YouTube Sundays

Lately, I’ve been getting a lot of emails with links to funny YouTube videos. Some are cute, some political, some wild, but all of them crack me up to no end. So, while Bethany is away, I thought I’d try something new here and institute YouTube Sundays. Throughout the week, email me (gemmasreadermail@gmail.com) with the funniest, craziest, most gut busting YouTube videos you can find, and I’ll pick one winner to post each Sunday. What does the winner get? Well, aside from serious bragging rights, we’ll come up with a fun prize each week. Next week… a signed copy of UNDERCOVER IN HIGH HEELS! Sound like fun? Then get watching and email me those links!

I’ll start this week off with one that Mary sent me about writer promotion. Too funny!





~Trigger Happy Halliday

You Want Me To Drive Where? with Tera Lynn Childs

Hi, Guys!

I'd like to introduce to you a good buddy of mine, Tera Lynn Childs. I read her in a contest years ago and thought this girl is good! I love it when I'm right. She sold shortly later.

Welcome to Killer Fiction, Tera!

Crime Scene Christie


* * * *

All my life I’ve been a pretty daring girl. In kindergarten, I walked home through downtown Montreal. At seventeen, I moved to New York for college. I have plans to visit, well, everywhere. But even I have limits. Things I don’t want to try, like skydiving and eating chocolate-covered insects (definitely not simultaneously). Like my mental list of places I will never, ever drive. Delhi. Bangkok. Paris. England. Sometimes limits change, though. Here’s how I wound up on the road in one of my no-drive zones...

On my first trip to England I had an astonishingly short can’t-leave-without-seeing-it-list: Bodiam Castle. This storybook stronghold had been an obsession since I first saw a picture of it’s crenellated towers, lilypad-filled moat, and bucolic setting. (Yeah, I never thought I’d use the word “bucolic” properly in a sentence, either.)



There was just one problem. Bodiam is kind of in the middle of nowhere. To get there using public transport would require three busses, a train, and a caravan of pack mules. I didn’t have time for that kind of expedition, which left me with one terrifying but unavoidable option: I had to rent a car.

Okay, I thought as I headed for the car rental company. I can do this. It’s for Bodiam.

The clerk handed over the keys and I faced my fear--a bright blue Ford that could fit in my bathtub. Deep breaths. This wouldn’t be so bad. I was already on the south side of London. All I had to do was head further south and slightly east. I had maps and everything.

Then I climbed behind the wheel. Instead of a nice little stick on the steering column, there was a scary big stick between the seats. (No, not that kind of stick, gutter-dwellers.) A standard transmission. I had to drive a stick shift...with my left hand!

Calm down, I chanted. It’s for Bodiam. I knew how to drive a stick. So what if I had to manipulate it from the passenger POV? I could do this. Left hand on the stick, eyes wide with terror, I pulled out of the parking lot with the intention of heading southeast.

You know, until that moment I never realized just how disconcerting it would be to drive on the other side of the road. Since I was already in the flow of traffic, I had two choices: A) drive headlong into an oncoming vehicle, or B) follow another car nose-to-bumper.

My chosen bumper headed northwest. Away from my destination. But heading the wrong way was preferable to a head-on collision, so I followed. By the time I reached the M25, a big loop around metro London, I had the shifting and the driving on the left thing down. Success! Finally, I was on my way to Bodiam at moderate speed.

As everyone else zipped by at mach ten, I tried to convince my brain that the slow lane (where I definitely belonged) was on the left. My brain disagreed. I kept checking my rearview mirror, expecting some jaunty Englishman in an cherry red MG to barrel into my backside, only to find myself staring out the driver’s side window at the sky above since--aaargh!--the rearview was on the left, too! But no matter how many times I told myself to check left--left, left, left!--my brain stubbornly refused to believe.

Finally, after navigating through tiny villages on rural roads so narrow even my bathtub-sized car felt like a squeeze, I found the road to Bodiam. My heart raced like I was meeting the man of my dreams, my own medieval knight in shining limestone. The castle came into view! I pulled over (on the right, sigh) to snap a few pictures from a distance, then sped on to the entrance.

I screeched the bathtub to a halt. A long rusty chain sagged across the drive, a big brown sign hanging low over the dirt:

“All rural National Trust properties are closed due to hoof and mouth disease.”

Nooo, I screamed (in my head--this was the bucolic English countryside, after all). After everything I’d done for Bodiam, this was my reward? All that arguing with my brain and shifting with my left and finding sky where the rearview should be, just so I could shoot a fuzzy snapshot across a sheep-filled field from half a mile away?

Seven years later I’m still a little bitter. (Can ya tell?) I got to see other wonderful things--like the picturesque ruins of Pevensey and the pastel-colored resort town of St Leonards-on-Sea--but my dream castle was still (literally) a distant dream.

At least I have a reason to go back. Bodiam--and England’s drivers--had better be ready, because next time I’m taking the fast lane!

~Tera Lynn Childs
http://www.teralynnchilds.com/

Heat Wave

It is hot - I’m talking HOT – in California this week. 104. Seriously. My brain is in a total heat wave fog, every cell focused on just one thing – stay cool. I’ve been spending my days at the pool (yes, ogling the hard bodied lifeguards) and sipping anything with ice and umbrellas in it. So, this blog comes to you poolside today. :)

Despite the heat, I have been continuing on my journey toward finding Mr. Right. I met 13 different guys this week. Yep, 13. Two individual dates, 11 speed dates. This brings my total of different men dated for the year at 38 . K, when I said I’d go through every guy on the west coast to find Mr. Right, I really didn’t mean it literally.

And I have to say, the more dates I go on, the more blasé I’m starting to feel about men in general. I’ll admit, they’re all starting to run together. This week I met a couple of perfectly nice guys, but none of them thrilled me. There wasn’t anything terribly wrong with them. Good jobs, nice homes, pleasant conversation. But I just wasn’t excited. I didn’t go home and check to make sure my cell was on in case they called. I didn’t haunt my email inbox waiting for a note from them. I didn’t even mentally picture what they’d look like in those hot lifeguard shorts. (Sorry, hard to concentrate with cute lifeguards around.) I’m starting to wonder if it’s me, or if I’m just meeting really bland guys. I know, I did say after the Pirate and the Fighter in the Closet that I just wanted to meet a nice normal guy. But, now that I have, I’m realizing that my whole trade-in-the-bad-boys-for-Ward-Cleaver strategy is kind of backfiring. Problem is, I’m just not that into Ward Cleaver.

In light of this, I went online today – onto a new service – to see what was out there. To see if I could find a compromise between Ward Cleaver and pirates that might excite my romantic side while still keeping practical Gemma happy, too. Here are excerpts from some of the profiles I found:

To get things started, you should know that I have a brilliant mind. I have a very large IQ.

(Not to mention ego.)

I'm a good man who is looking for a good woman for a good long term relationship. I'm a good man with good values. I have a lot to offer a good woman. If you're interested feel free to contact me.

(What do you want to bet someone told him to write a ‘good’ profile?)

Looking for a woman who is caring, honest, and secure. And it would be great if she has nice feet. And paints her toenails. Preferably red.

(Hmm. The words “foot” and “fetish” come to mind.)

Communication and intimacy might be considered my forte, but there is much more to discover given a little time. I love doing my personal work, and deeply appreciate the strong souls who'll dance with me in mutual growth.

(I suddenly feel the need to sing Kumbaya while wearing hemp and Birkenstocks.)

No brats need apply here. No drama queens or self-centered valley girls. I am looking for wit, determination, and substance wrapped in a humble shell of sweetness. I have yet to meet my match. You can't handle this.

(I’m laughing too hard to even comment on this one.)

You - Passive Aggressive ? Do you get pissed about stuff and when asked about it say.. "oh.. nothing.. I'm fine" And then just plot about how your going to make the offending parties life as miserable as possible.... EVEN THOUGH THEY JUST ASKED YOU WHATS UP. Type the back button now. I don’t wanna meet ya.

(Gotta love a man who wear his aggression right up front.)

I'm am a fit, stylish, energetic & attractive looking to make a cosmic connection to a groovy gal.

(Far out, man!)

And my favorite… (yes, I kept his original spelling)

Man of few words, Multy dimensional, spritual, keep myself in shape. I am interested in variety of subjects and activitis. Interested in Someone who is original, speaks her heart, being fit is a plus and education makes sense

(Too bad your profile doesn’t.)

Okay, so after much searching I did find two guys with coherent and non-scary profiles to write to. A firefighter (hey, a real life hero!) and a hot Latin guy with really pretty blue eyes. We’ll see if either writes back. I’ll keep you posted. In the meantime… I have another round of frosty drinks to order and there are lifeguards out here who aren’t going to ogle themselves.

~Trigger Happy Halliday

That Was The Week That Was!

I’m pouting today. I just read Leslie ‘The Assassin’ Langtry’s blog post and I have a serious case of ‘poor pitiful me’ because I don’t have a personal assistant and unless I nab one of those ‘major deals’ you read about on Publisher’s Lunch, it’s so not gonna happen. (Picture Bullet Hole face down on the floor pummeling the oak laminate with her fists, and kicking and screaming ‘NO FAIR, NO FAIR, NO FAIR!) See how quickly I went from pathetic whining pouter to tantrum throwing brat? I’m a writer. I wallow in emotion. Hey. We all do!

I sure could have used a personal assistant this past week. Who am I kidding? I could have used half a dozen assistants. Last week was…eventful.

We’re creeping up to graduation day—times three—at my house. That means sending out graduation announcements, party invitations, menu planning, cleaning house, yard work, plus all the regular crap that needs to be done on a daily basis. Pretty full schedule, wouldn’t you agree?

You ain’t heard nothin’ yet.

I got a wild hair (I get them sometimes) and decided that, come you-know-what or high water, I was going to have my next book done by Mother’s Day—or bust! That meant I would have to write nearly 200 pages in a week’s time. An author friend I know—who also happens to be an ex cop-- wrote his first book in eleven days. Eleven days! That’s three days shy of two weeks! (Another person besides ‘The Assassin’ to throw darts at this Saturday night.) Anyway, being the competitive fiend (and quasi feminist) I am, I figured if he can do it, I can do it! Of course, at the time I made such a bold declaration I forgot he didn’t have triplets graduating from high school and getting college plans finalized, nor was he chief cook and bottle washer at his establishment.

Undeterred, and with chapter outlines in hand I set out to finish the book! Here’s some idea of how it went:

Monday: Off to a great start! Wrote 31 pages! Doing the happy dance!

Tuesday: Son notified me there was a big puddle of water under the washing machine. Danced with a mop and bucket. Only wrote 17 pages. Will need to play catch up tomorrow.

Wednesday: Butt is beginning to fall asleep from all the time in the chair. Didn’t quite catch up as yard needed mowing. Was just happy the mower started. Still managed 30 pages.

Thursday: A decent day. Wrote 24 pages. Convinced butt is now flat as plywood.

Friday: Son got a job. Had to celebrate. Kept the nose to the monitor and fingers to the keyboard and wrote 43 pages! Good news: my butt doesn't ache any more. Bad news: I no longer have a butt.

Saturday: Started my day at 5 A.M. determined to keep going until I finished or fell out of my chair, whichever came first. In a marathon session, I wrote all night and finished at around 4 A.M. Sunday morning. Total page tally for this day: 52 pages, bringing me to—drumroll here, please-- a grand total of ONE HUNDRED NINETY SEVEN PAGES in a week’s time!.

Sunday: Drag myself to bed at half past 4 after saving my manuscript on CD, zip drive, lap top, desk top, and family computer just to be safe. Was awakened at 5:30 by daughter hurling chunks in the bathroom across the hall with the worst case of flu I’d seen in a while.

Happy Mother’s Day and pass the Lysol.

It’ll take me a month to catch up on my sleep, my backside will never be the same again, and I seriously don’t know if anything I wrote makes the least bit of sense, but at least I finished the d*!@ book!

So, what’s the last thing that kept you up all night? (Only ‘G’ rated material, of course.) When’s the last time you pulled an all-nighter and why? Writing? Work deadline? College exams? Sick kid? Dance marathon? A night out with the girls—or boys? Movie marathon?

Share away!

~Bullet Hole~

Just Another Manic Mother's Day

Before I begin – check out my new and improved website and see my first ever contest! I know, it took me f…o…r…e…v…e…r. But now I have the Amazing Kim so things are looking up! More on that later.

How was your Mother’s Day? Mine was okay. It’s always too much and my husband is always out of town but it was good. As usual there’s the running around to celebrate the occasion with both of our mothers (and did I mention my husband always seems to be out of town?). Which means I’m always up early, fixing breakfast, making a…whatever it is I’m supposed to take with me and yelling at the kids four times to get dressed and moving. By the end of the day I’m usually exhausted and a total bitch. This time we spread it out and had it (and like five birthday/etc. celebrations thrown in) over the course of two days and just for fun I threw in running the zip line at camp for another girl scout troop.

Some women fantasize about Fabio (never understood that one) or George Clooney (okay, I get that) or receiving diamonds as big as a baby’s head, vacations on the Riviera, winning American Idol, etc. I have always fantasized about having Mother’s Day to myself.

It begins like this; (and remember, don't attempt this fantasy on your own - I am a professional and your brain could actually implode just imagining that this day is possible)

I arise around 11am, with a plate of chocolate Krispy Kremes and a large glass of milk on my nightstand as my kids hand me goofy cards they made myself (okay, I at least have that part every year). I take a long, steaming bubble bath in a spotless tub (again, this may be difficult to imagine so don't even try if you have a heart condition), while listening to Samuel Barber. When I come downstairs dressed in a cashmere hoodie and yoga pants (which I don’t have yet. why don't I have that yet?!) to find my house has been completely cleaned (I know…it is just a fantasy - don't hurt yourself). It’s a beautiful day outside, of course, and we lounge in the backyard watching the kids play, a good book in my hands and a pitcher of mimosas on the table. At night, we order a pepperoni lover’s pizza (with cheese in the crust – arteries are sooooo overrated) and watch a movie I want to watch (I’m not sure this would ever be possible).

Sigh.

I did get a kick-ass gift this year – my new assistant, Kim. I met her at the Chicago Spring Fling conference and she works for authors, setting up and managing marketing stuff among other things. Because of her, I have pages on My Space, Facebook, a real contest on my website, a montly newsletter, etc. She’s awesome and may be the coolest Mother’s Day gift ever (and no, we didn’t violate any slavery laws - you can't own a human because that would be wrong. sigh.).

So, things turned out pretty good. And someday, just maybe, in an alternative universe when the moon is in the seventh house (whatever the f%$#! That means), I’ll get the day off I want.

What did you do?

The Assassin

Winner, Winner, Winner

Keri Ford, you are the winner of the note cards.

Please shoot me your home address on my website email addy.

Congrats.

And thanks to everyone who played.

Crime Scene Christie

You want to know what?

As a writer, I get all sorts of questions tossed at me. Some of them are what I call repeaters, questions that get asked a lot. For those, I have my prepared answers down pat. Some questions are downright funny--people wanting to understand the strange mechanics of how a writer’s mind works. I usually just make up an answer for those, because please, I don’t understand how my mind works, either.

Some of those questions are just weird, and they make me laugh. Then there are the others that give me concerns about my fans, readers, and human population in general. (You know who you are.)

However, no matter what category those questions fall into, most of the time, (okay, there are a few exceptions) I still love being asked. Why? First because, curiosity generally means interest and interest could result in book sells, and second . . . Well, was it Will Farrell who said, “Inappropriate behavior always makes me laugh.”

So just for grins, and laughs, let me share some of those questions. I’ll also share my answers. And okay, because you are who you are, I’m going to go one step further and even give you the truth.

* * *

Question: “Do you ever take your characters with you when you go places?” (Can you believe I’ve been asked that more than once?)

Answer: Of course, I do. But I insist that they pay their own way, unless I have a buy-one-get-one-free coupon.

Truth: I usually just stick them in my purse, and don’t feed them and sneak them into places without buying them a ticket. I save the buy one get one free coupons for real friends.

* * *

Question: “When you hear your characters talking to you, how do you know that it’s just creativity and not that you really are crazy?” (Internal comment: duh.)

Answer: “Does it really have to be one or the other?”

Truth: Anyone who sits around all day and spends hours envisioning and writing about the lives of their characters, along with making facial expressions in the mirror so she can describe them, has to be a little bit bonkers.

* * *

Question: “Is your husband jealous of your heroes?” (This answer has variations.)

Answer if Hubby isn’t around: “Of course, he’s jealous. My heroes are so hot, he knows he can’t compete.”

Answer if Hubby is around: “Jealous? Why? He knows I pattern all my heroes after him.”

Truth: Just as there is a little of myself in each of my heroines, there really is a bit of my husband in all my heroes.

Funny anecdote: Recently, my husband was reading one of my books and he started laughing. “Hey, this sounds like something I would say.”

“ Yeah,” I told him honestly, “Now, turn to page 123, and see if you can just get your six pack to look like his.”

“I’ll try if you’ll grab a feather duster and turn to page 220.” He gets a twinkle in his eye.

Moral of the funny anecdote: Sometimes fiction and real life can co-mingle and it’s a win-win for everyone.

* * *

Question: “Do you research your scenes?” (Asked by some sleazy-looking man in which fiction and real life will never co-mingle.)

Answer: “Of course, I do.”

Second question: (Yup, I know it’s coming) “Do you ever need a research assistant?”

Answer: (Given with a straight face and hopefully not showing signs of my inner most thought, which is GROSS!) “Of course I do.”

More expected sleaze to come: “In that case, I’d love to volunteer.” Sleazy guys scratches himself in an inappropriate place.

My smartass reply: “I’m so thrilled you offered. Let me run get my gun. I’m doing a scene where some scumbag gets shot in the kneecap and I need someone to describe how it feels. And I happen to love my husband too much to ask him to do it.” (Statement ending in a very serious, you-gotta-be-joking eye roll.)

Truth: I write funny and sexy love stories. I’m very proud of my genre. I’ll be the first to make a joke and don’t mind a comment or two about the sexy content of my books. (Hey, sex can be funny.) But one should never forget that my stories are about two people falling in love and making a commitment to each other and the relationship. Hubby is the only one I co-mingle with.

* * *

Question: “What do you do when your characters misbehave?”

Answer: “I call the fiction police to arrest them and put them in solitary confinement.”

Truth: I generally sit back and enjoy it. Like I said, inappropriate behavior makes me laugh and if I’m laughing, so will my readers.

* * *

Okay…those are a few of the questions I get asked. And now, what I’m offering you is the opportunity to ask me even more questions. I have to warn you upfront. Stupid questions about my love scenes will generally warrant stupid answers. And oh yeah, remember I’m southern, which means I will never tell the truth if a lie will make a better tale. But go ahead and give it your best shot.

And to one lucky poster, I’ll offer a pack of my note cards. So come on, play along with me.

Crime Scene Christie