Raina James Romance

WIN a gift basket at RT!

2010-04-19T02:43:00.002-04:00

Well, the Romantic Times Booklovers Convention in Columbus, Ohio, is coming up fast (April 28-May 2). A number of Siren-Bookstrand authors will be there, taking in the scene, meeting people and just having fun in general.

If you’re going to RT, here’s an added perk: You have a chance to win a fabulous basket of goodies! Entering to win is easy. All you have to do is find the gift basket from the Siren-Bookstrand Authors in Club RT and fill out the small tickie with your name and contact vitals. The winner’s name will be drawn Saturday. So just what will you win? How about this:

A $50 gift certificate from Siren-Bookstrand Inc.
A bag of Ghirardelli chocolates from Emma Wildes
A funky necklace, from Raina James
A hand-crafted scarf created by author Mary Lou George
Angel and the Lawman, by Barbara W. Starmer
Believing is Seeing, by Corinne Davies
Blind Date After Dark Series (collection of Mr. Right, The Perfect Tool and The Mistletoe Mistake), by Lara Santiago
Captured, by Julia Rachel Barrett *
Cowboy Love, by Sandy Sullivan
Badlands (collection of Mail Order Bride for Two, Two Wanted Men and Double Chance Claim), by Elle Saint James
Drawing Blood, by Mary Lou George
Forbidden Heart, by Kara Wills
The Jewel Box, Three Tales of Erotic Romance (collection of Three For All, Sinful and The Family Jewel), by Raina James
The Lady Makes Three, by Morgan Ashbury
Magic & Love collection, by Morgan Ashbury
Pale Stars in Her Eyes, The Starlight Chronicles 1, by Annabel Wolfe
Rogue's Run, Galactic Gunslingers 1, by Lara Santiago
Shadow Hunter, by Kara Wills
Undercover Lover, by Jane Leopold Quinn
Watcher, Sexual Studies 1, by Kate Watterson

* denotes ebook download; all others are trade paperback editions

The books in the basket cover the gamut of genres, from thrillers, westerns and contemporaries to scifi, paranormals and fantasies. There's sure to be something in there to please everyone. So don’t be shy -- fill out the ticket in Club RT to enter the draw for our basket, and come meet us at the book fairs, both Wednesday and Saturday, and at our table in Club RT. See you in Columbus!

Wednesday's Words

2010-04-14T12:19:00.004-04:00

There can be no doubt whatsoever that spring has sprung. This is not to say that we might not still get a few cold days, or even a dumping of snow. This is southern Ontario, after all, and I’m old enough to remember snow in May.

I know it’s spring because each morning, just before dawn, I hear birds singing, and they are birds I only hear once spring has arrived and they sound so beautiful! What kind of birds are they, you ask? They’re ... singing birds.

I know it’s spring because the lawns are all growing. Ours is green and, yes, in need of being cut already. Mr. Ashbury isn’t the fan of outdoor work he used to be. He tells me he’s getting too old to cut the grass, so I may have to revert to hiring either a grandson, or a service.

I know it’s spring, because down at the place where I bought my winter tires, they have a sign that advises motorists to “get summer tires now!” I guess I will, in a few more weeks. Like I said, I can remember snow in May.

I know it’s spring because all through the neighbourhood, green shoots are spearing up in gardens, and some lucky residents already have blossoms of crocus and daffodils and narcissus. Notice I said “some lucky residents.” Sadly, my gardens remain barren.

In the fall, my daughter and three of my grandchildren planted bulbs. I know they did, because I was on the porch supervising them. They planted all the above mentioned flowers, and tulips, too.

One of the things I love most about spring is the flowers. When we lived out in the country, in the house that had been my mother’s I didn’t need to worry about spring flowers, for they came up in abundance. We had daffodils and narcissi. We had crocus and grape hyacinth. We had tulips, and lily of the valley! And then, just as those blooms began to fade, we had lilac.

Some days when the breeze was blowing in the right direction, wonderful fragrance filled the air, and my house. It’s been several years since I’ve had spring flowers of my own.

I had great hopes for this spring. I had purchased several boxes of bulbs, and watched as they were planted. But alas, so far, nothing is poking out of the ground.

I would have preferred to have planted the bulbs myself. Unfortunately, my yard is so uneven that manoeuvring over it is difficult. About the only way I can manage, as I would to weed flowers in the summer, is to lie down on the grass and kind of inch myself along, like a worm. Not a problem, and actually I kind of enjoy myself when I do the weeding. But that inch-worm imitation isn’t something to do in the late fall when the ground is cold and wet.

I doubt that planting the bulbs myself would have made a difference, anyway. This doesn’t really surprise me. Sometimes, I can have the worst luck getting simple things to work out. I also bought a raft of bulbs that I thought would go well in the squared off “garden” my beloved had made for himself a few years ago. I envisioned having a “cutting garden” and imagined my house continually blessed with vases of fresh flowers set about here and there throughout the spring. Unfortunately, the sod would have had to have been turned (I did say the garden had been made a few years ago), and no one was interested in that job. Those bulbs sit in my basement, unloved and unused.

My determination to have at least some spring flowers is strong, and I think I know one way I might still be able accomplish this. I think I’m going to head to the garden center and buy already blooming tulips, daffodils and whatever else I can find in pots (my absolute favourites are the white narcissuses that have the red and yellow accents). Then I can plant them, not in what would have been my cutting garden, but at least in the garden that borders the house itself.

As I was considering this situation, I couldn’t help but recall how a dear friend of mine, now departed from this life, solved a similar dilemma for his wife one spring.

He went to the dollar store, bought plastic flowers, and jammed the stems into the ground. She came home to what appeared to be a profusion of colourful flowers — until she got close, that is.

I’ve never told Mr. Ashbury about this. I don’t want to give him any ideas.

Love,

Morgan

http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury

Wednesday's Words

2010-04-07T08:54:00.004-04:00

I have a question. Why is it only women have the guilt gene?

You may know that I have as much respect for men as I do for women. I came out of the '60s and '70s without any feminist overtones to my personality. Sure, I might make a joke from time to time about women who seek parity with men lacking ambition, but I don’t really mean it.

Men and women are different is so many ways. The best of us complement each other, and I believe that is why we each have been designed the way we have by the Original Manufacturer. I do believe men and women are equals; but they are different.

For the most part I celebrate those differences. The only real imbalance, it would seem to me, is that women got an overabundance of the guilt gene, and the men, none at all.

If you’re a man, and you awaken early on a Saturday morning, and emerge from your bedroom to a home that is in dire need of tidying and cleaning, chances are you will have no difficulty stepping over the mess to get to your coffee. You might eventually raise yourself up to set things to rights, but in your own good time.

If you’re a woman facing the same scenario, you will begin to tidy on your way to the bathroom, no matter how badly you need those facilities. Coffee will be a cherished goal for you, a reward to be collected once the job at hand is done.

If you’re a man, and the wind has come in the night and toppled the umbrella you thought imbedded securely to prevent toppling, blowing it dangerously close to where it might sink out of your life forever, you might have no trouble whatsoever shrugging your shoulders and carrying on to your golf game with a clear conscience.

If you’re a woman, you’d waste a lot of energy and worry on trying to figure out how to rescue that umbrella, and feel guilty as hell when you realize you simply don’t have the strength to do so.

We women tend to feel guilty if we do anything for ourselves that could even remotely be considered selfish. But that’s not the worst of it. We feel guilty for working, and we feel guilty if we don’t work. We feel guilty if we do too much for our kids, and we feel guilty if we don’t do enough.

Most women seem to excel at taking care of others all the time. What causes this great giving of the female soul? It’s guilt, to some degree. We seem to be the ones who feel it is, not only our sacred obligation, but our destiny to take care of others.

Society does play into this, I assure you of that. Women don’t drive the engine on this particular vehicle all by themselves. Don’t believe me?

Have you ever gone to visit people—I’m thinking people you don’t know well. You find yourself in their homes for the first time and the place is a mess. Been there? I challenge you to deny that the thought that went through your head was, “Gee, this woman isn’t a very good housekeeper.”

It could very well be, as one former acquaintance once said to me, that women like to feel guilty. Feelings of guilt, this person said, morphed into feelings of righteousness, and women live to feel righteous.

I’m not sure if I totally agree with that, or not. The unfortunate part is that I have known women who are like that, which kind of works against us all.

Now, I’m not for changing the roles between men and women, overmuch. I love the maleness of men, their strengths, which do come with their weaknesses, as do ours. I’m not asking for any kind of cultural or social revolution, and I for one certainly don’t want to burn my bra.

But if we could shave, oh, about a quarter inch of guilt off of us and put it on the men—why, I think that would be a fine thing, indeed.

Love,
Morgan

Feed the flames of your passion…with a novel by Morgan Ashbury

http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbur y

Wednesday's Words

2010-03-31T22:45:00.005-04:00

As spring begins to settle over the countryside, I begin to look forward to my traditional journey to the Romantic Times Booklovers Convention, this year being held in beautiful Columbus, Ohio.

This will be my fifth consecutive convention, and I feel very fortunate that I’ve been able to go each year. The purpose, of course, is in support of my career as an author; but it’s not all work for me.

Once again my beloved has decided not to accompany me, so I’ll be traveling with my good friend and fellow Siren-Bookstrand author, Raina James, and one other Canadian, a New York Times-bestselling author known to us both. Since Columbus isn’t overly far, we’ll be traveling by car.

I’m looking forward to getting together with old friends as well as meeting new ones. There’s something about being in the company of readers and authors that I find very exhilarating. It simply gives me goose bumps when someone comes up to me and says they have read one of my books, or that they always read this essay. That’s everything, isn’t it? Oh, yes, it’s nice to make some money, but for me by far the greatest perk to being published is knowing that people read my words.

I revel in the company of fellow authors. No one understands the writer like another writer. Again, I feel very blessed because I have a small, tightly knit circle of friends in this community. Spending time with them is the absolute highlight of any convention, and I consider the friendships I have with them to be one of my greatest treasures. I simply cannot imagine my life without them.

As you know, I have discovered, sadly, that I’m not a party animal. However, I do manage to party it up a little at these conventions. I’m not much of a drinker. I can tell you that I always have some form of libation on hand here at home. I can also tell you that those bottles have dust on them. Once in a while I like a drink, but often, just having it on hand is enough.

I’ll be attending the two book signings again this year. The convention features an “e-book fair” on the Wednesday, and a regular book fair on Saturday. Most of my titles are now available in print. The only exceptions are Reckless Abandon and Brazen Seduction, and they will be available, together in one volume, later in the year.

I’ll also be spending a fair bit of time at Club RT. If you happen to be going to the Convention, I’d be thrilled if you looked me up there. I’ll be easy to find. I’ll be at the Siren-Bookstrand table.

I’m glad we’ll be traveling by car this year. Inevitably, when I attend this gathering, as well as the Romance Writers of America National Conference, I end up with a lot of books. Some are free, but some I buy. And I don’t ever get rid of books. I consider them my friends. The only exception to this rule would be if I end up with two copies of the same novel. Then I usually give the extra one to my daughter.

One of these days I’ll have a completed library, at which time I will unbox all my books and set them about. Of course, being anal, I will have to have them in alphabetical order (by author name). Prior to doing this I may hold a contest, asking for guesses as to how many books I have in my collection (and, yes, of course I am going to count them). The last time my daughter and I counted them, it was a good five or six years ago and the number reached was around three thousand.

One view is that I am, perhaps, a bit of a packrat. The other, of course, is that I never turn my back on a friend.

Love,
Morgan

http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury

Wednesday's Words

2010-03-24T22:33:00.004-04:00

I’m grateful for a lot of things in my life.

I’m grateful to have a roof over my head, clothes in my closet, and food on my table. I’m grateful that in the last few years, I have been able to write, and have my work published, and read by thousands.

I’m grateful to be in a family of smart-asses.

Our second daughter had moved to a city nearly an hour away, and so we haven’t been getting together as often as we all would like. From the first day she came into our lives, the one thing she has really loved was “family dinner.” She’s a nurse now as well as living an hour away, and it’s not easy to plan a time to gather for this ritual. But finally, this past Sunday, we enjoyed a family dinner.

I planned simple fare—roast beef, potatoes and gravy, broccoli—and how wonderful it was to have the table full, with conversation and laughter.

And how wonderful that the girls—our daughter and our second daughter—got up to do the dishes afterward. And that is when I recalled that I live in a family of smart-asses.

“Now remember, stack the plates symmetrically.” That was my daughter and I did not for one moment think my constant teaching was finally bearing fruit. I recognize sarcasm when I hear it.

“So, symmetrical … what does that mean, exactly? Is one woman’s symmetrical another’s … hmm, what is the opposite of symmetrical?” My second daughter posed this question as she dried the plates, both ladies talking like I wasn’t right there listening.

I didn’t rise to the bait of the teasing tone, neither did I respond “asymmetrical” to the question of opposites, and I think I should get credit for that.

“How’s this?” My second daughter stacked the plates, the smallest on the bottom, the largest in the middle and then waited for my reaction.

“What do you think?” I asked.

“Sure, you say that, but if I put them away that way you’d freak.” And then she smiled.

I wouldn’t have freaked, but I might have said something. Maybe. Probably.

Beside my keyboard is a pen that has four colors of ink. I have a quaint habit. I take an index card when I am writing, and put the title of my work-in-progress at the top, and then I list each chapter and the page numbers and the number of words, and then I have a running total of words written for the novel. Chapter numbers I write in black ink, the running total in red. Yes, I know that it’s anal. I am anal. It works for me.

My fifteen-year-old grandson came into the kitchen with this pen in his hand.

“Honey, put the pen down, please. I need it.”

Second daughter picked up the pen and shook it at him. “What were you thinking? This is a pen! A pen is not for the fingers of teenagers! A pen is to be respected, revered and treated with care. A pen is to be cherished! I mean, yes, a pen is just a pen to some, but to others it could be symmetrical!”

I looked at second daughter and shook my head. “You really fit into this family,” I said.

She smiled. “I think so, too.”

Yep, a family of smart-asses. Kind of brings tears of pride to my eyes.

Love,
Morgan

http://www.bookstrand.com/brazen-seduction

Wednesday's Words

2010-03-17T18:06:00.006-04:00

I can still recall one time when my mother lamented that she used to enjoy going out and about to exhibitions and fairs or just shopping, but that she couldn’t anymore because her arthritis had become too severe, and she couldn’t walk very well or for very long. I don’t think I was much more than fifteen at the time. I told her that if she wanted to go to the exhibition (Canadian National Exhibition in late August) or anyplace else, that we could go and rent a wheelchair and I would gladly push her wherever she wanted—that her lack of mobility didn’t have to mean doing without those outside entertainments.

Mother was horrified. I believe it was one of the few times she actually sputtered. She said that she would never be seen in a wheelchair being pushed about by her daughter as if she was disabled, and how could I even suggest such a thing! Her reaction confused me at the time, for I’d always known her to be a logical woman, and this reaction, I believed, was totally illogical.

Flash forward about thirty-five years, and I’ll preface the rest of this essay by saying that I have learned that sometimes earlier incidents rise up to bite us in the butt.

Like my mother, I suffer from severe osteoarthritis. I believe I’ve mentioned before that I need a cane to walk. This condition isn’t getting better, and actually became worse this past summer when I fell while on vacation.

Recently I applied for and received an “accessible parking permit.” This permit allows me to park my car in the designated handicapped spots here in Ontario. I’m not sure if I can use it when I travel to the United States, or not. That’s something I shall have to look into.

The reaction of every member of my family to the news of my having obtained this new car accessory is, “Well, it’s about time!” Even some of my beloved’s co-workers have had the same reaction.

I think I understand my mother, now.

I’m not sure if I can adequately explain to you the combination of relief and sorrow this permit represents for me. On the one hand, I can park closer to the entrances of stores and restaurants. Sometimes, that can be a huge blessing, especially during busy times in very big parking lots.

Those who can walk mostly don’t think there could possibly be a downside to such a tool. But there is. Applying for that permit meant I was admitting to myself that I’m not ever going to walk unassisted again. Yes, I know, at least I can walk, and I’m usually the first one to count my blessings. But to a certain degree everything is relative. I can walk very short distances at a very slow pace. But I can’t run. I can’t dance. I can’t go on hikes, or climb trails. I can’t go for walks along the beach, or anywhere else, for that matter. But in my mind, until recently, a part of me hoped that I would, one day. Applying for that permit felt like giving up all hope.

That same psychology, for me, applies to my getting a scooter. I know I need one. Especially if I want to continue to go to conferences like RT and the RWA Nationals. The companies that make the scooters and power chairs advertise their service as a giving back of independence, and I suppose in a way they do; but they only give independence from other people. You’re still dependent on the machine, which in my mind and in my heart feels like dependence, period.

I know that if the choice is between using a scooter to do and see, or not doing and seeing, then a scooter is in my future. And I know, that in time, I’ll adjust completely and even be glad I decided to “get on with it.”

But in the meantime I’m reminded that what may be a blessing in one person’s eyes isn’t necessarily the same to another. And I’m reminded, too, that whatever my opinion of another’s circumstance may be, I need to forget my opinion and pay attention, instead, to their feelings.

Love,

Morgan

http://www.bookstrand.com/brazen-seduction

Wednesday's Words

2010-03-10T14:40:00.004-05:00

I recall a time when people were expected to do things. They were expected to hold jobs, to raise families, go to church, have hobbies, and give back to their communities in one form or another. Life wasn’t easy then, just as it’s not easy now. Let you in on a little secret, life isn’t supposed to be easy, period.

If something broke down, you got it fixed; if something needed doing, you did it. You helped those less fortunate because you could, and because it was the right thing to do.

Then came the “me” generation, and society underwent a paradigm change. People began to focus, not on what they could give, but on what they could get. And if anything was difficult to do – be it a job or holding together a relationship – well, forget it. If it was hard, they were gone! I swear, lately it seems as if a lot of people are plain and simply afraid of hard work, or getting their hands dirty, or of, perhaps, not succeeding first time out of the gate.

There are maxims that we used to hear, like “practice makes perfect” and “if at first you don’t succeed, try, try, again.” We don’t hear those so much anymore. Instead, two words that seem to have worked their way to the top of the “spoken chart” are “I quit.”

I don’t believe in quitting, at least not at the first sign of trouble. Quitting is an absolute last resort for me, and represents, in my personal view, a failure. And I don’t believe in giving people a free ride, either.

I’m a big fan of personal empowerment. To put it bluntly, crap happens in varying degrees to all of us, and what matters most isn’t what happens to us but how we deal with it.

In any given month, I receive phone calls and snail mail appeals – as I’m sure all of you do – from various organizations and groups asking for money. There are many in need, and many different groups to which one may lend their support.

I tend to favour those groups who seek not so much a hand out as a hand up. One of those groups—my favourite, in fact—is the Mouth and Foot Painting Artists. I had Christmas cards left over from the Christmas of 2008, and only needed to purchase a few for this past holiday; those I purchased from MFPA.

For nearly fifty years, MFPA has provided an opportunity for these artists to support themselves, through sales of various items reproduced from their original paintings.

This group of talented people has taken the crap life has handed them and overcome it. Have you seen any of their work? MFPA is an international organization. Here is the Canadian website, and you can link to other countries’ sites through it.: http://www.mfpacanada.com/english/index.html

Some of these artists were born without the use of their hands, and some suffered accidents or illness that took that use away from them. All found a way to achieve their dream of developing their talent to the max, to bring the art inside of them alive and through sheer determination and grit share it with the rest of us.

Look at the work these amazing people produce. Unless you knew the story behind their art, you’d have no idea there was anything special about the way that art was created. The paintings are beautiful in and of themselves.

Because these artists didn’t quit, because they refused to turn away from what was difficult, they were able to create a miracle.

They have made their disability disappear.

Love,

Morgan

http://www.bookstrand.com/node/806180

Wednesday's Words

2010-03-03T14:01:00.005-05:00

I have the best job in the world.

I can say that from my perspective of being solidly ensconced in middle age, and having worked outside the home for most of my nearly 38 years of marriage.

I was never afraid of hard work, nor did I ever shun boring work. I learned early in life how to keep myself interested in even the most mundane tasks by having little contests with myself—and I’ve had some pretty boring jobs, too.

My first experience as an employee was working for a neighbor who sold dew worms. He would use the same flats you could find at any garden supply store, and when the worms were ready and removed from these flats into cartons for sale, it was my job to scrape those flats clean, using a putty knife.

I was ten at the time, and earned two cents a flat.

When I was fourteen, I picked strawberries for a summer—before the days of “pick your own” fruit. If memory serves (and at my age it’s only a 50/50 chance that it does), I earned the princely sum of ten cents for each six quart basket filled. I credit this job with my aversion, beginning just a decade later in life, to “picking my own.” I always sent my husband and children to do that.

At sixteen I had a summer job at the hospital where my mother worked, and there met the side of her she showed the outside world. This turned into quite the revelation for me, and I think that and the fact that I earned the respect of my supervisor did much to improve our relationship.

I stuffed envelopes for the company that offered “insurance” to school kids; worked in a department store credit office; and did a very brief stint in a shoe factory.

Returning to work after my children were in school, I gravitated to office work, and then, more specifically, accounting. I enjoyed that, working with numbers, doing payroll and group benefits and accounts payable.

But I like what I do now best of all.

I relish the freedom of being at home every day. I don’t mind housework overmuch, and I enjoy “multi-tasking” – dishes and dusting interspersed with writing. I love that I can do what I want, when I want. Some days, if I’m tired, I crawl into bed for a nap. I can go shopping, or to lunch, if I want to. I don’t, often, but the freedom of choice is fabulous.

You know how, no matter where you work, or what you do, there’s always that one co-worker who annoys the heck out of you?

I don’t have that problem anymore. And on top of everything else, I get to go to work every day in my jammies!

But the best part of my job by far is the number of people I have met online, and in person. It’s the emails I receive and the comments I read. I might occupy this space alone each day, but I know that I’m never really alone at all. I have all of you.

Like I said, I have the best job in the world.

Love,

Morgan

A novel so daring it could only be called...Brazen!

Brazen Seduction now available

http://www.bookstrand.com/brazen-seduction

Wednesday's Words

2010-02-24T13:26:00.002-05:00

We finally got our first real “dumping” of snow this year, and I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but it is all Mr. Ashbury’s fault.

I was driving him to work Monday morning. Looking out at the passing fields my beloved said, “This is pretty good, isn’t it? Practically the last week of February and no snow. I think winter’s over.”

“They’re calling for snow today,” said I. “Five inches at least.”

That was when he uttered those words: “Nah, never happen. I really think we’re done with winter.”

He’s older than I am by a couple years. If I know enough to never say never, you would think he’d know enough not to as well.

But alas, he said those words and sealed our fate. The drive Monday afternoon to go get him from work was the first really difficult drive of this winter. But am I going to complain? Not likely. Complaining falls under the same heading as “never say never.” And truthfully, it wasn’t as bad as I’ve seen it in years past. The round trip that usually takes me an hour and fifteen minutes took just a half hour more. I had purchased a complete set of brand-new snow tires in November—four of them—and this was the first winter I’d done so. Now that I have experienced the difference they make, I won’t willingly be without them again.

So many people have had such a horrible winter this year. Snow has fallen in record amounts in places that don’t usually see more than a light dusting, if that. It seems wrong somehow that we’ve escaped with so little snow, though we have had some pretty cold days. Personally, I really don’t know how anyone can look at the weather patterns over the last few years and not know that something has changed.

The recent snow fall notwithstanding, there have been signs of spring in the last week or two, and as you can imagine I cherish each of them. There’s a bird that sings in the springtime—I have no idea what he may look like, or even his species. I only know what he sounds like. As I was snuggling back in bed one day last week after returning from my morning commute, he serenaded me as I drifted off to sleep. What a wonderful gift that was!

Near the end of February the sky changes from that totally washed-out blue to one of a deeper hue, and I noticed this just this past Saturday. And a few mornings ago, the air smelled so fresh and clean, I stopped to inhale deeply and felt instantly rejuvenated. It felt like spring was just around the corner.

It may seem I’m wishing my days away. I’m not, really. Time is precious, and no one knows that more than I do. And generally, I consciously take time every day to smell the roses and the coffee. It’s not the time I want to hurry on, it’s just the cold weather.

Part of my enmity with winter has to do with the lack of sunshine. I suffer from Seasonal Affective Disorder. Too many cloudy days tend to drag me down, and while I know there are special lights I can buy to help fight this condition, I seem unable to get around to getting them. Combating the winter blues becomes a major part of my day. I have to make a conscious effort to look forward, to plan things that are fun and cheering. And I have to remember to pamper myself once in a while.

In the meantime, the weather report I heard on the car radio this morning was not encouraging. The eastern seaboard of the United States may be in for another very serious winter storm, and we’re schedule for another five to ten inches here, too, over the next few days.

I turned to look at Mr. Ashbury as that radio weather report finished and reminded him of one very important fact: The snow shovel is on the front porch.

I don’t do sidewalks or porch steps or dig out the car. And that’s one ‘never’ he can take to the bank.

Love,
Morgan
http://www.bookstrand.com/brazen-seduction

Guest blogger: Ian O'Neill

2010-02-19T02:55:00.006-05:00

Please welcome my guest, Ian O'Neill. Ian and I met years ago as members of the Otherworld Writers Group, mentored by Kelley Armstrong. Ian has a number of published books, including Afterlife, a quirky and touching look at one man's journey through the afterlife, and Endo, a thriller about a retired detective forced to solve a murder while taking part in an extreme mountain biking race.

* * *

How Do You Measure Writing Success?

By Ian O’Neill

Writing is, by its nature, a solitary task that leaves a person feeling somewhat dysfunctional, if not slightly off centre. Let’s be honest here, as a writer you’ve likely performed one or more of these slightly odd behaviours. You’ve talked to yourself about a story, most likely because you’re stuck. You’ve talked openly to a character (not in your mind, out loud) because you need them to behave – to toe the line so-to-speak. You’ve made very odd sounds, groans, yelps, howls … usually whilst slapping your desk or your forehead, or slapping your desk with your forehead. There are a host of others, some I’m sure I’ve never heard of but clearly mark one as a writer. These behaviours are best performed while alone, yet there are those times when writers venture forth from their caves; writing groups, writing conferences and conventions, or maybe to grab a glimpse of sunlight (very rare indeed).

When we first started writing fiction, we had a ready-made audience at our disposal. Our family and then our friends or vice-versa. Showing them our words was unnerving but, as family and friends are apt to do, they said all the right things; you are wonderful, fantastic, I loved it. There are a lot of experienced writers who scoff at this as some kind of hollow praise, but I’d argue that it is exactly what a new writer needs to hear. The longer one hears this deluge of hyperbole, the more eager one is to branch out to a new audience to extend their accomplishments to other willing eyes.

It’s only after a new writer ventures beyond the safety net of friends and family that they will know whether they are on the right path. Sure, some will take the criticism to heart and never show their work again. So be it. We always write for ourselves first anyway. Still, it’s great that a writer can recognize exactly what they want. Some may simply choose just to write for their own pleasure and never show another living soul their words. Others will push forward to try to get better at the craft for what is surely a common goal, getting published.

Therein lies the bar and just how high it’s set. I’ve often said that everyone can write, but not everyone is a writer. Showing our work brings clarity to our writing vision for good or bad. Once the path is set, however, it is always traveled at a very brisk pace. Why? Because writers write.

I believe that choosing a path, whether it be to not write and try something else, write for yourself, write only for a select few family and friends or write to get published, is in itself a success. Knowing one’s passion is truly a blessing.

So, you’ve made the decision and your way is clear: you are writing every chance you get. You’ve written one or more manuscripts, sent them out to a bevy of rejections. You tell yourself that this cannot go on forever. You’re a good writer and you will find success. As a friend is fond of saying, we hear no all the time, but all we need is one yes. Your writers group is going well and the feedback is wonderful. It helps you focus your energies and it helps you improve. Even giving critiques of other writers’ works helps you to see where you can improve. Still, that one yes eludes you.

How can you measure your success as a writer amongst what your beaten down ego can only see as failure?

Look backwards.

I once heard that a man with no future can be found digging in his past. Basically, one needs to look and move ahead. Nothing can be gained by going backwards. In the case of writers, I completely disagree.

Search your computer or file box right now for your first manuscript, whether that be a short story, a novella or a full novel. Whatever that piece of writing is, get it and read a few lines or, if you’re brave, a few chapters. The best way to see how far you’ve come, how much you’ve improved and grown as a writer, is to look at where you started. Think about it this way, you see your child every day so, you don’t notice their subtle growth. Then you look back at old photos and can’t believe how much they’ve changed. Your writing improvement is like a child’s growth, it’s there, but you just can’t see it.

Let me be the first to congratulate you on your success. You’ve come a long way. Just think how much you’ll continue to improve and you’ll be able to look back again and continue to measure your success.

* * *

Learn more about Ian and his work on his blog, AuthorIanOneill.Blogspot.com. You can also find him on the Ning network Pop Cultured.

Wednesday's Words

2010-02-17T10:55:00.003-05:00

Growing up in Canada, I’m old enough to remember the great Flag debate of 1964-1965. For those of you who don’t know, up until then, our flag was the Union Jack. Now you’re all saying ... hmmm ... why does that name sound familiar?

The Union Jack is the flag of Great Britain. We have always been the shy, insecure child who did not want to let go of our parent's apron strings. Our first Prime Minister, Sir John A. MacDonald, is quoted as having said, “A British subject I was born, and a British subject I shall die.” That was during the negotiation of the British North America act of 1867 which created the Dominion of Canada. Whose Dominion? Why, the Queen’s, of course.

Then came the Statutes of Westminster, 1931, at which point Canada’s legislature was granted independence from Britain’s. Ha, you thought we were a free and independent nation in 1867, but no, it didn’t happen until 1931.

By the way, my mother adopted Sir John A’s sentiment as her own and darn near clobbered my brother for daring to put a red and white Maple Leaf flag on the family car back in 1964. Mother was very disappointed to lose the Union Jack (when Parliament adopted the Maple Leaf on Feb. 15, 1965) and the Canadian Ensign (an Ensign is less than an official flag – sort of like one of those team banners on Survivor).

Hell of a long time to wait to take our first steps, wasn’t it? We began to run in 1982, when we repatriated our Constitution from Great Britain. But to this day (as any of you may have noticed if you watched the opening of the Olympics), we have a Governor General who is the representative of our official head of state: the Queen. So we may be walking and running, but it feels as if we’re tethered. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not anti-Royal. God Bless The Queen.

You’re probably all wondering where I am going with this history lesson.

Well, my point is that all of my life, I’ve been very aware of Canada’s “national character” and that character is of a younger sibling not quite sure of itself or its place in the world. Feeling as if it’s never quite good enough. In other words, we the people of this nation have always had an inferiority complex. We have always been your shy, quiet neighbor to the north, the neighbor whose patriotism always came out at the decibel level of a whisper.

To a certain extent, we’re still like that. So when the 2010 Olympics were yet months away, an ad campaign began (with the key line: Do You Believe?) to try and stir Canadians’ hearts to the point that we would not only actually yell and scream and wave our flags, but maybe believe that we deserved to stand with the best in the world.

In addition, in 2005, an actual technical program called “Own the Podium” was created with the purpose to prepare athletes and coaches with the best technical knowledge, leadership, and training with the goal of achieving prominence in the winter Olympics of 2010 (a worthy goal, since in the previous two Olympics held in our nation, no Canadian athlete won a single gold medal). This was not a “secret plan,” as I remember hearing about it on television during the coverage of the 2006 Winter Olympics in Turin, Italy.

I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. Why shouldn’t a nation invest itself in its young people, teach them that it’s okay to strive for excellence, to want to win? And yet everyone from Stephen Colbert to the British tabloids are heaping invectives upon my country over that program and these Olympics.

There is no question, the horrific accident on the luge track last week in which an athlete from Georgia, Nodar Kumaritashvili, lost his life was beyond tragic. No one expected such a thing to happen at such a joyous celebration as the Olympics, and yet many of the sports I see represented here can be very dangerous. Sports fans everywhere mourned the death of so young a man who had come only to do his best, and well they should. Obviously, the accident needs to be investigated, and the decision to move the starting point on the track to below the sharp curve that created such high speeds was the right decision to make.

Perhaps recommendations will come that will improve the safety of a sport which to me looks insanely dangerous to begin with. This is good, and necessary. This is what we, as a civilized people, need to do, so that tragedies need not be repeated.

I’m not certain it’s fair to blame an entire nation, to insinuate that with one mind we sought to harm this young man. Own the Podium is not—despite what some of the media would have you believe—synonymous with “win at any cost.”

We may dare to seek to stand taller, but we are still Canadians.

Love,

Morgan

http://www.bookstrand.com/authors/morganashbury

I'm in Melodee Aaron's spotlight this week!

2010-02-15T10:51:00.002-05:00

Good morning everyone.

This week, I'm the Spotlight author on Melodee Aaron's site, where you can read a fun Q&A with me at MelodeeAaron.com under the Spotlight button at the left. Every day, I'll be posting on Melodee's Yahoo loop about a different topic, throwing some book recommendations out there and generally being available to chat about this, that and whatever. Here's the lineup:

Monday: Second Chances at Love
Tuesday: The Menage Phenomenon
Wednesday: The Masculine Touch -- the appeal of male-male erotica
Thursday: Out of This World Romance
Friday: The Space Western

If you get a chance, please stop on by and share your thoughts each day. Since I'm an avid reader myself, I'm more than happy to take your book suggestions, too.

On Saturday, the week wraps up with a live chat, where anything goes.

Hope to see you on Melodee's loop!

The Delicious Tease Contest Extravaganza

2010-02-13T22:02:00.004-05:00

Hey all! I'm one of the authors taking part in the Delicious Tease Contest Extravaganza hosted by Shayla Black and Tracy Wolff. It starts on Valentine's Day and runs through to April 10. Each participating author is providing a book to be won by folks who comment on the blog posts that will be coming along as part of the Extravaganza. The grand prize? An iPod Touch! Please stop on by to see posts from these authors:

Beth Williamson
Candice Havens
Raina James
S.J. Day
Dawn McClure
Jaci Burton
Sophie Renwick
Mary Wine
Sylvia Day
Eden Bradley
Melissa Schroeder
Cathryn Fox
Nikki Duncan
Kris Cook
Shiloh Walker
Charlotte Featherstone
Karin Tabke
Joey Hill
Lauren Dane

So watch for us on Shayla Black's Blog and Tracy Wolff's Love Musings, and be sure to comment for your chance to win.

Raina
:)
.

Fiction Friday

2010-02-12T02:51:00.007-05:00

Hey all,

I just must tell you about a new book by an author whose work I really enjoy. Dee S. Knight's Triple S Bride is, like my own Marshals' Most Wanted, part of the Tasty Treats series of standalone Menage Amour books. And like mine, The Triple S Bride is a futuristic western. This is a fabulous book, and I highly recommend it. (And she's a Serenity fan, too!)

Dee says:
"I've always loved westerns and futuristics but thought the two genre would never meet. Naturally I jumped at the chance to give it a try! After many discussions with hubby over plates of pasta at our favorite restaurant, I devised a mix of The Good the Bad and the Ugly and Serenity. Sort of. I do hope you enjoy!"

Mail order bride Sabina Volt wants a husband like she wants a hole in the head. She escapes the cruelty of her fiancé on Earth by running to the remote planet C8282 and a marriage contract with a stranger. When she seals the contract in a bout of wildly fulfilling sex, she thinks Walt Sheridan is the one man she might be able to trust.

Walt Sheridan has low expectations when he orders a bride for himself and his two brothers, but when Sabina steps off the shuttle he knows she is the woman for him--for all of them. His only reservation to offering his heart and soul to the sexy woman with the long legs and high-heeled boots is the secret she keeps from him. One thing is certain, the Sheridans will use any means to protect her from whatever put the fear in her eyes.

Find out more about Dee and her work at www.DeeSKnight.com

Click HERE to jump to Siren's page for a closer look at The Triple S Bride and some sizzling excerpts.

Wednesday's Words

2010-02-10T12:39:00.003-05:00

I want to address something that most of you know about, although some of you only recently learned of: e-book piracy.

Actually, “piracy” sounds kind of exotic and sexy, so let’s call it, instead, what it really is: theft.

I know that a lot of people who read these essays every week are e-book authors. Some of you aren’t authors, but this concerns you, too.

I am going to presume that none of you have stolen from any of the writers you have met online, or even any that you haven’t met. But maybe you know someone who has. This essay is directed at them, and you may feel free to pass this on.

Those of us who are writers have been vigilant in sending out Digital Millennium Copyright Act (DMCA) take down notices, as have many of our publishers. Personally, I liken this exercise to trying to bail out the ocean with a thimble: at the end of the day you have a fat file to look at as your accomplishment, but it doesn’t really seem to make any difference.

I think we’re going about fighting this heinous crime (yes, it is a crime! It is against the law!) the wrong way. I think we need to target the people using these services and scooping these “free e-books.” After all, if people didn’t take advantage of this opportunity, the opportunity would cease to exist. I think we need to reach these users of this criminal service (and therefore criminals themselves, by extension) just the same way Candy Lightner (the founder of MADD) reached people about the crime of drunk driving: through education and publicity.

The publicity has been happening on most of the loops I belong to for the last several months. That publicity is going to get even more widespread as major houses continue to put their books online. Perhaps this essay – which may find itself being reproduced in some unusual places – will help with not only the publicity, but the education.

Now, here comes some of that education for you, and please, as I said earlier, feel free to pass this along to all your friends – and here I directly address those thieves.

Going to one of these sites and downloading an e-book for free is stealing, in the very same way that going to the variety store and lifting a chocolate bar from the counter and walking out without paying for it is stealing, or going into a department store and taking a lipstick or necklace without paying for it is stealing. If you wouldn’t do either of those things, then why would you steal an e-book?

Now, maybe (because you just don’t know any better) you think it’s no big deal. Maybe you think, “huh, well this is different and besides, those writers are rich. Why are they crying over a few bucks? They can afford it.”

The truth of the matter is that stealing is stealing, period. And for the most part, it’s not rich writers who are losing those few bucks. It’s not Nora Roberts or Dan Brown or even J.K. Rowling who are being stolen from, although I am sure they will be; it’s ordinary, everyday hard-working men and women, who oftentimes barely have enough money to match the size of their month who are being robbed. Yes, they are being robbed.

I know of one author who is a single mom of several children and the only income she has is what she earns in royalties from her e-books.

Allow me to put this theft that she experiences, then, into a different perspective.

When someone takes a “free” download of one of her stories, one of her children goes without a glass of milk. Someone stole another of her stories? Oh dear, another of her children couldn’t get the shoes he needed – or a warm coat, or a pair of mittens.

Yes, stealing e-books is in fact stealing the necessities of life from children. And no, I am not being melodramatic at all. This is what e-book piracy is in its most basic form.

If you know someone who takes advantage of these sites, please tell them this: E-books don’t cost all that much. They’re good value for the dollars charged. All you’re “saving,” really, when you go to one of those sites and take that “free” download is a couple of dollars.

But you see, the truth is it’s not really free at all. Think of the cost to your soul.

Love,

Morgan

Coming Soon from Morgan Ashbury and Ménage Amour

A novel so bold, so daring, it could only be called...

Brazen Seduction

http://www.sirenpublishing.com/morganashbury/

The Funny Side of Romance

2010-02-09T01:19:00.004-05:00

It's Day 3 of the Seven Days of Valentines over at the Siren-Bookstrand Readers' Group, and the Futuristic and Science Fiction authors are in the house! Pop on over to check out some excerpts and fun conversation from me and fellow authors Jenika Snow, Julia Rachel Barrett and Scarlet Hyacinth. Don't be shy! Feel free to chime in on whatever, whenever.

~ ~ ~

I love the hearts-and-roses side of Valentine's Day just as much as the next gal. Give me a moonlit walk, a special dinner enjoyed over the glow of slender candles or an exquisite piece of jewelry and I can be had. But I also love a great sense of humor. There's a reason why it is always listed as one of the most desirable traits women look for in a mate.

Of course, there's the downside that a man's sense of humor and what they find amusing can often be very different from what women find funny -- Three Stooges or Dumb and Dumber, anyone? The absolute best are the movies that perfectly skate that line between intellect and physical humor. One of my favorites is Something About Mary. Yes, it has the slapstick, in-your-face moments, but those are tempered by the wit it takes to get the jokes.

For a sample of bad humor, see Exhibit A: My boyfriend, whom I'd been with for about five years, and living with for one, presented me with a lovely velvet box after a night out for dinner and some pleasant conversation. I'll admit it: My heart leapt, then went pitty-pat. I melted. I thought, "Oh my goodness, this is so unexpected!" The night hadn't seemed particularly romantic to me, but hey, I could go with it. Slowly, I pried open that lid -- to find not a ring nestled in that little slot, but a screw. Yes, a SCREW! My darling one opens his mouth and says, "So, you wanna screw?" And then collapses into laughter. "Oh my God!" he says. "The look on your face!" And collapses into laughter again. (See, this is an example of how we, as humans -- at least the male ones -- have lost the survival instinct to recognize true danger when confronted with it.) Dear friends, sadly, I was fool enough to marry that man and let him father four children. His genes are now out there in the world. Be afraid. Be very afraid. :lol

So, is it any wonder that I love stories that blend romance with a keen, delightful sense of humor? Sure, I like dark romance and suspense, but there's just something about those lighter moments that touches me. Angst and dark brooding, while attractive in a lot of fictional characters, will only get you so far, while humor can often see us through the most challenging moments in real relationships.

~ ~ ~

I love this scene in my recently released futuristic menage romance, Marshals' Most Wanted. My heroes are Galactic Marshals working undercover, posing as travel writers. They're very alpha, manly, and certain-of-themselves characters. Waiting to meet their guide -- who they later learn is destined to be their shared mate -- they are killing time browsing in an old-fashioned dry goods store. In this scene, the Stev and Tarik, virile males from the planet Geminus, are about to discover an unexpected quirk of their biology. Hope, their future mate (she of the low, feminine voice at the end), is less than wowed by her first glimpse of them:

Marshals' Most Wanted
By Raina James
Heat Rating: SCORCHING
A futuristic western from Siren's Menage Amour
Available NOW in ebook

WATCH the Tasty Treats trailer

A loud giggle was their only warning. Seemingly in slow motion, the free-standing shelf behind them shuddered, then tipped, then toppled over.

Stev dropped the pipe and staggered as the shelf hit the back of his head. Tarik tried to grab it and hold it up, but it was too heavy for one man to handle. He and Stev went down under a shower of tiny white boxes.

"Ooops."

The bond-brothers, trapped but unhurt, glared at the woman who spoke. One breast dangled unrestrained over the top of her form-fitting synth-fab dress, the hem of which was caught on one unnaturally round hip. The duded-up gambler beside her stooped to struggle with the toppled shelving unit. Unfortunately, from Stev and Tarik's position on the floor, surrounded by a mound of white boxes, they had a perfect view of his tenting pants. It didn't take a marshal to deduce what the couple had been doing to rock the shelving unit off-kilter.

Looking harried, the store's rotund proprietor bustled over. It took the combined efforts of the aproned man, the gambler, and his buddies to lever the unit high enough for Stev and Tarik to wiggle free and wade clear of the mound of white boxes. Looking at her waving breast, the woman giggled again and tucked it back into her dress with a little bounce.

"She could be the best lay in three systems and I'd still pass her by on principle because of that pit-spawned laugh," Tarik 'pathed.

Stev rolled his eyes in agreement.

The red-faced gambler launched into an explanation about how his companion merely brushed against the shelving unit and it toppled with the barest touch. The shopkeeper nodded, but it was plain he didn't buy a word of it. With a subtle hand signal, he sent a couple of assistants scurrying to tidy the mess.

Stev sneezed, violently. Tarik made an odd choking sound as he tried to sneeze and cough at the same time. Stev sneezed again, blinking rapidly as his eyes filled with tears.

"I think I'm going to be sick," Tarik 'pathed.

Stev picked up one of the white boxes. Words written in an unfamiliar Old Earth language decorated the packaging in an elaborate swirling design. The plain type underneath in Galactic Standard was much more informative: Hand-made rose-scented soap.

Tarik snuffled and put his hand to his mouth, his normally golden complexion turning a pasty white. Stev dropped the box and took his bond-brother's arm to get them as far away from the allergy inducing scent as possible. As they neared the swinging doors, he swallowed down the urge to vomit and concentrated on taking deep breaths.

"I'm guessing you two are the travel writers I'm supposed to meet," drawled a low, feminine voice.

~ ~ ~

CONTEST!!!

Also, here's your chance to win a download of The Family Jewel, and $5 worth of Strandbucks. (You will also be eligible to be entered to win an additional $5 worth of Strandbucks in another contest in conjunction with the Seven Days of Valentines.) So, what do you have to do? Answer a question based on the excerpt above, and send it to Sandy Sullivan, who has graciously offered to be Contest Co-ordinator Extraordinaire for the Seven Days of Valentines.

Question: What item in the dry goods store caused Stev and Tarik to have a violent allergic reaction?

E-mail the question and your answer to Sandy Sullivan at: sandys36 (at) yahoo.com . At the end of the week, Sandy will draw the name of the winner of a copy of a download of The Family Jewel and $5 in Strandbucks from Raina James.

Seven Days of Valentines!

2010-02-07T13:43:00.009-05:00

The authors of Siren-Bookstrand have something very special in store for you this week: Seven Days of Valentines, filled with excerpts, prizes and chats!
Co-ordinated in large part by Rachel Clark and Regan Taylor, with Sandy Sullivan taking on the duties of Contest Co-ordinator Extraordinaire, you are in store for something a little bit different:

Twenty-three authors offering miniblogs about Heart Day
Prizes from each of those 23 authors
Strandbucks prizes, courtesy of Siren-Bookstrand, so you can buy some of these books you'll be getting a taste of
Fresh, uncluttered chatter, and the opportunity to get to know some of your favorite Siren-Bookstrand authors

Where can you find this? On the Siren-Bookstrand Readers' Group.
Starting today, each day has a theme and some dedicated authors chatting about their books, romance, life -- basically, whatever you want. Each day, you'll have the opportunity to be entered in prizes, both from the individual authors and Siren-Bookstrand. The specific details will be provided each day.
Every day of the Seven Days of Valentines has something different, so please visit us often.
Here's the lineup:

Sunday, Feb. 7 - Contemporary day

Barbra Novac
Jan Bowles
Karenna Colcroft
Sandy James

Monday, Feb. 8 - Romantic Suspense day

Jane Leopold Quinn
Lavada Dee
Regan Taylor
Laurie Ryan

Tuesday, Feb. 9 - Futuristic/Sci-fi day

Jenika Snow
Julia Rachel Barrett
Raina James
Scarlet Hyacinth

Wednesday, Feb. 10 - Fantasy/Paranormal day

Savanna Kougar
Kara Wills
Missy Martine
Cassandra Pierce

Thursday, Feb. 11 - Menage/GBLT day

J Rose Allister
Rachel Clark
Lesli Richardson
Corinne Davies

Friday, Feb. 12 - Western/Historical day

Barbara Starmer
Lindsay Townsend
Sandy Sullivan

Saturday, Feb. 13 - A free for all talking about romance.

...

Wednesday's Words

2010-02-03T23:13:00.006-05:00

Yesterday was a day eagerly anticipated each year in the Ashbury family: It was Groundhog Day. On the way to work yesterday morning, my beloved chanted his Groundhog Day mantra, “cloudy, cloudy, cloudy” in his attempt to influence the weather and thereby the prognosticating rodent. I know my eldest also had his fingers crossed for a positive outcome. Knowing him, he didn’t utter a mantra, but likely spent some time looking up recipes for groundhog stew—so the critter could know the price of failure. And truly, we awoke to overcast skies and great hope.

Too bad those overcast skies didn’t appear over Wiarton, Ontario or Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania. Sadly, and in a rare show of solidarity, both groundhogs saw their shadows, which means six more weeks of winter, instead of an early spring.

“Not too bad,” the man on the radio said, “it’s been a good winter so far, so it’s not like we really needed the break of an early spring this year.”

I’m a writer, well acquainted with literary devices, and that radio deejay demonstrated one in his pronouncement. “Good winter” is an oxymoron if ever I heard one.

Now, that is just my personal opinion, of course. I hate winter. I loved it when I was a child, but then when I was a child, winter had fun things to do. There was mostly skating for me, as I rarely went tobogganing, and I don’t really recall if I ever actually owned a toboggan. Yes, later when I lived in the same house I grew up in, raising my own family, husband and kids would go to the Quarry property behind us and slide down the big hill. But as a child, I was forbidden to go near the place.

No matter, there had always been skating on the pond across the road from our house. Often, coming in out of the cold on days my mother had off from the hospital (she was a nurse) meant coming in to wonderful homemade soups and hot cocoa. So I do have fond memories of winter.

And as an adult living in Canada, I appreciate that there are many people whose livelihoods depend on our having a proper helping of cold temperatures and lots of snow every year. But that doesn’t mean that personally I have to like it.

Just when I was grumbling into my coffee cup about rotten rodents and winter doldrums, my spirits got an unexpected boost. While surfing the Web I learned of a third groundhog! It seems that the great State of New York also has a weather predicting rodent. His name is Chuck – Staten Island Chuck – and he has an accuracy record that blows old Phil right out of the...um....burrow. It seems that Chuck has been on the job for 29 years and has been right 22 of those years – that’s 76%! Phil, on the other hand, doesn’t even have a passing grade, being right only 39% of the time.

Staten Island Chuck predicts an early spring! Yes!

Here, now, is proof that what I’ve always said is true. Everything is a choice. You can look at the glass as half empty, or half full. You can choose to believe one groundhog, or you can choose to believe the other.

I’m the sort of person who, when it comes to winter, hedges her bets. For example, I consider winter to run from October 1 to March 31 inclusive. Six months. Yes, I know the calendar says three. But what does it know, really? It says that in Las Vegas, Indianapolis, and Key West, too. Now, maybe in those places, the three-months-per-season average works.

Take my word on it; it doesn’t work where I live.

The advantage of my approach is that sometimes we don’t get real cold winter weather until the middle of December and then I can say to myself, “When this month is over, winter is half done already!” Thus, we are now four-sixths of the way through this dreaded season. And it was Groundhog Day yesterday.

Surely, that has to be a sign of something?

That is, something other than an indication that those of us who await anxiously the so-called predictions of a furry critter really need to get a life.

Love,

Morgan

Coming Soon from Morgan Ashbury and Ménage Amour

A novel so bold, so daring, it could only be called...

Brazen Seduction

http://www.bookstrand.com/user/277084

Wednesday's Words

2010-01-27T14:47:00.003-05:00

I suppose it was inevitable, and it finally happened. I have been lured over to the dark side.

And I would lay the blame at the feet of my daughter, but I’m an adult, and I assume responsibility for my own actions.

It began just two weeks ago yesterday. There I was, minding my own business, fingers on the keyboard, butt in the chair, working fastidiously away at my current work-in-progress. I heard her car drive up. When she came in I said, “Well, hello. How are you?”

She replied, “Just give me a sec. I have to get my dishes off the stove.”

Now, I knew my kitchen was spotless, nary a dish on the stove, let alone any of her dishes. I thought she would reach for the phone, call someone at her place. But no, she went right over to her father’s computer and logged on.

I asked her to repeat what she’d said, thinking perhaps, what with middle-age being the way it is, I might not have heard her correctly.

But she said those words again.

Little did I know those words would pull me into a world of virtually feeding…virtual people.

There are numerous “applications” on that social networking behemoth, Facebook. You can own a farm, or a zoo. You can go to petville or fishville, indulge in mafia wars or vampire wars.

Or you can own your own café in café world.

There are at least 64 levels of achievement in this game that allow you to select dishes, “pay” coins to buy them, then cook them, then sell them for, of course, more coins than you paid to buy them.

It’s free, but there is a catch (isn’t there always a catch?). After you get playing, and get to see other people’s cafés, how big and nice they look, and become competitive—or some might say addicted—you discover that you can buy nicer furnishings for your café by using your credit card to acquire “café cash” (as opposed to the café coins you get for free).

Is that not an ingenious example of the American entrepreneurial spirit? And it’s not the only one I’ve seen.

Club Pogo, somehow connected to AOL, charges a membership too, the benefit of paid club membership over the free is access to “exclusive” games, and the opportunity to win “badges” and to spend even more real money to buy “gems” that allow you to buy clothes and pets and backgrounds for your “mini” (a graphic that represents you).

Hello? Can we just think about this for a moment? They charge you real money to allow you to buy things that don’t really exist.

If you think of it all as entertainment, and if you have a budget for same, and it fits in your budget, I guess it’s OK. I do belong to Club Pogo (Morgan hangs her head in shame), but I certainly will not be investing real cash into a make-believe café.

There are how many thousands of people playing World Of Warcraft (best known by its acronym, WOW)? It costs about twenty dollars a month to do so. I know a few people who play WOW, and I can tell you the game all but takes over every second of their spare time, and nearly every bit of their social life, too. I hear people talking and I realize their entire conversation revolves around that game, and they act as if it’s real.

What happened to real life, real people, real relationships?

In the meantime, I must confess that despite my knowing better, I have indulged more than I should, time-wise, in the virtual café business. Two weeks, and I have already achieved level 27. It’s pretty bad when you decide whether or not you can sleep late based on what’s cooking on your virtual stove (if you don’t get the food off in time, it rots and draws flies).

Just do me a favor, please. If you ever see me traversing the realms of WOW…give me a smack upside the head.

Love,

Morgan

Feed the flames of your passion…with a novel by Morgan Ashbury

http://www.bookstrand.com/user/277084

Wednesday's Words

2010-01-20T10:47:00.004-05:00

How do we, living here in our comfortable lives in North America, even wrap our heads around the extent of the devastation that has stricken Haiti in the last week?

We try to process the information in terms of ourselves; that is a normal human reaction. And we get stuck, because the way things have happened in that beleaguered country couldn’t happen here in quite the same way.

We take for granted our strict building codes, our interwoven social services that are provided by the different levels of our governments (local, state/provincial, and national). We know, because we’ve seen it, that for the most part when earthquakes or disasters strike in our part of the world, rescue and recovery efforts are massive, non-stop, and almost instantaneous. More than one week post-event, all who could be rescued would be, bodies would have been recovered, and only building debris would be left.

In the meantime, any persons made homeless would be temporarily housed in whatever large facility was available, and while there would be discomfort and restlessness, for the most part, people would be fed and their medical and other basic needs seen to.

In cases where relief hasn’t been immediate and organized—as happened with Hurricane Katrina—there’s such an outcry of outrage, that changes are made immediately. It’s not so much that we expect a high degree of efficiency as we demand it.

This past week, we stare at our television screens at images of the elderly languishing in the streets outside their demolished nursing homes, and we can’t quite get it. We see children, little more than babies, really, finally extricated from the rubble, and then watch them die, just when we thought they might live. We see rejoicing, and heartbreak, hourly.

We ask ourselves, because we can’t not, how is it that this is happening in the advanced year of 2010? How is it that an island within spitting distance of our nations can hold a country so ill-equipped to deal with the sometimes harsh realities of life?

The answers are as varied and complicated as are the minds who conjure them. Certainly, the lack of a well-structured, ethical society is one cause. If everyone is out for themselves, only interested in what they can stuff into their own pockets, then no one is seeing to the common good, and it only is logical that eventually things fall apart.

Another contributing factor, and a large one in my estimation, is the lack of education in that country—hell, on the entire island of Hispaniola. Free learning is another precious possession we often take for granted here. We don’t fully appreciate what a difference it makes in the quality of life for all the people when a certain level of education is mandatory, and a higher level is encouraged and rewarded.

One thing that is plain, and a source of encouragement is the trend I think began with the Tsunami in the Indian Ocean in 2004: the great willingness on the part of the human consciousness to help. I credit the Internet and social networking to a good degree; you can’t navigate anywhere on the Internet without seeing ways to donate to help with earthquake relief.

Of course, and sadly, human nature also has a negative side, and at this time there will be con artists ready and willing to help those of guilty conscience and who will then gladly pocket your well intended donations. If I may advise, keep your donations to agencies that have a history of selfless service, such as The American Red Cross, The Salvation Army, and Unicef.

2004 showed us that if each of us gave but a little bit, together we can have a massive impact to the good.

We can give money, and we can all pray. And as we watch the daily developments of miracles and tragedies, we can hope that in this great moment in history, we somehow move just a little bit closer to understanding that we are only as rich as the poorest of us.

Love,

Morgan

Book Trailer of the Week

2010-01-18T14:47:00.005-05:00

"Healer's Garden isn't my first book, but it's the first book I wrote where I totally fell in love with the story. The hero, Brenimyn, is a conglomeration of all the men I'd come to love since I began reading romance in my early teens. He's kind. He's gentle. But more than anything he stands up for his convictions and trusts his heart. Healer's Garden is erotic. It's a suspense and it's a romance all with the backdrop of discrimination and pushing society mores. It was such a challenge to write."
~ Nina Pierce

* * *

Healer's Garden
By Nina Pierce
Published by Ellora's Cave
ISBN: 9781419924996
BUY NOW

In the female-dominated society of the twenty-third century, mating with a male, even if it is to save the human race, is a distasteful task and one Healer Jahara Hriznek has successfully avoided—until now.

Brenimyn is a gifted breeding instructor at the Garden of Serenity. Forced to copulate with all females requesting his services, he yearns to find the one woman who responds to his touch. When Jahara arrives with the new class of breeders, Brenimyn’s body immediately aches for her, but convincing the stubborn healer that sex between a man and a woman is more than just an act for procreation proves to be a challenge he refuses to fail.

Jahara doesn’t want to enjoy the sinful rapture only Brenimyn brings to her body. Brenimyn has no intention of dousing the flames of desire licking at them until Jahara is completely his—body, mind and heart. But when the government finds their loving relationship a threat to the natural order, there may be more than their stubborn wills at stake.

NinaPierce.com

Wednesday's Words

2010-01-13T16:58:00.006-05:00

I suppose, if those who don’t live in North America have only flashes of our media such as are provided by various stars from Hollywood and the music industry, as well as the odd strange but true tale reported in mainstream news to go by, they could be excused for thinking we are a society of morons.

Let me tell you what has set me off.

Over the last week, for whatever reason—perhaps the moon has entered my fifth house of gullibility, or something—I have received about ten “letters” from so-called officials in various European and African nations telling me that I have 1) been left a sizeable inheritance ($ millions Euros) by a recently deceased relative whom I have never met or even heard of, and 2) won a lottery that I never even entered!

All I have to do is provide each and every one of these individual letter writers with an amount of money ranging from $10,000 to $30,000, and the big bucks will be mine!

How stupid do they think I am? Yes, I know, it’s not personal. And I know the odds must be on their side. Someone, somewhere must have been that stupid at least once, else why would these bottom-feeding scumsuckers keep trying to hose ordinary people?

You would think that in this information age, if one is well-connected enough to lay one’s hands on a computer, one would be a little more in sync with the world in which they live. They would know there are scams like this all over the Internet, and that most of modern educated society laughs at these ridiculous attempts at fraud.

Hell, these so-called fund directors and lawyers, some of whom bear the title of “doctor”, can’t even spell correctly!

“Dear one,” one letter opened, “it is with sadness I tell you of the passing of (here insert a name I couldn’t pronounce with a dictionary at hand) who has recently dyed, and we have discovered that you are the hair!”

Did I mention that these letters have all been sent to my Morgan Ashbury yahoo mailbox? Does anyone reading this essay not know that “Morgan Ashbury” is my pen name? When I received my first acceptance from Siren-Bookstrand, I decided to have a pen name, as I eventually wanted to write other genres of fiction. So I compiled a list of names and passed it around to family and friends and asked them to vote, and thus, Morgan Ashbury was born.

Who could have known that I would accidentally pick the name of a multinational heiress (or should I say ‘hairess’) and the luckiest lottery non-player ever?

It is the stupidity of these attempts that galls me the most, not that anyone would try to hose a perfect stranger; there have been con-men and -women afoot since biblical times. The most dangerous ones are the sneakiest, craftiest, smartest who do succeed in gaining the confidence of innocents and then making off with their fortunes. Those predators we should all be on the alert for, all the time. But these clowns who write these phony letters? Where are they? Who are they? And who is the most complicit in this brazen stupidity, them, or the non-thinking idiots who gave them access to computers and the Internet in the first place?

Meanwhile, I just shake my head with wonder when I get a followup email from one of these bozos, and inevitably I do: “Dear One, why have we not herd from you?”

Why not, indeed. Probably because I’m not a member of the herd. I’m just a loner at heart.

Love,

Morgan

Coming Soon

A novel so daring it could only be called....

Brazen Seduction

Wednesday's Words

2009-12-30T14:24:00.003-05:00

We finally have a couple of inches of snow on the ground. I know this only because I looked out the window just a while ago. Since I do a lot of driving all year round, I’ve been taking advantage of my beloved’s vacation and leaving the car keys on the hall table. There’s no reason for me to go outside if I’m not going to be driving somewhere.

I’m content to just look, because it looks very cold out there.

The holiday season is beginning to wind down, which means my beloved and I can enjoy a few days of peace and quiet, just the two of us. If you had a crystal ball and could look in on us, you’d wonder what the big deal is, since I spend most of my time in my office and he is well settled in his recliner, watching television, in the room behind me.

We don’t have to occupy the same room, or the same mental space, even, to enjoy the quiet of our togetherness. As I write this, David is watching a comedy of some sort. I can’t hear the television as he is thoughtfully wearing his wireless headphones. I can only hear his chuckles.

It makes me smile.

In a while I’m going to go in there, sit in my chair, and ask for a foot rub. It’s been a hard day of doing up all the dishes from the night before (there were eight of us) and trying to get my mind back to work on my latest novel.

I’m afraid my mind wants a little bit more time off.

One of the things I love about this time of year is there is always leftover food in the fridge, so I don’t have to cook every night. Although I love cooking, I appreciate the time off. We have ham and turkey, veggies and seafood salad. I didn’t go overboard on the sweets; I made my mother’s steamed carrot pudding, and this year just one batch of cookies.

I never told you what I bought my beloved for Christmas, but now that he’s opened the gifts, I can do so.

First, a bit of background. We used to love to go to special events in our area, most notably the Canadian National Exhibition held every August, and the Royal Winter Fair (both events are usually held at the same place, on the C.N.E. grounds on the Lakeshore in Toronto). Of course, in those days it was a matter of going and looking only at all the neat things various vendors had on display. There was never any money to buy the different things we’d see and, inevitably, wish we could have. We were content, for the most part, to admire the different items or, in the case of some pieces of clothing, "try them on" and dream of “someday.”

Well, we happen to have in our area a saddlery, which I planned to visit ever since I found it. I have wanted for the last couple of years to buy my beloved two items from that long ago “someday” list. For Christmas, I did so. I warned him before he opened the boxes that I had given him not something he needed, but something he wanted (at least I hoped he still did).

I’m so glad he loved my gifts. He is very happy to finally be the proud owner of a genuine Stetson (fashioned from buffalo fur) and a Western Duster coat. They look really good on him, too.

If you’re wondering, I can tell you that his main gift to me was spa time. I love pedicures – oh, I could go without the polish on the toenails, it’s the massage and the paraffin treatments I love.

I did receive an item of modern technology, and this from my second daughter. I am now in possession of a Bluetooth.

Here in Ontario, there is a new law forbidding operation of a cellphone while driving except using a hands-free device. That is what this Bluetooth is (even though mine is pink). I’ve been wearing it here at my keyboard. It’s so comfortable I nearly forget I have it on. Sometimes I have had my headset on while chatting on the cellphone so my hands are free to type. This Bluetooth is way more comfortable and the sound much clearer.

I did get a few laughs when I admired myself in the mirror wearing this device. Yes, I know it’s supposed to be for when I’m driving. But I have to tell you, I feel all Star-Trekkie wearing it. And it does have one other benefit.

Wearing it, I can talk to myself and no one will look at me twice.

I hope you all have a wonderful New Year. We’re not going out. If you do, please keep safe!

Love,

Morgan

Feed the flames of your passion…with a novel by Morgan Ashbury

www.bookstrand.com/authors/morganashbury

Wednesday's Words

2009-12-23T13:11:00.004-05:00

We’ve been blessed in that the feared long layoff my beloved was facing has turned into a two-week shut-down. This pleases Mr. Ashbury because—aside from the obvious—he does love to have that time off between Christmas and New Year’s Day, and generally books it as vacation time. And since it is only for two weeks, he remains steadfast in his belief that he is on vacation, and thus is exempt from house-husband status and duties.

I’m not sure where he got this idea. It’s partly my fault, I suppose. During the year, since I no longer work outside the home, the only ‘household’ duties he has are putting out the trash and, recently, since our machines are in the basement, putting loads in the washer. He does admit, quite happily, that he’s spoiled. And for the most part I don’t mind spoiling him. But then come the days around Christmas when he is home. With me. All day. Every day. For two long, winter weeks.

We’re only in Day 6 so far. Just 6 days. Time seems to be moving a lot more slowly just lately, don’t you think?

We’ve had some interesting comments regarding our Christmas Yucca. It may amaze you somewhat that not all of these comments have been positive – and here I’m talking family members, only. My daughter looked at the tree, then gave her father a narrow-eyed stare, muttering something about not being able to scrub hard enough to get the red off his neck. Our friends all think it’s a great innovation. I do, too. Less to clean up Jan. 4, and no furniture had to be re-arranged in the process.

Our two youngest grandchildren, the ones who helped us decorate the Yucca, were a bit concerned that Santa would be confused, that with the absence of an evergreen (or facsimile thereof) he might not leave us any presents on Christmas Eve. I explained that Santa had been giving us a miss for a number of years now. I’m not sure if the expression on their faces was pity for our missing out on Christmas booty, or censure because we obviously didn’t make the “nice” list and hadn’t for some time.

Our shopping is done, and aside from a bit of baking, I’m reasonably ready for the holiday. I wonder what it is about my nature, that every year Christmas seems to find me generally unprepared and scrambling at the last minute? You’d think I’d learn that it happens every December 25^th. Maybe it’s that finely honed denial instinct of mine. I tend not to think about things that aren’t on the immediate horizon.

I keep promising myself that one of these years, I’m going to start my Christmas shopping and planning in March. Never happens, but it’s a comfort to tell myself that when I’m sitting exhausted from yet another trip to the mall in the last couple of weeks in December.

You know, the mall wouldn’t be such a bad place to visit if only there weren’t so many people there. I like the lights and the music. It’s the crowds I loathe. I really am surprised that no one has yet given me a T-shirt with the warning “Does not play well with others” emblazoned upon it. I like people. I do! Just not in crowds.

We’re having my daughter and her son here for dinner Christmas Day, then going to my brother’s for a Boxing Day (day after Christmas) brunch. On Sunday, we’ll have a bigger crowd here as we entertain the rest of the family.

There will be good times, good food, and a few toasts raised to absent loved-ones.

May your Christmas be filled with joy and laughter, and may the magic of the season fill your hearts and warm your hearths with love.

Love,

Morgan

https://www.bookstrand.com/user/277084

Wednesday's Words

2009-12-16T17:29:00.003-05:00

The Ashburys have a tree in their living room!

Yes, I can hear you all now. “Hello, Morgan, it’s Christmas time, and a lot of people have trees in their living rooms.”

Well, yes, they do. But this tree in our living room is not a pine or spruce, real or manufactured. It’s a Yucca.

We never planned to have a Yucca tree in our living room. Yes, that’s right, not only is it a Yucca, it’s an accidental Yucca.

Several years ago, our second daughter gave us this nice little plant, it stood six inches tall in a nice little pot. She gave it to us, and said, “It doesn’t require much water.”

And she chuckled.

Here is where I admit to you yet another failing. While I have been known to grow beautiful and richly lush vegetable gardens, while my outdoor flowers have been seen to thrive, I am, generally speaking, dangerous to houseplants.

It’s only a vile rumor that houseplants being delivered to me have been heard screaming in abject terror. Not true. But this failing of mine is no secret within the family—and now not much of one outside of it, either. Even David James, my now fifteen-year-old grandson, recalls the time he gave me a potted violet for Mother’s Day when he was five. He handed it to me, then pulled it back at the last moment and said, “Grandma, this is very important. You. Have. To. Water. It.”

I forget about the houseplants, I admit it. But this plant that our second daughter gave us sat on top of the television, and it was rather nice to look at, and because my beloved watches television each night, he adopted this plant as his own.

He has watered it faithfully, once a week. About three or four years ago, unbeknownst to me, he began to feed it Miracle Gro.

The plant grew, and needed a bigger pot – and then, months later, a bigger pot still. It went from its perch on the television to one on a table to...well, let me be honest. The pot it now occupies sits on the floor, measures 28 inches in diameter, is 18 inches high and is, I fear, perhaps a bit small for our behemoth.

The plant itself is actually a tree—maybe two trees, as it has two trunks—and positioned as it is in front of one of our living room windows, takes the place of a curtain as it takes up the entire window. And beyond, in truth. This thing stretches to the valance above the window, which is, I believe, at a height of eight feet.

We recently acquired two new recliners; we brought the electric fireplace down from upstairs and put that in front of the window in my office, and then closed off the upstairs, since no one lives up there now and heating that space doubles our gas bill.

Are you beginning to see our dilemma? We have a nice artificial Christmas tree, plenty of decorations, but nowhere whatsoever to put them.

So the Ashburys have a tree in their living room. It is a Yucca tree. And last night, with the help of a couple of my grandchildren, it was transformed into the Christmas Yucca.

Love,

Morgan

Feed the flames of your passion…with a novel by Morgan Ashbury