Thursday, March 29, 2012

For the Love of...Sharks

My kid is in love with sharks. When we’re at the bookstore he will look at the story books: fantasy, mystery, adventure…but then he’ll gravitate towards those informational learning books and OhMyGod if he finds one on sharks that he doesn’t already have!

He’s the only nine year old I know who has a countdown (starting a year ahead of time) for Discovery Channel’s “Shark Week”. And when his grandparents left for Hawaii, instead of saying “have a great time and bring me back a pineapple” he said “don’t wear high contrasting colours in the water.”
Reading about sharks and watching documentaries about sharks, has made him the foremost authority (at least in our neighbourhood), and he’s really worried about the future of the shark given the human threat and diminishing habitat for them. Of course, it was no surprise when he said that he wanted to be a marine biologist when he grows up. (Now I’m glad he takes swimming lessons every Sunday)

Anyway, last week we’re driving home from school and he asked what the “Nobel Prize” was. I tried to explain it to him (without the benefit of a quick google search) and ended up going with “well, it’s an important award given to people who do really special things for the world.” (Not too bad if I do say so myself.)

He spent the next several days on the internet googling sharks and Nobel Prizes. When I finally asked him what had gotten under his skin, he said “I don’t think anyone has ever won a Nobel Prize for saving the sharks, so that’s what I’m going to do.”

Oh to be young and have a cause.

I love my son so freakin’ much.

Thursday, March 22, 2012

Lucky Seven

Ok, so I've been tagged to do this thing called "Lucky 7" where you go to page seven of your current writing project, scroll to the seventh paragraph, and post seven lines. Here you go, from my contemporary romance, which is currently called LOVE HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH IT

Still distracted by naked thoughts, he had only three of his shirt buttons undone when there was a quick knock on his change room door. 

“Hey, heads up. I’m coming in.”

“You’re what?” Peter quickly plastered himself against the back wall of the small space to avoid get bashed in the nose with the door as it swung inward. Ana slipped in with him, wearing nothing but her jeans and a purple bra—not lace, but a shimmery satin that accentuated her golden skin. 

She looked a hell of a lot better in living color than the picture his mind had been busy conjuring up.

“Holy hell, woman,” he whistled, forcing his eyes up to her face before he embarrassed himself, or did something stupid like push her up against the wall and bury his face between those perfect breasts. “What are you doing in here?” 

Since my alter ego, Chloe Jacobs, has also been tagged, you can go here to see her Lucky 7! 

Tuesday, March 13, 2012

One down...

I finished a project yesterday (technically very very early this morning). I had edits due on a book and boy did they prove to be tough. I'm not sure I achieved what my editor wanted me to but the good thing about working with someone you trust is that even if you miss the mark, you know she'll steer you back on track. And I've been seriously lucky with my editors. I have three and love them all.

But now that this project is off my plate (until the edits come back for the next round, I guess) I'm going to be working on something new. FRESH WRITING, YAY!!

What is it?

A secret...shhhhh...

But...anyone who is waiting for Greta and the Goblin King might just be excited for this!     

Monday, March 12, 2012

COVER REVEAL: My Super Sweet 16th Birthday (by Rachel Harris)

It seems like I've been waiting for this book for SUCH A LONG TIME already! And although I know I still have to wait (until September) helps that we now have a COVER!

I love the hollywood historical chic look!


On the precipice of her sixteenth birthday, the last thing lone wolf Cat Crawford wants is an extravagant gala thrown by her bubbly stepmother and well-meaning father. So even though Cat knows the family’s trip to Florence, Italy, is a peace offering, she embraces the magical city and all it offers. But when her curiosity leads her to an unusual gypsy tent, she exits . . . right into Renaissance Firenze.

Thrust into the sixteenth century armed with only a backpack full of contraband future items, Cat joins up with her ancestors, the sweet Alessandra and protective Cipriano, and soon falls for the gorgeous aspiring artist Lorenzo. But when the much-older Niccolo starts sniffing around, Cat realizes that an unwanted birthday party is nothing compared to an unwanted suitor full of creeptastic amore.

Can she find her way back to modern times before her Italian adventure turns into an Italian forever?

My Super Sweet 16th Century, by Rachel Harris is available for pre-order on: Amazon | Barnes & Noble Be sure to add it to your TBR pile on Goodreads!  

Be sure to connect with Rachel at:

I hear their muffled whispers and understand every Italian word. Every witty comment made at my expense.
It’s like my brain is automatically translating.
I bunch the soft fabric of the dress in my hand and then reach up to feel the ribbon in my hair. I lightly skim my fingers over my chin and feel my lack of zit. I take in the costumes of the crowd, the stench of the animals, and the Italian I can now speak and understand. And suddenly it hits me.
Reyna must have pulled some kind of gypsy mojo.
Maybe this is one of those nifty “change your life” magic scenarios like in the movies. I mean, mostly I’m still expecting to blink and be right back in the midst of overpriced, gaudy tourism, but for now, the gypsy-time-warp explanation is infinitely better than thinking I’ve lost my mind. As I decide to go with that option, I feel my frantic tension melt away.
The growing crowd seems to notice my change in demeanor and begins shooting one another amused looks, but I don’t care anymore. A smile stretches across my face. Evidently, I was wrong earlier; Reyna is a psychic mind reader, because if this is her special brand of bibbity-bobbity-boo, then she made my exact daydream from earlier in the courtyard come to life.
The long red gown, the braided hair, the Italian merchant’s daughter, the time period. I am in Renaissance Florence.
I stare dumbly at the ground, the words and reality sinking in.
I’m in Renaissance Florence!

Wednesday, March 07, 2012

Domestic Bliss

My days are pretty boring ("What?" you say?) Well, sorry but when I'm not at the day job I have a 9 year old son, a puppy and a husband...all of whom seem to want things from me. Clean clothes, food on the table...ridiculous stuff like that.

But I get to a point (like right now) when if I have to look at another dirty sock, or hear "MOMMY!" I will absolutely scream.

And I have to go hide. It usually means I take off to Starbucks for a while.

Where do you go to get away?

Monday, March 05, 2012

COVER REVEAL! Pretty Amy (by Lisa Burstein)

Please clap your hands (both real and virtual) for the FANTASTIC cover for Lisa Burstein's PRETTY AMY!
Amy is fine living in the shadows of beautiful Lila and uber-cool Cassie, because at least she’s somewhat beautiful and uber-cool by association. But when their dates stand them up for prom, and the girls take matters into their own hands—earning them a night in jail outfitted in satin, stilettos, and Spanx—Amy discovers even a prom spent in handcuffs might be better than the humiliating “rehabilitation techniques” now filling up her summer. Worse, with Lila and Cassie parentally banned, Amy feels like she has nothing—like she is nothing.
Navigating unlikely alliances with her new coworker, two very different boys, and possibly even her parents, Amy struggles to decide if it’s worth being a best friend when it makes you a public enemy. Bringing readers along on an often hilarious and heartwarming journey, Amy finds that maybe getting a life only happens once you think your life is over.

I was just about to put out my cigarette and go back inside when I heard a skateboard coming down the street. It sounded like waves, like a conch shell against your ear. That full, empty sound.
Maybe it was Aaron. I conjured up my stupid daydream, the one I used to fill my head when I couldn’t deal with any of the other stuff in there—that he would find me, that he would apologize, that he would tell me that prom night hadn’t been his fault.
The difference this time was that when I looked toward the sound, he really was there.
It was him.
He was skateboarding down the sidewalk like it was made of water, wearing the same loose, worn jeans from his Facebook picture. He carried a backpack, like he might have been coming from the library, but I doubted he ever went to the library.
I lit another cigarette with the end of my last one; any excuse to stay put. Then I remembered I was wearing a suit.
“You got another one of those?” he asked. His eyes were blue. I hadn’t noticed that in his picture.
My hands shook as I gave him a cigarette. He brought a silver-and-black Zippo to his mouth, flipped it open with one hand, lit his cigarette, and slapped it shut. The whole thing took seconds, but it felt like he was doing it in slow motion. “Thanks,” he said.
Maybe he had just stopped to get a cigarette. Maybe it had nothing to do with me.
It probably had nothing to do with me.
“I know you,” he said. “Where do I know you from?”
I couldn’t tell him. Telling him that he’d stood me up for my own prom would have been way too embarrassing. It would tell him that I still cared enough to remember.
“I’m friends with Lila and Cassie,” I said, wishing that my hair wasn’t pulled back in a headband like I was a nun.
“What are you all dressed up for?” he asked.
Of course he didn’t know me. If he had, he would have known that I’d just come from court and that I was trying to do everything I could to forget it.
“I work here,” I said, thinking fast. “I’m supposed to be a librarian.”
“You don’t have to lie,” he said, laughing. “I’m Aaron.”
“Amy,” I said, waving hello with the cigarette in my hand.
He smiled. “Though you do make a cute librarian.”
I tried to keep myself from coughing. “This suit sucks,” I said. It seemed cooler than saying thank you. It seemed cooler than getting all squishy over what he said, even though that was how I felt.
I looked at his skateboard. “You wanna try it out?” he asked.
The deck had a mural of blue sky and white-capped mountains hand-painted on it. The wheels were covered with stop-motion birds, so that when they spun it must have looked like the birds were flying.
There was more to this boy. More that I wanted to know.
“I guess I could,” I said, but then I remembered my mother. She would come looking for me soon.
I shook my head. “I should go.”
          “You got a cell phone?” he asked.
 “Not that I’m allowed to use anymore.”
“Parents,” he said. He pulled a sketchbook from his backpack. Maybe he had painted that beautiful mural. He ripped out a piece of paper, wrote something down, and handed it to me.
It was his phone number.
I tried not to act surprised, tried to act like boys gave me their numbers all the time, especially when I hadn’t asked for them.
“See you around, Amy,” he said. He dropped the skateboard next to him. It landed perfectly on its wheels like a cat would on its legs.
As he skated away, I looked at his number; the paper was as soft as fabric. I folded it smaller and smaller and hid it in my bra. Maybe he hadn’t said what I wanted him to say, but he had found me.
He had found me.

Lisa Burstein is a tea seller by day and a writer by night. She wrote her first story when she was in second grade. It was a Thanksgiving tale from the point of view of the turkey from freezer to oven to plate. It was scandalous.
 She was a lot like Amy when she was in high school.
 She is still a lot like Amy.