I've been looking closer at romance novel covers recently, and trying to figure out, as Missie described it, what 'freaks on crack' are designing the things.

Generally speaking, romance novel covers have come a long way from the bodice rippers of the 70's, where the heroine was practically naked and the hero ready to pop out of his too-tight trousers. Many covers are general; they have a house or a love letter or something relevant to the story on the cover. Some have those groovy "hidden" covers--you know, the repectable outside, bodice-ripping inside jobs. And some don't even have a picture; just an 'artistic representation' --like flowers or something--that allows the reader complete freedom of imagination.

But there are still plenty of drawn covers out there to look at. And some of them are simply awful. And it begs the question: Is the art department out of its mind?

Granted, standards of beauty and taste vary with every reader. What I think of as a smoking hot hero might barely generate a sizzle with someone else (though I can't imagine why; I've got great taste!) and vice versa. But there are those books out there where you're looking at the girl or guy on the cover and thinking NO ONE in their right minds would take that book from shelf to cash register--it could be the greatest love story ever told, but if the cover doesn't do that justice, it won't sell.

Worse yet are those occasional oopsies --like when the heroine is written one way and drawn another, for example. I actually took a marker to one of my favorite romances and colored the hero's hair black because I could not stand looking at a blonde guy on the cover when the hero was dark haired!! (I know, it's totally stupid. But it drove me crazy!)

Will a cover make or break your buying decision? Do you prefer generic or specific covers? And--admit it, have any of you ever "altered" your cover or am I the only loser out here that has done that?

Tuesday's Book Review

Up for grabs today we have two selections: 'Beau Crusoe' by Carla Kelly and 'Silent In The Grave' by Deanna Raybourn.

'Beau Crusoe' is a Regency novel I picked up in part because of those lovely ladies at Snarkling Clean--the author was a recommended read from them and--coincidentally enough!--I found this latest addition to Carla Kelly's long list at my local grocery. It was also picked up because it didn't have "steaming" or "sexy" or "red-hot passions" screaming from the cover. As you know from previous posts, I've been looking for less sexy, more substantial reads lately and this seemed like it might fit the bill.

'Beau Crusoe' delivered. The relationship between James and Susannah was realistic, developed slowly, made a real foundation of friendship, trust, etc... before they were "in love". Eventually, they had sex, and it was outside of marriage, but it was only briefly referred to in rather polite terms. (No gasping, twisting, screaming stuff here). I thoroughly enjoyed this foray into 'polite' romance, and would recommend it to anyone wanting a breath of fresh air.

'Silent In The Grave' is a Victorian era murder mystery and a debut novel by Raybourn. I devoured this book in two sittings and simply cannot wait for the next book. Julia Grey's husband dies during a dinner party, and everyone assumes it is because of his weak heart. Not so, thinks Nicholas Brisbane, a private inquiry agent. At first Julia puts Brisbane off, but then upon discovery of a threatening note in her dead husband's possessions, she contacts him and they start an investigation.

This story has twists and turns galore, and secrets are being kept by nearly every player. There is an attraction between Julia and Brisbane, but it is not acted upon beyond one kiss--and the cool thing about that was, I had to wonder for almost a whole chapter whether or not they really kissed because it was written so subtly! Anyhow, I suspected at least five different people of the murder and was wrong on all of them. This was a thrilling read, well written, well done!

Monday Sparks #2


A woman buys a gun for home defense. Two days later, she can't find it.

Why is it that you have no time to get stuff done when you really need to get it done?

Take this week for example. Not only am I pulling 40 hours, but I have relatives coming on Saturday for big family dinner--which requires cleaning, vacuuming, dusting, wiping, cooking, baking etc... as well as my new refrigerator coming on Saturday during some mysterious "two-hour window" that they're supposed to arrange on Friday--which requires emptying the old fridge, cleaning it out a little, getting it out of the way, etc... as well as having to drive Son up to meet Dad at the state line, which chops about 5 1/2 hours out of my day... as well as having to grocery shop... as well as attending Son's band concert tonight that I just found out about last night... as well as still having to hang up the new curtains in the windows in the kitchen... as well as finishing putting the new knobs on the cabinet...

Somehow I have to fit all this in between now and 4:00 Saturday.

Shall we all place our bets on how many glasses of wine I have Saturday night??

I've finally figured out who I really am! Thanks to the Deadline Divas, I took the Supervillain Quiz and all answers were revealed!

I am Mystique--sometimes motherly, sometimes a beautiful companion, but mostly a deceitful vixen.

Unfortunately, this revelation didn't make me any smarter about html failure, so I don't have a cool picture for you like the Divas do.

Monday Sparks

Okay, it's a writing challenge thingy. Because hey, we can all use a little help on Mondays. Me especially. So post away, tell me what happens next.



Monday Sparks #1

You arrive home after an exhausting business trip, drop your suitcase on the bed, open it... and discover it's not yours.

Saga of the Paint Pans

After moving into Sweetheart's house almost three years ago, one of my chief goals was to remove every trace of mauve that I could. Sweetheart's ex seemed to have a serious fondness for that color. Not only was "her" room (the spare bedroom that she used for a dressing room that is now Son's room) trimmed in mauve with a wallpaper border of pink, gold and green flowers--you know the kind, those huge cabbage-sized roses--but the main bathroom was sponge-painted mauve over white (with another of those huge flower borders), the dining room was sponge-painted mauve over white, the walls in the kitchen were solid mauve and the countertops were mauve also.

Yes, folks, even the countertops.

It was kind of scary, and probably some of you are wondering why in the world I'd move into a pink nightmare, but I had pluck, by God, and I saw potential.

And now, three years (almost) later, I've almost reached my goal.

First we repainted Son's room. Crumb-cookie white (what kind of white is crumb cookie? heck if I know, but it's a nice, creamy, non-sterile white) with Lava blue trim (that's navy for those of you who haven't studied your paint chips lately). Then I moved into the bathroom and painted that tiny, cramped little space a bright, light, happy turquoise (the official name escapes me at the moment). Then I took on the sponge painting in the dining room with Spiced Pear (a light, peachy tan) with more Crumb Cookie trim. Then the sterile, hotel-white living room had to go. I chose a fine shade of Toffee Crunch (this color, depending on the light, runs the gamut from maize yellow to light orange) with, again, Crumb Cookie for the trim. While I was at it, I Crumb-Cookied the hallway as well. Brightened it up considerably.

That left the kitchen. I spent about a year messing about with paint chips, trying fruitlessly to match something to those horrid mauve countertops. And then, a miracle of sorts happened. The kitchen faucet started leaking onto the counter, which made its way into the backsplash and warped it. Oops. We got the faucet fixed but the backsplash is bowed out from the wall in a couple of spots.

I'm sure you can tell I wasn't too distressed by this turn of events.

Anyhow, I abandoned trying to match the counter and painted the kitchen proper Pewter Tray (a striking blend of pale gray, blue and green) and the larger sitting area Quiet Moment (a rich teal with gray overtones). It doesn't match the counters at all, but I don't care because they'll be gone by the end of summer, and replaced by a lovely laminate countertop called Nirvana (or for those of you in the know, 1792-60).

I think that's a fitting end, don't you?

Monkey In The Middle

I hate being pushed into the middle of conflict. I'm not good at conflict generally; I prefer to have a happy, peaceful existence full of butterflies and sunny days. However, conflict comes to all of us. Sometimes it's directly between me and one other person, and I deal with it as the situation warrants.

Other times, I get yanked in to a conflict that has nothing to do with me and I end up playing referee, peacekeeper, bad cop.

Those times suck. Unfortunately, I'm having one of those times now.

Sweetheart and Son are wrestling through the inevitable male post-pissing contest. Son is hitting puberty, and is challenging Sweetheart's authority in a big way. They are in a deadlock at the moment that is spiralling downward, and guess who's getting sucked in?

And of course, nothing I can say, nothing I suggest is met with any grace or appreciation. Just "You're not supporting me".

Well excuse me for not always agreeing 100%. Frankly, it's just plain common sense that if your current approach to parental authority is not working, you change your approach. You realize that the intellect of a 12 year old is still pretty black and white, you stop expecting them to rationalize like an adult and you bring the hammer down. Hard.

My issue here is that I agree with Sweetheart and think that Son is being too disrespectful. But I feel like if I take up the charge, that Son will see me once again sticking up for Sweetheart and that this will--in his pubescent mind-- make Sweetheart look weak. And Son will continue to challenge him and disrespect him, and the cycle will just start all over. But on the other hand I can't just say nothing either. It's a narrow beam I have to walk, and I'm not looking forward to it at all.

Happy Birthday to me!
Happy Birthday to me!
Happy Birthday, dear meeee
Happy Birthday to me!!!!

Oh yes, folks, this year I've hit 40. It's supposed to be a milestone, and in honor of that milestone, I'll look back on my life and relate some things I've learned.

Wiping out on a bicycle in a gravel driveway hurts really bad.
Everyone should go to Egypt at least once in their lifetime.
Sometimes divorce is not only necessary, it's preferable!
You can start over with nothing.
Delivering a baby gives any woman bragging rights FOR LIFE.
Power steering is a gift from God.
I will never not have a cat in my life.
Sometimes, no matter how nice you are to houseplants, they die anyway.
A comfortable bed is a must. Electric blankets are pretty cool, too.
I'll NEVER look good in hats.

Profound, huh? Well, what did you expect? I'm not the Dalai Lama or anything!

One thing that drives me crazy is when people are supposed to be courteous--when people KNOW they're supposed to be courteous--and they just slide right into discourteousness anyway.

For example, my storytimes. Granted, they're for toddlers, so parents are going to get bored. Most of them put up with it well; they try to participate and attempt to control their child's behavior. Then there are the other ones. The ones that hold a conversation--out loud, sometimes LOUDLY--between themselves when I'm trying to read a story. Like, Hello?

This kills me. And there I am, trying to out-shout the parents so that everyone else in the room can hear me!

And--you guessed it--these are the ones that don't watch their kids and then when the kid falls and splits his head open, they're giving ME dirty looks. Grrr....

I had the oddest experience yesterday while exploring blogland and just had to share it.

But first, a question: when you all post comments on other people's blogs, do you go back later and read the other comments to see what other bloggers think about the article, or think about what you said? I do. I love reading comments; it's almost as much fun as reading the blogs themselves.

So anyway, there I was yesterday, reading, commenting, minding my own business. I go back to one blog that I commented on, a posting that had asked for suggestions/opinions and I had offered mine and I wanted to see what everyone else's opinions were on the subject.

And about four or five comments down from my comment was someone bashing my suggestion/opinion in their comment.

I felt like I'd been bitch-slapped or something.

It was the oddest thing! I'm sitting there, reading the comments and I'm like, WTF? I was just offering my opinion! And if anyone should be doing comment bashing it should be the person who wrote the article in the first place, right?

I thought this was bad manners on the part of the other commenter. But perhaps this kind of thing is the norm. I'm not sure. What do you think?

It's funny how things work out. There I was, yesterday morning, sitting in front of my computer and wanting to use it for kindling. So I blogged about my writer's block, got some awesome responses of encouragement and then, over the course of yesterday, even while the preschool area was full of screaming kids at 7:30 at night, mind you, wrote out over 3 pages of plotting ideas/questions/conflicts (and we're talking single spaced pages, baby, not that wimpy double-spaced crap, so there!) and even wrote a page of possible motives/actions for my villain.

Gosh, I feel so much better. Maybe I should crab about my blocks more often!

(either that, or I need to start writing in toy stores and Chuck E Cheese's!)

Anyway, thanks to all for your encouragement, and have a lovely day!

Help! There's a block on my writer's path!

It's a landslide that completely covers the roadway. There's some fallen trees mixed in, a tipped-over semi surrounded by smudge pots and scores of onlookers and somewhere, in the distance, a barking dog. The only way through is to dig. Sift through the rubble, push aside the trees, and dig and dig and dig some more.

All I've got is a teaspoon.

Crap.