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Showing posts from March, 2011

SBD a few books

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I figure if I'm going to write the m/m genre, I better read more of it. That's my excuse for having fun.

I just read Ava March's His Client. It was a short, sweet book. The guys were so. . . pleasant, normal and rather alike. Considering their class differences it should have been a bigger deal that they could be friends--a bigger adjustment, I mean. But obviously Jasper had learned to overcome his beginnings. And the games they played in the bedroom didn't translate at all into--okay, I don't know about that next bit I was going to write. Why should the black corset mentality show up in daily life? They had to compartmentalize. And the whole BDSM plus gay community wasn't in place, right? (Actually I bet it was, but very, very underground in those dolly houses) So no "Leatherman 1822" for them. Still, a bit of twisted is fun.

They are remarkably considerate and well-adjusted for men who grew up in a time when being gay might mean death and Jasper is [s…

here we go again

1. My house is full of men's voices and the only males in the place at the moment are my kids. My baby's voice is still cracking now and then, but he's almost done with that voice change over. I remember the shocking day when I heard some man talking downstairs. I ran down and discovered it was my oldest son.

That moment was like the first time you hear someone call you mommy -- a kind of a thrill of squee-yay! we have reached a big point. But this stuff doesn't stay exciting very long. The next time someone calls you that, it's no longer a thrill and in a couple of years mommmmeeeeeeeee becomes one of your least favorite word. And that last baby saying mommy? Old hat.

This last manly voice isn't bringing on a squee, poor young fish misses out on the celebration. But here; it's in a blog.

2. And in another repeat-that-isn't-as-breath-taking as the first-time (thank goodness on this one), I've been cleared once again after a needle biopsy. That first bi…

Poor Valerie Parv

Valerie Parv wrote: "Well there went my day. The Mad Baron is a read-in-one-sitting glorious romp of a book. Love it, love it, love it."

Why poor Valkyrie Valerie? She leaves one random facebook message and that thing gets spread all over the internet--or at least wherever I can manage to post it.

new ebook! new one!

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My reverse take on the mad woman in the attic is now available.

It's out today! Go buy it! Go on!

Here's an excerpt.
Read it!

And here's the actual ebook. (Notice it's ebook and not e-book? Check AP Style. We're uptotheminute here at katerothwell)

Stuff report

Snow report:
back snow still about 1 foot tall and impressive.
pile in front less than 6" tall and this rain should do it.

Book report:
Yup, I'm reading -- Kim Harrison. I was annoyed by how people are portrayed as good, then bad, then good. In love, out of love, attracted, hate, love...but now I'm used to it. Everyone is a mix and Rachel, the narrator, really wants black and white so she'll keep switching back and forth in her opinion. I sometimes I wish it was in third person.

Also I'm reading some book my college aged kid left behind, Early Judaism: Religious Worlds of the First Judiac Millenium. Works for insomnia.


My Book Report:
The Mad Baron will be out next week, I think.

Food report:
We have strawberries and I need some now, I think.

My son's invitation to the prom

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His girlfriend asks him via sidewalk communication.

This is what he found when he woke up this morning and looked out his window. . .


Q: Have you ever seen anything more adorably romantic?

A: Probably not ever.

PS to the SBD

I went looking for another Lew Fonesca book and almost at once found the list on goodreads as well as the fact that Kaminsky is dead. Bummer.

That wouldn't have been something I'd have discovered back when I just read books and didn't bother with looking at the whole picture of book/writer/series.

As I sat thinking of the way I used to read, I had a moment of recalling that past so well it was more vivid than the list of books in front of me. Every now and then the whole changed world seems alien, and I feel like a time traveler plopped down somewhere I don't know well. Kind of cool--disorienting, but cool--though it never lasts long. I guess once real dementia sets in, the adventure sensation does not last.


I've just listened to two "Men Who Say PPPpfffftth To Most Responsibilities"books. I found yet another Lee Child mystery and a Stuart Kaminsky novel.

Always Say Goodbye, the Kaminsky novel, is maybe the 5th in a series? I've never read any of the others yet I never felt lost. I could tell characters who drifted in were getting that check-in sort of moment, when you see what's become of people who starred in other books. They didn't felt extraneous, though. That's pretty impressive.

I like the writing; I like the main character. He wears his depression like it's a talent but people in his life seem to call him on that. I can bet having that depression mentioned and stroked and cultivated in a series of stories would get old to read about. I should know -- I'm a depressive. It's like toothache. All your attention might be focused on it, all your thinking is shifted by it, but I'm not sure it's worth embracing as a person's self-definit…

appease the evil editors

You were right when you read your marked up manuscript and said to your significant other, "that bitch must be a sadist."

It's true. Editors enjoy catching those mistakes! They love it. They cackle like happy, evil-genius children when they find that anachronism in your manuscript. They hum with pleasure when they root out your repetitive words. (You know you have them.) Every now and then a small "aha! I was right!" escapes their smiling lips. You know that means other people --you -- were wrong.

They love their jobs.

I know, because I work in the same space as a few (fiction and non-fiction) editors and they rub their hands with glee when they catch your mistakes -- unless you make too many. If you made a botched job of your draft, then they wear the look of a martyr as they plow through it. So make an editor happy today. Give your manuscript a few mistakes (misplaced modifiers are their favorite) but not too many.

If you make too many mistakes, the editors' …

An Excerpt from Summer Devon's Powder of Love

Clermont was at his second favorite hobby, reading aloud from his diary of his previous day’s “adventures,” when someone knocked at the suite’s door. Reed jumped to his feet, relieved. Listening to this stuff was one of his least favorite chores, but it helped keep Clermont calm and more malleable.When the bellboy announced a lady awaited them, Clermont pulled the cigar from his mouth. “Wonderful. I’ll be ready in—”Reed interrupted the bright-eyed Clermont. “Escort her to the ladies’ parlor, please.” Reed handed the boy a random American coin. “I’ll meet her there in a few minutes.”He closed the door and glared at Clermont, who lay on the bed, his handwritten pages in one hand, the fat cigar between the fingers of the other.“We agreed you will not entertain here,” he said.“I can’t help it if the ladies come after me.” Clermont took a big puff of the cigar, and ash spilled onto his chest. “You’ll just pay the staff a little extra, and I can at last employ my staff in more p…

BIG DAY. Big, big day.

1. A Summer Devon release today! This is a historical romance set in New York City. There is still time to ask for a review copy. Go on, ask me. I have them.

2. It's Bonnie Dee's Birthday -- and she has a bookis released today, too.