Showing posts from October, 2011

some 99 cent titles by me

A bunch of my titles are el cheapo! It'll cost less than a dollar to buy one of these Summer Devon/Kate Rothwell books. Cheaper than a tiny cup o' coffee. Less than a candy bar (well, some candy bars). Seducing Miss Dunaway A romantic novella set in the 1880s Strong-willed Miss Mary Dunaway had a plan for her future and she would stop at nothing to reach her goal of working with the poor in London. She was even willing to ask a gentleman, a stranger, to help her. Twelve years later, the same gentleman reappears in her life. Although he doesn't seem to recall her, she remembers every detail of the kisses they shared. The attractive Lord Fellington apparently sees her as the saintly, nun-like matron of the foundling asylum. Very well, she made her bed and now she lies in it, alone.  Irrational Arousal That guy you glanced at…the one you thought was so gorgeous. What do you do when you’re suddenly seeing what he’s seeing, feeling what he’s feeling, and it’s

Linda and I are visiting Marie Treanor's blog today

It's shapeshifter week at Marie's place. Go on over and comment today and you might win a copy of our book. I know, everyone and her uncle is doing book give-aways, but seriously. Do this anyway. Do it for the kids. ** Speaking of those kids, last night I posted a comment on facebook that has gotten immediate and heartfelt responses--a lot of disbelief from readers, too. Stop the presses; stop all of the presses everywhere. No, this is not a false alarm--it is the real news deal. One of my kids, one of my boys, put a fresh roll of toilet paper on the roller without being asked. AND he threw the old cardboard tube IN THE TRASH. You all carry on with your lives. I'll be over in the corner of the bathroom, gazing at the miracle, weeping with joy. Kind of amazing how much snark it has raised.  Ha, ha, ha. Wait. Not really. The disbelief and snark in the responses make perfect sense. So does my enormous pride. ______ **Every new year's eve, my si

Yay! Look! It's in PRINT

I asked people (mostly fellow writers) what sort of contest should I hold for this book going into print. The conversation never got past the Is It The Worst Cover Ever? And then I learned that some people -- sane, happy, clever, intelligent people** -- really love the cover****  Hmm. I'm basically informing readers who like my book('s cover) that they're goofballs. Okay, we can all agree that's not a good idea. And just because I think butt-genie when I see it, doesn't mean there isn't room in the world for butt-genies. It's certainly a nice enough butt, though it does make me wonder about a man who would wear a hard-hat and nothing. . . .   All right already. Jeez. Can we please get past the cover? I really like this story, got it? It didn't go over well with Sarah at SBTB (my take-away quote from her review is something like "the story isn't as bad as the cover.") But I really, really like the story. I had fun writing it and I go

sbd I meet a wall banger

Maybe it's the perpetual state of annoyance in which I'm currently inhabiting. . . I met a book that pissed me off. I tend to stick with books, even the ones that annoy me. Lots of people point out that life is too short for bad books. They're right of course, but I can read all sorts of books that only show a spark of life because somewhere along the line I lost the ability to get annoyed. And then I met Emily Giffen's Something Borrowed . I probably should stick with it for a little while longer just to see if I can get past this stuff, but at the moment, I want to stomp on it and throw it against the wall and then rip it into shreds. Is it badly written? Not at all. Is there a dead baby? Nope (thank goodness I've gotten past the dead baby prohibition. When my guys were little, I Could. Not. Bear. Them.) Dead animal? No. Gratuitous rape? No. Obvious deus ex machina? Not so far. It is the Best Friend Diss. I'm not exactly a loyal-through-the-years f


Which word is older, "okay" or "hallway"? How about "kibosh" or "string quartet"? Do you use the word "hello" correctly in your historical writing? I wrote an article about words that are newer than you thought (okay, than I thought) and words that are older than you'd (I'd) guess. The article is over at Leah Braemel's blog.  Go read it, comment and you can win an ebook. Go on! So far, your chances of winning are 100 percent!! (as in, no one's commented yet.)

I can't stop reading Sookie Stackhouse books

Curse you, Harris! Curse you, library! Curse you, Kindle! I had been warned. They're like peanuts--no, those have nutritional value. They're like cheeze puffs. Eating one just leaves you wanting more and more. I thought I don't like vampire books. I'm sick of the undead. No way will I be drawn in. I forgot I'm an addictive personality when it comes to cake, coffee and books. I will consume all there is until there is no more. I eat and read quickly. munch munch munch.  These are easy, fluffy and reasonably fun. I have to say that the Sookie of the first book was the best part. She was interesting and upbeat even with her meh life. Lately (I'm on book five) she's turned into a standard sort of heroine you find in these books, although the way she smiles when she's frightened is kind of nonstandard. Pretty? check Men falling all over her? yes (though they do seem able to exist outside her sphere. The one terribly dependent one was only terri

The Nobleman and the Spy giveaway

HEY LOOKIT! Our book is out in print, so we can give away copies. Go on, click the link; it's easy to get one. Goodreads Book Giveaway The Nobleman and the Spy by Bonnie Dee Giveaway ends October 22, 2011. See the giveaway details at Goodreads. Enter to win


My aunt died last night. Other people, the ones who knew her well, will have more to say and I'll shut up and listen. What I knew is I loved her house and she had the best taste in the family. Unerringly perfect taste. When we were young, her kids talked to her as if she was stupid. When I tried to talk to my mom like that it didn't work.  She wasn't stupid, not by a long shot.  After the kids grew up, she went back to law school, became a public defender and was a hot ticket. And then, after she retired, she went to work with kids. Page four of this link has a short interview with her. See? This is a death that diminishes the world. My life isn't affected much, so no need to express sympathy. Too bad I'll never see her house or clothes again or hear her express her blunt opinions which were sometimes odd,  but often held great zingers. Mostly when I think about her, I think of her house, which shows up in a bunch of my dreams. Most of those dreams are me,

Top Vac

In a house full of males (four of them), I spend some time trying to lure them into some appreciation of housework. Since I'm uninspired by the work myself, I'm no great shakes at getting them to help without boatloads of whining on all of our parts. But as I vacuumed just now, I realized I've gone about this ALL WRONG. In fact, the whole world has approached this without the edgy verve and lust that men can give inanimate objects. Time to inject some testosterone into the world of vacs. I propose that vacuums---henceforth only known as vacs because that sounds sort of like a Three Letter Acronym and we all know how men respond to them--anyway, all vacs must be seen as sleek beauties. They need to be sexxed up. There should be talk about horsepower and the joy of a good run (session?) with the vac. Someone needs to produce a whole show, a la Top Gear. There's be backlighting, classical music, and slo-mo footage as the Vac of the Week is brought in, and some Britis

put a sock in it, Rothwell

I was watching the ad for dog food--the one where the dogs wear protest signs around their necks. I clearly don't watch enough television because I paid close attention. There's that sign around some dog's neck that says "Ban by-products" oh, whoa, no, no, no WTF? Huh? Dogs freaking love by-products. Hey, no, I'm serious here. Give them a choice between a steaming pile of guts and a pile of the green veggies they're showing in that ad and . . . well, damn. Why the hell don't dog owners notice that their dogs are essentially disgusting creatures and perfectly fine that way? How come those people got to force the dogs to abandon by-products when their happiest dreams consist of rolling in partially rotted animal bits? I was ranting out loud, for God's sake. Complaining to the snoozing dog about an ad for dog food. That's when I understood I needed to get out of the house, and maybe fetch a life from somewhere. So now I'm at La Paloma,

Just when I was about to fret . . .

. . . it turns out Claws on Sil k is now available on Amazon. 
Check out the interview with me over at All Romance Ebooks. My elongated face is my fault. They told me what size they wanted and I didn't check carefully enough. That photo doesn't look like me anyway. It's six years old and it has been a long six years--for my face anyway. In other news, I missed SBD. I should go visit Rachel's place to talk about Frankie, because I love Frankie but I haven't yet. I read all the Naomi Noviks way too quickly and now my arms are tired from flying around Europe, China and Australia. The battles blended together and Laurence started to get on my nerves (although I think he's finally figured out that he's adhering to a system that will never appreciate him or his best friend. And might not be the best of all possible worlds after all.) I really should learn to space out books in a series better, but . .  . oh well.  I eat too fast too.

A human hamster video

from the Vermont wedding. With music! And big, big balls! movie and games by Andy

Open your mouth, gift horse.

A really nice review for Gentleman and Rogue.  Except now I'd like a review or two for Claws on Silk or Seducing Miss Dunaway or some other title. I'd also like all these people--the ones I begged to come home, the people I missed so much--to stop taking up so much space and air. AND while I'm working on that sort of yes, yes, no, no thing, I want my present again--the lovely gift that I got for my birthday and then returned because it was too expensive for a toy. (A tablet.) I swear to god, I don't know if it's harder being me or living with me. I'm currently rife with first world white lady problems. I suppose we should all be grateful I'm not whining about my manicure. (I don't have one so I have to put that subject on hold for now.) And now that I've finished the Naomi Novik series, I want another book or ten that'll grab me like that. She's going on the list of autobuys none of whom are putting out books at the moment. Brigg