OPEN YOUR HEARTS TO THESE TWINS!

As you all know, Karen Rose has a heart of gold. She cares — really cares — about people and the human condition. So, when she sent me this email, which she received from a friend of hers, and asked me to open my heart to those in need, how could I say no?

I couldn’t.

So I am forwarding this email to you, too, so you can help just as Karen Rose and I have committed to do.

It is our duty to stand by these poor, abandoned twins and supply them with their daily needs for survival and a chance of a happy life. In the end it will enrich all of us, especially you and me.

My fellow goddesses, please consider extending your hearts to these little ones who need loving and caring Moms and the sort of good homes we here at TGB can provide.

I have already put my name on the list and am willing to take these poor twins one night each week, and I believe Karen Rose has signed up for two nights. As this is the right thing to do, our families will just have to understand.

Please look at the attached pictures and open your hearts to these twins.

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Well, fellow goddesses? Will you open your home for these poor twins?

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I’m sending out an SOS here. Granted, my problem is not life-threatening or world-imperiling but it’s gravely important all the same.

In our neck of the woods, we attend a lot of pot lucks. The Park City Mountain Sports Club is a great group of hikers, bikers, skiers and boarders who get together often for non-sports-related fun. Our neighborhood, too, loves to socialize more than any neighborhood I’ve ever lived in. Sometimes it’s for dinner, sometimes it’s for concert picnics, sometimes it’s just drinks and appetizers.

We’ve made some great friends among both groups and I hate to let them down. So the million dollar question is, what do DH and I bring to future pot lucks? I’m sure our friends are getting weary of our same old offerings of taco dip, tomato-zucchini casserole, and Costco green salad, even if the salad has a fancy vinaigrette dressing. I fear that they’re starting to whisper about us behind our backs about how inconsiderate and boring we are. In fact, it’s getting downright embarrassing to show up and not be proud of what we’ve brought to the table. So please save me, goddesses.

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Last week I – yes, me, the couch potato – walked with dinosaurs. In case you haven’t seen the commercials, the BBC has put together a tour called “Walking with Dinosaurs: The Live Experience”. Having a six-year-old nephew and a family that generally enjoys science stuff, we got tickets to see the opening performance in Southern California.

Now, I’ve been to museums, and seen the posed skeletons in the atriums and marveled at their size. I’ll say right now, it’s not the same. When the 52-foot long Brachiosaurus lumbered out onto the floor of the Honda Center arena and bellowed, I actually got goose bumps. The show was hosted by an actor posing as a paleontologist, and as interesting as his dialogue was, I think he was out there on the floor more for scale than for anything else.

Plants bloomed, continents drifted, volcanoes erupted, symphonic music and an Ornithocheirus soared, creatures evolved, and dinosaurs walked. At the end of the night my nephew bought the across-the-shoulder Paleontologist Bag and declared that he was now a scientist. I took his picture and he wouldn’t smile, because science is a serious business.

In case I haven’t said it clearly enough, the show was amazing. I highly recommend that you try to go if it’s in your area. Apparently they’re putting together more dinosaurs to make up three additional touring companies, so you may get the chance.

Do you like the dinosaurs? Could you name them all when you were a kid? Did you hold your breath when you first saw the T-Rex in Jurassic Park?

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This weekend I did a very hard thing.  On Saturday, I flew up north with my 18-year-old college freshman daughter, helped set up her dorm room, and then on Monday morning I flew back by myself.  Well, not exactly by myself.  I was on a plane filled with other people, but none of them really counted.  Except for maybe the pilot.  He was kind of important to the process. 

But I digress.  (It’s my way of coping, doncha know.)  I knew it would be hard.  I’d been putting off thinking about it for weeks, but as I worked my butt off unpacking her things in the dorm, I knew the minutes were ticking by and I knew I had to go.  Plus she threw me out.  “Mom, I have to go to bed so you have to go now.” 

“Okay,” I said.  “Just one more hug.”  I hugged her hard, then walked to my car sobbing like a baby.  Nobody gave me a second glance as I guess lots of moms sob like babies when they are walking to their cars after move-in weekend. 

Since then anything remotely mentioning moms or kids made me cry.  I even cried at Charmed yesterday, and I don’t think I’d ever done that before. 

So I was thinking about my blog and the title “Just one more hug” popped into my head.  I knew I’d heard this title before – it’s a compilation of comics from “For Better or Worse.”  Always liked that comic.  Good for a smile.

Well.  I’m tired of sniffling and want to cheer myself up.  So let’s go with my mental flow and change the subject to COMICS.  My favorite of all time is The Far Side.  Gary Larson was so brilliant, it’s hard to choose a favorite panel, but this is mine: Two polar bears are standing over an igloo.  One says to the other, “Ooh, I love these things.  Crunchy outside with a chewy center!”  Come on, don’t pretend you didn’t laugh!

I loved Dilbert, especially the evil Dogbert and the sleazy Ratbert.  Every employee in corporate America swore Scott Adams had worked at their company.  My new fave is Pearls Before Swine – and the hilarious Zeebas and Crocodiles. 

So what is your favorite comic – past or present?  What makes you laugh when you feel sad?  And if you want to comfort me a little, I’d accept that.

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I know Janet Jackson’s was the most famous, but I have another one, one that hasn’t made the news but is just as spectacularly awful.

My father-in-law is 83 years old. He is single. He is a bit starved for company. So, when one of his neighbors saw him out walking his dog, she went out to talk to him at her mailbox. This was a Big Event in his day, maybe even in his week (DH and I go to visit him once a week, but he’s used to us so we don’t qualify as an Event). So, he’s talking, he’s being charming, he’s delighted to be bonding with a neighbor.

And his pants fall down to his ankles in one quick whoosh of relaxed waistband.

He experienced a wardrobe malfunction of colossal proportions. I’m not quite sure how his 83 year old dignity stood up under it. As a matter of fact, he could only get out the bare facts of the story; no report on if he said anything to her or how he got home. He was in shock. So were we. Of course, being in shock didn’t stop us from laughing.

How about you? Any wardrobe malfunctions that you want to share?

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I remember years ago (before I became a romance writer) watching a TV program about Barbara Cartland, the grande dame of sweet Regency romances. She was reclining on a chaise longue, wearing a flowing pink satin gown and white feather boa while she dictated her novels to her secretary. That image of romance writers stuck in a lot of people’s minds, including mine. But once I started writing, I realized how vastly different the real world of my new profession was.

Myths still abound about us, however, so today I’d like to bust a few:

=We romance writers don’t lie around in flowing gowns or negligees (jeans or jogging suits are often the uniform of choice), although I could probably see Goddess Rachel or Sabrina swathed in satin and feathers.

=We don’t lie around eating chocolate bonbons either(maybe the chocolate part is true for all of the resident goddesses, but M&M’s don’t count as bonbons).

=We don’t have secretaries to take dictation (I couldn’t write a single word if I knew someone was listening to my thoughts and the messy process of putting words on paper or computer screen), although most of the resident goddesses would kill for an assistant to help with all the business chores.

=We do not have torridly passionate love lives (okay, sometimes it happens, but must of us are just normal women like our readers. I’m not tattle-telling on Goddess KarenH and Goddess Julia.)

=We are not necessarily sex experts (you don’t have to kill someone to write a murder mystery or thriller, you just have to have a good imagination.) Goddesses Claudia and Suzanne and KarenR all have fabulous imaginations in both departments, but I know they will back up my theory.

I remember my first RWA conference where I saw/met some of my favorite author idols for the very first time. I was star-struck with excitement and awe. And I remember my delight to discover they were regular people who graciously deigned to speak to little ol’ me!

The image of romance writers has changed a good deal in the years since, thanks in part to websites, bulletin boards, blogs, booksignings, and industry magazines such as Romantic Times, so readers are a lot more savvy about what romance writers are really like. But the general public still needs to learn a thing or two about us.

What was your biggest misconception about romance writers? Your biggest surprise? Most pleasant discovery? Have you met some of your favorite authors, either in person or in correspondence, and did they meet your expectations?  Were any of them wearing feather boas? 

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In honor of the re-release tomorrow of Pirate Lord with its new cover (someone in the art department was clearly channeling Jack Sparrow), I figured I’d blog about pirates. Why we like them. What makes them sexy. Why their robbing perfectly innocent people routinely doesn’t stop us from enjoying books and movies about them.

Of course, all I can do is tell you why I�happen to like them. Here’s my�reasons:

1. They walk around with their shirts off half the time.
2. They have big … er … sabers. (“Is that your saber or are you just glad to see me?”)�
3. Their air of danger just makes a woman want to tame them.
4. They’re the only guys in earlier centuries who had piercings. Talk about bad boys!
5. The presence of a female on their ships usually incites them to lust. And for some reason, that incites ME to lust.

Okay, that’s a few to get you started. Now YOU give some reasons. The best one posted by the end of the day (midnight EST) will win a copy of Pirate Lord with its new and improved packaging. So fire away, mateys!

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