Archive for April, 2005

April 30, 2005

google me here!

Through the wonders of technology, I now know that somebody visited my blog today (twice) because they did a Google search on the words “Gary Rhodes shirtless”.

Okay. Is this my ideal reader? Is this the sort of internet search that I want to encourage?

Readers! Do searches on HUGH JACKMAN IN A TOWEL. Do searches on GUY PEARCE IN A FROCK. Look up OWEN WILSON DRESSED UP LIKE A COWBOY or THE QUEST TO MAKE JEAN-CHRISTOPHE NOVELLI TAKE OFF HIS CLOTHES.

These searches will (hopefully) bring you to this site, where you belong. If you want Gary Rhodes shirtless, please go here, which is the first Google site listed and which, for some strangely appropriate reason, is actually about Bela Lugosi.

well, I’m in trouble.

Your English Skills:

Punctuation: 100%

Spelling: 100%

Vocabulary: 100%

Grammar: 80%

April 29, 2005

the door revisited

Here’s the door scene I was talking about before. It’s unstuck now. From my (hopefully) upcoming Temptation, DELICIOUS:

Every hour of every day, Elisabeth could hear the noise from Tasha’s food technology classroom, which faced hers across a narrow strip of playground. Usually there was a lot of noise. Tasha was young and she didn’t have great control of her teenage students. Elisabeth had made it a habit to listen with one ear to what was happening in Tasha’s classroom. She didn’t like to interfere with another teacher’s work, but once or twice she’d been able to discreetly help Tasha avert disaster.

And now, her room was completely silent. A fact which disturbed Elisabeth more than any screams would have done. In theory, a silent classroom was A Good Thing. In real life, a silent classroom meant that the students were absorbed in something besides cooking. Which was A Very Bad Thing.

“Please let there not be any blood or fire,” she muttered, reaching the door of the classroom and listening.

She heard the rustle and cough of children. The sound of a chair being scraped back. And softly, just at the limit of her hearing, a cluck.

A cluck?

Okay, this was weird. Elisabeth slowly, carefully opened the door.

The room was still. About thirty twelve-year-old students were sitting in a circle, their eyes fixed on the centre of the room. Some of them had their mouths open. She heard another cluck.

A man stood in the centre of the circle with his back to her. He was tall, dark-haired, wearing a charcoal grey suit that was cut perfectly to his frame, and Elisabeth didn’t recognise him. He certainly wasn’t Tasha.

A strange man, in a teacherless classroom, clucking? Elisabeth paused. Maybe she should investigate, but as odd as this man was, he seemed to have the children under control. He was standing motionless, his hands held out to his sides at shoulder height as if he were about to conduct an orchestra. From the doorway, looking at the backs of his hands, she could see they were strong and sculpted. The thumbs were well-developed, the fingers long, the nails clean and blunt, even the veins somehow precise. They were hands that looked good at doing things, even now, as they were poised in the air, empty.

Elisabeth wanted to touch them.

The thought was so unexpected that she leaned a little harder on the doorknob. The door opened another inch. The hinges creaked. And then the room exploded.

April 27, 2005

just call me mrs depp

I do like posting dilemmas on this blog because I get such excellent advice. Open the door? Close the door? Replace the door with a beaded curtain? Skip the door? Get the hero to open the door?

My visitors are so helpful and creative! They rule! Man, you’d think I knew a bunch of writers or something.

I’ve left the heroine and the door for now, though I think the problem will have solved itself by the time I get back to it. Probably the chicken running riot through the door will help. (I always find a good chicken scares away the Crows of Doubt.) Anyway, thank you everyone who’s popping by at the moment, which includes some new visitors I’m happy to see.

On another subject:

Through a variety of odd circumstances I ended up giving an interview to a reporter for the local paper this evening and one of the questions she asked me was whether I base my heroes on my husband.

Hmm. Um. Well. That’s sort of one of those “damned if you do, damned if you don’t” questions, isn’t it? I answer “yes” and my husband is totally embarrassed and teased by the known universe who suddenly think he is Fabio or something. I answer “no” and it looks like I don’t think he’s wonderful, which he, in fact, is. (And he’s nothing like Fabio, thank God.)

I’m not sure what I said. I think I mumbled. Guess I’ll find out when the story is printed.

I should have said, “Well of course, but then again I’m married to Johnny Depp.”

April 25, 2005

the door

Heroine is standing at the half-open door of a room. Hero is inside the room. Heroine wants to go into the room. Heroine thinks she shouldn’t go into the room.

Does heroine open or close the door?

This question, believe it or not, has got me totally stuck. My writing has screeched to a halt on page three (PAGE THREE!! how pathetic) purely because of this dilemma. It’s only one line of the book. No matter what heroine does, the door will creak, all hell will break loose, and she’ll go into the room.

“It does not matter,” says my brain. “Move on.”

But somehow it does matter. It’s become crucially important to her character, this one line, whether she opens or closes the door.

She’ll close the door. She’s a “close the door” type of person at this point: cutting herself off from new experiences, wearing herself into a rut. It’s a metaphor for her character arc.

But will a reader like a “close the door” type of heroine? Can I have a heroine stuck in a rut in a Temptation? Is it sassy enough? Is it all in the execution? How can I tell how I’m going to execute it if I’m stuck at the door?

Knock, knock.

Ahhh, my friends, the Crows of Doubt, at my door again. Come on in.

April 23, 2005

open letter

Dear The Makers of Hell’s Kitchen,

I must protest.

This evening on your show I was subjected to the sight of Gary Rhodes without his shirt on. It was not appealing. In fact, it put me off my raspberry pavlova ice cream.

Can you please ensure in future that if anybody takes his shirt off on your programme, it is Jean-Christophe Novelli.

Please.

Yours faithfully,

Lustful in Berkshire

P.S. Pretty please with sugar on top.

P.P.S. I will pay money.

the best I can do

So my new book (the one with the chef) is a rehaul of the second novel I ever wrote, which was rejected by Harlequin twice, but which has characters and a situation that I absolutely love. So I’m changing the plot, beefing up the conflict (and the sex, mmm), and rewriting it.

I haven’t read it since it was rejected the second time. I remember when I found out it had been rejected. I was in the US and I called my husband and he said I’d got a letter from Harlequin. I asked him to read it; it was a form rejection.

I started crying. “But I can’t do any better than that,” I sobbed. “This book is the best I can do. What do they want?” (Husband made soothing noises in appropriate long-distance phone call way.)

Since then, it’s been three years, five more books. Lots of revisions and lots of research and lots of learning. So today I opened the first chapter and read it–just out of curiosity, because I’m starting the book in a different place now, in a different mood, in a different way.

It was so…bare. Cliched. I’ll give myself credit, it’s fluent and easy to read, it has some tension in it, there are a couple of good lines (which I will shamelessly recycle).

But where’s my voice? Where’s the character? Who wrote this thing?

Very odd, to read something out of your past, which appears to have no distinguishing marks on it whatsoever.

I’m not going to use that phrase again, “the best I can do”. The better phrase is, “the best I can do now.”

April 21, 2005

tasty

Okay, so my friend Kathy is in love with Bo on American Idol and I have been gently mocking her about it but now I am going to eat my words.

I, too, have fallen in love with a participant in a reality TV show.

Chef Jean-Christophe Novelli in Hell’s Kitchen.

His pictures online don’t do him justice. In fact I read an interview with him in the paper the other day and was thinking, “What, this guy was voted fifth sexiest man in the world? I don’t believe it.”

Then I saw him in the kitchen.

The man is tall, dark, French, lethal, sensuous, intense, supremely confident, incredibly talented, passionate, and he has eyes that could cook steak without a grill. And his hands. Don’t get me started.

I watched TV with my chin on my lap last night. There was a puddle of drool on the sofa beside me. And it wasn’t because the food looked good.

Does this have anything to do with the fact that my next hero is a chef? Ermmm…well, it’s certainly handy.

April 20, 2005

books

Actually I said the other day that I never get the chance to read, but since school’s been out the past few weeks I have had the chance to read a few things. I can tell, because the stack beside my bed is so large I have trouble getting up in the mornings.

Here’s what I’ve read in the past month, in no particular order:

Carter Beats the Devil by Glen David Gold
The best book I have read all year. Magical and amazing.

The Spaniard’s Inconvenient Wife by Kate Walker.
Mmmmm, Ramon.

The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat by Oliver Sacks.
Sacks is a neurologist. In this book, he explores the idea that disease can often reveal strengths. It’s an empowering and interesting book.

Slaughterhouse Five by Kurt Vonnegut.
Vonnegut is one of the best authors ever, and probably the reason my husband and I are married.

A Prayer for Owen Meany by John Irving.
I loved this book the first time I read it about 10 years ago, particularly the character of Owen. This time through I liked it less; I think I could see through the plot devices, I knew the surprises, and the narrator was a little boring. But it’s still a good novel, and I still love Owen.

Up to No Good by Julie Elizabeth Leto.
This was a “learning novel” (well, a little bit of fun too), to see how JEL creates character quickly. And she does.

Never Love a Stranger by Elizabeth Stephens.
…which is actually written by my friend Betty O’Rourke.

Small Pieces, Loosely Joined by David Weinberger.
I blogged about this the other day and was thrilled when David left a couple of comments. Small place, the web.

The Castle of Otranto by Horace Walpole.
Ghosts! Ancient curses! Creepy castles! Evil lords! Innocent maidens! Deeply, deeply cool.

Planetary by Warren Ellis and John Cassaday.
A series of comics that pay tribute to comics. Post-modern, man.

April 16, 2005

blog envy

Visiting other people’s blogs is fantastic, but it does make me jealous. I mean I will NEVER be as productive as the super-woman Kate Hardy. Even the thought of her deadlines makes me want to roll around the floor screaming. And do you know, the last time I saw her she was smiling as she said something like, “Oh, I have two books due on Wednesday and a governor’s meeting in the evening and in between I might just plan a party for my entire family and then save the world from an evil super-genius who happens to live on the Unthank Road in Norwich”?

And Suzanne McMinn and Jill Shalvis are consistently funny. How does that happen?! Don’t these women have days when all they can think about is boring stuff like, oh I don’t know, napkins?

Vanessa Jaye is always buying books and then–this is the impressive bit–actually reading them! I buy books and they sit on the floor until I trip over them and then put them away somewhere to pick up again when I have the time. Vanessa reads them, and then tells us about them. Incredible.

And Rosie….well, Rosie’s blog got invaded by far-right fanatics last week and for a brief exciting time it was the battleground for a white-hot debate about international terrorism and gun laws, all conducted by the type of people who couldn’t have their opinions shifted by a jackhammer.

I don’t envy that. But she has some beautiful photographs, and I like her cat.

April 15, 2005

feeling special and loved

First, I must say THANK YOU so much to everyone who posted happy birthday wishes! I feel so special and loved!

So thanks to Biddy, Sela, Rosie, Tanya, Anna, Larissa, Michelle, Kate H, Kate R, Marc, Nell, Dennis, Pam, anonymous (whoever you are!), Kathy, Kate A, Olga, Lyvvie, and Sue.

I’ve sent out the proposal for How To Be a Sex Goddess (formerly known as The Book That Sucks) and I’m going to take a break from writing for a few days. I’m exhausted. And I really really want to put links up in that previous paragraph so that people can go and visit the clever and witty people who have posted on my blog. But I’m too tired. So please pretend that I did.

I might later. After I watch mindless TV. My hero Derren Brown is on tonight and I have been told by someone In The Know that Playing It Straight is a must-watch.

Anyway. I’m sending all of you who posted a hug. It might be a half-assed hug, because I’m so tired, but hey. It’s the best I can do.

April 13, 2005

birthday

I LOVE birthdays. I love the attention, quite honestly. See, I’m a bit of a high-maintenance girl, a little demanding, and on my birthday I get to do whatever I want.

So today I got up and had cake for pre-breakfast, while husband was asleep. Then I woke him up and demanded he watch me as I opened my presents. My gorgeous friend Anna (formerly known as The Birthday Bitch) has given me a gorgeous bracelet from her favourite jewelry designers, and these coasters and napkins that made me laugh heartily and will be underneath my herbal tea from henceforward. My friend Neil gave me The Cloud Atlas, which is a book I’ve been wanting to read for some time. Kate Walker sent me two of her Alcolar Family novels–one of which isn’t out till next month, hooray! Kate’s books are some of my favourite comfort reads; I have been known to save them up until I get sick and read two in one afternoon.

My parents gave me a designer Billy Bag laptop case, so I can write in considerable style.

The husband gave me a phallic cactus–well, actually a three-pronged phallic cactus which is more cactus than a girl could ever ask for. (I did ask for it, by the way. I think it will be a very good thing to have by my desk while writing sex scenes.) Hopefully I will manage not to kill it.

He also gave me the obligatory Owen Wilson film. I really love how my husband gives me things that involve famous men I lust after. He gave me a signed photograph of John Cusack for my last birthday. He’s a good man.

And…wait for it….THE ADVENTURES OF PRISCILLA QUEEN OF THE DESERT!!! Special 10th anniversary edition!!! Two months before it comes out in the UK!!!!!!!!!!!!! He must have heard my plea. (See, if you whine enough, people will listen.)

Then he made me a boiled egg in a Muttley egg cup.

I really do love birthdays.

(Songs of the day: Stacey’s Mom and Hackensack by Fountains of Wayne)