Unwrapping: My Not So Little Rant

     Originally, I had planned to continue our tribute to all things Paranormal Romance as we barrel towards Halloween but I hope you'll forgive a brief detour.  I will post the next adventure into Paranormal Romance featuring Vampires on Monday, October 24 just in time for the release the next day of THE BITE BEFORE CHRISTMAS,  an anthology by Lynsay Sands and Jeaniene Frost (looking forward to an early Christmas treat).

    
              Now, For My Not So Little Rant:
   

         While reading a posting on Goodreads.com featuring a

Q & A with Paranormal Romance writer, Pamela Palmer - author of the Feral Warriors Series (her newest, ECSTASY UNTAMED, to be released October 25 as well) and the Esri Series and soon-to-come Vamp City Series - I was disturbed by something one of the posters wrote. It bothered me all day yesterday until I could no longer let it pass and so is the reason I am addressing it instead of going forth with a delightful trip into the Vampire world of Paranormal Romance.

     This poster named Helen wrote: 
     "When I started reading this genre of paranormal romance I loved it, because not only was the character development there but the plots were interesting. Of course the romance and the sexually scene were also something I like. I liked more because it was two people who loved each other... However when I tell people about my favorite genre they are really close minded."

     She asked Ms. Palmer:  "... when you started writing your genre did you have problems with people around you who were negative such as friends or critiques?"

      I was perplexed by Ms. Palmer's answer to this question, not because of how she answered it for I totally agree but because I cannot believe that in this day and age that intelligent readers might perhaps still think this way - here is what Ms. Palmer so diplomatically answered: 

     "Not everyone approves of the explicit sex in romances, but I think most naysayers simply have no idea what a romance really is. I've had readers (non-romance readers) tell me that I don't write romance. That there's STORY in my books. Well, duh. : ) They'd thought romances were just one sex scene after another. No clue."

    Is this seriously how non-Romance readers see Romance Novels of any genre??
   
    Does the old idea of Romance Novels being mere 'bodice rippers' still prevail in the 21st Century or are we just being overly sensitive to non-Romance Novel readers' criticisms??

    When Helen, the poster, remarked that her friends were close-minded, it made me think about all the readers - intelligent readers - out there walking this planet, missing out on real talents, enjoyable stories that carry the imagination far away from the every day mishaps of the world that surrounds us in reality.  Thinking that reminded me of the reason that most of us read in the first place - to escape the every day and allow ourselves to relax and enjoy a trip to where ever, with whomever, at no more cost than a book; or even for nothing if you're borrowing from a library - and don't kid yourself non-Romance Novel readers, they are in libraries - so you could even read one without worrying that someone might see you buying one in a bookstore.

     Ms. Palmer is one of my favorite Romance authors and I personally adore her books, especially the Feral Warriors and I am looking forward to her Vamp City Series coming in 2012. She like many other Romance authors is an intelligent, highly educated woman who chose to follow her heart and write instead of working for corporate America. She isn't alone in her highly educated background. I was surprised and impressed when I started researching the backgrounds of Romance authors - Ms. Palmer holds a degree in Industrial Engineering, Stephanie Laurens holds a Ph.D in Biochemistry, Sarah MacLean holds a Masters Degree in Education from Harvard, and Maya Rodale who inspired this blog from the beginning by admitting she was asked if she actually read Romance Novels holds a Masters Degree in English Literature from New York University and runs a business. They all make me pale in comparison for I only hold a Bachelor's Degree in English from Mary Washington College - now the University of Mary Washington.
   
     It saddens me to think that anyone would denegrate any of their work or the work of all of the other talented writers who spend hours, days, weeks and even months tending to their craft so as to produce the stories that allow us to temporarily escape the mundane, economically depressed and violent world in which we live in on a day-to-day basis. 

    To all those who have never read a Romance Novel, who refuse to even give one a try because you believe them to be sex-filled 'bodice rippers' for less than intelligent women who lead boring mundane lives - try one, you might just discover you like them and then tell your stuffy, prejudice, not- as - smart - as - they - think - they - are - friends and maybe, just maybe, the Romance Novel audience will double by Halloween next year.

     I just wonder how many of those non-Romance Novel readers are actually closet Romance Novel readers who are too embarrassed to admit they read them.  I just wonder how many more men read Romance Novels but refuse to acknowledge they read them for fear their macho buddies might think them less than macho for it.  I wonder just how many men sneak their wives' or girlfriends' Romance Novels from the night table and read it in the 'library' (you know to where I am referring) and slip it back before she notices. Perhaps, if they knew that they could learn alot about how women think about romance and sex from these books written primarily by women, men would make a run on the Romance section of their bookstore!

     The very first Romance Novel I ever read was THE FLAME AND THE FLOWER by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss and it was handed to me with a suggestion to read it by my own brother, a college graduate with a Master's Degree. I don't know if he still reads them but if he does, I'm sure he doesn't think them 'drivel' or 'bodice rippers' for less than educated boring housewives.
     My mother is a fan of Romance Novels and always has one around that she is currently reading. She now uses an e-reader. It's usually left on the living room coffee table until her next opportunity to lay back, put her feet up and read for a while. But before the e-reader, her latest reading adventure was usually located next to the bed or in the 'library'.  I remember one day many years ago, my father asking her if she had bought anything new because he had finished the book that was in the 'library' and was looking for something else to read. He would read her Romance Novels after she was finished and sometimes even while she was still reading them occasionally losing her place.  Btw, if you read my post on Oct 12, 2011, you would know that my father is a man's man who parachuted into Normandy on D-Day, fought at the Battle of the Bulge, served in Korea and retired after a long career in the Army as a LtColonel.  Can anyone spell macho?
    
     Ms. Palmer once admitted that even her 'book club buds' don't read Romance Novels and it made me wonder why they don't. Do they read the works of Jane Austen? Guess what folks, she was a Romance writer.  Is it about image or worry as to what others will think of your intelligence? Scholars study Austen's works, the comedies of Shakespeare, and the poetry of the Renaissance Poets yet feel the need to shun and denegrate the works of intelligent, talented Romance writers. I suspect that anyone who looks down their nose at those of us that read and write Romance are the ones whose intelligence is, in fact, lacking.

     Ms. Palmer added her own take on Helen's negative feedback about how her friends reacted when she told them what she reads: 
     "I know a lot of people who've dealt with negativity like that, but so far I've been incredibly lucky. My parents, husband, brother, and sisters-in-law all read my books, as do many of my non-writing friends. My father-in-law no longer has the eyesight to read, but I got an email from a lady a year or so ago who said she'd sat beside him on the airplane and when he saw she was reading a romance, told her all about me and how proud he was of me. She went out and bought one of my books and was a new fan. "

    Ms. Palmer is so very lucky to have the support of her friends and family.  I'm sure they began reading her books because if was important to her but continued to read them because they enjoy them.  Again, it's a try it, you might like it, kind of thing.

     I am curious - why would Harper-Collins Publisher devote an entire division to a genre that wasn't real literature?  Answer anyone?!

     Everyone can't and shouldn't like the same things in life. If we all liked the same things, it would quickly become a very dull world. But it's like anything in life - if you've never tasted something new, how can you say you don't like it?

     If a friend told me they liked science fiction and I'd never read science fiction (I love scifi, btw), would it be fair of me to just dismiss that friend as ridiculous because he/she reads science fiction? No, it wouldn't.  The same applies to Romance Novels - how can you criticize something you've never experienced?

     As a girl growing up in the sixties and seventies, I listened to criticism in regards to television's Soap Operas. I was very pleased and surprised when Universities throughout our good country broadened their horizons and added courses in Soap Opera Studies to their curriculums.  At one time, Soaps were considered fluff on the same level as Romance Novels because they were directed toward 'less educated women and bored housewives' in order to sell more laundry soap. Excuse me! Since those days, Soaps have become a genre of television that has gained respect and have produced talented writers, actors and many other support crew who go on to have successful careers and most attribute their start on the Soaps as giving them the edge to succeed.

     So why not give the same kind of chance to the talents creating Romance Novels. The writers are not 'less educated women or bored housewives' but intelligent, talented, highly skilled writers who write for women, and men, with education, intelligence and a taste for something with imagination. Some Romance authors spend as much time researching their material as writing and to denegrate that time and effort is unfair, prejudicial and without a doubt, un-American.

     I think if everyone who reads this blog today were to send the link to five people that they know turn their noses up at Romance Novels and then those five people were to read this NOT SO LITTLE RANT and some of my archives, then those five people send the link to five people they know and so on ... who knows, we might start a revolution where the Romance Novel finally gets the recognition and respect deserving of the genre and its talented authors. 

     [EXHALE] Well, just a thought anyway. If I could get every man and every woman who in their lifetime has never read a Romance Novel to read through this blog, I believe that I could convert them all; or nearly all because I'm realistic in knowing that even though I read authors of all types of literature, I will openly admit there are some that I do not like. Having studied literature by acclaimed authors from Asimov to William Shakespeare, I can honestly say that I don't like them all ... Asimov and Shakespeare - I like them! Beckett and Hemingway, not so much. But, how else would I know if I like them or not, if I didn't read them? There are a lot of avid readers in this world who if they would just take a taste of Romance by reading this blog, read an excerpt,  or borrow a Romance Novel from a friend, I believe they would find something in the world of Romance Writing that interests them and then they, too, would proudly proclaim themselves readers of Romance!

      [SIGH] I guess that would be asking too much of the world then - wouldn't it?
  
      I hope my Not So Little Rant has started you thinking and perhaps talking to friends and family. I hope it makes you put the question to them as to why they've never tried Romance Novels.  There is a whole world of imaginative, exciting, riveting, and yes, in some cases, sexy novels to be read.  When I say, in some cases, I mean that not all Romance Novels have sex in the story - some merely end with a romantic kiss akin to the camera panning toward the sky leaving what happens next to the reader's imagination. After all, it's all about the Happily Ever After - right? I would think everyone would like to read a Happily Ever After book -men as well as women. But then that's another blog topic yet to come.

      Happy Reading Everyone and join me Monday for Unwrapping: Paranormal Romance featuring VAMPIRES!! 

                                                          

Unwrapping: Wacky Wednesday with Witches

     Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn, and caldron bubble.  - William Shakespeare 

     Let's get started Unwrapping Paranormal Romance with what is associated the most with Halloween - WITCHES!

     One of my favorite authors who writes riveting tales about a world where witches exist and are hunted by a Holy Order for their 'murderous deeds' whether guilty or not is Karina Cooper.  She has written an exciting series called the Dark Mission. If you haven't tried them, please do, they are well- written, read like an adventure while even being a little rough around the edges taking you to a world where things aren't so soft and cozy as you'd like to believe.  The series consists of novels and novellas but all worth reading not to mention the delicious covers. 

     So, for your Wacky Wednesday enjoyment, enjoy an excerpt from BLOOD OF THE WICKED by Karina Cooper:  (I've done a version of censorship bleeping on some words ... this blog isn't quite R rated - LOL!)

     These days, life for a witch was injustice and persecution in a very real sense. It was survival in a society desperate to blame something - hell, anything - for the devastation of fifty years ago. 
     Hadn’t Jessie spent her whole life running? Seen her own mother murdered? Didn’t she learn anything from the streets that had tried so hard to chew her up and spit her out?

     Hadn’t she taught her baby brother the very same thing?
    Which was why, she reflected grimly as she raised her collar against the rain, she knew better than to stay in one place for as long as she’d wallowed in the Perch. Stupid.
    Jessie could have been the next notch on the Mission’s docket tonight. When the hunter had looked her in the eye, she’d have sworn she saw her own death there. It had been damned hard to play at calm, not to panic then and there, take off running right over the bar.
    She took a deep breath, barely noticing the familiar stink of rotting garbage and the faint tang of the cold rain. So she couldn’t work at this particular club anymore. So what? She’d find another. These lower city levels were chock-full of dives like the Perch.
    If Lydia Leigh had taught her children anything, it was how to rebuild.
    She stepped off the broken stoop as lurid purple light flickered through the dismal drizzle. Each do-over just got harder and harder, but hell, she didn’t have much choice. Witch hunters killed witches.
    Exclamation point.
    Her boots splashed in stagnant puddles, stirred up loose grit and gravel. She barely noticed when a wide shadow detached itself from the mouth of the alley, then hesitated when it stepped into her path. She didn’t have time for this.
    Pink neon outlined his heavy build, the blaring smear of tattoo ink and the light-catching saturation of beaten synth-leather spiked with metal. Big. Grabby, probably. He seemed the type.
   She dealt with it before. A casual smile, a flirty wink, a breezy reminder of the bouncers right around the corner, and he’d be back inside eyeballing someone else.
   “Nice.” The burly man spread his arms to block her way. “Way nice. Easiest score I ever made.”
   Vapors washed over her; alcohol and the spicy afterburn of something less legal, even in the Perch.
   Just her luck.
   She shaped her mouth into a sassy smile and made damn sure it reached her eyes. “You’re in the wrong spot, honey. All the best girls are–“
   “Right here,” he drawled, bending until he was all but nose to nose to her. The scent of sweat and beer wafted over her face in a nauseating combination.
   She stepped backward before she could stop herself, giving ground she knew was going to cost her.
   Never show weakness.
   “I’m on a break,” she lied smoothly, praying he was to far gone to notice the heavy backpack slung over shoulders. “You want to see me dance, you’ll want to be inside in five minutes.”
   “Maybe I’ll just see you wiggle right here.” He took another step forward. Jessie’s body tensed, mouth dry.
   Shit. She didn’t have time for this. Any minute that hunter was going to come sniffing. The back of her neck itched with the certainty.
   Neon popped overhead, highlighting the alley around them in vivid purple. It bled through his full brown beard, glittered off his array of facial piercings and toothy smile. It picked out a lot of sweaty, veined muscle.
   And the leering jester inked into one thick arm.
   I see death and a laughing joker.
   Her heartbeat leaped into her throat. “F—,” she whispered, and jumped when he laughed.
   “Not yet, baby,” he said, reaching for her. Her vision tunneled in on the biker’s stained, shit-eating smile, and without warning, Jessie’s patience guttered out.
   She felt herself go. Almost like when she tapped into the power that simmered beneath her conscious mind, but this was sharper. Angrier. Focused.
   He was every man who’d ever leered at her. Every man who’d ever groped her in the dark confines of every bar she’d worked at. The ones who’d laughed at her and her baby brother on these goddamned merciless streets.
   Jessie’s body surged into motion before her brain made the call. She stepped into him, into the wild clasp of his arms, and pure satisfaction rippled through her as his smile cracked into surprise. Her fist collided with his smirk and sent him reeling.
  His flat features contorted into shock. Rage. “Bitch!”
  Adrenaline pushed her forward; she tried to dart past him, choked on her own collar as a meaty hand snagged the back of her jacket and hauled her back into the alley. Slammed her back against the broken, pitted brick, hard enough to force the air from her lungs. Jessie’s vision dimmed as she swung again, connected with something metal on his coat, and yelped as her arm went numb from fingers to elbow.
   If the joker gets his hands on you, Jessie, that’s it. That’s the beginning of it all. Don’t stop for him.
   Her brother’s voice, the memory of it, rang sharply in her head. Too damn late.
   She tried to jerk away, cried out again as his tagged her mouth. Pain exploded inside her skull, lights flashing violet and pink and red as she dropped to her knees.
   Blood pooled on her tongue, coppery and warm. Jessie choked on tears of pain, of humiliation and fury, even as she struggled to get off her hands and knees, and hit him again.
   And again. And –
   “What the f—,” she heard, and a riot of energy roiled around her. For a dazed moment it looked as though her attacker split into two, dancing awkwardly away from her like two halves of a broken mirage. One staggered upright, thick and meaty, the other long and lean as they wrenched apart. With a bellow, the biker swung at the second man who was nothing more than a trim, fast-moving shadow dancing just out of his reach.
   Jessie shook her head hard, forced herself to her feet. She stumbled hastily for the alley mouth. Get out, run like hell. She couldn’t get caught up here, not as long as that hunter was – Oh, God.
   Her knees buckled violently. She whirled to plaster her back against the wall, grabbed rough brick for support as she stared at the fighters. Him. Shocked, she jammed her fingers against her bleeding mouth.
   Neon flickered, seared, and she saw tanned skin, black ink, and rough denim as the witch hunter blocked with his left forearm, snarled something, and curved out a wicked right hook.
   His body moved like an oiled machine, brutally efficient as he followed up with two jabs to the drunk’s nose and an elbow that crunched loudly on impact.
   Blood spurted, near black in the neon light.
   “Run!” The witch hunter threw it over his shoulder, only to twist awkwardly when the biker stomped hard on his knee. Jessie saw his face go shock-white, heard his agonized grunt of pain.
   Fury and fear forced her to move. She caught her backpack in one hand, swung it with all her might. The black canvas bag sailed through the violent neon air, graceful as a brick, and slammed into the side of the biker’s head with a dull crack.
  He toppled, slowly.
  Jessie stared in horror. He didn’t move. God. Had she killed him? She had enough problems without adding murder and cops to the list. She panted for breath, unable to suck in enough air to keep spots from mottling the corners of her vision. Was he dead? She didn’t know if a thirty-pound bag could kill someone of that size, and she desperately didn’t want to check.
  She reeled.
  Strong fingers curled over her upper arms. “Hey!”
  She blinked. Stared into a face carved from something even more unyielding than the brick surrounding . “Can you walk?” he asked. Demanded.
  Jessie’s brain flailed. “Is he–?”
  “Try,” he ordered, and hauled her bodily out of the alley.
  He was limping. It was the only rational thought she managed to form, and wordlessly she ducked under his arm and slipped it over her shoulders. He hesitated, resisting her, but she dug her fingers into his side and held on. She felt the flex and slide of hard muscle as she fisted her hand in his shirt.
   As much as Jessie wanted to slip away from him, use his injury to put as much space between them as she could, she couldn’t just leave him there. He’d helped her. She had to help him.
   And the truth was, she needed something to hang on to, just for a moment.
   She followed his lead as he pointed to a rusty orange pickup truck. He wrenched open the door, half lifted, half shoved her inside the driver’s side, and pushed her farther over as he swung up painfully behind her. He wasted no words, and she had plenty of time to study the implacable set of his features as he gunned the engine and slammed in into drive.
   Talk about a rock and a hard place.
   A witch hunter. And a hero, at least for the five seconds it was taking her brain to process and reboot.
   He’d saved her.
   She’d saved him, too. She wondered if he’d have been so heroic if he knew who and what she was. She’d bet her tip money that he’d have left her there to die if he’d had any real clue she was a witch.


OOPS! Sorry, folks that's all for now ... if you want to find out what happens, you'll have to get your own copy of THE BLOOD OF THE WICKED by Karina Cooper. 

Happy Reading Everyone!


                                                                   

Unwrapping: The Paranormal Romance Genre

     Throughout history, we very mortal Humans have had an irresistible fascination with all things paranormal. Stories and myths surrounding witchcraft take us back to the time of Stonehenge and King Arthur. Ancient myths and tales of deaths caused by Vampires and Werewolves abound throughout Europe and Asia. The New World cultures were no different with tales of blood thirsty civilizations that held human sacrifices to appease the gods.  Unsubstantiated reports of unidentified flying objects still draw our attention to the nightly news.

     With Halloween, or All Hallow's Eve as it's referred to in some circles, just a mere two weeks away, our thoughts and fantasies turn to all things hair-raising and scary in the dark.  Ghosts, goblins, night creatures and shape shifters fill our imaginations.  Dark corners suddenly fill our imaginations with hidden figures sending shivers of fearful delight over our body making the hair on our arms and neck stand up. We laugh at our silliness while subconsciously we're wondering if it could be true.

     Why the fascination with things that go bump in the night?

      Humans are most likely the only animal on this planet that actually enjoy being frightened. I'm not saying that we like fear but rather the autonomic arousal and the associated safety of being frightened by scary amusement rides, movies, books and stories around a campfire in the middle of the dark woods.

                               BOOO!

    


     We have the cognitive reasoning to understand what scares us to get the rush of adrenaline that makes our hearts beat faster, the hair on our arms stand up and makes us jump in delight. It's not the fear we crave but the afterglow of having been scared with the knowledge that we're safe. If we stepped out into the road and someone blows a horn, we jump because of a natural reaction to fear - our innate instinct for protection and survival. That fearful situation leaves us with our heart pounding and our breathing out of control for a few minutes but we generally don't find that kind of a scare tantalizing or enjoyable.  But put us in a dark room, reading a scary novel and somewhere in the house a door slams and pow!, we laugh delightfully when we realize that all is well.   

     Paranormal Romance has its roots in Gothic Fiction which dates back to the 1700's with novels such as Horace Walpole's THE CASTLE OF OTRANTO - a story of curses, murder, the need for power and a romance developing from unexpected occurances.  Even though THE CASTLE OF OTRANTO wasn't called a Romance, I would imagine that by the genre standards of today, it might have been considered one since there was a 'happily ever after' for Theodore and Isabella. Through the centuries, Gothic Fiction grew, expanded and somewhere along the way, some authors crossed it further with Romance and a new genre was born.

     The genre expanded going far beyond ghosts and curses to include anything supernatural - magic, the occult, ghosts, shape shifters including werewolves, psychic powers such at telepathy or telekinesis, superhuman abilities, time travel, fantastic or legendary 
creatures such as vampires, fairies, gods and goddesses, angels, and demons, a fantasy world or alternative Earth or reality setting, relationships that continue to exist over eras and eons, basically anything that has a futuristic or science fictional element.  All those good things that go bump in the night but still give us a love romance that ends 'happily ever after.' Really, could there be anything better?


     So with Halloween coming, only a mere two weeks away, I'm sure you've started planning your decorations and activities - if you haven't already started spreading those cobwebs and pumpkins - perhaps you're reading something scary. Have you considered a Paranormal Romance to add to your reading list? Remember, like some ghost stories told around a campfire, Paranormal Romances come in many different levels of jump factor.  We'll explore more of that as we work our way toward All Hallow's Eve, the night when the souls of the dead hover between their earthly plain and their final resting place.


     How about a Ghost Story to help get us in the mood. There's a story out of New York about a White Lady:


     In the early 1800s, the White Lady and her daughter were supposed to have lived on the land where the Durand Eastman Park -- part of Irondequoit and Rochester -- now stands. One day, the daughter disappeared. Convinced that the girl had been raped and murdered by a local farmer, the mother searched the marshy lands day after day, trying to discover where her child's body was buried. She took with her two German shepherd dogs to aid in her search, but she never found a trace of her daughter. Finally, in her grief, the mother threw herself off a cliff into lake Ontario and died. Her dogs pined for their mistress and shortly thereafter joined her in the grave.


     After death, the mother's spirit returned to continue the search for her child. People say that on foggy nights, the White Lady rises from the small Durand Lake which faces Lake Ontario. She is accompanied by her dogs and together they roam through the Durand Eastman park, still searching for her missing daughter.


     The White Lady is not a friendly spirit. She dislikes men and often seeks vengeance against the males visiting the park on her daughter's behalf . There have been reports of the White Lady chasing men into the lake, shaking their cars, and making their lives miserable until they leave the park. She has never touched any females accompanying these unfortunate fellows.


     How about you - do you have a favorite ghost story or possibly had an encounter of your own?


     We'd all love to hear it ... the more hair-raising the better.  The better to scare you with, my pretty!


     Happy Spooky Reading!

                                                             

Unwrapping: Heroes

     The greatest Hero I know is my Father and today is his birthday. He is celebrating being 91 years young. My Father has lived quite a life and seen many things, some good and some not so good. He was a child of the Great Depression, and one of the first ever paratroopers in World War II. He was a proud member of the Red Devils (the 508th Parachute Infantry Regiment of the 82nd Airborne Division) and jumped into Normandy on that eventful day in June of 1944. He met, married my Mother, and started his family that would later expand before being sent to participate in the Korean War. He has met Presidents, worked for the Joint Chiefs of Staff and after he retired from the military as a LtColonel, he worked in the private sector doing things we weren't supposed to ask about - those, 'if I tell you, I have to kill you' kind of things. He retired again, this time for real, and has concentrated on writing and living an easier life. He penned a compilation of personal accounts from his fellow WWII Red Devils in WE SERVED PROUDLY - THE MEN OF HQ1 and is currently working on an autobiography.

     Tom Brokaw called my parents' generation the Greatest Generation and so we should.  My Father was a hero as we think of heroes but my Mother was one, too.  She like many other women of the time, stayed home and waited, waited for husbands, brothers, fathers and friends to return from a war that cut them off completely from their loved ones. She held down the homefront while my Father was away serving his country and doing his duty to keep us free. They are among the unsung heroes among us that never asked for recognition yet deserve to receive it. 

    
     Heroes in Romance Novels come from all times and all places.  There are historical figures, Regency figures, contemporary heroes some featuring military men, service men such as policemen and firemen, and paranormal heroes. We love them all and enjoy the places they take us in our imaginations. 

     

     We love Romance Novels because of the strong heroes and heroines they provide us with that pull us into a life which we would otherwise not be acquainted but if we look around us, we might surprise ourselves. There are real heroes living heroic lives who are just fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters, sons and daughters, and best friends. We know the heroes from September 11 and pay them tribute, I hope, each day. But there's also the hero masquerading as your neighbor who gets your stranded cat off the roof or mows your lawn because your husband suddenly died. Or the hero stranger that stops along the road to help with a flat tire or gives up his place in line because you have more items than he does. There are the loved ones that care for us and are there when we need them.  

     My husband is my everyday hero.  He goes to work every day, working long hard hours and comes home tired.  Every so often, for no reason other than he wants to, he brings me flowers or picks up something at the store that he especially thinks I'll like. When he's around the house, he does chores and is there to reach those things up high that I can't reach.  For all of the things he does and because he loves me, he's my everyday hero and always will be. 

     I try to do something nice for someone whenever I can ... hold a door open for someone even if they don't have their hands full, comfort someone when they need it or just say 'hi' and give a smile when someone is looking a little down.  We can all be heroes if we try.

     How about yourself? Do you have a Hero in your life? Perhaps you've been a hero to someone else ... have you ever reached out and done something for someone else without being asked and without asking anything in return?

     Happy Reading Everyone and Happy Birthday Dad!

My Mom and Dad - how about this for Romance - they've been married for 63 1/2 years.

Unwrapping: Pamela Palmer's FERAL WARRIORS

     Pamela Palmer is a hosting a Pajama Party tonight on her blog.
     When:  Tonight, October 11th from 8 PM - 10 PM (EST)
     Where:  The Radiant's Bed Chamber, Feral House, Great Falls, Virginia
     Directions: Pamela Palmer's Blog

     In honor of such a fun occasion, I thought we'd talk a little about the genre paranormal romance and because of the occasion, the Feral Warriors! I do love the Feral Warriors!

     The paranormal romance genre is a blend of all we love in a good romance with the added fun of vampires, witches, demons, angels, werewolves and shape-shifters like the Feral Warriors.  So if you have a taste for stories featuring any of the above then I believe paranormal romance just might be your cup of tea.

     Pamela Palmer's Feral Warriors are members of an immortal race called the Therians.  They are unique members of their race for they have each joined their souls with an animal spirit that has chosen each them specifically. Once joined with their animal spirit, they are easily able to shift from man to beast and back at will. Their numbers were greater once upon a time long before the rise of Human civilization but when they were forced to band together with their traditional enemies, the Mage (the magic ones) to defeat the High Daemon, Satanan, their victory came at a high cost. In order to defeat Satanan, both immortal races were forced to mortgage nearly all their power. As a result, only one Therian able to harness the power of his animal remained from each of the ancient lines. Where once there were many, now only nine remained.  These nine are the Feral Warriors - Lyon, Tighe, Paenther, Jag, Kougar, Hawke, Wulfe, Vhyper, and Foxx. 

     The first five, Lyon (DESIRE UNTAMED), Tighe (OBSESSION UNTAMED), Paenther (PASSION UNTAMED), Jag (RAPTURE UNTAMED) and Kougar (HUNGER UNTAMED)have had their stories told and Hawke's (ECSTASY UNTAMED) is about to be released this month.  It's advisable to read them in order beginning with DESIRE UNTAMED so that you'll benefit the greatest from Pamela Palmer's amazing story-telling.  These books are imaginative, exciting, fast-paced and will leave you hungry for the next one. 

     Perhaps a taste of what is in store if you've never read any of these is in order, so - without further ado - I am happy to present an excerpt from PASSION UNTAMED:

Virginia, 1738

The newly marked Feral Warrior, Black Panther, prowled the wide, flat stone overlooking the raging Potowmack River. Snow swirled around him, driven by a harsh wind as he waited for the ritual that would, goddess willing, transform him into a shape-shifter, one of the most powerful creatures on Earth.

Months ago, the animal spirit of one of the deceased Ferals had marked him as his own.  A bare week later, as he'd set out to find Feral House, the Mage witch Ancreta had tricked him, capturing him. For long months, he'd endured her torture as she viciously tried to pry loose the animal spirit inside him, burning a rage into his soul that never eased.

Now the time had come to know if she had succeeded.

Around him, the six Feral Warriors paced bare-chested, a thick gold armband snaking around each man's arm as they raised the mystic circle.  In their midst stood the Radiant, the lone woman accompanying them -- the one through whom they pulled their power from the Earth.  The mystic circle would enclose the great rock and hide all within it from the prying eyes of the Indians that still occasionally hunted these woods.

The day was dreary, the cold biting against the bare skin of his upper body, a body broken too many times beneath Ancreta's torture. 

Hatred curled in his belly.  Fury lived in his blood.  For seven months he'd been her captive, the third of three newly marked Ferals the witch had capture over the past two years.

Only two had survived, Vincent and him.  Ten days ago, Vincent had escaped.  Nine days ago, he'd risked capture and death to return.  Black Panther tilted his head, letting the wind brush his long black hair from his face.  Vincent had returned for him.  And finally, this very day, they would complete the ritual, the Renascence, to be reborn as Feral Warriors in truth. 

Want more? Feel free to visit Pamela Palmer at her website to learn more about the Feral Warriors but you'll have to get your own copies if you want the rest of the stories.

      Pamela is planning to answer any and all questions we may have about the Feral at her Pajama Party tonight.  So what questions do you have for her?

      I fear that I will not be able to attend as I had planned but I do have a question for her and I hope that she will read it here and answer it on her blog tonight at the Party.

     My question for Pamela is:  Why is it that some of the Ferals, such as Paenther, can shape-shift into their animal form and then back into their man form all the while keeping their clothes and weapons whereas other Ferals, such as Wulfe, cannot and end up naked without weapons in hand?

I hope she answers my question. 

      Watch for the release of ECSTASY UNTAMED on October 25, 2011. Meanwhile, join the fun at Feral House tonight 8 PM - 10 PM on Pamela's blog. 

      Now that you've had a little taste of paranormal romance, if you aren't already reading this fascinating genre, would you read it now? 
      If you're already a fan of the Ferals, who is your favorite?

      I love them all but do have a soft spot for bad-boy, Jag. 

              

Unwrapping: Columbus Day

It's Columbus Day or rather the government holiday for Columbus Day so that a long weekend can be had by those fortunate enough to have it off. October 12th is traditionally Columbus Day but as with many holidays that have been moved out of convenience, the real date seems to have been forgotten. I personally don't forget because it's also my father's birthday - he'll be celebrating 91 yrs young.

    

     Christopher Columbus is attributed with the founding of the Americas in 1492.  Think of the excitement, the fear and speculation that he and his crews might never have returned. After all, it was still believed the earth was flat and that they would sail directly off the edge if they went too far.  We keep with the tradition that it was Columbus and his men that first set eyes on the Americas. Of course, he landed in Central America, not New York City.


     Many forget that it was the Vikings who first landed along the northeastern coast of North America nearly 500 years earlier. Of course, it wasn't as well documented or sponsored so perhaps that's the real reason we don't call it Leif Erikson Day instead of Columbus Day. However, yesterday - October 9 - was actually Leif Erikson Day and many, especially among the Scandinavian people of North America, do celebrate it. He represents the first Scandinavian to set foot on what is, today, American soil.

     I grew up celebrating Columbus Day. We told the story of how in 1492, Columbus sailed the ocean blue in three ships,  The Niña, Pinta, and Santa María. Even today, there are parades in some of our biggest cities and of course, a three-day weekend for government employees. But what if it had been the Vikings who were given the real credit? Would it have made a difference to us?

     Perhaps if the Vikings had been given credit, we'd be drooling over great Viking statues rather than those of Christopher Columbus. Of course, I doubt that any of them were really as good-looking, sexy or as clean as Alexander Skarsgård's Viking Eric Northman in TRUE BLOOD which is based on the SOOKIE STACKHOUSE Series by Charlaine Harris, but it wouldn't be hard to deal with, would it?

    

      

     I have noticed there are a lot of romance novels featuring Viking themes with huge Viking heroes capturing the hearts of young beautiful Nordic women but why aren't there any about swarthy handsome Italians who explore and discover far off lands? I wouldn't mind a story centered around some tall, dark and Meditteraneanly handsome hero, would you?

     Oh well, until someone pens it, ... hmmm ... doesn't sound like a bad idea actually, perhaps I will. Until then, we're happy with our Vikings, aren't we? Romance Novels featuring Vikings, I mean -  like in Sandra Hill's newest release, THE NORSE KING'S DAUGHTER or perhaps in Connie Mason's VIKING!

         

 

     Regardless of whether you're of the school that the Vikings were the true discoverers of the New World or a traditionalist who believes Columbus should have the credit ... aren't you glad somebody had the courage, incentive and flat out GUTS to cross that huge ocean and see what lay beyond?  Thank you Vikings and Christopher Columbus ... Happy Columbus Day! 

     Happy Reading Everyone!

                                                        

Unwrapping: Life's Good Fortunes and Regrets

Steve Jobs 1955 - 2011

     With the passing of Steve Jobs, I considered his life and all that he had achieved. He was a brilliant man whose life work is definitely his legacy to the world. He left a great imprint on our lives and the lives of everyone yet to come. After hearing of his passing, I told my husband that Steve Jobs will go into history as our equivalent to our parents' Albert Einstein in terms of him being the genius of our time. "In fact," I remarked, "if Albert Einstein were alive today, he would probably be working for Steve Jobs. "

     Steve Jobs dropped out of college because the courses didn't hold enough interest for him. This is typical of a genius mind - Albert Einstein was the same way about school - but I wonder if Steve ever held any regrets about his decision to leave school.  His life, albeit too short, was fast-paced, filled with great opportunities, high speed success, good fortune and glory but even with all that, had he any regrets?

     I love to write. I've always loved to write and have dreamed of being a published author since I was fourteen. When I decided to major in English in college it was because I loved literature. I loved the history of literature, the lives of the authors and the mysteries surrounding their intriguing lives as well as their words. Learning more about the people writing the books I love to read made me want to be a part of that world all the more. So you're probably wondering why I'm telling you this ... well, it's simple - not following my dream right from the start is my greatest regret.

     Unlike Steve Jobs, who obviously knew what he wanted to do and did it without hestitation, I knew what I wanted to do but hesitated big time. Why did I hesitate? I didn't think I was good enough. I love to write, I know I can write but I didn't think others would think I could write. It took many years of writing outlines, jotting down notes for story ideas, running plots through my head while doing chores, developing characters that only lived in my imagination before I actually started writing. I had many excuses - I didn't like writing using just pen and paper, not enough time (still don't really have enough time), it's too hard to get published (still working on that), and no one would like it anyway.

     Well, my father gave me an old computer that I got up and running again after replacing the cd-rom drive, re-formatting and downgrading from XP to 98 - didn't know I could do all these things but being the consummate researcher that I am, I did my homework and learned how. Now with a separate computer to use just for writing in hand, I had eliminated one excuse but still had to get past the others. I'm still working on making enough time which is one for me to resolve completely on my own. Getting published, well, that's going to take persistence and a whole lot of luck but I'm determined and am crossing my fingers that it will happen one of these days. As for thinking no one would like it - well, maybe I was wrong.

     I discovered blogs and websites that encourage writers to write. I love it. My favorite site is Helium.com - you write, review and get reviewed all in one place. I was surprised when I first started venturing on to the site and wrote a few things to find that many of my articles and novel excerpts were getting rated in the top five - a few are even #1 and have stayed there including an article about what romance novels have to offer. My first posting on this blog was a slightly edited version of that same article. It's kind of like Sally Field shouting out 'you like me, right now, you like me!' at the 1984 Academy Awards ceremony for winning her second oscar. Sometimes we don't believe it until enough people say it's true.

     My greatest regret is not following my dream right from the start. Instead of allowing over twenty years to pass before I actually started forming sentences for others to read, I wish I had started when I was young, inexperienced and had a whole lot more energy. I am glad to say that it's never too late and I've got a whole lot of imagination just waiting to be penned on paper.

     I don't believe that Steve Jobs ever doubted his talent, his ideas and his drive to succeed but I still wonder. Does everyone have a regret over something they never did or something they waited longer than they should have to do, or are some people truly fortunate enough to have done exactly what they have always wanted to do? 

     Do you have a regret that you wish you could still make happen or are you one of those fortunate ones?

     Steve Jobs, thank you for asking us to think differently and for changing the way we think, interact, and produce our dreams. You will be missed and never forgotten. God Bless you and your family - may you rest in peace.