The Fate Trilogy

Today, I put together blurbs for the next two books in the Fate trilogy so my awesome agent Holly could use them in the submission process if necessary. I'll post these with the following caveat:

Warning! Pantser in Progress! Plot subject to change for no good reason!

Twisting Fate:

Grace McLeod—half human/half monster out of Greek mythology, wife to math teacher Ian McLeod, mom to little Anna—is losing her mind to the one person who knows her better than she knows herself: her twin, Vincent. All the medication in the world can’t drown out Vincent’s sly cruel voice and when he begins attacking people through Grace, she leaves her family without explanation and goes into hiding, determined to cut herself off from those Vincent longs to hurt. Unswayed by her husband’s pleas or Vincent’s anger, Grace lives in a fog of anti-depressants and fear until one phone call changes everything: Anna has been kidnapped. And Grace knows who’s responsible.

Now Grace and Ian must work together, though their marriage is fractured, to rescue Anna from the monster who’s come to claim her bloodline. But rescuing Anna means allowing Vincent to be more than just a sadistic voice whispering in Grace’s mind and Vincent has an agenda of his own. Grace and Ian must unite to stop Vincent’s bid for supernatural power, defeat the monster who craves the magic running through Grace’s blood, and rescue Anna before she becomes the enemy.


Breaking Fate:

Meaghan Callahan’s supernatural abilities didn’t protect her from a childhood spent in foster care. They didn’t protect her from the men who wanted her teenage body for their own. But they’re going to protect the only person she’s ever loved—her adopted sister Leigh. Too old for foster care, Meaghan runs cons to keep a roof over her head and stays in close contact with Leigh, determined that her sister have the bright future Meaghan can’t see for herself. When Ryan Cutter comes to town, sporting his own set of supernatural abilities and knowing far more about Meaghan than any stranger should, she tries every con in the book to get him to leave. But when Leigh disappears without a trace in broad daylight, Ryan is the only one Meaghan can turn to for help.

Together they learn the rules of an ancient war where the currency is stolen Magic and the prize is death. Uniting with others who share the Magic running through their blood, Meaghan and Ryan discover that rescuing Leigh will open the floodgates to a bloody war they are ill-equipped to win. Can Meaghan run one last con to defeat a monster born out of Greek mythology, rescue her sister, and stop a demon army from taking as blood payment the only man she’s ever loved?

Top Ten Highlights From Our Foray Into Beech Bend Park

We spent a day at Kentucky's Beech Bend Park two weeks ago and it was a perfect day because it was just cold enough to keep most of the crowds at home. There were literally no lines for anything. Probably sixty people total in the whole park. Beech Bend is this really cool mix of modern rides (wooden coaster, log ride, other coasters etc) and vintage carnival rides like Bobsleds, Swings, and that ridiculous spinning sphere where those who enjoy revisiting their lunch pay for the privilege of whirling around so fast they destroy their equilibrium for the rest of the day. They also have a huge selection of kiddie rides and a cool water park so there's always something for everyone in the family to do. Here's the best of what happened while we were there.

1. The Ferris Wheel: I don't do Ferris Wheels. I know, it's sort of crazy since I'm such an adrenalin junkie with coasters, but Ferris Wheels don't inspire adrenalin in me. They inspire fear. There's nothing fun about willingly entering a cart that refuses to just hold still already. It's bad enough that there's no track beneath me, giving me the illusion of safety, but with a Ferris Wheel I'm stuck slowly savoring the height (which I actually hate, even though I can do it in coasters because it's over so quickly) when the cart stops at the top to let more riders in at the bottom.

This time, I was alone with Daredevil (the other two were with Clint), there was no line anywhere in sight, and so when Daredevil begged me to please go on it with him, I figured I was fairly safe. I didn't realize the man operating the Ferris Wheel was struggling with both a mile-wide sadistic streak and a healthy dose of boredom. In fact, I didn't figure that out until after I'd already allowed myself to be strapped in the brightly painted cart of death and the ride had jerked into motion. The operator took one look at my face (which, I believe, had not a shred of color left in it) and my hands, which had instantly and compulsively clutched the thin metal bar that stood between me and the ground as though somehow if I held it hard enough, it would actually be enough to save me in case of emergency and called out, "You're afraid of heights aren't you?"

I didn't have a chance to answer because we were heading over the curve toward the top. I reminded myself to breathe and fielded Daredevil's incredulous "You aren't scared, are you?" question and as we sped by the operator, I noticed the wicked grin on his face and realized I would need to marshall all of my fight or flight instinct into fight the second I disembarked because one of us wasn't going to survive this encounter.

He did his best to destroy me. We sailed through the air countless times, the advantage of not stopping and starting repeatedly to let people on offset by the fact that the operator didn't have to stop the ride until another person showed interest and there wasn't another person in sight for 100 feet. Just when I'd started to pry my white-knuckled grip off the metal bar and convince myself that while I might be meeting Jesus soon, it wouldn't be because of a Ferris Wheel, the operator stopped the ride.

While. We. Were. At. The. Top.

I nearly screamed but I'm not a screamer. Even in abject terror, I have to prove I'm tougher than my tormentor. Still, my grip tightened, Daredevil began soothing me with meaningless platitudes, and as he turned toward me and the cart rocked, my eyes latched onto the huge sign posted on the back of the cart in front of us. It said "For Your Safety, Do Not Rock The Cart." I pointed it out to Daredevil, ordered him to sit still, and then trembled when I realized that just breathing caused the stupid thing to rock. Why post that warning at all if not rocking your cart is impossible? A lesson in irony? A flimsy attempt to avoid legal complications if you dump a 35 yr old author on her head?

Perhaps everyone connected with the manufacture and operation of Ferris Wheels is required to have a sadistic streak? I don't know. I just know I sat there, as still as I could, forcing myself to breathe without hyperventilating until the cart lurched into motion (More cart rocking!) and swung down to a stop at the bottom. I couldn't get out of it fast enough. The operator was laughing until I gave him the Beady Eye. When Daredevil asked to go again, the operator looked at me and asked me if I'd like another trip. I asked if he required all of his limbs or wouldn't mind having a few of them forcibly removed.

He stopped laughing.

2. The Water Park: It was 60 degrees out with a wind blowing colder than that and the water park was open. Because boys are born with a natural indifference to minor inconveniences like goosebumps and hypothermia, they all wanted to go swimming. They were flabbergasted when Clint and I refused to join them in their Arctic excursion. They played in the pool for forty minutes, teeth chattering, bodies shaking, until we forced them out, wrapped them in warm towels, and over-ruled every single objection to us ruining their fun.

Boys.

3. Bathroom Visits: Because I didn't know it was going to be so cold out, I'd come prepared to participate in the water park fun by wearing my bathing suit beneath my clothes. After guzzling a Diet Coke on the car ride to Kentucky, I made the bathroom my first stop of the day and quickly realized the error of my ways. To make a bathroom visit at all effective, I had to take everything off. Everything. And the stalls at Beech Bend are those annoying ones with the one inch margins of visibility between the stall door and the surrounding walls. I believe I broke a world record in Speed of Disrobing. Also in Speed of Doing One's Business.

4. Daredevil's Cast-Iron Stomach: I knew Daredevil was made of strong stuff, but even I was taken aback and what that kid can do to himself without missing a beat. He ran from spinning ride to spinning ride, staying on multiple times in a row until at one point I figured out he'd been spinning more than standing for thirty of forty minutes and it didn't phase him. I don't know who he takes after but it isn't me and it isn't Clint. Part alien perhaps?

5. Daredevil's Big Mouth: I may have mentioned before that Daredevil rarely has a filter between what he thinks and what comes out his mouth. Often, this is a source of amusement. Sometimes (most notably the time he yelled to me across a grocery store aisle while pointing to a man's beer gut that he didn't know men could have babies) it's a source of praying for the floor to open and swallow us. This time, thankfully, it was amusement. As Daredevil whirled through yet another spin on a teacup-esque ride (his third time in a row) little girls were crying to get off, a man was slowly sinking toward the floor, his eyes shut tight, and two teenage boys were visibly heaving, about to lose their lunches. Daredevil was laughing. When the ride stopped, the crying girls ran past the operator toward their mothers, the man dragged himself along the fence toward the exit, the two teenage boys hurried toward the bathrooms and their looming appointment with the porcelain god, and Daredevil stood up in his cart, met the operator's eye, spread his arms wide, palms up, and yelled (in his best gangsta voice), "What now, people? What now? That's what I thought."

6. Bumper Cars: The Scientist refuses to go on rides where he isn't in control of his own destiny. After my Ferris Wheel experience, I think he may be on to something. He spends a lot of time riding the Bumper Cars and, as a result, has skills and strategy most of us never realize exist. In fact, I didn't even know you could have skills and strategy on the Bumper Cars until I got suckered into going for a round against the Scientist, Daredevil, and Starshine. Starshine spent the ride going in circles...sort of...and occasionally tapping us. Daredevil spent the ride slamming into anything he could. The walls. Us. The unmanned cars. The Scientist painted a glowing target on my back and came after me. It was eleven year old boy vs. his mother and his mother lost. Big time.

I'm fortunate I don't need a chiropractor after that.

7. The Magic Show: There's a magic show every two hours, complete with escape artist, and Clint took the Scientist (who loves practicing his own magic tricks) and Starshine while I supervised Daredevil's attempt to spin himself senseless. (What now, people?!) The magician picked Clint to be his lucky assistant. Clint agreed and ended up wearing a bra over the front of his shirt for his troubles. I don't think my boys have yet recovered from the sight.

8. The Kentucky Rumbler: Daredevil is my coaster buddy and we hit the Kentucky Rumbler--a wooden monstrosity that hurls you over the track at 65 mph--three times. I had to bribe him to come on it with me the first time (coughed up $5) but once he rode it, he was all about going on it again. And again. I don't mind the heights on roller coasters because, unlike the Ferris Wheel, there's no time to contemplate the risks or the strong possibility of your own imminent demise should a screw come loose.

9. Pictures: The Kentucky Rumbler has two cameras on the track and you exit through a gift shop which displays your expression of exhilarated terror for the world to see and for you to purchase for the moderate sum of Holy Cow! You Want How Much?! Once Daredevil realized he was on camera, all bets were off. We had to ride again. Immediately. And I had to point out the location of the cameras so he could monkey around for them and get the pose he wanted. No small feat while you're flying around a corner at 65 mph. When we returned to the gift shop to view our new pic, Daredevil grinned and said "Oh, look! They got my good side." Then he slanted his eyes toward me and said, "Oh, wait. It's all good side."

It's nice to know I'm raising a confident kid.

10. Goats: That's right. Goats. And not just a few. An entire herd and then some. They know I'm on to them so they've begun congregating en mass at locations they expect me to be so they can give me a taste of the coming Goat Apocalypse.

Daredevil wanted to go to the petting zoo. I realized there would be a few goats there, but expected to see various other representatives of the barnyard variety as well, making it possible to avoid the goats.

I was wrong. There were goats (I stopped counting at 32) in every conceivable nook and cranny. Baby goats looking deceptively cute and helpless. Billy goats slamming their horns into other goats, walls, rocks, and people willy nilly. Granny goats perched on rocks, bleating their orders for world domination to their many minions. My non-goat petting options were limited to two roosters and a goose.

Two roosters. And a goose.

Have you ever tried to pet a rooster or a goose? You'd be lucky to have all your fingers intact. Not to mention that petting a goose is like sending said goose an embossed invitation to forcibly explore body cavities you'd rather remain goose-free.

I began to wonder if perhaps Beech Bend Park was marshalling their own army of human-hating animals. Who knew the bid for Zombie Goat rule would originate in Kentucky?

I was stuck with the goats and Daredevil who, though he wanted to go, was having serious second thoughts as the goats converged upon us. No, I am not exaggerating. We were quickly surrounded on all sides by goats and herded toward a rock where a granny goat perched, eyeing us like dinner.

I tried to reassure Daredevil that the baby goats around us weren't all that threatening when they attacked. Tiny horns jabbed my calves. Vicious little teeth ripped at my pants, my handbag (Back off, Horizontal-Eyed Demon!), and when I bent down to gently shove their heads aside, a large mama goat went for the Girls.

The day I let some rude mama Goat bite a chunk out of my cleavage is the day I turn in my stilettos for crocs. I grabbed her head and turned her entire body to the side, shouting at Daredevil to stick with me. As we pushed and shoved our way toward the exit, the billy goat noticed us.

This was a very bad development.

He gave up butting his fellow goats and came after us. Daredevil screamed and jumped behind me. I yanked the billy's horns aside and he proved his innate devious goat nature by pretending to lose interest. We made it nearly to the exit when I was rammed from behind.

Hard.

I had a brief moment to be thankful it wasn't the goose since billy goat heads don't usually fit bodily cavities, and then I used my handbag to my advantage and beat the goat off while we made our escape.

As we stood outside the goats' barracks (For truly, I could no longer call it a barn), the little old lady who tended the petting zoo smiled at us and said "They haven't had a lot of visitors and were a bit excited to see you, weren't they?"

I think that was code for "Darn it, now I have to lure in other visitors or what will my Zombie Goat babies eat?"

We're going back to Beech Bend at the end of the summer. We'll hit the water park, the Bumper Cars, the magic show, and the Rumbler. But under no circumstances, unless I'm duct-taped and knocked unconscious, will I willingly enter either the Ferris Wheel or the petting zoo from hell.

Redneck Tank Top

Take a close look. Note the extra seam where a seam shouldn't be unless you have family jewels to arrange.

There are so many things wrong with this, I hardly know where to start.

First, the obvious. What woman in her right mind substitutes men's tighty-whities (or not-so-whities) for a tank top? Or, for that matter, substitutes men's tighty-whities for any article of clothing? Especially in public.

Second, the underwear in question has been clearly altered. On purpose. As in Not By Accident. Someone looked at them, thought to themselves "Hey! Without that pesky crotch in the way, these make a pretty fine tank top!", grabbed their scissors and hacked away.

And I do mean hacked. The cut is uneven, the edges are jagged, there's been no attempt to make the neckline look like anything other than a sabotaged crotch. Perhaps it's too much to expect a woman who chooses to wear men's underwear upside down and crotch-less to take a modicum of pride in her tailoring but ... still.

Third, were there no flannel shirts available? No hoodies? No t-shirts to cover this faux sports bra? I have to seriously question the mental health of any woman who runs out of shirts for the day and raids her man's closet ... for his underwear.

Unless, of course, this is the ultimate example of redneck recycling. Does your man keep wearing out the crotch in his tighty-whities? Are you tired of relegating scraps of cotton to the landfill but you know you don't need more dust rags? Don't toss it, wear it! Introducing the new way to Go Green!

Finally, I have to wonder about the view from the front. The posterior of a man's underwear was not built to lift and separate. Where's the support? The anti-jiggle underwire? Most importantly, the Avoid A Wardrobe Malfunction extra lining? Perhaps we should be grateful we're only getting a view from the back.

Starshine vs. The New Tattoo

1. No, this pic isn't indicative of how my weekend went. :)

2. Especially since we all know alcohol and C.J. are a bad combination.

3. My hubby got my initials tattooed on his ring finger yesterday.

4. He's allergic to metal and can't wear a wedding band so he decided to do this instead.

5. My kids, every last one of them, tried to talk him out of it.

6. Cries of "Just get a temporary tattoo!" and "Don't do it!" filled the air until my hubby and I looked at each other and said, "Isn't this opposite the natural order of things?"

7. Our kids also tell us to turn our music down...

8. After my hubby left the house, Starshine wandered in looking for him. When I told him where his father had gone, Starshine threw his hands up in the air and said, "Great! Now my dad's going to come home looking hideous!"

9. Here's a pic:



10. On the docket this week: interviewing Jeaniene Frost and Lisa Mantchev, being interviewed by MeanKitty, and researching/plotting Twisting Fate and shiny new idea.

11. Yes, I said plotting.

12. No, I haven't become less of a Pantser. I think. But I've got a definite idea for where the story is going (Second in a series, I have plot arcs to hammer out, people!) so I'm trying my hand at a loose synopsis.

13. Very loose.

14. Lots of "something bad happens here followed by something WORSE" entries, I'm sure.

15. And shiny new idea is so FREAKING cool I can't wait to start it too.

16. I realize I fell off the blogging bandwagon for a few days last week and missed my Friday Top Ten list.

17. I'll hit it this week, I promise.

18. I discovered Elizabeth Taylor (Yes, THE Elizabeth Taylor) is on Twitter and in reading her tweets, discovered that she's a fan of the movie Twilight.

19. Somehow that seems strange to me.

The Dangers of Silicone Valley

Last night, on American Idol, Kara totally showed-up Bikini Girl by joining her onstage and proving, without a doubt, that she can sing little miss Oops I Left The Rest Of My Outfit At The Store under the table.

Bikini Girl was mad. Humiliated. Uncomfortable.

It was a moment.

I found myself feeling a spark of compassion for Bikini Girl as she stood there flaunting her newly paid-for breasts and the tiny triangle of fabric she must have super glued to her skin to avoid a wardrobe malfunction. She was totally set up. She thought she was being given an honest award for best attitude (which shows just how far into the land of Oblivion she lives) and a chance to finally showcase her, um, talent for America. Instead, Kara took over and finished the song with a voice that made Bikini Girl's sound like the weak, shaky, non-musical instrument it truly was.

My spark of compassion flickered and died, however, when I remembered Bikini Girl's behavior over the course of the season. I think the nail in my sympathy's coffin was the moment she preened in front of the four judges at her first audition and accused Kara and Paula, who were--rightly--questioning her lack of musical talent, of being jealous.

Jealous.

When she didn't make it through Hollywood week, she blamed that on women's jealousy too.

In fact, Bikini Girl's entire outlook on life can be summed up in just one sentence: I'm hot in a skimpy bikini and that's why women don't like me.

I'd like to address that glaring misconception. I don't like Bikini Girl, but it has nothing to do with jealousy. Would I love to look that great in a swimsuit? Sure. But there are plenty of women who look better in a bikini than I do and I don't despise them. What's the difference?

The difference is Bikini Girl's attitude that a) she could get what she wanted by flaunting her body and b) she was entitled to success simply because she'd paid to have enough cleavage to hide the entire island of Puerto Rico.

That's why women--intelligent, strong, talented, hard-working women--despise her. We've struggled for decades to be seen as something more than a pin-up poster. We've fought to have the right to vote rather than be seen as empty-minded little delicate flowers. We've battled our way up corporate ladders, political hierarchies, and industries, demanding equal job opportunities and pay without resorting to sleeping with a man to get it. We've looked the male-dominated fields of science, film-making, literature, and art in the eye and said, "Move over, Mister, let me show you what I can do."

And we did it because we had the talent, grit, and heart it took to get it done.

When Bikini Girl walked into her audition, preening like a playboy bunny, and simpered her way through her introduction, all the while making eyes at the men in the room and ignoring the women, she disrespected all the women who'd fought for us to be viewed as more than a man's plaything. She operated on the assumption that she didn't need talent if she had boobs and that because she looked great on the outside, the fact that her inside showed a distinct lack of intelligence and integrity wouldn't matter.

It made me sick. It still does.

So, no. I don't feel compassion for her getting a comeuppance last night. I feel disgust that she would think her body is her only commodity. I'm glad she couldn't find a way to trade it in for a spot at the top. I doubt she learned her lesson but I hope other girls, little girls, who watch AI did. I hope they compared her to Allison Ireheta, who blazed through the competition on talent and heart alone, and see that a pretty face hiding a shallow, scheming mind remains nothing more than a pretty face.

Yay For Prizes!

Query Tracker is turning two and they're having a carnival to celebrate. Enter to win a truly amazing prize--your own website designed for FREE! =) Go here for the details.

Romance University

A new blog, called Romance University, is kicking off today with a fantastic interview with NYT's best-selling author Brenda Novak. I've linked this blog to my sidebar and encourage authors, both pubbed and un-pubbed, to check it out. Some great stuff on their calendar this week!