Oh, YUM.

Today, The Flaming Chef and I wandered downtown Portland before settling in to write. Quite by impulse, we stopped by Verdun Fine Chocolate & Gifts.

The sweets here were AMAZING. Since I cannot share smell nor taste here on the Web, I can only share my pictures.

This is their drinking chocolate. Unlike other drinking chocolates I have experienced, this is super rich and thick, nearly syrupy, with lovely butter and vanilla undertones. Incredibly fragrant, and highly satisfying. I licked my lips for half an hour after drinking it.

Their classy and stylish displays do not do justice to their smooth, exotic confections.

The Flaming Chef enjoying his drinking chocolate. We bought some of their sweets to take home to our husbands. The Charming Man was thrilled with his treat!

The Houdroge Family owns Verdun Chocolates. Can we talk about classy and talented folks? They were incredibly nice.


I can't recommend this place enough!

Why I fear description.

I do fear description. If I'm going to write a story that actually has plot and action, I tend to scrimp on setting. And I'll show you why. Here's a quick, off the top of my head snippet to show what happens when I describe.

In Champaign, Illinois, the main road through the University of Illinois campus is Green Street. On the north side of the street reside the engineers. To the south are liberal arts, ag, LIS, and the rest. And the cities of Urbana and Champaign had been built over a swamp that had been drained. So when it rains, the water table rises quickly and fiercely. The Boneyard Creek flows fast and hard and the streets flood (along with basements and sewers). On Green Street, when it rains, the water gathers and runs in the gutters, overspilling into the street turning this road into a fountain.

During the brutally hot summers we get here, the summer rains are a blessing and a curse. Sometimes they bring cool relief, sometimes they just bring more steam. But they bring flooding to the cities, too, dangerous, slippery. And they fill the streets with water, warm, inviting, cleansing. I have splashed in puddles as deep as my ankles and waded in ponds up to my hips on Green Street.

One very rainy day, my lover and I had walked to get food at AJ Wingers. This was a very special man. Of course, all of my lovers were wonderful but this one....Ah, words fail me. Skilled, compassionate, loving, passionate, uninhibited, no words can fully explain this one. Someone once tried to pin me down on his most wonderful trait. Stammering, I had replied that he was a good listener.

As we walked, the rain kept coming. We watched the rain fall as we ate and we kissed the sauce off of each other's faces. We began the walk back - giggling over our folly at not driving or taking the bus. The rain kept falling. Our shoes immediately drenched through, no matter how much we tried to avoid the puddles. Our jeans clung to our skin. We took off our shoes and splashed through parking lots, curbs, and streets. Cars would pass and splash water as high as our heads.

We got to his apartment, and shrieking with laughter at ourselves, we peeled our clothes off and draped them over chairs and doors. We wrung out our socks in the bathroom sink, and put our shoes over radiator vents. We eventually showered, embracing the heat and steam of this water as gleefully as we had embraced the rain. We kissed and kissed and kissed under the hissing showerhead. His hands, so large and competent, lathered my back and legs, rubbing circulation back into my feet and neck. I stroked soap into his chest and armpits, playing with his body hair. We kissed some more. For the rest of my life, I will see him like this, his head tilted under the streaming water, his hair slicked back, his eyes closed and his mouth slightly open at the pleasure of taking a shower.

We dried off using his one towel (for all of his wonderful traits, sometimes he was almost a stereotypical single man), still kissing, still giggling. His kisses remain on my mind - so intense that the sensation of his lips blotted out the world and destroyed rational thought. How to describe it? He kissed like my mouth, my pleasure and his, were the only things that existed or ever will exist. He kissed as if kissing alone were the most divine pleasure ever given, not as a prelude or introduction, something perfunctorily done to satisfy protocol. He kissed me like my mouth was his Holy Grail and his True Cross combined. He kissed as though he meant it.

We shimmied under his covers and our bodies entwined, wrapping around each other. Sometimes I felt like our bodies were two pieces of rope, coming together in a knot. We kissed and touched and sucked. We made love.

Even now, my hips curl and my stomach clenches at the memory of that afternoon - at a lovemaking so profound, so powerful, so intense. It was the sum of my universe - it was slow and powerful, it was fast and fierce.

We were falling in love.

In a way we never had before, and never will again.

And our bodies betrayed it.

It's emotional and lovely and nothing happens. There is no plot, there is no conflict, there is no character development.

I was going for a little slice of life with this piece- I wanted to record a beautiful memory. I succeeded at that. Unfortunately, I can't use it anywhere else since it doesn't move any action forward.

Dammit!

Hmmmm.

I think today is a good day to make cheesecake.

Of course, is there a bad day to make cheesecake?

What exactly do I tell people when they ask what I do?

Photo by Michael Baxter

As a pre-published author, I'm not someone who can say, "And X is the title of my new book!" This leaves me a bit at a disadvantage in social settings. When people ask what I do, I bravely say, "I write very very sexy paranormal romances."

Thus far, I have had positive responses to this statement. I wondered why, when I'm straight up admitting to being a freak who writes in a denigrated genre.

I found an answer:

A bad reputation can set you free. After all, if you've already declared yourself to be a pot-smoking, acid-addled slut, your opponents are forced to oppose your ideas on their merits, rather than strategically revealing your hidden depravities. Shame is no weapon against the shameless.
-- John Perry Barlow

(For the record, I am neither pot smoking nor acid-addled.)

As for the slut? Well, in most people's definition of the word, I am one simply by writing sexually adventurous characters. 

Hi. I'm Linda Mercury. I write very very very sexy paranormal romances. I refuse to be shamed by that. I hope my refusal invites you to enjoy life's pleasures.

Whew.

I'm taking the rest of the day off! I've been Butt In Chair, Fingers On Keyboard for the last several days working on the synopsis for a brand new book. The working title is Sister of God. I'm calling it the DaVinci Code meets The Mists of Avalon story.

I hope my agent likes it. :)

Give-away!

Another hand-painted fan!

I call this one Medusa's Haircut. I was inspired by Marvel Inhumans Graphic Novel by Jenkins and Lee.
Be the first to tell me who founded Marvel Comics, and this lovely is yours.

Examples

Here's a quick example of how the nine sentence synopsis works.

1. The trouble starts when.....  Linda wants ice cream.
2. The protagonist makes a plan to cope by... going to the freezer.
3. The trouble gets worse when...there is no ice cream there!
4. The protagonist regroups and presses on harder by...checking her purse for money
5. The protagonist reaches the point of no return when...she gets in her car to go to the store.
6. The protagonist is pushed to the brink when...all the lights are red on the way to the store.
7. She appears to have lost when...there is no Coconut Bliss!
8. She fights on by...looking behind all the other ice cream containers.
9. Everything is on the line and only one will win when...she stands up on tiptoe, drags the last container out by the tips of her fingers, and barely avoids pulling over the display!

Even this little silly story about ice cream has rising and falling action. It also describes my GMC and how it changes. For example:

Goal: Get ice cream (what I want)
Motivation: Hungry (because)
Conflict: None in the freezer (but)

My goal and motivation remain the same, but the conflict changes as the story goes on. In a more complicated story, the protagonist examines if her goal is worth what she thought it was. In a tragedy, the story would go like this:

1. The trouble starts when.....Linda wants ice cream
2. The protagonist makes a plan to cope by...going to the freezer
3. The trouble gets worse when...there is no ice cream !
4. The protagonist regroups and presses on harder by...looking her purse for change
5. The protagonist reaches the point of no return when...she is out of money!
6. The protagonist is pushed to the brink when...she ransacks the sofa cushions for change
7. She appears to have lost when...there is nothing there either.
8. She fights on by...checking her bank account
9. Everything is on the line and only one will win when...she can't afford the ice cream.

This little tool tells you how you want to run your story, and what needs to happen between each section. The writer can add the setting by talking about how blisteringly hot it is out, by what her house looks like, what kind of ice cream is haunting her.

Story Basics, Part III: A quick and dirty introduction to story structure

Some writers love outlines - sailing from island to island in an archipelago to reach the mainland. Some like to sail into the fog, boldly striking out on their own to find their story.

Both ways are correct. Both will make fabulous stories.

For those of us who run aground at the slightest notice, story structure helps keep the boat on track. I love to use this little tool called the nine sentence synopsis. This will help you figure out the turning points of your story, where your characters are going, and what needs to happen next in order for everything to make sense to your reader.

The Nine Sentence Synopsis 

1. The trouble starts when.....
2. The protagonist makes a plan to cope by...
3. The trouble gets worse when...
4. The protagonist regroups and presses on harder by...
5. The protagonist reaches the point of no return when...
6. The protagonist is pushed to the brink when...
7. She appears to have lost when...
8. She fights on by...
9. Everything is on the line and only one will win when...

I know I got this from a genius writer, but I can't find the original handout to give credit. Damn! I'll keep trying to find that.

This quick and dirty tool helps you shape the rising and falling tension of your story. I'll go more into explanations next time!

Why I like writing more than anything.

In what other career can one research the rise of Safavid Persia, the intricacies of the Sophia archetype, and the appeal of extreme SM - all in one day?

Sexy, sexy, sexy.

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Out and about some more!

Cool things can happen even when you don't seek them out. For example, the Oscar Meyer Wienermobile made an appearance today!

Story Basics, Part II

In the endless quest to understand your characters, I'm revisiting a post I did a couple of years ago. One of the most useful tools in a writer's toolbox is an exercise called GMC.
 

For each of your main characters, you determine their Goal, Motivation, and Conflict. You come up with with a basic description of their personality (which for me is incredibly difficult), a Tagline (which could be lessons she needs to learn, or perhaps his personal motto), and then, you start in on determining what they want, what makes them want it, and what is keeping them from achieving their goals.

The amazing Debra Dixon came up with this shorthand in her amazing book called (oddly enough), Goal, Motivation & Conflict: The Building Blocks of Good Fiction.

One hint before you dive in - when you are working on this exercise, make sure your character's external goal is a concrete one. "World Peace" is a nice goal, but it's completely undo-able. Make it something that he can attain. Instead of World Peace, write "Obliterate X Terrorist Cell" or "Get President to sign X Peace Treaty on time and alive". For something less Earth shaking, try, "Buy childhood dream home" or "Open coffee shop in six weeks". What kind of story you have often depends on the antagonist's Goal.

For example, let me show you one of the GMC charts that Ms. Dixon uses in the book - Rick Blaine from Casablanca.

Rick Blaine
Description: Cynical Loner
Tagline: (lessons he needs to learn)
One person can make a difference in this world
Women in war must make desperate choices (think of the newlywed)



Goals: (what he wants)
External

1. Keep bar open
2. Punish Ilsa
3. Get Ilsa and Victor on that plane

Internal

1. Regain the love he had in Paris
2. To do what's right in the world

Motivation: (because)
External

1. Needs money and people depend on him
2. Because she left him in Paris
3. Insure her safety

Internal

1. The pain of losing Ilsa has never gone away
2. Daily, he sees what war is doing to people around him

Conflict (but)
External

1. The French Prefect has all the power
2. Punishing her puts her in more danger
3. Victor has been put in jail

Internal

1. Ilsa is married
2. He must put aside his own happiness

Looks easy, doesn't it?

It's actually a difficult chart to fill out because you are constantly learning more about your characters and your story. The big part of a good character arc is discovering how their GMCs change from the beginning of the story to the end.

Story Basics, Part I

My friend Opal Mirror and I have had an interesting conversation since my post on Catching Up On The Classics.

He says he likes to write setting, but has trouble with narrative and character development (whereas I'm all over narrative, but setting is ridiculously hard for me). So, for both of us, I thought I'd go over some concepts and see if it helps us (and you, too).

Character development - creating a fictional person who is as confused and searching as a real person - isn't easy, but there are some tools to help you on your way.

The first tool set involves basic questions such as:

1. What does the person need to learn?  Humility? Self-Confidence? That his uncle murdered his father and then married the widow?
2. What are her flaws? Is she a careless listener? Is he greedy? Hamlet had some serious focus issues, for example. His job was to kill his uncle, not everyone else!
3. What is her greatest fear? Gertrude did not want to face the truth of her actions - that she had committed incest by marrying her brother in law.
4. What is his best quality? I always thought Hamlet's best quality that was he didn't take the ghost's words for granted - he had to investigate and prove the truth to himself.
5. What is the price she will have to pay if she doesn't learn the lesson(s)? Since it took Hamlet so long to learn what was going on, he left behind a trail of innocent dead.

These are just ideas to start the brainstorming process. More character tools to come!

Out and about.

I'm the sort that needs a lot of intellectual stimulation, or my brain goes crazy with the self-criticism. I finally remembered that in the midst of a crisis of confidence last night. So today, I took the light rail into Portland, along with my journal and camera, and took a day to remember the outside world.

My feet and the poem to former mayor Bud Clark.

Pasta, tea, and writing at the Davis St. Tavern.

Some of the best hot chocolate around! With cardamom whipped cream, even.

Wandering around the Chinese Garden. The sun came out occasionally, too!

These frozen yellow flowers smelled like love -sweet and unending.

Outside the Tao of Tea

I adore this little waterfall.

Next to the waterfall, there's this little mysterious cove. I imagine tiny pirates in there.

Stepping stones.

Fu dogs are joy.

Stopped by Oregon Leather to be amazed at the colors and creativity of leather working.

For my Charming Man

Feeling the love today. :)

Sun and Moon
by Gina Zeitlin

It's all about sex,
we both know that.

But     what I wonder is
why
after every molecule of desire
in my body has been satisfied
after
the sudden moistening, the deep
fierce aching and raising heat
after
the throbbing glory of release and the cries
of need and pleasure have dissolved
into the air,

Something like my soul slips from me
and goes to you,
without choice or question,
and wraps itself around you
all night, like the breath
of the moon.

And why
I carry the thought of you
as constant as any sun
in my heart.

The best intentions

A dear friend's manuscript was rejected this past week. I was going to write something profound about rejection for her -  basically rehashing the brilliant advice Carolyn See gives the world in Making a Literary Life (which is one of the absolute necessities for an author). It's a genius book and the chapter on rejection is one of the kindest, most life affirming pieces of advice I've heard in my life (and I've heard more advice than I can possibly count).


But I simply wasn't up for picking the best parts and I certainly was not going to copy down the entire fourteen pages of the chapter. So I will share the final paragraph:

It's not personal. It's not death. It's just a death experience. And the way to defuse rejection is to turn it into a process: cosmic badminton. So that you can wake up in the night, think about it, and actually smile.

And now, something else to keep you smiling:

Sacher Torte with whipped cream and coffee, at the Sacher Hotel, in Vienna.

Because decadent chocolate torte and Viennese coffee with more whipped cream make the world a better place.

Getting Silly.

In my short story challenge, another friend dared me to challenge the stereotypes of absolute dominance and submission.

The deepest submission

“Tonight, our pet, is the final test. If you pass this one, you will be our fully collared live-in slave, both owned and cherished.”

Her words sent a shiver down my spine and through my cock, making the bell on the end of its cage chime.  I kept my lips firmly pressed to the shining floor by her foot. What would my Master and Mistress do to me? They had tested me over and over since I approached them to be their slave.

Their stern hands and whispered orders gave delights, and revealed my secrets. They peeled me open like an artichoke, demanding I give up my tender heart.

“Wait for us in your basket,” his deep rumbling voice ordered. I kissed his feet, careful not to brush my stubble against his skin, and scooted to my dog den -a deep wicker basket lined with cushions. To be kept like a dog, waiting on their whim, was all I wanted. I yearned to found worthy of their permanent collar.

My Master and Mistress were flawless physical specimens of dominant power. She towered at six feet, with radiant skin and glossy black hair. He was even taller, and surely heaven would forgive me if I thought of a Tom of Finland drawing whenever I saw his sculpted body and strong features.

The heavy tread of his boots heralded his arrival.

“Come here.”

I crawled out of my nest and touched my lips to the boots I had learned to polish to his exacting standards.

“Look at me.”

Smiling in delight, I let my gaze range up his perfect body encased in black leather. His strong calves, muscular thighs lead to an enticing bulge in his codpiece. I always knew I had done well when he rewarded me by letting me look at his rippling belly and chest. I finally reached his face, and gasped.

A bright red clown nose sat in the middle of his Greek god features.


Astonished, I flicked my eyes to my Mistress. Her face carried no such outrageous adornment. Her corset and opera gloves hugged her body as closely as I yearned to touch her. A six foot long singletail slithered behind her.

But instead of her usual sky high heels, pink fuzzy bunny slippers waggled their ears at me as she stepped forward.

“Well?” Her imperious voice snapped me out of my stare.

I looked at the object in her hand.

“Do you accept our token?” he asked.

I stared between them. A grin broke out on my face. I grabbed the deely bobbers from her hand and shoved it on my head. The bright green glittery shamrocks wobbled back and forth as I sat up.

“I’m yours,” I declared.

Ice Hard.

A long time ago, I challenged my good friends to stretch my erotic imagination. Give me a scenario, a kernal of an idea, and I'd come up with a short story from it. One person said I should write a sexy scene in an ice fishing hut.

It's a Minnesota thing. Just roll with it.

***

Ice hard

Minnesota in winter was a hard place.

But not nearly hard enough, Mrs. Bjorn Johnson concluded. That damn Bjorn, fishing addict he was, had been up in that there damn ice fishing hut for the entire weekend, tending to the entirely wrong set of holes.

How was a woman supposed to get any lovin’ this way? She’d even wore her sexiest nightie -the long insulated green one without any feet – to bed last night, but her beloved Big B merely gave her a wet smacking kiss on the cheek and rolled over.

Discouraged, she’d put her footie pajamas back on and spent the night coming up with her cunning plan. If Mohammad couldn’t come to the mountain….

Already dressed in her warmest garments, Julika, sturdy, independent woman she was, strode across the three foot thick ice and throw the blowing snow to Bjorn’s sizable red ice-fishing hut.

Not even knocking, she flung open the door. “Hello, darling,” she sing songed, walking into the heated room.

“Holeee cannooooli, Julika, what are you doing here?” Bjorn’s arousing Minnesotan drawl tingled her neglected places as he leapt to his feet, nearly upsetting the chair he’d been perched on watching the black waters under the ice. His shirt sleeves had been rolled up, revealing strong forearms. Julika pressed her thighs together at the sight.

“Why, can’t a devoted wife see to her husband’s comfort?” she purred, peeling off her thermal mittens, her scarf, ear muffs, and stocking cap with the panache and confident cocked hip of a showgirl.

Bjorn gulped.

She unzipped her down coat, tooth by agonizing tooth, holding Bjorn’s gaze the entire time. He swallowed as she tossed it onto his small table, scattering fishing magazines and a lone copy of Maxim. She’d pin his ears back good about that later. Right now, this real life woman’s real life needs demanded attention. She was on a mission.

Her insulated vest went next. She peeled and tugged and unzipped and unbuttoned until she stood before him in her boots and clinging silk thermal long johns.

“Bjorn, I just had to know how your…pole…was doing.” Julika ran her hands up and down her torso and breasts just like she’d seen in the stripper aerobics tape Annika had snuck to her under the table at the last Church Ladies’ Social.

Her man’s blue eyes bugged out at her hard nipples and unbound hair. A gratifying lump appeared in his flannel lined jeans.

Leaning against the table, she spread her legs, letting him get a good look at her puffy hoo-ha pressed against her longies. Her fingers delved past the waist band of the drawers and stroked aching flesh.

“Now, you gonna provide for your woman, Bjorn Johnson, or am I going to have to become a DIY gal?”

Catching up on 'The Classics'

I'm always watching movies and reading books, trying to learn more about writing, structure, and what makes a story dazzling. I've been on a musical kick, seeing how the writers tied the music to the story, used it to advance the plot, or used it to reveal a character's innermost self.

In Silk Stockings, Cyd Charisse's solo dance with her lingerie clearly tells the viewer that here is a woman who is finally embracing her yearning for pleasure. It's one of the most tender and touching metaphors for female sexuality and orgasm that I've seen.

So from this movie, I learned how to engage a reader in more than just the motion of the ocean, but also the emotions of the motion, so to speak.


On the downside, I learned just how necessary character development is. In Pal Joey, Joey starts the movie with being run out of town by the police. Because he'd been pouring drinks for an underage girl in his hotel room. For some reason, this was considered funny back in 1957.

I was yucked out immediately. And I stayed yucked out, because Joey remained a complete dog. Kim Novak played a helpless innocent (another Waif on our hands!), and Rita Hayworth played a woman who actually owned her sexuality. Which means, of course, that she got dumped. Here's the trailer to get you started.

What I learned?
1. I need to pay attention to the mores of your time, and what is considered funny.
2. Sometimes, I just want to watch the movie for the musical numbers, and not the plot. Or the characters.
3. If I'm going to write a jerk or someone in need of redemption, I need to show some kind of reason why anyone would cheer for this louse.

In order to get this foul taste out of my mouth, I had to watch some Mae West movies.  My Little Chickadee to the rescue.

Getting Sweaty

Straight-laced
c. Linda Mercury

Soon, we’ll dress,
order
our outer selves again. We’ll
wipe off the sweat and come and
button and
zip and
knot. We will
search for
food and drink and outside
companionship.

We will look
tidy and neat and polite and civilized.
We will
smile and
act nice.

We endure those lies for our insides are
hot, wild, crazed,
feral-
just a little

disorderly.

We know who we are.
We can survive
just a little

civilization.

To heck with it.

Anyone who comments on my blog will get a unique, hand-painted fan! Let me know your favorite colors and send me your snail mail address in my email!

Happy Holidays!

Give-away!

Another give away for the holiday season. Be the first person to tell me the name of my heroine (named in yesterday's post) and get this lovely hand-painted, one-of-a-kind fan. :)

Forgetting the obvious

Recently, I was asked, "What is your manuscript about?" from someone who had known me a while.

I have always thought I did nothing but talk on and on about it, but this brought me up short. Maybe I am not as forthcoming as I thought I was!

So, here is my synopsis of Dracula's Secret.


The Twelfth Annual Conference on Paranormal Citizen Affairs has called the entire world to Portland, Oregon. Celebrities, politicians, protestors, and special interest groups have flocked to the City of Roses to weigh in on the state of relations between the supernatural minority and the human majority.

Not everyone in town has the best of intentions. Valerie Tate, one of the few remaining vampires in the world, has come to Portland with a very simple goal: to kill Dracula’s brother, Radu Tepes. The murder is her last act in her own attempt at redemption for her sins.

Hitler’s alliance with the supernatural and the occult, most notably with Vlad Tepes, the infamous Dracula, did not win him the war, but it did, for once and for all, establish that Paranormal Citizens (PNCs) existed. The revelation forced a global ‘coming out’, and in the following years, PNCs, like other minorities, integrate into society with varying degrees of success.

One of the great success stories is the charismatic but shady Radu Tepes, Dracula’s younger brother and also a vampire. A so-called hero of the French Resistance, he rose from the devastation of the war to form the Consortium for Concerned Citizens (CCC), a political action committee dedicated to integration. The world anticipates him to announce his candidacy for President during the conference.

But on this fateful Halloween night, a man with an aura like sunlight comes between Valerie Tate and her prey. A former Army Ranger and chaplain, Lance Soliel is no stranger to the carnage of human and supernatural aggression. Tired of bloodshed, he retired to run the Tualatin Mountain Homeless Shelter, a privately funded mission that has been plagued with serious financial mismanagement. With less than twenty-four hours of funding left, Lance has nothing to lose. As a result, he single-handedly kickstarts the integration movement by inviting two homeless werewolves into his Shelter.

Valerie wrenches herself away from watching the little drama to continue her mission. But Radu’s vanity unwittingly saves his life. His fury at being upstaged interferes with Valerie’s tightly structured plan. Valerie scrambles to regain her advantage.

She rescues Lance from a Radu-backed attack on his life. In the resulting aftermath of adrenaline and surprising lust, their attraction leads them into a passionate embrace. Lance’s repressed sexual desire for dangerous women erupts; Valerie’s own dark and mixed sexuality explodes furiously to the presence and scent of a salvation bringer.

As attracted as he is, being involved with a vampire would ruin Lance’s career and expose his own past. Rather than consummate the attraction, they delicately interrogate each other during a drive in Valerie’s classic muscle car. Lance attempts to discover Valerie’s personal secrets and Valerie probes his past. They stonewall each other, but he reluctantly agrees to let her become his bodyguard. Valerie plans to use Lance as the bait in her trap for Radu.

Radu doesn’t rest in his attempts to remove Lance and the other powerful figures in his way. Violent and personal attacks break out all over Portland as the Conference begins.

The attraction between Lance and Valerie blossoms under the pressure of constant vigilance for his life, even as their secrets prevent trust. Sexually, they break all taboos and boundaries. Emotionally, Valerie refuses true intimacy by withholding her true identity.

For Valerie is Vlad Tepes, Radu’s older brother. Six hundred years ago, Dracula had been born a woman. Her parents constructed the identity of Vlad for their daughter’s protection. She remained a man until World War II. During the fall of Berlin, Valerie engineered the death of Dracula. For the first time, Vlad hid by revealing her true self.

Lance’s commitment to less-violent solutions convinced Valerie to avoid fratricide. Final death would catapult Radu straight to martyrhood, furthering his unhealthy agenda of world-wide, violently enforced PNC hegemony. That epiphany fuels another: killing only leads to more killing. This radical idea forces even greater change than she was first willing to pursue. But her very existence hinges on this discovery. She vows to use all the skills she learned in the centuries she protected her real gender.

Radu tries to discredit Lance with a dark secret: his best friend, John Janté, had been severely damaged in a supernatural attack that Lance believes was caused by him. The guilt rode Lance his entire life, keeping him isolated and unable to trust his judgment.

What neither Radu nor Lance knows is that John is just fine. So fine, in fact, he has a job at CERN (the European Organization for Nuclear Physics). John arrives in Portland in just the nick of time to refute Radu’s claims that Lance would let someone else suffer for his mistakes.

His stock going down by the minute, Radu makes one angry, last attempt at Lance’s life. He lures Valerie and Lance to a mutual acquaintance’s yacht. Silver knives poison Valerie and throw her into the lake. Radu takes Lance hostage and threatens to keep him as a blood-slave.

John rescues Valerie just as she collapses from the silver poisoning. He charms her with his courage and wit. They ally in order to save Lance.

In the ensuing fights, Valerie’s devastating secret is revealed. Radu attempts to reconcile with his sibling, but she has changed too much to try to rule the world any more. As Valerie bleeds out, Lance feeds her his blood and unwittingly shares his own secret.

Lance knows sin even more than Valerie. He is one of the Fallen; a member of the Host that left Heaven with Lucifer. In order to earn his own redemption for his pride, Lance has ridden the Wheel of Life over and over, proving his willingness to serve the lesser beings.

Saving a vampire shows his final humility, and he is rewarded by being given back his wings and sword; the first of the Fallen to re-ascend.

The three heroes embrace, safe but uncertain as to their future. Lance has Divine work to do. Valerie’s quest for redemption has ended with Radu’s disgraces, and John has found people to love and protect. As Lance flies away with his fellow angels, he promises he will come to John and Valerie as soon as he can. John and Valerie hold each other as Lance ascends with the sparkling host.

Rejections and all that.

Dracula's Secret got rejected by Berkley yesterday.

In order to keep myself optimistic and encouraged, I frequently read this quote to myself:

 ###

Here's what I tell my students on the first day when I teach one of my creative writing courses:

You will be published if you possess three qualities- talent, passion, and discipline.

You will probably be published if you possess two of the three qualities in either combination - either talent and discipline, or passion and discipline.

You will likely be published if you possess neither talent nor passion but still have discipline. Just go to the bookstore and pick up a few "notable" titles and you'll see what I mean.

But if all you possess is talent or passion, if all you possess is talent and passion, you will not be published. The likelihood is you will never be published. And if by some miracle you are published, it will probably never happen again.

Quote from Write Away: One Novelist's Approach to Fiction and the Writing Life by Elizabeth George

Since I have both passion and discipline, I feel most optimistic. :) Talent? Time will tell that. :)

Doing the pretty

Surround yourself with beauty.

The Avanti Lounge from Dania Furniture.

Today, The Charming Man and I went shopping for a new bed. For the last ten years, we've enjoyed the bohemian delight of our mattress and box spring right on the floor. But it is finally time to feel 'grown-up', and off to browse the furniture stores we went.

We were both drawn to quirky, fun styles and soon it developed into a game of what personalities would like what kinds of furniture. So! I challenge my friends to play the game with me.

Who would like this style of sofa? Tell me what kind of character would sprawl on such a deliciously unusual piece?



note: Both The Charming Man and I sat on this lovely thing. It's quite comfortable.

Wow, I'm sore.

I worked out very hard today, so I don't have anything bright to say here. Instead, here's some pretty shoes.

Carlos by Carlos Santana Womens Windsor Platform Pump

Primary source research and other wacky hijinks.

Over the holiday weekend (and I hoped yours rocked, too), I got sidetracked by some research. I was figuring out how modern Berlin differed in layout from World War II Berlin, especially what happened to the land where the final bunker was.

(It's an apartment block and playground now. How very cool!)

In the course of looking that up, I found a book called In the Bunker with Hitler by Bernd Freytag von  Loringhoven.

Von L, as I started to call him, was a Captain in the regular Army, and was aide-de-camp to the Army chiefs of staff- Guderian and Krebs. He describes his experiences in the Bunker from July 23, 1944 to April 29, 1945.

It's a fast,  fascinating read, and I suddenly wanted to do a paper on Group Think and the Third Reich. Groupthink: Psychological Studies of Policy Decisions and Fiascoes, by Irving L. Janis is one of my favorite books. This would be an amazing study, full of footnotes and quotes (and parenthetical statements).


But alas, there is only so much time in the world. So instead, I'm going to use In the Bunker... as a primary source on Hitler's behavior and personality in the last days of World War II. Some of my notes:

1. Never underestimate the power of charismatic, motivated, deluded idiot.
2. As much as it sucks, it really does help to listen to people who disagree with you.
3. As nice as it is in your own little world where your soldiers are at full strength with plenty of food, ammunition, fuel, and not being killed by your enemy, you might want to maybe, just maybe try playing make-believe.
4. The regular Army really didn't know about the war atrocities. I never understood that before, but after hearing how Hitler ran things, I see how he did it, and why. (Secret meetings with the Nazi party because he didn't trust or like the regular Army men).

This is why primary source research is the most fun of all.

Quote-tastic for the Holiday, part II

"May your walls know joy; May every room hold laughter and every window open to great possibility."
Maryanne Radmacher-Hershey

"Every day is a god, each day is a god, and holiness holds forth in time. I worship each god, I praise each day splintered down, and wrapped in time like a husk, a husk of many colors spreading, at dawn fast over the mountain split."
-Annie Dillard, Holy the Firm

A great deal of life consists of hurling ourselves into poorly-mapped abysses. That's how things get _done_. We can try to choose our abysses well, but there comes a time when we have to leap. Daily.
-- Patrick Nielsen Hayden

"anyone or anything that does not bring you alive is too small for you." david whyte

"Do not be critics, you people, I beg you. I was a critic and I wish I could take it all back because it came from a smelly and ignorant place in me and spoke with a voice that was all rage and envy. Do not dismiss a book until you have written one, and do not dismiss a movie until you have made one, and do not dismiss a person until you have met them. It is a ****load of work to be open-minded and generous and understanding and forgiving and accepting, but, Christ, that is what matters. What matters is saying yes."
-Dave Eggers in "The Harvard Advocate."

Don’t let fear decide how you live, what you wear, what you say, or what you do. Identify your fear, understand it and accept it, and move on.
--Coco Graham

A bad reputation can set you free. After all, if you've already declared yourself to be a pot-smoking, acid-addled slut, your opponents are forced to oppose your ideas on their merits, rather than strategically revealing your hidden depravities. Shame is no weapon against the shameless.
-- John Perry Barlow

(so when people get snippy about writing romance, just smile and agree. "Why, yes! I am shameless!")

Inspirational Quotes.

Every one has quotes they pin up on their wall by their desks. As we close in on American Thanksgiving, I want to highlight the most important gratitude of all - that of love.


For one human being to love another:
that is perhaps the most difficult of our tasks;
the ultimate, the last test and proof,
the work for which all other work is but preparation.
-Rainer Maria Rilke

"Some day after we have mastered the winds, the waves and gravity, we will harness for God the energies of love; and then for a second time in the history of the world, humans will have discovered fire."
-Teilhard de Chardin

The subject tonight is Love
And for tomorrow night as well.
As a matter of fact I know of no better topic
For us to discuss
Until we all
Die!
-Hafiz, translated by Daniel Ladinsky

"Love is life. All, everything that I understand, I understand only because I love. Everything is, everything exists, only because I love."
-Leo Tolstoy

"Any thought that is not filled with love seems unholy."
-André Gide

"Love your enemies; do good to those who hate you; bless those who curse you; pray for those who treat you spitefully."
-Jesus Christ

"Right now, we are appearing as the very light of consciousness, alive as love, although we may require some training, like an artist would, to fully offer our self as love's gift."
-David Deida from "Waiting to Love"

"There is no remedy for love but to love more."
-Thoreau

"When I love, I love so much, it's dangerous."
-Nicole Kidman

"To love is to tilt with the lightning, two bodies routed by a single honey's
sweet."
-Pablo Neruda

When I think of you,
fireflies in the marsh rise
like the soul's jewels,
lost to eternal longing,
abandoning my body
-Izumi Shikibu

Pillowed on your thighs in a dream garden,
little flower with its perfumed stamen,
singing, sipping from the stream of you --
sunset, moonlight -- our song continues.

-Ikkyu Sojun

Celebrate what you have, every day.

A dream gave me the idea for this poem. I wrote the first draft as soon as I woke up. :)

Making Cookies

c. Linda Smith

I wrap my hand around yours and kiss your neck as we
cream butter and sugar together.

Your sari is bright and soft under my mouth as
we dance in time to your limp
to the refrigerator for eggs.

Vanilla haunts the walls
as the oven works magic.

You always
forget melted chocolate burns.
I lick your tongue all better.
Your sweetness surpasses all others.

Someday, I will lose you to the rot in
your bones.

But not today.

Today, these cookies are perfection.