Morning (Afternoon and Evening) Sick

For anyone looking for a good read, my third Hollywood Headlines book, HOLLYWOOD CONFESSIONS is now free on Amazon.com!  

Just follow the link below, or go to Amazon.com and search for the title.  (Just be sure to click the formats book for the totally free version, not the version only free to Prime members.)  If you don’t have a Kindle device, you can still read the free book by downloading  the free Kindle app for your MAC, PC, ipad, iphone, android, blackberry, or other smart phone devices.

HOLLYWOOD CONFESSIONS free!

 This month I’ve been really slacking on the writing.  What to know why?  Two words: morning sickness.  Though why it is called morning is beyond me since, as most women who have been pregnant know, it’s morning, noon, and night.   For example, yesterday I got a call from a woman at the “advanced age mother’s program” at my insurance company.  (Thanks.  Now I feel better about myself.  I mean, I know I’m not 20 anymore, but do we really have to call it “advanced age”?  Couldn’t we call it “more prepared” or “more experienced”?  We are highly hormonal, you know.  People have been killed for saying less about pregnant woman at this stage.)  The woman asked me a series of questions about how my pregnancy was gogin so far.  When she got to the one about morning sickness, I had to laugh at her.  “How many of the last 24 hours would you say you have experienced any nausea?”

“Um, all of them?”

“And of the last 48 hours?”

“All of them.”

“And of the last-“

“Let me just save you some time here.   Whatever time frame you’re giving me, the answer is all of them.”

She then went on to ask what kinds of foods I was eating.  Did she not just hear me?  24/7 nausea.  I’m not eating food.  Okay, *chewing and swallowing* - toast.  Digesting - none.  Unless water counts as a food.   

Anyway, as you can imagine, it makes it a little bit hard to write.  Love scenes are DEFINITELY out at the moment.  (Why would I want to write about what put me in this position in the first place?!  Let me tell you, there would be a lot of condoms involved.)   My characters have not eaten a meal since the beginning of the book.  No food scenes whatsoever.   No humor scenes either.  It’s hard to think funny when you’re constantly running to pray to the porcelain gods.  Which basically leaves me with shooting scenes.  I’ve been shooting a LOT of people lately.  (See hormonal reference above.)  This book is going to be chock full of action.    

The one nice side effect of being newly pregnant?  My memory is totally shot.  I’ve completely forgotten when my deadline for this book is.  Convenient, right?  ;)

Okay, if anyone has any remedies for morning sickness, lay ‘em on me.  So far MetroMint peppermint water is my best friend, but I’m so open to suggestions!

     

~Trigger Happy Halliday

Oops!

Okay. I blew it. Today was my day to blog. And I knew it was my day to blog because I saw the reminder email that one of my fellow Killer Fiction bloggers set up to send to all of us to remind us when it's our turn.

But that was before I came down with a respiratory crud that came on fast and is still hanging on. Chills. Body aches. Cough. Fatigue. So, in spite of not being able to use the old "dog ate my homework" story I do have a legitimate reason to be posting this late.

And if being sick wasn't excuse enough, I'm also days away from my tax prep appointment. Seriously? The creeping crud and taxes in the same week? Tell me I've earned a pass this week.

On a happier note, I've finished the manuscript an editor requested the full of and it is on that editor's desk. Not one to sit on pins and needles while I wait, I've immersed myself in my next Calamity Jayne mystery and I must say, it's a joy to be back writing this series. I've really missed Tressa Jayne and the Grandville gang.

So, apologies to all for being late to the blog today. If anyone wants to make me feel better by sharing an example of the last time they spaced off something, chime in.

~Bullet Hole~

WARNING!

By Robin "Red Hot" Kaye




I have three teenagers and two of them are driving, so if you live in the state of Maryland, you might want to make sure you stay far away from any Blue Priuses.

Yes, child number one received his driver’s license on Friday and child number two is driving me and everyone else crazy since she received her learner’s permit.

Having mobile teens is good and bad. My son is now able to drive to school so I don’t have to pick him up after his JROTC duties. It’s also handy when I need a few things from the grocery store while I’m in the midst of cooking a meal.

On the down side, he thinks that since he’s able to drive, my car should be available to him at all times. He received his first lesson on that today when I said “No.” Of course I had to repeat it two more times just to make sure he got it into his head. And that was before he explained that I should allow him to drive the Sequoia to school since he’d get teased for driving a prissy Prius. That statement was met with a “Hell No!” after which I explained that if he was too embarrassed to drive the Prius, he was more than welcome to drive any other car he wanted—he’d just have to buy it first. Needless to say, he kissed me on the cheek and said, “I love you, Mom,” which is what he always says when he’s headed to the doghouse. Smart boy.

I don’t know about you, but I still have nightmares about driving with my parents. I’ll never forget the first time my father took me out to teach me to drive a stick shift. We lived on The Main Line of Philadelphia—think rolling hills—and Dad decided I should drive to Sears with him. Now my father, God love him, has never been the calm and retiring type—he’s the exact opposite. He spent the entire drive screaming at me and teaching me interesting combinations of curse words. By the time I pulled into the parking lot, I was about to lose my lunch. I never wanted to be that parent so I had my husband, the calmest man I’ve ever known, teach the kids to drive—problem solved, right? Wrong.

My son knows me well enough to never drive with me. I’m not a good passenger on my best day. He’s like his dad—he's missing the loudmouth Italian gene and doesn’t tolerate screaming well. I think he’s secretly relieved he’ll never have to drive me anywhere while I’m conscious. My daughter, however, is a legend in her own mind. Twinkle Toes, never lacking in confidence, thinks she’s the best driver the lord ever put on four wheels and has never been fazed by my loudmouth Italian tendencies. The other day she begged me to let her drive home from the Starbucks. I figured, what the hell. We were only a mile away from the house, the car wouldn’t go above 30 miles per hour, and if I screamed at her, she really wouldn’t care. I did okay until we hit the driveway. Our driveway has a big hump in the middle and the Prius bottoms out on if you try to straddle it, so you have to drive with one tire on the hump, and the other very close to the grass, which then runs up a very steep hill. Twinkle Toes wasn’t sure of how far over she needed to be and the next thing I know, we’re off roading, which would have been fine in the Sequoia or the Jeep, but the Prius? I'm talking we're were at a 40-degree angle! I was screaming, which didn't faze her, but then neither did the fact we were off-roading. She looked over at me and gave me the teenage eye roll. if I didn't have my hand wrapped around the Oh-Shit-I'm-gonna-die handle, I would have smacked her.

She's fine, I, unfortunately, have yet to recover.

So who taught you how to drive? And are you brave enough and calm enough to teach your own kids? Any helpful hints?

Running shoes? Check. Zombies? Wait...

Something happened last week that still has me grinning every time I think about it. "The Run for Your Lives" Zombie-infested 5K is coming to St. Louis.

Now I've been stalking this race for awhile. They've been doing it in lots of other cities for the past few years. And the website cracks me up.

Basically, this is a 5K obstacle course where zombies try to "eat" you. Now this not being the actual end of civilization as we know it, the zombie threat is more to your ego. Each runner is given a race belt with flags. And similar to flag football, the flags can be torn off until none are left. At that point, you are a zombie. You can still run the race because, you know, it takes a bit for the virus to transform you. But you have to admit, it will call for a lifestyle change.

Someone took a chest-camera video of the race in Baltimore last year. Cracks me up every time I watch it (which is too much according to my daughter).

So if you're a runner or if you think you might be chased by zombies some day, check it out. And if anybody wants to run from zombies with me, we're getting a team together for the 3:00 p.m. wave on August 18 in St. Louis. Sign up for Team Fox. We'll be plotting our survival strategy and getting some cool t-shirts. I'll also bring a box of Twinkies for the end (Zombieland fans will know we need them).

Confusion Central

Cricket and Stacie won the copies of my upcoming Intrigue. I'll be in touch, ladies! Thanks for posting!

I spent the weekend trying to get all the Christmas decor packed, labeled and stored so that it's not still stacked in my living room. Yes, I said Christmas decor. Don't rush me; I'm busy. :) And besides, this is not, by far, the worst year. The worst year was the one where my brother came by to visit and carried my entire tree, decorations and all, into the garage....in May.

So I was doing some catch-up shopping also as you can tell I'm behind on everything and I've decided I am quite confused. By toilet paper. Whatever happened to those big packs you could get at Walgreens 2 for $10? Yes, I know, inflation and all that and technically, they've got you over a barrell, because well, toilet paper is sorta necessary for most folks.

But now, it's like selecting the best piece of confetti out of a trash bag full of it.

I can even narrow it down by brand - I've always liked Charmin - but that doesn't get me any closer to the best bargain for the money. They have all this used car salesman stuff going on - 36 double rolls equals 72 rolls, 20 extra padded rolls equals 32 regular rolls, and on and on and on.

I look at the packaging and try to figure out the logic of breaking the price down by roll and there's not any. Sometimes, it appear that the exact same roll of toilet paper may differ in price by a dollar. WTH?

So I'm making a suggestion to toilet paper manufacturers - price toilet paper by the foot. Feet are easily compared. And no one foot equals two foot plus a club foot nonsense. Just tell me how many feet of toilet paper I get in a package and let me do simple math.

Anyone who hasn't Liked my Facebook author page, please do so. I'm going to do giveaways there and want all my readers to have chances to win.

Today, I'm going to give away two copies of my upcoming February Harlequin Intrigue release to two blog posters. So post a comment with your email for a chance to win a copy of THE LOST GIRLS OF JOHNSON'S BAYOU.

Deadly DeLeon

Modern Families by Maria Grazia Swan

I have this thing about my teeth. When I was growing up, our town didn’t have a real dentist. The young man performing dental work had learned from his father. Whatever he did was always without anesthetic, no laughing gas, no Novocain...he strapped you in, and you got to exercise your vocal cords.

When I came to The States and discovered the way it is supposed to work, I was ecstatic. You’ll never hear me complain about going to the dentist. Because of the experiences from my youth, I’m a little obsessed with prevention. At some point I was getting my teeth cleaned every four months. I didn’t see the dentist often but got very chummy with the hygienist. One day, the dentist called me into his office and explained that, while they would happily take my money every four months, it wasn’t necessary, six months between cleaning would be fine. Now I see the hygienist every six months, and that means we have to talk faster to catch up with all that happened in between cleanings. She does the talking, I can’t. My mouth must stay open with that sucking thing hanging on one side of the lips, but I’ve learn to express my dis/approval through my eyes. We get along royally.

My last visit was just before Christmas. Tracy had a happy glow about her, the one pregnant women often exude. I knew that wasn’t the case, because she already has 4 kids and, last time I asked, no husband. Okay, I know, you can have more than 4 kids and you don’t need a husband.  

She tells me ‘they’ just purchased a big old house for everyone to live happily together. I assumed she was talking about her mom. Yes, and no.

Here is the story, Tracy got married. She married the gay man she met one morning when she ran out of gas on her way to work. Now they all live together, Tracy, her mom, the four kids, Tracy’s new husband, his partner and, occasionally, Tracy’s former husband when he comes to town to see his doctor. I wanted to ask questions so bad I accidently bit the sucking thingy.

“There must be something I’m missing.” I managed to say before a new sucking tool was inserted into my mouth.

“I needed medical insurance,” Tracy said. “My husband has a fantastic medical plan, and now my kids and I are insured. I was able to get the surgery I needed and had been postponing. I feel like he saved my life”

I motioned I needed time off, “I understand what you are getting out it, how about him?”

            “He always wanted a family, now he has one. He adores my kids, helps them with homework, this is the most stable home life they’ve had in years. And both my husband and his partner cook. I mean, really cook! I love to see people’s faces when he introduces me as his wife and then introduces his partner. Priceless.”

Tracy has a screwy sense of humor.

While setting up my next appointment, she asked, “Are you going to use my happy story in one of your books?”

I thought about it for a minute or two, “Nah, no one would believe it.”

~ Maria

http://www.mariagrazia.tv/

LOVE THEY SISTER

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Practical Romance

Tonight it was suggested to me that when a woman starts dating a man the first thing she’s thinking about is how that man makes her feel. If it’s good her focus is on that giddy feeling.

I don’t think it works that way. At least it doesn’t for me, not anymore. I think on a whole, women are much more pragmatic about their relationships in the beginning. If they’re interested in something more than just a fling what they’re initially thinking about is not how this guy makes them feel. Instead they’re focused on the following questions: “Is this someone I can respect?” “Do we have enough in common?” “Could I trust this person with my kids?” (assuming there are kids) “How would I feel introducing this person to my friends?” “Is he stable?” “Do we share the same values?” and so on and so forth.

I think that this is the main reason most of us want to wait before having sex. It’s not that we’re worried that the guy we’re with will stop respecting us if we put out too early, it’s that we know we won’t even be able to fully enjoy the experience unless we feel more settled about the above questions. In other words, the giddiness can come but only after our brains have decided that this is someone worth getting giddy about.

But a lot of men don’t realize women think that way. Sure, they complain about gold diggers but when you press them further they seem to imagine us to be much more romantic about it all, even going so far as to suggest that we are guided completely by our emotions.  And maybe we are...when we’re in our teens and early 20s.

But by the time the 30s come around women have become pragmatists and it’s the men who are the romantics, being led around by their feelings of excitement over this or that person, barely noticing the warning signs until they’re either slapped in the face with them or their excitement has died down. So why is it that women are still seen as the emotional ones when it comes to relationships?

I think we fiction writers are partially to blame. See, the fun thing about movies and books, particularly those written purely to entertain, is that everyone is guided by their emotions and that’s doubly true when it comes to female characters and romance. Take Scarlett O’Hara and Catherine (of Catherine and Heathcliff fame). Both were completely impractical when it came to love and when they did make pragmatic decisions they usually ended up regretting them because those decisions didn’t fulfill their hearts the way giving into their true soulmates might have. And when it comes to modern literature...well really, does anyone think it’s pragmatic to date a vampire?

But secretly (or maybe not that secretly) we all want to be able to be controlled by our emotions. We want to do what feels right rather than what logically seems right. We want to trust that our hearts really will lead us in the right direction. So people like me create emotionally driven characters and we joyfully live vicariously through the romance of it all.

And then we go out on our dates and we temporarily shelve the let's-get-giddy instinct and cling to our pragmatism.

Because really, being led around purely by our emotions? That only works for fictional women and maybe a few not-so-fictional grown-up boys.

Kyra "Fashionista Fatale" Davis