New Cave Release! Lily Harlem

Most women would think themselves eternally lucky to have a hot, sinfully sexy rock star giving them the serious come-on—so imagine how I felt to find not one but two giving me the eye! Phew! I was turning somersaults.

But of course this led to a massive and, quite honestly, unenviable dilemma. How the heck do you choose between two rock gods who want nothing more than to give you pleasure of the extremely intense variety?

Lucky for me these global superstars were brothers who knew just how to share the same toy—sorry, I mean woman. That left me free to take a break from managing the band and let their experienced, talented hands manage me.

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A New Start Begins

Today I woke with a new outlook on life. The sun was shining—looks like spring is on the way—and it seemed like the air was different. It wasn’t, but everything that had bothered me in life before Wednesday of this week no longer bothers me today. I have been given a golden opportunity to head the art department at Total-E-Bound, and I took it gratefully with the knowledge that this job has literally changed our lives. You have no idea how much.

I visited the Total-E-Bound offices yesterday for a meeting and then lunch, except it happened the other way around because traffic held us up on the way and I arrived later than planned. Lunch was in a groovy little cheese food place, and being the total dork I am in that we very rarely eat out, I had no clue what to choose. I declined wine and opted for tea, and when it came time for the toast I raised my teapot in typical, quirky Em fashion. I’ve never denied being an oddball.

When the job description was given, I didn’t freak. I can do this. I’m looking forward to doing this. I have a few things to learn but am confident of being able to master them. I’ll get my chance to expand my creative wings and the thought of it is very exciting. For the first time in a very long time, with the exception of starting work for TEB freelance in December, I felt the weight of burdens literally drop off my shoulders. There will be no more worrying about our finances, of where the money will come from to buy this or that. There is no more uncertainty in the future as to whether my royalties for various things will help cover what we need. My husband has carried us all for years, has done so just so I could follow my passion, and now I get to help him bring wages into the house. I can now say I have a JOB. No more freelance; I work for TEB as a hired employee.

It’s surreal, it’s exciting, it’s a life-changing thing.

When we got home last night and I told the boys, they knew things had changed for us. Their faces said it all. There have been times I felt I should give up, but something told me to plug on. There were times when I nearly got a job outside the home and left my writing and art behind, but my God, I’m so glad Hubby told me to keep plodding on (thank you, love!).

So everyone in our house woke with a fresh start in mind, where the future is brighter and life isn’t so sucky. Smiling faces, good moods. It’s wonderful. My eldest, who lives in her own home 17 miles away, arrived here today just so she could share this moment—she knows how important this change is and what it means. She’s as excited as I am.

Although I still can’t get over the fact this is happening to me and my family, and that from now onward the worries no longer exist--it will take a while to get used to that--I know I will have fun, work damn hard, and love every minute of it. The job is a dream one where I get to stay at home, still able to be here for my children if they’re sick, still here when they get home from school.

We have been blessed, and I look forward to working with you in the future should you have books with TEB. From meeting Claire and some of her staff yesterday, it was highly apparent they really do care about their authors and their books. Their authors' wellbeing is of paramount importance, and I was touched by their depth of passion for what they do. They are dedicated, kind people, ones I felt immediately at home with, as though I had known them for years. I'm looking forward to many years of friendship and work with TEB. I feel I have found a home and new family as well as a job.  

Best,

Em

Guest L.J. Holmes

Hey, everyone! Please welcome L.J. Holmes to my blog! Take it away, L.J.!

What a pleasure it is to be here. Thank you for your invitation.

Not many people know that the apartment complex where I live decided a few years back to paint all of our fire hydrants. (They’ve since gone back to the “average”.) It was a bit of a shock when I stepped out the first time—see, there’s a fire hydrant about THIS far from my entrance door—so it wasn’t like the fire hydrant could hide its new persona. Seeing the fire hydrant bedecked as a Dalmatian fire dog made me think about my Dad…and boy do I have stories to tell you all about my Dad.

I grew up with my Dad active in the volunteer fire company. He was—and boy are you going to love this—the FIRE POLICE CHIEF! Why are you going to love this? Well, Dad was not the most, uhm, obedient, I suppose would be the best description, of fire safety codes that the rest of us have to adhere to during emergencies. Dad was following the fire engine to a three-alarm blaze about a mile and a half from our home. I was about eight, maybe nine at the time.

Dad used his own car. I’m not sure exactly what Dad was doing—some suspected he hadn’t pushed the connection for his fire-lights into the cigarette lighter socket so was jiggling it and looking down when it happened while driving one handed…or maybe with his knees.

At the end of the road we live on, is—surprise, surprise— a stop sign. Even with the whirly lights and the siren woof woofing, they DO stop to make sure the rest of you do what the law requires of you… So, picture a fire engine, men in their heavy fire gear clinging to the back of the truck, the stop sign, and my Dad coming up behind them, the FIRE POLICE CHIEF, his attention not up there, but down there.

Dad drove his car right on up the back side of the fire truck so his Mercury hood ornament was kissing the dancing emergency lights for all it was worth. For those of you who never saw the hood ornament on older Mercury cars, picture the Roman god Mercury who used to be the Greek god Hermes. With Mercury’s winged sandals dancing a merry jig with the flashing fire lights, my Dad, his nose plastered to his dashboard and eyes peeking sheepishly at his newest creation, THAT’S the picture that made the daily newspaper and it WAS a classic. For all I know, it may still be hanging in the back room at the firehouse.

I’d like to say that was the ONLY questionable adventure my Dad had with his pyromania, but like George Washington and his cherry tree decapitation, I cannot tell a lie.

My Dad was one of those Jack-Of-All-Trades who thought he’d mastered them all…unfortunately, reality differed with him.

Let me share the time my Dad decided to, uhm, dispose of a hornets’ nest. The nest was growing, quite spectacularly, from the eaves under the porch portico that led off the laundry room doorway. Everyone knows that you do not dispose of hornets’ nests before twilight because the buzzers are out inserting their stingers into anyone who gets on their bad side up until some inner clock tells them it’s time to return to the nest and resurface those stingers for the next day.

Twilight, when the day meets on the horizon with the night that is about to send everyone into starlight time…and, of course, the best time to exterminate an entire nest of nasty stingers; I DO include Dad in that.

Armed with a can of gasoline and a spray nozzle, Dad soaks that sucker until it is absolutely drenched. The scritch of the match was quiet compared to the WHOOSH that exploded the second the match hit the nest…oh, and the portico along with the porch. See, you’re supposed to knock the nest from the house before igniting it.

I watched the entire porch and a good three quarters of the back wall feed the flames before the fire company—yep, the very same one—arrived to put out the damage my Jack-Of-All-Trades and master-of-none FIRE POLICE CHIEF DAD gave birth to.

In Dad’s “real” job, the one he did when not strutting his FIRE POLICE CHIEF badge around, he serviced and repaired oil burners, commercial and residential. Every year as the fall approached, Dad went around the neighborhood, reminding everyone to schedule having their oil burners cleaned and made ready. It was a religion to him.

I don’t actually remember which month it was, although it WAS cold. Later I would be told it happened at the stroke of midnight, but I was still a kid and had been sleeping quite soundly when the front chimney, the one only this far from my bed, blew up taking a good chunk of the house’s innards with it.

I shared my room with my grandmother, who quickly got us both out of there, down the stairs and out the door. My dad was already out on the stone driveway, his boxers at half mast, looking up at his creation with a somber look upon his face, that turned to something else…embarrassed bluster?...when the fire engine pulled into our driveway and once more put out the flames spewing from the house of the FIRE POLICE CHIEF. (Not sure if the bluster was because of another fire at our house or because he was out there in his boxer shorts… I know for me, THAT was more traumatizing than the explosion.)

Looking back, I cannot help wondering why they did not retire my dad. The only excuse I can come up with is it was an ALL volunteer fire company…any volunteer, even one as creatively incompetent as my Dad, was better than NO volunteer.

One of these days, I am going to have to write a book about Dad. I KNOW you’d love hearing about Dad deciding to cut his own asbestos siding and then attaching it to the house so crookedly a lightning bolt could get beneath it and set fire to that whole side of the house. And there’s the bag of oil dry in the garage attic that another hornets’ nest claimed ownership of. Oh, and the BATS, and when Dad decided he could install central air conditioning all by himself…BIG holes (measuring was for amateurs, Dad determined, quite sagely).

We had creatures visiting inside from those big holes that don’t usually have access to your house’s innards…but then Dad was quite content to make entryways large enough to welcome them without any problems. For them. At least now you know why I have this permanent tic in my left eye.

But let me tell you about the two books I HAVE written.

My current book is just out called Forever With You and released from the Muse It Publishing, Inc.’s HOT Side Muse It Hot on February 1st, 2011!

This is my all-time favorite story so far. Coryne is a Family Court Lawyer suddenly with money and a need to have a custom designed cabin built on land she owns in the mountain. Keith Patterson, owner of Patterson Construction shows up, and the sight of him stirs long-dormant feelings Coryne does not want to deal with. Besides, he’s too gorgeous by half to actually come through on what she needs. Her coworkers convince her Keith can come through, though, so she takes a chance and hires the eye candy delicious torment.

She sets up a camping trailer so she’s on the spot to oversee the progress…probably not one of her wisest choices. Each day is a struggle to resist the lure of Keith’s sexy body and her reaction to it. Torture; pure unmitigated torture. Will Coryne maintain control?

There is a surprise ending you will not see coming, one that will remain with you long after you have finished this very short story.

My second book will be out on March 1st, 2011, again from the Muse It Hot side of the Muse Publishing, Inc. This one is called The Pendulum Swings.

It’s sort of a Time Travel. It DOES have Ancient Egypt and Rome as a backdrop for the heroine, and eventually the hero too, but not until he’s done the wild thing with a very seductive fireplace.

But I am jumping ahead of the story a bit.

She wakes in a room with weird things she has never seen before—and for that matter, she doesn’t recognize her own hand either.

He enters this strange room, a snarling mass of a man who is hunky but not particularly liking what he sees in her. In fact, he seems to hate her.

He calls her “Joanna”? She has no idea what a “Joanna” is but gathers it is supposed to be her. She quickly denies it.

He tosses the word, “amnesia” at her with such derision, it must be about as desirable as sand fleas or the plague.

She does not understand what she’s done to make him loathe her, and now that she thinks on it, who the devil is she?

Whoever she is, she has a long journey ahead of her, and hopefully along the way she’ll be able to figure out how she came to be this woman he so obviously abhors before she loses all hope.

If you want to learn more about that seductive fireplace, Best Selling Author, and my magnificently talented daughter, Kat Holmes, interviewed Ms. Marble on her own site a while back. It’s an intriguing interview that required Kat actually going on a road trip. The link is:

http://katluvr130.blogspot.com/2010/08/talking-fireplace.html

As for me, well, I have a whole lot of blogspots because I do something I call COVER BLOGS, that one of my fellow Muse Authors calls STATIONARY TRAILERS. I have three set up exclusively for Muse authors, one that is for Muse authors and others with publishers other than Muse, and another that I call my TOOTING HORN that I use to post all kinds of self-boasting stuff about me and my daughter Kat. Boasting doesn’t come easy so had to set up a spot just for that purpose.

I will give you the links to my main Muse sites and the one for everyone. They are:

http://linsownblog.blogspot.com

http://linsownbooklounge.blogspot.com

http://linsownfirebrand.blogspot.com

http://linsownoyster.blogspot.com

My e-mail is: Spatzdkat1212@yahoo.com (Spatz is my baby kitty, and a co-star in one of my upcoming stories…June 1st, 2011 In From The Cold)

My author’s page at Muse Publishing, Inc. is

http://museituppublishing.com/musepub/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=65&Itemid=82

The direct buy page for Forever With You

https://museituppublishing.com/bookstore2/index.php?page=shop.product_details&flypage=flypage.tpl&product_id=104&category_id=72&option=com_virtuemart&Itemid=1

At $1.99 a true bargain.

The Pendulum Swings

https://museituppublishing.com/bookstore2/index.php?page=shop.product_details&flypage=flypage.tpl&product_id=126&category_id=73&option=com_virtuemart&Itemid=1

Grumble!

I knew this morning that I shouldn’t have gone into town. You know those days where your inner voice is screaming: Don’t do it! Stay home!

Well, I ignored that voice because we were running low on supplies. I needed handy shit like food and stuff. So, I dropped little one off at school and walked to town. Halfway down some guy stepped into the road and nearly got run over. I saw the danger before he did and I stopped, as though me stopping would make him stop walking, but he was ahead of me and wouldn’t have taken my cue. So I let out a pathetic, “Oh!” and that did the trick. He stopped, the car stopped, and all ended well.

Apart from my effing heart going like the clappers and the fact I’d nearly shit my pants.

Anyway, I got into town, went food shopping, couldn’t find the meatballs. Minor bug, but a bug all the same. I paid, left the goods there cos they do home delivery, and went off to get my nails done. I had them done in January as a birthday treat and had let them grow out until they looked disgusting. So I walked in, and the usually chirpy lady asked: You got an appointment?

No, I didn’t, but I’ve never needed one before. She’s always fitted me in. So immediately I felt like a kid who had done something wrong. Not cool. So she asked what I wanted. I said the old ones taking off and new ones put on. She said she had someone coming in half an hour later, so I suggested she take mine off, I go back around town to get my other stuff, and return to have the new put on once she'd finished with the other lady. Fine. Lovely. Until, with her little machiney thing, she caught my cuticle and the skin ripped. Not her fault because my cuticle on that finger was non-existent because I’d been, umm, picking it due to something going on next week that I’ll tell you about next week.

So, ouch. Blood dripping, nail woman panicking she’d hurt me. I assured her it was ok, but it would not stop bleeding. She gave me a plaster to put on while I went back around town. Man, my finger THROBBED like mad.

Anyway, off I went into Argos. It’s a shop some Brits take the piss out of because you can get cheap shit there. Cheap—therefore I like Argos despite the jokes about it. So I’m browsing, looking for a new slow cooker (crock pot) because mine broke last week. I could have cried because I use it one hell of a lot with my job being what it is, and I can have the food cooking all day without me worrying about fucking about making dinner later. It broke because I had the pot bit upside down in the dishwasher while I loaded it up, left the dishwasher drawer out, and the lid, swimming on the worktop covered in water (don’t ask, just don’t!) skidded across, fell off and landed on the pot. Cracked it into about 4 pieces. Gutted because I loved it and gutted because my daughter bought it for me. So I needed a new one. I saw the cheap price, thought That’ll bloody well do! and waited at the counter for it to be brought down. Lemme explain. Argos has nothing in it except rows of catalogues on high sides. You look through the book, pick what you want, write the number down, then pay at the till. Then they good folks who work there rummage through the warehouse and bring it to the collection desk.

I see the box and think: That’s rather big. Bigger box than the last one. So I mentioned that to the woman, and she assured me it was just packaging. “You know what these companies are like.” Yeah. I do.

I carried it out—and my God it was heavy—and went back to the nail place. She did her stuff, I left, and hefted the cooker around town while I picked up some other bits and bobs. On the way to get the bus, this little kid, must have been about 2, legged it up to this hairdressers we have here where there’s a massive yellow rubber duck in the window—it’s relevant to the name of the shop. He’s saying “Quack, quack!” and I smiled at him, then at this older lady who was smiling madly at me. And we’re talking excessively madly here, folks. I assumed she was his granny or something, so I said, “Oh, bless, he’s gone to see the duck.”

Her smile vanished, and she then stared at me as though I was shit on her shoe. I thought: What the EFF? You were just smiling at me!

For the record, our town has one of the highest rates for mental people (statistical fact; I’m not joking) so I can only assume she was nuts.

I walked off wanting to cry because shit, it had been hard enough going out there today because I really hadn’t wanted to and forced myself. I’m actually worrying I’m becoming agoraphobic, for Christ’s sake. I have somewhere I have to be next week and although I’m not worried about meeting the person I have to meet—very far from it—I’m nervous about travelling so far from home.

I waited for the bus. It came late. I got home, wanted a wee, ciggie and cuppa in that order. I couldn’t get my key in the door quick enough. I wanted “home” to swallow me, know what I mean? I automatically came to sit here and start work, but made myself unpack the cooker so I could get some food on, work without worrying. I opened the box…

The cooker is the size of a gorilla.

The cooker is the size of my fucking microwave.

I could fit two chickens in it.

No wonder it was bloody heavy!

Now I’m here, feeling much better for being at home. I have a project I must finish but it’s a long job and I now don’t feel in the right frame of mind for it so may have to leave it until tomorrow. I would have finished it last week but I’d been waiting on some software to arrive and a couple of microphones. Don’t ask! All will be revealed soon!

I have no clue why I’ve told you all about this morning. I’ve rambled. It was a very boring ramble. Begging your pardon.

It's Empty so We'll Fill It!

Oh, God. The laundry bin is full AGAIN. Don’t you just hate that? Especially when you emptied it the day before.

My laundry bin is rather large. It has to be with six people living in this house. If I miss just one day of doing laundry, I know all about it. The dirty clothes spill over the sides and end up on the floor. Yesterday I did eight wash loads. Granted, two of them were bedding from five beds, but come on! Six general loads just because I wrote Sunday and didn’t do laundry?

Now this morning I see it’s full again. Spilling over full. Even if all six of us put our clothes in there from yesterday, plus our nightwear, it should only be half full. Yeah, the bin is that big. I can only surmise people in this house haven’t been putting their dirty washing in the bin. Bedroom floors spring to mind. So when the washbin has been emptied, they go and refill it.

I must have relations who like to fill things once they’re empty, in manic-like fashion. Sort of: Quick! There’s an empty receptacle! Fill, fill, fill!

I say this because yesterday I also emptied the kitchen and bathrooms bins.

Both. Are. Nearly. Full. Again.

Buuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuug!

*I shall now return to my regular schedule of putting up a couple of reviews then doing some writing.*

(Breathe, Em. Breaaaaaathe!)

The Brits

I think everyone has a favourite type of author voice that suits them for various reasons. I’ve found that I’m most at home reading Brit-voice authors. 1, because I’m a Brit, and 2, I have no trouble understanding the nuances and meanings, the way the prose flows with that unmistakeable Britishness that only another Brit can fully understand because they’ve lived hearing it all their lives. I have several US authors I love too, but today I’m talking Brit.

Since reviewing for Miz Love Loves Books, I’ve had the pleasure of finding two new-to-me Brit-voice authors who have written books that have touched me so deeply just because of that Brit voice, among other things. Prior to Miz Love, I had read M. King, whose prose wowed me beyond anything that had come before. I am a serious fan of M. King, and now I add two more Brit-voice authors to my list of those I don’t think I’ll ever tire of reading. Rachel Randall and Lynne Connolly.

These three women have given me so many wow moments, so many misty-eyed moments, all due to me feeling so at home while reading that it brought me to tears. That sounds absolutely nuts, I know that, but when someone writes how you think and speak, it kind of gives you that feeling that you belong just by reading their books.

M. King: She has a fantastic turn of phrase and plays the written word like a well-tuned instrument. She gets right into a character, digs very deep, and I love the way she tells us so much more with what she doesn’t write—she’s a “between the lines” author, where you sometimes have to use your noggin to work things out for yourself, and the reward, when you get that “Ah!” moment of seeing things how she intended, and when you spot those hidden nuggets, is priceless. My favourite book of hers is Breaking Faith. I will never forget it.

Lynne Connolly: She writes a historical romance like you wouldn’t believe. For me she is perfect in every way. The wording, the sentence patterns, the absolute perfection that comes across leaves me speechless. I have read five of her Richard and Rose series and can honestly say I don’t think I’ll ever read a historical like them. They are amazing, and her attention to detail, her lush, fantastic phrases that give images so clear you’d think you were there yourself, really do make me get goose bumps.

Rachel Randall: What can I say but oh my goodness. This author’s voice is something I grew up hearing. London, that distinct sound, and those word choices, when strung together, took me right back into the past. My first taste of Rachel Randall was with His Christmas Present, and even though the tale itself wasn’t one designed to make the reader cry, I cried. I felt so “home”, so in my comfort zone while reading, it was as though, if I had chosen all the ingredients for the perfect author designed for me as a reader, I had found it in Rachel Randall.

Each of these women have their own distinct voice, their own patterns, their own ebbs and flows, and I love them all. So long as these three write, I will be a happy reader. I would love for you to check them out too!

New Cave Release - Tess MacKall

Eden Riley left her high school geek days far behind. Or so she thought. But when she returns to her hometown and comes face to face with the local heartthrob, sparks ignite like a chemistry set on crack. Super-smooth Nick Lancaster sets her nerves jangling and thrusts her libido into overdrive. But can the former geeky girl overcome her insecurities and jump his sexy bones?


Nothing suits former jock and debate-team star Nick more than sparring with the one-time nerd. He’s just itching to get up close and personal with her high-velocity curves and tangle with her on the nearest horizontal surface.

With Valentine’s Day fast approaching, all bets are off when Cupid draws back his bow and Nick has only twelve days to convince Eden she belongs with him, in his heart and in his bed.

BUY NOW!