Lucynda Storey-Erotic Romance Writer

 

Blurb:

When John LuMac told the dean that Dante Coalson was involved in a pot ring, Dante was kicked out of college and lost his chance at a major league baseball career.  Now revenge drives Dante, but just how far will he go?

Excerpt:

The fireflies have come up out of the grass and the sun’s about gone down, but I’ve not moved from this chair. Rocking soothes my ninety-year-old bones and I sure ain’t in no hurry to get up and start cleaning this mess. There’s blood soaking into the porch floor, splattered all over the other two rocking chairs, a hole big as your fist through the picture window where the bullet ricocheted.

We had us some crowd there for a while, didn’t we? Five or six sheriff’s cars, the ambulance, two TV satellite trucks, and traffic stopped going both ways down on the blacktop with gawkers leaning out their car windows. It’s just me and you now, Missy; you and your notebook and your tape recorder, wanting a story for your newspaper.

Well, the ice in this glass has long since melted. Take a good look around out here and then we’ll go in the house and get us a fresh drink.

Take notice, Missy, of those charred barn doors lying cockeyed on the ground. Today wasn’t the only time we had us some excitement out here. That other time, three years ago, they hauled my son Dante off to the penitentiary. What a day that was. We had people spying on us from the hillside across the road and sneaking up through the woods. Dante’s birds were screeching their heads off.

The fellas from the DEA cleaned out the barn that day, all but the yard tractor and a John Deere pull-behind wagon. Dante sold all his exotics out of the greenhouse, nothing in there but the leftover stench. There’s a concrete bunker out back in the woods. If we get around to it later, you can take the key and have a look at what’s out there.

It’s about dark, let’s leave all that for now and go inside. If you’d care to eat, I’ve got pinto beans simmering and fresh-made cornbread. No? Well, I’m hungry. There’s a pitcher of tea in the fridge or something stronger up in the cupboard. Fix whatever you want and sit down. You can watch me eat.

‘The Birdman’, everybody will be wanting to know all about the Birdman—how he came to be such a brute and all. Well, it won’t be no short little newspaper story, Missy, not by a damn sight.

Birdman. That’s what my eldest son made up to call himself. I named him Dante on account of I went through seventy-two hours of hell giving birth to that boy. That was in nineteen and thirty-seven and it’s clear up in the new century now. A whole hell of a lot of time and mischief has passed. Flick on that recording machine and I’ll tell you all about Dante Coalson, the Birdman.

~*~*~*~*

Available today at

Aspen Mountain Press:

http://www.aspenmountainpress.com/birdman/prod_58.html

I’ll admit to a certain bit of naivety.  I blame it on my innate belief that given a choice people will choose to do good.  Once in a while, I’m even right.

This whole business with Triskelion has hurt and disappointed a lot of people and before it is all over, I daresay it will do more.  However, from the clouds comes rain and from time to time rain is welcome.  RUMOR has it that RWA and the Author’s Guild are looking into ways to protect the clauses agreed to in contracts.  If those organizations can do something that will truly be a step forward for the issue of intellectual property.

One can hope.

Until then, I think I’m in agreement with the bumper sticker that says, “Beam me up, Scottie.  There’s no intelligent life here.”  At least not where the law is concerned.  I guess that’s why we have lawyers.

Until then, I’ll look for the little green men at the UFO Watchtower, and wear my seatbelt.  As a bumper sticker says, “Buckle Up!  It makes it harder for the aliens to suck you out of your car.”

The World of Cyn

Vol 2: Issue 9

With the advent of summer comes vacations!  I hope many of you have had the opportunity to travel.  My family journeyed to Taos, NM  and thoroughly enjoyed ourselves.  We visited galleries, shops where there were many handmade crafts and drove the Enchanted Loop.  We stopped at the home and burial grounds of DH Lawrence, The National Viet Nam Memorial, Pot Creek, the home of Kit Carson, and even a Native American drum factory.

Once home I jumped into fundraising with my daughter.  Her choir will be traveling to NYC next spring to sing in nursing homes and orphanages.  We worked a Colorado Outlaws game.  The Outlaws are the second lacrosse team to grace professional sports in Colorado.  If you’ve never seen a lacrosse game, it is a unique sport to behold.

News

Loose Id has released my novel, This Time Forever, the seventh installment of The Collector series.  For those of you not aware of the series, the collector is an archeologist intent on gathering nine artifacts.  These artifacts are rumored to hold the power of love and bring people together.  Who knows what the nine pieces will do once they are in proximity with one another!

In This Time Forever, Skylar Creighton has been diagnosed with cancer and seemingly has nothing and no one to live for.  That is until an injured, homeless man comes into her bookstore with an odd shaped stone and shoves it into her hands, turning Skylar’s world upside down.

Aspen Mountain Press is nearly a year old!  Come celebrate with AMP on the AMP Community loop located at www.AMP_Community@yahoogroups.com.  There will be prizes every day in July but only customers and members of the Community loop are eligible.

Triskelion Publishing has announced the closing of their business effective July 2^nd.  At this time their web site store is closed and their yahoo loops are gone.  They have stated they will be filing bankruptcy which imperils all the royalties due their authors.  In the past three months many of the authors have had their literary rights returned to them.  Please contact the authors directly concerning their books and where they might end up being placed.

Interview with

Ashlyn Chase

LS:  How long have you been writing and when did you have your first release?  Where and when?

AC: First, thanks for the Interview, Lucynda!  This should be fun.  LOL.

I began writing seriously in 2001, but didn’t know what the heck I was doing until I joined RWA in 2002.  LOL.  Liquid Silver Books published my first book 2 years later.  I owe that to many helpful writers that went before me and generously offered their help and advice.

LS: Do you have a writing routine?  What is it?

AC: I get up at an ungodly hour.  Have coffee and watch the news with my husband, then he goes to work and I check my email.  No matter what, I try to be BICHOK by 9 AM.  What’s BICHOK mean?  Butt in chair; Hands on Keyboard!  LOL.  I didn’t make that up.  I write until I run out of steam and check email again.  The after noon is spent doing housework, errands or reading.

LS:Do you have a “day” job? or are you able to write full time?

AC: I’m able to write full-time.  Thank goodness!  That was one dream come true after working as a nurse for twenty long years! 

LS: Who inspired you and how?

My cousin has been writing and editing for TV for about thirty years.  He did mostly Soap Operas and won an Emmy for Days of our Lives.  I think what inspired me most was his dedication.  I remember visiting him in his tiny, cockroach infested apartment in Manhattan when he was struggling.  He makes a good living now and continues to encourage me.  

LS: Where is home?  Have you lived your entire life in one place?

I live in beautiful New Hampshire.  I’ve moved many times but mostly in and around Boston.  I lived in Colorado for two years and my daughter was born there.  I took her back there when she was twelve so she could see her birthplace.  We had a great time.  Traipsed all over the state, had a snowball fight in July.  It’s a beautiful place to visit.   

LS: What genre do you write in?  Is there one you’d like to try? What is it?

I write erotic comedy.  Right now I’m enjoying the heck out of that.  It’s not always easy to be funny and sexy though, so I suppose I might like to try some young adult fiction.  My critique partner does both and I love reading all of her stuff.

LS: What was the most memorable, positive experience of your life?

Wow!  Talk about tough questions!  My daughter’s babyhood?  The day I married her wonderful stepfather?  The day I divorced the loser?  LOL.  FYI.  You can’t expect me to be serious when faced with a tough situation.  It’s how I cope.  

LS:  What was the toughest thing you had to go through and how did you manage?

Well, that has to be the first divorce.  I was a battered wife with an infant he never wanted.  I literally had to “escape and hide” from him.  The therapy I went through for the eight months after that proved was intense but immensely helpful.  I coped by writing.  I wrote a whole book of bad poetry.  I’d take it to my shrink every week and we’d about it.  

LS:  Wonder Witch is a special book to you.  Can you tell my readers about how this book came to be and what it has done for you and your “sisters?”

You know the story well (since you’re one of the stars.  LOL) so I’ll tell the rest of the world about us now.  I was challenged to write a story about my character in the League of Amazing Writers.  We all have our “Super hero” alter egos right on the front page.  Well, there’s no sisterhood like the sisterhood of erotic romance writers and all the members of the League wound up in my book as characters!  Oh, and what I made some of them do!  LOL.  I’m SO lucky they all have great senses of humor!  Be on the lookout for books in retaliation, folks!  Magda already told me that she’s going to make my character Wonder Witch (Witchy for short) do some very naughty things in a future book of hers!

LS:  Some “one or the other” questions:

        Coke or Pepsi products

Either.  I can’t tell the difference once there’s rum in it.

        Eric Bana or Orlando Bloom

I’ll take either of them too.

        CSI or Bones

Absolutly CSI!  I want them all!  *Ash licks drool off her face.

        Movies or Theater

MOVIES!  My husband and I are ridiculous movie buffs.  We have a theatre room in our basement.  I’ve even written a few screenplays.

        Rocky Horror Picture Show or Reservoir Dogs

Rocky Horror!  I went to the live shows back in Boston on Exeter Street when I lived around the corner!  Such fun!!!

        Andy Garcia or Val Kilmer

I hear that Val is a pain in the ass, and I love Latino men, so ANDY!

        Spain or France

I may love Latino men but I can’t talk to them.  I do, on the other hand, speak French, so France it is. 

        Leonardo deCaprio or Mark Wahlberg

I may be considered crazy, but totally Mark.  We’re both from Boston and he is one of the few actors who gets the accent right in movies.  (See The Departed.)  LOL.  I love a homeboy.

        Florida or California

Florida!  I don’t like it when the ground shakes under me.  Being from the East Coast I’m used to Hurricanes.  Not the same intensity by the time they make it up here, but I like how Floridians deal with them.  Ever heard of a Hurricane party?  Three days in somebody’s storm proof house with a well-stocked bar!

        The Eagles or The Beach Boys

Hard to say.  Can I pick Bon Jovi?

About Wonder Witch

Here’s the skinny on Wonder Witch.  Keep in mind the book is narrated by the only impartial member of the League.  The cat! Imagine thirteen attractive crime-fighting women with super powers—and PMS!  They aren’t Charlie’s Angels! 

 ~*~*~*~*~

“Just so I have this straight, you want us to find and stop whoever kidnapped eight muscular men and do it unarmed.” She looked at the sky and let out a deep breath in a whoosh. “Um… Let me think about it.”

Didn’t I tell you they can’t resist a pretty face? Toss in a muscular body and it’s like kryptonite. She’s probably just wondering how to break it to the others. Between Joell and all her superheroine buddies, the latest challenge has been how to find time to do what they really love—writing their ultra hot erotic romance books. Their original mission? To save the world from boredom, one book at a time. You’d think that would be enough, but no. Not for these superwomen. They became crime fighters. It’s one thing to talk about world peace. It’s another to actually do something about it! I can’t help but be proud of the important part I play.

I jumped onto Joell’s lap and hoped she’d realize I had to go with her. She’d need me more than ever if she had no other weapons. She simply scratched me under the chin and… Ah, that feels so good, I forget what I was going to say.

I have no idea how Boss Dog found them but they haven’t had a moment to themselves since. Fine for him. He lives anonymously in Hawaii somewhere, screening clients, telling other people what to do and collecting the money to pay salaries and credit card expense accounts. If the women didn’t hate boring business and accounting details, they’d never put up with it. Apparently, he told them he’d take care of all the mundane hassles so that they had the freedom to write their sexy novels, fight crime and look terrific while doing it.

I bumped her phone hand with my head, trying to get her to hang up. C’mon, Joell. You can still say absolutely not and stick to your guns. It’s not too late to refuse.

She heaved a giant sigh. “Go ahead, Boss Dog. Tell me what you know so far and I’ll inform the others.”

Damn. I should have given her hand a good hard bite.

*~*~*~*~*

URL FOR EXCERPT AND BUY PAGE OF WONDER WITCH: 6/15/07  

Lucynda’s Excerpt

The Collector 7: This Time Forever

Dr. Redmond counseled hospice, as did the oncologist. No, not yet. Skylar would decide how and where she died. Some damn cancer eating away at her would not take those final decisions from her. She balled her hands into fists. What else was there to do except prepare to die?

Well, damn it, she’d die her own way. She pulled the cord on the “open” sign and the light winked out. No point in staying late.

Fall would be in its full glory in a few days. The color change was amazing in October. She’d close up shop and head to Central City. Her most favorite place in the entire world was a cemetery just outside the former ghost town. Aspens grew in abandon, shading headstones worn smooth by wind and weather. Fifty years had passed since the last person had been buried there. Long enough to give the place a graceful serenity. She chortled at the irony.

She’d drive up Clear Creek Canyon, park her car in one of the casino lots, hike the mountain, and end her sojourn at the cemetery to make her final peace with the world. Yes, if one had to die, doing so quietly in an environment one loved was the way to go.

Skylar pulled open the file drawer of her office desk. And just in case the end came more quickly than the doctors predicted and she couldn’t handle the pain…she rummaged through the drawer’s contents and sighed when her fingers touched cool metal. The heavy gun would take away the suffering.

Next to the desk sat a worn backpack. She’d taken the bag on her travels to Europe a decade ago. Skylar lifted it lovingly and placed the pack on the desktop. Threads caught in the zipper, a tear from a pen, even a frequently reattached strap weren’t enough to make her throw this part of her history away. Now the well-traveled knapsack would accompany her on the last, great journey of her life.

She shoved the gun into the bag, along with a bottle of Patrón Reposado tequila she’d intended for the tenth anniversary of the shop. Carefully, she packed her lined windbreaker around the bottle and then added aspirin, the oxycodone the oncologist had prescribed, and her favorite first-edition book, Crossing Oceans, Crossing Swords: The True Adventures of Captain Rand Edward Jamison.  The swashbuckler, through his journal, had stolen her imagination as well as her heart long ago.

Damn! Everything was so frickin’ final. The tears she’d held back crested her lids and spilled as fast and hard as a sudden summer thunderstorm. “Goddamnit!” she sobbed. “This isn’t supposed to be how my life ends.”

Her nose dripped. At least she wasn’t bawling her eyes out among the stacks. She reached across the desk to grab a Kleenex when the sound of the bell on the shop door jingled merrily through the store. “I’m closing,” she choked out.

“Miss Skylar, help!”

She pushed away from the desk, alarm spreading through her, and hurried to her office door. “William? What’s wrong?”

The homeless veteran never asked for her help, although she’d given aid to him frequently.

“He cut me.”

At his words, Skylar glanced to where his hands were clutched together over his stomach. A red stain spread from beneath his fingers, the blood seeping through his dirty blue shirt onto the floor, the trail reaching back toward the front door.

Rushing to him, she supported his sagging body. They staggered into her office, Skylar bearing the lion’s share of his weight. With a free hand she spun the chair behind the desk and sat him in it. She picked up her cordless phone and punched 9-1-1.  “My God, William, who did this to you?”

“The man with the sword. Hid in his umbrella.” William gasped the words as blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

“Hang on, William.”

“Nine-one-one operator.”

“Operator, send an ambulance to Sky’s Mile High Books, and hurry. My friend has been injured.” She gulped, trying to get her breath. “He’s been attacked and is bleeding a lot.”

Once more the bells on the shop door rattled, the light and cheerful sound at odds with the rasp of William’s breathing.

“I followed your bloody trail in here, you homeless bastard,” a deep, menacing voice called. “You’re nothing but street scum and trouble.”

The owner of the ominous voice sounded as if he meant business. Skylar dropped the phone onto the desk. Maybe if she got William to the storage room, she could get him out the delivery door. Hiding was impossible, not with the way William’s blood was dripping. “William?” she whispered, terror gripping her. “What set this guy off?”

“He wants my stone.” With a bloody hand, William pulled an oddly shaped piece of polished pale green stone from the inside of his shirt. His breath came in shallow puffs. “But it ain’t his.”

The weak, barely audible sound of William’s voice frightened Skylar more. Blood saturated his shirt and pooled in the stitching of her chair at his hips, soaking his threadbare jeans. There was so much blood. It spilled onto her black slacks and the long purple-and-black plaid flannel shirt she wore over them. God, please let the ambulance get here in time. “A piece of green rock?”

“Yes, I want that piece of green rock.” William’s attacker stood in her office doorway. She froze as if in quicksand, wallowing in fear.

Good Lord, he was tall. His head, covered with long blond hair, nearly reached the sill, and his eyes were cloaked by a pair of Ray-Bans. A black duster covered his body and accentuated broad shoulders. The open coat revealed a powerful torso encased in a body-hugging tee-shirt, and his wide, aggressive stance echoed the danger she’d heard in his voice. He tapped an umbrella point against the wooden floor.

“No,” William weakly whispered.

In the last thirty seconds, William’s color had paled significantly. Skylar placed a hand on his forehead, only to touch clammy skin. Without help he’d definitely die.

“Now, boy,” his assailant grumbled, removing his sunglasses to narrow the stare of his brown eyes on the green shard in William’s hands. “I can make this quick, or I can make your death linger for days.”

The sound of a sword being drawn from its sheath hissed through the room. Dear God! The blade had come from the man’s umbrella, just as William had warned. Well, the evil Mr. Steed was not going to hurt William anymore, not while she had breath left in her cancer-ridden body. She fumbled for the backpack and grasped the shoulder strap to pull it toward her.

The tall man took two strides and, across the desk, pointed the blade at Skylar. The tip touched the hollow between her breasts. “Don’t get any ideas.”

She gulped and froze, afraid to move a millimeter. Without the gun, how could she save William? Where was help? With a sword pointed at her chest, a man at her side like Captain Rand Jamison would be handy. But the heroes of literature didn’t exist in today’s reality, no matter how hard she might wish.

“Whatever you do, don’t let him have it,” William commanded with an unexpected burst of energy. He shoved the stone into her hand.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Available now at Loose Id

~*~*~*~

This Issue’s Recipe

SALSA BEAN DIP

Yield: 14 servings (2 tablespoons each)

Source: “The Diabetes Snack, Munch, Nibble, Nosh Book”

INGREDIENTS

-  3/4 cup mild or medium thick and chunky salsa

-  1 (19 ounce) can cannellini beans, rinsed and drained

-  1 teaspoon lemon juice

-  1 teaspoon dark brown chili powder (or to taste)

-  1 teaspoon ground cumin

-  1/8 teaspoon salt

DIRECTIONS

Place the salsa in a sieve over a large bowl.

Tap the sieve occasionally to help the salsa

drain until the chunky part remains in the sieve,

about 3 to 4 minutes. Discard the liquid.

In the bowl, mash the beans slightly with a fork.

Add the chunky portion of the salsa, lemon juice,

chili powder, and cumin. Stir until combined.

Transfer to a serving bowl.

Serve at once or cover and refrigerate for several hours.

Serve with baked corn chips. Leftover dip will keep

in the refrigerator for 3 to 4 days.

Nutritional Information Per Serving (2 tablespoons):

Calories: 36, Fat: 0 g, Cholesterol: 0 mg, Sodium: 74 mg,

Carbohydrate: 7 g, Dietary Fiber: 2 g, Sugars: 0 g, Protein: 2 g Diabetic Exchanges: 1/2 Starch

Bonus Recipe

Granny Smith Apple Tart

Yield: 1 tart (8 servings)

Source: The New Family Cookbook for People with Diabetes

       

INGREDIENTS

-  1 refrigerated fill-and-bake pie crust (7 to 7-1/2 ounces)

-  3 large Granny Smith apples (about 1-1/2 pounds total), peeled, cored, and thinly sliced

-  2 teaspoons fresh lemon juice

-  1/4 cup packed brown sugar

-  1/4 cup sour half-and-half, or 1/4 cup nonfat sour cream

-  1 tablespoon quick-cooking tapioca

-  1-1/2 teaspoons ground cinnamon

-  2 teaspoons granulated sugar

DIRECTIONS

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F.

Put the pie crust into a 9-inch-diameter tart pan with a removable bottom; press the crust against the fluted edge and trim off any pastry that extends over the top. Roll the trimmed dough into a ball; flatten to 1/4 inch and cut 2 or 3 shapes with a cookie cutter. Prick the tart shell in several places with the tines of a fork.

Put the sliced apples in a large bowl;

drizzle them with lemon juice and toss to mix.

In a small bowl, blend the brown sugar, sour

half-and-half, tapioca, and cinnamon.

Fold the brown sugar mixture into the apples until all

the fruit is coated. Spoon the apples into the tart shell; arrange the dough shapes on top of the apples. Sprinkle granulated sugar over the top.

Bake for 35 minutes, or until the apples are tender.

Cut in 8 equal slices. Serve hot or at room temperature.

Nutritional Information Per Serving (1 slice):

Calories: 200, Fat: 8 g, Cholesterol: 8 mg, Sodium: 146 mg,

Carbohydrate: 34 g, Dietary Fiber: 2 g, Sugars: 20 g, Protein: 1 g Diabetic Exchanges: 2 Other Carbohydrate, 1 Fat

This month’s winner of Watchtower: Water is: Jayne710

Be sure to join Aspen Mountain Press as they celebrate the anniversary of their opening!

“You always fear what you don’t understand.”

Carmine Falcone, Batman Begins

An email went out to the authors of the Triskelion Social loop early this morning announcing the closing of the publisher effective July 2nd due to bankruptcy.  Several authors saw this coming and successfully had the rights to their books returned.  Others feel as if the elevator crashed to the bottom without a flicker of warning.

Truth be told, this was inevitable.  I knew I didn’t want anything more to do with Triskelion last summer when the publisher jerked my chain.  I intended to let my books die a natural death and resub them at Aspen Mountain Press when they were free.

Several authors have lost thousands of dollars in promotional items, interviews, ads and the like.  Most don’t know what the effect of declaring Chapter 11 banruptcy really means to their stories and contracts.  Nearly a dozen spent a thousand dollars or more at a poorly organized Romantic Times luncheon intended to build their name and that of Triskelion.

I am not sad for Triskelion, but my heart hurts for those who’ve been hurt by a company who refused to communicate and changed their contractual agreements without proper legal documentation, had hideous covers and who constantly berated the authors as to not promoting their work…

That however, is a topic for another discussion.  The bottom line is that every Trisk author who did not have their rights returned to them prior to the start of 2007, and maybe even July of 2006 could have their stories tied up in the bankruptcy proceedings.

Every author at Trisk needs to do two things 1) seek the advice of a competent bankruptcy attorney, preferably one with experience dealing with intellectual property and 2) continue to write.

In the long run, number 2 may be more important than anthing else.

Dear Ms. Burnham and Ms. Milburn,

Thank you for the opportunity to participate in the on-line
questionnaire regarding the proposed changes regarding qualifying for PAN.

I have to say I was disappointed in the questions and the actual answers we could select from. I am strongly opposed to any requirement that wants to know my personal income. The income an author makes from the sale of a single novel hardly qualifies them as being a professional,published author. Because one author signs a single book contract and receives an advance does not make that person more or less serious about their career than another. In fact, there are many PAN authors who are “one-hit wonders” and are far less professional in their careers than those who have published several books with smaller houses and who continue to hone their craft. Income level is not an adequate assessment in determining who should be PAN or PRO.

RWA is mistaken if they truly believe that PAN does not serve the purpose of a certain level of recognition for author achievement in their career whether RWA meant it or not. Perhaps the intent, years ago, was to provide information for the published author; the same author that the RWA organization decided qualified. Again, why should income be the yardstick here? A recognized author needs the information about growing their career as much if not more than those who’ve been in the business years. Your own definition states, “PAN’s purpose is to establish within RWA a network of communication and support to effectively promote and protect the interests of published romance authors, to open channels of communication between those romance authors and other publishing industry professionals, and to encourage professionalism on all levels and in all relationships within the publishing industry.”

Again RWA is mistaken if they truly believe that publisher recognition doesn’t send a message to their membership. Of course recognition is a jewel in the publisher’s crown and authors want to publish with companies that meet your minimum standards.  Authors know that publisher’s business practices have been looked at by RWA,  in some depth, in order to qualify for RWA approval. With the advent of the Internet, that sort of information travels and some publishers have referred to the private information gathered as something similar to a very unpleasant medical procedure.

Authors also want to be associated with houses that have survived the microscopic scrutiny and achieved this level of professional recognition. It doesn’t hurt the publisher when they are looking for new talent to be able to say that they’ve been RWA approved and is indeed a draw for an author who wishes to achieve PAN status. When RWA gives a publisher its stamp of approval a statement has been made about that company. Included would be the fact that the company has had successful authors helping the company meet the standards set forth by RWA. So why shouldn’t the authors for that publisher receive PAN status?

Although RWA hasn’t come out and stated this directly, it appears that there is definitely a “them versus us” attitude. In your own words, “Will those who are currently published in romance, yet not making an income sufficient to qualify for PAN under the proposed eligibility requirements, feel that they are viewed as “less” published?”

You bet they will. Submitting a novel, revising it, getting a contract, going through edits and learning about promotion have nothing to do with income. The publishing experience is a career altering event all “professional” authors go through.

There have been several companies recognized recently by RWA that did not get their publishing start the traditional way. Companies that are electronic. Companies that have hundreds of authors in their houses. Authors who applied immediately for their PAN recognition, thrilled their hard work was, yes, being recognized. In addition, you state that the author who doesn’t make the minimum $2,000 off their single release would benefit from staying PRO. Yet, the information that author needs is from those who are PAN. You stated the need for PAN members to open lines of communication. A lot of the new PAN authors have information for the older PAN members regarding electronic publishing, royalties, effective use of the Internet and other tools for promotion. Information that will definitely benefit the PAN members who are not signing the five figure contracts.

The world of publishing is and has changed drastically in the past few years. Traditional publishers are scrambling to catch up. If you look at the new contracts they include clauses for electronic rights; rights which were not considered serious enough to worry about in years past. The actions RWA is considering appear to be the backlash of worried traditionalists. Authors who’ve made their careers in electronic publishing are just as serious about moving forward and ahead as those who’ve started the traditional way, maybe more because they have an uphill battle to fight.

You might consider determining whether or not an author is PAN by how many books s/he writes in a year, or a decade, but any time you use numbers of any sort you descend a slippery slope. How many times will the minimum requirement change? Who is allowed to determine the “magic” number?

Has RWA calculated the number of writers it may lose due to this arbitrary value assignment? How that will trickle down to local chapters? How it will affect advertising in the RWR? How many people may speak negatively of RWA because of this politically inspired change?

The fact is this: If you had a book contracted and released by a non-subsidy, non-vanity house that met RWA approval, you are a professional and worthy of being allowed to be a PAN member (and there are plenty who would say you qualified even if the house wasn’t RWA approved and I’d have to agree). If you really have those who are qualified to be PAN and they’d rather stay PRO, then let them.

You’ll have far fewer headaches if you leave well enough alone.

Sincerely,

 Lucynda Storey

CRW, HODRW, Passionate Ink

You scored as Indiana Jones, Indiana Jones is an archaeologist/adventurer with an unquenchable love for danger and excitement. He travels the globe in search of historical relics. He loves travel, excitement, and a good archaeological discovery. He hates Nazis and snakes, perhaps to the same degree. He always brings along his trusty whip and fedora. He’s tough, cool, and dedicated. He relies on both brains and brawn to get him out of trouble and into it. Indiana Jones 71% Captain Jack Sparrow 71% William Wallace 67% Batman, the Dark Knight 67% Lara Croft 67% The Terminator 63% Maximus 63% The Amazing Spider-Man 58% El Zorro 54% James Bond, Agent 007 54% Neo, the “One” 42% Which Action Hero Would You Be? v. 2.0 created with QuizFarm.com

Jaynie R just did an interview with Aspen Mountain Press.  Jaynie recently left editing after a year and because she hadn’t done much with her blog had to start a new one (someone got the old one’s name). For those of you reading this, Jaynie is not new to blogging or the controversy it sometimes creates.

Jaynie is controversial and the latest controvery on her blog centers on Jaid Black/Tina Engler of Ellora’s Cave.  This has spilled over to Karen Scott’s blog if you are so inclined to follow the story.

Jaynie has been a long time fan of mine and at one point was going to be my editor at Triskelion before she decided things were just too weird there. 

Anyway, if you are so inclined to read about Aspen Mountain Press or regarding the controversy on Jaynie’s blog, just click on Jaynie’s name.

At Loose Id, we’re having a huge bash. Each weekend in June the community loop is bursting with excerpts and prizes. Pop in and say “hi”. We’d love to hear what you think of the excerpts.

The second day of our trip we drove past a place called Earthship, and then the Rio Grande Gorge.  We spent quite a bit of time oogling the depth of the gorge which rivals the one in southern Colorado, the Royal Gorge.

Afterwards, we drove into Taos and got our motel room at a little place called the Adobe Wall.  Nothing fancy…a clean bed, a shower and t.v.  Worth it for $45 a night since we weren’t planning on a hotel/motel vacation anyway.  We walked all over the artsy end of Taos, came back to the room and watched a Bones on my laptop computer.

While wandering town, I visited the Kit Carson home and museum.  Kit had seven kids, three of them adopted Native Americans.  He died within two months of his wife and made sure the kids were provided for.  A copy of his last will and testament showed he was very concerned about their upbringing.

I also discovered two other fascinating things.  In one of the art gallerys, I found beautiful “pottery” by Dan Fogleberg.  When we asked, you know I just had to, we found out this Dan Fogleberg was from Longmont, Colorado and is a cousin to the singer.  I also found out that novelist D.H. Lawrence was a visitor to the Taos area and even had a home just off the Enchanted Loop.

Lawrence is know for works such as Lady Chatterly’s Lover and Women in Love.  He was with his wife, Frieda, who had once been married to one of DH’s professors in England before they ran off together.  Georgia O’Keefe, another frequent visitor to northern New Mexico spent time with DH and his wife.

There is a story to this beautiful tomb…but that’s for another time.

We journeyed the backroads from Canon City, CO toward our destination, interrupting the drive to walk Riverside Park in Salida.  Breaking up the ride helped stretch out my tired back and get some exercise in. 

From Salida we took a state highway into Hooper, home of the UFO Watchtower.  I had been to the white painted scaffolding some six years ago and climbed the metal to face the east and the sand dunes and the home of the “Ant People”. 

I’d like to say the Watchtower is for those who are seriously in pursuit of knowledge for  the search for extra-terrestial life, but sadly, it is an attempt to keep a large ranch from going under. The owner of the ranch can no longer afford the water it would take to irrigate the land for grass to run cattle and so has this beautiful desert like acreage that is missing a steady income stream. 

 

The Watchtower, whose dome-shaped gift shop which once housed interesting books on UFO’s and ET’s was depleted of anything remotely interesting.  Outside, viewable from the scaffold or by way of a walk-through was a “garden” that displayed various personal remnants from past visitors to the Watchtower.  Some of these objects were in areas that were reputed to have some sort of energy field that you could feel when you walked in the area.  Perhaps I’m too skeptical, but all I felt were the energies of the Watchtower owners trying to save the ranch.

We left the Watchtower and headed toward the town of Hooper proper.  Just before we got there we turned on a small county road toward the property of Colorado Gators, another site I visited some six years ago. 

Perhaps it was the time of year, but everything around this area seemed far less prosperous that the last visit.  We were the only family at the facility and we picked up our bucket of gator snacks and went through the little “zoo” where various reptiles resided.  There were two tortoises, and several phythons/boas, and a fish tank. Colorado Gators originally started in the late 70’s when a man raising tilapia needed a way of disposing of fish remains.  Research, plus a naturally occurring hot spring to feed his ponds led to the import of one hundred Florida gators, sixty of which still survive to this day.  

 

Outdoors there were several ponds which housed gators of different sizes.  Throwing gator kibble into the water, kibble designed to float, attracted the reptiles, who snapped at the pieces sideways.  We didn’t get the chance to ask but our curiosity was aroused as to how the gators knew the kibble was in the water.  Was it the sound of the splash, the vibrations from the toss, or perhaps some keen sense of smell that attracted these throwbacks to the days when dinosaurs ruled the earth?

 A great, cold wind blew up from the west and we stayed outdoors as long as we could stand the chill.  The larger of the ponds held gators a good ten feet long and with cold, nearly evil eyes.  It’s strange to attach such premeditation to a creature whose only instincts are for survival. My son and I barely made it indoors before a powerful thunderstorm unleashed its energy on the area; a common late afternoon occurrence according to one of the proprietors.  We waited out the lengthy cloudburst, surprised to discover the temperature had dropped some fifteen degrees.

In Alamosa, CO we were able to stop for a fair in the park.  It was a picture perfect Colorado afternoon.  A slight breeze with a hint of brisk, cooler temperatures which followed a summer storm.  We walked around and saw the various ways entrepenuers earned their weekend income.  A taste of Twisted Tators and then we were off.  But not before we found the library having a booksale in a parking lot across the street.

We did run into a bit of a problem at the Days Inn in Alamosa, who insisted we pay for our room a second time after we gauranteed reserved it online with our credit card which meant in this particular case it should have been paid for.  I guess we’ll just have to see if we are double billed.

Asked to roleplay to appease her boyfriend’s sexual appetite, Maggie reluctantly agrees.  But, when a police officer approaches, Stephen takes off and Maggie is arrested as an identity risk.  Maggie’s about to get a new lesson in life, love and sex, and when its all over, Maggie won’t be “vanilla” any longer. 

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Upon arrival at the police station, Maggie watched as the officer locked up his pistol before he led her through a network of corridors that only the employees of the station could possibly understand. Was the labyrinth set up this way to prevent suspects from a quick escape? With a glance, she peeked into a cubicle, one of the many that built this maze. Officers occupied two desks covered with an assortment of paper. Other quick looks revealed more of the same.

Finally, he reached a cubby with a nearly immaculate desk. Nowhere were the piles of paperwork she’d seen in other cubbies. Great, he was a rookie. She began to frown, and then halted. Maybe this could work to her advantage. He could make a mistake, confuse her with someone else, and not have the correct forms. She smiled. “Is this your desk?”

“It is.”

“It’s very tidy. My desk, at school, always looks like a tornado hit it.”

He pointed to a cracked green vinyl seat next to his desk and motioned for her to sit. Pulling out his chair, he sat and cracked his knuckles before pulling a form from the desk’s drawer file. Immediately, she saw her error. He wasn’t a rookie. He was a neat-nik. Maybe one of those anal-retentive people she’d read about, ultra-organized micromanager personality. Stodgy, repressed, operating by the rules manual every day of his life; her complete opposite.

”Name, miss.”

“Maggie Morgan.”

He clicked something on his computer. “Date of birth?”

She answered that and his other generic questions.

“For the record, Miss Morgan, would you like to have your attorney present before we go further with your statement?”

Suddenly Maggie’s palms got damp. She wiped them against the backside of her skirt. “Attorney,” she squeaked. “I don’t have one.”

“One can be appointed to you.”

“Officer Roberts, I didn’t break the law.”

“That will be for the court to decide. Do you want a lawyer present with you?” With that, he looked up and into her eyes.

She looked him over, glaring. Dark hair fell onto his brow, just above those deep, dark eyes. His nose had been broken at least once, and there was a scar that ran the curve of his jaw. A jaw that was firmly set, as if he’d spent years clenching his teeth. His ramrod-straight posture exposed a long, strong neck. In total, he presented a solid wall that wouldn’t be easily breached. The man was too good-looking and had probably broken hearts everywhere he went.

But it didn’t matter. She hoped to find something in his features to attach a nickname to, something that would put this ludicrous situation into a more positive light. “They must call you ‘Bulldog’ around here.”

Her heart rate accelerated as he turned to look at her more directly. There wasn’t the least bit of humor in his eyes. “No.”

That was it? That was all he was going to say? “I thought for sure they called you Bulldog because you’re so tenacious in arresting innocent women.”

He swiveled in his chair, taking his hands from his keyboard in order to cross his arms across his chest. “No one calls me anything but Case or Officer Roberts.” He gave her a hard stare, then returned to his typing.

Maggie had to push. She was tired of men telling her what to do. She could handle herself. Perhaps a little humor would diffuse the situation. “You would be called ‘Case’ because you have so many of them thrown out?”

He turned toward her again. Anger leapt to his eyes faster than the click of a Bic lighter could produce flame. “I would be called ‘Case’ because that is my given name.” He moved closer and crowded her space before he whispered, “And you are far from innocent.”

Her feeble attempt at levity backfired. She should have known. Maggie had never been able to tell a joke in her life without flubbing it. She inhaled deeply, struck by how good this man, sitting so near her, smelled. In fact, his mere presence made her jittery. Jitters that turned her knees into Jell-O when he encroached her space.

His eyes continued to hold her stare like some sort of magnet. They dared her to prove him wrong and she didn’t mind it one little bit. She would accomplish that task. She leaned forward and tried to mimic his position, all the while not taking her gaze off his fascinating one. She twisted in her seat and dangled her wrists, secured behind her back, in front of him. “Case, now that we’ve been properly introduced, I was wondering …” she said in her sweetest voice, “what’s it going to take to remove my new jewelry?”

Silently, he reached into his pocket and removed a batch of keys. They jingled as he searched for the key. With a practiced move, the cuffs popped open. Maggie shrugged her shoulders a couple of times to ease some of the stiffness, and then looked down at her chafed wrists. How was she going to explain those marks at the staff meeting Monday morning?

She moved her right hand toward the left, but Case intercepted it. “Let me.”

From another drawer, he pulled out a sampler-size bottle of lotion and put a drop on her wrist. Holding her hand in his, he used his free hand to massage the lotion into her chafed flesh. Maggie’s breath caught in her throat as she tried to understand the butterflies that flitted in her stomach. “Is this normal procedure for all your collars?”

Case didn’t reply. His large, strong hands doing such caring, sensitive work mesmerized Maggie. She doubted the touch was meant to be sensuous, but it was. Her pulse raced as she continued to gawk at those amazing fingers rubbing her wrist. If being touched like this were part of being arrested, it would surely reduce the number of women trying to flee.

Arrest! The word stabbed her in the forehead, slicing through her mind. She pulled her wrist from Case’s hold and grasped his hands. “Case, you can’t arrest me; you can’t,” she whispered. The man rolled his eyes. Oh, that burned. “Don’t you want to know what really happened?”

“Of course, I want your side of the story. Do you want an attorney present?”

Damn, they were back to the lawyer thing again. “Yes!” she shouted back at him. “I mean, no,” she changed her mind, trying to get her random thoughts into some sort of order.

“Which is it, Miss Morgan?”

“No. I don’t need an attorney.”

Case pulled a different sheet of paper from his file drawer and slid it toward her. “Sign this.”

“What is it?”

“This states that you have refused your right to an attorney and that I did not coerce you in any manner.”

She grabbed the pen he offered and scribbled her signature. “Case Roberts, you can have me sign this if it’s what you want, but I have to tell you that you are, without a doubt, the most intimidating, bullheaded, self-righteous man I’ve ever met!”