Thursday, 31 January 2008

Where art thou rat?

I have something dead under the house. I can smell it. Contrary to popular belief it’s not the place I hide the bodies of those who have pissed me off. They are in another location. I think it‘s a rat – the four legged kind. I saw something scuttling quickly away one arvo and I thought bugger. Why bugger? Well, I have to kill it and then dispose of it. Ick. This is when you need a man. I am an incredibly independent woman who recognizes men are very good with rats. In fact, men are extremely useful for all distasteful chores. Anyway, I dumped Rat killer and now the smell under the house alerts me to the fact the rat has carked it (died). But where? I cannot find the body. Most annoying. The little bastard has obviously thought with its last dying break “I’ll fix her.” I am thinking of calling in Horatio Caine to find the rat. In the interim I have dumped Naphthalene flakes everywhere to drown out the smell. Yes, very proactive - make another problem over the existing problem.

I bought some vitamins today and they had cotton wool stuffed in the top as most pills do in Oz. I hate cotton wool. I cannot touch it – it gives me the irrits. It’s like touching fibreglass fibres to me. Urrrgggh…why do manufacturers persist on stuffing it in medicine bottles? What’s that about?

I got a contract from Ellora’s Cave for my latest manuscript - Penned Again. I’m happy with that. It’s about a demon that takes on a bet he cannot get his mortal wife back – yes, true life stuff.

I don’t take a list with me when I go shopping as I believe I have such a superior mind that I will instantly know what I need. This is the third week I have come home with another container of butter, I now have 8 tubs of Cheesecake flavoured yoghurt in the fridge and you can never have too much toothpaste. Yes – that’s me – the woman with the superior mind.

Across the street from the new job is a St Vinnie’s store. I don’t know it you have them where you are but they are an op shop – second hand shop -and the proceeds go back to charity. I am on op shop girl from my childhood. As a kid it did not occur to me, until nasty arsed Julie Mason pointed out, that everyone else did not wear second hand clothes like I did. So, I have history with all things second hand. Although I do buy new clothes, I still take a squiz in the op shops as you never know what you will find. Oxfam in London used to have the best once-worn, perfect condition satin shoes. Debutante’s would wear them once then chuck ‘em. I had, along with waitress friend Teresa, the best collection of satin shoes. Where do you wear satin shoes in London? Anywhere you bloody want. I had a penchant for wearing them with socks. I was a tad strange back then. Now I’m merely weird. Anyway the op shop across the road had brand new clothes being sold for $2. Bargain. Back to my roots once more.

Speaking of all things rooted…I saw this horrible woman I used to work with at Promptel as I turned the corner yesterday. I was tempted to run her down as she had been such a hag to so many people, not me of course because I don’t allow that. I refrained from giving into instinct though when I saw how much weight she had put on. I love Karma.

I’ll have the winner of the random contest on my blog tomorrow. If you think what is Amarinda talking about? Scroll back to Tuesday’s blog entry about Barbie. I have had a lot of emailed responses. There is still time to enter to win the first copy of Shades of Gray – released 6th Feb through Ellora’s Cave.

Eternity contest

What could you spend an eternity doing? What is your passion? Your hunger? Your deepest desire? Each day beginning February 5 and running through February 14 one of the ten authors will complete the line, "My darling I could spend eternity…" on either their blog or website. Collect all ten answers and e-mail them to with Eternally Yours in the subject line to win some hot, romantic books. There will be three lucky Valentine winners.

The prizes.........

1st prize--5 books

2nd prize--3 books

3rd prize--2 books

The books

Sandra Cox
Mona Risk
To Love a Hero
Brynn Paulin Tribute For the Goddess
Bronwyn Green Mystic Circle
Cindy Spencer Pape Stone and Earth
N.J. Walters Seduction of Shamus O’Rourke
Elyssa Edwards Mating Stone
Amarinda Jones Shades of Gray
Kelly Kirch Time for Love
Anny Cook Honeysuckle

Entries must be in by February 16 at midnight EST. All books and prize winners will be drawn randomly.

Kelly has the blog saga on and Anny is being all existential on
Go ahead: Live with abandon. Be outrageous at any age. What are you saving your best self for?

Wednesday, 30 January 2008

The Wednesday Interview

Amanda Sidhe has a brand new book released at Cerridwen Press on January 31st. Her Dangerous Promise is a romantic suspense that will have you on the edge of your seat. Amanda is an interesting woman – check out the interview below and then immediately click on the cover to find out how to buy the book.

1. Name your special talent.

I am a licensed medical massage therapist. So basically, I turn people into pudding for a living. Being able to manipulate muscles and joints in a way that both feels wonderful and is healing takes a special talent.

2. Martians knock on your door and ask to borrow you car for the evening. Do you scream and shut the door? Ask if they have insurance? Ask them to wait while you get a camera or none of the above?

I grab the keys and tell them I’m driving. Wouldn’t the evening’s adventure make perfect material for a book? Even if all they wanted to do was some mundane chore like moving furniture or get groceries, I could pump them with questions. Who knows? I might even solve the mystery of the crop circles. Are they some cosmic code with answers to universal questions or just intergalactic graffiti?

3. Is what you look for in a man what you write in the hero?

In some cases yes, especially Thom Brady in Her Dangerous Promise. He is strong and reliable, and not just physically, but emotionally as well. Of course, being drop-dead gorgeous doesn’t hurt either!

4. Do you think your heroine is like you and if so why?

The journey Mary takes in the story is one I believe I have walked as well, only not to the same extreme. Having lived her life up until now without any crime or danger knocking on her door, her world seemed very safe and secure. Only when she becomes a target does she have to find a way to deal with the situation for which she’s completely unprepared. It’s not easy for her to admit to herself or anyone else that she can’t solve her own problems.

5. What do your friends think of your writing?

My friends are very supportive. They keep me motivated asking me for my next new story. I love to secretly watch when they read the manuscript and see them gasp or jump at something they’ve read. The absolute best is when they have not finished a story but stop to threaten to disown me if the characters don’t escape some peril they are facing.

6. Do you believe in soul mates or is it just hype?

I do believe in soul mates as well as karma and reincarnation, which means that while you might have a soul mate out there somewhere, the karma and timing may not always work out in every lifetime. Even though I don’t have my perfect soul mate in my life right now, knowing a few couples who are very much each other’s soul mates give me hope and keep the romantic stars twinkling in my eyes as I watch for my own to appear.

7. Where can people learn more about Amanda Sidhe?

My websites are at and . I also have a newsgroup on yahoo at

Her Dangerous Promise - the Blurb...

Inspector Thom Brady can’t understand why school teacher Mary Seeton won’t confide in him about her recent abduction. There is no doubt that she’d been forcibly taken and somehow escaped, but she refuses to tell him anything about her experience.

Mary made a terrible promise, one she can’t forgive herself for. In order to escape her mentally challenged kidnapper she promised not to tell on him. The lives of the children in her class depend on her keeping that secret. Only with super sexy Thom hounding her, soon her abductor figures she broke her promise and no one is safe. Racing against time the couple risks their lives and their growing relationship to catch the desperate and dangerous kidnapper.

The Excerpt....

Mary replaced the phone on its cradle and then sipped at her drink. “Thank you. Hopefully, though, we can just put this whole situation behind us.”
“Can we?” Thom watched Mary closely.
She felt her cheeks flame under his scrutiny. Why was she blushing? His strictly professional interest in her shouldn’t send her pulse skyrocketing.
Thom rose and circled the counter to join her in the kitchen. He reached to cover her hand with his but she drew back. Undeterred, Thom drew closer. Mary backed into the refrigerator. He penned her into the corner between the refrigerator and the kitchen counter, placing one hand on the refrigerator and the other on the counter. “Do you feel safe, Mary?”
“I’m… not afraid of you, if that’s what you mean.” She raised her chin to glare up at him defiantly. The breathlessness in her response might have given away her nerves but that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with Thom’s closeness. The rest of the room vanished behind the width of Thom’s shoulders so her vision found nothing but his well-muscled torso or his too handsome face to alight upon. He planted his feet wide of her stance, well and truly trapping her.
Thom leaned even closer, only inches away from her. His sultry gaze swept over her and lingered on her parted lips. “But you are afraid. You’d be a fool not to be.”
“Wait a minute—”
“You think it is over?” he murmured, locking those intense green eyes on her that made her feel so exposed and vulnerable that they should be illegal. “You think this maniac won’t come back? Won’t try again?”
“Thom—” Mary didn’t know what to say. He invaded her space, claiming it as his own. The heady mingle of his cologne and masculine scent rippled tectonic surges pulsing in her bones. Consciously, Mary forced herself not to touch him, not knowing if she’d push him away or pull him to her. His body pressed close, too close, meaning to intimidate, which it did, but it also excited her until she couldn’t think straight.
He didn’t wait for a reply. “You escaped from him once. You won’t next time. I guarantee it.”
“But he won’t come back.”
“He won’t? Why not?”
Mary considered that. Why wouldn’t he come back? Because of her cat? Because of her promise? What if he changed his mind?

Thom watched the play of emotion on Mary’s face. She hadn’t considered that he’d come for her again. Mary crossed her arms protectively and gripped the insides of her elbows so tightly her fingertips turned white. Her wide, dark eyes darted around as if an attack might come at any moment from any direction. She was scared now and he needed her scared. He confronted her before she slipped back into her tight lipped reserve. “Did he tell you he wouldn’t?”
“Thom, please.” Mary pressed her palms to his chest, trying to gain room to maneuver but he wouldn’t allow it. Zinging heat radiated from her palms down his stomach and to places lower.
He pressed closer still, so only a breath of air separated their bodies. Dropping his voice to a dangerous whisper, he said, “He’ll come back, Mary.”
She gasped.
“He’ll watch you.” He bent closer, his lips nearing her ear. Purposefully, he exhaled his hot breath on her neck, sending shivers through her. “He’ll stalk you. He’ll wait until you are alone.”

The moan she let out stirred him to the core. His mouth watered. The plan, to scare Mary into talking to him, had a decidedly different affect on him. As close as he pressed, he didn’t—wouldn’t—touch her, even if he ached to do just that. Swallowing, he remembered the reason for the tactic. Either due to denial or naïvety, Mary didn’t recognize the depths of her peril. He feared for her safety with every fiber of his being. He had to make her understand the danger. Softly, he murmured, “Then, when your guard is down and no one is around to save you,” he paused, letting the uncertain silence stretch, “he’ll come for you again.”

Mary slumped against him, her head pressing to his chest. “I can’t.”
Thom wrapped his arms around Mary. He rested his cheek on the smooth flow of hair on top of her head and inhaled her delicate scent. He rubbed his palms up and down the stiff fabric of the scrub top he’d scrounged from the hospital for her to wear. Damn, she felt good, fitting perfectly, as if designed precisely for him. Thom’s muscles hummed with excitement wanting to press her even more tightly and much more intimately, against him. “Trust me, Mary.”
She sobbed, “I can’t. Please, don’t ask me again.”
Thom leaned back, pushed Mary to arm’s length by her narrow shoulders and searching her face. “Why? Why won’t you tell me?”
Mary refused to meet his gaze. “I can’t. I just can’t.”

***Click on the Cover to buy the book***

5 reasons to buy

- romantic suspense is hot
- Secrets are fascinating-
- What is the promise???
- Inspector Thom Brady
- you gotta love a good cop story
- And you deserve a well written romance to escape into.

Anny has the next episode of the saga on Kelly is discussing the uses of cocktail umbrellas on

Last day of my contest....

Finmctionwere – what does this mean? I write these obscure abbreviated notes to myself as I am writing. I saw this one today. What was I thinking? It’s obviously some brilliant abbreviation for some fantastic idea I had but I will never know. So – leave a comment on this blog (with your email address) with what you think Finmctionwere means and the answer I like best will receive the first copy of Shades of Gray when it is released 6th February through Ellora’s Cave. The competition closes at midnight (USA EST) Thursday 31st January and the winner will be announced on Friday 1st February’s blog. Enter as many times as you like. If you are under Witness Protection and don’t want everyone knowing your email address then by all means email your answer to me on – put ‘Amarinda comp’ in the subject line.
Go ahead: Live with abandon. Be outrageous at any age. What are you saving your best self for?

Tuesday, 29 January 2008

Tuesday Stuff...

Current Contest…

Finmctionwere – what does this mean? I write these obscure abbreviated notes to myself as I am writing. I saw this one today. What was I thinking? It’s obviously some brilliant abbreviation for some fantastic idea I had but I will never know. So – leave a comment on this blog (with your email address) with what you think Finmctionwere means and the answer I like best will receive the first copy of Shades of Gray when it is released 6th February through Ellora’s Cave. The competition closes at midnight (USA EST) Thursday 31st January and the winner will be announced on Friday 1st February’s blog. Enter as many times as you like. If you are under Witness Protection and don’t want everyone knowing your email address then by all means email your answer to me on


As part of this new job I had to go and pee in a cup. Why? To see how healthy I am. This company requires a medical. Whatever – someone else is paying then I’ll turn up. While I was waiting at the medical centre, I took in the people in the waiting room – fascinating. There was the tallest man I have ever seen in my life, a man that had to be a cover model with the

trashiest, tattooed woman on his arm, a young girl with the top of her g-string showing in the god awful way they do and a man who sat beside me and giggled as he played cards on his mobile phone. Yes, I always get the weirdo gigglers beside me…just lucky. Anyway, I am healthy. I knew that but it if makes the powers that be happy who am I to wreck their tinpot kingdoms?

Ida, my car is still not fixed, contrary bitch that she is, needs certain frigging fuse type wiring thingys. Hopefully tomorrow. I am driving a tad illegally at the moment. Thankfully I don’t have a conscience or I would be screwed up with guilt.

Lots of talk on all the blogs about whether to e-book or not. You know what? Because most of us live in a democracy I suggest you exercise your right to choose how you will read a book. I know it’s a crazy, wild, quirky idea but do what you are comfortable with.

Had a run in with the local check-out chick at the petrol (gas – for non Antipodeans). She was having a bad day – stand in line I say – and she had stuffed up this poor woman’s charges before me. A total balls up. Anyway, the check-out chick was getting angry at the customers for breathing and by the time she got to me she was ready to try it on (translation – make the unfortunate mistake of thinking I will take crap from her). Let’s just say when she rolled her eyes and sighed dramatically at me for daring to pay cash instead of with plastic and for declining her sales pitch of “you can get two bottles of milk for $3.00 if you read the sign properly” - I went her (translation - you poor sod). I explained to her the basic principles of customer service and explained that I could out attitude her any day of the week-so try it on and die and that if she wanted to keep all her manners in her arse then maybe she needed another job. The two men behind me laughed and I heard cheering. She went bright red and I asked for her managers name. Nah, I didn’t going to dob (tattle) on her – just wanted to scare the sullen cow.

On Kelly left us with…

"Uh huh. I asked you for the Complete Guide to an Ox's Welfare and you brought me here? I need the Guide for the Tourmaline Chalice," she thundered. "Listen, humanoid boy, I am tired of the cross-galactic goose chase. Give the the Guide."

"I cannot give you what is not mine to give."

"Bugger that. You are as cryptic as the Jones girl's mother. Well naming and the like."

"Who do you think taught her all she knows. No, not me. I wasn't born yet. Sheesh, lady I'm only eight. My grandfather taught her all those nifty and neat-o sayings. But it stands to reason I cannot turn over to you what is not owned by me. So you listen now, The Complete Guide to an Ox's Welfare contains the wisdom you require. Find him, find the legend that is the Tourmaline Chalice."

I’m going with….

Meanwhile, the real Emmeline, and not the mind projection she had used to throw Zoltan and Pete off track, had found the real Tortunga – Beryl Tortunga, waitress at Lenny’s Diner.

“So you want the power of the chalice?” Beryl blew a big pink bubble in Emmeline’s direction

“Yes, what do I have to do?” Ride a frigging goat backwards? Stand on one foot and balance a pen on my nose while I recite the Gettysburg Address?

“Here.” Beryl slammed down a plate of mashed potato down in front of Emmeline.

“Uh huh…” What the?

“The answer lies within the mash.”

Emmeline thumped her fist on the table. “Why can’t you people just give me the bloody answer without all the dramatics?”

“My game, my rules.” Beryl looked pleased with herself. “I will warn you that somewhere in that plate of spuds is a long sharp needle.”

“Yes – obvious frigging place for one.” Emmeline rolled her eyes.

“If you find the answer it will unlock the power of the chalice – feel the prick of the needle and you will be set on a quest of self discovery.”

“I already know enough about myself.” Too much sometimes.

“Sometimes you cannot choose you destiny,” Beryl responded mystically.

“And sometimes you can.” Emmeline upended that plate on the table, picked up a fork and smushed the potato around.

“That’s cheating!” Beryl stamped her foot in anger.

“Whinge, bitch moan,” Emmeline muttered. She saw the needle - nasty. What did the answer look like? “Oh it can’t be.” She picked the small item up on the fork and looked at it closely.

What lies in the mashed potato? Anny will have the answer – or not on tomorrow.
Go ahead: Live with abandon. Be outrageous at any age. What are you saving your best self

Monday, 28 January 2008

Barbie rules...

Dear Amarinda,
Here is your horoscope for Tuesday, January 29:
You have a revelation today. Something you've mulled over for weeks suddenly becomes clear. Don't waste time over thinking the next step. Tune into your instinct and act quickly before the opportunity passes.

Oh boy! A revelation! And there’s mulling involved and I am not to think….sounds like a day at work.

Finmctionwere – what does this mean? I write these obscure abbreviated notes to myself as I am writing. I saw this one today. What was I thinking? It’s obviously some brilliant abbreviation for some fantastic idea I had but I will never know. So – leave a comment on this blog (with your email address) with what you think Finmctionwere means and the answer I like best will receive the first copy of Shades of Gray when it is released 6th February through Ellora’s Cave. The competition closes at midnight (USA EST) Thursday 31st January and the winner will be announced on Friday 1st February’s blog. Enter as many times as you like. If you are under Witness Protection and don’t want everyone knowing your email address then by all means email your answer to me on – put ‘Amarinda comp’ in the subject line.

My editor sent me edits – as Editors do – that’s why they’re called Editors as opposed to people who read manuscripts and put red marks all over them …anyway one of her comments was about ‘checking my Barbies’ when it came to a particular sex scene. Were you aware that some writers use Barbie dolls for ‘positioning’. I find it fascinating as it would never have occurred to me to do this. Unfortunately I cannot find anyone who admits to putting Barbie into compromising positions for the sake of art. I am sure it’s because writers all write from experience when it comes to sex…if you believe that I have a bridge in Sydney with harbour views I’d like to sell you…just drop me an email with “bridge sale" in the subject line.

So Barbie – glamorous, unrealistic blonde bimbo or manipulative, power hungry kick arse role model? I like Barbie. I liked her when I was a kid chopping off her hair and I like her as an adult. Yes, she is blonde and ridiculously shaped but

the thing is to me she is an icon of power. How so? Barbie is always in control. She is the star and it’s all about Barbie. She can do anything from riding a horse to having a baby or to being a nuclear physicist. She does not need a man to be complete. I don’t see her as a threat to young girls. I see her as a woman who knows she can be any thing she wants if she chooses to. That’s power. The choice to be what you want to be. I am a great believer that the way someone looks is irrelevant. Be fat, or thin or black or white – it’s what inside that counts. So why don’t we look at Barbie like that? She is anatomically ridiculous but she is a product of her environment – and yet she has the balls to go out and be a ballerina - despite her boob size, an ice skater – despite her silly, weak looking ankles or a Doctor – despite the perception that no one takes the blonde hair seriously. She is putting herself out there and trying to succeed. How is that a bad role model? I say go Barbie.

Ken – poor, misunderstood Ken. I don’t believe Ken has to be gay. I think Ken is just a quiet guy doll who got caught up in the whole Barbie hoop-la and is wondering what the hell he is doing in it. He is like ‘Mr Barbie’ and that has to piss even the mildest man off. Sure, in the past he has made some bad choices when it comes to clothes and he has had some suspect hairstyles but what man hasn’t? And why is everyone so fixated on whether Ken has a penis or not? Doesn’t this remind you of real life where men are bombarded with advertisements about penis enlargement? How can Ken get a break? I say let’s leave Ken alone to be whomever he wants to be. I am starting the official ‘Let Ken be’ association on the Amarinda blog.

And what about GI- Joe? No one questions his virility as he comes across as Mr Macho in his fatigues. No one questions why he carries around some enormous gun or phallic rocket launcher as he goes off to defend whoever he is defending or is he just some red neck armageddonist stockpiling weapons? We just assume he’s the good guy who is our protector. He’s silent, follows orders and supposedly keeps his homeland safe. I say Joe is a bigger worry than Ken yet people admire Gi-Joe's plastic parts. How could the likes of Ken compete with Joe? He can’t so therefore people assume Ken is gay. Poor bloody Ken. I think he is the fall guy in the whole doll community.

So, I say take a look at these dolls again. Don’t just make an assumption on looks or behaviour.
The competition everyone is talking about….would I lie to you?

What could you spend an eternity doing? What is your passion? Your hunger? Your deepest desire? Each day beginning February 5 and running through February 14 one of the ten authors will complete the line, "My darling I could spend eternity…" on either their blog or website. Collect all ten answers and e-mail them to with Eternally Yours in the subject line to win some hot, romantic books. There will be three lucky Valentine winners.

The prizes –

1st prize--5 books

2nd prize--3 books

3rd prize--2 books
Entries must be in by February 16 at midnight EST. All books and prize winners will be drawn randomly.
The authors – well, there’s the Jones girl, Anny Cook, Kelly Kirch, N J Walters, Cindy Spencer Pape, Sandra Cox, Brynn Paulin, Bronwyn Green, Mona Risk and Elyssa Edwards….what a stellar line up. It’s a damn shame I can’t enter myself.

Anny is talking about Parrots going into space on and Kelly has the reasons pigeons like to carry messages on
Go ahead: Live with abandon. Be outrageous at any age. What are you saving your best self for?

Sunday, 27 January 2008

Well naming....

My mother, the wisest woman in the whole world - no really she was - used to say to me - “Do not name the well from which you will not drink.” What does that mean? It means do not declare that you will never do something without being very sure the possibility will never occur where you will have to actually do the thing you swore you would never do. Yes, that's complicated Amarinda-ese which means – think before you say something you will regret later on.

I am a great 'namer' of wells. Being the drama queen that I am I make sweeping statements in the true Scarlett O’Hara fashion that I then have to extricate myself out of later. I raise my fist to the sky and declare I will not do X,Y or Z and then I go out of my way to make sure I don’t. This does not always work and one of those wells has just come back to haunt me. Bugger. Unfortunately, other than joining some tambourine banging cult, I cannot see how I am going to save my stupid arse. No, I’m not going to share it with you and no it‘s nothing dangerous or illegal - just frigging annoying and somewhat icky to be called upon it. So, this got me thinking, how do you, dear blog reader, extricate yourself from messy situations? Or are you too smart to name wells?

Generally, I have two fail safes - I lie and deny all knowledge of having said or done whatever if was - or I burst into tears. I am very good at crying on the spot. Academy award winning in fact and it requires no Hollywood writers. In saying that - I hope the writers win. Anyway, Ethel, best friend, says it’s almost as good as my innocent “who me” look. That is a classic look. I play the innocent wronged and misunderstood woman so well. If that fails then I go for the ugly, sobbing “my world is falling apart cry because you don’t believe how sweet and innocent I am.” It does work because it’s only ever used on men as they can’t handle the ugly cry. Remind me when we meet and I’ll do the ugly cry and you’ll see what I mean.

What’s that you say? Bite the bullet and face up to the truth? Hmmm…the truth…that’s an interesting concept.…hmmm…no, I don‘t think I'd feel comfortable using it. I have heard that some people use the truth and it works for them. My problem is I have never been ’some people.’ Yes, I have been wrong many a time in my life and yes, truth has its place if it will not get you in trouble. However I feel, at this stage

of my life, admitting the truth would ruin the whole fabric of my being and most likely give me a leg cramp. What I think I may do is act vague and pretend I have no understanding or recollection of the pesky ‘named well.’ I can carry vague on for at least two to three weeks. In that time I am hoping the person in question will forget or be so frustrated they’ll give up. Fingers crossed for me.

So, onto other stuff….

Ida spat the dummy today – daughter of a motherless goat. Who is Ida? Ida is my car. For reasons only known to herself she refused to start in a blazing hot car park at the local shopping centre. Bitch. I am sure I saw a smirk on her front grill. Anyway, after swearing profusely, me, not the car, I called the local automobile club and summoned a man hence. The electronic wiring do-hickey in the brake light thingy is stuffed – this means that I cannot put the car in gear because it shuts down everything else as a safety thing.

Double bugger. A tow truck would have to be called. Triple bugger. So, after some “my aren’t you such a wise and knowledgeable man - and you would have to be terribly fit to do this job” chat, the mechanical type person said he could hot wire it in such a way that it would work until I could get it to another mechanical type person on Tuesday (Tomorrow is a public holiday – hallelujah and pass the gin). So I have this sequence of things I need to do to start the car. If I don’t do it in the right order worlds apparently collide and the penises drop off all men. Hmmm…bit of power there…

Work – its okay – who knew there was that much to know about steel? It’s all much more than knives and forks. Steel is big complex, heavy things that do other things when put on or locked together with bits of steel stuff – yes, haven’t I grasped the technical talk well? It’s very complicated and my brain hurts after a day of thinking but the people are exceptionally nice. I have to say that as they have discovered who I am in my other life and they may be reading this. Yes, they have discovered I am Bat Girl…no, wait, that’s my other, other life…no, that I am a romance writer. Buff nails, fluff hair, swallow gin. It was one of those things I mentioned casually in passing to one person then suddenly everyone knew. That’s okay though because I cannot work in a job where there is no office grapevine. It would be morally objectionable to all that I hold dear. I have driven them quite mad in the past week as they are speaking a language I have no concept of. Nice to be able to drive people mad though. I always enjoy that.

Anny is talking about her favorite things on – you know raindrops on roses and whiskers on women. Kelly is discussing the possibilities of Pixies running for government and should the benches in parliament be raised or lowered to accommodate them on
Go ahead: Live with abandon. Be outrageous at any age. What are you saving your best self for?

Friday, 25 January 2008

From the Land that brought you Hugh Jackman....

I Still Call Australia Home –Peter Allen

I've been to cities that never close down
From New York to Rome and old London Town
But I realise something I've always known,
I still call Australia home.

I'm always travelling - I love being free
And so I keep leaving the sun and the sea
But my heart lies waiting, over the foam
I still call Australia home.

All the sons and daughters, spinning 'round the world
Away from their family and friends
But as the world gets older, and colder
It’s good to know where your journey ends.
And some day we'll all be together once more
When all the ships come back to the shore
And we'll realise something we've always known
We still call Australia
Still call Australia
Still call Australia home

Saturday 26th January is Australia Day. It’s also a long weekend and like most Aussies I will take advantage of this and go walkabout. So no blog on Saturday - but I’m celebrating Australia Day with you early. What is Australia Day? I’m glad you asked. It commemorates way back in 1788 when a Pommy bloke in a scarlet tunic, Captain Arthur Phillip, commander of the First Fleet of eleven convict ships from Great Britain turned up with said convicts at Sydney Cove and planted a flag to basically say ‘here we are ready to colonize this country with these bunch of bad buggers.’ Of course for thousands of years before the indigenous people had been here and naturally they were not happy about it. But thoughtless white colonists and the need for power overwhelmed natural justice as it has for centuries.

What does Australia Day mean now? It’s an important National Day for Aussies. It’s about coming together and recognizing what a bloody great country we have and what it means to be an Australian – smart, good looking, talented – but also lucky and
free. We are made up of great people, larrikins and ratbags. We are descended from sinners and saints. We are from every culture known to man. Australia is the proverbial melting pot of multiculturalism.

On Australia Day people will go bush, have barbies, attend cane toad or cockroach races, drink beer, laugh and realize once again what a fantastic country we live in. No prizes for guessing I love my country. It’s the best in the world. We brought you Hugh Jackman, Cate Blanchett, Ugg boots, the wine cask, flight box recorders, countless vaccines, Vegemite, Tim Tams and words that confuse many. We are Australian and bloody proud of it mate.

I am Australian – Bruce Woodley from The Seekers
I came from the dreamtime from the dusty red soil plains
I am the ancient heart, the keeper of the flame
I stood upon the rocky shore I watched the tall ships come For forty thousand years I'd been the first Australian.

I came upon the prison ship bowed down by iron chains.
I cleared the land, endured the lash and waited for the rains.
I'm a settler. I'm a farmer's wife on a dry and barren run
A convict then a free man I became Australian.
I'm the daughter of a digger who sought the mother lode

The girl became a woman on the long and dusty road

I'm a child of the depression
I saw the good times come
I'm a bushy, I'm a battler
I am Australian

We are one, but we are many
And from all the lands on earth we come
We share a dream and sing with one voice:
I am, you are, we are Australian
I am, you are, we are Australian.

I'm a teller of storiesI'm a singer of songs
I am Albert NamatjiraI paint the ghostly gums
I am Clancy on his horse
I'm Ned Kelly on the run
I'm the one who waltzed Matilda
I am Australian

I'm the hot wind from the desert

I'm the black soil of the plains
I'm the mountains and the valleys
I'm the drought and flooding rains
I am the rock,
I am the sky
The rivers when they run
The spirit of this great land
I am Australian

We are one, but we are many
And from all the lands on earth we come
We share a dream and sing with one voice:
I am, you are, we are Australian

So raise a tinny, chuck a prawn on the Barbie, tell tall stories and just be who you are and that’s what being an Aussie is. Better still come on down under and spend your money – we’ll take it with a smile.

On Kelly life us with…

"Arrrrrrr." From behind them, a pirate exited the portal. "I'll be scrapin' ye blind, ye scallywags!"

"What does that mean?" Rinalda asked, clearly irritated with the constant need for a translator.

"Heck if I know. But I see no sign of Emmeline. I think we beat her to the Tourmaline Chalice."

Rinalda gasped, "Is that what we came here to find?"

"Arrrrrrr. Me parrot crunches mighty peaches lo' the doxy walks the bleedin' plank to never-never."

Sounds like a load of hornswaggling to me…I’m going with…

Suddenly a meteor fell from the sky and instantly killed Rinalda, Jonas, the pirate and anyone else that may have been with them. But this was no ordinary meteor. It was the traveling space laboratory of Dr Garth Flugelheimer-Watts and his assistant Miss Primrose Grimly.

“Hell of a landing that, Prim Grim.” Dr Garth brushed down his aluminum foil space suit, straightened his spats and checked his two tone shoes had not been scuffed. “Where are we?” He pushed up his bifocals and surveyed the area around him keenly.

Primrose sighed deeply. Moron, fool, ninny. If only I did not owe him my life. Debts of honor sucked. “I believe Dr Garth we are in a place call Nebraska. It’s nowhere near San Francisco.” Like I frigging told you seventeen times before.

“I’m sure I read the map right.” He put his hands on his hips and looked thoughtfully.

You could not find your arse with your hands. “Never mind Dr Garth, the sooner we leave the quicker we get there.”

“By jove that’s what I like about you Primmers, you’re as smart as a whip.” The Doctor looked down and saw a foot poking out from under the meteor ship “Is that foot yours?”

Give me strength. “No, I just have the standard two, Doctor.

Hmmm, it’s not mine so that mean they must grow feet as a crop in these parts.”

Primrose rolled her eyes knew sock puppets had more intelligence. “Yes, that would be it.” Nitwit.

“Okay – onwards to this Dan Sandisco place to find Tortunga.” Dr Garth marched into the space ship.

What will Anny do with Dr Garth on Tune in tomorrow for all the answers from Anny. I will be back on Sunday….enjoy

Go ahead: Live with abandon. Be outrageous at any age. What are you saving your best self for?

Thursday, 24 January 2008

Bill me...

Quote for today…

"Did you ever hear that song from 'Snow White'--'Someday My Prince Will Come'? The good news is that every now and then he actually does show up. But I'm afraid that's only half the story." -- Oprah Winfrey

Hello – just to drive you nuts I am guest blogging over at - but please read on here for your fill of waffle and then sashay over to there and see what I’m yammering on about on that site. Yes, I do have the capacity to talk under water with a mouthful of marbles.

I got 7 bills in the mail today!!!! Some of them are big enough to be called William. Frig! It’s nice how the start of a new year means all your service providers think – ‘what the hell, let’s send out some bills.’ Bastards. I did note, with smug satisfaction, that my Brisbane City Council Rates bill congratulated me on my water usage. Damn straight they should. We are restricted to 140 litres a day per person. I used

111. Yes, I am a star. I have 3 minute showers down to an art. Yes, that is sad. The crazy thing is while we are in drought here, parts of Queensland – my state and the state all Aussies wished they lived in – are in the grip of terrible floods. We are truly a land ‘of drought and flooding rains.’ As you are aware in a drought the ground gets so bloody dry that the water runs off and does not sink in and this equals drought. No, this doesn't prove I was paying attention in Science class – I was always too busy using the acid to burn holes in the desk - but it does mean I watch the TV and read the papers - and, no, not just because I don't have acid in the house...

Anyway, how did I get onto drought and acid? Oh yes, frigging bills. The next two were from Promptel, the phone company I used to work – well, really used to turn up everyday to for a pay check. I still have my phones through them as they have not yet worked out I have not been a staff member for the last 3 years so they still give me discount. The same thing with my mate Ethel – she gets a discount too. We were both told when we were paid out – what a beautiful and blessed day that was – ‘remember to make sure you cancel

the staff discounts.’ I seem to remember I responded - “Okay, yeah, sure, you can trust me” and Ethel probably nodded with a get stuffed look on her face. I swear I have just forgotten or maybe, just maybe it’s payback for a load of crap that went down. Who knows how my mind works? Not that I would do that….much.

Back to the point – and I do have one - the bill after the phone bill was the Mickey Card – the Mastercard. I have the one piece of fantastic plastic. I am pretty boring in the fact that I budget and never let my credit card go over a certain point and I am one of those people who pay it in full every month – no matter if I have to rob Peter to pay Paul when it comes to bill paying. I will not give the banks interest payments – stuff ‘em. I would rather do without than give them that. After those

there were another couple off bills that I just glanced at and went huh. There are, I am sure you’ll agree many ‘huh’ moments in life – and specifically in this past week for me. I try not to be surprised by anything but every so often I think – what the? But that is life and it happens when you least expect it.

Okay, so the bills got paid and I marked all the relevant receipt numbers on the bills. At Promptel, I used to enjoy when people used to scream that we should not have disconneced their phone for non payment - ok no, not the screaming - I would pull the headset off and chat to Katie beside me until they got a grip and then I would come back and speak to them – but enjoy that they would swear blind the paid the bill 3 days ago and then give me a time and date stamped receipt from 3 minutes ago. I would then point that out to them and advise ‘while I’ll connect your service you’re getting charged a connection fee not because of not paying your bill on time but because that was such a piss-week attempt at trying to fool me.’ I don’t mind lies if they are excellent but come on...

Yes, what a long line of waffle today but, if you ever meet me you will see I’m never stuck for a word. Over at I’m talking about being true to yourself. Check it out and let me know how you feel about it. If you can’t be true to yourself you cannot be true with anyone else. Yes, profound-ish.

Kelly has the next eye rolling episode in the blog saga on Anny is writing about the mating habits of blue people on Check ‘em out.

Go ahead: Live with abandon. Be outrageous at any age. What are you saving your best self for?

Wednesday, 23 January 2008

The Wednesday Interview

Witch Ball is the latest release – out now – for brilliant author Kathleen Coddington. Okay sure, I know all the politically correct stuff about not judging a book by its great cover but Witch Ball is excellent so the people who made up this rule were wrong once again. Go figure. The talented Kathleen was kind enough to wander by the Amarinda blog to give us the scoop on Witch Ball.

The Interview...

1. If your book was made into a movie who would play the hero and heroine?

Wow, now there’s a question I never thought about. Cool idea though. Guess I’d go with Johnny Depp for my hero, Nathaniel. Johnny’s sexy and talented. I mean is there any role the man can’t play? And did I mention sexy? For my heroine, Miranda, I think I’d go with Natalie Portman. I think she’s lovely and also talented and I think she could embody Miranda’s fierce, unwavering faith in the power of true love.

2. Do you think your heroine is like you and if so why?

In some deep psychological way, probably most of the characters an author creates engender some aspect of their own personalities. I don’t think about that when I develop my characters. I simply try to develop people with interesting stories to tell. Like Miranda, I do believe that courage, love, honesty—all the virtues count for something in the universe.

3. The rock/pop/film star you idolized in as a teenager wants you to run away with him? What do you do?

Well, in my not so wild youth (which was longer ago than I either like to admit or to think about) I often had fantasies about doing just that. Now, while I’d be deeply flattered, I’d have to regretfully turn down the invitation. After 38 years of marriage, the only man I’m interested in is my husband.

4. What is the most unforgettable thing about your book that makes people glad they picked it up to read?

Witch Ball is an unabashed modern fairy tale about the power of true love being able to conquer all.

5. What words do you have a habit of using a lot of when you write? Is it a problem when it comes to editing?

Maybe, perhaps and just seemed to crop up a lot. I’m aware of my habit so I try to use them sparingly now. What I’m more likely to do when I’m writing is to find a word I like and then use it over and over without realizing it. Take bleak for instance. I’ll use it once and then suddenly it pops up everywhere—bleak expression, bleak weather, bleak garden, bleak sky, etc. Fortunately, I have a tremendous critique group who catches me when I start getting carried away.

6. Is what you look for in a man what you write in the hero?

In most cases, I’d have to say yes. My heroes are all hunky guys with great eyes. I really love eyes. It’s always one of the first things I notice in a man along with a great smile. On a deeper level, all my heroes are genuinely decent human beings. They can make mistakes, get angry and even kill someone if it’s necessary, but at their core, their actions are basically honorable. Oh, and although I never consciously thought about it while writing, they all love animals. I never realized until recently how many horses, dogs and cats turn up in my books. Of course that couldn’t have a thing to do with the fact that my husband and I have a houseful of pets, could it?

7. How do readers find out more about Kathleen Coddington?

Readers can visit my website at or go to my Myspace page at Until now, I haven’t done any chats, but one of my New Year’s resolutions is to get involved with the CP and EC chat rooms, especially on list mom days. I’ve also been fortunate to have fellow authors invite me to do interviews on their blog pages. And, of course emails from readers are always welcome.

Witch Ball - the blurb…

Their love was eternal. Until forbidden magic threatened to tear them apart forever.

When Nathaniel Swann and his daughter move to the small town of Lady’s Cove, Maine, the last thing he expects is the beautiful woman who appears in his kitchen after he accidentally breaks the witch ball, a housewarming gift from his neighbor. A hardheaded scientist, he refuses to believe the woman’s fantastic tale of magical spells, eternal love and reincarnation. What the mind forgets, the body often remembers. How else to explain the powerful attraction between them that even he can’t deny?

Released after being imprisoned for 300 years in the witch ball, Miranda Hawthorne is reunited with the man she is destined to be with throughout time. Her joy is short lived when she discovers that Nathaniel no longer remembers her or their love. How can she convince him to help her to break the witch ball’s lingering spell before the bond between them is severed for all eternity?

And in the house next door the priestess responsible for the witch ball’s spell plots to prevent them from discovering the secret that will set Miranda completely free.

The Excerpt…

Coated with a thin layer of dust, the smooth gray glass looked dull in the sunlight streaming in his kitchen window. Nathaniel wiped away some dust and lifted the sphere closer, more perplexed than ever as to why Caitlin had selected this particular ball. Maybe washing it would make it sparkle like the other glass balls.
He squeezed a large dollop of liquid dish soap onto the ball and spread it around. As he started to transfer the ball to his left hand so he could turn on the faucet, his fingers lost their hold on the ball’s slick surface. He tightened his grip but the ball shot from his grasp. He made a desperate grab for it but the ball shot through his fingers.
“Shit,” he muttered, watching helplessly as the sphere arced upward before it began to descend toward the edge of the kitchen counter. At the moment of impact, there was a loud crack followed by an intense flash of white light. Instinctively, he threw his hands up to protect his eyes from the blinding light and the flying glass shards. He heard the jagged sound of broken glass as a rain of fragments struck the sink and floor.
He opened his eyes cautiously and felt them widen at the sight of a woman standing a few feet away, staring about the kitchen in confusion. Despite his shock he couldn’t help noticing she was beautiful with a cloud of dark hair falling to the waist of her old-fashioned blue dress. Beautiful or not she was a stranger.
“Who the hell are you,” he demanded. “And what the hell are you doing in my kitchen?”
The woman in Nathaniel’s kitchen jumped at the sound of his voice. Eyes, soft and gray as spring rain met his. “Nathaniel?” she whispered. Her dazed expression was replaced by one of joy. “Nathaniel!” She ran the short distance separating them and threw her arms around his neck. “Oh beloved, I knew you would find me.” Pulling his head down, she pressed her lips to his.
Too amazed to react, Nathaniel stood frozen. This stranger not only knew his name but she was also kissing him as if they were old lovers. A distant part of his mind told him he should push her away, demand an explanation for her mad behavior. But her mouth, soft and sweet as new wine, awakened something in him that overpowered common sense.
A surge of desire, like nothing he’d ever experienced, raced through his veins. In all his years of marriage to Claire, he’d never felt the burning hunger he felt at this moment. Every nerve ending in his body was on fire. A fire only this woman could quench.
His arms went around her, one hand burying itself deep in the silken waves of her hair. Her lips parted under the demanding pressure of his mouth and she pressed closer to him as if trying to melt into him. He placed his other hand on her rounded buttocks and held her tightly against him. She moaned softly in the back of her throat and slid one leg up his thigh, the folds of her long dress rustling against his jeans.
He felt himself growing hard. Mingled with his nearly overwhelming desire, he felt a fierce tenderness for this woman well up inside him. There was something hauntingly familiar about her. All his life he’d felt as if some part of himself was missing. Even marriage to Claire hadn’t taken away that nagging sense of loss. Something about the woman in his arms touched him in the deepest part of his soul, filling that empty space as if she had always belonged there.
This is insane. The thought came with such icy clarity it drove everything else out of his mind. He thrust the woman in his arms away and stepped back. “Are you out of your mind?” he demanded, fighting to get his ragged breathing under control. “Breaking into my house and….” He motioned violently not quite able to put into words what had just occurred between them.
The woman moved toward him, her hand outstretched. “Nathaniel, do you not remember me?”
He put his hand out to stop her. “Remember you? I’ve never seen you before in my life.”
The woman’s soft gray eyes filled with pleading. “Nathaniel, it is I, Miranda.”
“I don’t know anyone named Miranda,” he snapped. “What kind of trick is this? How do you know my name?”
Her hand fell to her side and her brow furrowed. “How could I not know the name of the man I am to marry?”
“Marry!” Nathaniel almost choked on the word. His gaze swept over her taking in her long black hair and the slender, feminine curves of her body that not even the old-fashioned cut of the ankle length dress she wore could disguise. “I have a good memory, lady,” and if I’d ever met anyone remotely like you, let alone asked them to marry me, I’d remember it.”

**Click on the cover and buy the book**

5 Reasons to buy –

- Witch Ball is an unabashed modern fairy tale about the power of true love being able to conquer all – this line says it all.

- Magic and science meet

- Simmering, wild romance

- The whole imprisoned for 300 years thing is intriguing

- And, as always you deserve to relax with an excellent book – so buy it. I won’t tell anyone.

Anny has the blog saga on and as expected its gone all pear shaped. Speaking of pears, Kelly is poaching them in brandy and feeding them to cats on
Go ahead: Live with abandon. Be outrageous at any age. What are you saving your best self for?

Tuesday, 22 January 2008

Tuesday Stuff...


-walked around the neighbourhood with my clothes inside out but that’s what happens when you get up at 4am to go walking – even though the lights are on in the house they’re not on in my mind.
- upset someone just because I am breathing apparently – decided to breathe a little harder to really piss them off – no point only in having a job half done.
- Day 3 in the job – still there – quel surprise.
- I actually ironed something this morning. Amazing Grace. I never ever iron. I believe it is just wrong but sometimes you have to bite the bullet and iron. It only took me 15 minutes to find it too.
- someone I worked with a couple of years ago rang and asked if she could have some free copies of my books. Gee, how to answer that – hmmm…no.

Someone sent me this…I can’t think why…

The working woman's great household tips

1950’s housewife way : Stuff miniature marshmallow in the bottom of a sugar cone to prevent ice-cream drips.

The Working Woman's way: Just suck the ice-cream out of the bottom of the cone for Pete's sake. You are probably lying on the couch with your feet up eating it anyway!!

1950’s housewife way : When a cake recipe calls for flouring the baking tin, use a bit of the dry cake mix instead and there won't be any white mess on the outside of the cake.

Working Woman's: The supermarket sell cakes. They even do decorated versions.

1950’s housewife way : If you accidentally over salt a dish while it's still cooking, drop in a potato slice.

Working Woman's: If you over salt a dish while you are cooking, tough! Recite the working Woman's motto: 'I made it and you will eat it and I don't care how bad it tastes!'

1950’s housewife way : Wrap celery in aluminium foil when putting it in the refrigerator and it will keep for weeks.

Working Woman's: It could keep forever. Who eats it??

1950’s housewife way : Cure for headaches. Take a lime, cut it in half and rub it on your forehead. The throbbing will go away.

Working Woman's: Cure for headaches. Take a lime, cut it in half and drop it in a double vodka. Drink the vodka. You might still have the headache, but you won't care!


1950’s housewife way : Freeze leftover wine into ice cubes for future use in casseroles and sauces.

Working Woman's: Left over wine??? HELLO!!!????

Kelly on left us with…

Then she might be a little hung over, but no worse for wear."

"Think we could get her to wear a thong? She'd be really hot in a thong. I could hold the Chalice while she sips from it," Pete said hopefully.

"Fool! You are already half under her spell. Don't you know that if she wears a thong AND drinks from the Tourmaline Chalice puncaks will rise up from under the ground and suck the essence out of all mankind?"

"What's a puncak?"

Uh huh…I’m going with…

Emmeline was nowhere near Brazil. She was in downtown San Francisco. She knew that her soul was linked to her peeler so the one she had thrown away was just a spare. Emmeline guessed by now Zoltan and Pete would be hopelessly lost trying to track her.

With the Tourmaline Chalice carefully wrapped and placed in the hatbox she carried, she headed to Fisherman’s Wharf. Before the old village crone had died she had directed her to San Francisco. Her final whisper urged Emmeline to go Lenny’s Café and ask for Tortunga Smith.

“He can help you harness the -” But the old woman did never finished the sentence.

Emmeline had stamped her feet angrily. “Frigging typical!”

At Lenny’s café, a man carrying a duck approached her. “I hear you are looking for Tortunga.”

“You’re carrying a duck.” Why is my life so complicated?

“A cow is too heavy for me.”

Of course. “Are you this Tortunga guy?”

“Why do you seek him?” The man stroked the duck gently.

“Okay, here’s the thing, I’m not discussing my plans with someone carrying poultry.”

“The poultry carriers shall inherit the Earth.” His words sounded Zen-like.

“Whatever you reckon, you big fruit loop.” Emmeline rolled her eyes cynically.

“You will find you also carry an animal in your hand.”

“This is a hat box, mate.” As she said the words, Emmeline gasped in shock as she looked down to see a platypus gnawing at her hand. “What did you do to my chalice?”

Anny will no doubt take it somewhere beyond belief on
Go ahead: Live with abandon. Be outrageous at any age. What are you saving your best self for?

Monday, 21 January 2008

Celebrate cellulite...

Kelly tagged me for something called a me-me. There are rules involved. You have to say 6 quirky things about yourself and you have to tag someone else. Damn shame I don’t do rules.


I have cellulite. Shock, horror, gasp - and you know what? I’m not worried about it. Why? Because, in the scheme of all the things I have to worry about in life, looking at my backside and thighs in the mirror and agonizing over them is not even in my top 50 concerns. See the thing is, I can exercise and eat properly but to my mind there is not a magic wand to get rid of cellulite. I know there are lots of whiz bang products on the market that are supposed to banish the stuff but none of them will keep it away forever. You see, being

women that's what happens. We have cellulite and any woman that says she doesn’t is a man. It’s not fair that we have it. It’s not right when we have PMS, periods and let’s not forget bloody chin hairs that begin to sprout the older you get - but life happens. To my mind cellulite is part of the whole deal about being a woman. So I look at it like this –

-Dimples are good – look how popular Shirley Temple was.
-If you fall down the cellulite on your arse instantly allows you to rebound back
- You are in trapped in the wilderness with no food – no problem you can live off the fatty deposits you have for months while the men around you perish – ha!
- Extra fat stores keep you warm in winter
- Having cellulite gives you the ability to bond with other women
- Fertility goddess have been carved and worshipped for centuries. They are covered in fat, dimpled flesh. By having cellulite we are carrying on a noble tradition of being worshipped. You don't want to mess with tradition do you?

As for the creams, rollers, exercises and pills to rid cellulite, I liken it to the issues some men have with penis size. Some things just are what they are. I would suggest if a man likes your smile, you face and your sense humour but is horrified by your cellulite then I suggest he is not the man for you. Don’t allow him the privilege of being with you. Cellulite is forever – superficial men aren’t worth forever. Think about it, if cellulite is the worst thing in your life you’re doing okay.

Marlow’s Curse – The blurb
Legend has it that if a St Michael witch is not willing no man can take her without suffering the consequences. Sybylla is the last St Michael witch. She knows that when a St Michael witch falls in love her lover becomes her weakness and the witch becomes his downfall. Sybylla will not allow her fate to destroy a man. But some men are hard to resist.

Marlow is not just any man. He is a vampire, cursed centuries ago to wander aimlessly through life believing he does not deserve more. When he meets Sybylla one moonlit night two lonely worlds collide. Marlow is aware of the legend but that doesn’t mean he is going to let a myth get in the way of deep enduring passion.

But Marlow is not the only one who wants Sybylla. A demon pursues her wanting vengeance and Scar will stop at nothing to make her pay. Will Sybylla sacrifice her own future happiness to vanquish the demon and save Marlow? Can a willing witch and a cursed vampire beat the odds?

A moment from Marlow’s curse…

“And who might you be you rat-faced individual?” Scar yelled at the weedy looking demon who stood before him. The man looked like a rat and smelled like a rat. But Scar knew all lower order demons were rat-like in their cunning and actions. They could never be trusted. But then neither could Scar.
“My name is Ratchet and I am yours to command sire.” Ratchet’s voice was ingratiating as he looked at the ugly, scarred demon before him.
“Why would I need you?” Scar lashed out and struck the lower order demon and sent him flying across the room. “You are clearly a weakling.” Scar needed power and brawn to aid him, not sniveling sycophants.
“Because you have no one else.” Ratchet said pointing out the obvious as he got to his knees and faced the demon he planned to call his master for the moment. Plans changed as power changed. Even a demon had to be flexible.Scar hated the fact that this little creep was right. He had no one else to answer his call. He had lost all credibility and supporters when that witch had damn near

destroyed him in that fire. No one took him seriously now. If it was possible to be a joke in the demon world, then he was it. He did not want friends as demons did not have friends, but he wanted respect not amusement at his own expense. But that would soon change. He was back stronger than ever and looking for swift payback.
“I am looking for a witch.” If this rat-man could help him then why not use him? He could always kill him later. Besides, at the moment Scar had no other options.
“The St Michael witch that burned you?” Ratchet made sure he kept well away from the meaty fist of the demon as he spoke. His skill was in his cunning not in brute strength.
“Yes,” Scar hissed in anger. “I want to kill her.”
“I can help you with that.”
“How could you, the scum of the earth, help me?” Scar looked at him in contempt for even daring to think he could be of use to him.
“I can move freely above ground and find her. I am not as…noticeable as you.” Ratchet put his hand to his face casually, trying not to make it obvious that he was covering his nose against the stench of rotting flesh coming from his new master.
That Scar smelled like a rotten corpse did not worry him. That was not his problem. But the rat-faced man had a point. Scar knew his grotesque face stood out too much to fit in with the crowd of pasty-faced humans above ground. Demons dwelled in the underworld. A hazy, sulphur-smelling netherworld that was only one level above hell. He fit in there. Not that he cared what the earthbound mortals thought of his face. They were nothing to him. But he could not seek out the witch without drawing too many questions. He did not want her warned. Scar wanted to take her when she least expected it. Like she took him.

So, we know Kelly tagged me for the me-me thing…crazy girl…as for Anny on I have no idea what will be on her blog but it will be wise, emotional, heart felt and funny – and that’s all in the first sentence.
Go ahead: Live with abandon. Be outrageous at any age. What are you saving your best self for?