HERE!!!!

RIGHT HERE!!!!

This is the place to get intercourse.

You know you want it. EVERYBODY wants it.
Exciting intercourse, intercourse that delves deep. Intercourse that tempts, teases, leaves you tingling long after it’s over.
Intercourse sooooo good you can barely wait to hit it again.

And best of all—it’s FREE!!!
Let me show you how it’s done… (more…)

Have I mentioned how much my webmistress totally ROCKS??!!!

On an unrelated subject–I watched Constantine last night. (yeah, I know, but better late than never)…

Don’t think the second half quite lived up to the promise of the first, but it was entertaining, and I really like Keanu Reeves anyway.
Loved the scene where he needs to get to hell, so he uses the woman’s cat as a focal point.
“Cats are good,” he says. “Half in and half out anyway.”

This is a man who understands CATS.

“It’s a fantasy, y’know. A delusion. The percentage of authors who earn enough to make a living from just writing is unbelievably low.”

This from a dear friend of mine. He has a good heart, honestly, and I know he’s trying to save me from disappointment. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Please do. I know how much you hate your job. But you have to be realistic. You’ll never sell enough to live on.”

I try to remind myself of these brutal facts every time I submit a manuscript. Every time I query, even every time I come up with a new idea. I think it will cushion the disappointment. It’s what people do when they’re afraid to hope too hard.

Today I got my first check, the first money I’ve ever earned with my writing.
I actually thought I was going to cry, and I’m embarrassed to admit it. But it’s been a dream of mine since childhood.

Can I quit my sucky job on it? No.
But it was enough to remind me that the hope was still there inside me, and no amount of rationalizing has managed to kill it off.

Thank God.

Hullo. This is Savannah, Raine’s evil alter-ego. I’m taking over tonight because Raine has writing work to do–and somebody’s gotta deal with the REAL world. So this is my time to Bitch & Moan…

So let’s get it straight. I’m the tough member of this partnership. Strong. Versatile. Independent.
But I’ve decided, at last, that I finally want a DH.

“DH”, or “dh”, to those who don’t hang around message boards, generally stands for ‘dear hubby’, or ‘darling husband’, or ‘dear heart’, or some such crap.

Not in my case.
When I say I need a dh, I mean a Damned Handyman.

Again today (yes, again), Raine and I found ourselves waiting for a repairman. He was late. They’re ALWAYS late. The only time a repairman is on time is when they’re summoned by the Mafia or well-heeled union officials.

OVER TWO HOURS LATE.

It was the fridge. And of course, we had to wait. In this recent heat wave, the house is 250 degrees in the shade. An occasional ice cube would be nice.
That meant being here & sucking it up. The kitties won’t let people in when we’re not home. (Mice have a standing invitation–also possums, raccoons, bats–but no people).

So no leaving in a huff, no calling to tell him where he could stick his thermostat. Just wait patiently and wonder what the fuck makes him think HIS TIME IS MORE VALUABLE THAN MINE!!!

Once I find this dh, it’s gonna be a very special relationship. I’ve decided to become…(drumroll, please…)

A DH DOMINATRIX.

So when my sink’s draining a little slow, I can call and say, “hey, baby, c’mon over and lay some pipe. Now.”
When I blow a fuse, he’d better have one ready to screw in immediately, or there’ll be consequences.
And when I want my carpet cleaned, he better bring steam, and bring it fast.

No more waiting for me. EVER.
Because next I’m going after a doctor. Then a Wal-Mart cashier. And ultimately…a literary agent!!

I would first like to say how much I respect the Brits. The reactions I’ve seen to the tragic incidents there give new meaning to the words ‘English Bulldog’. With stiff upper lips and lots of backbone, they’ve faced the bus blitzkrieg of the past two weeks with courage.
I admire them tremendously.

Secondly, for those leaving for the big conference in Reno, I wish you a good trip & best of luck. Whether it’s agent or editor appointments, vying for awards, or hoping to make a difference in all the recent RWA stinkeroos…good luck, and find a little fun along the way!

And lastly…I’m told I’ll be starting a newsletter soon.
For anyone who might have enjoyed INCUBUS, or might be interested in future publishing news, or anyone out there lurking and hesitant to post (and I sure hope I haven’t been talking to myself all this time!), I hope you’ll feel free to join.
We’ll have excerpts from myself and friends, the occasional interview and free download, and maybe a free erotic read or two.
Stay tuned!

This, in honor of the death of James Doohan, ‘Scotty’ of the original Star Trek. May he find peace among the stars.

I’m not exactly a Trekkie, but I was a big fan. For those who loved Star Trek, you’ll agree that these are true.
For those who DON’T love it—WHY NOT??!!

10) The crew took pride in themselves & their differences without needing to put others down.

9) Romulan women not only commanded ships, but weren’t afraid to use sex to get what they wanted.

8) Lieutenant Sulu, who would get that little half-smirk on his face whenever ordered to fire, as if to say, “yeaahhh…permission to blast the infidel dogs out of space with my sperm-shaped fulton torpedoes…yeaahhh…”

7) Short-short skirts, leather boots & black stockings–need I say more?

6) The first interracial kiss on national television (even though several Southern states refused to air it, and it was banned in England for nearly 25 years afterward).

5) Roddenberry had the balls to cast his current girlfriend (Majel Barrett) and ex-mistress (Nichelle Nichols) in the same show.

4) If your vibrator battery ran low, you could probably slip a Tribble between your legs.

3) Lieutenant Uhura, who always had her black leather-booted legs crossed, as if to say, “yeah, uh-huh, I’ve got the coochie tucked away right in here, so you can’t have any–and it’s good…”

2) Mr. Spock could go for years without sex, then suddenly go berserk unless he gets it–then suddenly lose the urge when he thinks he’s killed his friend. (And we all know that a human male would’ve gotten a nut first, THEN grieved for his buddy).

1) Captain Kirk, who proved that a dawg is a dawg, even in outer space, by being willing to screw anything with a body temperature or pulse. Or even without one.

So, most of the people who visit here also visit Jaye’s blog.
(and happy you-know-what, Jaye!)
So most of you have seen this photo, and it’s redundant.
Guess what?
I don’t care.
Absolutely HAD to have this GORGEOUS man on my website.
And chances are pretty good he’ll be making guest appearances in the future. Probably even show up as a hero in a manuscript.
Oded Fehr.
Yum.
(and yes, several bibs were soiled in the making of this post…)