fine Amigo. Just fine. "No. It'll just take a while for the ball to perform."

"Sure it will."

And you don't even wanna hear the bloodbath that was our argument over speed vs technique. Naturally, I'm a technique girl, whereas he, as a crime writer and a man, just wants pin guts spattered on the backwall.

Philistine.

Anyway. Several spares, strikes and double strikes later, I rolled my last frame. The ball arced slowly and seductively left, towards the curve on the breast of the head pin. With a gentle brush, every single pin laid flat, in tandem, like the Hand of God turning down a sheet.

People in neighboring lanes gasped. It was that neat. That beautiful. I turned to my opponent.

He stood frozen, gazing thoughtfully past me, down the alley. "Wow. Having your own ball really does make a difference."

"Yeah."

"And technique definitely matters."

"Yup."

"You look like you're stalking prey."

I rocked that.

"But." He stroked his five o'clock shadow. "I still want splatter."

And The Dude is still bowling for respect.

My Little Dog Too

2008-04-26T10:27:00.008-04:00

She watches out for kitties
(watches out for kitties)

Big bad bark
(big bad bark)

She chases all the birdies
(chases all the birdies)

and guards you in the dark.
(in the dark, in the dark)

Dena-a-a-ali
The Super Watch Dog

(the super watch dog...the super watch dog...the super watch dog)

Fade out

Denali

Dog Wonder.

April 14th 1996 - April 26th 2007

She only had one bad day.

Torturing the Virgin -- A Celebration

2008-04-22T19:19:00.004-04:00

In a significant rite of passage, DIP got his first ever revision notes from his brand new editor today.

*evil cackle*

Join me in his Official Welcome to Revision Hell.

Let's hear it for the boy!

*And continuing the ritual torture, you can also send rah rahs here and here

And All I Got Was...

2008-04-17T19:44:00.005-04:00

DIP went here to research a book...

Won some of this...

And brought me home this...

Isn't he the bestest?

I badly, badly want to blog about some of the ideas we bounced off each other for future stories. Some co-written! But I can't.

I'll still be doing romance novels, but am definitely gonna spread the wings a little here. We've been planning a few surprises for ya'll down the road, so stay tuned. With this sweet new gadget, I certainly will!

Keepin' It In The Family

2008-04-10T21:51:00.005-04:00

Writers really need to date other writers. This has become clear to me over the past few weeks. Even if me and DIP don't work out, and God knows we might not, you won't find me cozying up to doctors, lawyers or engineers anytime soon.

And truthfully, once they learn what I'm really like -- and what I write -- doctors, lawyers and engineers mostly just drop into a black hole anyway. They vaporize. Like some giant dwarf star came along and sucked them right in.

It's so funny. As if they think I am what I write. And it says alot, alot about them that they're so frightened of it they'd rather self combust than have a drink or go to a movie with me -- or even meet me for God's sake. Who knows what'll happen to them if they breathe my carbon dioxide.

Then along comes DIP, a writer himself. He writes about drug addled dipshits in peril, and in his past he might've been a drug addled dipshit in peril. But I knew he wasn't now. Geez. And he knew I wasn't some sex starved maniacal woman (though he might've hoped) or worse, a rainbows and lollipop romantic.

Writers just get that shit about each other. We don't freak each other out. One person's weeping pussy is another's arterial spray.

I love being able to walk into our local coffee group, The Liars Club, and announce what I do without fear of judgment. One member mentioned he'd read about a woman who wrote Equestrian Erotic Romance. He asked, "Does that make it UnDressage?"

That's the sort of fun, initial reaction you get from other writers. Then it's business as usual. Yup, incest is best. I'm keepin' it in the family!

Vaccination!

2008-04-08T15:10:00.019-04:00

If you've read "The Accidental Tourist", you'll remember that the weird characters played an even weirder game called "Vaccination." They made it up themselves, with complicated rules that constantly changed, and few outsiders could ever figure it out.

Welcome to the world of Pharmaceuticals and Modern Medicine.

For quite a number of years now, radicals and extremists have suspected vaccinations of causing all kinds of problems. The biggest ones? Auto-immune disorders.

Why?

Well, picture your white blood cells as a platoon of highly trained, restless, Alpha, macho Marines. Put them all in a locked room (your body) then give them nothing to do.

For oh, say, thirty or forty years.

Can anyone say "Stir crazy?"

Why, what happens next? I'm quivering with curiosity!

They get bored. Tired of looking at each other. Sick of each other's smell. Fed up with each other's jokes and strange characteristics. Intolerant of each other's politics, jealous of each other's talents, gifts, possessions. Feeling envy, paranoia...

Well, gee. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what happens next.

WAR.

But who do they have to fight?

Hmm. There's this innocent little colon sitting over there, seemingly minding it's own business. But it's probably up to no good. And look! A Liver that seems perfectly happy and healthy. Don't you hate that? No one should be happy if I'm not!

Such healthy, pink nerves along the spine...

The nerve!

Let's get it!

You know, the older I get, the less radical and extreme the radicals and extremists seem. Two people and two dogs in my family have auto-immune disorders. Yet, my immediate ancestors, and their freakin' pets, lived vaccination, and auto-immune disease, free, for eight, nine, ten decades apiece. Both sides of the family. Every other young family I know has at least one and probably two auto-immune disorders.

You do the math. I have. I think the Greatest Generation will also be the Longest Lived Generation.

But, you know, we're affluent.

Especially those who make, or give, vaccinations!

They watched the news, dutifully, and then they went out to the sun porch and sat at their grandparents' card table. They played something called Vaccination -- a card game they'd invented as children, which had grown so convoluted over the years that no one else had the patience to learn it. In fact, more than one outsider had accused them of altering the rules to suit the circumstances. "Now, just a minute," Sarah had said, back when she'd still had hopes of figuring it out. "I thought you said aces were high."

"They are."

"So that means--"

"But not when they're drawn from the deck."

"Aha! Then why was the one that Rose drew counted high?"

"Well, she did draw it after a deuce, Sarah."

"Aces drawn after a deuce are high?"

"No, aces drawn after a number that's been drawn two times in a row just before that."

Sarah had folded her fan of cards and laid them face down -- the last of the wives to give up.

Macon was in quarantine and had to donate all his cards to Rose. Rose moved her chair over next to his and played off his points while he sat back, scratching the cat behind her ears. Opposite him, in the tiny dark windowpanes, he saw their reflections -- hollow-eyed and severely cheekboned, more interesting versions of themselves.

The telephone in the living room gave a nipped squeak and then a full ring. Nobody seemed to notice. Rose laid a king on Porter's queen and Porter said, "Stinker." The telephone rang again and then again. In the middle of the fourth ring, it fell silent. "Hypodermic," Rose told Porter, and she topped the king with an ace.

I Got You Babe

2008-04-06T20:13:00.004-04:00

While working in a school project, Child Number Two unearthed this pic of me and Fabdame. Can you guess who we're pretending to be? Hint: it's in the post title.

Note the flashlight microphone. I think I was holding a fake popsicle or something. FabDame did the makeup!

What year would you say this was, oh Fab One? I'm guessing 1973.

Isn't She Lovely -- So Many Kinds of Love

2008-04-05T23:15:00.008-04:00

Yup, that's one of my soul sistahs. I'm lovin' her today.

And it's funny. I was supposed to do some research for FabDame this weekend, but Denali's problems distracted me from my duty. I apologized to FabDame and she told me, "If you hadn't taken care of Denali first, I'd have been mad at you."

This lead to a discussion about an animal's affect on us. I'm so glad she understood (I knew she would).

I mean, I've been strong for FabDame -- factual and scientific (okay, while deeply, psychologically distressed inside, as witnessed by my posts here) but still, holding steady in public. Ya know? Successfully pretending to be normal. In public. Ya know? Except for that misdirected anger...

Anyhow, when Denali got sick, I shattered. At work. With the ex. Crying on the phone. Both of us. My co-worker actually turned away and stopped talking to me. It was a bad, bad moment. My boss, God love her, looked at me with these gorgeous eyes she has (you have to see them to believe them) and smiled this kind smile, and I had to run to the bathroom to compose myself.

What is it with animals? I think it's the vast purity of emotion they possess for you, and their complete dependence on you. If I hadn't taken Denali to the vet, she might have died. But she would've died loving me. Even if I hadn't helped her.

And that thought breaks my heart in a way no human ever could.

Of course, humans can break my heart. But not like that. I mean, FabDame is perfectly capable of crawling to the hospital if she has to. She can turn on a faucet to get water -- even if she has to struggle to reach it. She can call for help and someone will listen. If I coldly ignored her, she'd hate me, wouldn't you, FabDame? Not that I would. Unless you piss me off...

I had a moment with Denali in the hours while we waited to go to the vet. She had lain down on her bed, on her side and hadn't lifted her head. I was getting cereal in the kitchen.

Do you remember the death scene in Terms of Endearment, when Deborah Winger turns her head and looks at Shirley MacClain? Denali turned her head and looked at me exactly the same way. And something inside me shifted forever in that moment.

I'm so glad she's here. I'm so glad FabDame is here. I love them both so much. In such different ways. And there's nothing, nothing I tell you, that can ever, ever destroy that love.

It's lovely. It's pure (except if FabDame pisses me off). And it's eternal (except if FabDame pisses me off).

And Your Little Dog Too!

2008-04-05T05:34:00.004-04:00

J/K

Belated April Fool's and all. Hey, a girl's gotta get her kicks somewhere!

It appears Denali had some sort of mystery infection in her leg. It swelled up like a sumbitch, but she's responding to the meds the vet gave her -- after scaring the crap outta me with the "C" word, of course.

Dayum. It was a hairy few hours there. My widdle girl was sick. But, she's on the mend.

Sorta-kinda-happy days are here again!

Pardon Me, Is My Bad Karma Showing?

2008-04-04T08:18:00.009-04:00

Behold the following text exchange with DIP this morning:

Me: Hey, my dog went lame! Am taking her to vet this a.m.

DIP: Sorry! Let me know if there's anything I can do

A few minutes later...

DIP: Did you piss off God?

Me: No, just JESUS CHRIST ON A CRACKER!!

Okay, now I just gotta laugh. This is ridiculous. From the sudden onset of her symptoms (according to Google), she could have Lyme Disease, or *drumroll* rabies. Which am I assuming it is? Why, rabies of course. We're all gonna have to get shots, she's gonna lose her head, and I bet, I just bet, the culprit was a bat.

Now For Something Completely Different

2008-04-03T21:38:00.003-04:00

Last Christmas, my boss gave me a Staples gift card. Yesterday I bought these

For this

And got this

Heh. Life is still good.

The Thin Black Line

2008-04-02T14:38:00.005-04:00

There's humor in pathos, you know. Most great comedy is built upon truth, anger and tragedy. Thus, as a comedian, I want to, need to, continue that grand tradition. It's in my bones.

But somehow, when people ask me how I am, I can't bring myself to answer truthfully. It's not funny to say, "Well, my brothers are dead, my sister has cancer and my poor mother.... But otherwise, everything's great! How are you?"

What do you say in situations like this? Is there some etiquette book out there that would guide me? Can I keep the seething resentment out of my tone, the sorrow from my eyes? Can I make it funny, somehow? Put people at ease?

I don't really want them to go all mushy on me, yet some people do have to be informed of these things.

DIP has made some humorous comments about being a hapless, hopeful man trying to woo a woman who's dealing with a grave illness in her family. We've laughed. But he's a rare bird who gets that we're not laughing because it's funny. We're laughing because it's tragic, it's one of the truths of life and it makes us damn mad. In essence, it's pure comedy. We make fun to strip it of its ghastly power.

I haven't seen her since the diagnosis -- haven't touched her, smelled her, hugged her, kissed her.

We haven't laughed together because we haven't cried together.

We're straddling the Thin Black Line.

Somewhere Under the Rainbow...More Misdirected Anger

2008-03-31T22:22:00.016-04:00

So I ran into this guy I used to know.

DIP and I were at a bar I hung out in alot before I moved out of my house. It's a great bar, really. I met alot of people, had alot of fun -- I guess you could call it transitional. I would call it transitional. Especially after re-meeting this guy.

Anyway, this guy saw me, smiled, said it was "fate" that we met again. Inevitable.

Yeah. Yeah. Fate. Inevitable. Yeah. Yeah. "I'm with someone."

He asked me what was new?

I told him, "My sister has cancer and I don't give a flying fuck about anything anymore. Not a flying fuck."

Cuz I like to say stuff like that. Shock value and all. And opportunities like that come so infrequently. Gotta grab 'em while you can.

If only you could've seen his face. It's so sad, upon reflection.

Blank.

Blank as they come.

"Call me," he said. "We should hang out."

Yeah. Let's. Cuz it would be sooo much fun right now. "Sure," I said. "Here's my number." Never let it be said that I didn't learn how to behave in public.

He texted me on Easter Sunday, "Hey Pam, Got any big plans for the day?"

I said, "Yes, but I'm not Pam."

He hasn't texted me again. But he's out there, Under the Rainbow.

I just want to scream. And scream. And scream.

Until my throat dissolves from the heat under this fucking rainbow.

Great Boyfriends Part II

2008-03-29T09:47:00.005-04:00

Real Man noun, plural, Real Men:

Man meets woman. Man likes woman. Woman likes man. Woman's sister gets sick. Woman can't think of anything but getting her sister better (even if it means bodysnatching from dickheads), so Woman tells man he can go find another, more fun woman. Man says no. Man stays with woman he likes. Woman likes man even more.

He can still screw up though...

Stay tuned.

Don't Tread on Me -- The Fine Art of Misdirected Anger

2008-03-25T09:48:00.011-04:00

As the screeching, wailing, keening, volcanic rage and sadness bubbles and builds within, I'd like to rant and bitch about random illness and the injustice of life. What I'm gonna do instead is take it out on the dickhead who came into the rental agency yesterday.

While I was bringing a car around for Nice Lady Customer, Dickhead entered the building. When I got out and showed Nice Lady the car, she said, "You need to hop in the back and come with me. The guy in there is a real bastard."

*sigh*

For some reason -- the moon? I dunno -- my co-worker's mere presence in the world was pissing people off yesterday. He couldn't say anything right. But I'd say the same thing to the same customer and everything would be hunky dory.

Enter Dickhead.

He accused us of stealing the radar detector he'd left in a rental van, cross-examined us about who might've had access to said precious radar detector, and informed us he wasn't leaving until said precious radar detector was found. By us.

Of course he presumed it'd been stolen by the techs. A lower life form has yet to be found. Despite the fact that they have access to every piece of personal information you possess -- including the DNA of your mistress -- and they never do anything illegal with it, they're still bottom feeders.

Anyway, no possible perp went undetected by Dickhead. We finally showed him the giant drawer comprising our lost-n-found -- DVD players, cell phones, CD collections, designer sunglasses, self help books, and many other far more valuable, useful and enjoyable items than his precious radar detector. But, we'd still stolen it.

At this point my patience, thin as it is these days, was about to snap. I looked Dickhead in the eye and told him we didn't appreciate customers coming in here and accusing us of stealing, and if he was going to wait, he could do it inside the dealership, (away from us.) He took one look at my face, paused, and said, "I'm going outside for a cigarette."

Good choice, Dickhead. Run away. Far away. Fast.

Because now I was in the mood to steal -- his wife's healthy body, for my sister. And nothing would've stopped me. Fuck the fuckety-fuck fucking dickheads.

*KABOOM*

With Friends Like These You Don't Need Enemas

2008-03-16T23:20:00.003-04:00

Remember Erma Bombeck and her book, If Life Is A Bowl Of Cherries, What Am I Doing in The Pits?

That's my life right now. And my Mom's. And FabDame's.

Especially FabDame's.

Keep us in your thoughts, people. We need thoughts. Good thoughts. Positive thoughts.

Healing thoughts.

With those, we'll be back. Stronger than ever.

See you on the other side.

Quirks

2008-03-10T21:36:00.006-04:00

We all have 'em. Some are more admittable than others. But the wonderful thing about personality quirks is that they're what individualize us. They also make for unique, memorable characters in books -- like Scarlett O'Hara's denial, Hamlet's indecisiveness, or Gus MacCrea's idealism.

But even more interesting, are the little quirks. Quirks that have no deep psychological meaning, but are just there, seemingly for no other reason than to entertain some and irk others.

For instance: My boss hates touching chicken -- especially thighs -- and she won't leave leftovers in her fridge for more than a day.

Child number two has an aversion to pores and hair follicles. She also hates it when I part her hair with a comb. Says it feels like a knife cutting her scalp.

Child number one can't stand kneecaps. She also has mild hypochondria -- any ache or pain and she's dying I tell you. Dying.

I hate the word "spleen" with such a passion I can barely type it. And I won't buy canned soup -- the thought of giant vats of chicken broth make me crazy.

My grandmother wouldn't get out of bed in the morning until she felt stirrings in her bowels. Nevermind that activity actually makes bowels move. Her bowels had to move first.

My grandfather wore a pantyhose cap to bed, over the little hair he had, because he wanted to keep it neat.

Any far out quirks in your family? In you? Come on, spill! It makes us interesting.

Beyond Monopoly -- Parlor Games with The Hardins

2008-03-08T06:22:00.002-05:00

Child number two is a funny one. She has an extremely high verbal intelligence and even before she could talk she'd get it if I made a pun or engaged in any kind of word play. So I always do those things with her because it's so satisfying and hilarious and it's one of my favorite pastimes.

Thus, the other night while I was texting with DIP, and she asked me where he was, she prefaced it with, "Give me a hint."

Let the games begin!

I was prepared for her to get my hint right away because to me it was so obvious. I replied, "He's in a state that's never had sex."

Can you guess which state that might be?

Child number two thought a moment and said, "New Jersey."

Hahaha! I can see why she'd think that but, nope.

"Tennessee?"

Nope.

"I know, Florida!"

Heeheehee. Nope.

"Then where? What do you mean by it's never had sex? New Jersey never had sex. I don't think Florida has either. How can a state have sex?"

Where had her high verbal intelligence gone? I was beginning to get worried.

I said, "What do you call someone who's never had sex?"

She stared at me. "Oh, hahahaha! Hahahaha! Virginia. Hahahaha!"

Finally!

And what kind of games do you play with your children?

Friday Feature Presentation...When the Truth is Too...Everything

2008-03-06T15:35:00.009-05:00

Yeah, it's a heavy topic for a Friday. But we've got the whole weekend, so, what the hell.

We've all suffered. All had bad things happen to us. For me, the past ten years have involved all the men I've loved dying -- one of them traumatically and violently-- all of them sadly.

It's also involved divorce -- the end of a dream. No one gets married thinking they'll leave someday. As happy as I am to be single, I still grieve the dream.

But in the middle of all that I got two incredible children, made friends with amazing women around the world, achieved the lifetime goal of being a published author, and somehow managed to snag a Great Boyfriend.

So there's tremendous joy. Tremendous!

However, even though I'm an optimist, the bad still comes back to haunt me. What is it about death? Is it the irrevocableness? I think it must be.

Everything else can be fixed. I can stop being published, then submit another book. I can get divorced and remarried. I can (or at least until recently) have another child if I ruin these two with psychological torture. And God knows I've tried! *gg* Or at least foster or adopt.

I can get another Great Boyfriend -- as hard as that might seem on paper. They're out there!

But I can't bring back my dead loved ones.

So, if I follow the adage: God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change...blah blah, I should be happy with what I have. And I am. I am!

But, the good is SO good and the bad is SO bad.

Is there ever a middle ground? Do I want middle ground? Could I be happy with middle ground?

I think not. And that's exactly why my life has gone how it has.

What about you? Are you a regular person who seeks middle ground? Or is your life full of extreme joy and devastating sorrow?

Are you happy the way things are, or would you like it to be different?

Do you thoroughly feel the good and the bad? If you do, do you think this makes you a Drama Junkie, or a Healthy Human Being?

If you don't, do you think this makes you a loser?

A mind is a terrible thing to waste. Be that as it may, destroy a braincell or two over the weekend and get back to me!

Coffe Shop DIP Bytes

2008-03-05T13:42:00.004-05:00

At the counter with the nasty barista:

Me: We're still not cute.

DIP: I am. You're not. Now I've got to go out again and find someone else who's cute.

At the table...

Me: I'm going to the bathroom. Will you watch my laptop?

DIP: I'll get the best price for it.

Under the table, DIP's foot keeps nudging mine...

Me: Are you flirting with me?

DIP: I was just trying to scrape gum off my shoe.

**I can't tell if that funny feeling in my stomach is love, or annoyance. Buehler?

Seattle 2008

2008-03-01T19:49:00.005-05:00

From the talented FabDame, a photo essay of 2008's girl's weekend in Seattle (plus Bill!)

Setting the mood -- yes, we were in Seattle! This is the view Anthros and Dove had as they blasted into outer space:

At the monorail. The irridescent purple background is actually part of the colorful skin on the Experience Music Project/Science Fiction Museum:

Don't you want to be doing this when you're 90? I do: (Mom and Bill)

Me, Bill and Mom after the most fabulous crabcakes of our lives. Don't we look satisfied?:

Me and my boyfriend, I mean my mother's boyfriend. Eating. Again. Are we not the cutest couple?:

But wait. Here's the real boyfriend. Ta Da! DIP's author shot. I saved the best for last. Heeheehee. Surprise!:

Don't tell him I cheated with Bill. It's just a Same Time Next Year type thing. Capice?

Great Boyfriends -- A Top Ten List

2008-03-01T00:00:00.001-05:00

No pictures yet... FabDame!!

But anyway. Thought I'd fill in the blanks by updating you on my dating life!

I'm still on the online dating site, but, I dunno. The legions of men emailing me (stop laughing) just can't hold a candle to a certain writer. He's spoiling me!

I think it's intentional too. A manipulation. An evil plan to win my heart and then use me for the buckets of money I earn on my books compared to his piddly sum. There are men like that out there, you know!

He's just pretending to be a Great Boyfriend.

What's my idea of a Great Boyfriend?

Oh, let's see.

1) He remembers everything I tell him, even when we were both in a drunken stupor (first date, btw ;)

2) He texts me about stupid stuff -- like how cold it is in NYC

3) He tells me I'm pretty

4) He plans dates ahead of time

5) He's willing to make me eggs and bagels for breakfast (future date--for all you nosy types)

6) When we're writing together, his energy doesn't fuck with mine

7) He brings me beer

8) He thinks he's the lucky one (little does he know...)

9) He does everything he says he will

10) He's into me

Of course, this list is entirely theoretical. It could all fall apart at any time. In fact, I expect it to.

What's your idea of a Great Boyfriend?

Indelible Day

2008-02-29T08:23:00.004-05:00

Leapin' Lizards...

Take a flying leap...

A leap of faith...

Any other quotes/phrases/exclamations out there with the word leap in them? Add them in comments.

Just an excuse to have a post dated 2/29 in my archives ;)

Red Lines and Format and Typos, Oy Vey!

2008-02-28T06:29:00.004-05:00

In editing deadline hell. Be back soon!

Red Eyes and Armrests and Kidneys Oy Vey!

2008-02-24T20:35:00.005-05:00

That was me last night, only instead of that hand smashed up against the window, picture my face.

Now, red eye flights aren't bad, really they aren't. Time sort of gets suspended in the ink of night, moves faster, and there's this weird sort of blending of the two days together. For instance, when I got home it still felt like I hadn't crossed the imaginary dateline into February 24th.

But, oh the humility!

I sat in the emergency row for more leg room, and it worked out well because there was an empty seat between me and my row mate. But what I didn't account for -- had no way of knowing, in fact -- is that like the last row, the seatback is pretty much locked into upright position. Why, I'll never know. You'd think it'd provide more space for passengers to leap onto the wing to their deaths, I mean, safety. But I'm not an airline design engineer.

The other thing they don't tell you in the massive contract you have to sign in order to even occupy that seat, is that your arm rest will consist of this little blob of plastic positioned perfectly on the fuselage to dig into your kidney if you try to lean on it to sleep.

Still another thing they don't tell you is that the armrest isn't big enough for any non-mutant arm that I've ever seen. So it's impossible to actually use it to rest your arm and prop your head on the kitchen sponge, I mean pillow, they give you.

And yet another thing they neglected to mention is that unless you're anorexic, or on your way home from a death camp or something, there won't be enough room to wedge your body between the tiny armrest and seatback, thus moving it out of range of your kidney.

But other than those things, and the man two rows back coughing up mucus all night, and the guy one row up sneezing non-stop, I had a good flight.

Until reaching the skating rink, I mean parking lot, and finding five inches of ice on my car...

Pictures to follow -- without red eyes!

Hangin' with My Peeps.

2008-02-19T15:37:00.007-05:00

The time has come for our annual girl's fiesta in Seattle! Below, I've reposted some of our adventures from last year, to entertain you until I get back.

Think we can top those good times this year? I'll let you know...

Riding in Cars with Boy Toys, Seattle '07:

So, I'm back. I always love going to Seattle, but hate to leave. What can I say, the city, its people, the light, the energy and all the wonderful old folks I know there are such a rich part of my life.

Take Harry, for instance. Eighty-nine years old, he's Ginny's boy toy. Ginny is eighty-seven, and one of my mother's dearest friends. Harry was an engineer for Boeing. He started there in 1964, just in time to work on "thrust" issues for the majestic Saturn V rocket of Apollo and Out of This World fame. In order to get Saturn V out of this world, Harry had to figure out how many pounds of thrust (2 million? Harry wasn't sure. Neither was I) were needed to push against air (which becomes a solid surface) and for how long. He told me that after 50,000 feet, the rocket could basically "coast" into outer space. I nodded like I understood.

Then there's Bill, my mother's eighty-nine year-old boy toy. He was my navigator for the week as I ferried us around in our mini-van rental. Here's how most of our rides went:

Bill: Stay in the left lane. No not that left lane. The center left lane.

Me: This one?

Bill: Right.

Me: The right lane?

Bill: No. This lane. This lane.

Me: So I'm turning left.

Bill: No, you're turning right. Right!

Mom: Watch out for pedestrians!

Me: Where's the pedestrian?

Mom: There wasn't one. But you have to watch out for them.

Bill: Right lane! Right lane! Oh God. NO!

Mom: Pedestrians have the right-of-way.

Me: There's a car in the right lane. I couldn't get over.

Bill: Oh God.

Mom: Well, all she has to do is turn left at the next light.

Bill: That's true.

Me: So I make the next left?

Bill: No. No! The street turns one-way at the bottom of the hill. We need to go right on Harrison.

Mom: Queen Anne is only one-way.

Me: But it was two ways a block ago.

Mom: I know.

Minutes tick by...

Bill: This should be Broad St. Is it Broad Street?

Me: Yes. It's Broad Street.

Bill: Make a right on Wall St. It should be two streets up.

We sail past Wall St.

Bill: Ok. Make a right here, another right, and go back to Wall St. Then make a left on Elliot and a right onto the Viaduct.

Mom: She can also make a right here, another right, a left on Western which turns into Elliot and then a right on the Viaduct.

Me: Can you just give me one direction at a time?

Bill: Get over to the right. To the right! Noooooo. Stay left. Oh God.

I still don't know how to get anywhere. Did I mention I have right/left dyslexia? By day-two I was humming the Three Stooges theme wherever we went. Bill mentioned that between him and my mother, they only had one good eye. "Yes," I added. "And two big mouths."

By contrast, and perhaps to prove that sometimes the apple does fall far from the tree, Bill's son John took a turn navigating and spoke to me in such soothing, positive tones I felt like a frightened wild animal he was trying to coaxe into friendship. Or a trap--John can be that way sometimes.

In a couple of days, FabDame should get some pics to me *hint hint* and ya'll can see what mischief a passel of octogenarian, drunken boy toys can get into. After that, a reunion with George: Mythical Family Figure and Procurer of Advertising Displays.

PICS!

Girl friends 4-Evah! Naomi and Mom sharing a seat. They've been friends for fifty years!
Why, it's George--the man, the myth, the legend! (first on the left) The only person we've ever known with the chutzpah to weedle paper palm tree displays out of the grocery store and into what was the coolest teenaged boy's room in the history of the free world. He also introduced us to Huckleberries and slugs. Gotta love George!

Mom's and daughters! Mom, with me and FabDame behind; Naomi, with her beeootiful daughter Chris; and Ginny with her glamorous Pam!

My editor if I miss this deadline? A metaphor for all the times I failed to clean my room? Nah. Just me and Momster at the Asian market.

Tomorrow: Ann and her Boy Toys!

From L to R:

Harry, my rocket scientist, clutching the most bodacious badonkadonk he's had since the space race (with the exception of Ginny's). Enjoy it now, my friend. It's not likely to be this firm next year.

Bill, oh Bill! If only I'd met you first...

Doug, get with the program. You missed all the touchy-feely way in the back there. Although, anyone see where his other hand is? Maybe Bill knows.

Jerry, you only got a leg cuz I just met you. I'm kinda shy that way. Here's to next year!

*I'm not sure but I think EC said something about this pic being in the Cavemen calendar, 2008...

The Bitch Without A Bed

2008-02-17T17:44:00.010-05:00

When I was eight years old, I wrote my first story.

It was summertime, and like all summers past and future, we were spending it with my grandmother in Clovis. A tiny town on the High Plains of eastern New Mexico, Clovis was a kid's paradise -- plenty of alleys in which to find scraps of carpet, broken furniture, horned toads, discarded coffin boxes...

If you haven't heard about those already, go read the bio on my website. I'll wait.

Plus a whole town to explore over and over.

This particular summer, the family pets had come with us, Missy The Siamese Cat, and Brownie The Hybrid Chihuahua.

Brownie was getting old enough to smell a little. And it was hot out back in the garage my grandparents had turned into The Apartment, where we slept. As a result, no one wanted Brownie, that needy little thing, to hop into bed with them.

After some back and forth, and shuffling the poor unwanted girl from one of the two rooms to the other, my mother shooed her into Jane's and my section of the apartment, laughing: "The dog without a country!"

Showing my true colors at eight, at last, I rallied with: "The bitch without a bed!"

I really didn't understand exactly why the adults howled so loudly and repeated my declaration to everyone who stopped at the house for the rest of the summer, but I knew some magical threshhold in my life had been crossed. So of course, I wrote a story about it.

What goes around comes around.

This week, as I've researched endlessly, and shopped -- endlessly -- for a new bed for my new apartment, I've been thinking about my very first story.

Alot.

What was your first story about? Was it one you wrote, or one you read?

Grounded For Life

2008-02-15T09:47:00.010-05:00

So at the coffee shop the other night, DIP brought me my second Cafe Mocha of the evening and set it by my computer while I wrote. It sat there a while, ignored, forgotten, until I took a break and took off the lid to insert a straw. Much to my surprise and dismay the cup was half empty -- and I'm usually a half-full kinda gal!

I looked at it, shook it, but no cafe mocha magically welled to the brim, so I got up and approached the barista.

This was my first mistake.

A dark haired girl who had previously told DIP and I how cute we were together, she glanced at the cup, at me, at the cup, at me and said, "Yes?"

I said, "It's kind of empty."

"No it's not."

We both stared at the cup.

I said, "I haven't taken a sip yet."

She said, "So?"

*crickets*

I said, "It's only half full."

She said, "It wasn't that way when I gave it to you."

*crickets*

I said, "I'm sure it wasn't, but now it is."

We stared at each other. But by now, disbelief is settling in. I feel like Bob Newhart.

I said, "I'm not saying it wasn't full. But now it isn't and I'd like it to be full."

Without a word she grabbed my cup, dumped some leftover foam into it, slapped on a new lid and shoved it across the counter.

I carried it back to the table. DIP looked up from his computer and said, "You realize we're not cute anymore."

Yeah, I sort of got that.

He sighed. "We can't ever come back here."

Then last night at the Thai place -- where DIP had a reservation, btw -- the water buffalo, er, hostess saw us, pointed to a table and said, "Over there."

DIP said, "Do you have anything away from the door?"

"No."

Another Bob Newhart moment.

I said, "It's all right, I'm cool with it. There's a radiator nearby."

We sat down and the hostess brought us our menus. She said, "There's a radiator nearby."

"I've been coming here for twenty five years," DIP said. "This has never happened to me."

Yeah, I sort of got that.

He sighed. "We can't ever come back here."

I can't wait to see where else we'll be banned.

Valentine's Day Extra -- Oh Those Amazing Love Lines!

2008-02-14T16:10:00.005-05:00

The other night I told DIP, "You had me at drug addled dipshits in peril."

This reminded me of all the other fabulous quotes from RomComs past. So in keeping with the holiday spirit, let's relive some of the best in comments! Post your favorite "love lines" from movies, romance novels, dates, anything!

I'll start with a quote from The Thin Man:

Nora Charles: Take care of yourself

Nick Charles: Why, sure I will.

Nora: Don't say it like that! Say it as if you meant it!

Nick: Well, I do believe the little woman cares.

Nora: I don't care! It's just that I'm used to you, that's all.

VD!

2008-02-13T20:02:00.009-05:00

DIP is taking me out for Thai food. I guess he thinks flowers, exotic restaurants, cry-laughing over stupid stuff, helping me craft a scene and writing blockbuster novels are the key to my heart.

Men can be so dopey sometimes.

What's everyone else doing?

Oh yeah, and in case I forget, remind me to blog about the Coffee Shop Incident. Thx.

Drink Addled Dipshits and Overnight Success

2008-02-10T19:22:00.001-05:00

Had a great time with DIP last night. So good, in fact, he brought me flowers today, took me out for chicken tikka masala and we have plans to go bowling next week! But that's not what I'm gonna talk about.

What I'm gonna talk about is how despite being cute, hilarious, and a writer, I hate his freakin' guts. Here's why.

He finished his first book, attracted a manager in Hollywood who isn't taking new clients but who loves his book so much she's shopping it to the studios, signed with Trident Media and sold to St. Martin's in a two book deal.

All since August.

Yeah. He's the guy we want to kill in his sleep. He knows it too, and believe me, he's looking over his shoulder 24/7. As well he should be.

We went to the local bookshop after lunch and worshipped at the shelf he'll eventually occupy. Mystery is right next to Romance, and I noticed all the copies of my books were gone. It was fun doing geeky writer stuff with him. Despite the fact I hate his guts.

He'd better not bowl a three hundred next week. Not if he knows what's good for him.

OK, So...

2008-02-08T23:59:00.001-05:00

I've taken the plunge and joined an online dating service. As you can imagine, I'm completely honest about myself, my weirdnesses...everything. I've even posted a selection of pics ranging from everyday, cute moment, to glam. Hey, I really, truly DO NOT want to spend time with anyone who doesn't appreciate me for WHO I AM. Been there and done that to death. Okay, 'nuff said.

Man have I gotten some entertaining responses! Who knew so many strange men were out there, right in my widdle iddy biddy town! This is like a fiesta.

Ole!

Anyway, aside from the back-n-forth emails with guys who'll never actually show up for a date (they don't realize they expose themselves immediately -- hey, I know how to read between lines) and the guys who asked me to be friends with benefits (uh, you're not my friend and I see no benefit...) so far there've been drinks with an aerobatic pilot -- fantastic guy, incredibly accomplished and so fun to talk with.

Tomorrow it's on to a newly published author who might be stopping in here on the blog at any time. He just got picked up by St. Martin's Minotaur, writing about, and I quote: "Drug addled dipshits in peril"... Does he sound like my kinda person or what? More pimpage on his books later.

And then Monday it's drinks with an engineer who looks and acts like he should be tooling around in the General Lee.

Arriba! Arriba!

Andale!

But, I'm having an attack of conscience here. D'ya think I should warn these poor, unsuspecting fools, er, guys that our exploits might become public fodder?

At least, to some extent?

D'ya??

I dunno. I'm not feeling very charitable at the moment...

More on that later.

Incest in Romance Novels? Fuel to the Fire....

2008-01-31T19:43:00.000-05:00

Scientists find that blue-eyed individuals have a single, common ancestor

Carolyn Kaster / AP file

How did actress Reese Witherspoon get those big blue eyes? A team of scientists has found that blue eyes are linked to a genetic mutation that occurred between 6,000 and 10,000 years ago.

A team of scientists has tracked down a genetic mutation that leads to blue eyes. The mutation occurred between 6,000 and 10,000 years ago, so before then, there were no blue eyes.

"Originally, we all had brown eyes," said Hans Eiberg from the Department of Cellular and Molecular Medicine at the University of Copenhagen.

The mutation affected the so-called OCA2 gene, which is involved in the production of melanin, the pigment that gives color to our hair, eyes and skin.

"A genetic mutation affecting the OCA2 gene in our chromosomes resulted in the creation of a 'switch,' which literally 'turned off' the ability to produce brown eyes," Eiberg said.

The genetic switch is located in the gene adjacent to OCA2 and rather than completely turning off the gene, the switch limits its action, which reduces the production of melanin in the iris. In effect, the turned-down switch diluted brown eyes to blue.

If the OCA2 gene had been completely shut down, our hair, eyes and skin would be melanin-less, a condition known as albinism.

"It's exactly what I sort of expected to see from what we know about selection around this area," said John Hawks of the University of Wisconsin-Madison, referring to the study results regarding the OCA2 gene. Hawks was not involved in the current study.

Baby blues
Eiberg and his team examined DNA from mitochondria, the cells' energy-making structures, of blue-eyed individuals in countries including Jordan, Denmark and Turkey. This genetic material comes from females, so it can trace maternal lineages.

They specifically looked at sequences of DNA on the OCA2 gene and the genetic mutation associated with turning down melanin production.

Over the course of several generations, segments of ancestral DNA get shuffled so that individuals have varying sequences. Some of these segments, however, that haven't been reshuffled are called haplotypes. If a group of individuals shares long haplotypes, that means the sequence arose relatively recently in our human ancestors. The DNA sequence didn't have enough time to get mixed up.

"What they were able to show is that the people who have blue eyes in Denmark, as far as Jordan, these people all have this same haplotype, they all have exactly the same gene changes that are all linked to this one mutation that makes eyes blue," Hawks said in a telephone interview.

Melanin switch
The mutation is what regulates the OCA2 switch for melanin production. And depending on the amount of melanin in the iris, a person can end up with eye color ranging from brown to green. Brown-eyed individuals have considerable individual variation in the area of their DNA that controls melanin production. But they found that blue-eyed individuals only have a small degree of variation in the amount of melanin in their eyes.

"Out of 800 persons we have only found one person which didn't fit — but his eye color was blue with a single brown spot," Eiberg told LiveScience, referring to the finding that blue-eyed individuals all had the same sequence of DNA linked with melanin production.

"From this we can conclude that all blue-eyed individuals are linked to the same ancestor," Eiberg . "They have all inherited the same switch at exactly the same spot in their DNA." Eiberg and his colleagues detailed their study in the Jan. 3 online edition of the journal Human Genetics.

That genetic switch somehow spread throughout Europe and now other parts of the world.

"The question really is, 'Why did we go from having nobody on Earth with blue eyes 10,000 years ago to having 20 or 40 percent of Europeans having blue eyes now?" Hawks said. "This gene does something good for people. It makes them have more kids."

Whoa Baby!

2008-01-30T10:23:00.000-05:00

We have cover art!

I'm wiggling here! Was just informed that ya'll might have to wait until late summer/early fall to read this contemporary, fluffy bit of confection, and if the edits my editormentor imposed on me are any indication, that's probably pretty accurate. It'll be worth the wait, though. Can't you tell by this cover!

Oh, and I kept another title. Six for six. Huzzah!

Hacking Made Easy

2008-01-26T18:33:00.000-05:00

And I didn't even have to invent a contraption like that one. No no. All I had to do was spend four or five hours fiddling with my antique Linksys router, open up a few connections at a time and wait, wait, wait for my weak-ass antennae to catch a wave on one of them.

The good news: once they get primed, they work fabulously. The bad news, it takes about 20 mins from start up to prime them. If the computer goes to sleep, it starts all over again. Kinda reminds me of the olden days, waiting for a page to load on our 2 gig dialup. I could take a shower then run to the library and back before it loaded.

Ah well. At least I can surf in the comfort of my own apartment now while waiting for the fios guy to blaze in.

*hack hack*

2008-01-22T16:26:00.000-05:00

Logging in from my local coffee shop here while I wait for Internet access in my apartment. Why, I ask you, does it take so long to install blazing fast wireless? What's the use of having a speed-o-light information superhighway when the people who use/invent/install it are still so freakin' slow?

Hopefully I'll be fully functional by the weekend, but it could be a whole week.

*sob*

The DTs... The DTs are upon me!

2008-01-19T08:22:00.000-05:00

Top Ten Signs a Book is Written By Me

2008-01-14T05:22:00.000-05:00

Here's a special meme that's looping blogland-- inspired, I suspect, by the Cassie Edwards debacle. Anyway, thought I'd take a stab at it. Add some more in comments if you can think of any!

A book is written by Ann Wesley Hardin if it contains:

1) Wacky secondary characters

2) An airplane (or some sort of flying vehicle)

3) The word "freakin"

4) A title I came up with myself (so far...)

5) Characters with atypical professions

6) Humor!

7) Obscure facts no one but me (most of the time) notices or even thinks are important

8) At least one line stolen from my children

9) A shitload of dialogue

10) A personal dedication (does anyone ever even read those?)

A Great Way to End the Year

2007-12-31T14:40:00.000-05:00

Our fab friend Renee has gone and reviewed A Lick and A Promise for Fallen Angels! She gave it FIVE, count 'em, FIVE angels. Thank you Renee!!

Check it out!

When a fantasy lover inhabits your dreams and seeks to give you boundless pleasure each night, what's a girl to do? For Dove Hansen it's simple, lay back and surrender. He may not be real, but it sure feels good to her. When a real man lands literally in the back yard of her young charge, Dove is torn between her sure thing, albeit fantasy man and the living breathing one who seems to have a problem standing up without aide.

Mark Arianos, aka Anthros, aka dream lover, has a small problem. He can't seem to acclimate to earth's air. Ok, so it's a big problem. Add to that the fact he is currently fleeing from his home planet and risks possible death if he is caught or indulges in sex. Let's not forget that his libido is out of control every time Dove is near, and sex is a capitol offense where he comes from. He seeks Dove out for some out of body booty, but that is as far as he can go, and only in her dreams... For now.

Maybe dreams do come true. A Lick And A Promise offers a humorous romp that burns up the pages with sexual tension and erotic heat. This clever story is filled with engaging characters you wish lived next door, sexual chemistry and lots of laughs. Through the imagination, highly creative and often quirky mind of author Ann Wesley Hardin come Dove and Mark. Both are likeable and interesting yet strangely down to earth, considering one of them is an alien. Ms. Hardin has a knack for taking everyday events and conversations and imbibing them with humor. A Lick And A Promise includes characters from Out Of This Word. Readers will enjoy catching up with these former characters while being introduced to Dove and Mark. This book is certain to have readers going to bed trying to conjure up their own dream lovers.

My Favorite Christmas Carol

2007-12-22T19:42:00.000-05:00

Merry Christmas, the whole Christmas Season!

2007-12-20T20:02:00.001-05:00

Ho! Ho! Ho!

2007-12-12T17:55:00.000-05:00

Hey, who's been peeking in my drawers? Have a little holiday cheer on me...

Big Deal!

2007-11-29T16:10:00.000-05:00

Well, um, I guess I can kinda sorta announce something here, even though I'm still on blog hiatus. So, here goes...

I sold to Red Sage!

Just a widdle e-novella, but I'm most excited about it! I have two publishers now -- otherwise known as job security ;)

I'll still be churning 'em out at lightning speed for EC (stop laughing) but look for me at Red Sage too, now.

Details such as title and release coming soon!

How To Give a Bad Review

2007-11-14T07:10:00.000-05:00

No, I'm not being facetious. This is one, classy, poor review and I liked how she outlined the reasons the book didn't work for her. I haven't gotten a review like this since Paperback Reader shredded Layover.

Were my poor widdle baby feelings hurt this time? Not in the least--so no need for all you rabid fans out there to rush to my defense. Unless you want to ;)

A Lick and a Promise by Ann Wesley Hardin

Written by Tara Renee

Friday, 12 October 2007

Title: A Lick and a Promise
Author: Ann Wesley Hardin
Publisher: Ellora's Cave
Genre: Futuristic
Publication date: August, 2007
ISBN: 9781419912252
Pages: 133
Series:
Reviewer: Tara Renee

Heat Level:

Rating:

Mark Arianos comes to Earth to retrieve a child who is capable of saving his home world. He encounters problems when he lands on Earth and must acclimatize to the oxygen. He seems to others as if he were drunk.

Dove Hansen is a nanny to a young child who is possibly the most gifted person on Earth. Her life is hectic and caring for young Michael can be a challenge with keeping up with his mind. Her nights are consumed by a lover who comes to her in her dreams, pleasing her and never showing his face. When Dove meets Mark she is disdainful of a man who seems to have a serious substance abuse problem. She has no idea that Mark is the dream lover who visits her.

Mark gradually comes to realize the full impact his plan will have and must decide if the benefits of his plan are worth the agony removing a young child from his home will cause. Also, in order to have the woman he has grown to love, he must share all his secrets with her and risk losing her if she cannot accept the revelations.

A Lick and a Promise is an interesting tale by Ann Wesley Hardin. The plot is a little hard to follow at times and I found myself needing to reread some parts to fully understand some situations. Dove is a fun character with her love for Michael and her sassy attitude. I didn’t really like Mark. I understand that his upbringing has warped his outlook, but I just never warmed to him. My favorite character in the story is Michael. This young boy has a mind that keeps everyone around him on their toes. He made me smile all through the book. The sex, both in dreams and in the physical, is hot, but it was just not enough to keep me glued to the book. A Lick and a Promise simply wasn’t to my taste, but others may enjoy it.

A Special Bulletin!

2007-10-26T05:22:00.000-04:00

Rosemary, of Joyfully Reviewed says this:

A Lick and a Promise had me scarcely able to sit upright in a chair; this story is hilarious with down-to-earth humor that I could relate to. Ann Wesley Hardin adds a new twist to mind-blowing sex. The characters and dialogue is so real, that I will never look at my neighbors in the same way again. A Lick and a Promise has a well-paced plot that leaves the entry open for the next episode. I look forward to it. I enjoyed this story very much.

Detour!

2007-10-22T21:45:00.001-04:00

Folks, I have some urgent personal business to attend to. Nothing bad, so don't worry! Just stuff that's gonna gobble up time and energy for the next few weeks.

I'll still be humpin' with the hussies on Wednesdays, but that's it for a bit. I'll miss you, but will see you later! Ya'll know I can't be quiet for long.

Sayonara for now!

Weekend Observations

2007-10-22T05:32:00.001-04:00

So I went to a couple of parties this weekend. I've been getting out away from the computer, having fun, meeting new people and making some friends along the way. Here are a few things I learned that I wish I could teach people:

1) If you're an older, dweeby rich guy with no looks but tons of young babes who are after you for your money, when they text message you, tell them you're busy. Then be busy.

2) If you're a single, older woman trying to meet men, don't look all sad, subdued and poor me. No one wants to make you happy.

3) No matter how old you are or what you look like, if you're having fun on the dance floor, everyone--young and old--will want to dance with you.

4) You can pretty much tell right away who you'll want to be friends with, and most of that has to do with, er, friendliness. Is that concept, like, lost?

5) Mom was right. A smile truly is the only makeup anyone really needs.

6) Young people appreciate and even relish advice from older people as long as you acknowledge their POV and let them know you're on their side.

7) If you're a man, don't cut in on another man's game. Wait your turn.

8) Don't borrow someone's jacket, wear it to a bar, then forget about it.

9) A bride's presence, anywhere, brightens everyone's day.

10) So does a cute girl in a patent-leather cop outfit.

A Hussy Bash!

2007-10-20T10:35:00.000-04:00

Hey folks, the hussies are hosting an all day reader bash over in the Ellora's Cave chatroom! Read excerpts, join a scavenger hunt, win prizes or just hang with the hussies!

Come on down!

Thirteen Things About Ann

2007-10-18T06:28:00.000-04:00

Ah the Google game. Who can resist it? Especially when it brings so many innocent victims to my blog. Let's see what Ann's been up to lately according to Google (my comments are in paranthesises (or however you say it)):

1) Ann loves pee in her face (see number 3)

2) Ann loves you. Any questions? (see number 7)

3) Ann loves the educational aspect of being a postpartum doula (see number 1)

4) ANN LOVES HER BABY BUBBLY PUB BEER MAT (no explanation necessary)

5) Ann loves to bake, and she’ll bring you a special Birthday Cake with her face on it (See, I remembered. HAPPY BIRTHDAY FABDAME!!!)

6) Ann loves painting children; their rounded forms she finds very beautiful (although the last one wouldn't hold still)

7) Ann loves the sausage apparently (see number 2)

8) Ann sleeps until 10 am, rolls out of bed, watches cartoons and TV, fixes something to eat, plays on the computer, and naps all day (according to the children, anyway...)

9) Ann sleeps, paints her nails and mutters (Not true! I don't paint my nails.)

10) Ann sleeps through THIS too (what can I say)

11) Ann hates her self, her life and what she has become (see number 12)

12) Ann hates BIOLOGICAL women (see number 11)

13) Ann HATES weeds PS Ann is trying to take over the world with corn, so if you don't want to be under her rule, don't give her corn!! (this happens to be true, only they left out the part about the blueberries)

Mid-Day Thought

2007-10-17T13:05:00.000-04:00

Am I the only one who thinks the Amazon logo looks like a giant penis?

Just askin'

Mystery Man Strikes Again

2007-10-17T05:48:00.000-04:00

In a recent script review/critique Mystery Man fingered what's been blocking me from progressing with my DoW book.

I was getting too bogged down in the complicated world building and plot to focus on the heart of the story. The hugeness of it all was choking me. But now that he's pointed it out in someone else's work, my focus is free to shift back to the simplicity of the character arc.

Go read his review!

Thanks, MM. What would I do without you?