Not so easy...

So, after sending off my latest book to my editor and after chatting with friends on line, I was faced with two prospects – one - editing or two - cleaning the oven. Oh hard…

When edits land in my inbox I look at them and think – well crap. I am very lucky that I have two excellent editors. They’re problem is they have a less than excellent writer to deal with. So I looked at the edits and then looked at the oven. I figured the oven would be easier to deal with because I rarely, if ever, cook in it. In theory it would require no effort at all. Wrong.

Yes, I am aware you are supposed to read warning labels when spraying toxic oven cleaner but really who does? I’m against instructions and labels for I believe it interferes with my karmic flow or maybe that’s my chi – whatever – I don’t read instructions because I know everything. No, really I do and if I don’t then – well – I don’t need to know it. Yes, it is very tiring being me. So, back to the toxic cleaner. Handy hint – don’t spray it willy nilly or your will fall on you arse when your feet hit the slippery residue on the kitchen tiles. Hint number two – do not stick your head in the oven to make sure you cover all surfaces at the same time as you spray. You can die that way or at least have to sit out on the back steps and cough a lot.

The thing that really got me was how dirty the oven was. Seriously? What the hell had I cooked in there? And when? I am a devotee of the microwave. Yes, I can cook. I just prefer not to because it’s just plain wrong. Why? Because I can’t follow a recipe because once again I don’t believe everything the recipe says is necessary – how much sugar? Oh no, we’ll go half that and only a third of the butter. And apricots in it? I’ll want almonds. So, I rarely cook. I would have to have some major inducement to do it. This brings me back to why the oven was so dirty. I have a theory. Someone sneaks in and cooks when I’m not at home. I suspect it‘s some demented homemaker who cannot abide a kitchen not being used. Now I would not mind so much if they cleaned up after themselves and maybe left something for me to nuke in the microwave after work.

So, the moral of the story. Nothing is ever as easy as it looks.

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Saturday.....

I let the house go to rack and ruin and spent all day ‘polishing’ my latest book about vampires before I send it off. ‘Polishing’ really just means picking up all the really dumb arsed errors before your editor sees them and thinks you are a complete imbecile. That’s not to say your work does not have many other stupid errors you are too blind to see. I think when you have continually read over something you start to go blind to the mistakes. I do. I also tend to think – ‘oh, this will never sell. Should I send this? How long can I get away with not being as very good writer?’ So I am constantly amazed when I get a contract. Will I get a sale on this one? Who knows? It’s in the hands of fate and fate is a perverse bugger.

So, I spent a huge percentage of the day sitting on my arse. Thankfully it is padded enough to sustain such force. I remember going to this health and safety lecture once. The speaker was talking about the pounds per square inch – or whatever measure it was – you inflicted on your body when you stood and sat etc – and how terrible this was on your body on a whole. After being bored shitless for 30 minutes as she rattled on about the evils of standing and or sitting, all with the aid of her anally perfect graphs, I asked her a question. So what are we supposed to do? Sit or stand? She did not have an answer. My next question was why are we here then listening to you if you can give us no answer? Because it’s part of your health and safety training. What are you training us in? How not to sit or stand? Are we here to learn to hover above ground? The answer was no and if you cannot be pay attention then please leave the class. I left. So I have to ask why lecture people on a subject that is basically a time filler and what we would call a wank for her? Sit, stand…whatever…the force is going to be on your arse or your feet so why agonize? Flat feet? Fat arse? Take you pick.

Or if you don’t want to worry about either – come to paradise with me…no really. I know where it is. I was downstairs doing laundry and I pulled the tab on a box of washing powder and the tab said ‘this way to paradise.’ No – seriously. It was a bright pink box covered with frangipani flowers - I guess denoting exotic climes you can be transported to as you wash your clothes. So how many people read those tabs? I would suggest stuff all. Why did I? Not sure. Who gets paid to think up this stuff? Very lucky people with lots of time on their hands and no concept of reality. Do I believe paradise can be founding washing powder? Sure why not? Sniff enough of anything and you’re on a trip…

And lastly…this just sickens me.

A worker was killed in the crush on Friday after a throng of shoppers eager for bargains burst through the doors at a suburban Wal-Mart , authorities said.
"He was bum-rushed by 200 people," co-worker Jimmy Overby, 43, told the Daily News. "They took the doors off the hinges. He was trampled and killed in front of me. They took me down too. ... I literally had to fight people off my back."
http://au.news.yahoo.com/a/-/newshome/5179316

Killing for a bargain. How proud and accomplished those people must feel that they got something else by trampling another. I think that reflects the state of the world. May I never be so thoughtlessly greedy…it’s plain evil.

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So busy, busy....

Work was interrupted today as a notice of cheap flights to Melbourne came zooming into my inbox. I had been waiting for this. I have a hotel booked in Melbourne - Australia - for the ARRC convention in February. See the logo on the left side. Anyway I had been waiting for the right fare. I saw it today. This meant downing tools and booking on line. But first I had to ring the Novotel on Collins in Melbourne to re-arrange bookings, ask dumb questions and then get them to send me confirmation. I like everything in writing. A big thanks to Lance at the Novotel for not losing his mind, being polite and retaining a sense of humour as I rang him twice to annoy him. So then I booked the flight. Done. Then I had to re-arrange my leave as I had taken extra time off than I needed as I wasn’t sure what I was doing. So, new forms had to be filled out. I also had to chat to online friends and wander aimlessly around the room gossiping – all while attempting to look like I was working. Damn, I’m good at that. So - busy, busy, busy.

I leave you with these wise words from Cindy Lauper –

She bop, he bop, a-we bop, I bop, you bop, a-they bop, be-boop, be boop-a-loo-bop.

I think we can all learn something from that.

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Some days are just what the…

…to those of you doing the Thanksgiving gig my best wishes to you but before you stuff yourself silly with food think about those who have none…at least for one moment between mouthfuls. No holiday can justify greed.

To those not doing the holiday thing but are instead dragging their arses to work…oh yeah, I hear you…

To those who have loved ones caught up in the Mumbai terrorist attacks my thoughts are with you. Is peace really that bloody hard?

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Discussed the following….

….men and their pelvises. Huh? Why? Well, it started out harmlessly enough. I was at work talking on line to friend and talented author Barbara Huffert . Possibly I should have been working at my day job but I wasn’t in the mood. You know what? Really work is to blame for the whole men and pelvis discussion. Anyway, Barbara and I were talking about training and public speaking and the possible fear that some people have when standing up and speaking. I don’t because I have the ability to talk under water with marbles in my mouth…no, I’ve never tried it but I think it is doable.

So, how did the pelvis thing come about? Well I mentioned to B that there used to be this manager I knew that used to lecture staff, in my old job, en masse in the auditorium with his legs apart and his pelvis thrust forward. It’s very dominant body language. He was also an arrogant wanker. We used to stare at his pelvis until he went and stood behind the lectern. He did the same thing every time he lectured us. Now, I have to ask you if you had a bunch of call centre workers, predominantly female who had heard every possible obscene suggestion through their headset when speaking to the public and still they did not blink an eye as they filed their nails, do you think a show of male domination is going to scare that bunch? I think not.

So why do men do it? No, really I want to know. I get that some men may want to attract a woman’s attention but 99% of the time she is not looking there – unless a man is naked then the percentage drops. She is looking at his eyes, his mouth and his hands. A simple look can be more intimidating that a pelvis thrust.

After B went offline due to the whole other side of the world thing happening, I emailed best friend Ethel across town and asked her opinion. Although I can’t repeat what she said because it’s obscene and possibly physically impossible for a man to do – not sure though - she works in an all male office – she did indicate that men were well odd on what they thought women believed. I guess that sums it up.

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The buzz of peace....

Ah, the peaceful sound of white noise. You don't think it's peaceful? That hum. That buzz of nothingness? The solitude of blissful silence? I think it's especially good after you have spent a day of dealing with people who act like drunken six year olds where nothing is their fault and if it is it’s because they were busier than everyone else or maybe because someone pushed them or dared them or look sideways at them - some half arsed excuse. My standard response to this is bullshit. I particularly find one individual amusing who continuously emails me work stuff then denies emailing me at all. Yes, of course, someone else went to your computer and sent me the email - and no, resending that same email and trying to change the wording three hours later is not going to work with me. I can tell the time and I know 10:12am is different to 2:37pm no matter what different words you use.

So, I sometimes like the sound of white noise…it's peaceful. It does not lie or try to talk over the top of you. It's bland and boring and sometimes that's just what you need to hear…peaceful nothingness.

Speaking of peace….author Sandra Cox and good mate of the Amarinda blog has a new book out. Its called Power Stones To Go. I love books like this. Why? Because sometimes when you are feeling rotten and think what the hell can I do to sort out the crapaciousness or pukeability of my life, you can pick up this book and look for answers. Better still – not only do you get a book – but – you get the gemstones as well. That's an excellent buy. Yes, I have bought it and I am awaiting its winged arrival at Chez Amarinda. No, it doesn’t fly. So want to sort out your life? Buy the book. Get power. Get stoned up and go.

Power Stones to Go – the blurb…. Click on the cover to buy…

Our love affair with stones and crystals is long abiding. They have been used through the ages for all facets of life from jewelry and decorating to protection and healing.

Certain stones are believed to enhance one’s ability to find true love or to attract prosperity. Others are said to support good health, relaxation or spirituality. Understanding which stones carry the specific energy to support your needs is invaluable knowledge.

Power Stones To Go is a simple guide to using these beautiful gifts from Mother Earth to attract whatever is missing in your life.

Sounds good to me…now where to start…

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Nancy Drew...girl detective...

So, Monday morning and I had a stolen car blocking my drive way. Yeah… a bit different. It’s usually so quiet in my neighbourhood that I sometimes wonder if everyone has been kidnapped by triffids and I somehow missed out. Mind you, if I was a triffid I would probably think again about taking me to triffidom because I can be a pain in the arse and I am just not worth the effort.

Anyway, I wandered across the road to speak to the shirtless one to see if he knew who owned the car. Who is he? A neighbour, about 40-ish with long, late 1980’s style hair and I have never seen him wear a shirt. I don’t know why because it’s not like he is an Ellora’s Cave cover model – and yes beauty is in the eye of the beholder but his ‘beauty’ is just beyond me. Anyway, the shirtless one did not know – nor did his young girlfriend. He has heaps of them…again, I don’t get the appeal but it has to be the lid for every pot thing or maybe too much pot is being smoked and lids get flipped… whatever…So then I rang the local cop shop. The police asked the usual question. Rego number? I told them. Make and model of car? I don’t know but it’s sort of a sandy gold colour that has a tinge of almost silver through it as if burnished –one might even call if brassy. This is apparently not a good description. I then added it has four doors. There was a long silence. I like to think that they were dazzled by my Nancy Drew abilities of description. I was then asked to go out and look at the model. I came back and told them. In a moment they told me it was a stolen car. Well, there you go. Could I stick around for the officers to arrive? Sure, it’s Monday morning and it’s not like I have to go anywhere important to go but for work. No doubt they needed my uncanny Nancy Drew abilities to help them.

When they arrived, the notebook came out and I was asked full name and date of birth. I have to wonder how many crims are dumb enough to dump a stolen car at their own address, making it impossible for them to get out of the driveway, but apparently it happens. How long had the car been there? What time? What did you notice? Did you see anyone? Not sure. Don’t know. It just appeared. No, I had been cutting tree branches and writing sex all weekend but it’s a goldie-sort-of-silver car. They just smiled and nodded and walked back to their cop car to organize it to be towed away. When I got home from work the shirtless one looked at me and said “no car?” I said "what car?" I like to confuse people and I feel I did a good job today.

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How musing...

Muses…nope I don’t have one. What are they? Well they’re supposedly beings that inspire you to be creative or -

One of the nine goddesses who presided over song and the different kinds of poetry, and also the arts and sciences; -- often used in the plural.

http://www.brainyquote.com/words/mu/muse192728.html

Some writers are always saying they rely on their muse or that their muse was AWOL so they could not write. I don’t get that. Why rely on something that in theory is an imaginary friend? Remember when you were a kid and other kids had imaginary friends and you just went along with it because you were a kid and what the hell did you know? Besides they probably had really good stuff you didn’t so going to play at their house with them and their ‘friend’ was okay because you didn’t have to share with their ‘friend’. Now as an adult if you have an imaginary friend you are considered nuts.

Being considered nuts doesn’t bother me at all. Whatever. But placing blame for not being able to write something because your muse deserted you sounds like a load of crap to me. Either you can do something or you can’t. Either you are in the mood or you aren’t. Blaming a non-existent being is a cop out. Why can’t you just say – nah, didn’t feel like writing today as a packet of Tim Tams beckoned me to sit on the sofa and be a sloth - instead of the more dramatic - my muse was not with me today so I was bereft of creative inspiration. Oh yeah? Where were they instead? Off musing for someone else? Can muses do that? Be slut muses? Available for anyone? What and where do muses go when they are not standing at the side of the writer who blames them for no writing that day? Maybe muses think “Stuff it, let ‘em think for themselves for a change. It’s not like writing is rocket science. Besides, I have to do my laundry today. Who cares if she gets chapter six finished? She’s going to blame me regardless so whatever…”

Actually having a muse is probably a good way to get out of all sorts of trouble like at work when you have not finished something when you should have. You could look at your boss and say ‘well, you know my muse was not with me today.’ Or maybe the next time you get a traffic ticket you can say to the policeman ‘This is my muse’s fault because I wanted to go left but they said no – go through the stop sign and I had to obey their creative instinct.'

So in finishing, if you have an actual muse please send me a picture or better still get them to swing by and get them to tell me about life as a muse.

For hundreds of years people have talked about artists having inspiration, but often, some persons would say, write us a symphony or write us a song, on commission. The artists would come up with a masterpiece without waiting to have their muse inspire them -- Tom Glazer

Funny about that…..

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Knackerdom....

‘Been busy sawing off branches and getting ready for the next big storm. It’s supposed to happen tonight. I’m quite knackered. I have discovered muscles in my arms and shoulders that I never knew I had. On the whole I would have preferred not to know.

So, I leave you with this from Monthy Python. I’ve always enjoyed this song and it seems appropriate… click here.

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Spies like us...

Someone got sacked today at work and everyone was happy. In fact happy to the point of giggling with hysterical joy happy. We all got called into the boardroom to be told the news. The thing was we had all known at least an hour beforehand about it and everyone had a hard time keeping a straight face when told the news. So why were we so happy? The woman in question was just…well...plain pukeable.

It's a small office mostly made up of women. The best spies in the world would have to be women. Look at Mata Hari - sure she go shot for her spying - but the thing was she found out stuff. Women do that. You know what I mean. Send a woman a subtle glance or nod and she will be over to find out more. It's not gossip or snooping - its networking - and that's about finding out information that may be beneficial. How did I found out beforehand? I have a network of my own that provide me information that is useful. Forewarned is forearmed.

So back to the person that got sacked. No one liked her. Why? She just had a way of speaking to people like they were dirt and she did no work - no wait, I know what you’re thinking - everyone could be sacked for that. I am the queen of doing the wrong thing. But she consistently did nothing. I mean it. People would walk around and ask - what the hell does she do? The answer? Zip, zilch, nada and she refused to believe she needed to learn anything. This irritated everyone because in Australia, I can't speak for other countries, there is a belief in the workplace that no one is any better than anyone else and even if you are doing stuff all then at least try and act like you are busy. Also setting yourself above your fellow workers will get you cut down. We call it the tall poppy syndrome in Australia.

The hard thing was getting her to leave. She would not go. She sat and acted like nothing had happened - that she had not been dismissed. She had been told to go immediately yet she lingered. It was quite fascinating to watch - like the proverbial train wreck. Heads kept peeping like meerkats over the cubicle barriers to see what she was doing. It was almost scary. But eventually she left. We think it actually sunk in. About two minutes after she left people started to gravitate to her desk. Why? She had some good stationery and gizmos. We were all polite for a moment before we snatched stuff up left right and center. The managing director said it looked like hoard of locusts. In my defense I needed a new pen holder and hers was a beaut....

So that’s my day….awaiting another storm…

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Thursday warblings....

I got a letter from the Hospital saying to come and pick up my ultrasound pictures that I had taken while I was in emergency recently. I remember wandering home, albeit drugged to the eyeballs, clutching these pictures. I then dragged them to the surgeon’s appointment and then on the actual day of the operation. I brought them home with me and they are ‘somewhere’ in the house. No, I’m not the most orderly person…creative people aren’t. Okay that’s a load off crap but that’s the excuse I am going with. So the pictures are here in Chez Amarinda…they will turn up….one day. They’re probably with the red and white socks I can’t find and my framed University degree which has been lost for a while….the socks I really miss. The degree…why did I do that again?

Anyway, I rang the hospital and said I already had the pictures. They said not possible as they had them. I said very much so possible. The admin person said are you coming in to pick them up? I advised I was not. What the hell am I going to do with them? Scrapbook ‘em? I said no thanks as one set was enough for me. I then got the lecture - but they are important. This is the medical history of the state of your gall bladder. What if something that this happens again and you have no record of it? Hmmm…well – A – I already have the pictures and - B - I no longer have the gall bladder so why would I need the pictures of it? Not like I am going to frame it or show people am I? She wasn’t happy but so many people in life aren’t and there is not a great deal I can do about that and officious lectures don’t work with me.

I do actually know where the x-ray of my big broken toe is though. That is a beauty of a pic. I did an excellent job in nearly cutting that sucker off completely. Now that is something worth keeping. How did I nearly cut my toe off? Long story but it has a lot to do with me believing I am invincible. Hoping you are the same….

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It’s all about soul….

Word is it’s going to pour down rain shortly. Yeah, we are in drought. Normally it would be good news but many in Brisbane are dreading it. There are those who lost their homes in Sunday’s storm, others who are trying to clean up the debris and then still others praying what happened to all those affected on Sunday will not happen to them. Mother nature…fickle bitch….

Anyway…on to more pleasant things. Talented author Elyssa Ewards has a new book released today. It’s called Soul Stone. I know many have been waiting for Tarris’ story – so you’re in luck. Here it is. Click on the cover to buy it.

Soul Stone by Elyssa Edwards


The blurb…

He is physical perfection. He is sex personified. He is an incubus. All his life Tarris has followed the rules that would keep him from transforming into the dark soulless predator who fed on the sexual energies of women, draining them to madness or to death. But now that he can no longer feed in a safe and controlled way, he faces a choice: hunt or starve. Callista is quiet and reserved. Her restrained exterior hides an astonishing passion and vivid imagination that has captured him. Who knew that a creature that had no soul could love a woman so deeply? Tarris must now find a way to control the change he feels coming and defeat the hunter who pursues him, obsessed with possessing Callista and destroying the incubus.


The excerpt…

Rule 1. Never feed alone.
Rule 2. Never touch unless you are invited to by the female.
Rule 3. Never penetrate a woman in the place reserved for her mate.
Rule 4. Never allow the act to bring you to orgasm.
Rule 5. Never, never must you hunt.

The rules had been created to keep him contained. To keep Tarris fed and happy while stopping him from crossing the line that could make him want more than he could be allowed to have.

Sitting in his chair he watched the flames flicker. He slipped his hand into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out the small oblong stone. It looked like an opal but over one third of its surface was black and dull. He rubbed at it seeking the strange sense of comfort it had always brought him. Tonight it didn’t work. Despite the fire, a chill passed through him. The rules. How he hated the rules. How he needed the rules. He’d only broken one and only once. He’d allowed sweet Sarah to pleasure him in a dream the three had shared before their mating. It had been a mistake. Now he knew what he was missing. And he wanted more.

Worse, he could no longer feed off his lovers. Both Weres were mated. No one had realized at the time that it would stop their ability to share their pleasure with him. But it had. He could enter their dreams but in their dreams the men would push him away. He’d learned this the moment Mark mated with Sarah. The animal within him refused to allow him near his mate. In the waking world Mark had been devastated. In the land of dreams he could not stop himself from turning on Tarris like an enemy. Tarris had not approached Luke. The younger twin had always been the more sexually assertive, the more likely to react to his instincts. He was certain Luke’s reaction would be even stronger than Mark’s.

Tarris closed his eyes. He tried to remember a time when he was satisfied with the lot he’d been given, satisfied with the role of puppeteer, satisfied to orchestrate the pleasures of others and to drink in their joy and satisfaction. It seemed so long ago.

He’d not actively decided to break the rules. He’d let them terminate him before he’d turn into one of the dark ones. He may not have a soul but one thing living in the Ursine house had given him had been honor. He knew the clean and lighter side of living. He’d not become a monster.

He let his mind drift. He told himself he wasn’t doing it. He was only reaching out. He’d been able to take the edge off the past couple of weeks this way. A voyeur watching a young couple, feeling the energies radiate between two soon to be lovers in a club. A siphon, draining off some of the raw sexual arousal of those he watched from the world of shadows. It wouldn’t sustain him he knew. The only true food was passion in dreams. But maybe by doing this he could hold off the madness, hold off the day when his own Weres would be forced to destroy him. Or hold out until he found another way.

He felt the touch of the sleeper and backed away. He wasn’t a predator. He wasn’t supposed to enter alone. But the power of the mind reached out to him as if it had sensed him. It called to him, inviting him in. The hunger raged inside him as he fought it. The moment he turned to the dreamer, the moment he let himself be pulled to the cavalcade of images that passed through the sleeping mind he was lost.

He stood in the doorway of the modest bedroom. The sleeper on the bed was a woman. Her red hair was twisted around her face, strands of it sticking to the damp forehead. The shirt of the men’s flannel pajamas that she wore stretched tight across her breasts. Not exactly the seductress. Not precisely the femme fatale. She looked more like a schoolmarm or a librarian. One leg had kicked itself free of the blankets and he noticed she even wore socks to bed. It was early October. No, Red here didn’t look like the kind of woman who embraced her sexuality.

Tarris stepped into the room and moved closer to the bed. The woman was moaning slightly and twisting her head. Her fists clenched tight. She fascinated him. She seemed so restricted—closed off so tightly against her own body but the power of the imagination, the dreams that flowed through her had called to him across the distance that had separated them. He could feel the incredible strength of her mind.

The rules repeated in his head.
He hadn’t hunted her, he told himself. She had called him to her.
He would not let her please him.
He would not penetrate her.
He would not touch unless she reached for him first.

He would not— Tarris stood watching her, torn as his hunger battled with his conditioning. The emotions, the colors of her mind were so powerful he shook with need. Her soul was laying itself bare for him just as if he’d been a fully mature incubus. He saw all of who she was, all her secrets, dreams and desires. And he loved each and every one.

So yes. Yes, he would. He would feed alone.

He stretched out beside her on the bed and brushed the hair from her face. Her body went slack. He pulled her to him and rested her head on his shoulder. Stroking her face he pressed his cheek to her and closed his eyes.

Okay…back to watching the sky…

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Looooooonnnnnnnng day...

It has been a really, really long day so I will leave you with Hugh Jackman. Back tomorrow....

****************************************

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Bloody hell Norah...

We had the most amazing storm last night. In the height of it I could see nothing outside but white. The media called it a cyclone. We are not in a cyclone area so that took us a bit - okay a bloody lot - by surprise. Now is traditionally storm season in Queensland when 4pm hits and the skies go dark and people has the candles and torches ready. The thing is we just haven’t had a storm season in years because of the drought. Last storm season I can remember would have been 2004 when a storm took out the front windows in the sunroom. I was pleased with this as I hated the 1970’s yellow glass in them so I consider as acts of god go that was an excellent one. I like storms. I like the drama– the crashing, vivid streaks of lightning and the wildness of the moment. But this was beyond that. It was dangerous. I consider myself lucky that the power did not go out nor was I one of those people that the many emergency vehicles with sirens blaring were racing to – and the old windows held. I was lucky.

At 3:30am this morning I was outside with the mosquitoes and spiders cutting up branches and putting the backyard into some vague order. I would like to say there is something cathartic at 3:30am before work on a Monday morning cutting up big fallen branches from the huge-arsed-god-only-know-how-old-melaleuca tree but there’s not. It’s hard, steamy, scratchy yakka (work). But at least the house is in one piece.

So everything is cut and dumped out the front in neat bundles tied up in old panty hose. Panty hose are amazing things. You can do so much with them because the stretch and are pretty damn resilient. May we all be so.

So I was lucky. Others weren’t. I can’t imagine what it is like to see your house destroyed. It’s a good reminder of the fact the Mother Nature can be an absolute premenstrual bitch if she wants to be and as a woman I am sure there is some perfectly irrational yet intensely logical reason why she did what she did so I can’t be too hard on her. I’ve probably would have done the same thing.

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Courage....

I re-read once more this morning about Nujood Ali who was sold by her father to a man three times her age in Yemen. When no one would help her, she went to court to seek a divorce. This young woman saved herself and now has saved others by her courage. She is now ten years old. She is amazing.

"All I want now is to finish my education," she told the LA Times. "I want to be a lawyer.
"I want to defend oppressed people. I want to be like Shada. I want to be an example for the other girls."
Nujood's trials, and trial, turned the spotlight on to child marriages in Yemen, where the legal ago of consent is 15 but is often overruled by tribal customs and interpretations of Islam.
Several child brides came forward with their cases, some seeking divorces as well.


http://www.news.com.au/couriermail/story/0,23739,24656103-954,00.html


So, I have to ask myself, and others, why are we whining over the petty trivialities of our lives? Most of us will never understand what it is like to be oppressed, to have no rights or know what it is like to live in that kind of fear. I admire her greatly.


Glamour editor-in-chief Cindy Leive marvelled "How Nujood got the courage to do that at the age of nine, I'll never know".
"Sometimes you feel like some people are born to change the world," Ms Leive said. "When I met her, I thought, 'You're one of them'."


http://www.news.com.au/couriermail/story/0,23739,24656103-954,00.html

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Oh see how she rambles…

Bloody hell…it’s been hard to write today. I’ve been feeling about as romantically inclined as a chair leg. I read back over the characters – who I like – but think – oh can’t you people sort your lives out without me? Why do you get yourselves into this trouble? You pair should know if you mix with vampires then all sorts of stuff happens. Head shake. I know. It’s not rational feeling this way seeing as though I created them but I feel rationality is vastly over rated. I expect I will go back to them shortly and get them out of whatever peril they have wandered in to…characters? What can you do with them?

So, you ask – how to write romance when you feel anything but? Okay – I know you didn’t ask but go with me here…well, I find wearing pjs helps. Huh? Pyjamas? Romantic? Well, no they’re not but I think they help though. How? Because wearing an oversized purple-thousand-year-old-stretched-t-shirt-nightie with a frog on the front saying ‘Kiss me’ is not the essence of romance. I know – surprising huh? And yet that works for me. It’s like anti matter meeting matter – there is a reaction that sparks romance writing. I know – you’re thinking what a load of crap. And it probably is. But one of the most asked interview questions for romance writers is – what is you’re your writing space like? And how do you get in the mood to write erotic romance? Okay – so that’s 2 questions but you get the drift.

Allrighty – so you know about the nightie…the writing space – a 4 setting dining room table full of crap – not just computer and printer – but including - a really ugly brown good fortune money frog (frog sitting on a bunch of Chinese coins) a pack of discs, 3 lotto tickets for tonight, tax receipts that I really need to file, the inhaler I was using when I had a cold last week, one of those small Zen gardens – you know – with the teeny weeny rake that is supposed to relieve stress but in actual fact is a very good place to rest pens – the rake snapped in two ages ago, a cordless phone, an incense burner, car keys, a vase of gerberas, earrings I wore last Wednesday, 6 rings I wear every day, my watch, 2 pairs of specs, notes on scrap paper, two candles I never burn I just like the smell of, a mobile phone re-charger to remind me to re-charge my phone, six pens and a letter from my sponsored child M in Bangladesh. On the whole it’s not very junk filled at the moment.

How do I get in the zone to write romance? I find popcorn is very good for action scenes and also low fat mango yogurt eaten straight out of the tub for reflective soul searching moments. Beverages – coffee of course and peppermint tea if I can find somewhere to put the pot on the desk and snakes are good too. What do I do with the snakes? Well I put them…in my mouth because they are lollies (candy) and you can stretch ‘em and knot them up. You can be very creative with them and in turn that flows to the screen. So – there you go - more than you ever wanted to know.

*****************************************

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Friday once more...

Quite knackered…had a day of cleaning up the garden/jungle. I have hacked, slashed, mowed and backfilled. I need a drink. A big one….maybe followed by another. For all those similarly knackered and for the memory of those gone but never forgotten, I raise my glass to you. Life huh? It just hits you when you least expect it.

Be well, be safe, attempt goodness but don’t beat yourself up over it because there’s a lot to be said for being bad.

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Thursday ponderings...

So it was my birthday today. I say was because in Australia it’s all over now. I’m not big on birthdays – it has nothing to do with age. I’m 45. I am fabulous and I get more fabulouser… okay, maybe that’s not a word – maybe it should be. I just don’t get why adults celebrate birthdays. As a kid it was a big deal but now? What’s that about? It’s just another day.

Anyway, I went grocery shopping and while I was waiting for the bank to open so I could deposit a US cheque – by the way – just loving the exchange rate at the moment - there was this young bloke, maybe early twenties, who was standing with a clipboard and watching people. He looked like an anime character. He was thin, tall and sort of had this spiky hair that I suppose was hot or mod or sick or maybe pukeable – whatever the latest term is – okay – I know pukeable is my made up word but I am doing my best to get it out there into everyday use…so…where was I…pukeable, anime, bank – ah yes – the bloke…so me, being me, said who are you targeting? No one just stands with a clipboard in a busy shopping centre without some reason be it counting the number of people with red hair or body odour or wearing silly hats – speaking of hats what’s the deal with wearing baseball caps back to front? Yes – I can actually see why baseball players do. They need to see the ball and to swing – and my father told me the men who collected garbage when he was a kid in the early 40’s used to in order to stop rubbish sliding down the back of their clothes – but why do people do it today? It strikes me as very nerd-like…

….anyway…back to the anime character with the clipboard - he was supposed to target anyone who looked like they were mid teens to mid twenties and looked like they had an expendable income. Isn’t all income expendable – it comes in – it goes out? He of course meant spending untold amounts of money on crap because someone told them it was cool. I said well that’s not me. I don’t do anything because someone tells me to. That’s one of my biggest problems. He just smiled politely. So why was he seeking out young spend thrifts with their no will of their own? Some whiz bang technical thingy that I lost consciousness over while he described it but it will either save the world or clear up your complexion or make sandwiches.

‘Lastly – I heard on the news that the best bums – butts, arses or asses if you will – are in Brazil and France. Well, that’s important isn’t it? I will sleep better knowing that – and it takes the pressure off all other countries because now we can let are arses go to rack and ruin as we have nothing to uphold…

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Anytime Darlin'...

First up – does anyone know what I did with my red and white striped knee socks? Most perplexing. Some days you just need to wear certain socks - but then - that's obvious - I don't have to tell you that.

Second – I have been listening to the news in Oz about men now being able to re-claim back child support for children that are not theirs. This has been determined after DNA tests and that the women have to pay the money back. I think that’s fair enough. Personally, paraphrasing Lady Astor - I don't care what anyone does as long as they don't frighten the horses - but in this case if you have slept with several men during the period of conception then I believe you are morally obligated to have the DNA tests before you tag a man as a father. It is not only unfair to him but think of the emotional cost to the child who thinks this man is his dad. I am all for women’s rights but if you have multiple partners think of others and not just yourself. And what about the rights of the real father?

Okay – off my soapbox….. Julia Barrett is an author you are going to hear a lot of. Why? Because her books are fantastic reads. Anytime Darlin’ – don’t you just love that title – is out now a Cerridwen Press – click on the cover to buy.

Anytime Darlin' - Julia Barrett

The blurb…

Jake McKenna is one of the first responders when a young runaway is found unconscious. She's desperately ill and has been beaten and sexually assaulted. Jake saves her life and is determined to protect her from the man who is equally determined to destroy her. Ultimately Jake realizes he must allow her to make her own decisions about her future, though it breaks his heart.

Devlin Barre survived the destruction of everything she held dear then learns she has been given into the care of the very person who stole her life. Her risky escape nearly kills her. One man brings her back, Jake. She loves him, but he has his own path to travel. Devlin refuses to become a burden. Brokenhearted, she leaves to rebuild her life.

Years later Jake and Devlin meet again. Has their connection survived? What of the monster who attempted to destroy Devlin? He's still waiting for the opportunity to finish what he started.

The Excerpt….

Jake applied the electrodes to her chest and flipped on the portable EKG machine. After a quick glance at her heart rhythm, he began a systematic head-to-toe assessment as Kyle radioed each finding back to the ER. Jake felt sick as he stripped her and ran his hand over every single bruise and abrasion, checking for broken bones and possible internal injuries, anything they might make worse by moving her carelessly. The girl had been badly beaten. Her back was scraped raw and there were thick purple wheals around both wrists. Her left side was swollen and covered with bruises. From the feel of things, Jake suspected at least a couple of broken ribs. He didn't find needle marks—her arms and legs were clean. This wasn't likely to be a drug overdose. Leanne and Lou got the IV started and Jake sighed with relief as fluids began flowing. The EKG showed a normal sinus rhythm but she was tachycardic and the woman was right, she was hot. Her axillary temp was one oh three point four. Her lungs sounded congested. Probably pneumonia. Jake suspected she'd been outdoors for several days and she'd probably been guarding her respirations because of the rib pain, which meant she was a sitting duck for pneumonia.

Mike cleared his throat. "He was wearing waffle-stompers," he said, "look at the marks on her thigh."

They stared in silence.

Then Jake broke it. "Let's move it people."

Kyle and Lou wheeled in the gurney and the four of them lifted the girl gently. As they laid her down, her eyes flew open. Jake was by her head, looking right at her. He started. Her eyes were unexpected, aquamarine with flecks of gold, wide and slightly almond-shaped and when she slowly lowered her lids, her long lashes cast faint shadows on her pale cheeks. Suddenly her eyes opened again and sought his. Jake was surprised by the intensity in her gaze. He saw confusion mingled with pain and a flat-out panic, the kind of panic one would find in a cornered animal.

Jake felt a hand wrap around his as he pushed the gurney.

"It's okay, darlin," he whispered soothingly, "it's okay. We'll take care of you. We're taking you to the hospital."

He thought her panic increased for a moment but then she nodded, almost imperceptibly and he could tell she understood him.

"You got a name, sweetheart?"

She closed her eyes and shook her head slightly. "No."

"C'mon, everybody's got a name," he coaxed, "it's all right, you can tell me, sweetheart, nobody's going to hurt you."

"Dev," she said after a moment, so softly beneath the mask that he almost missed it. "Devlin." Her eyes closed.

"Devlin," Jake repeated, "I'm Jake and I won't let anything happen to you."

Suddenly the hand in his went rigid and the rapid respirations turned to gasps.

"Heart rate increasing!" called Leanne. "One sixty a minute!"

"Lou," Jake spoke with deliberate calm, "give me an ET tube now and get the ambu-bag."

Jake and Lou worked fast and had the girl intubated before Kyle could even put the vehicle in gear. Mike slammed the ambulance doors shut.

"I'm right behind you," he called.

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Tuesday....

Frigging Blogger is still not working properly for me...sigh...off to have several glasses of wine and a tantrum…

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Monday

Bloody hell...blogger is acting most odd...just going to see if this works...

On my morning ramblette - at 4:30am - don't ask - some bizarre thing to do with exercise - I passed by this sad arsed looking trailer that was advertising ‘diving adventures’. There was this turtle painted on the side and it was the most pissed off looking animal I had ever seen in my life. And, I thought to myself, I suppose you would looked pissed if a bunch of people dressed in rubber and wearing masks invaded your environment – your home. Think about it - it would be bizarre - unless you were into fetish stuff and then you may get excited of course….

Anyway, I side with the cranky looking turtle. I hate people unexpectantly lobbing in on me. That's what divers would be like for the turtle. Though, most people I know realize I need at least a week - preferably two weeks notice if they are coming to stay or at least a phone call before hand if you are visiting as I may be in writer mood and unable to speak in anything but grunts and glares. I like my space. So the sea creatures of the ocean are safe from me. I understand where they are coming from. Besides, there is not enough alcohol on the planet that would make me put my body into a swimsuit let alone a rubber diving suit. While I am a great believer in appearances are irrelevant - I just don’t want to see that much of my flesh on display.

And hell no, I don’t think the human body is beautiful. It's weird looking. Whoever designed it had to be on drugs. Not just outwardly is it weird but inside as well. Clearly when the thought of “let’s make a human” came up no one thought of the KISS principle - keep it simple stupid. All the bits and pieces we have seem to be like an overkill to me. For instance - I had my gall bladder out - you don’t need it - or your appendix or even your spleen - so why do we have them? See what I mean about the drugs?

Fixed front door lock. Yay! Garage door lock now stuffed…always something isn’t there?

'Got an email from best friend Ethel asking do I have slutty boots? Hmmm. Why do you ask I responded? Are you thinking of picking up extra cash as a working girl? If so I advise against it as those ladies work damn hard for their money. After a lengthy delay - she had been forced to work at her job - she explained she needed them for a 70's party. I asked why would she naturally assume I would have slutty boots? She said because I had all sorts of strange things. I was going to debate that but decided I could not justify my response as I can be weird at times.…and yes maybe I do have some boots she can use...

Okay - so probably way more than you needed to know today but there it is - the ramblings of a Monday.


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Oh hard...

Okay, so I got home and I unlocked the front screen security door but it wouldn’t open. That's ok - I expected that as due to the drought it had been sticking a lot with the timber frame expanding and contracting or doing whatever else it does. So I pulled and pulled and pulled again. Nothing. I pulled again. It refused to open. I may have kicked it somewhat with my Doc Marten’s and possibly I swore as I tried to wrestle it open. I know – how very unladylike of me – and all this only succeeded in the handle snapping half off in my hand and me nearly falling backwards down the steps. Well crap. So I was left with part of the broken handle to turn. Not easy as the edge that was left was really sharp and too small to turn. Two bleeding fingers later I said to myself – “Amarinda, go and get a bloody pair of pliers before you bleed all over the newly painted stairs.” Excellent idea Amarinda. I have always liked you. Anyway, I wandered back downstairs to the garage and found the pliers. I have many wondrous things in the garage-come-storage-basement-thingy-room. And yes – I am possum free at the moment. Don’t know what that’s about? Don’t ask – ‘still considering counseling after Mervina – the attack possum and Wayne – the dumb arsed possum. Anyway I got the pliers, a clean rag and a screwdriver and beat the crap out of the door until it opened. Ha! Toy with me door? I think not.

Allrighty then – I was now inside the house but the door was screen door was stuffed – technical term for non operational/broken thing that may or may not have been caused by a woman, heavy pliers and an influx of justifiable hormones. I unscrewed the rest of the handle as I plan to annoy hardware sales people tomorrow for a replacement handle thingy and they always ask – “what does it look like?’ Exhibit A – and I’ll show them the mangled handle…maybe someone else may not have mangled it as much as they pulled it off but then I’m not someone else. I’m me – Amarinda the mangler.

Now the only problem I have is I can get in from the outside using a screw driver as a handle but I cannot get outside as the door refuses to move even with the magical screwdriver…oh hard…off to eat Tim Tams and contemplate how many kicks to open the door from the inside and will I split the door frame in the effort?

Contest – an industrious a new publisher asked me plonk this on the blog. I am a great believer in asking and ye shall receive (as long as it suits me) so in the spirit of that – see below…contest ends 28 November – sounds like fun.

Ravenous Romance™ TwittErotica ContestAre u the Twitter Master? Can u get ur message out in 140 characters or less? If so, then prove it. We challenge u to put ur fingers to ur twit & send us ur hot, erotic short, but remember, short is the key... it has 2 fit in2 140 chrctrs...or less! Check back on Dec 1 to read all entries + the winning Tweet! Winner receives a $15 gift certificate to Ravenous Romance = 3 novels or 15 shorts!Submissions: Twitterotica@RavenousRomance.com

Ready, set...tweet

Apologies to anyone wondering why I am not commenting on their blogs…the simple answer is Blogger won’t let me…probably karmic payback from no comments on this blog…or not…go figure karma….

Yay me! Finally got my Myspace page/ blog as I want them…I know – means stuff all to you but it has taken forever for me to find time to do it and I know you all understand the time thing – see - http://www.myspace.com/amarinda_jones

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Topaz me...

I don’t understand….I just heard on the radio that California has re-voted to outlaw gay marriages. Now, I don’t care it you are black, white or purple, who you worship or who you love….why should anyone else tell someone they can or cannot get married? What that hell is that about? Who decreed you could only commit to someone if you were straight? No, I’m not gay. I’m a committed single – we’re whole other group of troublesome ‘non conformists’ who actually don’t want to get married…we’re the worst as we are really letting the side down. So if you can tell me why this ‘law’ makes sense – then please do.

Okay - I am off out west this weekend. So, never one to leave you blogless, author and good mate Regina Carlysle has a new release just out from Ellora’s Cave. Now I know you are going to want to buy this one.Why? Other than I am amazingly correct? It’s hot and it’s all about two men pleasuring one women…need I say more? Click here on the cover to buy.

Spanish Topaz

Regina Carlysle


The blurb

When rancher, Cash Carter gets sexy Latina, Graciela Fuentes back in his bed, he vows to keep her there. Whether it’s through the lure of hotter than hell sex or the intrigue to be found in an ancient topaz-studded dagger, he won’t let her go again. His body burns for hers but once she touches the handle of the dagger and Miguel de Castillo, a man from another time, manifests before them, Cash realizes Gracie’s soul may belong to another.
Miguel longs for a reunion with his long-dead bride and when he finds her soul residing in the body of the very modern Gracie, he’ll do anything to get her back. It becomes a race against time as Gracie gives her body to both men in order to reunite the lost lovers, hoping against hope she doesn’t lose her life or her love in the process.

The excerpt….warning hot.

Cash Carter leaned against the frame of the open barn door and watched Graciela Fuentes barrel down the dirt road leading to the Classic Cash Ranch. She had a new car. A sassy little roadster that reminded him of her, sleek but rounded in all the right places. A rooster tail of dust shot out from behind the vehicle as it rocketed down the road. On either side of the snappy little car, his land stretched out like a rugged Texas jewel in the waning autumn sunlight.
She was home.
Thank god. That was all that mattered.
The weeks since he’d last seen her fell away and his cock hardened behind the well-worn fly of his jeans. Her memory rose up, hot and fluid, in his mind and as his mouth went dry, he swore he could still feel the taste of her nipple on his tongue. It was a rich memory that he’d never been able to shake, even after she left for college and then landed a job as a museum curator in Houston. They’d been lovers for those years, but time and distance was his enemy. He was damn sick of only having scarce visits to her apartment in Houston and her trips to central Texas were so seldom, he was left aching.
When he’d found the dagger two days ago, she was the only person he’d called. It was a deal that worked for him. He’d have answers and her all at the same time. Have her he would, too. The connection between them had always been electrifying and the month that had passed since he’d last had her hadn’t changed a damn thing about that.
Cash shifted his stance and walked further into the yard to meet her. His heart thumped hard in his chest as he waited and remembered. Lust crawled through his belly and the urge to fuck her sweet pussy seeped through his mind like an oft remembered dream. If circumstances hadn’t intervened a couple of days ago, he’d pretty much decided to head down to Houston and haul her sexy, Latina ass back where she belonged. For good.
Maybe it was the time of year that made him hard for her. Made him ache for her. The leaves on the trees had turned a smoldering gold that exactly matched her eyes. The simmering reds mingled among the golden leaves reminded him of her lush lips and the way they’d always taken his with a hunger unequaled in his experience.
Bottom line was the woman was so fucking hot she burned him to ash with every touch. She was a craving in his system and he was a happy addict.
When the source of his raging addiction, stopped her car not twenty yards from where he stood, he stiffened, unsure of her greeting, as she stepped from the little car and gave him a look, cocked a winged black brow and sent him a sexy smile. Odd that he noticed that seductive smirk since he could barely drag his gaze from the long length of leg she bared beneath the miniscule black skirt. A strip of her belly flashed from below her shorter-than-hell red tee. The woman was sex on a stick and his cock pulsed in reaction, grew in dimension and he had the crazy desire to lick her from the tips of her cute little toes to her mouth, stopping to savor every point in between.
“Hey, sweet thing,” he drawled.
Her smile widened as she sent her gaze zipping down then up the length of his body. Impossibly his erection pulsed stronger as the need to fuck her silly grew by immense proportions.
“Hola, querido. Miss me?”
“Every damn day.” Cash held out his arms and watched her go still. A flicker of intensity made her golden eyes go dark. He smiled, knowing he had her right where he wanted her. She’d missed him, too. “Come ‘ere, darlin’. If I don’t touch you right now, I swear I’m gonna die.”
And just like, that the darkness left her eyes and her smile widened as she laughed and raced headlong into his arms.

'Back Sunday – be good, be safe or be fast and have an alibi…or email me and I’ll make up one for you.

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