tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-58116642257901247622024-03-13T19:36:57.572-05:00The Art of Seduction is Watts Beneath the CoversThe comings and goings, the doing and undoings, the bulletin board of all things MiaMia Wattshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00674765897555195383noreply@blogger.comBlogger551125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5811664225790124762.post-1559526644054505412013-04-08T00:00:00.000-05:002013-04-08T00:00:04.670-05:00Meet Ninette SwannHey guys! I know it's been forever since I've blogged, but I had to. I totally had to! See this lovely lady below? She's a relatively new author with a whole lotta talent. I'm kinda nuts about her so please welcome her to the blog.<br />
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<b><a href="http://www.ninetteswann.com/2013/03/just-messenger-blog-tour-dates-and.html">Follow the blog tour by clicking this link!</a></b></div>
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<b>ABOUT NINETTE SWANN</b></div>
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Ninette Swann is a journalist turned novelist who writes her books from sunny Florida in between parenting, freelancing and editing. She writes all genre of romance, including contemporary, thriller, suspense, and dystopian. Her books include Hit and Stay, Body Combat, Finding Home, Just the Messenger and Direct Combat.</div>
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<b>FIND NINETTE ONLINE:</b></div>
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Blog: <a href="http://ninetteswann.com/" target="_blank">http://ninetteswann.com</a></div>
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Facebook: <a href="http://www.facebook.com/NinetteSwann" target="_blank">http://www.facebook.com/NinetteSwann</a></div>
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Twitter: <a href="https://twitter.com/NinetteSwann" target="_blank">https://twitter.com/NinetteSwann</a>, @ninetteswann</div>
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Goodreads: <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6426460.Ninette_Swann" target="_blank">http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6426460.Ninette_Swann</a></div>
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<b>BLURB:</b></div>
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When Graciela Merced fumbles a package she’s delivering for her mysterious
and sexy boss, Gene Hardy, she finds out he’s more than just a wealthy
photographer. Prepared to lose her job, she confronts him…and ends up embroiled
in the tricky takedown of a powerful drug cartel pushing cocaine into the heart
of New York City.</div>
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Marco Valencia is an undercover agent, working against time—and against
Gene Hardy—to crack Angel’s Drug Cartel before the story makes it to the press.
When Hardy’s luscious Venezuelan messenger literally falls at his feet, he has
no idea just how well he’ll get to know the beauty or how difficult it will be
to drop her.</div>
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Hardened by experience, Gene Hardy takes his undercover work seriously, and
charges a hefty price. When Grace makes a careless mistake and hurls him back
into the visage of Marco Valencia, he must either fire her, or involve her in a
twisted plot that could kill them all.</div>
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As the two men battle over their feelings for Graciela—and their attraction
to each other—one thing becomes perfectly clear.</div>
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Grace is much more than just the messenger.</div>
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<b>BUY LINKS:</b></div>
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00BOYYKXO">Amazon</a><br />
<a href="https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-justthemessenger-1098125-152.html">All Romance Ebooks</a> </div>
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<a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/just-the-messenger-ninette-swann/1114763651?ean=2940016263878">Barnes and Noble</a></div>
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<a href="http://noboundariespressstore.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&products_id=262">No Boundaries Press</a></div>
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<a class="rafl" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/35a4bc4/" id="rc-35a4bc4" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a>
<script src="//d12vno17mo87cx.cloudfront.net/embed/rafl/cptr.js"></script>Mia Wattshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00674765897555195383noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5811664225790124762.post-90392982882860322512012-05-23T06:42:00.003-05:002012-05-23T06:42:47.843-05:00Meet Ninette Swann!<br />
<b><span style="color: red;"><i>Hey all! Ninette Swann is a friend of mine who's been in the writing industry for years. Please welcome her as she releases her very first romantic suspense novel! Hit and Stay will be available today at</i></span> <a href="http://resplendencepushlishing.com/">Resplendence</a>.</b><br />
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<br />
<b>How to Write a Book When You’re “Too Busy”</b><br />
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I’m a stay-at-home / work-at-home mom and one of the largest battles we face is that we don’t do anything. Our lives consist of trash TV, raising a few super-attached, maladjusted brats, and maybe cooking dinner. If it doesn’t interfere with our bon-bon eating, of course.<br />
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You can imagine how upset I was to find that writers face the same nonsense. If you write for a living, apparently you don’t do anything.<br />
Wrong.<br />
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Writing is hard. It takes dedication, belief in yourself, some kind of skill with the English language, and most of all, time. It takes a lot of time.<br />
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So, when people say they’d love to write a book, but they’re too busy, I totally get it. If you don’t make time for it, and make time for it consistently, it will never get done. Here are a few ways I’ve found to do it.<br />
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<b>1)<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Put it on your to-do list (mental or otherwise)</b><br />
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I have a real to-do list. On it I place sixteen things I’d like to do each day. It’s a rolling list, so the things that don’t get done stay there until they are done. If “write chapter six” has been on my to-do list for three days, I know it’s time to write that thing or I’ll lose interest in my own project.<br />
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One of the biggest problems with writing for the “working” person (or the SAHM, in my case) is that it sounds like fun. It’s a reward. A gift. I can write if I clean all my bathrooms. I can write when I finally finish all my caseloads at work. I can write if. I can write when.<br />
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Forget it.<br />
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Write now. Make it part of your work, part of your day. You’re not goofing off, you’re working hard on something that will reward you.<br />
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<b>2)<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Get used to interruptions.</b><br />
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I write in six-word intervals. With three-year-old twins, not a sentence goes by before I’m being begged for a snack, or a tissue, or to play a game.<br />
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When you write sentence by sentence, with minutes or hours in between, it’s not going to be your best stuff. You’ll have to go back and edit. You’ll find words that don’t belong and thoughts that are jumbled. But if you don’t plod on anyway, if you wait for the perfect six-hour window to write, you never will. Those six hours will never come. You’ve got to seize the moment. Every moment.<br />
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<b>3)<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Forsake immediate goals for overall achievements</b><br />
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So many writers I know set word goals for themselves. I need to write 1,000 words this hour. I need to write 15,000 this week. But they’re only setting themselves up for disappointment. Remember, quality over quantity. If you don’t bust out a 1,500-word scene in the two-hour nap period (or your one-hour lunch break) don’t sweat it. The page will be there waiting for you. It’s more important to get down what you can when you can. And come back to it. You must always come back to it. If you consistently let yourself down by writing slower than you think you should, you’ll be discouraged and lose faith in the work.<br />
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Research is important. Tone is important. Sentences and word choice are important. These things take time. If you write 200 words one day, that’s great. That’s what you should be looking at. Those paragraphs get you closer to your overall goal, which is writing a completed work. Don’t lose the forest for the trees.<br />
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<b>4)<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Get up in the morning.</b><br />
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You’ll write better if you do. I always tell myself, I’ll write a chapter during nap, or I’ll write that scene after the girls are in bed for the night, but the truth is, by nap and bed time, I’m burned out. I’m spent. I can sometimes force myself to write, sure. But it’s not fun. And it’s not as good as it would be were I fresh.<br />
You don’t have to write in the morning. If you’re not a morning person and you actually do better at night, use the extra time to get other stuff done so that it’s not over your head when you finally sit down at the computer. Take a shower, do the dishes, go for a walk, whatever.<br />
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Just get up early enough to start your day with some you time. It will center and ground you.<br />
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<b>5)<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Leave your house.</b><br />
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For the particular among us, sometimes there are just too many things to be done around the home to allow for proper concentration. You can’t write because you are too busy tidying or cleaning, or Teen Mom is on your television set. Wouldn’t your time be better spent if you called your mom real quick?<br />
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That’s when it’s time to pack up and go out. Go to a coffee shop where you don’t know anyone. Go to a friend’s house who is also writing. You can feed off each other.<br />
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The important thing is to get yourself alone with your computer so that you can’t write for a few moments and then check your email, write for a few moments and then IM your sister. You can’t get up to dust that ceiling fan that you always forget about. You have nothing to do but write. There is nothing but you, the coffee and the blank page.<br />
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Long story short, nobody is too busy to write. If you want to write, you can find a way. So stop making excuses and get started. You’ll find the words flowing more quickly than you would have imagined possible.<br />
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<i>**Ninette Swann is a romantic suspense writer whose debut novel, Hit and Stay, is out now by Resplendence Publishing. She writes in between her gigs as a freelance journalist, editor and mommy blogger—and while wrangling her two adorably sweet angels…or insufferable hellions, depending on the day. You can visit her at http://ninetteswann.com</i><br />
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<i><span style="color: red;"><b>Thanks for joining me today, Ninette!</b></span></i><br />
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<br /></div>Mia Wattshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00674765897555195383noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5811664225790124762.post-68178591826773846292012-03-15T07:47:00.001-05:002012-03-15T07:47:40.805-05:00I have Brass Balls<br />
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I do! For realz. My book Brass Balls released yesterday at ResplendencePublishing.com. I loved this book above all other Balls. I think the view is popular considering that it went up on All Romance eBooks yesterday, and I already have a silver best selling star! I'm number two in the category of Gay Romance, number two in the category of Contemporary Romance, and number one in Erotic Romance.<br />
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I guess you could say I'm floating. :) So here's my bid for promotion.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">BRASS BALLS, by @MiaWatts</span></b><br />
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<a href="http://www.resplendencepublishing.com/m8/426-201-118-440-14--brass-balls-handcuffs-and-lace-by-mia-watts.html" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRhWEbVlh0nfdnGU3nvIQipEvmM32ypTIBvLe1qmQGD4wIMlQOSjPuvi3Yg9vwl1DZabl7v-NIg1h9Ke1D5QXB6ZHzMxva1Vpfw8DU1HZ57YA3lh3FBJvgV8hNsin7iY5yKSUigKzLn_4/s320/Brass+Balls.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
PRICE: $3.99<br />
ISBN: 978-1-60735-480-2<br />
CATEGORY: Contemporary Erotic Romance, Male/Male, Handcuffs and Lace.<br />
LENGTH: Novella<br />
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<b>BLURB</b>:<br />
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<i>Handcuffs and Lace</i> Series<br />
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Kissing a fellow police officer might not have been the smartest drunken move Oak Takala has made in recent years. Okay, and it might have complicated the issue that the officer in question is his father’s former partner, Wyatt Peterman. Aaaaaand there’s the fact that Peterman is the newly appointed precinct captain.<br />
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So what the fuck? Why not go balls to the wall and make a play no one will forget?<br />
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<b>EXCERPT</b>:<br />
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“Fuck, the new captain is here,” Detective Sommerset declared, choking on his beer. It sloshed as he whipped it away from his mouth and slammed it on the table a little too hard.<br />
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Oak Takala snorted. He mentally struck the verbal comma and “is here”. His body was already on board with the idea of fucking the new captain. He glanced over his shoulder as the bar erupted with cheers.<br />
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“And the old one,” a familiar voice said near Oak.<br />
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A heavy hand fell on Oak’s shoulder. He turned around and grabbed his old man in a half hug. They pounded each other’s backs in the time old tradition of rough men showing rough affection in public.<br />
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“Hey, dad. Thought you’d ring in the new regime with the guys?” Oak asked.<br />
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Former Captain of Police, now voice of the local tribe, John Takala grinned broadly. “You know it. I’m just glad the powers-that-be took my recommendation seriously. Wyatt Peterman’s been an asset to the department since he partnered with me as a detective.”<br />
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“I’m just glad they chose another guy from our precinct instead of bringing in new blood who doesn’t know us. Means we’re doing something right,” Oak added.<br />
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His father squeezed his shoulder. “Means I’m doing something right that they took my recommendation.”<br />
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“So what’s your new position like, Cap—Geez, what the hell do I call you now? Mister Takala?” Sommerset wondered.<br />
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“Yep, that’s all I am now. A civie. The only captain Takala will be my son when Peterman resigns.”<br />
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“No pressure,” Oak noted.<br />
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“He’s gotta be as good as his old man, first.” The new voice sent a hot crawl down Oak’s spine.<br />
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“Captain Peterman, speak of the devil,” Oak’s dad did the back-clapping thing with his former partner.<br />
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They laughed. John lifted Oak’s beer as though it was his own and shouted a toast to the bar filled with off-duty cops. They hoisted their mugs and guzzled amber fluid in deep draining pulls amidst joyful shouts.<br />
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Oak tried not to look at the captain out of the corner of his eye, but the man had so much charisma that it grabbed hold of Oak’s attention with invisible fists. Determined not to notice, Oak rescued his beer and drained the contents.<br />
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“Whoa! Slow down there, partner. You’re supposed to be my designated driver,” Sommerset complained. “I’ve had way too many to take the wheel, and you just downed a second pint.”<br />
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Oak stared into the thread foam at the base of his mug. “I think it’s my first.”<br />
<br />
“No way. Chuckie bought you a second round just before Peterman got here.”<br />
<br />
“Captain Peterman,” both John and Wyatt said at the same time.<br />
<br />
“Aw, c’mon, we’re off the clock,” Sommerset teased.<br />
<br />
“Not when it comes to seniority,” John corrected.<br />
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“Fine, fine, but he’s had two beers.” Sommerset faced Oak. “You weren’t gonna drink Chuckie’s.”<br />
<br />
“I forgot.” He had forgotten. Wyatt Peterman, Captain Wyatt Peterman, could make him forget his fucking name if he wanted to. It took a look, a smile, a hit to the chest of the man’s deep laugh and deeper dimples, to make Oak go completely tongue-tied.<br />
<br />
Another beer appeared in front of him. He stared at it.<br />
<br />
“Don’t even think about it, man.” Sommerset was already claiming the frothy mug.<br />
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Oak wrapped his hand around it to stop him. Sommerset’s smile disappeared. “Seriously. You can’t drive as it is. Neither can I.”<br />
<br />
“I know. We’ll walk,” Oak decided.<br />
<br />
“I’ll drive you,” Captain Peterman said.<br />
<br />
“He’s my kid. I’ll take them both home,” John protested.<br />
<br />
Peterman shouldered in to the bar table they stood around. “You and I both know that even off the clock, I can’t throw back beers with the guys. I can’t be one of them anymore.”<br />
<br />
Oak could hear the smile in Peterman’s voice, and he resisted the urge to look, choosing to take a long drink of his draft.<br />
<br />
“The three of you will have to drink my beers for me, and I’ll drive you all home,” the captain finished.<br />
<br />
Four fresh mugs appeared on the table. Oak was shocked to see the beer he’d been holding was now empty. He reached for his fourth mug. There were perks to being the former captain’s kid and the new captain’s friend.<br />
<br />
Sorta.<br />
<br />
There was also a shit-ton of disadvantages. Especially when you lusted after your dad’s former partner. It had been bad enough wanting Peterman when he came over to the house for dinner, during Oak’s teen years and not being able to do anything about it.<br />
<br />
Then there was growing up and joining the force. More than just his dad’s partner, he became inter-office taboo. But no, why stop there? Why not promote the object of his desires right into the most unobtainable position on the planet—oh, say, captain—and put him in the same office day in and day out where Oak couldn’t help but see him. And it wasn’t as if a captain ever left the office. No, he was there overseeing. It fucking increased the hours in a day Oak had to pretend the man didn’t turn every one of his hormones into raging drones drawn to the cliff of self-destruction.<br />
<br />
Kill him now. Just kill him now. God, his life sucked. Maybe he should put in for a transfer.<br />
<br />
“Take it easy, kid. I think you’ve already reached your limit,” Peterman told Oak.<br />
<br />
Peterman’s upper arm brushed Oak’s shoulder. Oak bit back a groan behind the rim of his mug. A warm hand closed over his and pushed the mug to the tabletop. He made the mistake of looking up into Wyatt’s dark blue eyes. Since when had the captain grown fuzzy eyes and a halo around his head? He reached a hand up to touch the halo and patted Peterman’s head instead.<br />
<br />
“Slow down. There isn’t a race to drain the tap,” Peterman murmured only loud enough for him.<br />
<br />
Ah, but Peterman didn’t realize that there was a race for drowning his libido before it took a turn he couldn’t come back from. “I know what I’m doing,” Oak slurred.<br />
<br />
“Sure, ya do.”<br />
<br />
He swung his head around. The room took a minute to settle. “Hey. Where’d dad go?”<br />
<br />
“He’s in the john,” Sommerset told him. He giggled madly. “John’s in the john. God, that’s funny shit right there.” He laughed harder. “Shit! Ha! Funny shit in the john where John is. I’m a fucking comedian.”<br />
<br />
“Right, it’s time to go, boys.”<br />
<br />
“Not done, boss,” Oak argued.<br />
<br />
“You’re not only done, you’re roasted and served up in beer sauce.”<br />
<br />
Oak smirked. “Maybe you’ve had too much to drink too.”<br />
<br />
“Not a sip.” Peterman grabbed the upper arms of both men. “Let’s go before you find a way to call in sick tomorrow.”<br />
<br />
“I have days saved up,” Oak told him.<br />
<br />
“So you’re going to call in and leave your partner without a wingman because you drank like a fish one night? You aren’t who I thought you were,” Peterman countered.<br />
<br />
“Yeah.” Bright words of wisdom from Sommerset.<br />
<br />
“What—I mean, who—did you think I was?”<br />
<br />
Peterman spared him a look as he manhandled them through the crowd and into the cooler night air of the parking lot. “An officer.”<br />
<br />
“Pfft. That’s a given captain. I have a badge and everything. It’s super shiny.”<br />
<br />
“Mine is too,” Sommerset chimed in.<br />
<br />
“Fantastic. Neither of you can hold your liquor, and now I’m going to have two of the three stooges in my backseat.”<br />
<br />
“How ’bout you join me in the back seat, hm?” Oak wasn’t positive, but he had the sinking suspicion that he’d regret that offer tomorrow. He ran the words over in his inebriated mind. Nope, they sounded good. Really, really good. Think of all the things they could do in the backseat of Peterman’s car.<br />
<br />
“Who’d drive you home if we were all in the backseat?”<br />
<br />
“You missed the point completely,” Oak complained.<br />
<br />
“No, I don’t think I did.”<br />
<br />
He shoved Sommerset into the backseat, policeman style with his hand on his head to keep Sommerset from bumping it on the way in. Sommerset sprawled, laughing as the door closed behind him. He maneuvered Oak to the other side.<br />
<br />
“What? You get me drunk, and I don’t even get a goodnight kiss?” Oak asked feeling a little sloppy. The captain wasn’t standing still, was he? It was hard to tell. He glared at Oak for several seconds, letting Oak’s request sink into his own head. Oak slapped a hand over his mouth. Oh shit, he knew that one would haunt him later. That’s why he started laughing. Of course, that was why he was laughing and not because he’d just come out of the closet to his captain in a big way.<br />
<br />
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Get in.”<br />
<br />
<br />Mia Wattshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00674765897555195383noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5811664225790124762.post-73461450003665022852012-01-11T07:14:00.004-06:002012-01-11T07:14:33.450-06:00Book WenchesHey y'all,<br />
<br />
I'm being featured over at <a href="http://www.bookwenches.com/aad12miawatts.htm">BookWenches</a> blog today. Come check it out, and get an idea of upcoming projects and cover art. So pretty!<br />
<br />
Today is also a release day for me. I released a book in the EC for Men category, as Katie Blu, over at Ellora's Cave. Here're my deets.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOQ2NOlFF59JzxAdBfRRcBBO_k06JSOK_YY1ste6efl03nPqpz_H0Y8YHbNDrv_yItRSY-ZzBZkB4_pKUOgG7XE97z5NMzkt81MUOc2v23-q9J_oPSL_QStXwrDjxL8BKDfCIT9TAFZr8K/s1600/nailing+the+boss.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOQ2NOlFF59JzxAdBfRRcBBO_k06JSOK_YY1ste6efl03nPqpz_H0Y8YHbNDrv_yItRSY-ZzBZkB4_pKUOgG7XE97z5NMzkt81MUOc2v23-q9J_oPSL_QStXwrDjxL8BKDfCIT9TAFZr8K/s400/nailing+the+boss.jpg" width="243" /></a></div>
<b>NAILING THE BOSS (EC for Men)</b><br />
<b><br /></b><br />
<b>BLURB:</b><br />
<br />
Billy Galan thinks his boss Tanya Orly is smoking hot. She’s got legs that go on forever, breasts begging to be touched and crimson-red lips that can make any man her slave. So when Tanya crooks her finger in his direction one day, he’s not about to turn her down for what becomes her last hurrah before her wedding to another man.<br />
<br />
It’s all sex, all day, and there isn’t anything Tanya won’t do.<br />
<br />
<b>EXCERPT:</b><br />
<br />
Billy Galan collected the papers and clips his assistant had just dropped all over the floor. Again. Poor kid was something of a mess. He shook his head while she continued to babble apologies. Thinly carpeted concrete bit into his kneecap through tailored slacks.<br />
He reached for a paper that had fallen toward the aisle when his gaze snagged on an approaching pair of legs. Long, slim and toned, he could tell they were smooth and silky by the muted gleam of polished skin. She probably took long moisturizing baths with gentle cream rubdowns. Dear God, it made his cock twitch.<br />
Billy’s gaze traveled down, not missing an inch of high-arched, delicate foot wrapped in candy-apple-red leather. A thin strap across her instep served no other purpose than to tease the flesh as it skimmed across, kissing her translucent skin and mocking him by doing so. Three inches lifted her heel, forcing her ankle to flex and delineating every rise and dip of the small bones and pushing her lean calf into a tight swell.<br />
He’d know those long legs anywhere. He grinned as he sat back on his heels and blindly handed the wayward paper to his waiting assistant.<br />
The red shoes pivoted and long fluid strides brought the sensual stems to Billy. He barely kept from cupping one slim ankle and dragging his palm up her calf.<br />
“Morning, boss,” Billy drawled.<br />
His gaze rose slowly, taking in the full effect of short, straight skirt at mid-thigh. She stood with her legs slightly parted, drawing the black fabric tightly against her firm, round thighs and making him think about the folds hidden in the shadow between them, just out of sight.<br />
Would it be too much to hope for commando? Maybe a lacy thong he could hook his finger on, and draw aside for a leisurely lick. He nearly groaned.<br />
Tanya squatted expertly, keeping her lovely knees together and letting her tight black skirt define the sweet curve of her ass. “Enjoying the view from down here?”<br />
It was difficult, but he managed to drag his eyes away from her open neckline and exposed cleavage to ruby-colored lips and sexy bedroom eyes of soft green. She lifted one artful arch.<br />
<br />Mia Wattshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00674765897555195383noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5811664225790124762.post-1351747972687127102012-01-06T07:27:00.002-06:002012-01-06T07:27:43.869-06:00Bacon PornI was on the phone yesterday with <a href="http://bronwyngreenblog.blogspot.com/">Bronwyn Green</a> (a common denominator in <a href="http://www.threewickedwriters.blogspot.com/2012/01/still-wednesday-still-counts.html">many </a>blogs across the internet lately. This woman starts stuff, I'm telling you.). I was making lunch and chatting. Hey, I can multitask with the best of them, damnit.<br />
<br />
Anyway, if you'll remember from several days ago, I'm doing my darnedest to cut carbs from my diet. My doctor gives me the green light on all fats (particularly non-animal, but animal is okay too) and proteins. Well, I love bacon. I love onions and I love portobellos. What could be better than combining them for one fab lunch?<br />
<br />
I had Bron drooling on the other end of the phone. It was a thing of beauty. The power, not the drooling. Still, she asked me to post pics today. I did, but the lighting is wonky and some of the shots aren't crisp... LIKE MY BACON WAS. It's worth putting up though.<br />
<br />
Here's the thing, I rarely repeat recipes without altering stuff. So while this was the second time I've made this, I added new flavors to it based on my mood. I'll put a list of yummy ones at the bottom and you can choose your own gastronomical adventure.<br />
<br />
You can double this recipe and keep the rest in your fridge for a quick lunch later in the week, or a FANTASTIC potato topper--if you're a carb kid (Ahem, <a href="http://amberskyze.blogspot.com/">Amber</a>)<br />
<br />
<b>Ingredients:</b><br />
<br />
1/2 Large Sweet/Vidalia onion<br />
1/2 pkg smoked bacon, (I prefer apple wood smoked)<br />
2 Large portobellos<br />
Shredded cheese, about 1/2 a cup<br />
salt and pepper to taste.<br />
<br />
Possible herb adds, individual or in any combination.<br />
Cumin (used this in these pictures)<br />
Garlic<br />
thyme<br />
Cilantro<br />
Add tomato dice for some zest<br />
squeeze of lemon<br />
etc.<br />
<br />
<b>Directions:</b><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWS9_ZIHcyv4u0p58j-0U2l8smY_2JrK-ucpotSJzHxJmswIigXqQ3L5EjjLaP3rVQcW7ezZRpXUmJfxoM7a_pMKJW8HTEtkqzHi9z9srdOLmbt0yVT9wqtGB0b657UsPFqDqoReAM_bHd/s1600/photo+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWS9_ZIHcyv4u0p58j-0U2l8smY_2JrK-ucpotSJzHxJmswIigXqQ3L5EjjLaP3rVQcW7ezZRpXUmJfxoM7a_pMKJW8HTEtkqzHi9z9srdOLmbt0yVT9wqtGB0b657UsPFqDqoReAM_bHd/s200/photo+%25281%2529.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pardon the dark pan. It's very very old.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<i>Preheat oven or toaster oven to 350</i><br />
1. Chop bacon into cubes and throw in a medium high heat skillet.<br />
<br />
2. Dice onion and throw into the pan with warmed bacon. If you're going to add an herb or other flavoring, do so now and mix well. Cook thoroughly until the bacon and onion has naturally caramelized. I prefer crunchy bacon and brown-tinged onions. Salt and pepper lightly (remember the bacon is salty and you may not want to add any salt at all.)<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzvBfBxQMnvf96lUl3RVPU0-0XjJgFgnlixM2TczGa5ONR4x8Ao0yvdp-TgXXITi5X2qZX0W4wE-OwrQF5JyQmyNUhnORCbI7bA_g5l3hyphenhyphenVgSyoASfnjafNaPx5iTSouUtIlBhcTUejMiS/s1600/photo+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzvBfBxQMnvf96lUl3RVPU0-0XjJgFgnlixM2TczGa5ONR4x8Ao0yvdp-TgXXITi5X2qZX0W4wE-OwrQF5JyQmyNUhnORCbI7bA_g5l3hyphenhyphenVgSyoASfnjafNaPx5iTSouUtIlBhcTUejMiS/s200/photo+%25282%2529.jpg" width="200" /></a>3. Prepare your portos. Clean them with a moist towel to get off the dirt, don't wash under water. If there are stems, take them off and chop them up. Add them to the mixture in the skillet for awesome flavor and texture.<br />
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4. Take the stuffing off the heat. Load the porto caps with your combination with a slotted spoon, or drain lightly on a towel to remove some but not all of the grease. As full or stingy as you prefer.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGhknoojBsR8NOemHyRcJzCkMI1doIcXlFk69hO408mglv9utltK3AnvvVMqvqgkgq5GVR5s8Hgg3D2MUvw_j3VLIjCsUnxTPCsJniY5ZGB5hsBzkAxZ1nipnlaZ6QjScoZ-koi26b2L4K/s1600/photo+%25283%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGhknoojBsR8NOemHyRcJzCkMI1doIcXlFk69hO408mglv9utltK3AnvvVMqvqgkgq5GVR5s8Hgg3D2MUvw_j3VLIjCsUnxTPCsJniY5ZGB5hsBzkAxZ1nipnlaZ6QjScoZ-koi26b2L4K/s200/photo+%25283%2529.jpg" width="149" /></a>5. Divide the cheese and put evenly over both caps. You can press it down if it threatens to spill off.<br />
<br />
6. Put in oven/toaster oven. If you like your cheese crispy like I do, it takes about 20-30 minutes. If you like the cheese less crispy and more bubbly, cook the porto caps without the cheese for about 20 min, pull them out and load the cheese. Pop them back in for another five minutes to melt the cheese adequately.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJxljUeR-ybm-sZnCmOrH9YNYH0gM9o4wy5c5NYpfsYjEkCxGcR__45s0x3n-wTNfW3_-dAIV-UKwmfR4BfP5de8m8hXuLeSgG5YsK82ZHI4PtFvqkaO3ZBs68TGb3zmN8tYTGUHvqD9ru/s1600/photo+%25285%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJxljUeR-ybm-sZnCmOrH9YNYH0gM9o4wy5c5NYpfsYjEkCxGcR__45s0x3n-wTNfW3_-dAIV-UKwmfR4BfP5de8m8hXuLeSgG5YsK82ZHI4PtFvqkaO3ZBs68TGb3zmN8tYTGUHvqD9ru/s200/photo+%25285%2529.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
7. Eat. Yum.<br />
<br />Mia Wattshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00674765897555195383noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5811664225790124762.post-13129331255270441952012-01-05T07:00:00.000-06:002012-01-05T07:00:07.462-06:00Hey!Blogging over at ThreeWickedWriters.blogspot.com today. It's all about stuff. Real stuff, even. :) And this: <br />
<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5tX32eLII-M/TwUSaaWKecI/AAAAAAAAA-k/_W_7DVwXhd0/s1600/Mommy%2527s_Little_Succubus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5tX32eLII-M/TwUSaaWKecI/AAAAAAAAA-k/_W_7DVwXhd0/s640/Mommy%2527s_Little_Succubus.jpg" width="425" /></a></div>
<br />Mia Wattshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00674765897555195383noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5811664225790124762.post-59579022908205859212012-01-03T08:19:00.001-06:002012-01-03T08:19:49.632-06:00Being an AssI feel the need to poll the world.<br />
<br />
I have had a few of my "harder" heroes get labeled as asses. Mostly because there was one scene or another where the hero is trying very hard to make sense of his emotions. He gets frustrated and lets his temper fly. Usually during sex.<br />
<br />
Here's the why.<br />
<br />
It's a moment of passion where you are completely vulnerable and your partner could devastate you. If you're in love with the person and afraid to admit it, you might employ the opposite emotion: anger. It's targeted at yourself (or the hero's self) and he needs reassurance even if it comes off as a gruff attack.<br />
<br />
I pride myself on creating realistic characters. Each character has his or her own persona unique to their circumstances, and they respond to stimulus the way they uniquely would do that. They aren't perfect. They're human. They've had to make tough decisions, or they are a touch arrogant. These are traits that make them "real". And real is what the author strives for.<br />
<br />
So when there's a hero in a story who is mostly heroic and ends the story heroically, is it so hard to believe that their humanity has slipped along the way at critical moments when their emotions or doubts get the best of them? Isn't it these traits which allow us to identify with them, get angry at them, and ultimately love them more for becoming a better person at the end?<br />
<br />
I guess I don't get it. Do you (this is that polling part) want a perfect hero, or a flawed man who has an emotional journey just as relevant as the heroine's journey? Do you want a one-sided relationship test, always knowing that ONE of the two-some are completely well-adjusted, or do you want to show the reader that both parties struggle only to come together in the end?<br />
<br />
I don't know if you know this, but I learned a long time ago, that no matter how perfect you are together, you have to work at it to make a relationship happen. Two people from two different backgrounds are going to approach the same question from a different perspective, even if they reach the same answer.<br />
<br />
So why is it so hard for people to say, "Wow, this hero blames himself for so much that isn't really his fault. He's being a dick right now, but he'll pull through"? and then actively believe that the author will indeed make it all work out in the end?<br />
<br />
I just don't get it. Good thing I don't really care if people think my hero is a dick as long as he proves himself by the Happily Ever After closing. I'd even go out on a limb to say that if your pair isn't having bitch/dick moments, they aren't being truthful to themselves or the readers. No one's perfect, folks. I refuse to whitewash a story to make them that way.<br />
<br />
The end.Mia Wattshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00674765897555195383noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5811664225790124762.post-90389084884893168382012-01-02T11:19:00.003-06:002012-01-02T11:19:39.959-06:00Resolving.... well, maybe.If you read my blog post last week at <a href="http://threewickedwriters.blogspot.com/2011/12/le-pew.html">Three Wicked Writers</a>, you know I came home to crazy stink. It turned out to be an okay thing, because I had plans to completely purge my kitchen of carbs. It has nothing to do with new year resolutions and everything to do with being sick of me. I needed a change. There's so much that we can't change in life that sometimes you have to latch onto the things you CAN change.<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Considering that my stress level of going to see family this Christmas was high (like astronomical) and I'm a stress eater, I'd managed to shovel in about ten extra pounds. I do mean extra. Because really, I already had too many to begin with.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'd forgotten how good being on no carbs is! Oh my gosh, it's been like three days and I've already dropped six pounds. That's insanity. But give it another two days and I'll be back to where I started before Christmas. You know, still ridiculously too high for words, but at least back to square one.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Unfortunately, my kids have to go no carb by default. Since they both want to drop a few (their decision, not mine. And yes, the doctor quietly consulted that would be okay), this works out for everyone involved. I do still buy bread for them to eat sandwiches. There is hot cocoa mix in the back storage room when they really crave it, and they are rationing out their stocking treats, also kept in the back storage room. Hey, if it's their food, and if it's out of sight, I won't touch it. It works for me.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I found a recipe book that I've been using, but you know me. I like to modify everything. My doctor told me not to worry about proteins or fat. So all my low carb recipes are modified to allow for those things. Clearly, my doctor is a flavor genius who is also capable of helping this girl to lose some weight.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Is it a New Year's resolution? Nah. Not really. I don't do resolutions, but I do care a lot about feeling better about myself.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Happy New Year, folks!</div>
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<br /></div>
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~Mia</div>Mia Wattshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00674765897555195383noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5811664225790124762.post-44388048240146490492011-12-28T08:09:00.000-06:002011-12-28T08:09:16.077-06:00Merry New Year-ukkahJust a post to say I'm back from vacation. I suspect many of you are still travelling and in that case, I hope you're having a wonderful, restful, family filled experience.<br />
<br />
I'm posting at Three Wicked tomorrow, but probably won't post here again until the New Year, just to simplify.<br />
<br />
Here's wishes for you in the coming year, filled with good fortune and blessings that abound!<br />
<br />
Love,<br />
MiaMia Wattshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00674765897555195383noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5811664225790124762.post-30388258993828329162011-12-15T07:40:00.003-06:002011-12-15T07:40:14.320-06:00Tarot FaeriesI did a Tarot reading thing at <a href="http://threewickedwriters.blogspot.com/">Three Wicked Writers</a>. Come check it out and tell me what you think.Mia Wattshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00674765897555195383noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5811664225790124762.post-13889762830417939302011-12-12T07:36:00.002-06:002011-12-12T07:36:20.837-06:00Reminiscingabout Christmas at <a href="http://grandrapidsregionwritersgroup.blogspot.com/"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Grand Rapids Region Writers Group</span></b></a> blog. I'd love to introduce you to a new blog. Please stop by and say hello!<br />
<br />
<br />Mia Wattshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00674765897555195383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5811664225790124762.post-78548504438851498152011-12-07T09:51:00.001-06:002011-12-07T09:53:16.162-06:00Hey... STUFF!Wednesdays are now officially Abigail Barnette days over at ThreeWickedWriters.blogspot.com! She's brand new to the group so head on over and give her some love. :)<br />
<br />
On Thursday, I'm posting over there too. You can love on me also. I don't mind.<br />
<br />
On Wednesday and Thursday, I have book releases in my alter ego's name, Katie Blu. You'll find Prey Tell at ResplendencePublishing.com on Wednesday. Go to SirenPublishing.com on Thursday to find Staking Their Claim.<br />
<br />
Double release week for me! Woot!Mia Wattshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00674765897555195383noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5811664225790124762.post-2512100196769757322011-12-06T06:26:00.001-06:002011-12-06T06:48:18.571-06:00A thought about Carbs.Exciting, right? Well, it's on my mind this morning.<br />
<br />
If there hasn't been a scientific study done, then there ought to be about breakfast carbs. My thought is--at least this is what I've personally noticed--when a body eats sweets foods at breakfast, there's a higher probability that the same person will crave sweet carbs throughout the day. The sweeter the breakfast, the bigger the need for sugar. On the opposite side of that, a protein laden breakfast with lots of bitter notes to it calms the sweet craving throughout the day.<br />
<br />
This is why I drink strong coffee. It's also why I pretty much eat the same breakfast everyday. No thinking = no deviation from messing up my daily pattern. Considering I'm an adventurous eater, it surprises me that a monotone morning breakfast routine works for me. But it does.<br />
<br />
Here's the other stuff I've noticed, and this increases in intensity the more concentrated simple carbohydrates I have (that would be like processed carbs or sugars being concentrated and breads or other starches requiring the body to process them, being less concentrated). Headaches hang around longer and are more likely to appear. Joints feel a little more achy than usual. Fatigue or downright falling asleep at the computer around mid-afternoon. Increase in female related problems from cramping to UTIs and feminine discomfort. Restlessness and increased heart rate. Breathlessness if you REALLY overdid the sugar, and trust me, this is possible. Binge eating due to cravings are not your friend.<br />
<br />
I'd love to know if anyone else has similar issues. The reason I ask is because when I went on an all protein and fat diet, loaded with dark greens and fiber, I never felt better than I did then. Sugar/carbs can act on your body like a drug. I literally went through withdrawal for nearly three weeks. Shakes, fever, sweating, incoherency, depression, moodiness with bouts of extreme anger, migraines, body aches, you name it, I had it. I plead and begged for relief but the doctor talked me through it. With regular spoonfuls of peanut butter or an apple, I made it. My extreme reaction had to do with my personal biological sensitivity (ie/ half a Tylenol pm will knock me out til noon the next day. That's a quarter dose.)<br />
<br />
After those almost three weeks, I had never felt better or more energetic in my life. Beyond that, I didn't crave sweets at all. Not chocolate, not sugar, not anything. It was so freeing! And I lost a ton of weight without exercise, just like my doctor told me I would.<br />
<br />
It was almost reckless determination to sabotage myself around the time of my divorce, that had me eating sweets by the mouthful. It made me sick to swallow even one bite, but I was about destruction and self-punishment.<br />
<br />
I remember the mostly carb free days fondly. I'm also thinking of cutting them out again. I just keep looking for a time in my schedule where if I'm brainless and in bed for three weeks, no one will need anything from me. Haven't found that yet. Dropping carbs doesn't effect everyone the same way. If you try it, let me know what your physical reactions were. I'd love to compare notes.<br />
<br />
~Mia<br />
<br />
PS. My doctor told me that I could alleviate the symptoms of withdrawal by sucking on a life saver for the sugar. She warned that in doing it, I would prolong the withdrawal period up to a week. I knew I wouldn't succeed and barely made it through those three weeks with my willpower in tact. I also know me, and if I'd had a roll of lifesavers, had tasted one, I would have eaten the entire roll and then driven to the store to gorge on sugar. I had to do it cold-turkey. It's part of the addictive nature in my genes I guess. For some it's alcohol and drugs. Well, in my body, sugar is a drug.Mia Wattshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00674765897555195383noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5811664225790124762.post-81177950903562915652011-12-05T07:16:00.001-06:002011-12-05T07:27:08.542-06:00Office HoursFor the second time this year, I've had to post office hours on my front door. Is this a problem for anyone else? I mean, my friends (writers and non) know that I keep my hours sacred. I start working when I get up for the kids and I don't stop until they come home from school.<br />
<br />
Sometimes that means I forget to eat. Sometimes it means that I don't shower until 2:30p if I have a good run going. It always means I work when I'm sick unless the computer screen is blurry or I can't sit upright. This pattern of work never changes. It has improved though. THIS is the improvement.<br />
<br />
Before, I worked until midnight or two in the morning and all weekend long. I've gotten to a point now where my health and spending active time with my kids is more important. I'm also a helluva lot more productive if I keep my hours from 6-3p, and go to bed at 10:30p every night. You wouldn't think so, but it's true. I'm more focused. My writing is faster and better. My day job work is done quickly and well. I also cook better meals when I'm not distractedly stepping away from a scene to toss something in the oven, and my kids and I spend more time talking. That's critical at this age.<br />
<br />
If I can, I make appointments and run errands after they come home and we do them together. It's a good schedule for us.<br />
<br />
So why, people who are doing work for me outside my house, do you never ever call to tell me you're coming so I can move my car, or talk to you, or discuss deck snow blocking methods? Why do you come willy-nilly and expect me to drop what I'm doing for the next several hours to come chat whenever you knock on the door? Do you KNOW how disruptive that is to my process? You take me out of my book every single time and I have to hope and pray I recapture the sentiments in it.<br />
<br />
Why neighbors, do you knock on my door to chat? Why other handyman do you show up at my house to work, with your three year old and five year old in tow who now suddenly need me to babysit them? Feed them? Water them? Offer them my toilet? Keep them out of my kids' rooms? Want to talk, play, run through my house?<br />
<br />
It's so annoying to me that just because I work from home, the entire world thinks that means I'm available to them whenever they want something. Yes, teachers too. This is my job. I'm feeding people. Go away. Pardon my moment of rudeness and accept that this is an office, as distant to you as if I were currently in a suit, in a high rise downtown.<br />
<br />
So. The note is back on the door. I'm not answering the door or the phone to unexpected individuals. Rant over. The End.Mia Wattshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00674765897555195383noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5811664225790124762.post-33692822179611179512011-12-02T06:32:00.001-06:002011-12-02T07:00:39.758-06:00The Great Debate... a personal issueOver a year ago I was still struggling with the divorce issue. Not because it was the wrong thing to do--it had been my choice. I filed. But more because of the underlying damage that had been done to my confidence over the fifteen years of that marriage.<br />
<br />
I've disclosed tidbits along the way, but what I can't possibly describe is the utter lack of importance I felt. Because, you see, I didn't marry with the expectation that I'd divorce. I married because I expected to stay married to him throughout my life. That's how commitment works. Here's the thing, valuing someone, showing them respect and affection can go a long way toward mending broken relationships. I didn't have that. After fifteen years of living without it, I've become rather hard-nosed about being treated without those things now. I fought to hard to leave it behind and start fresh. Damn old patterns. Old patterns are burned every time I see them pop up. It's part of my personal healing process.<br />
<br />
I think of it as a common decency thing. Treat others how you'd want to be treated. If it would hurt or piss you off, then don't say it to someone else. But I digress from my point.<br />
<br />
My point is that while I was still struggling with my self-worth, feeling like a marriage failure who'd possibly ruined her children's lives because she couldn't live with a selfish, stealing, lying buffoon, I wrote a story. Now, I've never been in a menage. It might surprise you to know that I was a virgin when I met my ex, and despite his encouragement to cheat on him (Yeah, I know, right?) I never did. I knew I'd leave that marriage as blameless as possible. But I also left that marriage with a lot more personal growth and two gorgeous daughters. If you'll remember, I used to refer to them as my nieces. There was and is a protective reason for that, but the divorce is final and I'm less cautious.<br />
<br />
My husband didn't love me. He told me so. He calmly told me he'd never loved me. It wasn't a surprise, because by then, I'd known for years that we were little more than shoddy roommates. I worked, cleaned, raised, cooked, proofed his sermons, and did the required "volunteer" work for his seminary years. He sat on the couch flipping channels and insulting me. It took it's toll and I used it as inspiration for the menage that's coming out next week (<b>Staking Their Claim, by Katie Blu</b>).<br />
<br />
<a href="http://sirenpublishing.com/"><b>Siren</b> </a>is a new publisher to me. I sent them my manuscript littered with all the self-doubt issues I had and pot-shots at the ex (which I edited out with the help of my friend and fellow Michigan troll, <a href="http://jenniferarmintrout.com/"><b>Jennifer Armintrout</b></a>). They offered me a contract. Folks, it took me over a year to submit that thing. The heroine's fears are so personal to me that I feared people would know too much. I think that's been taken care of, but I'm still in there in a big way.<br />
<br />
Divorce sucks, even when there's no love left. It takes a lot out of you and you can be the one who filed the paperwork, or it could have been filed on you. There's light at the end of it. It's dim. It's a little hazy. It's terrifying as hell. Your family and friends may or may not agree with you about the circumstances and there will be (not might be) hate directed at you. It will hurt and you will feel desperately that you need a defense. That they don't understand.<br />
<br />
And they won't. They won't because divorce has a toll on them too. And they won't because while they love you, they love him and he's blood. It's not over, but there's hope. There's always hope.<br />
<br />
If you're struggling. If you aren't sure what the future holds for you and your spouse, just remember, no matter what happens, YOU ARE IMPORTANT. Respect, trust, kindness. They can fix almost anything and what they aren't fixing in your relationship, they are soothing a balm over your injured soul.<br />
<br />
You aren't alone.<br />
<br />
<br />Mia Wattshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00674765897555195383noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5811664225790124762.post-34587677121143547152011-12-01T07:01:00.001-06:002011-12-01T07:02:31.890-06:00Freakin' OutI'm over at threewickedwriters.blogspot.com today. I had a recent freak out that has me somewhere between manic laughter and studious alarm. Come check it out and add your two cents!Mia Wattshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00674765897555195383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5811664225790124762.post-63872256520993834662011-11-27T10:15:00.001-06:002011-11-27T10:28:47.756-06:00Six Sentence SundaySo I thought I'd participate in this thing called Six Sentence Sunday. Today I'm posting from Claimed by Darkness at Ellora's Cave. This is the beginning of a book where a vampire falls for his human friend.<br />
<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy5gOENNKPykbpwo9E03F4qeMeCyNxlAom2eG7WaUYeS17xRx8iYWdsd2J62sgGvUrl4GRNn61QmxvYjDc2ZAxU8oA3HrIx13vKe_qiyoD7Rm3m6GyC6p7MQ1u9oLdpwjZ8eXBcxS9KW-v/s1600/tnCbD.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy5gOENNKPykbpwo9E03F4qeMeCyNxlAom2eG7WaUYeS17xRx8iYWdsd2J62sgGvUrl4GRNn61QmxvYjDc2ZAxU8oA3HrIx13vKe_qiyoD7Rm3m6GyC6p7MQ1u9oLdpwjZ8eXBcxS9KW-v/s1600/tnCbD.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Humans were such fragile creatures—arrogant, consumed by their own self-importance when the age before and the age following would not care about the fleeting moments of one person’s life on the earth when the next generation came to take its place. And the cycle would repeat. Throbbing music, soul-binding songs, swaying in a primal dance of barely concealed sexuality as one flitted from moment to moment, struggling to make his importance stick before that generation too was forgotten like mist under the blaze of morning sunlight. </div>
</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It carried notes of banality. Damien had seen it countless times. And yet this time, this particular collection of years had pierced his heart in a way none before it had and none after would compare.</div>
</blockquote>
<br />
Claimed by Darkness can be purchased here: <a href="http://www.jasminejade.com/p-7033-claimed-by-darkness.aspx"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Ellora's Cave</span></b></a><br />
<br />
Want to play along? It’s fun and easy!<br />
1. pick a project – a current WIP, contracted work or even something readers can buy if you’re published<br />
2. pick six sentences<br />
3. post on Sunday<br />Mia Wattshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00674765897555195383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5811664225790124762.post-34780936485533669392011-11-25T09:20:00.001-06:002011-11-25T09:25:06.810-06:00Black Friday Fun<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW_XldbywM3137ei0io7pLooYgTgnwaytuLy95IxIHBleHp8I3OYaJoqjLO_v8NYzWph4rMzUCXn4VDJdtcbTuBBp2qddOJ1Es1vKybR_4CzbBa096S0mFHMUstmObXFNtKTx8HLzoEkJW/s1600/Good_Will_Shopping_9_22_2011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW_XldbywM3137ei0io7pLooYgTgnwaytuLy95IxIHBleHp8I3OYaJoqjLO_v8NYzWph4rMzUCXn4VDJdtcbTuBBp2qddOJ1Es1vKybR_4CzbBa096S0mFHMUstmObXFNtKTx8HLzoEkJW/s320/Good_Will_Shopping_9_22_2011.jpg" width="203" /></a></div>
Today another short story of mine releases. Good Will Shopping is a story deliberately situated around Black Friday, ala request of MLRpress acquisitioner, Kris Jacen. I'm so glad she did, because this was my first writing project for and with MLR and I like them a lot. Here ya go!<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.mlrbooks.com/ShowBook.php?book=MWGOODWL"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">GOOD WILL SHOPPING</span></b></a><br />
$0.99<br />
<br />
BLURB:<br />
<br />
Ross Delaney didn't think he'd ever lose Will Levine. Unfortunately, he forgot that part of being in a relationship was opening up your heart to the one you love. Will got tired of waiting and they've been split up for months. But Black Friday has arrived and Ross knows just where to find Will. If Will won't return his calls, then Ross decides to make a personal appearance at their favorite store.<br />
He drags Will into the back hallway of the store on the premise that he wants what's in Will basket, but it's not the television he's talking about.<br />
<br />
<br />
EXCERPT:<br />
<br />
Ross Delaney shoved his former lover against the tile wall of Byerland's back hallway. The heavy double doors to the rest of the store swung to a stop behind the shopping cart overstuffed with a boxed flatscreen.<br />
"What the fuck, Ross?" Will Levine snapped.<br />
"I want the television."<br />
He didn't. He just wanted Will, but Will wouldn't have anything to do with him. Since pissing Will off was the only way they seemed to talk nowadays, that would be how Ross did things. And how better to piss him off than to make a competition of it? Black Friday provided the perfect opportunity.<br />
"You snooze, you lose," Will sneered.<br />
It was a bold move considering Ross outweighed him by thirty pounds and five inches, and that he was currently pinned by the shoulders to the wall.<br />
"Really? You're going with that?" Ross asked in disbelief. "There were only five listed in the sales ad."<br />
"And one of them is mine," Will taunted.<br />
"Unless we trade." Ross grinned, knowing that would intrigue him. Will obviously had the advantage possessing the desired television in his cart and would wonder what Ross could possibly offer in exchange.<br />
"What do you think I'd trade the best deal of Black Friday to have? Hm? Your head on a stick?" Will's smile was smug, but something flashed behind his bright green eyes that looked like uncertainty.<br />
Did Ross actually have a shot at making this work? God, he hoped so.<br />
"Not exactly. I was thinking more along the lines of your head." Ross leaned in closely, touching their noses. He thought he heard a slight hitch in Will's breathing. That could be a good sign. A very good sign. "Or rather, giving you head."<br />
Will's eyes widened. The pupils dilated and that's when Ross knew he had Will's complete attention, no matter what else the man said.<br />
Ross tugged on Will's jeans closure, easily popping the button out of its hole. The rasping of Will's zipper underscored the intensity of their ragged breaths.<br />
"You wouldn't," Will whispered. "Not here. Not where anyone could walk in and see."<br />
"C'mon, Will. Isn't the reason we broke up because I wasn't spontaneous enough? Doesn't this qualify?"<br />Mia Wattshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00674765897555195383noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5811664225790124762.post-87046788797295422552011-11-24T11:20:00.001-06:002011-11-24T11:20:17.528-06:00Happy T-Day!I'm blogging about serious stuff over at ThreeWickedWriters.Blogspot.com today. Come check it out if you're bored of football.<br />
<br />
And have a happy happy turkey day.Mia Wattshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00674765897555195383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5811664225790124762.post-52676702453533559732011-11-23T14:49:00.001-06:002011-11-23T14:52:13.343-06:00ScoringJust a quick note to tell you that my super short story, Scoring, released today at ResplendencePublishing.com. It's got a 5/5 heat level and costs $0.99.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij9fwKAwIStOb-FJTE6bLdsIMpVbaoXxuVisko1hno_6oJbX90zSI8-r0mOdJK-VGjmyUBcEdEvn1l7DHGIpi0mjuHo7ODQx3IdNmooHWMP82CkYGxk0Vkj0QyTxnX2JBKzi4eXlMeMV9n/s1600/Scoring.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij9fwKAwIStOb-FJTE6bLdsIMpVbaoXxuVisko1hno_6oJbX90zSI8-r0mOdJK-VGjmyUBcEdEvn1l7DHGIpi0mjuHo7ODQx3IdNmooHWMP82CkYGxk0Vkj0QyTxnX2JBKzi4eXlMeMV9n/s320/Scoring.jpg" width="205" /></a></div>
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Blurb:</span></b><br />
Jay Lang has been fooling himself by thinking he’s bisexual, because when it comes to Martin Petrie, he can’t stop imaging hot steamy sex. Martin calls his bluff in a single searing kiss from his perfect lips. Now Jay can barely hang onto his heart as Martin sets out to prove just how “bi” Jay isn’t.<br />
<br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Excerpt:</span></b><br />
<br />
Jay Lang bounced his knee. The faded jean material blurred below the line of the television screen. One arm stretched along the backrest toward his roommate. He drummed his fingers on the cushion. Jagged blond fringe partially obscured his vision as he tried in vain to watch the Minnesota Vikings form an offensive attack against the Dallas Cowboys.<br />
<br />
It should have been riveting. The Vikings and the Cowboys were football enemies only bested by the rivalry between the Vikings and the Green Bay Packers. It should have been attention consuming, yet all he could think about was his best friend, Martin Petrie.<br />
<br />
Oblivious to Jay’s rioting anxiety, Martin hooted as the Vikings sacked the quarterback beneath a three-man pile. The only pile Jay could think about involved Martin beneath him.<br />
<br />
Jay scrubbed a hand over his face with his building frustration. Until a year ago, he’d thought he was bisexual. He’d been fooling himself. Sure, he’d taken girl after girl to moaning ecstasy, but that was for show. It was for the sole purpose of putting Martin off his scent. It possibly worked too well because Martin didn’t have a clue how Jay really felt.<br />
<br />
But the fuck of it was now they were roommates. Jay had thought seeing Martin every day would help him get over the college infatuation. On the contrary, he’d become even more enraptured since graduation, and it was starting to show.<br />
<br />
If only he hadn’t walked in on Martin jacking off in the shower, maybe he could have continued to pretend he wasn’t hot for his friend. Instead, he had visions of Martin inviting him to take over as the hot water beat down on them.<br />
<br />
Fuck. He was already getting hard.<br />
<br />
Jay shifted, grabbed the giant bowl of popcorn and put it on his lap. Half-heartedly he munched at the crisp kernels, hoping his roommate would never look beyond Jay’s sudden urge for snacking to the erection the bowl attempted to hide. If Martin were paying attention, he’d see that the bowl was tipped more to one side held up by a heavy ridge of cock.<br />
<br />
If he moved his fingers just a little bit to the right, they’d brush Martin’s shoulder. If he moved them up from there, they’d be tangled in thick brown hair. Jay imagined grabbing it in a fist and pulling back, taking Martin’s mouth, Martin helpless to do more than drag Jay over his lap.<br />
<br />
God, yes, he loved that idea.<br />
<br />
Jay chanced a sidelong look at his buddy. Martin flopped a hand out and dug around the popcorn bowl on Jay’s lap. Jay bit back a groan as the unintentional scraping vibrations of his search tingled along Jay’s cock.<br />
<br />
Or, Jay thought, he could fist Martin’s hair and drag his face down to cover Jay’s cock with those beautiful lips. Jay loved how the upper one resembled an elongated Cupid’s bow shaft. Fuller than the bottom lip and wide, Jay liked watching his friend talk. Every word formed seemed like an erotic journey.<br />
<br />
It was no wonder the girls in their group called him Lips. Who wouldn’t want those beauts pressed to them…anywhere?<br />
<br />
As he watched, Martin popped a kernel into his mouth. His tongue snaked out to catch the salt on his upper lip. Then he looked at Jay. “Did you see that?” he whooped.<br />
<br />
“Every second,” Jay growled, thinking of the cushiony resilience of Martin’s mouth.<br />
<br />
“What the fuck was he thinking? He should have gone for the two-pointer. The game’s too close.”<br />
<br />
“That’s ’cause you aren’t coaching them,” Jay teased.<br />
<br />
“I know, right?” Eyes fastened to the television, Martin scrounged for more popcorn.<br />
<br />
Jay almost couldn’t take it. Oh, he liked it plenty. That sensation of not fondling him but also kinda fondling him made thought a little dicey. But if he wanted to hold onto his sanity, Jay needed to make the quasi-touching stop. He handed the bowl over.<br />
<br />
“Take it. I’m done with the popcorn.”<br />
<br />
Martin took it and dropped it into his own lap. “Morons!” he shouted at the set. “Even Margie can throw a better pass than that. Give her the contract next time.”<br />
<br />
Margie, one of the girls that hung out with them, was known for her lack of grace. The insult to the Vikings wasn’t a mild one. Jay smiled.<br />
<br />
“You think Margie would sign on? She’d be amazing as a kicker,” Jay tossed in lamely. He’d had nothing really to say, or to add, but he’d wanted in on the one-sided conversation.<br />
<br />
Martin shot him a funny look. “Dude. That made no sense.” He turned his attention back to the flat screen.<br />
<br />
“Yeah, it did. Because Margie wears those pointy shoes, and she’s got curly hair, so—”<br />
<br />
“You’re not selling it,” Martin scoffed.<br />
<br />
“We should go to Beertopia to watch the game next time. S’way cooler with a crowd.”<br />
<br />
Martin lobbed a kernel of popped corn at Jay. It pinged between his eyes. “Like you’d be any less distracted in a crowd. Right. Whatever.”<br />
<br />
“I’m not distracted,” Jay protested.<br />
<br />
“The fuck you aren’t. Madden has stuttered at least five times, and you haven’t lifted your beer once. Can’t be a drinking game if you don’t play along.”<br />
<br />
“Game’s boring.”<br />
<br />
The look of disbelief on Martin’s face should have been a warning. Martin lifted the remote and hit the pause button. “Not ten minutes ago you were agreeing with me that the coaching staff is on crack. Now, you’re pretending that the hottest game of the season isn’t. What the fuck, man?”<br />
<br />
“The hottest game of the season would be against the Detroit Lions.” Jay folded his arms across his chest. Having Martin’s complete attention was a little heady. He needed to piss Martin off. Needed to keep from kissing that luscious wide mouth Jay couldn’t keep his eyes off of.<br />
<br />
“You’re high.”<br />
<br />
“I’m right,” Jay argued.<br />
<br />
“You’re high.” Martin got up and swished his empty beer bottle. “Want one?”<br />
<br />
“Get yourself a wine cooler. I’m not sure you’re ready to watch football and drink beer with the big boys.”<br />
<br />
Martin’s eyebrows climbed slowly. “I see. And let me guess. You’re a big boy? Do you need pull ups or just your sippy cup?” Martin sauntered to the small galley kitchen in their apartment.<br />
<br />
Jay got up too, starting to feel his ire grow. This was good. He needed it. For the sake of sanity, they both needed it even if Martin didn’t know he did. “Only if it’s filled with Jack.”<br />
<br />
“As in, Jack shit?” Martin teased.<br />
<br />
“Daniels. But I forget that Jack may be too strong for a guy who thinks this football game is the epitome of pig-skin awesome.”<br />
<br />
Martin had been reaching into the fridge as Jay blocked the galley exit. He turned and the glass bottom of his beer clanked loudly on the granite surface as he set it down. “What’s your beef, bro?”<br />
<br />
“About ten inches.”<br />
<br />
Martin laughed. “I’ve seen you naked. That might work in a bar, but I know better. You’re seven at best.”<br />
<br />
“That’s not what your sister said,” Jay snarked.<br />
<br />
Martin’s blue-gray eyes turned stormy. “Seriously. What the fuck?”<br />
<br />
Yeah, they were all stupid low blows designed to piss Martin off. Jay actually liked his sister. She was a sweetheart, and Jay would sooner cut his balls off than make a play for her. Even if he were straight.<br />
<br />
Instead of fessing up, Jay shrugged negligently. “Just sayin’.”<br />
<br />
“Did you fuck my sister?” Martin asked tightly.<br />
<br />
Jay’s eyes widened. Shit, that hadn’t been taken at all like he’d expected. Martin actually thought he’d do that?<br />
<br />
“No, man, it’s a figure of speech.” He lightly shoved the other man’s chest, but his fingers met rock-hardness.<br />
<br />
Martin grabbed Jay’s fingers where they were. “Don’t fuck with me. Did you, at any time, make a move on or dangle your cock in the vicinity of my kid sister?” His face was tight, cold eyes stared back at Jay, and his wide lips had lost their pretty fullness.<br />
<br />
“I haven’t touched her.” Jay lowered his voice, hoping to convey his absolute sincerity. “I wouldn’t touch her. Ever.”<br />
<br />
Martin’s eyes narrowed on him for a minute before he released Jay’s fingers. “Keep it that way.”<br />
<br />
“I will. She’s not my type anyway.”<br />
<br />
A small smile touched his roommate’s mouth, relaxing the hard line of it and bringing back the sensual Cupid’s bow. “What’s your type?”<br />
<br />
Geez, what did he say to that? “Someone I can hang with,” he muttered, dropping eye contact.<br />
<br />
“Maybe I should put on a wig,” Martin teased.<br />
<br />
The mangy wig thought aside, the idea of Martin standing in as Jay’s someone made his stomach hop inside.<br />Mia Wattshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00674765897555195383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5811664225790124762.post-5954202403626139552011-11-22T06:41:00.001-06:002011-11-22T07:00:37.826-06:00The Thanksgiving InevitibilityThis year, I wanted Thanksgiving to be simple. I wanted to pick up Chinese take out (I have it on excellent authority that Chinese restaurants are always open on Thanksgiving and Christmas), sit back with some chopsticks, and watch television with my kids. At the very most, I thought maybe I'd roast a chicken with sliced of garlic nestled under the skin, an orange and a lemon in the body cavity. Maybe I'd serve it with green been casserole because we all know that's what REALLY makes the holiday table. I even thought that adorable Pillsbury dough creature might make an appearance ala crescent rolls.<br />
<br />
I had hoped, anyway.<br />
<br />
My daughter had different ideas. One of them would have been all for pizza. The other one, the one who's sentimental like me, wouldn't hear of it. Maybe it's because I grew up overseas and we had to make a point of having Thanksgiving in countries that didn't celebrate it. Or maybe it's because turkey is not so easy to find in other places like it is here, but Thanksgiving was always done up. It's part of my memories, who I am.<br />
<br />
Keep in mind, I've never liked Thanksgiving food. I didn't like going around the table and everyone announcing what they're thankful for either. In theory, I like the deliberate reminder of gratitude and recognition of blessing, I've just never liked announcing it. It feels too Hallmark to me<br />
<br />
Despite all that, I took something away from those dinners. I took belonging, love, community, and those hours where everyone put their personal drama aside to sit down and laugh with each other. That when it all came down to it, we were family (even when there were strangers at the table) and family sticks together.<br />
<br />
How can I take that away from my daughters before those memories ever become memories? These kids have been through family drama like nothing else. They've been picked up and moved so many times that they have to work at making friends, pushing through their fear that next year, they'll leave them behind and have to form new attachments. They've weathered through judgmental extended family, homelessness, and a neglectful father who is more about appearing to be a good dad, than actually being one.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD5wJsclFHzSvzr1KiDjWLh07jFbcXmnxq6jAxbn8Z9EcLiTjUE_zb74cSqSkwCtrjeiihFtUULCA2ToOTsLnaKO3yQja0oO5nSaBM8Vb3QOSgLXDt0fBzWRrHt8RwAZsyZcCfgWHRTVN2/s1600/godfather.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD5wJsclFHzSvzr1KiDjWLh07jFbcXmnxq6jAxbn8Z9EcLiTjUE_zb74cSqSkwCtrjeiihFtUULCA2ToOTsLnaKO3yQja0oO5nSaBM8Vb3QOSgLXDt0fBzWRrHt8RwAZsyZcCfgWHRTVN2/s1600/godfather.jpg" /></a>The three of us have been through hell and back, together. We're tight. We laugh with each other constantly, build each other up, set up our own traditions within the scope of our interests, and defend each other to the outside world, even when it seems fruitless. We're fighters. We love fiercely and speak frankly. Our home is a safe harbor where you can screw up anywhere else in your life and know that even if the other two don't agree with what you did, you still have a place to go where people love you. No matter what.<br />
<br />
I learned some of my parenting from traditions like Thanksgiving. The rest of the family doesn't know it, but I do. So when my daughter asks for tradition, how can I possibly deny teaching her the most important lesson of all: Family is forever.<br />
<br />
Happy Thanksgiving everyone.<br />
~The WattsfatherMia Wattshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00674765897555195383noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5811664225790124762.post-82374696710333232512011-11-17T08:28:00.001-06:002011-11-17T08:28:15.292-06:00Three Wicked WritersI'm blogging over there today and every Thursday that Blogger cooperates with me.<br />
<br />
www.ThreeWickedWriters.blogspot.comMia Wattshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00674765897555195383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5811664225790124762.post-51890355349893695412011-11-16T06:25:00.001-06:002011-11-16T06:35:27.688-06:00Twelve Nights<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Today is release day for me, as Katie Blu, over at <a href="http://www.resplendencepublishing.com/"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Resplendence</span></b></a>! Which will be posted on the site later today. This is a story based on Shakespeare's <i>Twelfth Night</i>, where Viola dresses as a man to keep her identity secret.</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCrDBnZL5HaGDlA70IP3se_gh6aXBDKqj0if2yIx4tPmO-lxexdSsXoOnACsVLm_XZHSEFCtkAzFJ_TJNulbLwsVDa13-BJWHyqZQPAVXLLwFrX_wPT_EFrfonFTyeKrC5Fk9va_1h8_hU/s1600/Twelve_Nights.final.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCrDBnZL5HaGDlA70IP3se_gh6aXBDKqj0if2yIx4tPmO-lxexdSsXoOnACsVLm_XZHSEFCtkAzFJ_TJNulbLwsVDa13-BJWHyqZQPAVXLLwFrX_wPT_EFrfonFTyeKrC5Fk9va_1h8_hU/s400/Twelve_Nights.final.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">BTWs, Viola is NOT blonde and busty, she's sleek and dark haired. And Jeff Sarto is a corporate guy, not a boy wearing his daddy's suit.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Blurb:</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Viola Leinmann is pissed when her
twin, Sebastian, books an event twelve days before the kick-off and then leaves
town. What makes it worse is that the new,
way-too-mouthwatering-for-his-own-good boss doesn’t like working with women.
But making sure her new company stays in the black is worth pretending to be
her brother for a night.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Jeff Sarto likes Sebastian’s style.
He’s a go-getter who’s self-motivated and makes him laugh. He’s also the key to
getting the office hottie to go out with him. And that’s what he wants, until
he meets Sebastian’s sexy sister, Viola. A stolen kiss makes him forget every
rule about mixing business with pleasure.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But as the convention deadline winds down and
his new friend Sebastian turns out to be Viola, can he forgive her for lying to
him? Or has Jeff lost both his best friend and the girl to a hurtful prank?</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Excerpt:</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Sebastian! You can’t leave,” Viola Leinmann yelled after
her twin.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Sorry Vi, but I’ve gotta take this. We have to let me take
this.” Sebastian flashed her his trademark smile and shrugged as he reached for
the door.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“What about Sarto? You know he doesn’t work with women. You
have to meet him for dinner tonight to discuss the event.” The phone rang for
the thousandth time, and Viola noted the caller identification. “And your ex is
on the phone. I thought you called her back already.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sebastian laughed and jogged over to drop a brotherly kiss
on her cheek. “I did,” he told her, still leaning over her desk. “She just
can’t get over the fact that I’m the fish that got away.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“I can’t imagine why she’d want to keep dating that ego.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“I’m irresistible.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“And arrogant.” Viola snorted. “We just got the deal with
Sarto Tech. It’s a last minute deal, and it’s huge. You can’t leave. <i>You</i> got the deal, and you know how he
feels about working with women.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sebastian dropped a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “If
anyone can win him over, you can. Vi, you can’t expect me to turn down a shot
at a Lexi Savage after-party event.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The phone chimed again. Viola let it ring, though she and
Sebastian both shot a glance and a groan when Jenny’s name popped up on the
inbound call display.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“I can take Lexi. You take Sarto. His expectation of pulling
together a convention in twelve days is completely ridiculous, and <i>you</i> promised him we could do it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sebastian backed away toward the door, shrugging as he sent
her his boyish grin. “Sorry, babe. I booked Lexi Savage too, and she’s got
leads into the music industry that could make the business take off. Do you
really want me to throw her under the bus?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Viola frowned. “No.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Great! See ya.” Sebastian poked his head back through the
office door. “And whatever you do, don’t tell Jenny I booked Lexi Savage,
she’ll go crazy, and I haven’t decided if I’m getting back together with her or
not.” The door shut.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“But, wait!” Viola yelled after him. It was already too
late. “When will you get back?” she muttered pointlessly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sighing, she pulled up Jeff Sarto’s phone number on her
contacts list and lifted the receiver before Jenny could speed dial the office
phone again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Sarto Tech, Jeff Sarto’s office. This is Erik speaking.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Hi, Erik. This is Viola Leinmann with Premium Event
Planners. I’m confirming Mr. Sarto’s appointment with Sebastian Leinmann
tonight at seven.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Yes, Mr. Leinmann should be at D’Angelo Sargenti’s at least
ten minutes before, to present his initial plan. Mr. Sarto will approve or
alter the suggestions at that time. He’ll have approximately one hour to hear
Mr. Leinmann’s plan for the event before his next appointment.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“I’ll be meeting in his place,” Viola informed him. What was
Erik going to do, cancel because she had breasts? There were harassment laws to
prevent that kind of stuff from happening.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Erik paused a full beat before continuing. “I’m sorry, Mr.
Sarto will only work with Mr. Leinmann as he agreed to the overall concept
presented. Mr. Sarto won’t be pleased. If Mr. Leinmann is unable to make the
appointment tonight, Sarto Technologies will be approaching an alternate
resource. Thank you for your time, Ms. Leinmann.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Wait!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Goddamn she was not going to be dismissed twice in ten
minutes. Her eyes fell on the pile of bills that starting a new business in
full hardcore publicity had generated. Some were stamped with red overdue ink.
They needed Sarto Tech, just as badly as they needed Lexi Savage and anyone the
musician recommended PEP to.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Pardon?” Erik asked flatly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Viola pinched the bridge of her nose. She could pull it off,
she knew she could. Hadn’t she convinced an entire party of Halloween guests
that she was a man? Okay, a vampire with a lot of fake blood and pasty white
face makeup. But she’d done it, and no one knew the business or her brother
like she did. Since she’d been there when Sebastian had secured the job over
the phone with a faxed in bid, she knew Sarto had never met her brother.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The pile of bills on the corner of her desk seemed to grow.
They really needed this job. It would put them in the black if the Sarto
convention came through. Jenny’s number lit up line two, and Viola sighed. She
was going to kill Sebastian when he came back. Slowly. And with something rusty.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Ms. Leinmann, has there been a change in plans?” Erik asked
dubiously.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Yes,” she winced as soon as she said it. She
pressed her forehead into her palm knowing she’d regret this decision, but
committed anyway. “Yes, I can rearrange our schedule. It won’t be a problem.
Tell Mr. Sarto that Sebastian Leinmann will be at D’Angelo’s before seven to
discuss the plans.”</span></span>Mia Wattshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00674765897555195383noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5811664225790124762.post-78672310898405149432011-11-15T08:04:00.001-06:002011-11-15T08:12:34.484-06:00I don't understand.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLyqVYd93fqEJ5GMNLgcjDIbXyBosE8HS3Jd0REWQ0ssuS40MX0FEzCf4XlM0rwrlEb-hzSCkTN-PuhoqCMKVCaVvd2_lNcOQz9QQDa8fIdtKNfINPtPD55bs5oq7b0DAf6IxjdvdsPCiO/s1600/Terra+Nova.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLyqVYd93fqEJ5GMNLgcjDIbXyBosE8HS3Jd0REWQ0ssuS40MX0FEzCf4XlM0rwrlEb-hzSCkTN-PuhoqCMKVCaVvd2_lNcOQz9QQDa8fIdtKNfINPtPD55bs5oq7b0DAf6IxjdvdsPCiO/s320/Terra+Nova.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Some one should 'splain to me why TV gets away with inconsistencies. I've been watching Terra Nova. Let's all suspend the whole time portal and dinosaur thing, the pre-Ice Age stuff about this is how we came to be stuff. What I want to know is, how in the world do the characters get away with being Too Stupid To Live on a weekly basis?<br />
<br />
We've established that the dinosaurs rather enjoy human tissue. We know that the night ones can climb trees or drop out of trees. We even know that while it will take them longer, the big baddies can tear through a metal vehicle.<br />
<br />
So WHY, Terra Nova, do people drive around in open sided buggies? Why do they let their kids wander around in the jungle like a parading afternoon snack? Why is it convenient to climb a tree and miraculously the ones that climb them suddenly can't? WHY, on God's green Earth, do the WARRIORS who KNOW what the deal is, constantly keep their backs turns to the jungle? Why do they put themselves on the edge of a high cliff, in canvas chairs with backs to the jungle that is currently screeching at them, and causally go FISHING?!<br />
<br />
Ugh. I give up. You need a better content editor. I do freelance, boys, maybe you need to hire me.<br />
<br />
~MiaMia Wattshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00674765897555195383noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5811664225790124762.post-72106641462990902032011-11-14T06:50:00.001-06:002011-11-14T07:10:29.957-06:00Hey Look!! Blogger let me in!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLtR8BBiO1tQl08YkHIb0IFvydKDl0XA68YBUPnB_IjfzrPaXwBBk5ReLqv6l4RXaDC0yB-sxc0gG2ypkyFtLwgAtoyLs7Lo1drCQvErLn7VtFmYs-0FFVOVU-ueBMxu_GHgyo6iTKJI-E/s1600/Twelve_Nights.final.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLtR8BBiO1tQl08YkHIb0IFvydKDl0XA68YBUPnB_IjfzrPaXwBBk5ReLqv6l4RXaDC0yB-sxc0gG2ypkyFtLwgAtoyLs7Lo1drCQvErLn7VtFmYs-0FFVOVU-ueBMxu_GHgyo6iTKJI-E/s320/Twelve_Nights.final.jpg" width="212" /></a>Okay, folks, I'm more than a bit annoyed with blogger. It seems every time I reset a browser to something blogger accepts, it boots me off again. The lastest was letting me log in, but not write a post. Then there have been the forced anonymous comments, because it doesn't recognize my password through Chrome, but through Firefox, it's fine.<br />
<br />
I think blogger is a high-strung temperamental teenage boy. That's my professional assessment. Full of pranks and inconsistencies, only periodically boy-ms-ing (Hey they may be boys, but they do cycle. Every woman who's ever been married or had boy children knows this.)<br />
<br />
Seriously, I'm so excited to post, I nearly forgot what I was going to say. I have new cover art to share. My book Twelve Nights, based loosely on Shakespeare's Twelfth Night (think She's the Man movie with Amanda Bynes), releases at Resplendence on November 16th. That's this Wednesday. It's a m/f contemporary.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtfQFiPmpoPKWVAU1nuJOmxWe_pXm7t0z-0tHxJ3g5WzTcJbc4J0zvAYQ2Zy6R2gBUT7EEeAbFBm1PCVxkA71vos0jrgHO7TtrlOd-cHO1UH9rJWv3K5erHmeA3FQHlHcWyU4onXD40qda/s1600/Good_Will_Shopping_9_22_2011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtfQFiPmpoPKWVAU1nuJOmxWe_pXm7t0z-0tHxJ3g5WzTcJbc4J0zvAYQ2Zy6R2gBUT7EEeAbFBm1PCVxkA71vos0jrgHO7TtrlOd-cHO1UH9rJWv3K5erHmeA3FQHlHcWyU4onXD40qda/s320/Good_Will_Shopping_9_22_2011.jpg" width="202" /></a><br />
My book Good Will Hunting is a m/m super short story about Black Friday (requested theme) and will release on, you guessed it, Black Friday (November 25th) at MLR Press. The cover looks like this, which is universal for all the Christmas/Holiday shorts.<br />
<br />
There's another super short story coming out as a Resplendence Publishing Erotic Gem. The release date on that is November 24th I think. I could be the 30th though. I'll post that generic cover as soon as it comes in. <br />
<br />
Also, I was interviewed and reviewed for Faking Perfection (a book released earlier this year from DreamSpinner Press), at Red Hot Books. Here's the <span style="font-size: large;"><b><a href="http://www.redhotbooks.com/2011/11/review-faking-perfection.html">Review</a></b></span>, which is pretty awesome actually. And here is the <span style="font-size: large;"><b><a href="http://www.redhotbooks.com/">spotlight</a></b></span>. Go on over and give me some love, please. When it's up and running. There is a book giveaway going on over there. Any Mia/Katie book is up for grabs!<br />
<br />
I'm going to make a better effort at posting more regularly. Real stuff, not just promo. I'm dying to get in a comic again, but geez that takes HOURS to pull together and my writing schedule is kind of ridiculous at the moment. Until then, I'll try to think of something spectacularly clever for blogging.<br />
<br />
<br />Mia Wattshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00674765897555195383noreply@blogger.com2