Defining Romance

I'm a hormonal mess. I admit it. I shouldn't be reading romance novels in this state, but I can't help it. I'm chugging away at a book right now (and hope to have it finished before Fable3 comes out--YES, my deadline is a video game release, don't judge) and I need to keep the wordbank stocked. But it leads to this sort of scenario.

Husband: Honey, where's the... wait, are you crying?
Me: *lip quivering, tears spilling, but my back is turned to him* Um... no.
Husband: Yes, you are.
Me: *violently shakes head, unable to speak*
Husband: Look, I can tell because you are pregnant, you are sitting on the floor of the bathroom, you have eight thousand Milky Way wrappers strewn around you and there's a paperback romance next to you and it's opened to the end. Now. Are you crying?
Me: ...OMGYES *COPIOUS NOISY SOBBING*
Husband: Well. I'm glad that's cleared up. I'd comfort you, but I really gotta lose some weight, if you know what I mean. If you're still crying by the time I'm done I'll give you a hug.
Me: *bawls*

...Sometimes I have trouble writing romance because my definition of romance is very broad and includes my husband trying to talk me down from a romance novel-inflicted hormonal freak out while he's sitting on the can. If that's not love, I don't know what is, but it honestly doesn't come off very well in prose. Toilets just aren't sexy, I guess.

edit: I was not actually eating Milky Ways in the bathroom, I just took the wrappers in there with me to throw away and forgot in the throes of romantic climax. I was actually eating them on the bed, which is clearly much better. My name is Heather Howard and I am twelve years old.

Blog Launch! PassionateReads launches TODAY

Click for huge!

Come hang out with 12 AMAZING AUTHORS (and me) on the Ellora's Cave Chat loop today in honor of the launch of our new blog, Passionate Reads. Then it's a week long celebration of erotic romance and erotic giveaways on the blog, with information about more contests coming up, including a pitch contest! Start polishing those manuscripts, get ready to read some sexy prose, and don't miss the party at Passionate Reads!

The brainbox is experiencing difficulties...

Being pregnant completely pummels the thinkmeats. And the energybank. I made the mistake of thinking I had energy two weeks ago and still feel like I'm recovering. This is bad, since writing takes both energy and brainpower and I have neither. You know it's bad when forcing yourself to sit up straight so you can breathe around the baby belly tires you out after five minutes.

Since it's become abundantly clear that I cannot rely on my brain in its current state, I decided to crib from my past brain, whipped out an old WIP that was done except for some quick revisions, and have been chipping away at that for the time being. I hope I can have it done soon.

So this is a post to say I'm making no progress, and it's just as wearing as making progress. And I just looked at my clock, hoping it was bedtime. Not even 9pm. Sad.

Muumuus Only

I am still alive and still pregnant. I'm finally out of the Kill Me stage and into the Baby Is Kicking Me stage at slightly over half-way through. Like everything else, we've been procrastinating on setting up the nursery and doing...well, anything. My husband isn't used to taking the initiative on home-improvement projects; usually I'm the one who gets a bee in my bonnet and throws everything out the window to spend a week stripping wallpaper, repairing drywall, and repainting. And now I can't do any of that, due to ~*chemicals*~. Meanwhile my husband prefers to play Quake III. Yes, people still play Quake III.

Him: I should probably start thinking about building the habitat for the proto-human in your guts.
Me: Yeah, that'd be good. We have 19 weeks.
Him: Wow. Guess I'd better get started.
Me: Yup.
Him: ...Next weekend.

In slightly better news, I've been absent from the net in an attempt to concentrate on writing, and though it took a while, it finally seems to be working and I have allowed myself access to precious intarblogs once more. Basically I spend my days making real, measurable progress on my WIP, which was supposed to be done so long ago I can't even think on it for shame, and grabbing my husband's hand and pressing it to my stomach. The kidlet, of course, is just like its mother and is completely uncooperative. The second my husband puts his hand to my stomach, kidlet stops moving. Kidlet has also added serious pounds to my butt. My beautiful size six butt is now a flotation device. Much of my time is spent pantsless. This is not as fun as it sounds.

Husband: Okay, let's go out to dinner!
Me: Ugh. Do I have to? Can I wear whatever I want?
Husband: Of course, you're pregnant!
Me: Okay. Can I wear these? *brandishes bright turquoise and navy blue pajama pants*
Husband: No. You cannot wear those.

Liar.

Jorge, Jorge, how well I love thee!

It took a while, but I finally have my new computer (again). One that I can actually write on! I won't go into the gory details, but never buy an HP computer unless you want to get third degree burns. Which, I mean... that might be your thing, and that's cool, but I don't like to burn my fingers when all I really want is to write hot hot wingsex.

So behold, the new love of my life, Jorge!



A Dell Latitude E5410. I admit, he's not the sexiest thing in the world, but he IS functional. Or I think he is. The problem that sent him back to Dell - a faulty RAM slot - is not one that I can properly assess at the moment because the screw holding the bottom of the laptop on is screwed in so tight I'm afraid of stripping it so I can't pop my RAM in and IT IS EXTREMELY FRUSTRATING, but I digress. More importantly, he is named after Jorge Luis Borges, my favorite author of the past few years. This makes him the best laptop in the world! I can only hope Borges's corpse is not spinning in its grave.

Astute - or rather ridiculously well-read - readers will have already noted that my Ellora's Cave Quickie, Stairway to Heaven, took vague but essential inspiration from Borges' account of the A Bao A Qu in his Book of Imaginary Beings. I have no regrets. T. S. Eliot said I could.

And now... TO WRITING. AT LAST.

Three month coma and this is what I come back to?

An unupdated blog? WHO IS IN CHARGE HERE I WISH TO COMPLAIN TO THE MANAGER

I actually have a very good reason for being gone, which is: I am pregnant. And the first trimester was abject misery that no one wants to hear about so just be grateful I didn't want to get vomit on my keyboard and therefore did not inflict my thinky thoughts about it on you. The world does not need to know just how impossible it is to write sexy things when the mere thought of movement (or smells, or intimacy) sends you running to the bathroom. My husband, he suffered muchly.

But that is mostly behind me! Knock on wood! Twice a day I stare woozily at my current project and do my best to type a word or change a comma, which, if you believe Oscar Wilde, is half of writing anyway. So it is with the best intentions that I tentatively declare this blog back from hiatus. Look forward to my thoughts on smut with wings on it.

Buy my books and all your fears will be silenced. Taunt me no more, toilet weasels!

It's almost release day. Tomorrow. And here I am, with my thumb up my butt. At least I'm in the right business.

OUT NOW

At Ellora's Cave

Towers! Ghost sex! My greatest apologies to Jorge Luis Borges!

Work it, diva!

I have finally come to that point in writing this story (as in all endeavors in which one truly applies oneself) where I cannot rely on my talent alone to pull me through, and have to actually put forth some effort. Pulling things out of one's butt at the last minute is not a long-term strategy for success! In celebration of this milestone, I have changed my desktop wallpaper from a koi pond to RuPaul. She informs me that I had better work. She's probably right.

But first I have to go to Scotland. You guys wait here.

Let's skip the foreplay and get straight to the penetraish.

Story is giving me blue balls. Is that even possible?

Hero: Hello! I am here to seduce you!
Heroine: Yes please.
Hero: Uh oh, I just wanted to seduce you to get something but now that I'm about to do the deed, I realize I kind of like you and that makes me feel bad about using you.
Heroine: ...Wouldn't fucking me make you feel better? Because I kind of want to!
Hero: I fear not. Look, let's just frot and oral for like 20k words while I struggle with my deep-seated angst.
Heroine: Ugh, boys.

ALWAYS FEELING THINGS, YEESH

Hey baby, ever sixty-nined five hundred feet above LA rush hour?

I'm in love with writing today. Most days I'm not, but today I have a great hero and a great heroine who want to do nothing more than get into each other's pants, and yet they are conflicted and complicated and one of them has wings and I can't believe I get paid to have this much fun. I seriously can't. My biggest problem is that I keep leaping up from my chair and pacing around while the emotion takes me away and that kind of makes it hard to put fingers on the keyboard, but I don't care. I'm about 1/4th to 1/3rd of the way through a book and I'm dying of love for it. I mean...eventually I'll have to seriously consider the plot beyond what I have (and there IS a plot, I swear), but for now I'm soaking it in and hoping this honeymoon period lasts right through to the end.

Update: I'm on fire, three thousand words today, and over half of them smutty. I'm burning you up, manuscript.