Sunday, November 28, 2010

Here Comes Trouble... (Six Sunday post)

It's Six Sentence Sunday again! In the past month, you've met Delia, the heroine and Grant, the hero of Stone Kissed. Now meet...The Nemesis!  And if you enjoy brief excerpts, go visit some of the other Six Sunday writers.

 The sun had gilded him. The surf had seasoned him. Now Cecily ate him from the inside out, draining him on a kiss and a screw. The muscles in his back and shoulders melted beneath her palms as she sucked his life into hers. He was beautiful, this big, blond young god—an exchange student from Norway or Sweden or one of those countries with a stupid-sounding guttural accent. He tasted so good, so salty, golden and clean. She rolled with him down into the rising surf to feel the sun on her back even as he shriveled beneath her.

Hey--did you catch that? I gave you a bonus SEVENTH sentence.

Thursday, November 25, 2010

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

Meet Sophie and Brogan

In Stone Kissed, when Delia Forrest talks to statues...they talk back.

Sophie is an alabaster figurine who claims she owned Josephine Baker (as it happens, statues have a different concept of "ownership" than we squishy humans do.)  She's sassy and saucy and naughty--but like the legendary Ms. Baker, has a deep compassion for children.

Sophie is forced to share space with Brogan, who was excised under dubious circumstances from an abbey a millenium before. He's an irascible Green Man who doesn't think anyone is worthy of Delia.

And in case your wondering, both this garden version of Sophie and the wall fountain of "Brogan" are gifts from Dr. Stevens. I'm afraid he's going to populate our yard with ALL of the Stewardsville statuary now. In retrospect, perhaps I should have written "Diamond Kissed."

Friday, November 19, 2010

The first gift.

We met back when he had long hair and I didn't yet need underwire. He was a science geek, and I'd always been drawn to guys who knew more big words than I did.

We were (and are) opposites, at least superficially. I love to dance. He loves to not dance. I talk until I'm hoarse. He listens until I'm hoarse. I'm outgoing, he's reserved. I'm impulsive. He analyzes everything. I'm an optimist. He says it's not paranoia if they're really out to get you.

And the first gift he ever gave me was a gorgeous blown glass atomizer and bottle of Giorgio Red cologne (my favorite at the time. Do not judge me). He must have spent at least $100 for me on my first birthday as his girlfriend--which was serious cash for a college guy who lived on ramenghetti.

It was the most frivolous, whimsical, impractical, unnecessary gift I've ever received. His only goal was to delight me.

He did. He still does.

Sunday, November 14, 2010

Six Sentence Sunday: When Delia sees Grant (from STONE KISSED)

The NetGalley advanced review copies (ARCs) of Stone Kissed are up this week. Readers, book bloggers, booksellers and librarians are reading the whole thing! On Six Sentence Sunday, you get a peek, yourself. For more fun, follow the #sixsunday hashtag on twitter and visit the official Six Sentence Sunday website.

He gave no hint he remembered the mousy little girl she’d been, back when he’d been kind to her on one of the best and worst days of her life. At fourteen she’d imagined him an angel, but he was more so now. Not a soft golden one—this Grant was strictly Old Testament, and his likeness guarded the dead in medieval churchyards throughout Europe. Even though his tailored gray suit was the height of civilized fashion, it was a lie.

This man wasn’t civilized. He was the embodied wrath of God.

She didn’t want him to remember.

(Want a little more? Visit for the beginning of Stone Kissed.)

Oh! Oh! And the first stop in my blog tour is up: Come see all the nosy questions Gabriella Edwards asks me at
last week's entry The Story of Ro!

Saturday, November 6, 2010

Six Sunday - The First Six Sentences of Stone Kissed

Every Sunday, writers post six sentences from one of their works. I'm joining in the fun for the first time today. For more Six Sunday fun, follow the #sixsunday hashtag on twitter and visit the official Six Sentence Sunday website. And now, without further ado...

“Yes. Right there, again, please!” The marble satyr moaned his pleasure as Delia scraped away bits of lichen from the groove of his outer thigh.

“Just shut up.” She reached for her boar’s hair paintbrush. For the past two hours she’d been in Mrs. Hansdorf’s Bethesda, Maryland, garden maze cleaning the lewd little flirt, and he was relentless—as were most statues. This satyr was four feet tall and had been sculpted mid-leap, his arms outstretched for the nymph who stood on her own pedestal five yards farther around the turn.