Shadow of the wind

I just finished Carlos Ruiz Zafon's Shadow of the Wind. This is a much touted literary "masterpiece".

I will agree that technically it was beautiful. The prose, the language, the style was carefully and skillfully crafted. One could easily lose themselves in the beauty of the prose. However, I found that that seems to be what happened to the story. The story line was not compelling and seemed to play second fiddle to the prose--to the "crafting" of the words.

Maybe I'm just a simple person with simple tastes, but I have to find the storyline the number one draw to the book.




I was reading the remarks from a friend who attended a writer's conference and she remarked on how romance writing still isn't really accepted as "real" writing. I blame this on the transition that happens to people about middle school to high school where we start to put emphasis on "classic literature". In doing so we tend to suck the fun right out of reading.

In middle school and high school I remember the guilty pleasure of sneaking a Harlequin romance. They were fun to read. So were comic books. But these were looked down upon as not real reading by those who are in the position I hold now, a reading/ELA teacher. We read Animal Farm, The Scarlet Letter, The Crucible, etc. in the seventh grade and I used to think that was an awesome thing.

It is in some respects. There is a certain body of literature that everyone should have a passing knowledge of and the three works above are among them. In the WIP I have going, which may turn out to be a YA novel, the protagonist is bemoaning her third trip to the land of Chaucer. Yes, we all need to have a passing acquaintance with The Canterbury Tales, but by focusing entirely on those kinds of works we are at deep risk of sucking the fun out of reading. I mean, come on, how many of you who have read Chaucer, enjoyed it? Not many. We may admire it, we may appreciate it, but enjoy it?

Classic works are a must. We need to know, understand and be familiar with great works of literature. But thank goodness for writers who know how to keep reading fun. I'd lost the fun in reading until I picked up a copy of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone to figure out what the hype was all about. I devoured it in a few hours and went back for more.

Yet still, it seemed that fun and adult literature were forever to be separated until I attended my first DragonCon (the SciFi-Fantasy-Horror convention in Atlanta). I saw a panel with Sherrilyn Kenyon-dressed in pigtails with bright red yarn fluffed through them and horns. (I had no idea at the time she was dressed like the demon Simi from her books.) I'd never heard of her before that day, but was drawn by the vampire-goth theme of the panel. She was hilarious and fun.

A check of my local library showed they had her novels and I, again, discovered the fun in reading. Now I embrace my romance reader side. It took longer for me to embrace the romance writer side of me. My first novel, Access Denied, was written without a clue on my part that it was a romance until one of my friends gave me a reality check. It had been declined by a couple of publishers when Courtney said, "Duh, you're sending it out wrong, you don't have a sci-fi novel on your hands, kiddo, you have a romance."

I was shocked. I'd written a romance? Yes I had. The story of James and Leah was definitely a romance. Not your typical one, he's a difficult kinda guy to warm up to, but it was definitely a romance.

I don't have aspirations as a writer to write the great American novel. Like Leah, who reminds me a great deal of Lizzy in The Rainmaker, my dreams are much more simple. I just want people to have fun.

Blogging Under Protest

I cannot believe I got talked into this. Why can’t I say no to those two? Why are they the only people in the whole of existence with whom my brooding “piss off” glare does not work? I swear if I hear “It will be good for you, James,” or “I don’t think one small favor is too much to ask now, is it?” one more time…

Confused you? Can’t say I’m exactly sorry about that. I’m James. James Edwards, and no I’m not related to Elyssa Edwards though I do happen to know where she has the bodies buried. That was a joke, Jae. A joke. I find I have to explain my jokes to some people because they think I take myself way too seriously. I do. If I didn’t, who the hell else would?

Anyway, the reason you are currently listening/reading me bitch and moan is because the two main females in my life have pressed me into writing this blog. One of them you know or you wouldn’t be reading this. Jacqueline Roth or Jae as most people call her. I call her a nosey pain in my arse. But that’s another story.

You see Jae has this little bit of leverage over me that gets me to do what she wants me to do. She knows everything about me, and I do mean EVERYTHING. She has this massive delusion that she “created” me. It’s total sh— er…crap, but when I argue with her she starts writing down more things about me that I really would rather not have the world know.

But Jae and I have come to a truce. I’ll play nice—most of the time—and she makes sure certain elements of my life don’t get into the hands of people who could make my life even more miserable. Then there is the fact that I sort of owe her. She introduced me to the one person in this screwed up world who actually matters to me. Leah. She’s the other one I can’t seem to win an argument with.

So Jae and Leah double team me tonight and tell me I should take a turn at writing a blog. I don’t even keep a blasted journal, why would I want to keep a blog? What would I possibly have to say to people? I don’t like people as a general rule. Besides, Jae pretty much told you all that’s fit to print about me in that massive invasion of my privacy she calls Access Denied. If we had lawyers in Sanctuary you can bet your arse I’d be figuring out a way to sue her and those people at Cerridwen Press for putting my damned business out there for everyone else to see.

But in the end, the two of them have me by the ba— you get my meaning. If I argue Jae pulls up a blank word doc and flexes her fingers. Then Leah turns those amazing green eyes of hers on me and I’m done for.

I’m a push over where my Leah is concerned, but I’m not stupid. Leah said I had to write at least 500 words and she said it in that “teacher voice” of hers. I’m at 548 right now. Who knew I could manage to do this without really doing anything but crabbing about having to write the blog?

Oh and Jae, the rest of the guys had better have to do this too, or I’m going to be really pissed.

Author's Note:

Dear James,

Thank you, darlin', for doing this. I guess your warm, fuzzy, gooey side is safely hidden away for a bit longer. Now, now. Blackmail is such an ugly word. But not as ugly as "sequel".

Jae

I'm Nominated!

My first novel, Access Denied, has been nominated by Night Owl Romance for the best SciFi/Fantasy/Futuristic novel for Fall 2009. I'm thrilled, needless to say.

Anyone who would like to cast a vote for my book can go to the voting page here.

Access Denied was my first novel and as such holds a special place in my heart. I wrote the book over about a 9 month period and during that time my heroine Leah wasn't the only one who fell in love with my hero, James. I did as well.

What Would You Save?

Friday night a tornado did what no tornado in recorded history has ever done. It hit downtown Atlanta, Georgia. Atlanta was supposed to be too Metro for tornados to actually touch down. Atlanta was supposed to be protected by its position a the edge of the Appalachian Mountains. Winds, hail, flooding. Yes, we could fall victim to those, but tornados were for the outlying areas. Until Friday night when the Southeastern Conference basketball championships were disrupted live on national television and the talking heads kept talking pointlessly while someone tried to find out what the hell just happened. Why was the building shaking; and why were there now two larges splits in the roof of the building?

As I was straightening my bookshelf tonight I began to think about all the books, CD's, DVDs and other things I have that I've collected like the proverbial packrat. It's a lot. Then I got to thinking, what if I had to choose?

My first book, Access Denied from Cerridwen Press, has as it's premise the destruction of the Earth. A select group of people are chosen to continue the human race under the oversight and control of The Committee. The Committee played the major role in deciding what parts of human culture were saved and weren't.

For example, in the book it talks about certain sports not be "encouraged" by the Committee and how they died out. This mysterious and slightly sinister group also made all the decisions about art, literature, music, film and creature comforts down to the food that would be available. Some of the decisions were made out of practical necessity. Others weren't. Only what the people themselves brought in with them survived if the Committee didn't chose to save it.

My heroine, Leah, remarks how her entire life inside Sanctuary now fits in a couple of small crates or trunks. My hero James, in atypical fashion, brought more than she did, but still not much more than he could actually carry.

But I began to wonder about the real answers we would give to the doomsday drinking game that many of us have played. Sitting with friends over dinner and wine or over pretzels and beer, most of us have been struck with the question of If you could only have 3…fill in the blank. But what if it were real? What if I really had to choose? What if you really had to choose? What if our families and our pets were safe and we were told we were going to shelter and would probably never return to our homes? What if you had only minutes to decide what you would save? If you could save only three things from your home before you had to flee to safety what would they be?

My family pictures top the list. I have pictures of my grandparents, great grandparents, great-great grandparents and even my great-great-great grandmother. They would have to be saved.

My purse. It contains not only my identification and money, but also my ereader and my flash drive on which is stored all my WIPs. In a way losing them would be like losing my family.

If I weren’t wearing it because I’d gone to bed, my necklace. I have a silver chain that carries a silver cross that is made of twisted silver and a silver crescent moon. In my first real novel that I ever wrote, a fanfiction piece that taught me about pacing and characterization, I created an OC (other character) that was the first person who was ever completely and totally mine. In the story her dearest love gave her a silver crescent moon because she was the only light in his dark world. She never took it off. No matter the pain and discord that grew between them, her wearing it became a symbol of her unconditional love for him. My SO read that story and loved it though I have never been forgiven for killing off that particular character. (She had to die. The young man could not have grown into the person he became in the author’s canon if she had lived.) A while after I finished it I received a gift. A silver crescent moon on a silver chain.

Everything else I can replace.

And what kind of books do you write?

Since I received my first book contract the question I've been asked the most is "What kind of books do you write?" Now on the surface that doesn't seem like a difficult question, but it is one that has left me hemming and hawwing for answers.

Maybe it's because my first book, Access Denied, was not like the rest of the stories I tend to have in my head. It was a futuristic, soft science fiction story set in a world where almost everything is controlled for you. But this book is an anomaly among my stories. So if I tell you that I write futuristic, soft science fiction and you pick up one of the other books you will think me mad.

Most of the other stories that have been/are being published fit into the paranormal genre. I have a series that isn’t a labeled series because I only recently figured out what to call it. In the little world I’ve created, a race of shape-shifters have come to our dimension seeking peace. They are forced to tie their life energies to those of indigenous animals to stay in this new haven they call Semira. Measure of Healing follows my Cougars and Mating Stone (and the coming sequel, Lovers’ Stone) follows my Bears. There are 13 races in all. So I write paranormals or fantasy—but then again…

Seeing Me is due out in March. Again, it is neither a science fiction story nor a paranormal. Granted it is filled with fantasies, but that’s not its genre. It’s a contemporary story about a writer who meets a man that has women all over the world panting. The best part is, he seems to be very interested making her pant. So I write contemporary…or not.

And my Works in Progress (WIPs) are no help, either. One is the final installment in the Stones trilogy. One is the sequel to Measure of Healing that takes us to the world of the Wolves. One is a story about a young woman who goes home to the small town she fled and finds not much has changed, but what has is the boy next door. One is the retelling of a popular myth. And finally one is a completely different piece about dragons and healers and warriors.

So I give up folks. Don’t ask me what kind of books I write because the answer you’ll get will be the same one I give to my students when I’m in a contrary mood and they ask what kind of book I brought for the day’s read-aloud.

“The kind you read.”

The Eyes Have It.

Eternally Yours Contest

What could you spend an eternity doing? What is your passion? Your hunger? Your deepest desire?

Each day beginning February 5 and running through February 14 one of the ten authors will complete the line, "My darling I could spend eternity…" on either their blog or website. Collect all ten answers and e-mail them to anny@annycook.com with Eternally Yours in the subject line to win some hot, romantic books. There will be three lucky Valentine winners.

The prizes –
1st prize--5 books

2nd prize--3 books

3rd prize--2 books

Entries must be in by February 16 at midnight EST. All books and prize winners will be drawn randomly.

Sandra Cox Silverhills

Mona Risk To Love a Hero

Brynn Paulin Tribute For the Goddess

Bronwyn Green Mystic Circle

Cindy Spencer Pape Stone and Earth

N.J. Walters Seduction of Shamus O’Rourke

Elyssa Edwards Mating Stone

Amarinda Jones Shades of Gray

Kelly Kirch Time for Love

Anny Cook Honeysuckle

Today's Meandering Thoughts:

Whenever they do one of those romance/sex surveys men and women often say the first thing they notice about someone is their eyes. I don't necessarily buy that it's the first thing that people notice, but I do believe it's in the top 5, maybe even the top 3. Eyes are important.

We communicate so much with our eyes that we don't say with our words. Mothers can usually see in a child's eyes when they are sick, worrried, afraid or even lying. Eyes are a crucial part of smiling. The broadest display of teeth and curled lips in the world falls flat if the smile doesn't reach the eyes.

And with the one you love, eyes are such important ways of communicating. A look from a lover can tell you they need a bit of coddling, it can tell you they are ready to share a laugh, it can tell you they want more for desert than the chocolate cake you just served up. The best moment of all is when a lover looks deep into your eyes and says:

"My darling I could spend eternity lost in your eyes."

Tonight's Guy:

Tonight's hero is special. Not only because he was able to see beyond what the world saw but because in writing him (which means living for several months with him wandering around my brain) I fell in love with him. I adore all my guys, but James is the one who stole my heart.

James Edwards
Human
Occupation: Surgical Nurse/sometime musician
Age:35
Story: Access Denied by Jacqueline Roth from Cerridwen Press

James is not a happy person. One of a select few human beings chosen to survive a planetary disaster that wiped out all life on the Earth's surface. When the selection process began he tried to put the tragedy that scarred his soul behind him and begin again. Only once he finds himself inside Sanctuary, that new life falls apart. Now more angry and hurt than ever before, James is withdrawn from the world around him. His rage and pain eat away a little more every day, but to James' thinking it's not killing him fast enough.

Trapped in Sanctuary's family planning program which seeks to pair up single residents to form strong family units, James is forced to spend consecutive three month trial periods with women the Committee choses for him. And he's seriously pissed off. But inside this caustic and rude exterior is a man who has a keen love of family. When he gives himself to someone, it is all of himself. Without reservation.

Excerpt from Access Denied:

He knew she had left the room. He couldn’t feel her there anymore and the soft smell of her was fading. He ran his hand through his hair and a low groaning growl emerged from his throat. He should come with a warning label. There should be a stamp on his forehead warning everyone that if they tried to be kind to him, got anywhere near him, he was bound to screw up and hurt them. Or get them killed.

What had he just done? How had he let that happen? One minute he’s holding a picture of his dead wife and weeping for her like a lost child and the next he’s holding Leah and wanting nothing more than to hear her whisper that she wanted him. That she cared for him. That she didn’t hate him for what he had done. For the way he had failed at everything that mattered in his life.

But that was it, wasn’t it. He failed at everything and even sweet Leah couldn’t change that fact. He couldn’t even manage to be her friend without doing something stupid to ruin it. He dropped onto the edge of his bed and buried his face in his hands, elbows resting on his knees. A sick feeling of premonition swept through him. He had seven weeks left with her. She was trapped with him for seven more weeks. That was plenty of time for him to manage to completely ruin any chance she’d even want to remember his name once this was over. No, by the time he was done screwing up, even Leah would bolt and run without a backward glance.

James stood up and flipped the light off. He pulled off his shirt and pants and dropped them in the laundry chute. They would be back in forty-eight hours, delivered while he was still at work. He took a pair of pajama bottoms from the drawer and pulled them on, tightening the drawstring waist. No fancy closures here, just simple comfort and a barcode label sewn into them identifying the owner. He’d not bothered with clothes for bed before Leah but had decided before she even arrived he didn’t want to forget and find himself nude and meeting her coming back from the kitchen in the middle of the night.

He stretched out on the bed and pulled the blanket up over one shoulder as he faced the wall. Tomorrow was going to turn out to be a damned difficult and uncomfortable day. Not only did he have to face Leah again but tomorrow night he would be up to his ears in her friends at a noisy club, celebrating her birthday. And after tonight’s performance, he was fairly certain he was going to be the last person she wanted to celebrate with.

He had kissed her and she had fled. If he had ever doubted the sincerity with which she had addressed him those first days, he doubted no more. She didn’t want him. That’s fine, he heard the part of him he was learning to hate scoff. Come on, you don’t want her anyway. How many times have you told her that? This is Leah. Fine, she’s nice and all but damn, you can do better.

James lay there staring at wall letting the thought turn over in his mind. “No,” he finally whispered quietly to the empty room, “but she can.” The light brown eyes closed and when he eventually did drift off to sleep, the last thought that occupied his mind was the way she had felt pressed to him. He had never imagined her body would feel the way it did against him. Nor had he ever imagined the reaction it tore from his. That body, his reaction and a pair of green eyes followed him into his dreams.

(Gerard Butler is standing in for James not because I saw him in the part when I was originally writing this, but because that lovely voice of his and his scruffy appearance just seemed right in retrospect. Sorry no bare chested shots, but there don't seem to be any of this guy that aren't the screaming 300 mode.)

The Loneliest Job

A few months ago I heard Holly Black, author of Tithe and the Spiderwick Chronicles say that being a writer was the loneliest of jobs. She pointed out that even in the most regimented of cubical infested offices you at least have the knowledge that on the other side of that cloth and Styrofoam wall is another living breathing human being.

As writers, often times we do work in a situation of isolation second to almost no other profession. Unless you are part of a team, you write alone, edit alone, revise alone and in many cases suffer the pain of rejections alone. It can sometimes be hard for a non-writing significant other or family member to get it. They pat you on the back and say, "It's okay. Just write something else," or some other inane but well meaning thing.

This makes the contacts we form with other writers and with our readers vitally important. Finding a first or beta reader is a difficult job for a writer. You can't simply ask a friend. What if your friend isn't into paranormal romance and you've just whipped out the worlds best were-opossum story ever to be seen? Your friend isn't into fantasy, and you've just finished world building the most amazing place filled with dragons and fairy-folk? You've written the best CSI type murder mystery and your friend can't even spell forensics, let alone understand the science.

I have to admit I’m lucky. I belong to an online workshop that lets me put my work up for critique. The workshop is fairly diverse and we have writers, poets and artists. Some write for fun and some are more serious. But having that support is important. My first novel, Access Denied, would never have been finished if not for the support of some members of that group who kept prodding me to keep going. Don’t tell their husbands, but they all admitted that they had fallen in love with my hero, James, and were going to make sure I finished it.

My current work in progress is about two chapters and an epilogue away from being finished. What is done is in the hands of two very special betas, my SO and a friend of mine named Steve. Steve is the king of grammar and punctuation. He's also the one who tells me when my male character is acting very male. My SO is the one who reads it and tells me where it doesn’t make sense. “But why would he use magic? Wouldn't it just be easier to walk over and set the table?”

*Sigh*

Brain Dead Blog

Okay, this is a brain dead blog today. I'm so tired that all I can manage today is an excerpt and the last of my promised seven Santas.

Excerpt for Access Denied, now available at http://www.cerridwenpress.com/productpage.asp?ISBN=9781419911330


He stood there, looking into her eyes, searching for something. She didn’t know if he found it, but in the next moment his head lowered and his lips touched hers. The soft feel of them brushing over her mouth made her head spin. She felt his beard scrape against her skin and the flesh seemed to come alive. His arm slipped around her waist and he pulled her close as he continued to press his kiss deeper. As she let her arms wrap around his chest and gave in to the need to kiss him back, she heard a piece of her soul cry out in joy and another more somber piece painfully whisper,

You had to let yourself love him. You are well and truly damned, and this time there will be no escape.

She couldn’t remember a kiss ever feeling or tasting so good. Not that there had been a lot of them in her life, but not even… well, no one had made her feel the way James was making her feel as he used his tongue to urge her lips apart. Stop this, her mind warned, stop this before you can’t stop it. But she wasn’t listening. She opened her mouth to him and felt the rough velvet slip past her lips and explore her with increasing insistence.

James’ arm tightened and his free hand rested on the slope of her hip. Slowly he brushed it up her side, over the fullness of her curves. She expected him to stop, to pull away at the reality of touching her, but he didn’t. His hand skimmed the outer curve of her breast and moved up to cradle her face. He responded to the shudder that moved through her by sighing against her lips.

He coaxed her tongue to follow his as it retreated and she eagerly complied. Brushing over the full lips, she felt the hairs of his beard scratch at her face as she tilted her head to claim the inside of his mouth. James’ body reacted with a jerk and suddenly both arms now pulled her tight to him. One hand slipped up her spine and crushed her against his chest. The other curved over her hips and pressed them against him.

James broke the kiss to draw in a ragged breath. He was looking down at her and she could see the unspoken question in his eyes. One she had never believed she would ever see again in any man’s eyes, least of all these golden spheres. He lifted his hand from her back and ran his fingers down her cheek, moving softly across her jaw and then trailing along the skin of her neck. He pushed back the collar on the flannel nightshirt and bent his head low to follow the path of his fingers with his lips. He paused, hovering next to her ear.

“Leah” he whispered her name softly and she felt the jolt of the touch of his tongue as it brushed the curve of her ear. Her body responded with a deepening of the need she was feeling for him.

But her mind reacted with fear.

Never Leah, do you understand. Never. It was her father’s voice, the only time he had ever been harsh or firm with her. A few days after she had reached menarche and her mother had explained the physical side of love to her, her father had taken her for a long walk in the woods. It is not for those like us, Leah. We do not play at love. Your sister, your brothers, your friends, they may experiment, they may play with the carnality between men and women, but not you. We are different, Leah. His fingers had gripped her arm painfully, forcing her to take her passive, easy-going father deadly serious. Head my warning, Leah. Make no mistake. Play that game and you will never know happiness.

Her father’s voice in her head broke the last of her resistance. She put her hands against James’ chest and pushed him away. He did not release her, but eased his hold to let her put some space between their bodies. She drew a deep breath and looked up into the eyes still darkened by his want. No words would come and all she could do was shake her head. James’ hands fell to his sides and he stepped away, turning from her. Standing there staring at his back, the only thing she could think to say was, “I’m sorry,” before she, herself, turned and left the room.

Standing with her back to the coolness of her closed bedroom door, she let the tears begin to fall. This was something new, something she didn’t understand. This had never happened to her before. Never had the voice in her head failed her as it did now. All her life she had spent reaching people with affection and compassion; friends, family, everyone. Each of the men who had drifted into her life these past couple of years she had handled the same. Each time she had tapped into their friendship, their warmth. She had never believed she could excite passion in a man and had never attempted to do so, instead she tried to reach his heart.

But with James her world was tumbled over. She couldn’t understand the want, the desire she had felt in him just now. Suddenly she found she could reach his body, but knew she’d never be able to reach his heart. She was the love of my life, Leah. There’s never been anyone in my life like her, before or since. You didn’t get much clearer or final than that.

And Now:

On the seventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me...

Seven Seductive Santas

Champaigne Santa is still my favorite, but our final Santa is rather a fine bit of eye candy. Still, I can't help but think how itchy that shoot must have been.

Have a happy holiday everyone. May your own Santas be as sweet, generous and sexy as you wish.

Measure of Healing

My second release from Cerridwen Press, Measure of Healing, comes out one month from today. So instead of a rant I thought I'd share the blurb and an excerpt.

Blurb:
Alejandro Ramirez’s Were-Cougar mother drove him out after his first transformation at the age of fifteen leaving him to seek out his human father and find the family his human side craved but that his animal side can never embrace. Now a man, he finds himself responsible for a traumatized Were-Cougar child. When he turns to the Weres for help, they send him to a human. Dr. Gabriela St. Jerome knows of the Cougars and hates them with every fiber of her being. But now she must swallow that hatred to work with Alejandro to help a Were child who has been thrown into transformation far too early by the horrific death of his mother. As they are forced together in the remote woods of the North Georgia Mountains, both find their mutual attraction overwhelming. But if Brie gives into this man and her own passions, it will cost her dearly. It will cost her her life.


Excerpt:
Brie rang the bell a second time. She could hear the sound of movement from within, still no one answered the door. There had been no visible number on the house and she had had to guess at its location by counting down from the nearest house that did have its address painted over the door. It was a law that all houses be marked but she somehow doubted that the local city hall sent many inspectors out to monitor compliance.

She was about to pull out her cell phone and try the phone number when the door finally opened and an older woman in her sixties answered. Her dark brown eyes were large and held a wary smile. The black hair was more grey than ebony and her face was tanned and wrinkled from the Florida sun. “Can I help you?” the voice carried a soft Latin inflection.
Brie removed her glasses and the woman’s eyes widened. Cursing she slipped them back on. She knew better. “I’m Gabriela St. Jerome, I’m supposed to meet Alejandro Ramirez. Is this the correct address?” She showed the woman the address written on a small slip of paper.

“You have found the right house.” The woman’s gaze was guarded. “You must be the doctor Alej said would come.”

“Yes,” Brie breathed a sigh of relief. At least she was in the right place. “I’m Dr. St. Jerome. Is he here?”

“I’m here,” the low voice rumbled from the darkened interior of the house. A man stepped up beside the woman and Brie felt her breath catch. He was impressive, the kind of man her research assistant Caroline would call yummy. But his look was wrong, good but wrong.
She frowned at him and Alejandro suppressed the urge to smile nastily. “We better let her in Mama, before she falls down from shock and we have to explain it to the neighbors.”

The older woman gave the young man a patient look and opened the screen door. “Come in Doctor, I’ll fetch you something cool to drink. Alej see that she is comfortable.” As she passed him she gave a mock scowl, “And behave yourself.”

The tall man stepped back and motioned for her to select a seat in the room. The house was comfortably furnished with well worn and used furniture. Choosing a spot on the end of the sofa, Brie perched stiffly. Alejandro was watching her unabashedly, staring almost rudely at her. Lifting her head, she stared back. He wasn’t what she expected. Most Were-Cougars did not look like this. They were tall but not abnormally so. Their hair was generally somewhere between a silvery ash blonde and a dark golden blonde depending on where they called home. And their eyes were blue.

She’d never known of a Were-Cougar whose eyes were not blue. In the wild the actual cougar kittens, Were and animal, were born with blue eyes. Were-Cougar kittens’ eyes remained blue while the animals’ eyes changed to a golden yellow-green. It was one of the identifying marks of their kind. Yet the man who stood there silently taking her measure broke most of the rules. He was tall. Six five at a minimum. His hair was dark and the eyes that seemed to be trying to see inside her were brown. Had Sister Margarite not told her he was Cougar, she would never have known. He looked human.

His eyes held hers then looked away. He was amused. And he was aroused. Good thing you’re not a Were, Princess, cause I’d certainly be getting my face slapped or clawed about now. His thoughts and the accompanying images were broadcast so that any Were could have heard him and they flitted through to her as the woman re-entered the room.

“No, I’m not like you but I am empathic and telepathic. Don’t worry, though, I’m actually more offended at being called Princess. I’d suggest you don’t do that again.” She straightened her skirt and accepted the iced glass from the chuckling woman. The man had a vivid imagination, she’d give him that.

Alejandro stiffened and frowned. Damn that Wolf! The least she could have done was warn him. He’d not run across a gifted human in a long time, then again he’d not been around any humans but his family for the past couple of months.

When she spoke again, it was with deep amusement. “And while we’re getting the surprises out of the way, let’s just deal with this, shall we?” Her voice was filled with impatience but he could hear the anticipatory chuckle it hid.

She pulled off her glasses and revealed a set of deep electric blue eyes. His breath left his chest in a rush. She had the eyes of a Cougar. He’d never seen a human with eyes that color and found he could only stare at her. She was laughing at him but he was too stunned to be angry, yet. Something in him was reacting to her, or to what she seemed to be, in a dangerous way.

“You should learn to trust your nose. For I, Mr. Ramirez, am no more what I look like than are you,” she sat the glass down on a coaster.

So it was an illusion. Determined to wipe the superior smile off her face he shrugged. “You may wish to rephrase that statement, Dr. St. Jerome. I am at least half of what I seem to be.” He walked over to the couch and dropped down next to her, leaning back insolently and stretching his arms out across the back. “I’m half human on my father’s side.”

Her eyes widened and it was her turn to be shocked. A Were-Cougaress mating with a human? It was unheard of. Males had been known to toy with humans and even leave behind mixed blood children but no female would ever…

“My mother was young, on her first estrus actually, when she came across my father one evening. He was a bit younger and a bit more reckless back then and had fallen asleep in his truck alongside the road.” Alejandro leaned forward and looked at her with a wicked light in his eyes. “I’m afraid he was a bit wasted. Three days later she was gone. Seven months later I arrived. And fifteen years after that, when she figured I could fend for myself, I was turned out with nothing but a few dollars in my pocket and my father’s driver’s license. She’d stolen it from him as a souvenir.”

Leaning back he spread his hands wide, “So I sit before you in the bosom of the only real family I’ve ever known. A half Were with dark hair and eyes and a traumatized kitten in his bed. Now that we’ve had our little ice breaker can we get down to business.”

And now:

On the seventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me...

Seven Seductive Santas.

For reasons I can't quite articulate, Santa #4 here is my favorite. He's not a ripped as some of the others, but there is something extremely sexy about this Santa and this pose. Come back tomorrow for Santa #5. He's a particularly naughty little Santa.

Do you want to win some fantastic holiday reading? If so come celebrate the Twelve days of Romance with 12 authors from Ellora's Cave, Wild Rose Press, Total-E-Bound and Cerridwen Press. Each day beginning December 8th and running through December 19th one of the twelve authors will tell what their "True love gave to them" on either their blog or website.

Collect all twelve answers and e-mail them to anny@annycook.com with 12 days of Romance in the subject line to win some great books. There will be three lucky winners. The prizes –

1st prize--6 books

2nd prize--4 books

3rd prize--2 books

All books and prize winners will be drawn randomly.

Participating authors/books:

Anny Cook Winter Hearts
Sandra Cox Boji Stones
Bronwyn Green Ronan’s Grail
Heather Hiestand Cards Never Lie
Barbara Huffert Deal of a Lifetime
Amarinda Jones Mad About Mirabelle
Kelly Kirch Time for Love
Cindy Spencer Pape Cowboy’s Christmas Bride
Brynn Paulin Fallen
Jacquéline Roth Access Denied
KZ Snow Mrs. Claws
Lacey Thorn Earth Moves

Risks to Christmas Spirit.

Nothing puts as big a crimp in Christmas spirit like shopping. Oh the stores are decorated and the music is cheerful and happy, but the rest of the experience makes being holly and jolly nearly impossible. Oh, it's more than just the crowds, the prices, the hustle and bustle, it's certain people, certain archtypes we all run into during the Christmas shopping season.




Let's start with the Middler. Parking is a frustrating task. The malls and department stores are jammed and finding a parking place within a mile of the entrance is an exercise in futility. And it's made even more difficult by the Middler. The Middler is the person, usually either a middle aged woman or two or three teenage girls in a gaggle, who are walking down the center of the parking aisle. No, not walking, meandering. You can't go around them and it would be rude to honk at them to get them out of the way. They simply make a difficult job even more difficult.


Then there is the Princess. The Princess is the woman who has parked her cart in the center of the aisle at the department store while she looks over every single item on the shelf. Or she blocks the narrow spaces between clothing racks while she stands there pulling out each and every color and style of garment examining them. She doesn't even bother to look around behind her, it doesn't even enter her mind at all that anyone else may need anything because she is special.

Now the Princess part II is also the woman who walks up to the counter behind you and proceeds to interupt your conversation with the sales lady because she just needs to ask a quick question or she just needs to get that item right over there. If you pointed out to the Princess she was being rude she would undoubtedly be offended. She would think you were rude and unreasonable because after all, she is special and what she wanted was more important.

These people make it hard to keep the Christmas Spirit alive. They make it hard to remember to be kind and courteous. They make just being a good human being difficult.



AND NOW

One the Seventh Day of Christmas My True Love Gave to Me...

Seven Seductive Santas.

Santa #3 seems to look especially nice in his suspenders. Come back tomorrow for Santa #4

Do you want to win some fantastic holiday reading? If so come celebrate the Twelve days of Romance with 12 authors from Ellora's Cave, Wild Rose Press, Total-E-Bound and Cerridwen Press. Each day beginning December 8th and running through December 19th one of the twelve authors will tell what their "True love gave to them" on either their blog or website.

Collect all twelve answers and e-mail them to anny@annycook.com with 12 days of Romance in the subject line to win some great books. There will be three lucky winners. The prizes –
1st prize--6 books
2nd prize--4 books
3rd prize--2 books
All books and prize winners will be drawn randomly.

Anny Cook Winter Hearts
Sandra Cox Boji Stones
Bronwyn Green Ronan’s Grail
Heather Hiestand Cards Never Lie
Barbara Huffert Deal of a Lifetime
Amarinda Jones Mad About Mirabelle
Kelly Kirch Time for Love
Cindy Spencer Pape Cowboy’s Christmas Bride
Brynn Paulin Fallen
Jacquéline Roth Access Denied
KZ Snow Mrs. Claws
Lacey Thorn Earth Moves

Christmas Tree, O’ Christmas Tree

So the tree is up. Oddly enough it’s in the kitchen. Our townhouse has three floors and the only place with a large window that faces the street is our kitchen. So this past weekend we rearranged the dining table out of the breakfast nook and set up our tree.

This is generally a rather interesting event in that neither my SO nor I are mechanically inclined. But I don’t want to gripe about the hassles of decorating or the potentially enormous electric bill that will have us cringing at the end of the month.

I want to talk about ornaments. For more years than I was aware I was doing it, I’ve added ornaments to the collection that had meaning to me for the year. This means our tree is a hodge-podge of decorations rather than one of those neat, elegant and perfect “theme” trees with its matching baubles and bows. But unwrapping each of the odd little trinkets brings a special memory and that makes it my favorite part of the holiday season.

On the tip of one branch hangs a gold toy train inscribed with the word “Robbie”. We don’t have children, so our nieces and nephews are very important to us. This tiny gold train marks the memories of my first adult Christmas when I bought cheap $1 ornaments at WalMart and had them inscribed with the names of my darlings. Robbie is the oldest of my siblings’ children. First born and hasn’t stopped going since. He was a born athlete, a charmer and a funny boy who grew into a funny man. When his picture used to grace my desk at school, my students remarked on his resemblance to Adam Sandler. He does look like him, only I think Robbie is funnier. The little snip is now 25 years old and has made me a great-aunt. I shall have to think of a suitable revenge. Perhaps spoiling his little girls will do.

On another branch hangs a gold and red frame bearing the words, “Our First Christmas”. We hung this ornament on our tree the first year we shared a single home and a single tree. I look at the date on it and sometimes wonder that it is so long ago, and yet just as often wonder that it is such a short time that has passed. I think about my SO meeting my family for the first time. On the day of our wedding. We held it at my parents’ home and the room was full of at least 50 members of my family. My poor darling was limited to just one old friend. It seemed Illinois was too far from Florida for anyone else to make the trip. Some day I’ll tell you about my family. Just remember, these are the people with the inflatable snowmen and who stapled themselves to the roof of their house.

One of the most bittersweet ornaments on the tree is a small black lab puppy with angel wings. This ornament marked the first Christmas in over eight years that I spent without my faithful Wallie. Big for a member of her breed, Wallie was gentle, loving and patient. When my life fell apart several years ago, I found myself divorced and alone except for Wallie. She stayed with mom and was my reason for getting out of bed, my reason for making myself pay attention. I never had to use a leash with her after we moved, the two of us, into the small one bedroom apartment. She wasn’t about to let mom get too far away. Shortly after I met my SO, I was in a rather serious 5 car pile up on I75 north of Atlanta. It was the Friday before Memorial Day, so traffic was very intense. Wallie was in the backseat and it was in this accident, I lost my dear friend. So the little pup with angel’s wings reminds me of her each year as I hang it on my tree.

This year’s addition is a happier one. This year’s addition is The Frog Prince.



Froggie is a sweet green frog sitting on a brightly wrapped package, holding a glittering engagement ring behind his back. Why this one? Because this is the year I sold and published my first romance novel…my first novel period. And this is the year I became a Froggie. My Cerridwen Press editor maintains a group for the writers that work with her called the Frog Pond. And we happy little writers are the froggies.

So the frog prince sits on my tree. A hot cup of tea in hand. And yes, my dear editor, my behind is in my chair and my fingers are on the keyboard.

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Do You Like Good Book? The count-down is on to:

Do you want to win some fantastic holiday reading? If so come celebrate the Twelve days of Romance with 12 authors from Ellora's Cave, Wild Rose Press, Total-E-Bound and Cerridwen Press. Each day beginning December 8th and running through December 19th one of the twelve authors will tell what their "True love gave to them" on either their blog or website.

Collect all twelve answers and e-mail them to anny@annycook.com with 12 days of Romance in the subject line to win some great books. There will be three lucky winners. The prizes –

1st prize--6 books

2nd prize--4 books

3rd prize--2 books

All books and prize winners will be drawn randomly.

Participating Authors/Books offered for Prizes:

Anny Cook Winter Hearts
Sandra Cox Boji Stones
Bronwyn Green Ronan’s Grail
Heather Hiestand Cards Never Lie
Barbara Huffert Deal of a Lifetime
Amarinda Jones Mad About Mirabelle
Kelly Kirch Time for Love
Cindy Spencer Pape Cowboy’s Christmas Bride
Brynn Paulin Fallen
Jacquéline Roth Access Denied
KZ Snow Mrs. Claws
Lacey Thorn Earth Moves

The Land of Plenty?

I was reading the blog of a friend today, Anny Cook, and found my hands shaking as I did. Anny wrote about the way so few in our world have so much and so many have so little. And in the face of Thanksgiving, she wrote how it was a shame that so much was wasted while so many went without. It was a bit painful to read. Not because it held anything I didn't already know, but because it made me remember things I'd rather forget.

When I was growing up my family was one of those standing in line at the food pantry. I remember well "Reagan cheese", those big blocks of processed cheesefood the government handed out. They sometimes made the difference (along with all the pennies cleaned out of the couch and car to buy bread) between eating and goin without. We were one of those who waited in line at the Salvation Army hoping there would be something for us when we got to the front. We weren't homeless. We had a roof over our heads that often we had to share with unwanted multi-legged squatters.

We were also often filled to the brim with strays my mother collected. For all the problems she and I have in our relationship, my mother has an enormous heart. She never passed by someone in need. To this day she continues, taking in foster children that are often rejected by others because of emotional or learning problems.

What we often didn't have was enough. Enough food, enough money, enough, enough, enough.

I grew up as the child standing in the doorway, watching bright eyed as the local firefighters and police, or the local Jaycees, brought in a box of food for the holidays. A box that would last us a couple of days even after allowing us a real holiday dinner. I was the child who woke up on Christmas morning knowing that the toys under the tree hadn't come from Santa, but from the Salvation Army.

There were times when we didn't have running water, either because the pipes froze and there was no money to call a plumber or because we couldn't afford the water bill and it had been shut off. I remember carrying 5 gallon buckets of water from the laundrymat across the street to use. There were times when we had no heat because the electricity had been shut off because my mother chose to feed her children, or buy that bottle of cough syrup, over paying the bill.

My grandparents tried to help, but there was only so much they could do.

One holiday I remember the most occured when I was in college. I was living on $800 a month, my grad assistant's stipend and a few dollars made working in one of the dorm food services. I wasn't supposed to be allowed to have two campus jobs, but my food service boss and my grad advisor petitioned for me and earned me a waiver. With that income, I could cover my share of the rent, but very little else.

The woman who was my food service boss was wonderful, as were most the people working for her. Joe, the dishroom boss would sneak plates back to two of us who worked in his domain, but who lived off campus so we weren't technically allowed to eat. We were grateful. Liz, the main boss, did more than turn a bind eye when Joe and some of the others slipped us a plate or gathered up the leftovers and let us take them home instead of disposing of them as they were supposed to do.

One night, near Thanksgiving, she must have over heard us talking --or her son Greg who was a friend of mine ratted me out. At that point I'd been living on spaghetti noodles and anything I could find to put on them including packets of dried, Campbell's cheese soup given to me when my grandmother cleaned out her pantry. Rice was another good one. A bit of butter and sugar and you had enough carbs to fill you up for while.

I was sitting in the apartment. I didn't have the money to go home that holiday. A knock sounded on my door and it was Greg. He was carrying bags of groceries. He proceeded to ignore my protests as he carried in food his mother had sent.

I was only one person. Just one student out of so many who were struggling. I don't know if she did the same for some of the others who were working for her. I have a feeling from the pile of grocery bags I saw in the back of the family stationwagon that night, that she did.

I try each year to make sure I do something to pay back Liz, those firefighters and police officers, the Jaycees, the Salvation Army people and the countless others who made the difference again and again when I was growing up. A difference between nothing and something. Not for them and not for me, but for someone else. Whether it's donating money to The United Way, taking names from the Angel trees, giving to Toys for Tots, or just making sure the children in my own family have something under the tree and on the Thanksgiving table every year, it's important to me to try repay a debt that I know I never can.

Twisting Secret Santa

I love this time of year. Really, I do. Starting in October there is a feeling of excitement that begins to build. The bright colors, the smiling pumpkins, the ghosts and ghouls; all make me smile. Turkeys and scarecrows with harvest corn and colorful gourds take their turn in November. Then in December the twinkle lights and the red ribbons, the evergreen boughs and mistletoe, the snowmen, candy canes, Santas and nativities take the sense of beauty and wonder to the next level. (Unfortunately it also takes tacky along with it, but hey, it’s Christmas –we’ll over look it.) People will go out of their way to put a little extra fun in their daily lives, and in the lives of others. Those displays aren’t just for the people who live in that house, they are also for others; like a little gift to the neighborhood.

One of my favorite parts of the holiday season is gift giving. I bring this up now not to remind you that you have only 6 shopping weekends til Christmas, but because it is time for the Crones Secret Santa.

I belong to a writer’s group called the Circle of Crones. The core of our group met years ago when we were writers or staff at a fanfiction website. The site was unique in that it was started to use Harry Potter to encourage children to write. Fanfiction is a technique that works wonders to motivate reluctant writers; I’ve seen it in my own classroom. But I digress…

Because we were adults and wanted to have adult conversations and start working on more original material, we started The Circle of Crones. The archives are closed to members only, but we do welcome new members. I’ve workshopped all my pieces there and continue to do so. —I’ll bet you think I’m digressing again. Nope.

Each year for the past several years we’ve done a secret Santa exchange. Now how do people who, with rare exceptions, have never met face to face do a secret Santa exchange? Do we all run out and buy token gifts to mail across the world? (We have members spread across the world.) What does one buy a computer guru from D.C.? Or a civil servant from London? Or a rowdy, fun-loving nurse from Texas? A mom, writer and teacher from Washington state? And most importantly, what does one send a self described mad Welsh witch?

The answer is something you made. We exchange our talents. We paint a picture or write a story. The exchange is organized and everyone puts up their wish list. One person might ask for a “romantic story set in the Regency period.” Another might want a fanfiction story about Neville Longbottom or Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Others might ask for art depicting dragons, faeries, ocean landscapes or a favorite character.

So far no one has ever been disappointed.

So I look over my Secret Santa list of options with eagerness. What wish will I fulfill this year? One year I combined them all into one. Maybe I’ll play in the world of fanfiction again, just for a hoot. Maybe I’ll draw a picture. Whatever I choose, I know it will have to be good, because I’m bound to get something great when my turn comes.

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Access Denied -Now available through Cerridwen Press.

For more information, book excerpts and reviews visit http://www.jacquelineroth.com/

First reviews for Access Denied and a new book review

4 Cups for Access Denied!

“This is a wonderful story of love, friendship, and the pitfalls of Big Brother. Leah is a pragmatist. She knows how she looks, but that does not stop her from being the best friend that anyone could ever want. James is a beaten man, and just wants to be left alone. Leah shows him that he can love again and that everyone needs a friend to lean on once in a while. Their characters are fantastic and absolutely believable. You really get a true sense of their pains and triumphs as they fight to hold onto a love that will set them both free.”

Thank you Coffee Time Romance! This was my first review for Access Denied and my first review as a professional writer. I fully admit I squealed with delight and hopped up and down like a much younger woman. Check out the entire review at http://www.coffeetimeromance.com/BookReviews/Accessdenied.html

More Reader Reactions:

The Mystic Valley-Camelot Herald

Anny Cook, one of my favorite writers, took the time to review Access Denied. I was truly thrilled and humbled.

Two more Cerridwen Press and Ellora's Cave authors took time to give Access Denied a bit of attention. Please check out their blogs.

Amarinda Jones Kelly Kirch

Book Review: The God Eaters.



The God Eaters
Jesse Hajicek
Lulu
Buy it here

Their world is a dangerous place for anyone who doesn’t blindly spout the theocratic dogma of Dalan. Ashleigh Trine learns this lesson the hard way when he’s convicted of heresy and sent to prison. But things are even worse yet if you don’t happen to be Eskaran and Kieran Trevarde’s entire life has been the hard way. Convicted of multiple murders for which he shows no remorse, he finds himself on the same transport as the tiny, frail and scholarly Trine. Becoming the boy’s protector serves two purposes. It gives him an outlet for his rage as he pounds his way through anyone in the cell block that insults Trine and brings him closer to the young man he desires though he’s sworn he will not act upon those desires.

The God Eaters is a wonderful novel. The characters are incredibly drawn and developed. True Ashleigh is highly annoying at first with his weakness that would have earned Hajicek angry letters from feminists had he been a female character, but the growth of the character is believable and satisfying. Kieran is the quintessential dark, brooding, dangerous romantic hero. And that’s really what this book is. A delightful romance wrapped in a creative and inventive fantasy plot filled with magic, gods, evil, politics, social injustice and –at the end especially– some good old-fashioned action.

Self published books are often more expensive but this book is well worth it.

It's About Time...

I've had the good fortune to be featured on blogs by Amarinda Jones and Anny Cook, two author's I greatly admire. I have the good fortune of sharing the same editor with them and it's been such a wonderful experience. In reading Anny's review today, which you can find at : http://www.annycook.blogspot.com/ , I realized I've yet to post an excerpt on my own website. Duh!

So over the next couple of days I'll be posting some bits from Access Denied.


Excerpt 1 (General Audience)

“I can’t believe it’s been three months already.” He sat on the edge of the bed staring blankly at his hands. “Time is supposed to be such a constant thing, yet it has moved erratically for us, hasn’t it?”

“Yes,” she pressed the folded tunics down into the trunk then gently smiled at him. “At first you thought it couldn’t move fast enough.”

“Now I want to slow it down a bit. Just for a few more days,” he smiled at her sadly.

“No you don’t,” she closed the lid on the silver, metal chest. “You just hate when things change. You hate not knowing what will happen next.”

His grin turned rueful. “How is it you know me so well?”

She moved over and sat next to him on the bed. “Because you let me.”

He slipped his arm around her shoulder and hugged her tightly. “I’m going to miss you, Leah. I’m going to miss you terribly.”

She nudged at him with her shoulder, “Only until your next assignment. Once you get it you’ll barely remember my name.”

“She won’t be you,” he said sadly.

“Which is a good thing for you,” she laughed. “Imagine that horrific scenario. At least you know whoever they send you will be better than me.”

His face sobered. “Not really. She may be beautiful, Leah but she won’t be better than you.”

“If she’s beautiful she’ll be better in the ways that count,” her voice whispered softly. “It’s only your third assignment, Paul. You’ve plenty of time. You’ll find her. Look how well the committee matched us for personality. Now you just have to wait for them to get it right in the looks department.”

“You make me sound so shallow,” he turned his head away from her.

She reached across him and placed her hand over his, “Not shallow, just human.” She stood, keeping hold of his hand. “We’d better go. We’ll be late for the appointments with our life guides if we don’t get moving.”

“Leah, what if I said I changed my mind…”

She stopped him with a raised hand. “Paul you know you haven’t. You’re just afraid of change, of being alone. You won’t have to be alone for long. Ask to go back into the pool immediately. You could have a new assignment by next week.”

“But I can’t see you again for three months,” he pouted.

“No, you can’t. Those are the rules and you know why they exist. They keep people who can’t accept their rejection from bothering the former assignment when the decision wasn’t mutual.” She patted his cheek. “Once the ban is lifted, however, you owe me a beer.”

He hugged her to him wishing for all he was worth that he felt something more than the brotherly affection for her. But he didn’t and they both knew it. Had both known it would be this way from the moment she stepped into his residence rooms for the first time. No, even before that. He had known the minute he had been given her dossier. The minute he had seen her.

Keeping hold of his hand she led them out of the second bedroom she had occupied during the three month assignment. The metal door to the residence slid open and they stepped out into the corridor.

~**~

Sitting in the office of her life guide she smiled at the woman across from her. Karen was a dear but a bit self deluded. “You’re sure you wouldn’t like to beat this one to the punch? Go on record as rejecting him?”

Leah shook her head. “Paul was a darling. A bit high-maintenance but a darling.”

Karen now shook her head and watched her computer screen. The chiming indicated the arrival of a message and she touched the screen. A sad, resigned smile curled her lips. “It’s from Paul’s guide.”

“It’s official then,” Leah looked down at her hands. She was surprised by the sadness that suddenly settled over her. She had known from the first day she met Paul that it would come to this. At the end of their three month assignment, she would be rejected. Just as she had been five times before.

“I’m sorry, Leah,” Karen whispered unhappily.

“I’m not,” she admitted. Despite the sadness and the weight that came with yet another rejection, she wasn’t sorry. Now Paul would have a chance to meet someone who was perfect for him, someone with whom all the pieces fit.

“Was there never a chance with this one?” Karen looked searchingly into her eyes.

“No,” Leah admitted. “No. We were well matched as friends but that’s it. Perhaps if he had been farther into the process, if he had been misassigned more often we might have reached some compromise. But Paul is still looking for his princess and has every right to chase that dream as long as he can.”

“So he rejected you right from the start?” Karen sighed.

Leah nodded. “From the moment he saw my file. From that moment he knew there was no way this was going to work.”

“He didn’t even give it a chance,” bitterness crept into her life guide’s voice.
“Don’t fault him, Karen. He was only ever honest, polite and kind. It’s the system that’s at fault. How could you ever have expected someone like him to accept assignment to someone like me?” Her green eyes looked down at her hands, where they lay in her lap.

“Because appearances aren’t everything,” Karen snapped. “Why can’t these men see that?”

Leah shook her head, “Be fair, it’s not only men. How many women come through here rejecting their assignment because he isn’t attractive to them?”

“More than I’d care to admit,” the other woman admitted grudgingly.

“Building a family unit takes a strong coupling. We all know that. The man and woman must be strong as a couple before they can be strong as a family. That means a relationship that is mutually satisfying on all levels, emotional, spiritual, psychological and physical.”

Karen’s eyes narrowed. “That was low, Leah. Using my own words against me.”

The small, full lipped mouth smiled. “Well, I’ve heard it often enough. Five times now? I just thought I’d save you the trouble of having to say it a sixth time.”

Karen started to chuckle. “So you’ve come away with one more friend.” Leah nodded. “Well, what do you say we get you back into the pool again right away?”

Leah sighed. “I’d rather not. I’d prefer a pass if possible. I’ve never used one and I’d like to sit out this next round if you don’t mind.”

Karen looked at her thoughtfully. “We don’t have any residences available at the moment so you’d have to go back into maidel housing.”

“That’s fine. The North American/European maidel housing is near the education section anyway. It’s convenient.”

“So you want to play the old maid school teacher for a while, eh?” Karen’s voice was not unkind but she definitely did not approve.

“Just one cycle, please Karen. I just need a bit of time to rest from it all. I’ve been a good girl and have been through five assignments in the past fifteen months. I need a bit of time to recharge that positive attitude you keep harping about.” Leah said soberly.

“Right,” the guide conceded. She touched a few more boxes on her screen and then looked back up at the woman before her. “The reception desk will have your paperwork. Three months assignment to the NAE maidel house. Then you come back here and we try again.”

The round face brightened just a bit. “Thank you, Karen. I really thought I was going to have to fight you on this.”

“Just promise me you won’t spend the time moping, getting all negative on me,” the guide said sternly.

“I promise. I’ll be back in three months to get my next assignment, rested and down right perky.”

Karen smiled, “Well don’t go overboard on me.”

For more excerpts and information check out www.jacquelineroth.com