Can You Vague That Up For Me?

Welcome to the corner of Quirky and Kinky where you'll fall in love every time you open a book.

Archive for the tag “don’t become a cautionary tale”

What would the title of my memoir be, and why?

triple banded

Please Note: If Kris Norris ever abandons me, this is how shitty my future book covers will look. *makes plans to bribe Norris with Tim Horton’s tea*

I feel like the “why” of this title can best be summed up by potential chapter headings comprised of things I’ve said in text messages.

1.) If I don’t answer for a bit, it’s because I’m driving home from the motherfucking store.

2.) I’d run away and join the circus, but I have no marketable circus skills. And also clowns.

3.) Yes…I ignored that little voice in the back of my head that said that person was batshit crazy. Again.

4.) Math is hard, yo.

5.) I cannot possibly people today.

6.) I’m sorry my cat hates you.

7.) Look, I just need some cheese.

8.) Is it wrong that I’m proud of my four-year-old niece for using “What the fuck” properly in a sentence?

9.) I don’t recall becoming a bigamist, but at the same, time, my brain has been nothing but cracks, lately. So…maybe?

10.) The hold music is static-y soft jazz. I am in hell.

11.) Excellent. I feel like the more people we have spreading the accelerant, the quicker it’ll be over.

12.) Filed under bad ideas: Don’t look at fabric you made your kids’ clothes out of. Especially not while you’re ovulating.

13.) I’m gonna need bail money. There’s a neighbor kid out there somewhere blowing a goddam gym whistle.

14.) But in Clue, aren’t you just supposed to murder people with the candlestick? Or are we lighting candles to celebrate afterward?

15.) I feel like we won’t be able to have our podcast if I’m in jail, though.

16.) I have zero of popsicles. And also zero of patience.

17.) Never look a gift moodswing in the mouth.

18.) I am a font of random information.

19.) Fuck that. I’m putting on my ruffle-butt undies and my ruffled bonnet. And we’re gonna go Pollyanna the fuck out of everything.

20.) ADD Powers ACTIVATE! Form of Squirrel!

That’s it for me this week, be sure to check out the other bloggers’ memoir titles. Jess, Jessica, Deelylah, Gwen, and Kellie.

Pro Tip Regarding Spiders

PRO TIP: Discovering a spider staring at you from the top of your shower head while you’re rinsing the conditioner from your hair may cause drowning while you scream for help that will never arrive because your husband has left for work and your children sleep like the dead (and also like spiders just about as much as you do.)

It can also cause bruising when you throw open the shower curtain to discover that the little fucking bastard is there waiting for you right. by. your. hand. and you fall out of the tub and trip over the toilet to get away from it.

So…you know…heads up.

The Day I Ruined Bill’s Life

Do you ever feel like you should come with a warning label?

I do. A lot.

This is one of those times.

When I’m doing research, I’d rather talk to people in the field as opposed to reading about it. I always end up with some oddball question that can’t be answered by a book or website. I also like hands on research. This is how I ended up taking a ten week citizens’ police academy course. Yes. It was just as hilariously awkward as you’d think it would be. But, it was totally worth it in terms of research material as well as meeting people I genuinely like and respect.

My other favorite research method is cold calling. This is when I try to repress the fact that I’m actually very shy, suck it up and start making phone calls to people in the field that I’m writing about. I usually end up having to explain myself to at least one or two of the office staff before being allowed to leave a vaguely awkward sounding voicemail message where I hope against hope that my subject calls me back.

I’d like to tell you about Bill. He called me back. He’s probably regretting it with every fiber of his being at the moment, but more on that later.

Many of you know that I set my werebear shifter story in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. Why, you might wonder? Well, I wanted someplace that black bears would be relatively common. I wanted an area I knew well-ish. And hey, honestly? I just really like that area.

So anyway, I called the Baraga DNR (Department of Natural Resources) office since that was the town in which I’d decided to set my story. The very nice secretary passed me along to Bill’s voicemail and a while later he called me back. I explained that I was an author and that I’d like some information about bears. He kindly obliged, told me some awesome stories about bears, Michigan’s bat population and how DNR officers jump out of helicopters to tag moose.

He asked a little more about me and my books, and I explained the erotic romance genre and the popularity of ménage as well as shape shifter stories. He was clearly baffled, but a good sport about it. I asked him if I could cite him on the acknowledgment page, and he kindly agreed. Now, when I cite a source, I always do a full citation. So if it’s one of my cop buddies, I spell out their name, rank and department. I did the same thing with Bill.

Just Right released with the rest of the books in the Not Quite Wicked series and went on to do quite well. I wrote the next book in the series and went off that summer to vacation in the Upper Peninsula. While I was there, I got to meet Bill. He’s just as awesome in person as he is on the phone. He’s funny, knowledgeable and tells great stories. He took me, the hubby, our kids, one of my brothers and 2 of my nephews into an iron mine. We did the tour and then he got permission to take us off the tour track farther back into the mine where it was dark, wet, muddy, rife with debris and giant holes in the ground. More importantly, there were bats.

It’s no secret to anyone who reads this blog on a regular basis that I love bats. Well, so does Bill. In fact, the locals call him Batman.

He is, understandably, not amused by this.

But he is a bat specialist. He showed us where a few young males were hanging out the inside of the rock walls and fluttering around. He gave us all kinds of great info. I loved it and so did the rest of the fam. We went out to lunch, then Bill took us to the Millie Mine Bat Viewing station. Of course, it was daytime and the bats were snoozing, but I was still pleased to see they had a safe place to sleep. All in all it was a great day, and I was so glad to get a chance to thank Bill in person for helping me with my research.

Fast forward to the end of this school year. Per Bill’s request, I sent him a signed copy of the Not Quite Wicked anthology. Apparently, said copy of the book got passed around the office, Bill was mocked mercilessly because he’d been involved with a “sex book”. And that’s when it got a little ugly. He was ridiculed endlessly because I’d been too thorough when listing out the location in the acknowledgments.

I was terrified that this absolutely wonderful guy was going to lose his job because I was doing my job and documenting. He’d gone out of his way to help me out with info, not to mention, spending his day off with my family, and I had jeopardized his position. In short, I felt like utter shit.

I offered to call/write and apologize to everyone in the office if need be. He didn’t think it would be necessary, but he told me he’d let me know if it came to that. Well, the school year ended, and I didn’t hear anything. Summer wore on…nothing. Finally, it was vacation time. I thought about calling to see how things were going, but time got away from me. Also I totally chickened out. While vacationing in the UP, I even drove past the Baraga DNR office on my way to Copper Harbor, and I thought about stopping. I even talked to Brynn about it from the road. I think she dared me to stop in and say hi, but that seemed like a terri-bad idea, so I kept driving.

Well, I got a phone call today. It was Bill.

My stomach immediately sank when I saw the area code. I was terrified that he was going to tell me he’d lost his job and it was all my fault.

I’m pleased to report that this wasn’t the case. Although, there’s other…stuff.

Apparently, last night was the DNR Wildlife Division Annual In-service where they hand out awards. I’m imagining it to be like the Academy Awards with more fur and claws and far fewer sequins and borrowed jewelry. I could be wrong though. Maybe the DNR peeps like bling as much as Hollywood.

Anyway, in addition to the other awards, the fine folk at the DNR give out the Bone (formerly Boner) Award every year. From my understanding, it’s given to someone who’s done something especially boneheaded—an epically stupid blunder. And I think we all know who this year’s recipient was.

Oh, yes.

And who’s responsible for him getting this award?

Why, yes. That would be me. This is where the warning label comes in.

Bill ended up receiving the award (a bone mounted to a piece of wood) with a big ole poster of the cover of Just Right, with his face photoshopped in there somewhere, while someone read passages of the story. Aloud. Evidently, there was a bit of trouble finding non-dirty bits to read. Oops.

Oh yeah…and? They retired the award last night. Apparently, they don’t think it can get any worse than this. I feel certain I could disabuse them of that notion quickly enough. After all, I’m not considered a cautionary tale for nothing.

According to Bill, had he known he was going to receive this honor, he would have called me up and made me go to the ceremony with him. (Not cool, Bill.) Luckily, for me, he didn’t.

However, he thinks that sales may spike this week because many of the attendees were googling me on their smart phones. (Yay…I think…) He also said that if he’d had a stack of the books, he could have sold them all last night.

And apparently, as punishment, when I’m on vacation next summer, I have to stop at the DNR office and get my picture taken with Bill and the Boner Award. I can only imagine how truly, truly horrible and awkward this will be. But after what poor Bill has gone through, it’s the least I can do. I also plan to take him out to lunch. There will likely be a blog about it. Unless I die of embarrassment before I can post.

Hope springs eternal.


Mystic Circle is out today! As research for this story (and because it was ridiculously fun) I took a ten week citizen police academy course with our local police department. I’ve never really been one of those ‘man in uniform’ sort of girl, but during the course of class – particularly during the 12 hour ride along – I developed a new appreciation for cops.
Thanks to those handy-dandy dashboard cameras, during the class session on traffic stops I learned that my brother and his ex-girlfriend are not only a cautionary tale on those wild car chase cop shows and you tube, but have become part of police training courses. 10 years later and it’s still going strong. The moral here is, if you get pulled over, don’t steal the cop car. I’m so proud.
Anyway, here’s an excerpt from Mystic Circle, and remember kids…don’t steal police cars. It never ends well.
He opened the passenger door of a giant black SUV and leaned against it. “I’m not going to stand here and argue with you. Get in and I’ll take you home.”
“Gee, since you asked so nicely… No.”
“Becca…” The warning in his voice was unmistakable.
“I’m not getting in.” She looked over the vehicle in disgust. “Besides the fact that it’s got to be one of the least environmentally friendly vehicles on the road—”
He rolled his eyes but she continued.
“It’s also yours and you’ve got to be a complete fuck-wit if you think I’m going anywhere else with you. The field trip to the interrogation room was plenty, thanks.”
“Get in the damn truck.”
The commanding tone of his voice dampened her pussy in record time. How she was still able to get the hots for him after all he’d put her through today was mind-boggling. Maybe it was a stress response. Whatever it was, she needed to get home before she did something stupid and invite him back to finish what they’d started at Patrick’s wedding.
“Good night, detective,” she said as she turned away.
Grasping her wrist as she started to walk away, he tugged her back. “We’re not done.”
“If you’re not arresting me, then we’re done.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. This started two years ago and it’s nowhere near finished.” This was the first time he’d actually mentioned their dance floor indiscretion.
She stepped back as far as she could with him still holding on to her and another thought occurred to her. “At the wedding, were you using me to try to get information about the Donallys? Is that what this is about? You think maybe I’ll tell you something new about this case if you seduce it out of me?”
Her heart sank. She’d thought he’d actually been attracted to her. And like a moron, she’d thought maybe he still was. The truth really did hurt.
He shook his head. “This is about you and me, granola—not the case.”
She blinked at him. “Did you just call me granola?”
“Yep.” The smile she hadn’t seen for two years appeared briefly and she melted a little inside.
“There is no you and me,” she murmured. No matter how much she might wish for the opposite. Why did she still have to want him after all of this? How could she still want him?
He yanked her flush against his body and locked his arm around her waist. She took a breath only to feel her pebbled nipples rasp against his chest. He lowered his head to hers and she couldn’t convince herself to pull away. Would it be so bad to give in to the desire simmering between them?
“Granola?” she asked, staring at him.
He kissed the corner of her mouth. “You’re just like granola,” he murmured as he moved his lips along the line of her jaw. “A little salty.” He gently bit her earlobe and her hands convulsed on his shoulders. He took her mouth in a sweeping kiss, tasting every inch of her, his tongue toying with her piercing, before lifting his head. “And so sweet.”
Turning, he pinned her against the side of his SUV. The cool metal was a sharp contrast to the hot flesh of the man pressed against her body. She sighed into his mouth as he kissed her again. What a pushover she was, softening against him as soon as he kissed her. Her anger had evaporated or had at least turned to lust. Running her fingers through his dark, wet hair, she pulled him closer.
His big, rough hands stroked the bare skin of her back sending need rocketing through her. Rain soaked them making their skin slick and she fought the urge to strip his shirt from him right here on the street where anyone could see. Of course, it was pouring rain and they were mostly hidden by his vehicle and the buildings on either side of the alley but did she dare? She settled for sliding her hands up and under the wet fabric and exploring the taut muscles of his chest and back.
He groaned at her touch. “I’d forgotten how good you taste.”
He tugged at the strings of her halter top where it was secured around her neck.
“Jack…” She tried unsuccessfully to slap his hand away.
He held her motionless with those chocolate brown eyes—eyes that were no longer cold and distant. “I need more, Becca. I need to taste more of you.”
A fresh rush of moisture flooded her core at his words. When he looked at her like that, she needed him to taste more too. Lowering her hand she let him finish untying her top. Almost reverently, he bared her breasts to his eyes and the elements. Rain spattered her pebbled nipples as his heated gaze enveloped her.
He licked the moisture from her skin purposely avoiding her aching nipples. “Damn it, Jack! Don’t tease.”
Before she’d finished speaking he engulfed an aching peak in the scalding heat of his mouth, sucking hard. Clasping his head, she arched away from the truck keeping his mouth right where she wanted it. His lips tugged rhythmically at her breast and her womb pulsed needily in time with every glorious pull. Want cascaded through her body as she shuddered in his arms.
He groaned as he moved from one breast to the other. The sound was barely audible in the falling rain but the vibrations coursed through her body. At this rate, he’d have her coming with nothing more than his mouth on her nipples. He dragged his lips over her collarbone and nipped at it before continuing the climb along the column of her throat, back to her lips. The stubble on his face abraded her skin but she didn’t care. She wanted more.
As he kissed her, he bunched her skirt in his hands, dragging the fabric upward to bare her legs. This was no careful seduction, this was desperation pure and simple and Goddess did she understand that need. She fumbled with his belt, loosening it and yanking his zipper down and freeing the button at the waistband.
“You’d better have a condom, Jack.” She slid her hand inside his pants and wrapped her fingers around the thick, hot length of his cock.
He shuddered at her touch. “Jesus, Becca,” he breathed. He pulled her hand from his jeans and secured both of her wrists in his hand above her head. “Don’t,” he growled against her neck. “I’m too damn close.”
His rough voice scraped over her nerve endings and she took a shaky breath, inhaling the scent of warm male and cool rain.
“I don’t think you’re close enough,” she said, nipping at his lower lip before soothing it with her tongue.”
The rain fell faster running in rivulets over her bare skin as he ground his rock-hard cock against her mound. He took her mouth again as he slipped his free hand under her ass and lifted her, pulling her closer.
What was she doing? This was the man who refused to believe her. The one who’d hauled her down to the police station and questioned her for hours. He was also the man who’d haunted her dreams for the past two years. She couldn’t make herself push him away. Maybe this encounter with Jack was what she needed to move on with her life.
“More,” she demanded freeing her hands and shoving his shirt up.

Post Navigation