Twas The Night Before Christmas....

VS

Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the Xavier School For Gifted Children.... no, wait. I'm not a poet, so rhyming is out.

The Xavier mansion. Late Christmas Eve. Some years ago. The Drunken Hobbit, perpetual slob, and possessor of a $257 000 bar tab known either as Logan or Wolverine walks through the darkened corridors. He strolls into the kitchen, grubby and unshaven as usual, looking rather like something the cat spat up. If there were cats to be seen, that is. This is, after all, the home of a headmaster who has a fondness for eating housecats. Finding a beer in the fridge, he muses briefly on how odd it is to stock alcohol in a school full of mutant children. He opens it up, starts drinking, and pads out of the kitchen. Coming back out into a large common area, he sees a dark shape of a man, sniffs the air, picking up the scent of cookies. He unsheathes his claws, ready for the attack on the intruder.

Logan: Hey, bub.
*The man turns.*
Logan: Wrong place to break into.
*Logan drives his claws into the man's gut.*
Logan: And I'm the wrong mutant to mess with.
*The man falls, gasping, and hits the floor hard.*
Logan: 'Cause I'm the best there is at what I do.
*Logan turns on the lights, and sees who's there.*
Logan: Oh hell, this can't possibly end well, can it?
*Santa Claus lies motionless on the floor before Logan.*
Logan: Hey, bub. Tell me you're just a burglar in a Santa suit.
*He hears movement behind him, and Jubilee and Husk come in.*
Jubilee: Hey, Logan, were you out drinking your Christmas Eve away?
Husk: What's with the fat bloke in the red... oh dear God... is that...?
Jubilee: What the...? Wait. Did you just... did you kill Santa Claus?
Logan: Um, he was like this when I got here, I swear.
Husk: Those are claw marks in his stomach, Logan!
Logan: Look, I swear to you, he was coming at me!!
Jubilee: Wolverine! You murdered Santa Claus!!
Logan: It was self defense! How was I to know?
Husk: Wait a minute here... Santa Claus is real?
Jubilee: Whether or not he's real isn't important.
Logan: Listen, there's a reasonable explanation.
Jubilee: Yes! You murdered Santa Claus, Logan!
Logan: Wait! No, I didn't. He ran into my claws!
*He now hears some movement behind him.*
Logan: He ran right into my claws, I tell you!
*He turns. Santa is standing, and looking mad.*
Santa: You've been a really, really naughty boy, Logan.
Logan: Wait a minute... how could you be standing? I just gutted you.
Santa: I'm 1456 years old. My healing factor's a lot better then yours.
Logan: Look, no hard feelings, all right, bub? Let bygones be bygones.
Santa: I don't like being called bub.
Logan: How about fat boy instead?
Santa: I don't like that one either.
Logan: Make up your mind, bub...
*Santa clobbers Logan on the head.*
Logan: Was that all you've got, fat boy...?
*Logan starts to sway, and collapses to the floor, unconcious.*
Santa: You'd be fat too if you were eating 5 billion cookies in one night.
Jubilee: Wait a minute.... are you really him? How'd you knock him out?
Santa: Yes, I'm really Santa. And I'm a magic being. My mere touch is enough to send this Drunken Hobbit into slumber if I see fit, so you can imagine what hitting him on the head would do. He'll probably wake up sometime into the New Year, so you girls ought to enjoy the peace and quiet while you've got it. And when he wakes up, he's going to find a whole lot of coal in his stocking. I mean, I might have a healing factor, but this suit of mine doesn't. How I'm going to explain three big gashes to the wife... I don't know. You have any idea how cranky she gets when I'm late?
*Santa picks up his bag, and starts to leave.*
Santa: Ho ho ho, and Merry Christmas!
*Santa walks out of the room.*
Jubilee: No one will believe us.
Husk: I'd have to agree there.
Jubilee: They'll say we were high.
Husk: Maybe that we were drinking.
Jubilee: Hey, I only drank a little bit!!
Husk: Three schnapps isn't a little bit.

Not The Ideal Christmas Gift

"Please come back to Stratford. We really are a pleasant town to visit, to see the Festival. Just because a mop headed cretin comes from here doesn't mean you have to hold it against us!"

-Statement from the Chamber of Commerce, Stratford, Ontario.

We hear you, Stratford. Don't worry. In a couple of years, you'll be back to being known for your outstanding, world class Shakespearean festival, rather than as the hometown of a short kid who's making fourteen year old girls go out of their minds. Just wait. His career should implode in on itself within the year. Eighteen months at the outset. When that happens, and his business managers have stolen every cent they can get out of him (not a joke, mark my words, it'll happen) he'll be in full washed up mode. You can hold your heads high when that happens.

In his quest to make as much cash as possible before his fan base grows up and leaves him behind, Justin Bieber has been heavily into the marketing. There's, let's see... albums, a concert film, a "memoir" (photo heavy on that one), and now... the doll.

Don't believe me?

I told you. Justin Bieber dolls. Yes, the mop headed cretin is releasing dolls of himself. Bit of an odd combination, that one. Does the mop headed cretin even know how to play a guitar?

The marketing chimps who thought this one up misfired. His fan base are made up exclusively of thirteen to sixteen year old girls who speak like OMG!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!! DID YOU SEE???? all the time. They've set aside their days of dolls. No more Barbie and Ken for his fans. And as much as they're insanely adoring of the short twit, would they really want to pick up that old habit? I would say no.

There might, however, be another use for these dolls, and I submit it to you now.

Those of us who are sane and have a reasonably decent taste in music (ie something other than bubbleheaded teen acts put together by a studio executive) generally agree, regardless of preferred genres, that Bieber music constitutes cruel and unusual punishment, and even torture. Come on, admit it, even if you've got a thirteen year old daughter. It is torture!

I submit to you that we can make use of these dolls for our own revenge. Here's just a few such ideas.

1. Consult with a witch doctor about turning the Justin doll into a voodoo doll. Then start with the needles, the tossing off cliffs, the dipping into the fireplace, and whatever other method you choose.

2. Use it as a tug toy between you and your dog Killer.

3. Tow it behind your car, just to see how long it takes before it's unrecognizable.

4. Gather together a band of world class thieves (preferably a total of eleven), break into the Louvre, steal the Mona Lisa, and splice the doll into the video footage to make it appear that Justin Bieber himself stole the painting.

5. Do the same as above, but leave the doll behind, thus suggesting to the police that the theft was pulled off by Bieberites.

6. Give it to someone you hate as a heartfelt Christmas gift, and smile as they grind their teeth in frustration.

7. Spray catnip on it, and leave it for your cat.

8. Four words: Justin Bieber Doll Catapult.

9. Send Russell Brand pictures of the Doll photoshopped in with Katy Perry. Wait to see what happens when the living cat hairball goes ballistic on the real thing.

10. Entomb it in a time capsule (don't worry, no one ever opens those things anyway, and this way you'll be rid of the thing) with a note of explanation: yes, once upon a time, mercifully briefly, this mop headed cretin was popular. Try not to hold it against us, future people and or ruthless machine overlords.

The Devil's Gate

Delilah straddled Diego, the light from the fireplace dancing against her naked flesh. The crucifix necklace, last remnant of her broken vows, dangled invitingly between her breasts. His hands wandered over her skin, fingers lightly brushing her exquisite body, as if memorizing....  She mounted him, feeling him press inside her, and then....

In the words of Bugs Bunny, "ain't I a stinker?"

Well, while Delilah and Diego find themselves getting to know each other through the magic of the horizontal tango, I thought I'd write a bit today about the work in progress.

I had assumed that I'd be finishing the book by the end of the year, but, well, that's not going to happen. Even if I go into Calvin mode and have a stuffed tiger help me out.

The occasional downturn in writing, or other things occupying my time, have prevented that from happening. That said, however, I'm now in a place of momentum. Writing the Very Bad Thing (trademark pending) is doing that for me, and the end is in sight. I'm back to a point where I'm enjoying the writing process.

Calling this blog the Devil's Gate is deliberate, of course. That's the name of the current chapter, playing out the steps of the Very Bad Thing. It's also a nod to history and architecture... and beyond that, I won't say more about its significance. I've got the Very Bad Thing to keep quiet, and explaining more would place that at risk of exposure, so no, I'm not telling. Not even under threat of being tickled.

A relatively recent decision I've made is on timing. The action is currently set in the middle of April, and I'd been thinking of it for awhile. Holy Week. Passover. These frequently occur, depending on the year, in April, so why not take advantage? And so I'm setting my sequence on the Friday before Palm Sunday. Pilgrims are coming into Jerusalem to the Christian sites. Passover is soon to arrive. The Holy Land is seeing an influx of visitors. And all the while, the clock is ticking down....

Well, not literally ticking down. The Very Bad Thing is not a timebomb. Let's just say it's triggered another way and leave it at that.

One of the other things I've been finding as I'm heading towards the end game is that I've got more chapter titles then I do chapters. Oh well, I'll just have to use them down the line in other books. Three titles I'll touch on briefly here, and then leave it for Delilah and Diego. They're making a lot of noise upstairs.

 I'm planning on using The Field Of Blood for the next chapter. It goes back to Scripture, as the place where Judas took his own life after that whole little betraying the Messiah thing, circa 33 AD. It seems oddly appropriate, given the casualties about to be inflicted when that Very Bad Thing goes off. No, I'm not telling.

Fortune Favours The Bold is another chapter title that's coming down the line. It's a quote that dates back to Roman times. I'd nearly used it for a member of the Covenant, but it didn't feel right for that character. Instead, it'll be used by the protagonists, sort of a stepping into battle moment. It was either that, or ripping off the St. Crispins speech. Shakespeares' ghost would have something to say about that.

And finally, there's The Twilight War. I'm still not sure about using it. I mean to use it in the sense of the war against terrorism. My issue however is the connection of one word to that damned glittery vampire and that damned sullen faced one expression teen and that damned werewolf who can't keep his shirt on.

Did I mention I hate Twilight?

Ten Minutes In The Life Of Fox News

Good afternoon, I'm Joe Wright, and welcome to Fox News, your fair and balanced news channel, where our Glorious Leader continues his noble quest of overthrowing the evil one we call "President" Obama.

Negotiations continue to liberate the future President, Sarah Palin, who is being unfairly held in custody, still in her giant size, after her misadventure trashing Washington DC several weeks ago. Empress Sarah, as we like to call her here at Fox, was tricked by an evil, evil Canadian Commie Pinko Mountie named Lars Ulrich, and defeated in battle. Her husband Todd had this to say to our reporters.

We're all waitin' and prayin' for Sarah to get back home as soon as she can, because, well, I can't handle all these kids myself, you know, and... come to think of it, what do I actually do for a living? Bristol! Stop flirting with that pool boy! Willow! Will you get off the phone? Daddy's talking to his good buddies at Fox! Trip! Trip! Oh, damn it, somebody go get Trip! He's playin' with the grizzly again! Where was I? Oh, right! Yes, we're waitin' for Sarah to be released from unlawful custody, 'cause she's got to get busy runnin' for President in a couple years. Besides, we've got another reality show to do beforehand. Yep, I'll tell you, launching a bid for the big job by usin' a hokey TV format is really really dignified. Like my old Uncle Jeb used to say, before he got frozen to death in the winter of 78...

We'll get back to you, Todd. You were drifting there.

The Republican Party is infuriated by the detaining of Future President Empress Sarah. At least the members of the Party that matter to Fox News. We'll just ignore the mainstream members of the party and concentrate on everyone who agrees with us. The Evil One, "President" Obama, had this to say about the detaining of our Empress.

Look, the reality is this woman turned herself into a giant, stomped about, and did incredible damage to the architecture and institutions of this city. It's a miracle no one was killed. Real people live here. Real lives are carried out here. And becoming a giant and obliterating everything in her path just because she thought it would play well with her Tea Party base does not excuse her actions. She must be held accountable.

Reached for comment, grand sage Rush Limbaugh guffawed at the "President's" remarks.

You know, my friends, this is typical liberal tactics. They demonize our greatest voices. They've got my good friend Glenn Beck hidden away in that Narnia place, framed by a talking lion. Now they've got Sarah detained and aren't doing anything to get her shrunk down to smaller size! Well, I've had it! This is the same government who called in a socialist from north of the border to do battle with her! They humiliated her using a red Mountie! Red as in commies! That's right! This is the same Commie cop they called in to solve that Muppet murder! Well, what do you expect from a government that supports socialist shows like Sesame Street? They can't even hire one of their own to solve a case! Look, this is what we do. I want all of my loyal listeners out there to get their torches and pitchforks and...

Whoa, slow down there, Rush. Wait for Operation Overthrow Democracy in 2013.

In a related story, the evil, evil Mountie responsible for the defeat of Empress Sarah is on the case in the recent escape of the Muppet supervillain Mr. Johnson. Johnson, you'll recall, murdered Elmo, framed Grover, and nearly got away with it. Johnson was recently convicted and sent to federal prison in the west, but his plane crashed across the border in that Godless wasteland of Canada. Of the prisoners on board, only Mr. Johnson is unaccounted for. Our reporters caught up with the evil, evil Mountie, Lars Ulrich.


Listen, you bloody idiot, I've got real work to do. I've got a dangerous fugitive to hunt down. I don't have time for any moronic reporters to ask me why I'm not on tour with the rest of the band.


As you can see, the evil, evil Mountie then hit our reporter. And you wonder why we hate Canada. Well, not all Canadians. There are a few we like, as long as they march in lockstep with us. Deputy Prime Minister John Baird has been filling in for Prime Minister Harper during his recent rampage while giant sized. He spoke to us earlier.

The Prime Minister remains in full command of the cabinet, despite his unfortunate rampage some weeks ago. We're quickly working to remedy his gigantic size so that he can come back to work. We've got a lot of work to do, slipping our Removal Of Citizens' Rights And Freedoms secret agenda pushed through Parliament. And if those idiots in Opposition give us a problem, we'll just have Parliament prorogued again. Or we'll have the Opposition arrested. Wait, did I say that out loud?

We won't tell anyone. Joining us by satellite is our roving consultant, Keith Jarrett, author of I Know Everything, So Bask In My Eternal Wisdom. He's out with a new book. Hello, Keith.

Hi, Joe.

Tell us about the new book.

I'm calling it, "Duck And Cover, The Buddhists Are Coming To Kill Us All." You know, we've got to get serious about these terrorists before they...

Keith, sorry to interrupt here, but the Buddhists aren't terrorists. Not the last time I checked. They're actually mostly peaceful people.

They are?

The Dalai Lama is a Buddhist.

He is?

The last time I looked it up, yes. You know, maybe you should have researched this first.

Oh my god... no!!!! I printed up a million copies of the book on my own dime, and now you're telling me it's a mistake????

Keith? Keith? Someone over there on the other end give him a hand. Looks like he's hyper... excuse me? Sorry? One moment, ladies and gentlemen. Mr. Murdoch, our Glorious Leader wants to speak to me.

Joe?

Lord Rupert, Dark Lord of the Abyss, I bow to you, o fearsome one! What an honor it is to...

Shut the fuck up! How dare you! I just saw that, and how dare you suggest we at Fox research anything, by crikey! Now you listen to me and you listen good! Those gullible twits who tune into us think that...

Lord Rupert, we're live on the air.

We are? Damn it all to...

Lord Rupert? Master? Um, we've lost Lord Rupert. Finally, author, sage, and dominatrix Ann Coulter was heckled out of yet another speech at yet another university by yet more commie pinko students with no time on their hands. In the opinion of this anchor, those kids need a good tasering. Mistress Coulter had this to say, when our cameras found her staring at herself in the mirror.

Oh, yes, you are the most beautiful and captivating of them all. Yes, you are. If I could only find a way to clone myself I would take myself to dinner, get both of myself drunk and have my way with myself... oh! You're already here. Yes, those idiot Godless liberal brats think they can heckle me out of their Godless liberal universities? Think again!

Stay tuned to Fox News, your fair and balanced news channel. Coming up on the O'Reilly Factor, Bill tortures some liberals.

Recipe For Disaster

I've been behind on reading blogs, so I've been a little less then productive writing them myself in recent days, but I thought I'd do a bit of copy and pasting here. Maria blogs a recipe once a week in her blog, so I thought I'd do the same. Well, only once. I'm not actually a cook; I'd probably burn water if I tried it.

I found the recipe for this online, and it's a favourite dish, perfect for the winter. It's a Dutch stew, relatively simple, and despite the name, it's not a marijuana recipe. At least none of the versions I've eaten.

If you're going to try this out, disregard the instructions that don't seem to have anything at all to do with cooking. That's just me being me.

Hutspot met Klapstuk (Hot Pot with Boiled Meat)

4 cups (1 L) water
2 tsp (10 ml) salt
2 lbs (1 kg) fresh brisket of beef
2 lbs (1 kg) medium-sized carrots, peeled and cut into 1/2-inch (1 cm) dice
3 lbs (1.5 kg) boiling potatoes, peeled and cut into 8 pieces
3 cups (750 ml) coarsely chopped onions
Freshly ground pepper to taste

And one bottle of wine; you'll be drinking during the cooking.

****

Bring the water to a boil in a heavy 3 quart (3 L) casserole. Drink one glass of wine.

Add the salt and the meat and bring back to a boil, skimming the surface of the water to remove the scum and fat that rises to the surface.

Answer the phone. No, you're not interested in life insurance. The one you've got is just fine. Drink more wine.

Partially cover the pot, reduce the heat, and simmer for 2+1/2 to 3 hours. Check the water frequently; it may be necessary to add more in order to keep the meat immersed.

Let the dog out. He's been looking at you with those eyes. Yes, you know the ones I mean. Pour yourself more wine.

Add the diced carrots and continue to simmer for 30 minutes, then add the potatoes and onions. Simmer uncovered until the vegetables are soft and the liquid is almost all evaporated.

Answer that knock at the door. You'll find an irritable English chef desperately in need of anger management therapy. He'll be cursing a lot. Give him the kick in the ass he deserves. Close the door. Drink some wine.

Remove the meat from the casserole and set aside. Using a wooden spoon, mash the vegetables to a puree in the casserole. Taste and adjust the seasoning.

Ignore the hammering at the door and the cursing. The chef tends to do that a lot.

Transfer the puree to a heated platter, forming a mound in the center. Slice the meat across the grain and arrange around the vegetables. Serve at once, accompanied by spicy brown mustard and a good quality dark bread.

Serves 4 to 6.
Clean up, and then answer the door for the police. Tell them it was your idiot brother in law that you don't like anyway. Watch the police haul him away. Explain to your sister why her husband's being taken away in cuffs.

Wind Chaser: An Interview With Norma Beishir

Today I'm sitting down and chatting with novelist Norma Beishir, who's worked in the publishing industry with earlier books such as A Time For Legends, Angels at Midnight, and Dance of the Gods. These days she's moved into the self publishing side of the industry and new genres with books like Final Hours and An Army of Angels. As well, we're working together on a joint project we're calling Same Time Tomorrow, a project which looks to be the first of a series.

Norma lives in St. Louis with her son Collin and her bird Sam.

****

How long have you been writing, and what got you into the profession?

I've been writing since I was eight years old, but I've only been getting paid for it for the past twenty-two years.

What got me into it? Desperation. I suck at everything else.

Which authors have influenced you?

My first major influence was E.B. White. I loved Charlotte's Web so much, I kept checking it out from the school library--until they wouldn't let me have it anymore.  My mom found out and bought me a copy. 

Later, it was Walter Farley. I'm a lifelong horse lover, and I was crazy about his Black Stallion and Island Stallion books. I was also a huge fan of the Timber Trail Riders books.

When I was in my late teens, it was Jacqueline Susann. Valley of the Dolls got so much notoriety, I had to read it! I didn't really like it, but I was a fan of two of her later books, The Love Machine and Once is not Enough. From Susann, it was a short jump to Sidney Sheldon. Sheldon was a former screenwriter, and his books moved with the rapid pace of a screenplay. I have the attention span of a flea, but I read his books in one sitting.

Your earlier books were in the romance genre under the Silhouette banner. Your current genre certainly leans towards fantasy and sci fi. What brought about that transition?

Easy. It's more fun.

Seriously, I loved The Omen. It's still one of my favorite films. I'd always wanted to write a novel in that vein, featuring a protagonist who would be born to save the world rather than dominate it--but it couldn't be easy. The character had to be someone who struggled with his extraordinary identity. He was thrust into a role he didn't want and had to be forced into it by circumstance.

You've advocated often for the ebook and self publishing side of the publishing industry. Tell us why you feel that way.

Two words. Creative control. I wanted to be in charge of every aspect of my creations. This new dimension of publishing gives unprecedented control to the author. 

Think about it.  With traditional publishing, the author has almost no control. A few are lucky enough to get large advances and a good spot on the publisher's list...but very few have any real control. The publisher chooses your covers art, your title, how your book is categorized and marketed. And the royalties are pathetic. When I started, I got 8-10%. Most of my friends were getting 6-8% or less. Compare that to Amazon, which pays a 70% royalty for e-books!

And e-books are environmentally-friendly. Need I say more?

When you self-publish, you write what you want to write. I knew I had a problem when I gave my agent a proposal and she dismissed it because the protagonists weren't "glamorous."

Having had known you and worked with you for awhile now, I've seen from time to time that you've used anecdotes and experiences from your own life and transferred them into characters. How have personal experiences influenced you as a writer? Give us a couple of examples.

Let me think about that one. What am I willing to confess to?

In Chasing the Wind, Connor is supposedly epileptic. So am I. 

Lynne shares her memories of Christmas in the Midwest with Connor. One such memory involves the family's two cats and an outdoor Nativity set. Our cat, Fat Cat Jr., used to kick Baby Jesus out of the manger so he could sleep there himself. There was a light in the manger and it was warm there, so....

Tell us a bit about your current projects and what you've got in store for down the road.

Final Hours is the only book I've ever written in first person, but it would not have worked any other way. The premise is simple--what would you do if you knew with certainty that the world would end in twenty-four hours?

Chasing the Wind was always intended to be the beginning of a series.  In that book, I've introduced Connor Mackenzie, who believes his visions are epileptic seizures. He's actually been chosen to serve as a prophet, and the visions are God speaking to him, directing him. 

In An Army of Angels, I introduce Connor's clone, Alex Stewart, a gifted artist who has terrifying visions...which show up in his paintings.

The third novel in the series also features a clone who may or may not be Connor's. The story will open thirty years ago at a monastery in the mountains of Nepal. A frightened young woman--a very pregnant young woman--seeks refuge as she's about to give birth. She tells an unbelievable story of how she was hired to serve as surrogate for a child created in a  lab....

And then there's our joint project, Same Time, Tomorrow. It went from erotica to love story, featuring a couple who met on the internet....'

Your use of the concept of clones in  An Army of Angels is certainly timely, given the ongoing debate over the ethical implications of cloning in science. How much of that debate influences the narrative?

The idea of cloning started with Chasing the Wind, which went through at least ten drafts (I lost count!). The original premise was a rogue scientist who wanted to use DNA from the Shroud of Turin to clone Jesus Christ--but that idea was so overused, I realized by the third draft that my plot would have to change. My protagonist, through a strange series of events, became a super-genius whose paternity was never established. His mother was said to be insane because she heard voices and claimed he had been given to her by an angel. A powerful cartel saw him as the embodiment of a prophecy they sought to stop from being realized.

He was cloned...at least once. That clone was Alex from An Army of Angels. There is another clone, but his origins are in question. Is his DNA from Connor, or did the obsessed scientist actually obtain DNA from the Shroud? Is the resulting child a true clone, or was DNA from more than one source used?

One of the things I've learned from you has been in the blog format, getting us into your characters' heads with your blog In Their Own Words.  Particularly with Final Hours and Army of Angels, the technique of giving them a blog is really handy for getting into a character's head. Where did you pick that up?

I don't know. I just thought one day that it might be fun, since a large number of my characters are kind of smart-alecky. Wait'll you see the blogs by Robyn's brothers.

Any thoughts about revisiting characters from your earlier genre and plunging them into a new genre?

As a matter of fact, yes! In the third book of the Chasing the Wind series, photojournalist Phillip Darcy  will team up with Jaime Lynde from my third novel, A Time for Legends...unaware that her work as a photojournalist is a cover for her real profession: CIA operative.

Since Alexander, the protagonist of my first novel, Dance of the Gods, headquartered his conglomerate at the World Trade Center, I've considered bringing him to the present and dealing with the impact of 9/11 on his life and his fortunes.

Something you've touched on with both Final Hours and Army of Angels has been the theme of relationships. Would you comment on how they play out in those books?

It's funny because I really resisted the "romance writer" label with my early books. Hated it, even after I wrote for Silhouette. Looking back, I think the real problem was the glitzy romance image. Too, I didn't like the fact that all writers are writing about relationships in one way or another, but only female writers get the schmaltzy romance writer image.

I was thrilled when a reviewer said Final Hours was a love story but not a romance novel. This is my objective--love stories that aren't cheesy. How am I doing so far?

Good!

I like writing about couples who are opposites--I've always felt that not only do opposites attract, they balance each other. Alex and Robyn in An Army of Angels are one of my favorite couples to write about because they're so right for each other in spite of their differences. Without giving too much away, their devotion to each other transcends death itself. Besides, her family's a hoot. I had a great time at Alex and Robyn's unorthodox wedding.

As for Final Hours, I found that a strange situation to be in as a writer, as I don't condone adultery at all. Yet here I was, writing about a man who carried on a fifteen-year affair with the woman he loved, while married to another woman, the mother of his children. Jamie is a character readers either love or hate. There's no middle of the road there. Personally, I loved him. He'd made a mess of his life and couldn't find a way out without hurting someone. He's not a bad guy, really. Give him a chance!

What advice would you have for writers honing their craft?

A couple of things: first, don't try to do any editing until you've completed that first draft or you'll never finish the book!

And try self-publishing. You won't regret it! (Besides, if you release it as an e-book first, the publishers will find you. It's a well-known fact that editors search for new talent there.)

Thank you!
Here you can find Norma's blogs:

http://beishirbooks.blogspot.com/
http://thecharactersspeak.blogspot.com/
http://windchasersjourney.blogspot.com/
http://chasingthewind2008.blogspot.com/
http://finalhours2009.blogspot.com/

Deck The Halls With Overblown Singing

Now, contrary to what you might expect, this is not going to be about Christmas music.

Some time ago, I started a bit of fuss over at IMDb by posting a discussion thread apologizing on behalf of all Canadians for unleashing Justin Bieber on the world. This, of course, was in the Justin Bieber threads, so you can imagine what happened.

Of course there were those people who got it, who were very much in agreement with that, and even offered apologies for whatever abomination their country launched on the world. And at the same time, the Bieberites came out in force and lashed out for degrading their idol. Bieberites are not only tone deaf, but they're biters. Just so you know.

I rest assured that given the fickle nature of Bieber's 13 to 16 year old fan base and the established history of what happened to every single boy band act before the little twit that the Bieber fad won't last. Inside of three years, he's going to be nobody again, wondering what happened to all those millions he made, while his agent is going to be sitting on a beach, earning twenty percent on the pilfered funds. None of his current fans will even admit they were ever a Justin Bieber fan. I promise you all, it won't last.

Anyway, this isn't a Bieber rant. This is another apology on behalf of my fellow Canucks.

You see, there's another musical plague we unleashed upon the world, and unlike the mop headed little cretin, this one shows no signs of ever going away.

Yes, you guessed it.

It's Celine Dion.

A few days ago I passed through a store, and given the time of year, there was Christmas music playing on the speakers. Celine was bellowing out O Holy Night. The tune's a decent song, but like so many Christmas songs, it's best done in an understated way.

Celine doesn't understand the word understated.

I think it might well have been around the time of her third English album that she went and lost her mind and transformed into the CelineZilla we all know today. I blame David Foster. The music "producer" (yes, the quotation marks are indeed because I question his credentials, work with me, people!) seems to think that music has to be done Over the top! With soaring strings! And a two hundred singer choir!

No, David, that's called overblown.

One of my early blogs was on my dislike for The Wizard of Oz. If you haven't seen it, it's here in my index, and should be obvious when you find it. It's got that other example of an overblown singer, Judy Garland, who seems to believe in murdering a song. Over The Rainbow is a perfectly decent song if it's done in an understated way. I've heard jazz singers like Jane Monheit sing it that way, and it's fine. In the hands of Judy Garland, it's overblown. It's as if her mindset was can I break glass by singing this and holding the note as long as I can for a big finish? 

There's also the Whitney Houston school of singing. Before she went off and turned into a crack addict, Whitney was blowing songs out of proportion. Have you ever heard the original version of I Will Always Love You? It's quiet, but in the shrieking wails of Whitney the Banshee... er, I mean Whitney Houston, it's an anthem, over the top, obnoxious, and enough to drive you to drink.

Celine understands that kind of mentality. Every song she sings is BIG! And OVER THE TOP! Not to mention PULLING AT THE HEARTSTRINGS NO MATTER HOW MANY PUPPIES AND BABY PICTURES WE HAVE TO SHOW ON THE BIG SCREEN!

Yes, I'm revolted too. And the woman's turned herself into an industry. With lots and lots of fans who won't let her just fade away. So unfortunately, Celine is here to stay.

To those of you who love Celine, I suggest treatment by a good therapist to help you resolve your issues. Admitting you have a problem is the first step in your recovery.

To those of you who find Celine as obnoxious as I do, I apologize. My country and I offer our deepest regrets for unleashing the CelineZilla on the rest of the world. Try not to hold it against us.

And when Celine turns up on television or the radio, in those painful, agonizing seconds before you can switch the station, yes... I know. There are times when the deaf are fortunate.

And Now For Something Completely Different....

Hello, greetings, and salutations, for those of you who might wonder where I've been lately. Things have been busy, and I've had some off days. I'm still trying to catch up on blog reading, and until that's done and out of the way, no new blogs... at least no new solo blogs.

That doesn't count though for joint projects, where my esteemed partner in crime and I have been breaking through the fourth wall today for the first part of a series of interviews with our alter egos. Have a look at our joint blog, which you can find here, and if you like it, by all means, put us on follow. We like having people following us:

http://scarlettjames69.blogspot.com/2010/12/of-interviews-and-carnal-pleasures-part.html

Oh, and a word of warning. This is definitely not safe for work. Or reading with the rugrats around. Just saying....

Sweet Temptation

He felt as though he was being watched. Turning, he saw Delilah watching him, carnal lust flooding into her eyes at the sight of his bare chest. Diego let his eyes wander over her, had wondered on more then a few occasions what was beneath that nun's habit. She strode across the bedroom, reaching for him, her hands coming to his jaw, pulling him close, into a kiss.

Before he realized it, his hands were on her, stroking, caressing, feeling the slender body in his arms. He felt her hands over the bare flesh of his back, her tongue probing his mouth, craving.  She gasped, her hands moving lower. "Diego," she groaned as he undid her dress, letting it fall away from around her. "I want you."

He could feel her unbuckling his pants, their need driving them both. It occurred to him that he was committing a mortal sin, lusting and craving a sister of the cloth. He set that thought aside once he got a look at her naked, stunning figure...

And then the writer burst into the room,, yelling, "Why are you interrupting my blog?"

Got you, didn't I?

I can hear the "come on!!!" right now.

Now then, while you're busy getting your torches and pitchforks, I'll go into what I'm really up to today. I'm going to be writing a scene for the book in the next couple of days, a quiet moment between my two main characters. It's probably the last quiet moment they'll have in the book. What does that have to do with the above? Well, it features Devon walking in on a shirtless Stryker in his quarters.

Now, though I'm writing in the spy genre, I'm not taking a page from Ian Fleming. Stryker is not meant to be derivative of James Bond. If he was, he'd have shagged the ski resort receptionist, the airline attendant, that cute embassy clerk, and the foreign agent/ cellist/ computer programmer with the odd name by now. Obviously not at the same time.

It's not that sort of scene, so get your minds out of the gutter. I mean you! Yes, there's adult situations in what I've written, but for the most part, it's been villains getting the action, not my protagonists. What is it about villains?

For the scene that I've got in mind, Devon walks in on him, finding him shirtless... and sees his scars. I've hinted earlier in the book at events that I'd be writing about in a prequel. There's a faded scar clearly visible on the man's face, but these are the scars that are usually covered.

The events in question lead back to the year before, to what led the two characters to meet. Stryker is a man who's been tortured, and he bears the scars. Devon knows what he's been through, and to see the evidence, even though it's healed, it's a harrowing reminder of just how dangerous their lives can be.

As I said, it's their last quiet moment. It's the night before the Very Bad Thing. And writing it is going to take great care.

Now then, back to Diego and Delilah, who are busily getting up close and personal, and... oh, you two don't want an audience?

 

C Is For Cross Dimensional Elmos

From time to time, worlds collide. Among my other activities online, I compile a column for the Comixfan website with weekly picks for comics titles. A couple of weeks ago, here was a blurb I wrote up for a release:

Zatanna #7
Writer: Paul Dini
Artist: Stephane Roux, Jesus Raiz
Publisher: DC

Paul Dini continues his run on Zatanna, and I hope it's a long run. This title is one of my favourites each month, with strong characterization, plotting, and attention to detail. Once upon a time, Zatanna nearly died at the hands of a puppet master. Now it seems he's back from beyond the grave, and our girl Zee has puppet troubles. And as we all know, puppets are evil. Elmo, I'm talking about you, you little red menace.

I couldn't resist putting in that little dig at Elmo. The opportunity was there, so of course I had to run with it.

One of the other things I've done over there for quite awhile has been writing parodies. Those of you who have been reading my blogs here for awhile can appreciate my general style; well, it got its start over there, and it's developed enough now that I refer to it as the Keoghverse. Here then, is a parody based on the cover of that above comic, written up earlier today. No, this won't make a lot of sense, but then, hey... it's me!

The DC universe; Metropolis. Artist Stephane Roux has brought together the JLA magician Zatanna and a group of puppets for a publicity sketch. By a trick of fate, the puppets happen to be alive... at least they're mobile and chatty. A small Big Bird is one of them. Another small one is Grover... with a lot of teeth. There's a puppet in a tuxedo, another who's an old man, and yet another who appears to be a marionette. Last of the lot is a puppet on the floor with a deliriously odd expression, brandishing a baseball bat. Roux sits nearby, drawing at a sketchboard. Zatanna looks around her, dismayed by the evil expressions she's seeing among the puppets.

Zatanna: How is it these puppets are... well, alive?
Roux: You'll have to ask them. Just let me get finished.
Old Man: We're not really alive. Not by your reckoning.
Zatanna: No, but you're talking. Without someone's hand up your tush.
Tuxedo: Oh, come on, Zatanna. Tush is such a sensitive way to describe it.
Bat Boy: Indeed. You could say that someone's hand is giving us a colonoscopy.
Zatanna:  What a hideous visual place I went to. That's not how I'd describe it.
Big Bird: Look, the fact of the matter is that we're talking, thinking, and plotting.
Grover: Big Bird, sir! Do not speak of the plotting, sir! Not until we are ready, sir!
Zatanna: You do realize that the real Grover doesn't have vampire teeth... right?
Marionette: Now don't you go confusing us with details, Zatanna.
Old Man: That'll only get us wandering madly off in all directions.
Bat Boy: Details are things that never lead to happy endings.
Big Bird: Unlike certain massage parlors, which of course do.
Grover: Oh, yes, sir! I did love having my own happy ending!
Zatanna: Sorry.. aren't you all supposed to be children's toys?
Bat Boy: Awww, children are rug rats and brats. Didn't you know?
Old Man: Besides, everyone knows that puppets are evil to the core.
Marionette: Especially puppets that don't need someone's hand up their tush.
Tuxedo: What did I just say about tush sounding too sensitive to describe it..?
Bat Boy: Give him a break. He got designed by an artist. Not like me, no way.
Zatanna: Then who designed you?
Bat Boy: It was Ty Cobb, actually.
Zatanna: That baseball player...?
Bat Boy: The one and the same.
Zatanna: Come on.... that's silly.
Bat Boy: He wanted a puppet that was as much of an SOB as him.
Old Man: I was designed by a...a... let's see, who was my creator?
Big Bird: Grover and I were created by the dark wizard Jim Henson.
Zatanna: Wait a minute... you're saying Jim Henson was a wizard..?
Big Bird: You know, for a magician, you don't know much about wizards.
Grover: Jim Henson was the darkest of dark lords, sir! Are you surprised?
Big Bird: He created a vampire for a children's show. Now who does that?
Grover: Answer: a dark lord, sir! I assure you, sir, he was a dark wizard!!
Zatanna: Grover..? Stop calling me sir.
Grover: Certainly sir... I mean ma'am.
Zatanna: And that one's even worse.
Marionette: You're in so much trouble.
Grover: It was just a slip of the tongue!
Zatanna: I suppose this could all be worse.
Big Bird: You think so? What would make it worse?
Zatanna: At least that infernal red menace isn't here.
Big Bird: Oh, you mean Elmo? Yes, he couldn't be here.
Marionette: It turns out the original Elmo in another universe got murdered.
Tuxedo: And as a result, all of the Cross Dimensional Elmos were wiped out.
Old Man: Who'd have thought that one death could lead to a domino effect..?
Zatanna: Wait a minute.... did you actually say the Cross Dimensional Elmos?
Tuxedo: Yes. They called themselves the Council Of Cross Dimensional Elmos.
Marionette: They had the solemn duty to annoy every adult in every dimension.
Zatanna: In that case, they more then pulled off their objective.