Tuesday, 30 April 2013
Monday, 29 April 2013
So, there is always drama in romance writing land. Porn versus romance. This writer hates that writer. Help me, but I won’t help you. Crap editors. Horrible covers from cover artists who think all women are stick thin. And then there are the Publishers. This comment, about the crapacious and unprofessional Noble Romance Publishing, was on the Karen Knows Best blog and it pretty much sums up the ebook industry and the half arsed publishers in it.
"I'm throwing up my hands with most publishers at this point."
Yes. Exactly. Probably why self pubbing is so popular. You don’t have to deal with dishonest publishers. There are a lot of them around and it’s not until you actually get screwed over by one that you learn the lesson. But can you go it alone? Of course. Will you? Doubt it. There’s a lot of scared writers out there worried about bucking the system. Buck it I say. The system only changes if you challenge it.
Sunday, 28 April 2013
Number 3 in The Outcasts series
Denby Dumaresq trusts no one. Men. They always have an agenda and she’s tired of being screwed over by them. She lives her life the way she wants and she’s not about to change that. Love? Nope. Denby knows it doesn’t exist. It’s just a means to control women.
Sirius Tate knows exactly what Denby is like. He made a huge mistake when it came to her. He lost the woman he loved. Sirius wants to change that and be back in her life. But he knows, Denby, being the independent woman she is, isn’t about to make it easy for him.
Eventually they found a small motel right under the airport flight path. Denby was too tried to care about that. “I could sleep on a barbed wire fence,” she muttered as she flopped onto the double bed in the room they had taken for the night.
“I wish you’d told me. It would’ve been cheaper to sleep on barbed wire,” Sirius quipped as he dropped the car keys down on a bench.
Money. He had it. She didn’t. Denby felt guilty. She had been the one who wanted to go. “I should pay.” Problem was, she wasn’t sure how.
“It’s okay, Denby,” he assured her as he sat down on the bed beside her.
“I pay my way.”
“As I do I. Added to that, I chose to come.” He lay back on the bedspread. “Arrrggghh, that feels good.”
She sat up. Him lying beside her was making Denby feel stuff she didn’t want to feel. Memories of a hard, warm body tight against hers made tense up. Sex right now would be totally inconvenient. Great, but awkward, with her irrational need to still feel pissed off at him. It was hard to keep that up when he was being so nice. “Well, I’ll buy dinner.” She reached for her duffle bag and scrabbled through her meager belongings to find her purse. “Or not.” She was broke but for three dollars, ten cents, a busted packet of mints and some ants who had managed to find their way in for the mints.
“Denby,” Sirius murmured to her.
“What?” She turned to see his eyes closed. He had to be knackered after driving for so long.
“While I’ve always loved your independence it’s okay for either a man or a woman to depend on the other. It doesn’t mean one is less than the other.”
Of course he was right. “I’m just used to looking after myself.” She dropped the bag on the floor. Flee while you have the chance, ants. Everything deserved to be free.
“I know and I don’t expect anything from you.”
“Oh.” She felt weirdly disappointed that he wasn’t so overcome by lust he wouldn’t want to jump her bones then and there. Not that he has to. It’s not like I want sex or anything.
Sirius opened his eyes and smiled. “No, your virtue is safe.”
“Right.” Disappointment slammed into her. Okay, maybe I do want sex. Spending so much time with him in the car had made her start to remember stuff she thought she had squashed down.
“Disappointed?” He tilted his head and looked at her with interest.
“No. Yeah. I don’t know.” He was a bastard. She hated him. He did wrong by her. Yet I want him. How confusing is that?
“It’s just being with you again—”
“Sorta. Anyway forget it.” There was no way she was going to ask for sex.
“Nope, I can’t now.” Sirius kept his gaze locked on her eyes. “Sex is handy to have with someone you already know as there are no ties or expectations.”
“I suppose.” Handy? Jeez, hardly romantic.
“And you could still consider me a bastard afterwards.” He grinned at her.
Lordy, he’s lovely when he smiles. “I was angry when I said that.”
Denby blew out a breath and contemplated her options. It was just sex. They had done it before. It’d be no big deal if they did it again. Right? “So, I suppose we could—”
“Yeah, we could.”
“You don’t sound that excited.” Maybe this is a bad idea. Maybe I’ll just use my fingers and memory later in the shower.
“Are you kidding me?” Sirius picked up her hand and placed it on his crotch. “I’ve had a hard on since the millisecond I saw you.”
“Wow!” He was hard. And all for me. It’d be a shame to waste it. Denby licked her lips. She couldn’t believe how horny she was. But this was Sirius and he was hard. It was a no brains required situation. “No strings attached right?” Her fingers hovered above the metal tag of his zipper.
“And later we’ll act like nothing happened.”
“If you say so, darling.”
Friday, 26 April 2013
I had fifty million brilliant ideas today. Some days you’re just popping aren’t you? Needless to say all these brilliant ideas conflicted with work because as I had them I emailed people who knew people who did this and that and if I mentioned this name or that I’d get a good price. Networking baby, it’s all the rage and the key to it? Talk to people. Listen to them. It doesn’t take much and it opens many doors and it costs nothing but being able to strike up a conversation. Just think, all those years ago, when I got thrown out of Music class for talking, and yeah, there was that time in Home Economics, I was actually practising future networking.
Wednesday, 24 April 2013
So, at lunch, I was talking to a male friend about men wearing skirts. He said it was a good idea because in the extreme heat, wearing trousers, can be hot, confining and lead to ball shrinkage. Okay, he didn’t say ball shrinkage but something along the lines of joggly bits and pieces getting all hot and bothered but not in a good way. That got us talking about kilts. He thought this was a good solution. Yes, but when kilts were actually in their hey-day, when people like my Scottish ancestors were running amok around the Highlands (Wick, Caithness) they didn’t wear undies. He didn’t see this is a concern as men, as you know, are happy to go naked and let things hang out. I then said ‘yeah but what about going into battle, running over hills and rocks, and fighting knowing your joggly bits are indeed joggling all over the place and not contained by undies?' Yes, this would present a problem. Solution? Possibly wear a kilt but don’t run or jump in it. If you get into a fight while wearing one? Maybe have a five minute cease fire to put undies on then fight.
Tuesday, 23 April 2013
I was talking to a very wise author who’s been in this writing business for about the same time as me – about 7 years. She said something to me the other day that has stuck in my mind. It was along the lines of ebook readers don’t want to read romance as much anymore. It’s all about ‘the act’(sex). Yeah. I can see that. The more pornographic, the more interest. Is that a bad thing? I don’t know. Probably depends on do you want everything you can get or do you just want a moment?
Monday, 22 April 2013
So, I’ve been doing a fair bit of running of late in the name of fitness and reasonable insanity. I don't care for running but it’s actually quite a good time to think about stuff. I don’t need iPods or whatever people have shoved in their ears. I actually like to be aware of my surroundings and who’s doing what in the half dark around me so I can act accordingly- and I like to think. A lot. I think about where I am in my life, what I want, what I don’t want, what I can never have and need to build a bridge to get over and how do I shove the ‘what I wants’ into my life as a reality. I plan. I scheme. I pound away down the Cairns Esplanade on my 5km run – which is the same as my jog and my sprint -thinking, thinking, thinking. Money? I want. Fame? Nope. Love? Can’t have. Smaller arse? Doable. Where to go on my next trip? Anywhere. Where will the chooks have laid the eggs today? Who knows. Run 10kms? Oh get real, lovey. Coffee after this? Oh fuck yes.
I don’t believe we think enough. We’ve been dumbed down by the media and apps that everyone must have to be like everyone else. I’m not everyone. I’m unique. I run. I think. I am. I will be.
Sunday, 21 April 2013
Ex-cop and now accomplished thief, Tasha Knowles has a lot of secrets. In the world they live in, it’s smart to hide the truth. When she meets Wylie Smith she knows one thing for certain. He’s trouble. She doesn’t need it or him.
Wylie doesn’t want to get involved with Tasha. She’s exactly like him. Strong, equal forces together can be devastating. But there’s something about that woman that keeps him wanting more.
Tasha pushed open the door of the house. She was tired right down to her bones. All she wanted to do was sleep. While a brothel was not the most conducive place to do that, Hilda, the current fly-by-night owner, owed her a favor, and a back room in a quiet corner re-paid that for a couple of weeks. Afterwards, Tasha would find somewhere else. She had grown up in
, the area now
being called the OC. She knew people. There was always some place she could
rest for a bit. Fortitude
She stripped off her clothes, tossing them on the faded burgundy carpet as she went. The only thing she took with her was her gun. It was the most reliable friend she had. The shower in the small bathroom was worse than useless with its vague trickle of water but it was better than nothing. She placed the gun on the old enameled sink and turned on the shower taps before stepping under the lukewarm water. She wanted to try and wash away the streets and the man from her.
Tasha placed her hands on the old, crazed cream tiles and pushed her back and ass back against the reluctant stream from the shower head. The man? That had been different. The kiss? Real different. The hands on her breasts? It had scared the crap out of her. The last man who put his hands on her and discovered she had only one breast had called her a freak but said he would ‘still fuck her because she had a hole to fill.’ She had pulled her gun on him and told him to go ‘fuck himself.’ Even though she would swear blind it hadn’t, it wounded Tasha deeply. While she knew bodies were just parts and she expected no one to have perfect ones, Tasha didn’t want to feel that sort of rejection again.
Tasha lifted her head when she heard the door to her room open. She had very good hearing. It was one of the things she knew could save her life. Tasha turned around and stepped out of the shower. She left the water running so whoever was out in her room would think she was oblivious to their being there. She reached for a small, threadbare towel that covered the basics and wrapped it around her body. Her gun was the next thing she grabbed. She hadn’t shot a man since she was in service but she would if she had to. Tasha stepped through the door, gun drawn and looked at the man standing beside the bed. “Oh for fuck sake. What is it with you?”
“Are you following me?” He asked with a crooked grin.
“Yeah right like I have nothing else to do with my time. And, might I add the bleeding obvious, that you’re in my home.” Such as it was.
He looked around him and then back at her, denim blue eyes alive with interest, “Okay then. I’ll admit it. I’m following you.”
She looked from his still bloody face to his torn shirt. “Why?”
“’Been thinking about you.”
Tasha narrowed her eyes. “Why?”
“You interest me,” he responded sitting down on the bed.
“Why?” she repeated, knowing there was so much more to what was going on.
He raised his eyebrow. “Are you always so suspicious?”
“As suspicious as you are.” That’s what kept them both alive.
The man grinned at that. “Touché. But the thing is I fancy you.”
Tasha snorted and looked at him like he was mad. “You don’t know me.” And one moment of chocolate sweet kisses did not make an acquaintanceship. “How did you get in here?”
“The madam on the door can be bought for very little money.”
Yeah, that sounded like Hilda. Time to find a new place to live. Tasha blew out a sigh. “Okay, I’m going to give this to you straight. I don’t pick up strangers to have sex with.”
“When we kissed did it feel like we were strangers?”
No. It hadn’t. It felt right, which in itself had been scary. “I don’t do sex.” Craving it was one thing. Rejection was another. She wasn’t into pain.
“Is it because you lost a breast?”
Tasha staggered under the simplicity of his words and the look of caring in his eyes. No man had ever come right out and acknowledged it. “Er—”
“When did it happen?”
“Does it matter?” It wouldn’t change anything. She wasn’t whole and she didn’t want to be embarrassed by any man’s disgust.
“Yeah. Tell me.”
She looked at him in wonder. “Who are you?”
“Wylie Smith. And you are?”
He was calm, battered and acting like they were at the tea party. It was surreal and strangely disarming. Normally she would have been ready to do battle with anyone who invaded her home. But this man? He was different. Why? I dunno. “Tasha Knowles.”
“Drop the towel, Tasha Knowles.”
I came across this book again – A Border Shepherdess by Amelia E Barr, published 1887. It’s been in my collection of books to read for yonks. While Amelia Barr would have been a trendsetter all those years ago, writing in a time when the market and the world was still well and truly dominated by men, its Amy Maud Robjohns, 1888, who has always interested me. Why? I think when I first saw the carefully inked in name, I wondered what it was like to be a woman in Australia in 1888 when it was still the wild old colonial days and women had limited direction in which they could apply themselves.
There’s a scrap of paper – a bookmark – in the book that I’ve always been interested in. Why did Amy Maud cut this particular piece “Methodist Social Afternoon" out of the newspaper? What did it mean to her? She’s not listed in the careful, formal name keeping of the times – separated strictly by gender and status almost as if touching male and female names was forbidden until married Can you imagine living in that time with the rules of society on how to dress, speak and what was expected of you as a woman?
But back to Amy Maud. Who was she? What did she want out of life? Why did she cut out that piece from the paper? Who was there that interested her? Did she marry? Did she go against the times and choose not to? What would it have taken to defy society and not marry? Did Amy Maud have a good life?
Books – they’re not just about shagging the stuffing out of each other.
A Border Shepherdess by Amelia E Barr, published 1887. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Amelia_Edith_Huddleston_Barr .
Friday, 19 April 2013
…divides, conquers, abuses, confuses, in, out, up, down, why, why not, it’s not you it’s me, no-actually it’s you, need, greed, sad, mad, glad, bad, good, average, meh, big, bigger, best, never let it rest, fat, thin, tall, short, long, hairy, soft, hard, it’s over, it’s not, get under, above, I love you, I hate you, I’m married, I’m an addict, I’m a bitch, I’m a lover, crazy, want, sad, cry, shake, shiver, moan, why doesn’t he phone, come, don’t come, hum, don’t hum, bring it, take it, abstinence, gluttony, time, money, toy, girl, boy, confusion, elation, exhaustion, shagged, what-the.
Just eat it.
Pretty simple really…
Wednesday, 17 April 2013
So, I get this patronizing email from this IT twerp in the Sydney office asking me had I checked the wiring on the fax machine or did I still have an issues getting down onto the floor to do it and did I need a man to do it? I emailed back –
1. Not my job to check wiring
2. I’m not and never will be ever paid enough to crawl around at work.
3. The ‘man’ who should have done this job over a month ago still hasn’t so that indicates to me that probably getting ‘a man to do it’ would be a good idea and as soon as you could find an real one and not a simulation, then ask him to drop by.
The response back - ‘Ok’ and a smiley face. Wanker. Who breeds these men?
Sunday, 14 April 2013
Lois Cantwell is an outcast. She is a single woman trying to survive in a deadly world where the rights of women have eroded under the dictates of the Jacobson Committee. She helps those who cannot help themselves.
Tuck Morris is in love with Lois. So much so that he takes on an undercover assignment from the Committee in order to save her life and help them escape the world they live in.
The problem is, Lois isn’t going to be happy when she finds out she’s being manipulated by the one man she thought was different.
All women past the age of twenty-one must be married to a male or in a monogamous, sexual relationship with another female constituting a partnership that has been sanctioned by the Jacobson Committee.
All women must have at least one child unless they can prove they are medically unfit to conceive and have received pardon from this law. If a woman is found to be pregnant and unmarried and refusing to marry, she will be incarcerated during the term of her pregnancy and the child will be taken from her.
Any woman found to be unmarried without reasonable cause – i.e. – physical impairment or gross deformity that cannot be surgically corrected or expected to be endured by a man – will not be allowed government benefits and will not be allowed access to banking facilities and hospitals.
Proof of marriage is to be carried at all times by all women. Those women without proof or found to be unmarried will be considered to be loitering with the intent to cause dissension among the female population and will be arrested
This is one of two of my all time favourite scenes from a movie. The other one is where Rhett Butler leaves Scarlett O’Hara, after they escape
Atlanta, to join the Confederates, in Gone
With The Wind. I love that because although Scarlett is undoubtedly worried and
scared she sucks it up and gives him that look of ‘Stuff you, I’ll survive this without you.’ To my mind, few writers, can write that any
But back to ‘I know.’ That is so male. Why? Because here is this powerful woman in Princess Leia who really needs no one and she suddenly puts it out there she loves Han Solo and his response, just as he could be going to his doom, is ‘I know.’ Not I love you or You’ll be in by heart forever or even I’d give my test testicle for one last kiss from you. He says I know and frustrates women all over the world. Rarely ever have I read a scene like this in book. I think it’s because romance writers want to wrap everything up into a happy bundle in a world where happy bundles are rare. It’s a shame really because real life, with all the I know moments, is much more exciting.
But, we know...
Posted by Amarinda Jones at 6:20 am
Saturday, 13 April 2013
I heard this again tonight and it reminded me of my mother. She said this song always reminded her of me with the phrase "some people say I've done all right for a girl."
Yeah – I have
Friday, 12 April 2013
So, I was discussing with a friend if your ultimate dream person – male or female – suddenly crooked their finger and said ‘I want you now, for just one wild night of mad, passionate, unforgettable, orgasmic sex' and it was like a dream you always wanted to come true – would you go be with that person even if you were married/had a partner/boyfriend/girlfriend/whatever? Would you? Would one night be enough? Would you be good and say no? Hmmm…
So, last night, when I got home from work, I went outside, into the back yard, to fix up the garden hose with a connecting plastic female bit that I had bought earlier in the day. I figured it would interlock tightly and solve the current spurting uncontrollably problem. It didn’t. The problem was the male. It wouldn’t slot in because…well, I don’t know, it was 6pm at night and I had a sore neck and I was tired and the bloody thing just wouldn’t slide in which it’s supposed to. So I stuffed around with it for 20 minutes, swearing, turning the hose on and off and trying not to trip over the three chooks at my ankles who were watching me. The chooks are fearless. They no longer run away scared, as I, a human being with supposed, superior intelligence, that they should be in awe of, crosses their path with my magnificence. I’m just the chick who feeds and chats to them. We are past awe. But, back to the hose – so I went around to the front of the house as I figured the back garden hose was being recalcitrant and I would nick male and female bits off the front. Fifteen minutes later, the chooks had given up watching me and gone to bed, and I was still trying to slot A into B and starting to think I had gay garden hose bits. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Another ten minutes elapsed and I threw both hoses and assorted bits across the yard and gave up because it was all too hard trying to work out hose intercourse.
In summation, while male bits are handy, they can get you into a lot of trouble.
Wednesday, 10 April 2013
So, I was chatting to a male friend today and I mentioned this TV advert on at the moment , from McDonalds, showing one man handing another man a burger as a thank you for ‘introducing him to Pilates’. Basically it was two men watching an exercise class of women bending over. Yes, sexist twaddle but at least the women all had their collective arses well covered due to it being a prime time TV advert. I said to my friend something along the lines of ‘how does well covered butts bending over make one man thank another man for pointing out said butts?’ There was nothing sexual there and it was kinda dweeby thinking men were so desperate to look at arses be it on TV or otherwise and think sex. His response was along the lines of pointing out that women – I – would look at a man’s arse. Yes, I would but my thoughts aren’t sexual. What’s that you say? Lack of libido? No – hell no. I tend to look at the way a man carries himself and the confidence in his stride and stance before thinking of sex. And, I don’t believe normal women think about sex when they look at a male butt. But then we’re thoughtful creatures who expect and deserve a lot. Nice arse? Sure – but what else do you have for us?
Tuesday, 9 April 2013
...because you'll go to hell...apparently or not...
Male Me by Amarinda Jones has just hit the Allromance.com Bestseller List!
Funny how I still self publish after all the dire warnings of failure.
Monday, 8 April 2013
So, I got this this work email today of scenarios of what the office would do in the case of five different scenarios. It was a long document with intense instructions that looked like they would take a lot of time to read through. Oh hard. I’m not good with instructions so I skimmed them. Essentially, three pages of corporate bumpf came down to these questions:
1. Police halt access to the office and advise no entry for 48 hours. What do you do?
Cheer, followed by going home.
2. What action would you take if the computer network was down and unlikely to come back up for 24 hours?
Cheer, followed by going home.
3. No electricity? Your course of action is?
Cheer, followed by going home.
4. Car crashes into the building making work impossible due to damage. Your immediate response? Cheer, followed by going home.
5. There is a siege outside the front door of the office. Cheer - use the back door - followed by going home.
I mean, come on. Seriously? Who makes up these dumb arsed questions and what response do they expect from plebs? Well, gee, I would stick around for 24-48 hours, outside the office, dodging possible bullets waiting for the glorious moment I would be allowed back into the office, no matter if it was midnight or raining, to do my work because I’m just that damn dedicated.
Corporate people – justifying their existence through crap, useless documents.
Friday, 5 April 2013
Dear Ms Jones
We refer to your constant complaint of 28 March 2013 regarding the fact we are trying to gouge you in order to have money to pay our wages and the no-hoper losers who keep us in a job but who would not work if their arses were on fire.
In accordance with the Taxpayers' Charter, aka The Screw-U-Over-Giggle-fest Charter a reply is to issue normally within 21 days of receipt of your complaint, unless we determine that:
- You’re a pain in the arse and you really annoy us that you feel you have a right to question us.
- We are unable to reply because you upset us with your constant questioning of us screwing you over and we have to claim compo due to stress or carpal tunnel. Tick box A or B.
- or, all of the above
Should this be the case, we will contact you again within 14 days to 2052 days receipt of your complaint and advise you of our inactivity because you pay us until death or our redundancy.
Your complaint is being coordinated by whoever is not on a rostered day off in our extra special whiz-bang, touchy-feely-could not give a crap activated compliance area who will arrange for resolution of your complaint or are hoping you will die before we contact you.
The Service Request number for the complaint is LMNOP-X19 swizzle stick_knurkle_flerp.
Please have this reference available should you decide you will pursue this even though normal people wouldn’t.
Louise Seriously-Bugger Offsky
Australian Tax Office.
Male Me - out now - 0.99 cents.
Thursday, 4 April 2013
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This is a post from 2009…everything - no matter what it is - comes down to sex and getting it up or down or in or out or sideways…
Wednesday, 3 April 2013
The most dull, colourless and boring man on the planet, bar none, I kid you not - he makes white chalk look exciting - turns up to the office in Cairns every couple of weeks to do – well, I’m not sure what he does. No one does. He flies up from Sydney and then sits at a spare desk and then does nothing for a day before flying back the next day. It’s a hell of lurk. When he does speak, the only words that come out are ‘yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah’ said very fast and seemingly for no reason at all. I like to respond to the rare, random things he says to me with ‘yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah’ back. I figure that’s his dialect. That, or he’s just pig ignorant. He just looks at me, blinks and then looks away. I have developed this theory that he doesn’t belong to this company at all and he just wanders his dull, boring self in to random workplaces and dulls them by his presence before leaving, with people watching him go saying, “Who was that dull man?” Answer? “Who cares as long as he’s gone.” Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.
I have this writing mojo thing happening at the moment. Up until now, I have been writing mojo-less due to other life stuff that was more important. Anyway, I was pretty pleased yesterday when I wrote a solid 3000 words at the evil day job. Yes, some could argue that I’m wasting time. But, in my defense while I have the internet, the corporate joy killers have destroyed all access to Facebook, Hotmail, yahoo mail etc. So, technically, by me looking busy and productive, I’m actually doing them a favour.
I reckon I have 1000 more words to write to finish today at work. Oh, and I have to get a Gaelic translation. Busy, busy…
Monday, 1 April 2013
So, I was looking for an image to put on a book cover. Yes, I’m still self-publishing. Yes, it is worthwhile to do otherwise I wouldn’t be doing it. Anyway, I was looking on Fotalia, which had a spak out the other day which had me having a spak out at it but that’s another story, when I came across these images after I put in the search terms of female and assassin.
Of course I got all these images of big boobed assassin-like women pouting and stroking guns. Freudian much? But I also got what I call the too stupid to live group. Seriously? Who would use these? Holding a gun to their heads? The blonde 1970’s throwback chick with the bucket on her head looking like she’s constipated? Or the one doing the splits and holding onto a gun? How do you run away fast from the splits? Credibility factor? None.