January 23, 2009
Time to Say Goodbye
Authors write great prose we remember long after the book has been set on a shelf. Songwriters express the trauma with meaningful lyrics we hum for months, even years. Saying goodbye is a constant in our lives. Sometimes the end is coupled with sadness and pain. Other times it’s a euphoric feeling because the stress is gone.
It’s inevitable there will be such a moment for us all and seems to happen when least expected. Lovers part, friendships fade, our children move on, and family members leave us. Yet we hang on, not wanting to let go
Is it easier when you cut the tie? It is for me.
FRENCH TICKLER, book five and the last, in my Naughty Ladies of Nice series is now available and my heart aches for dark and brooding Cisco along with Samantha and her smart mouth. How I miss their tension dealing with a murderer and Mafia kingpin.
I think of passionate Henri and strong willed Rachel from FRENCH KISS, book four, and the fun we had on the beach when she woke in the arms of a pirate.
FRENCH TWIST, book three, brought stoic Don who realized there was much more to life than accounting when Interpol agent Claudette involved him with the Russian mob. The terror we shared on the Eiffel Tower still thrills me.
What ever happened to Paul and his magnificent striptease that had Lisette hotter than a four alarm fire in FRENCH DELIGHTS, book two?
And the book that started it all, FRENCH TART. Along with party girl Doni and buns of steel Mark, we proved that cooking class took on a whole new meaning when they discovered honey had better uses than sweetening tea.
But do they ever think of me? Do they care that I miss them? Want them to at least acknowledge I was once a part of their lives? Probably not now that they’re out in the world, out amongst readers who laugh and cry as their stories unfold. I am forgotten, deleted from their minds faster than an unwanted computer virus.
Of the nine books I’ve written and had published, not one of my babies, my children I slaved to create, ever thanked me.
But I really can’t complain. I did recently receive an email from a lady who said God had sent me to her. Perhaps I’m confusing her with the Foreign Princess who emailed that her royal family had perished and she needed my help. All I had to do was give her my bank account number along with a few other pertinent facts and she would deposit thousands of dollars in my account so she could safely come to America. Of course she would split the funds with me for making it all possible.
What could I say to these people I couldn’t say to the characters who stole my heart? For once it was easy. Goodbye!
I’ll be back next week with Lex Valentine. Until then…
Sweet as Honey…Hotter than Hell
Teddi Turns On 2009 EPPIE Finalist – Erotica www.aspenmountianpressc.om
French Tickler www.eternalpress.ca
Sloane said @ 9:13 am
May 12, 2006
ARE YOU READY TO RUMBLE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
And the crowd goes wild as the hunky announcer in his form fitting tuxedo struts around the ring.
“In this corner,” he said, waving to his right, “We have the Mentor, weighing in at 123 pounds.”
With a sharp turn to his left, “And in this corner, the Lover, weighing in at 215 pounds.
And the crowd goes wild.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I ask you, is this a fair match? The announcers think not.”
The boxers approach the center of the ring, each confident their opinion is accurate and prepared to give it their best shot.
While the referee is issuing the rules of the match our internet announcers will tell us the qualifications of each contender.
Lonnie: “The Mentor, Beth Anderson, is an award-winning, bestselling author, who writes suspense / murder mysteries. She has taught our Author, Sloane, everything she knows. The odds are in the Mentor’s favor 3 to 1.”
Wolfe: “Very true, Lonnie, but the Lover, Studly Dooright, is a man and let me point out – a man’s man. We can not discount his experience of living in a man’s body for 50 years.”
Lonnie: “That’s one good reason why he’ll lose this match. The other is that the Lover reads only non-fiction. As a Marine, Studs is partial to any military-type books and movies. It’s not looking good for him.”
Wolfe: “You forget Lonnie, the Mentor is not a romance writer. The gossip around the locker room is that she does not feel qualified to advice on this particular novel.”
Lonnie: “It’s the same for the Lover. He wants to see this book written, hopefully before deadline. He’s given our little Author a daily quota of 1,000 words, seven days a week, and still expects her to follow through on her other obligations. An impossible task if she can’t get this first scene down to her satisfaction. Or for the contenders either, I’d like to add.”
Wolfe: “Sloane has to work harder. No procrastination, as is her normal practice. Both the Mentor and the Lover know she has it in her. They support her all the way.”
Lonnie: “She does work hard! But phone calls, emails, and daily life keep dragging her out of the story.”
Wolfe: “Stop looking at it from a feminine point of view. She has to let all that go. Set priorities. This book is more important. For God’s sake, woman, it is our story and must be written.”
Lonnie: “Now you’re being a typical male and losing sight of what this match is all about.”
Sloane: “Stop it! You two “characters” aren’t helping the situation. I’ll grant this is your story. Do you want the damned thing told right or just thrown out there?”
Lonnie and Wolfe yell together: “Of course we want it down right!”
Wolfe: “It is our one chance to be heard in this world before we’re tucked on some shelf for eternity.”
Sloane: “Then shut up and listen to the contenders.”
The three people turn back to the ring with earnest anticipation.
Mentor: “If she’s going to write an action scene in a male point of view, then she has to let Wolfe tell what he sees.”
Wolfe whispering into the microphone says: “The Mentor knows what she is talking about.”
Lonnie and Sloane: “SHUT UP!”
Lover: “I agree. But now the scene is so scary that the only resolution is for the car to go over the cliff. That leaves very little choice for erotica to follow on the heels of a flaming car. And she’s making Wolfe look like a Klutz, with all that slipping and sliding. He’s strong and should be portrayed as such”
Mentor: I know it’s hard to get his personality to take over the scene, but I didn’t teach her writing was easy. It’s a damn tough business and if she doesn’t get it right she’ll be labeled a hack.”
Lover: “Hey, my baby is not a hack so don’t go that route.” The Lover shakes his head. “It is a lot harder to write than I thought. But she’s good at it.”
Wolfe: “What is going on out there?”
Lonnie: “It looks like the ring girls are carrying a table and two chairs to the center of the ring.”
Wolfe: “This is certainly unprecedented. Am I seeing correctly? The Mentor and Lover are shaking hands? NO! The Lover is quiting?”
Lonnie: “You pompous Alpha – he’s not caving. Look again. They’re in a deep discussion. Wait! The ring girl is bringing them a copy of the scene and two blue pencils.”
Wolfe: “NO! They’re going to edit us!”
Lonnie: “Be patient. Don’t forget the Author has the last say.”
Wolfe: “I am going out there.”
Lonnie: “Wolfe, I don’t think that’s a good idea. They look like they don’t want to be interrupted. Their heads are together as if they are collaborating.”
Wolfe: “They have called over the referee. He’s going to make an announcement.”
Lonnie: “Oh my, this must be serious. The Mentor and the Lover have their gloves off and are shaking hands.”
Announcer: “Ladies and gentlemen, the Mentor and the Lover have reached an agreement without throwing a punch. The have decided the Author is the true winner if she does four major changes to the scene;
1. Keep it in Wolfe’s POV – seeing and hearing only what he does – no author intrusion.
2. Remove all the sexy bits – not even one hint – until they are driving down the mountain .
3. Have Wolfe realize the scene is not as life threatening as it is now written.
4. Follow through on his true character and lose the the Three Stooges aspect.
And the crowd goes wild with applause.
The Lover throws his arm around the Mentor’s shoulder as they walk a neutral corner.
Lover: “How about a going for a drink and we can discuss that scene in chapter five that’s been nagging me more than the Author?”
Mentor: “Sounds good. Then let’s take a look at the restaurant scene. The Author is soooo unprepared. Who goes out to eat without money?”
The Lover holds up the rope for the Mentor to slip under then waves to Lonnie and Wolfe.
Lover: “Would you two like to come along? We could use your input.”
Lonnie and Wolfe hastily excuse themselves and run to catch up to the Mentor and Lover.
Sloane: “Hello! I’m the one with the car keys!”
Sloane said @ 10:14 am
December 13, 2005
I think it’s my turn.
That Sloane chick talks a good game doesn’t she? If she worked half as hard as she gabs I’d be on the bookshelves at Borders.
I am not a pushy woman. In fact I’ve sat back, quietly, for a very long time. But not any longer. It’s time for me to climb out of this stinky manilla folder, shoved to the bottom of the groaning heap Sloane has piled on her writing table, and tell the world just what the heck is going on.
By the way I’m Teddi, the lost heorine you can read about on the Excepts page. Lost, you ask? Yes. The author, and I do use the term loosely, has dragged me from my shell and finally given me a life. Then the author (ha) slammed the folder shut and there I stayed, frustrated because my problems weren’t resolved and quivering for that hot shaft of steel…
STOP! Sloane doesn’t write that way.
Hey, whoever you are, go away. Today is my turn.
All right then I’ll type it her way. Trembling at the thought of having HIM inside me. Pumping. Slowly. In and out until I scream from the sheer pleasure of it all.
The only screaming going on here is me nagging her to get on with it. I’m a nice person with thoughts and feelings. I deserve to be out there in the world. I want the man of my dreams and the future all bright and promising. Yes, I used to have dignity but it’s gone, stripped away as I lay unwanted, incomplete, and sneezing from the dust collected around my story.
Oh no, here she comes! I can hear her slippers slapping against the oak flooring. Have to go, folks. But I’ll be back. Trust me.
Sloane said @ 12:56 pm