Just in Case You Thought I was Exaggerating

February 11 of this year I blogged about my Ultra Chic Doorknocker Pimp Bag-Lady Necklace.

Lately I’ve been going through tons of stuff I’ve been saving over the years and was amazed when my necklace showed up (the thing is pretty darned hard to miss). So here it is, the dainty jewelry item I was talking about:



You’ll note that I’ve photographed it next to a quarter. I did that to give you an idea of how beefy this pendant really is.

In my previous post I related the following: In the Art Institute’s store I saw this marvelous necklace in the section with the African goods for sale. Attached to a fine gold chain was the head of a lion, carved out of what looked like bone. The mane was wild tendrils of gold. My heart skipped a beat. I loved it. I wanted it. What a statement I’d make wearing that magnificent necklace! I turned it over, hoping it was less than $20. It was $500. I left the store, lion-less and forlorn.

I thought I’d donated it or that (even more likely) perhaps my husband had thrown it out so he’d never, ever have to walk down the street with me wearing that big honkin’ animal face on my chest again.

Why? You mean aside from the fact that the first time I wore it and my husband said, It looks like a doorknocker. On a condemned house.? The words were like an ice-pick in my heart. If that weren’t bad enough, he laughed. Not just a chuckle, a big old snorting laugh.

Oh but there was more. So much more. All the stuff about the pimp and the homeless woman and…well, you’ll have to reference the previous post to get the lowdown on why the necklace became known as my doorknocker, pimp, bag-lady necklace. You’ll discover there were a couple of damned good reasons for the nickname.

The chain is long gone. I imagine I must have used the thick, weighty gold tone chain for some heavy duty industrial purpose, like a drapery tieback or something. Yeah, it was that chunky. But you can see where the chain used to be attached on the back:



If you recall, in that blog post I told you: I wandered along State Street, past the traditional department stores and shopped on the outskirts, where things were a little seedier but the stores carried more unusual stuff at cheaper prices. In one of those shops I saw it. A darned-close replica of the lion necklace! And it was only $12.50! Can you imagine my elation?

There were some minor differences between my find and the museum necklace. Like the fact that the original was lightweight and about an inch-and-a-half high. The bargain one was weighty and three-and-a-half-inches high. The original had a fine 18k gold chain and the one in my hand had a thick, large-link, brushed gold-tone chain. It made an even bolder statement than the original! I loved it.

Go ahead, admit it. You probably thought I was exaggerating when I gave you the dimensions of that pendant, hmmm? Hah! As you can see below, I measured the monstrous thing and it’s longer than the three-and-a-half-inches I reported. It’s actually four-inches long!



And three-inches wide at its broadest part:



Whatever was I thinking? Seriously, it was like wearing a fist on my chest--which made me think of taking this next photo of the pendant next to my fist. Not all that much difference, is there?



So there you have it, my friends. Indisputable photographic evidence to back up my sordid tale of Daisy’s Ultra Chic Doorknocker Pimp Bag-Lady Necklace.

Keep that in mind the next time you think I might be stretching the truth a bit. ;-)

Friends Don’t Let Friends Remain Packrats

I’m a slowly reforming packrat who’s married to Mr. Clean and Tidy. It keeps our marriage…interesting.

A couple of weeks ago I was dutifully weeding through some of the towering stacks of junque I’ve saved for years because I just knew one day it would come in handy, or because it might become rare and valuable enough to make me filthy rich when I sold it on eBay.

Lord, sometimes I’m such a dodo bird.

I’ve sadly discovered that, twenty or so years later, most of the precious stuff I just had to keep is now sadly antiquated, but not nearly old enough to be valuable on eBay. Part of what I saved is newspaper and magazine articles. Not surprisingly, the meat of every article I lovingly snipped can now be found on the Internet with merely a few keystrokes. *sigh*

And yet, still, I pondered over whether or not to hang onto, for instance, all the really important articles from Writer’s Digest I carefully saved in protective plastic sheets in a couple of fat ring binder notebooks.

Dates on the articles range from 1981 to 1988 issues of the magazine.

Something finally made me get rid of those yellowed pages full of laughably outdated material. I’ll tell you about that in a minute.

But first, because we’re friends, I want to ask you some questions.

If you’re a packrat (or live with one), is clutter ever-so-slowly finding its way into most rooms of your home? Do you save everything because you’re positive it will be valuable one day? Or maybe because you’re certain you’ll have a need for it in the future? Or perhaps because, through the unfair agony of genetics, you were born with the dreaded packrat gene and just can’t help collecting all sorts of random crap for no good reason?

Okay, play along with me for just a minute. I want you to imagine this:

You’re a cute little bespectacled old person with white hair, snuggled in your favorite chair with a good book, or maybe in front of the TV watching I Love Lucy reruns. You’re sipping from a nice cup of hot tea, or hot cocoa. Oh hell, life’s short, let’s make it a cup of coffee with Baileys, Kahlua, rum, Frangelico and a big dollop of whipped cream instead. You also have a little box of bonbons, or your favorite snack, at your side, which you’re savoring. You look around and smile because you’re surrounded by all the precious, wonderful stuff you’ve collected for so many years. The stacks and piles and knickknack-lined walls make you feel comfortable…safe…happy…satisfied. You give a contented little sigh because you’ve reached an age where you can finally reap the benefits of all the years you’ve worked so hard. Now you can kick back and relax and act any way you damn well please because you’ve earned the right to be crotchety or eccentric or giddy or whatever it is that makes you happy.

Ahhh…yes. This is nice, isn’t it? Comfy and cozy…

Okay, now I want you to shift gears and read something I plucked from our local news (I’ve condensed it). This happened here in Portland just a week or two ago:

Cluttered House Ignites, Makes Firefighting Difficult

…When fire crews arrived, they tried to get inside the home to see if anyone was there, but they had trouble in their search because of the amount of stuff packed into the house. There were pathways through each room about waist-high consisting of newspapers, t-shirts, magazine, etc. There was just a maze of pathways to get through the rooms. The doors that were supposed to open off the rooms were blocked with waist-high storage of things, making it really difficult. Plus all that added to the fire load. It was mostly paper, which burns easily… Firefighters did not find anyone inside the home once they were able to complete their search. An elderly couple reportedly lives there, and it appears they were not home at the time.

After my shock seeing the blazing house that had become an inferno on TV, and then relief that the elderly homeowners were okay, I cringed because I knew, I just knew I was going to hear about it from my husband.

And I was right.

“Did you get that peek at our future on the news today?” my a-place-for-everything and everything-in-its-place husband asked with that damned, righteous, snickering laugh of his.

Of course I went through all the frown-faced “That’s not funny, those poor old people could have died” chastising, but it didn’t deter my husband from making a glut of humorous cracks about how I’m headed in that direction unless I reform and get rid of all my crap. He’s offered more than once to be my very own free-of-charge de-clutterer/organizer. All I have to do is leave the house and in an hour he’ll have it spotless and organized.

How? By tossing EVERYTHING out because I’ll never miss it because I don’t even know what I have saved anyway because there’s so damn much of it all over our house, that’s how.

So okay, while he may be right, there’s no way I’m ever giving him that kind of blanket authority over my collected crap. They’ll have to pry my cold dead fingers from my stacks and piles before I let anybody swoop in and trash my stuff!

And that’s when it hit me. When I realized the finger-prying thing is exactly what could happen if I don’t get rid of the junk before I’m a cute little old person who wants to cozy up with a good book, liquored-up coffee and a five-pound box of chocolates. Except my fingers wouldn’t be cold and dead, they’d be *sob* charred and incinerated!

Aaaaaaaiiiiiiiiyyyyyyyeeeeeeeeeeeee!

So I had a tearful pity-party accompanied by a glass (or two) of cabernet and threw out my damned obsolete magazine articles. Then I savagely tore through a closet and got rid of all sorts of stuff that I don’t even want to list here because then I’ll start to miss it and regret my decision to donate or trash it.

I have to admit the best part is that it was tremendously freeing. I felt lighter and unencumbered and wasn’t depressed anymore when I opened the closet door and saw all that junk teetering on shelves and collecting dust from lack of use.

So, as your friend, dear little packrats, I’m urging you to join me. Reform! Pour yourself a nice glass of wine, have a good cry and then start trashing. One day, when you’re a little old bespectacled white-haired person living in an airy, de-cluttered house with plenty of space for firemen to access if needed (although it won’t be needed because you got rid of all the firetrap junk), you’ll think fondly about this blog and thank old Daisy.

Once Upon a Time When There Were No Computers

As I sit here hard at work on my latest manuscript and my computer is doing weird, squirrelly, wheezing things, I’m reminded that sometime this year I’m going to have to buy a whole new computer setup. I keep putting it off, hoping the ultra s-l-o-w m-o-t-i-o-n rotation of that damned hourglass will magically speed up or just disappear and I won’t have to close all my open programs and restart the computer several times a day.

Since writing is my fulltime job, I owe it to myself (and my increasingly squinty middle-aged eyes) to pop for a bigger monitor too. The printer’s been making gasping, choking sounds, so that’s gotta be replaced as well, especially since it’s a holdover from the computer I had before this one. We’re talking dinosaur technology here.

I hate having to think about the whole computer selection process (how much RAM, how much of this and that and the other, etc...), not to mention how much money it will cost. Yeesh. It’s stressful (Oh Lord, have I backed everything up enough before I transfer all the data? Do I wanna go with Vista or should I stay with XP?), frustrating and time consuming.

That got me to thinking about the good old days, long, long ago when I first began writing. I wrote all my manuscripts in longhand on a legal pad and then transcribed them. Using a typewriter.

Remember those? That’s when the only other copy of the manuscript existed as a smudgy carbon copy. No, not a Xerox copy, we’re talking before photocopiers were common outside of giant corporations, and waaaay before there were places such as Kinkos. Correcting mistakes and making edits became a messy nightmare. Remember ink erasers and White-Out and then trying to reposition the paper in the carriage just right? Oy!

Then there was all that monumental retyping after the first draft and keeping everything crisp and coffee-stain and finger-print-free before sending it off to an agent or editor. And heaven help you if you had to change the typewriter ribbon (later, film cartridges) in the middle of a page of typed text because you knew it would get all smudged and it would end up having to be retyped. And God forbid that something would happen to your precious blue-on-white carbon copies! *aaaiiiiieeeeeee!*

I dunno. Maybe they weren’t such good old days after all.

But they were exciting for this young writer. Using my mom’s old manual made me feel productive, creative and gritty--like I should have plenty of stale coffee, lit cigarettes and a bottle of whiskey at my side when I worked. You know, like Mickey Spillane. Seeing as how I was only about twelve or thirteen at the time, I didn’t get to role play that visceral image.

I remember the unbridled joy of getting my first electric typewriter after I was married. Wow! I felt like a real writer at last! In fact, I came across an old video of me hard at work on my first romantic comedy and thought I’d share it with you. Enjoy!



(Okay, so it’s not really me. This is a favorite scene of mine from the 1963 Jerry Lewis film, “Who’s Minding the Store?”)

Leatherheads, an Old Fashioned Romantic Comedy

A week ago my husband and I saw “No Country for Old Men” on DVD. Ack!! I’ve never felt so cheated by a movie’s ending. We loved this fascinating, well-acted movie up to the last third or so but hated, DETESTED, the unsatisfying ripoff ending with a passion. In fact, the half-assed ending spoiled the entire movie for me. I won’t go into it because I don’t want to give anything away for those of you who haven’t seen it yet.

Of course, this movie won the Oscar for Best Picture. Huh. Clearly my husband and I not only lack good taste, but we’re also too pitifully ignorant and non-literary to appreciate the unconventional and highly praised “real-life” ending. Suffice it to say that, while he may be the current favorite author of the reading masses (one of his books, The Road, was an Oprah pick), I’ll avoid any movies based on Cormac McCarthy books in the future.

*deep breath* But that’s just my opinion, and a whole different blog.

So anyway, the day after watching NCFOM, we went to the movies to see “Leatherheads”. It was the movie’s debut weekend. I was so hoping it would be as cute and entertaining as it sounded (especially after our bad movie experience the night before). It was. My husband and I absolutely, thoroughly enjoyed it. In fact, we LOVED it! It made us laugh and feel good and we left the theater happy and smiling. It had just the right balance of guy stuff and chick stuff. I never expected it to be so good.

Now, this isn’t a great 5-star movie destined for Oscardom, mind you. The book it’s based on sure as hell won’t be an Oprah pick because it’s too much of a feel-good, happily-ever-after story, and the screenplay certainly won’t be hailed as a literary masterpiece. But it’s one heck of a good, entertaining romantic comedy. The kind that’s shunned by the Oscars but enjoyed by the average lowbrow popcorn-munching moviegoers like me. “Leatherheads” is real throwback to the romantic comedy classics of the 30s and 40s. I liked it enough to watch it again when it comes to DVD.

To be specific (don’t worry – no spoilers for those of you who haven’t seen it yet)…

First and foremost, it’s the kind of story I most enjoy writing, reading or watching. Sassy, quick-paced romance with plenty of conflict and laughter.

It had a terrific classic screwball comedy plot. Hard-nosed sports reporter Lexie Littleton (Renée Zellweger) finds herself at the center of a 1920s love triangle when an aging football hero, Jimmy "Dodge" Connelly (George Clooney), and a rising college star, Carter Rutherford (John Krasinski of "The Office"), go head to head to compete for her affections. Sweet, simple and plenty of fun!

“Leatherheads” is an old-fashioned movie like the romantic comedies it was patterned after. It relies on good, enjoyable storytelling rather than sex or violence, with the exception, of course, of the few customary fistfights that no respectable old movie would be without.

For me, a George Clooney fan, the fact that he starred was a plus. If you’re a fan of Cary Grant or Clark Gable movies, then you’ve probably noticed that Clooney has done his homework studying these actors. In Leatherheads, I noticed the brash but lovable Clooney do Cary Grant’s classic double-take more than once, better than I’ve seen any other actor do it. I like him because he’s got the looks, the acting ability, the charm and the confidence to laugh at himself. As charming as Clooney is, he’s a guy’s guy, which makes men like him as well.

I like Rene Zellweger too. She did a good job capturing the sassy, smartass spirit and character of the standard romantic comedy movie heroine from those old classics. Here she’s a tough female newspaper cub reporter, doing her best to land an assistant editor job. The witty banter between her character and Clooney’s is funny and entertaining.

It’s rare that a movie captures the color and feel of the era. “Leatherheads” did. With the use of a rich, muted color palette, Clooney, who not only starred but also directed, co-wrote and produced, caught the look and feel of the 1920s here. The entire screwball romantic comedy film looks as if it could have been filmed in the 30s or 40s, right along with one of Gable’s or Grant’s classics.

The costuming was authentic and meticulous. I love it when a movie set in a particular time period delivers with costumes authentic to the era. They got it here, from the clothing styles, hats, shoes, the colors, the fabrics and the hairstyles. The only thing that didn’t necessarily seem genuine to me was Rene Zellweger’s shoulder-length hairdo that looked like it belonged more in a 30s movie than one taking place in the 20s when women scandalously bobbed their hair. She had some great hats though.

I adore it when filmmakers take the time to do their research and take the time and effort to replicate authenticity of the period. The landscape, the buildings, the billboard, cars, newspapers, magazines, building exteriors and interiors as well as decor, the furniture, the trains and cars, cigarette packages…heck, just about everything smacked of realism and believability in “Leatherheads”. It’s so rare that it’s done as well as it is here.

I thought the feel of the old newspaper office and chief editor were well captured here. It looks and feels legitimate. The people populating the office come across as true to the period as well. I enjoyed this as much as I used to enjoy the newspaper office scenes in the first couple of Christopher Reeve Superman movies.

Of course, you can’t have a good romantic comedy without the romance. To get her story and the promised assistant editor job, Lexie (Renee) must travel with the team. Not surprisingly, both Carter (Krasinski) and Dodge(Clooney) fall for her. The manner in which they vie for her affections is fun and satisfying. Of course we want Cary Grant…um, I mean, George Clooney, to get the girl in the end. Does he? I’m not telling.

Like the old classic romance movies, this one comes equipped with a good dose of old-fashioned patriotism. Jimmy "Dodge" Connelly (Clooney’s character) tries to get Carter Rutherford (John Krasinski) to drop out of college and join the football team. Carter is not only a star football player who can outrun his completion, but he is also a national war hero of WWI who single-handedly captured a platoon of German soldiers. Lexie Littleton (Renee Zellweger) is a newspaper journalist assigned to get Carter's real inside story about the capture of the German soldiers. This part was enjoyable and I really liked Clooney’s closing line to Krasinski about war heroes (which I won’t reveal here for those who haven’t seen the movie).

I’ve always thought a solid romantic comedy needs wonderful supporting characters, like Tony Randall in the Doris Day/Rock Hudson films. Joel McCrea, Henry Fonda, Gary Cooper or maybe Jimmy Stewart would have been great in the role of Carter Rutherford, it’s that kind of role. I’ve never seen an episode of The Office, so I wasn’t familiar with John Krasinski, but I can tell you he was perfect for the Carter Rutherford role. The entire football team and, really, the rest of the cast (the soldiers, newsmen, hotel staff and guests, etc.), seem to be having a sincerely good time with their roles. Maybe that’s why I enjoyed watching them all so much. I cared about them, which doesn’t often happen in today’s movies.

My husband loved the football scenes. I really enjoyed them too because they weren’t boring in the least. They were full of humor and action and were entertaining even for someone like me who understands next to nothing about the game. The players wore leather helmets, thus the movie’s title. Unlike today’s football players, the players of that era were grossly under protected for such a harsh, bruising sport. The game played in the mud was great fun to watch.

For days after watching “Leatherheads” I was reminded of and thinking about so many old favorite movies that parts of the story and characters brought to mind, like “His Girl Friday”; “My Favorite Wife”; “The Bachelor and the Bobbysoxer”; “Bringing Up Baby”; “It Happened One Night”; “The Thin Man”; and so many more.

Maybe some of you hated “Leatherheads” and loved “No Country for Old Men”. And that’s okay. Really. We’re all different. Just as it should be. Diversity and all that, etc., etc.

What about you? Have you seen either of these movies? Tell me, what did you think?

Daisy Experiences Impure Doll Thoughts

I used to be quite active on eBay as a seller, because, as a diehard packrat, I have SO many years worth of accumulated crap stuff.

Over the weekend I came across a photo I’d taken of a pair of Raggedy Ann and Andy dolls that I’d sold a couple of years ago. I looked at the dolls’ expressions and found myself laughing. The first thought that popped into my head was that they looked mighty darned happy and satisfied. Just as if they’d just had sex. All that was missing was a pair of little candy cigarettes.

And that’s when it hit me. Like a sledgehammer.

I’m not the girl I used to be. There was a time when the first thing popping into my head upon viewing the looks on those dolls faces would have been an innocent – “Tee-hee-hee, looks like somebody’s just eaten some chocolate!”

But, no, my initial glance at a couple of innocent rag dolls had my thoughts immediately turning to carnality. Good God, impure doll thoughts! I fear I’ve crossed some uncrossable line. My thinking has become tainted. The rational side of my brain is sorely diluted. Somehow, somewhere along the line my sense of morality got flushed down the toilet.

Oh lordy, I’ve become jaded. Clearly, I’ve been writing erotic romances for far too long.

Does that mean I’m announcing here in this blog that I’ve decided to stop writing erotic romance?

Nah.

So here’s the photo I’m talking about. One picture is worth a thousand words, as they say. I advise you to pay heed to my cautionary words beneath the photo.



Nuff said.

When a Rewrite Turns Out Just Right

Today’s blog is about the anatomy of a rewrite. It details a book of mine, ABSOLUTELY NOT, released on the last day of November, 2007. If you’re a reader, you’ll get a glimpse into the way this writer’s brain works. If you’re a writer contemplating a major rewrite, you’ll probably drop the idea faster than butter slides off an ear of hot corn. And if you’re a writer who’s in the middle of, or who’s already completed, a hefty rewrite, then you’ll no doubt relate and pity me and may even want to sent me chocolate because you know what it’s like to go through what I’ve been through.

I’ll start with the official blurb for ABSOLUTELY NOT:

After surviving on rabbit food for eighteen months, a transformed Maisy is set to exact revenge on her cheating ex. The fact that the SOB has dropped dead of a heart attack in the act of cheating on his new wife complicates matters.

Paying her final disrespects at the funeral home, Maisy meets Keller, a man so sexy and scintillating, she longs to jump his gorgeous bones right there in the mortuary. Unfortunately, once she discovers he’s the brother of the woman she caught in bed with her husband, Keller is as good as poison.

Maisy’s meddlesome boss and best friend, however, has other ideas. His attempts at playing matchmaker result in a series of hot, steamy, erotic consequences—as well as embarrassing mishaps, masquerades and misunderstandings.

Maisy, a certified chocoholic, copes in the most logical way possible—by trying to commit chocolatcide.

Frankly, this is a post I never thought I’d be writing. You see, of all my books, I never imagined this particular one--this in-your-face funny, madcap, screwball erotic romantic comedy--would end up becoming my all-time top-selling Ellora's Cave title. Huh. Go figure.

Not because I don’t like the book. No, no, no. On the contrary, if I didn’t love the story so much I never would have put myself through hell and back to do the extensive rewrite. It’s just that the original book (titled SHIPPING SHARON when it was released by another publishing company in 2001) was a reader and reviewer favorite. An award winner. A story that racked up a you-know-what-load of accolades.

Why oh why would I be foolish enough to tamper with a terrific, well-accepted book? One that my readers and even reviewers adored? Did I seriously think I could succeed in tearing the story apart and restructuring it sentence by sentence to transform it from a screwball romantic comedy with a couple of brief, light sex scenes into a full-fledged erotic romance? A hot, steamy story crammed with very bad words and lots of graphic sex?

Apparently so, because that’s exactly what I did.

I blame it all on my editor. She’d read the original book years before and remembered it. She thought it would make a terrific story for Ellora's Cave and encouraged me to consider doing a rewrite and submitting it. Of course, my always-eager-to-lap-up-praise writer’s ego got all puffed up and I figured, Hey, no problem. Piece of cake. It’ll take me a month, tops.

Hah!

My writing style and skill level have significantly changed over the years. It seemed as though I spotted something in dire need of alteration jumping out of every sentence as I reread the manuscript. It took me at least twice as long to dissect and rewrite this book as it would have taken me to write a whole damn new novel. I’m not kidding. At times I was ready to tear my hair out because so many changes were necessary. It’s not like I hadn’t heard other authors warning about the agony and futility of attempting a full book rewrite before. If I’d listened, if I’d really paid attention, I would have scrapped the idea because the entire prospect sounded like a no-win situation. Just too major a project to tackle.

But I’m stubborn. Once I started deleting this and adding that and got a true taste of the enormity of the challenge, I was hooked and determined to see the project through to completion.

The trouble started with something as minor as character names. Back about ten years ago as I scrolled through an old high school yearbook from the 1920’s that I’d found at a garage sale (this yearbook is such a gem!), my gaze fell upon a pretty girl with tight finger waves named Mazel. Mazel! Wow, what a great, quirky name for the chocolate-challenged heroine of SHIPPING SHARON, I thought! I could call her Maisy for short (because who in the hell could keep a straight face if I had the hero whispering the name Mazel into the heroine’s ear the first time he takes her into his arms?). I was delighted with the name then and still liked it today, so I kept it for ABSOLUTELY NOT.

But I wasn’t so lucky with the hero’s moniker. In the original story he was named Keller Chaney. His first name came from a yearbook student’s last name and his last name came from the actor Lon Chaney Jr. because I’d just watched the The Wolfman on cable. I’d never heard of anyone else with that last name before. Okay, zoom ahead all these years later and what do we have? Vice-President Cheney. Same pronunciation. Well damn. I certainly had to come up with a different last name for Keller because I couldn’t have readers conjuring up Dick Cheney’s face and body or his Elmer Fudd-like shooting incident when I was trying to make them envision a gorgeous hunk, could I?

So I had to take time out to come up with a new last name for Keller and his sister, Sharon, the bitch. That word bitch kept rolling around inside my brain and I found myself coming up with names that rhymed with it and that’s how I eventually came up with Fitch as a last name--just so I could refer to her at least once in the book as Fitch the bitch.

Now this renaming business might seem like a minor nuisance, but you have to remember it was simply one of many factors in every sentence, every page and chapter that had to be scrutinized. Changes proliferated. Plenty of sex had to be added but it absolutely had to seem totally natural and not like it was just stuck in there for the sake of titillation. I think you can always tell when a writer’s done that. Big mistake. So, anyway, all the sexual tension references about the hero and heroine being hot for each other but not actually having Maisy and Keller doing IT until the second-to-last chapter obviously had to be reworked. All mentions of how long it took Maisy to even let Keller kiss her, much less do the horizontal mambo, had to be expunged.

Let’s face it, no self-respecting erotic romance publisher is going to publish a book where none of the naked sweaty stuff happens until the end of the story. And no reader seeking a nice quivery bit of erotic stimulation is going to let an author get away with it either. So each chapter had to be totally rethought to have the characters oh-so-naturally and subtly acting on their lusty urges, just as if the book had originally been written that way. And yet I still had to maintain sexual tension. Oy!

Needless to say, when the original version was published there was zero gay sex in the story. I enjoyed adding it because it made Maisy’s gay boss Norman and his love interest Rudy seem more real. It gave the readers a better understanding of the men and their warm, loving feelings for each other. Now Norman and Rudy had more dimension, more depth. But finding where to include their intimate scenes was the problem. That couldn’t be decided on without a line-by-line brain-drain in-depth study of each page. I couldn’t have them engaged in a decidedly non-erotic discussion and then, bingo, all of a sudden grab each other and go for it for absolutely no logical reason.

Aside from all that, I was concerned that such a blatantly comedic story wouldn’t connect with Ellora's Cave readers. Not everyone appreciates a healthy dose of madcap with their carnality, you know? Adding more sex to the story wasn’t really a problem. In fact it was great fun opening the bedroom doors for these characters and giving readers a nice juicy peek at the passionate goings-on. It was weaving just the right combination of laughter and sizzling eroticism that had me banging my head against my desk wondering just what the hell I thought I was doing. Asking myself why I would put myself through the torture of such an extensive, exhausting rewrite if readers would just end up thumbing their noses at the book anyway.

I couldn’t just cut out the funny scenes, because I loved them. They made me laugh out loud when I first wrote them and again years later as I reread, so I figured they’d do the same for readers. I could so readily relate to the humorous scenes, especially the ones having to do with Maisy’s chocolate compulsion, because, well…let’s just say I understand this obsession rather intimately and knew other chocoholics would too.

But I had to be brutal. It was already a long book and adding lots of sex was just making it longer. Something had to go. Maybe I could omit the funeral parlor scene (Maisy’s ex-husband’s wake) that opens the book. Oh but I had such fun writing that dark humor. I thought about toning down Maisy’s boss Norman’s continual matchmaking shenanigans and the way he kept getting her deeper and deeper in trouble. But then readers would miss out on so darn much fun.

I toyed with the idea of cutting out side characters, like the cringe-worthy Big Willy, Norman’s gay-phobic, exceedingly politically-incorrect cousin from Texas who has the hots for Maisy. But if I gave him his walking papers, I’d have to scrap the funny gay-phobic stuff and the way Norman struggles to keep Big Willy from suspecting he’s gay.

Perhaps I could eliminate Rudy, the big, handsome and thoroughly lovable dumb-cluck German who gets mega-stressed pretending he’s an Austrian relative of Arnold Schwarzenegger. But if I got rid of Rudy and Big Willy, then I’d be without the favorite restaurant scene where poor Rudy tells Big Willy he’s just pleasured Maisy under the table because he’s desperately trying to convince Big Willy that he and Norman are just a couple of regular macho guys who are as straight and homo-phobic as Big Willy.

I couldn’t imagine obliterating Sharon, the bitchy bimbo who’s Keller’s sister and Maisy’s ex-husband’s mistress-turned-widow. Not when she and Maisy detest each other so much (after all, Maisy caught her in bed with her husband). Plus Sharon plays a key role in inadvertently bringing Maisy and Keller together when she hops at the chance to take off for Russia so she can live like a queen. It was originally Saudi Arabia, as you can see from the cover of SHIPPING SHARON that I’ve included here (be kind, I created that book cover myself), but the times and political climate dictated that I change the location.

I suppose I could have snipped out the real estate guy who makes a brief appearance when Maisy and Norman show up at Sharon’s real estate office disguised in spy gear and claiming to be Boris and Natasha in their horrendous excuses for Eastern European accents, but the real estate guy was only there a short time and he was needed.

Aside from cutting out characters I guess I could have toned down the sex scenes to make them shorter and more traditional. But then I’d have to get rid of the chocolate-chip-cookie-sex-scene and the grape vat sex scene too. And that would never do.

Finally, I could have done away with Maisy’s chocolatcide scene, the one where she tries to kill herself with chocolate after her world comes crashing down on her head and she knows she can never face Keller again because now he knows all her secrets and what she and Norman have done to Sharon.

No. Without that pivotal scene the story just wouldn’t be the same.

So because I refrained from taking a hatchet to my story, ABSOLUTELY NOT turned out to be the what Ellora's Cave calls a Super Plus-sized novel, meaning over 100,000 words. The longest book I’d written for Ellora's Cave to date. And the most expensive.

Oh God…it was going to tank.

That made me whimper. My wonderful big, long, hot and steamy, hilariously funny erotic romance was just going to sit there lonely and unpurchased. And the handful of readers who bought it would scratch their heads wondering what the hell I was thinking and then they’d write me off and never buy another Daisy book again.

But, son-of-a-gun and holy cow, that’s not what happened. Which brings me to why I’m writing this blog post.

ABSOLUTELY NOT is a bona fide success. My bestselling book ever. Color me flabbergasted and wildly happy. As a writer, let me tell you that nothing, NOTHING, makes me happier than having readers love what I’ve written. To know that readers really connect to a story, get immersed in what’s happening to the point that they can forget about what’s going on in the outside world for a little while, that’s gold. And when they actually take the time to send me an email telling me how much they enjoyed a story, it makes my heart swell. I’m especially touched to hear that so many of you who bought the original book, SHIPPING SHARON, bought this rewrite as well--and that you liked it even better. Wow.

My editor has suggested that I consider rewriting two of my other previously-published books, PINCH ME (written under another pseudonym) and JEZEBEL AND THE EGGHEAD. Am I going to? Hell yes. Both the experience and the outcome of rewriting ABSOLUTELY NOT were worth every drop of sweat, every nibbled fingernail, every painstaking reread and every nagging doubt that clawed at my brain.

Yes, committing to the difficult task of a full rewrite was daunting and complicated. But today I’m feeling very blessed. I’m basking in the warm fuzzy glow of knowing that a project I loved has been so well received and that it’s brought laughter and happiness (and a good dose of quivery, heated pleasure) in to readers’ lives.

Thank you for that gift, dear readers.

As if this blog post weren’t long enough already, I’m going to add just a few more lines. These are links to my four previous blog posts concerning SHIPPING SHARON and ABSOLUTELY NOT. If you’re interested, you’ll find back-story information, blurbs, excerpts and the like, as well as a personal confession from me.

1. January 6, 2007: Shocking Confessions of a Closet Binge Eater

2. April 29, 2007: Daisy’s Dreadful Chocolate Fiascos

3. October 28, 2007: Can Daisy Wait an Entire Month? ABSOLUTELY NOT!

4. November 29, 2007: Could Any Chocoholic Possibly Resist This Book? ABSOLUTELY NOT!

5. And here’s a final link to the ABSOLUTELY NOT page on my website, where you’ll find reviews, and more excerpts

Thanks again. I only wish I could I could express how deeply fulfilled and happy you’ve made this writer feel.

RETRO DAISY - Are You a Bashed Bothered and Beleaguered Blogger?

My creative juices are flowing and I’m writing like a house afire on my latest manuscript, so I decided to resurrect one of my readers’ favorite old posts. Trust me, you’ll have great fun with this one! (Originally posted October 10, 2005)

“There is no such thing as ‘fun for the whole family.’”
--Jerry Seinfeld

Family Member: So, are we going to have dinner tonight, or what?

Blogger: Just give me five more minutes.

Family Member: You said that thirty minutes ago.

Blogger: I’m behind on my blogging. I just have one more paragraph to finish.

Family Member: You said that thirty minutes ago.

Announcer: Hello friends. Tired of having your family hound you about the time you spend blogging? Do friends bristle because your blogging is more important than taking their phone calls? Are neighbors grumbling because your yard is overgrown with unsightly weeds since you started blogging? Have coworkers expressed concern because you have blogging on the brain?

What’s a blogger to do!?

Never fear, friends, because Daisy Dexter Dobbs has a painless solution that will have you in everyone’s good graces again, AND have them singing the praises of blogging!

Sound too good to be true?

Well what would you say if we told you that by the time you’ve finished reading Daisy’s handy-dandy blog post today you will be masterfully equipped with tools so incredible, so miraculous, and yet so deceptively simple and easy that you will have the power to bring your friends and loved ones together in a restorative funfest of laughter, love and hilarity. Not only will they amazed and impressed, they’ll shower you with newfound respect and devotion, too!

All for just $19.95! And if you call now, we’ll throw in a set of Ginzu carving knives absolutely free!

Just kidding. Actually, all this brilliant bit of blog-related inspiration will cost you is a little chunk of your time.

After the first demonstration of your new prowess, friends and family will be forced to admit that, while blogging is indeed addicting, it’s also therapeutic and exceedingly beneficial for the entire family, all your friends and neighbors and everyone in your personal universe!

They’ll finally understand that blogging is a responsibility not to be taken lightly. They’ll stop their whining about blogging being a mindless, frivolous, selfish waste of time. Think of it, you’ll never again be subjected to the pain and heartache of being a bashed, bothered and beleaguered blogger!

So just what exactly is this startling, life-changing secret? It’s a game. A simple search-engine game to be exact. Daisy first read about a simple version of it on somebody’s blog, and that blogger found it from another blogger who found it from another, and ad infinitum.

The original instructions were to enter your name into a search-engine, like Google, followed by the word needs, and then record the 5 funniest results in your blog or in the original posters comments area. In other words, you would enter "your name needs" in the search box. So, if your name is Daisy, enter "Daisy needs" etc. (Include the quotation marks.)

You can probably already see the humor potential. Here, for example are two of the actual results of one of Daisy’s searches:

1. Daisy needs to find a new flat because hers is a rat infested shithole with drugged out squatters.
2. Daisy needs money for shoes, and she can’t go home until she has 1500 pesos.

The results can be downright hilarious just doing this. But wait, friends, Daisy (an undisputed expert in procrastination and time wasting) has taken the game several steps further. After you’ve done the initial search, repeat it using the following words instead of “needs.”

Dreams; hates; loves; travels; searches; wants; wishes; begs; refuses, etc.

And more actual search-engine results:

1. Daisy dreams of raining blood
2. Daisy hates anchovies during sleepovers
3. Daisy loves to play fetch with tennis balls, and loves to squeak her spitty duck
4. Daisy travels to the big city where, much like a Dalmatian, she becomes the black-and-white mascot
5. Daisy searches for someone to give her attention through money and sincere feelings
6. Daisy wants to join the show but the director won't allow a cow on stage.
7. Daisy wishes to meet and marry a foreign man between 45 and 70 years old
8. Daisy begs for both men to paint her face with their *bleep* (some of the results can be quite racy!)
9. Daisy refuses to let him stop the car to urinate

and you can just keep going from there with all sorts of words!

And now here’s the part where YOU become a star! Do a number of searches using the first name of each family member (or title, like Mom, Dad, Grandpa, etc.), friend, neighbor or coworker, selecting the funniest results and then printing them out (about 1 1/2 to 2 double-spaced pages worth of results per person). Gather these people together, away from TV or video games or other distractions and tell them you have a new personalized game that you discovered through the miracle of blogging as you hand each of them their printed sheets. (Sheets that you found out how to put together only because you blog!)

Depending on the age group and personal preference, provide some hot cocoa, tea, or glasses of cabernet. As each person reads their results aloud, tears of laughter flow, healthy endorphins are released because of the therapeutic benefits of the laughter, and everyone feels better than they have in days. All because of YOU and your previous vilified blogging habit!

Not only is this great fun (think of the fun you can have with this at parties--for any age!), it also makes YOU big points for taking the time to do the searches and put everything together. “I’m too busy and this just takes too much time,” you say? Sure, it does involve time on your part. You just need to decide if a couple of hours of laugh-filled, out-of-the-ordinary, no cost quality time with your family or friends is worth it. ;-)

Why not go ahead and experiment here on Daisy’s blog? The cost is only $19.95 to post your comments. Ha-ha! Kidding again! Believe it or not, Daisy has graciously permitted her blog readers to post comments here absolutely free of charge! What a deal! So, do a few searches using your own first name and a few chosen search words and then post about five or so of the funniest results in the comments area. You’ll see just how addicting and hilarious this can be! Have fun!