Nana Lagoon or the River of No Return

My brother and his family came up from down south today so we went over to my mama's camp on the river. If that sounds like a lot of prepostions, well, too bad. Visiting with family is always fun even if said visit is with a sibling with which the proverbial rivalry has never quite been settled to either parties' satisfaction. Ahem.

Long ago in a galaxy far far away a he was born.

Young and innocent, but all too soon despite his sister's

attempts to keep him from it, he went over to the..

DORK SIDE becoming

DARTH DUFUS.

Note how Jethro (also pictured above) used his Redneck Jedi mindtricks to get the Killer Clones to attack Darth Doofus.

Close up of the clones, they are evil little clones. Hmm, force is strong within these young meanieones.

Jethro the Redneck Jedi training Brookie-kan-shengakankan to fight for the Rebel Alliance. She's a master of .. well her saber's purple, I like purple the best.

Yes, was most amusing to all who watched, including someone so high up in the Rebel Alliance she has a sattelite named after her called the Moon of Jenndor. Not much is known about this moon which orbits the planet called Nana, but it is rumored that Jenndor is populated by scantily clad males who've all had their genes scrambled so they resemble Half Nekkie Hugh, Matt McHottyheyhey, Josh Hottieway and Mohinder WhoisHawt. Now you know why she's smiling in the the picture above. *grin* The waiting list to get onto the planet is long, and the toll is high. Payments may be made to Empress JennsoMean in the form of Godivas, books, posters, iced mochas and (good)movies etc.

Please be advised that the Attack of the Killer Clones is not considered a good movie, however, Star Trek is. Because despite being surrounded by the horrible display above all day (gack) Empress JennsoMean ruler of Jenndor is was and always shall be a Trekkie.

SpocksGurl4Ever

The JennPire Strikes Back!

I'm a Full Featured Girl

Holly at the The Romance Studio put me in the hot seat.. come see how I held up to the pressure. Faelen thinks it's all about him and Lilly and I let him. The Romance Studio

So.. Killed Anybody Lately?

Thanks to the ladies on Angela Knight's loop for making me think.. who have I killed and why? Of course, I went skipping down my own personal Psychopath, which is paved with purple bricks. But hey, the scenery's always nice, just watch for potholes, quicksand and falling chunks of chocolate.

There's violence in The Wolf's Heart and in The Last Legacy, more in the former than the latter. People die and um.. I enjoyed killing them. A. Lot. Let me say now, I'm not a potential serial killing freak. Of course, I'd say that even if I were so, I'll give you reasons.

Jenn's a Cereal Mom/Not a Serial One

Or

I'm Only Cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs, yall.

1) I'm one of the most disorganized people in the whole world. Lists? Ha! I laugh at lists as I lose them in my black hole of a purse!
2) I'm lazy, and all that raising and lowering my arm constitutes exercise.
3) Dead people = Potential zombies. Ew! Brains brains.. acck! OMG!
4) Grudges? I don't need no stinking grudges. Honestly, I just forget crap easily. Who are you?
5) Can't be a tower sniper. Heights are not my friend. Yikes!
6) Hate the sight of other people's blood. Plus there's that germ thing.
7) They don't let you have butter in jail. I live in the Butter Belt.
8) My husband would be stuck with the evil child and cat. *pauses* That's might not be such a bad thing.
9) Most of the people in my area are kinfolk and therefore meaner than me and if not, their mothers most certainly are.

The final and most important reason..
10)My mother lives close enough to cut a switch and be at my house in 20 minutes.


Glad that's out of the way. I'm just garden variety crazy, not insane. So, does writing violence mean I'm a violent person? Nah. I wouldn't hurt someone. In fact, I couldn't do it the way I wrote in my books. I'm not a 7ft tall werewolf, a vamp or a witch. I can't cast spells, rip off limbs or any of the things I've written, but I can imagine it. I can see it being done. I can feel the power flowing through that character, I can for one moment, on that page, in that paragraph become that man or that woman who've come to kick ass and chew bubble gum. Of course, they're all out of bubble gum so we all know what happens then.

So who did I kill? That's a secret I'll take to my grave. In Wolf's Heart you may think you've figured it out, but it's just rage against the proverbial machine that needed an outlet. Ripping off arms, legs and well.. you'll have to buy the book for all the gory details. If you're thinking it's just a funny book like Braless or Spellfire, it's not. The heart of a wolf is dark and hungry, so be warned.

In The Last Legacy it isn't so obvious who my real victim is. And though some might think Lilly's mama is mine. She's so not.. the only real similarities between the two would be their neatness. My own mother would never repress my dreams. However, there is a point where I could see my mama's tendencies in each of the female characters. They all got into the action at some point, because I refused to let Faelen save the day, entirely. Women can be defenders and champions too.

Creativity is a chaotic process, beautiful yet at the same time, wonderfully terrifying and yes, violent, a lot like birth. There's a reason people use drugs to help with both of these. But with the results of creative births, we make the choice, buy it or leave it on the shelf. Read it or not. Personally, I'm okay with violence as long as it stays safely in books, TV shows, movies and yeah even rap songs.


I do think that writing violence helps me with my every day frustrations with my fellow ass.. um.. humans. After a particularly bloody scene I can smile and pretend to be a nice person. I'm not all that mean anyway, but still it helps me attain that southern belle sweetness that for so long eluded me. Yall know, that phony public face nobody really believes but helps you make it through the day without being fired from the Sucky Day Job. *meh*


The Fake Sweet Southern Belle Known As,

Jennda

Fantastic? Hmm, pretty good.

It's been established that my hubby has a deep and abiding love of comic book flicks. In fact, I dub him Sir William, The Duke of Comic Cinema. Whilst I being a good and trusting wife slaved over the shopping list in ZE HELLMART, he ran off to the electronics department. Oh, fine.. I was sniffing the shampoo, are yall happy? I like to sniff the shampoo, it's one of my all time fave things in the whole wide world! Sheesh! The point is this, His Grace of Geekdom got into a slight altercation with the Concubines of Capitalism at our fine department store. All about this...




He wanted this movie they said they didn't have it. He roamed around until he found an entire end cap full of them. This usually laid back man became a royal pain the the ass and stalked back to the counter informing them of the movies' location. (by shoving the DVD in their faces) He then came over to me and said they couldn't find their butts with both hands and a map. It could have gotten ugly if not for the distraction of the strawberry milkshake oreo cookies I'd placed strategically in my buggy.



So, we came home and after the putting away of groceries, some into airtight containers to keep them away from the invasive ants (grr) I lay down to rest on the couch and was subjected to this movie. (It's on again as I type by the way) It was better than I thought it'd be, not as good as say X-Men as sadly, there's no Hugh Jackman to be found anywhere, despite me looking for him. *coughs* All I'm sayin is any movie is made better for the blatant placement of the Half-Nekkie Hugh, or any blog for that matter.

Where was I? *blink blink blink* Oh, yes. What in the world were these Fantastic Fruitcakes thinking when they threw their lot in with a man named Victor Von Doom anyway? I mean really, yall, I know he's not that sort of doctor-- though he plays one on TV*snicker*--but if I were a patient and he came into my room holding out that sinisterly shiny hand of his saying, "Hi, I'm Dr. Von Doom.." That's it.. I'd be out the door before the lights could blink twice.


He was hot on Charmed too but even then.. gack! He was a demon therefore, bad. Since Sue and Reed are all smart and some junk, I know they don't watch TV except for the news or maybe a documentary on the migration habits of the Mongrovian fruit bat for shits and giggles. *rolls eyes* But I'm betting The Human Torch aka Mr. Man Hoor aka Johnny never missed an episode of the WonderBra Witches, so he should have known that Vic was a baddie before they ever hopped a rocket with him. Doom is not a person I'd be going into space with. Surely that name's a jinx. And you know he's bad anyway because he's the only one who's got any dang money in the whole movie!


Only the rich and powerful are really bad in comic movies, unless they have an English accent, a disability and are um.. bald. *Ref to Charles Xavier X-Men home of Half Nekkid Hugh*


If you're mysteriously wealthy, can walk, have all your hair and have an English accent even though you're from Germany and you're Jewish, well, you are bad! Wait, no not bad, yes, bad, no, sort of ambiguous, no bad! We're not sure really, all we know is your powers are gone. Or are we? That chess piece moved. Hmm. Dammit! *Ref to Magneto X-Men Home of.. ahem.. anyway.*


If you have all your hair, can walk and are rich (or were before you lost yo' mind) have a big science-y brain and/or are willing to experiment on yourself and hate spiders, you might be a Spiderman baddie. *Ref to Norman Osborn aka the Green Goblin and his son Harry aka Lil Green and also Dr. Otto Octavius* I think someone didn't care for his science teacher.. hmm.


Note: I only meet one of the above qualifiers, thank you very much! Wait, three , I got hair, I can walk and spiders are really icky. Well, I don't care.. Spiderman sux. More Half Nekkid Hugh!!




While Fantastic Four has made HRH happy.. I wasn't as impressed. Of course, I grade on a different scale. No Hugh and nobody as cute as Ghost Ridin' Nick Cage in a damp towel or as oldster sexy as Sam Elliot either. The action was great though and my fave character of the entire movie was Tha Thang.




Wait a minute, if he's the Duke, that makes me..The Duchess of Geekdom!
*grr*
Jenna

Time to Howl!!

It's out! I'm so happy I could, well, to tell the truth, I'm too tired to do much more than wiggle my butt around in my chair right now, but I can shake that thang, lemme tell ya.

Blurb: When a nosy reporter reunites with a werewolf in tycoon’s clothing, sparks fly and passions ignite. The burning question is, who’s taming who?

Investigative Reporter Elaine Westerbrook is determined to find the answers to the questions that haunt her. Plagued all her life by dreams of creatures that can’t possibly exist, she’ll do anything to get the information she needs, up to and including reigniting a fire with the deliciously mysterious Marcus Bei—a fire she thought extinguished long ago.

Marcus Bei fought tooth and claw to be an Alpha in the corporate world but it’s nothing compared to being Alpha of his pack. It’s lonely at the top as the Lupin of the Arizona werewolf pack, but that’s the price he’ll pay to keep his pack safe from his father and others like him. So when childhood sweetheart Elaine walks back into his life, his first instinct is to shove her right back out again. But Marcus can’t find the strength to push away the very thing his other half has been waiting for so long—his mate.

Together, Marcus and Elaine search for the truth and find out if they have a future in spite of a past threatening to tear them apart. Will Elaine run when she discovers what Marcus really is, or will she accept The Wolf’s Heart?

Doin' the Chair Cha Cha

Jenna Leigh

The Last Legacy is out now!

Yeehaw!!


Lilly Tremaine only thinks she wants to live in a fantasy world. Meeting Faelen McKenna might change her mind. He is a wyvern and a very special one, able to change into a man, if only at night. The guardian of her family for almost a thousand years, he’s here to protect her. When they finally meet face to face, sparks fly. Unfortunately, they are flying from Lilly’s eyes because he has to be the most exasperating man she's ever met.


When he whisks her off to the magical realm of Aetherea, she is amazed at the denizens of this new land. Gods, elves, fairies, muses, dragons and queens are all living in a parallel universe that exists alongside reality. However, danger looms on the horizon, because someone is trying to keep Faelen and Lilly apart. They fight the forces of evil to achieve what every fairy tale must have, a happy ending.


He grinned mischievously at her and spoke in a monotone. "You’re traveling through another dimension, a dimension not only of sight and sound, but of mind, a journey into a wondrous land whose boundaries are that of imagination. That’s the signpost up ahead: Your next stop: The Twilight Zone."

She jumped when the theme song began to play on the radio. "Make that stop!" She put her hands over her ears and closed her eyes. What if she turned her head and that banshee thing was looking in her window? She would die on the spot. She hated that movie, hated that part of the movie even more so. The thought of it still had the power to give her chills. Lilly used to imagine the engine-ripping hag sitting on a tree branch outside her window waiting for her to look at her before she ripped out her heart.

When nothing scratched at the window, she opened one eye and looked around. It all seemed normal. However, years of cinematic training had taught her that’s exactly what they wanted her to think before they got her. She shuddered, cursing every book and movie she’d ever read for fueling her imagination about how bad the ‘they’ could actually be.

"Lilly, calm down. This isn’t the Twilight Zone. It’s only another place, slightly to left of the center of the universe. My kind isn’t normal, so we don’t have a normal place where just anyone can find it. This is the land of magic, the fairy, if you will. One owns this pub we’re going to, in fact. Come on." He got out and hurried around to open her door.

She sat with her fists clenched tightly in her lap. When he opened the door and the light came on, she gave another squeak and cringed. "Don’t be the banshee lady."

"Lilly! I’m not the banshee lady. She owns the music store down the street. She’s very nice."
Despite his reasonable tone, she refused to leave the safety of the car. Instead, she curled up a little further in the seat. He squatted down beside her and put his hand on hers, giving it a tug. "Come on."

"No, you go on ahead, I’ll be fine right here, honest." She closed her eyes again.

"I will protect you, I promise." He sounded sincere, plus, she hadn’t heard any banshees howling yet.

She cracked one eye open. "Swear?"

"Yes." He raised his right hand and gave her a solemn look. She stared back just as solemnly then, with a decisive nod let him help her out of the car. Her legs were shaky, but the warmth of his hand on her arm was reassuring. Lilly smoothed her dress, then her hair.

"Stop fidgeting, you look fine." He put his arm around her waist as he led her to the door of the pub. Soon they stood before an ancient round door studded with square-headed nails. It looked like the entrance to a dungeon, or hell. Either way, she was sure whatever lay behind it would terrify her. Banshees? There were actually banshees? This sucked rocks.

Faelen knocked, and a small panel about midway on the door opened.

"Who is it?" someone hissed.

"Who the hell do you think?" Faelen leaned down and glared at the person behind the door. "Let me in, dammit. It’s cold."

"Bloody hell, you again?" The panel slid closed and Lilly sighed in relief. Good, they couldn’t go in; she was fine with that, really. Then came a sound designed to fill a person with dread, a sound to chill the bones, and still the beating of a person’s heart. It was the creaking of the door opening.

Trailer Trash Barbie and Her Little Sister is Skipper

Thanks to an email from Jamie Hill I have a Rant.. I mean blog subject. Britney Spears, who's been acting like she ain't got the sense God gave a billy goat now wants her fans to name her CD for her. Seriously she expects people to buy it, she should at least have the decency to name it.

She started out with a bang. I remember when she jumped out onto the stage in her white pants and pink belly baring top shaking her jailbait money maker like she had good sense. I know people wondered what her mama was thinking. I can guess what Mama Spears thought cause, I know the area the vapid little cow hails from. There ain't no future down there for girls but marrying some loser with kids of his own, who only wants to make her pregnant ASAP.

Wait, that's what happened with KFed. Hmm. Apparently, even the goofy as she is, she could see the irony of her situation because she started drinking and partying hard. Of course, she's 'sober' and is in rehab now. At least she will be until the get out of jail party her friend Paris Slut-ton throws.

Well, she'd best shape up! Hasn't she ever watched Steel Magnolias? Dolly Parton would bitch slap her with a curling iron then give her one of her wigs, and let's face it, she needs it because whatever that thing is she's been wearing looks like poodle that's been run over by truck. If it were up to me, we'd rescind her citizenship making so she could NEVER cross the Louisiana state line again and take that insanimaniac family of hers with her.

Now look none of us are perfect down here. People love our 'Cajun Cookin' but we're even more famous for our crooked politicians past and present. Then, there were those crazed looters who stole jewelry and furs because dammit they were hungry *rolls eyes* haven't we all had a tasty grilled diamond bracelet? As Rachel Raye would say, "Yummo!" Then there's the familiar refrain of "Who dat talking bout beatin dem Saints, who dat?" And the even more familiar snarky reply of "Basically, every team in the NFL, har har har!" That's fine, LSU won so yall can just kiss our Lagnappe, ya hear? But damn, that girl gives us good Louisiana folks a bad name.

I'm going to say this for all of us downhome, backroad, country girls who have kept our mouths shut because we've had what we like to call home raising. We were taught to be polite, not to raise a fuss. But there comes a time in every Southern Girl's life when enough is enough. It's time to face the ugly truth. Britney please, for the love of gumbo, stop flashing your hoohah by 'mistake'. That's a lie, yall. Every Southern girl learned from the time she could walk, how to get out of a frickin Bigfoot truck in a short skirt and high heels on Sunday morning without showing the preacher what they got. If that girl wants me to believe she can't get out of a lowslung limo without showing the free world her Brazilian, well, she's out of her shaved little brain. And if she can't.. here's a thought..wear underwear.


Perhaps she's just been away too long. Britney, honey, stop flashing. For one thing, it's not the season for it. And another, even during Mardi Gras, every Louisiana girl knows the phrase is "Show Us Your Tits" not your bits.



Bayou Babe


Jenna Leigh

Somthin' Sinister's A'Slitherin' at the Circle K

I'm a former employee of this chain of stores whose only real claim to fame was being in the fine piece of cinema known as Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure. You know the movie that launched fine actors such as Alex Winter and others. Except the dude that played Ted, his career just went nowhere, huh? But , I'm not here to talk about cute yet wooden-faced actors who can't act for crap (unless he's high), but look damned good doing it. (Well, perhaps when I was high)

No, this is about the Circle K, namely the one in my Redneck of the woods. One of the employees of Circle K called my father-in-law (the manager) a few minutes ago to come and kill a five foot long water moccasin. His reply. "Kiss my old Irish arse. I'm disabled, remember? Oh yes I am dammit! I'm diabetic!" *click*

Now, I realize what you're all thinkin'. Ah, this is Jenn, she says she lives in 'das stix' so, what's the big deal? Yeah yeah, I live in the sticks but Circle K is in what passes for the city around here. Stroptropolis, if you will. Then, and here's the kicker. This is the fourth very large water moccasin they've gotten out of Circle K in the past month. I'm not really afraid of snakes. Okay, don't get me wrong, I'm not their biggest fan either, but a water moccasin is not one of my favorites because it's aggressive, territorial and if you wanna know the freakin truth, just plain mean.

I don't know about yall, but I figure it's time to call in a professional or failing that a psycho, namely my mother. She feels snakes and sharks are all out to get her anyway and has adopted "Shoot them suckers first" as her motto, hell, it's on our family crest. If you're wondering, that would be a hand written sign to warn people about stealing our crap. People meaning strangers who don't know about my mother.

I figure my father-in-law could give my mama a carton of siggies, a pair of boots, and a box of ammo and just let her go to town in there. He'd get rid of the snakes and the store would be well ventilated by the time she was done. Being that it is my mother, before she left, the candy would be color coded, dusted, and aligned with the planet Venus too. You do not want to freaking know what it was like living with Mondo Mommy Dearest From Hell. She should be glad she ain't well ventilated is all I'm sayin.

So, please, be aware that the snakes are out and apparently, they think they're supposed to be shoppin at the local convenience stores. Okay, I don't know what they're thinkin' but unless you've got my mother on your hip (God knows she'd fit!) just be careful.

Luv and Hisses!

Jenna

Like Pulling Teeth

Most women when faced with their children in distress or pain. Freak. Me? Well, I think it's been established I'm not most women. Okay, don't get me wrong, I'm not laughing at her. She's hurting. I get that. But really, I've had teeth pulled. It's not that bad. Let me go one further and say, I've had teeth pulled without the benefit of gas and/or intravenous drugs. It's. Not. That. Bad.

Shots. That's all I'm saying.

I took my kidlet to the oral surgeon to have her wisdom teeth cut out. She just had to have her bf along for teenaged moral-less support. My mother gagged when she heard about it and informed me she was going to need insulin it was just that sweet, but that's beside the point. Anyway, I went back in the room with Mozilla, Amazon Teen Queen of Mean. She informed me that she'd rather the bf, went with her. Well, by God, I went back there with her. Cause I'm the mommy, that's why! (no yall didn't ask, she did!)

Those long legs of hers hung off the edge of the chair, touching the floor, so it was sorta funny. But, I teared up when her big brown peepers never left mine, and she kept hold of my hand really tight. I confess to holding on way after she passed out completely too. *sniffs* Then, they broke out them freaky socket wrenches and I ran back to the safety of the waiting room to hide under my hubby's arm like a scared lil bunny rabbit. Yes, her bf asked about her and he looked worried. I may need insulin too. *sniffs* Oh shut UP!

After a few minutes, I stepped outside to sniffle in peace and called the Nananator and told her she was under the influence of the 'good drugs', and then told her the bad news. Since hubby had to go to work (grr) we weren't going to come by her job on our way back since we had to stop off to the Hellmouth for gummy wummy mouth mouth food for the Mozilla. Five (I kid you not) seconds later, she calls back. "I'm on my way." Dear God, the woman is such a baby! *sniffs* I said shut up!

Well, crap! Right after that, it was over and they've got her parked out back in a wheelchair waiting on us to pick her up. So, I call my mama back and tell her to meet us at Hellmouth. Then, it's getting this 6ft heifer in the car. She's higher than a Georgia pine, but finally her father and the bf get her in the back of the truck. Wait, let me rephrase. We have her in the back of the Explorer with the seat down and a pillow under her head. I do NOT have my baby in the back end of a pickup truck. Ahem. She proceeeds to take the gauze out her mouth and wave it around trying to hand it to me, making her bf and her father gag and scream. Oh the joy. Evil doped up child. (smiles)

Anyway, I shall refrain from comparing my husband's (slowass) driving to my mother's (like a bat outta hell, yall)abilities, so, when we pull into the parking lot, I'm not surprised to see that we are almost broadsided by The Nana Mobile. However, the hubby, who thinks he drives like Dale Jr instead of Ms Daisy, is and screams extra loud, making my doped up daughter's boyfriend do the same. This makes my doped up daughter sit up and yell "MMPH?" in wideeyed surprise.

I answer, "Nana."

Mozilla "Mmph." Falls back on the seat.

Then we have the ice cream, popcicle, drink fight. Do not fight with your child when she's on the 'good drugs' Just buy her whatever you want. Do not try to get her to understand that you're going to buy her a drink and popcicles or ice cream. It will not happen. Oh and make sure her boyfriend isn't RECORDING YOU ON THE CAMERA PHONE. I swear if I end up on the You Tube, someone's ass is grass and I'm gonna be the lawn mower. For Real.


Jenn Deere
I mean it!

I Write Corrected

Hard as it is to admit, I need mondo editing. Yeah yeah yeah, I know very well I'm not perfect. But when you write a character, flawed as they are, you want to think they are. I know that sounds weird, but it's true. I don't want a character who never makes a mistake, how boring, how icky. I'd hate him or her and would want to kill them by the second page if you must know. Villains are the only perfect characters, and they are the only ones who see themselves as such because they're crazier than a cracker jack.

**Author Note: Hey now, I know I'm nuts! But I also know I'm not perfect, I'm just the regular garden variety sort of crazy, not that take over the world kind. Let's call me lazy crazy, okay? This means, I won't take over the world, but if someone hands it to me, I'll say, "Thank yall!" and make Hugh Jackman my pool boy. Lazy crazy like a fox in other words *drool*

Fantasies of unlikely world and even unlikelier hunky Aussie domination aside, it's bad enough writing the stupid sucksnotsissy (yuckamundo). Then you have to get your courage up to submit the darned thing. After that, you wait.. and wait.. and wait.. and finally just when you think they hate it. They. Say. Yes! And all is right with the world. Birds sing. Flowers bloom. Author squeals in happy delight. Life is a wonderful thing. Chocolate pales beside being accepted. Wait a dang minute, let's not go too far. Hmm.

Then horror of horrors, you get a file marked edits. You open it and discover that you may very well suck some serious eggs. Now, I'm not talking terrible, not really. But when it's your work, it seems like it. This creation that you slaved over for an eternity, polishing, honing, fixing this world you lived inside, with people you know better than you know some of your own family members--and better than I want to know some of mine--is being criticized by someone who is logical, critical and objective. Hooray for the readers!! Boohoo for your ego. *sniffles*

For a long time I belonged to a group where we jokingly (or not so, in my case) called author Sheri Kenyon the AG--Author Goddess. Now that I write something other than a post or two, I understand that better. She is a goddess because what she writes is divine, however, she also creates a world that's hers alone, though she's gracious enough to share it with so many in that fanfic group.

I've finally figured out that I too I make a world where my characters live. I'm not divine in any sense of the word, or if I am, I'm more along the lines of a Bitch Goddess Supreme, needy, crazy, and er.. a bit sadistic. I'll strip whole scenes and replace them at a minute's notice. I put my characters in the worse scenarios, snickering with glee as I go for the laugh almost every time. I'm the Jokester, the Prankster, the Trickster from Hell. I don't care who knows it either. It's my nature to do what I want, when I want.

But show me edits and I instantly regress to a second grader with my most scary teacher ever. I cringe at the sight of red marks. I quail at all the highlighted words that mean I'm a repeat offender, using the same words again and again. Don't get me started on the comment balloons. I've gone from Bitch Goddess to a postulant in two seconds flat, that's gotta be a record, right?

However, there's something to be learned from all this, besides a lesson in humility, grammar and dear Lord in Literary Heaven, save me from freakin tags please! Never underestimate your editors. They'll keep you from looking like a complete and utter goober. Look at my blog for instance. Nobody edits this thing but me and it shows.

My publisher once joked that I should worship my editor as she saves my ass from the fires of error hell.. I snickered and told her I'd be properly respectful. But what she said is true. They catch stupid mistakes. I'm a writer, not an editor. Creation is a chaotic event. I love my characters which is how it's supposed to be, if I didn't love them, the reader wouldn't either. But as we all know love is a very messy business and editors get the unenviable job of cleaning up an author's work. Artistic temperament anyone?

I don't whine, (out loud) my mouth is too full of therapeutic chocolate to do something so childish. But with all those red pen marks all over the place it makes me feel like I got an F on my report card. I expect my mother to come in at any minute and take away my television as punishment.

So, salute your editor.. worship them Set up altars, eat chocolate in their names. Whatever gets you through the process of doing exactly what they tell you to do. Because they know what they're doing. In the immortal words of my mommy. "This hurts me more than it hurts you, dear. " I highly doubt that, but I'm using that phrase and hella coffee to get through it all. Ohmmm.

Blue Bayou Babe,

Jenna

PS: Yes, the picture of Hugh is there to cheer me up, and yes, it is working.

Chatting Saturday

The work week getting you down?
Not sure what the weekend holds?
Well now you do now!

Join
J. Morgan
Alysha Ellis
Jenna Leigh
Shea McMaster
Jennifer Loy
Kiera Black

So get ready to kick those Weekday Blues!

Join us Saturday May 12th
Starting at 12pm est

At

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/CK2SKwipsandKritiquesBookClub

for a whole day of love and adventure
As we bring you
to the edge of your seat
to the brink of tears
tickle your funny bone
and just maybe
make you fall in love all over again…
For the first time.

Obsessive MS Polishing Disorder

Hi I'm Jenna Leigh and I have OMSPD. If you've never heard of it, don't worry.. I just made it up.. at least, I think so. For all I know this is a real disorder complete with its own support group, treatment program and medication. And here I am self-medicating with chocolate and while I deluge my poor friends with panicked IM's asking them. "Do you really really like it? Are you sure? Are you really, I mean really totally really sure you liked it?" Five minutes later. "Really really?" Five seconds later. "When you say really do you mean really or really really?" I'm sure they're ready to move away without leaving a forwarding address and put me on the FBI Most Stalkery List. (again)

What brought on this bout of self doubt and overindulgence in my most favoritist sweet in the whole world? *scuffs toe* I've turned in the final edits on one of my manuscripts. When I do that I get the freak out shakes. Between me and my editor the Sainted One Who Hasn't Killed Me (yet) we've hammered out all the POV switches, bad tags, icky grammar, Communication to Mars (I blame ET) and some parts that just did NOT work. It doesn't take very long for me to figure out that I need editing. What I want to know is how come I can't have an editor for real life? I'd love one!

Sans editor.
Hubby: "Honey, does this shirt look ok?"
Me: "EW!"
Hubby: "What do you mean ew?" Looks hurt and doesn't speak to me for the rest of the day.

With editor.
Hubby. "Honey, does this shirt look ok?"
Me: "EW!"
Hubby. "What do you mean ew?" Looks hurt..
Me. "Um, there's a spot on it." Comes up and sticks her greasy fingers on it while he's not looking.

See? Editing thing is gooood! My problem is finding someone small enough to fit in my ear though. Hmm..


Back to my manuscript. Now that I've turned it in, I'm forcing myself not to look at it again for fear that I'll find a million mistakes and go batty. I know I will.. I'll see this teeny thing that will blare out at me. It'll be Sainted One? On page 20.. then the next day. Um.. er.. page 92.. Then next week, if it ain't too much trouble, can we change this? Until I get a ticking package in the mail.

I know the score.. so I'll sit here not lookin.. no, not me. Not gonna look. Arrgh! I gotta go look! But nobody saw anything! Ok?


If you're crazy and you know it type your name,

Jenna Leigh

Uhh EFO, I don't think we're in Louisiana anymore.

That was basically what I thought I was gonna have to say to my cat yesterday afternoon.

I was a sweet wife for a change and got supper started before I sat down to surf. I'd just started my 4th day chatting on Jennifer Loy's group when a loud boom of thunder made me change my mind and turn off my computer after telling them I'd be back after it was over. Ha! Ha! I say! Just.. well, it's not too dang funny if you must know.

I went into the kitchen to get the rice on before the electricity went off because in my redneck of the woods, if the sky even spits the lights go out. However, as I was filling up the boiler with water, I happened to look outside and see how dark it was and how windy.

I saw a flash and at first I though lightening struck this metal thingit my mother bought me. My first reaction was "Man! She's gonna be so pissed! I bet she's gonna think I broke it and blamed it on lightening!" Note how I was much more upset about that than the fact that lightening struck not 20 yards from my front door. Yeah, dammit my priorities are so too in order, yall ain't met my mother! Then, I see little little balls of lightening in a straight line. I became upset all over again as my husband has planted some bushes beside my metal mama gifted thingit and wondered if it had just become some sort of jumped up lightening rod that fried my hubby's bushes! Arrgh! Now he'd be all bitchy. *sighs* However, very quickly, I figured out three things.

I shall list them in order of importance.

1. My mama gifted metal thingit was safe. (Hello! I am serious, she'd be mondo pissed!)

2. There was a ginormous tree down across the road and what I was seeing as lightening was in fact, electricity, namely MINE being snapped out into the air in a most wasteful manner. How dare that stupid tree take my electricity. I wanted to jump out on my porch and yell at the little escaping pieces of light"Hey hey, come back here you silly stuff, get back into my TV, Stove and most important, MY COMPUTER!"

Too late though because, the lights went out and if my hubby had been there with me, this last one would top the list as he'd be whining loud enough to be heard over the wind that was by then getting way louder.

3. There'd be no rice in my home this night. Well, fffffffffffudge. Oh and none of that either as I can't make it when it's raining, but I digress.

The little pops of light flew up the line until it hit the transformer and I watched wide-eyed as it too went with a loud bang, shooting sparks about ten feet in all directions. At this, I said a few very choice words which I am all too familiar with, turning my dark kitchen air blue. EFO at this time, wisely went into the cabinet beneath the kitchen sink with is his Royal Sanctuary during storm times. I did what all good rednecks do in times of crisis. I CALLED MY MAMA!

Omigosh, mamathere'satreeanditomgomgomgomgomg!windandatandndndnananandACK! If you can't read that, well, imagine how she felt getting that message on her voice mail. Of course, in my defense I was running through the house putting on a pair of shorts, some flipflops and getting my all important purse. Why would I need my purse in 70 plus mile an hour winds? I don't know but by golly, I'd have it just in case.

I thought about going to my father in law's who lives right down the road, but things began to fly across the yard, large heavy things. Things I was sure weighed close to my own *mutter mutter* pounds. Then there was the ginormous trees besides the lightening victim that had been felled by wind, so there was no way I was going out there. I don't have roots , my size ten feet would stand no chance at all. So, I stood in the dark and waited.. and waited and waited until finally.. hubby came home to wait in the dark with me until 11:30 when the lights came back on. I will say this, those linemen were out in the rain and thunder up on those cherry pickers. There's no way I'd have done it.

Until we got our electricity back, we watched crazy rednecks driving back and forth under the lines. I may be a redneck but at least I'm smart (yes, CHICKEN!) enough to just take pictures . Nyah.

Somewhere Over the Bayou

Jenna Leigh

How to Beat the Not Going to RT Blues

A lot of the authors are off to RT this week, leaving some of us feeling either left out or, if you're me.. like the proverbial mouse when the cat's away. So, I've been thinking, what are some things the shy, the scared or the just plain too dang mean for Romantic Times (this one is me)can do to pass the time while they're all down in Texas with them sexy cowboys? Hmm.. well, let's see. I could write a hot steamy romance to curl a reader's hair and win me awards, make me money and all that. *pauses* Nah, I'd rather be evil, no use going against type now.

5 things to do for those left behind.

1. Make voodoo dolls of all the RT Goers: Everybody can pick someone and get busy then make mystery type ailments befall them. I'm sure all the authors would appreciate a bad hair week. They're usually great sports about stuff like that. Helloo there Don-na King or Donolda Trump, both of them have Don in their names, now that's spooky! I call dibs on er.. well, never you mind, I have a voodoo doll already made. (now they'll all wonder, won't they?)

2. Recruit a SPY. There has to be one of the RT'ers who will sell out their brethren and/or erm.. sistren for a box of high-end chocolate. You know it, and I know it. Well, if I was there, I'd know who to try and bribe with the box. (Yes it is me! Hush!) Hmm, this may take further study.

3. Skip the spy, and get video of the confie via satellite. Oh man, I could be a high-tech redneck for real! Ooh and we could get a few shots of cover model's hotel rooms. All that lovely exposed man flesh, glistening and shiny, and.. What? Like yall didn't think of it! I mean, I'd never condone spying on naked, hot.. um.. Ok, I got a little off track , back to the program.

4. Road Trip! Nuff said. Wait, I'm not riding in the back seat, I get carsick. There now it's nuff said.

5. The last and the one I actually mean: Hope they all have a wonderful trip and come back with wonderful stories to share and slightly embarrassing pics to show us. Actually I'd love for that last bit to happen so if they could all promise to get drunk and pretend it's Mardi Gras that'd be great!

Show Us Your ..

*grin* Jenna

PS: My sweet, nice editor, Angela James (yes, I'm sucking up, yall hush) has the The Left Behind Contest for all us poor deserted souls. The details can be found at either Southern Fried Romance Writers. or at the Samhain Cafe Good luck and may the best book ho win. That'd be me, but I'm just sayin.

Amazon Teen Queen of Mean's Night Out

Sounds like a good book title huh? LOL. Um well, it's like this see, I don't call her Teen Queen of Mean for nuthin' and I have to sleep in this house while she prowls around free, so if it's all the same to you.. no.

Prom Prep is Hell for girls. And my baby's been getting ready for the Jr/Sr prom for over a month and a half now. For a kid that won't plan more than an hour ahead this is saying something. I'd say I was proud of her planning abilities if she didn't get her World Championship Procrastinating Genes from yours truly. This means I've been dragged around on all these planning trips to get the dress, the shoes, and various bits and baubles that go with everything in between. I'm not going into that dress rehearsal from hell where I was forced to do her hair, make up and all either. I'm not, but I will say I have flashbacks from it.

My aunt was deprived of a lot of this due to the fact that her firstborn was male and therefore spared all this crap. While her second child is a girl, she despises all the pomp and circumstance. What's more, she can and WILL outrun her mother if she so much as thinks that a camera's pointing in her direction. I swear that kid must have been a movie star in another life. (or Bigfoot or Loch Ness Monster or somethin)

So, my sweet auntie was happy when Mozilla of Tall City wanted to go all pinky and frilly to the prom. I was thrilled that someone else wanted to do the work so I didn't have to. She did the garter and all sorts of wonderful frou frou things I'd have hated. My mother just wanted to look at frickin sparkly shoes, and shop for a sparkly dress. Basically, she wanted to buy something sparkly, heck, at least her tiny legs matched her magpie eyes, huh? However, there is a drawback(there always is).

When they found out that we were going to take some pictures of the children at our local museum, they decided to come over and take some too. Unfortunately for my child who will be late to her own funeral, my mother and aunt arrived first and caught her BF all alone.. *evil smile* I've always maintained that my mama and aunt ain't ever met a stranger for the simple fact that there ain't nobody stranger than them. So, they introduced themselves and were basically me to the nth degree times two. I was most impressed at Mozilla's ability to have a complete and utter breakdown in four blocks, but she did it and recovered by the time we arrived.

But when we arrived well.. Oh. My. God. When did my mother become a high tech redneck? She had her digital camera in tow, tripping along after my child and her prom date in her(sparkly) flipflops telling them "Just one more." *click* *flip flop flip* *click*

My aunt? She had on sandals, *tap tap tap* and a faster camera, *click click click* "Aw, sooo cute!!" Just one more.. ad clickium

Together they were the Famarazzi!

Aack!!

Jenna

But You Have Such a Pretty Face

My blog is a little personal today, so bear with me.
This is a picture my hubby drew, which I think represents my warrior woman tude today. *snorts*





The title of my blog sounds sounds sorta sweet huh? Yeah, right. If these three things appy to you:





1. You weigh more than five bushels of corn.
2. You live below the Mason/Dixon Line
3. You clean up nice.





You've probably heard it before. And if you're a fellow curvy hotty southern cornbread and pot licka eatin' type of sista you're also probably aware that hidden beneath this saccharine sweet little comment hides one of those patented Southern Belle Bitch types slurs that goes like this "Too bad your ass is so fat."



Some SB's are a little passive aggressive you see, and would hate to scare the menfolk. They don't want do that, at least until they have them safely legshackled, then, well, look out Roosterboy, cause you're gone be henpecked within an inch of your life. I woulda warned them but, I was too busy fending off their cute but bony girlfriends' barbs that are sugarcoated so nobody figures out they're sharp enough to cut through me like a knife through butter, which I don't mind sayin is a food group in my book.


When I was a little girl, I was tiny, petite even. However, when I hit puberty, something horrible happened. I grew.. a lot. At the age of ten, almost overnight I got the bazooms. *sighs* While I could discuss the stupidity of boys at length, I won't because that has been established long ago, along with the fact that they have cooties which are contagious, and grow into these things called.. *gulps* babies. EW! But, I will tell you that other girls do not care for the ones that get bazooms first. They're jealous of the attention of the stupid boys, despite the fact that I was beating said stupids up almost daily for their teasing. I was confronted in the bathroom and informed that I'd best do something about the two ginormous growths that had sprouted upon my chest or else. *blinks* Luckily for me, I had mondo-next-o-kin and we did kicketh the arse, so it was established that you did not mess with us. (I cannot put my last name here, as we are just that evil.)


Little did I know that my own family would turn on me as I continued to grow.. my er.. maternal side is a bit, short, bony and just.. ok, they're mean assed pigmies. I was told continually that I was fat, even when I wore a size 5. But when you're up against a 4'11" person, you feel like the not so jolly beige giant. So, I retaliated by eating to piss them off. I didn't gain much though, and kept to a size 7 until I got out of school, then, after I had my kid and got on meds for a medical problem, I er.. expanded.. built on.. and stuff.


Well.. let's skip forward a few years.


I dieted, fasted, all sorts of things and couldn't lose weight. I heard the title of my blog for over 20 years and ignored it because as my fraternal grandmother, fondly called Meemaw, who was a larger woman said . Beauty is only skin deep but ugly's to the bone; beauty fades away but ugly lingers on. I take after my daddy's side of the family you see. I look a lot like my mother, but from the neck down, (besides the er.. girly parts) I am him.



So, while I ate the same amount the pygmies did I wondered why the hell I couldn't lose weight or their unspoken disapproval and that damn "But you have such a pretty face." I just wanted them to leave me and my pretty face alone. But they hovered like bony little vultures, waiting for me to gain another pound, prodding me. I tried to tell them it wasn't my fault, it must be hereditary or something else. Apparently, this was my size. I was healthy, happy (when they shut up about it) basically this was me. For 20 some odd years, I'd been this way... Finally, I just learned to live with it. And finally I tuned the evil pygmies out with the help of my hubby who said "Screwin a skinny woman's like sleepin on a bed of coat hangers." and then he um proved it to my everlastin delight *ahem*



Until *smirks* last year, I went to a new doctor who finds out that I have a thyroid problem. Yeah, I know you hear some say that "it's my glands" as they stuff their faces with fried chicken etc. But with me it was true. He said more than likely after havin the Mean Teen Queen it messed up and never got back on keel, and then the crap meds I took messed them up more. So, with my new meds and the thyroid meds.. I've lost about 35 lbs so far and now that the weather is changing, I'm going to start walking, hopefully this will make it go faster.


So, when they (the bony phonies) notice my weight loss, do I take the High Road and be nice? Hell NO! I squeal my evil little tires right on down Snark Street as I tell them it was my glands all the time in the snottiest voice I have, which is pretty frickin snotty if you must know as I learned it from The Southern Belle Bitches aka them. Is this nice? No. Do I care? Um, no. My pretty face is a little thinner, but this smartass mouth is just as big. And I have them to thank. How do I do that? Every time I open it to say. "Have you put on weight?" *evil smile* Time don't heal all wounds, but it does slow down the metabolism and all that bacon them heifers ate is FINALLY catchin up to them. Southern Belle Karma is a bitch, and I think she likes me, maybe she's one of my curvy cousins.



Jenna Leigh
Southern Belle Fruit Off
The Bitter Bitch Branch of
the Redneck Family Tree

So.. I'm The Devil

Once upon a time there was this man.. let's call him Hubby. When he'd get sick, he'd ignore my sweet, compassionate urging to go to the doctor (yes this means bitching, shut up!) and be ill, sometimes for weeks at a time. If I privately felt he should suffer for being stubborn, well, I kept these thoughts to myself for the most part. Well yes, I'd laugh and do the dance called the Righteous Rumba, which involves a lot of booty shaking and sticking out of the tongue at the WRONG party. Please keep up, ok? Sheesh! I mean seriously! I made the whiny wuss chicken soup and soothed his fevered, brow, and wiped his snotty nose. Did I not deserve to gloat? I did! Pfft! After a month of coughing, sneezing and blowing his mucus infested snozola he finally decided to go to his doctor, so I knew this sick puppy must be feeling really bad.

He took off work, which was another clue. I will say that he's a good man, a strong one, if stupid. He can have a 101 degree fever and still go to work. However, on this day, he calls and says he's going in, and will be up to my work to wait until it's time for his appt. but when I offer to go with him, he informs me very smartly that he is grown and doesn't need ME to go with him. This is despite the fact that he trucks his big butt up in MY last dr. appt, exaggerated and almost got me put on nerve pills until the doctor saw my other meds and thought it unwise to add to it. So, I smile, speak to my boss, who by the way is as evil as me despite being a member of the male sex, bide my time , follow him out the door and wait until my time to strike!

See, Hubby hasn't been to the doctor for over three, count them THREE years. Through msytery aches, backpain, headaches, chest colds, fevers, night sweats, belly aches, chest pains (not heart related, thank goodness) fever, etc, he's refused to go to the doctor. So, now you see why I smiled at the receptionist and stepped through the door behind him. She being a friend of mine (and a fellow evil woman) smiled back and gave me a wink and a thumbs up sign. She probably hogties and drags her man in there once a year. Ha! Anyway, we wait and wait and wait. Hubby isn't good at waiting, but he'd thought to bring a book, so it wasn't that bad. I had one too, a dirty one, which I shove in my purse when the doctor comes in.

I've been thoughtful enough to stick Hubby back against the wall so that I am on one side of the door and now the doc is on the other side, like evil guards against his continued bad health. It all begins so innocently. "My head is stopped up." *cough cough cough* "I have the sinuses."

"I think it's your ___." Doctor puts samples on the desk. "I know it is. And you're gonna take these this time unlike last time cause she's in here now and it's gonna be better in a week, I promise. " Evil smile at me. Oh yes, we understand one another perfectly.

Hubby frowns at the meds as if they're poison. "But but but..I have sinuses."

"I told you this same thing three years ago ." Doctor taps his fingers on table. "Are you having any other problems?"

Hubby shakes his head. I smile and lean forward. "Yes.. let me tell you all about it." And I take a deep breath and begin to list them, quickly without pausing . Ending with this jerkin spell problem he has if he doesn't eat every hour and a half.

Hubby's eyes widen, as does the doctor's smile, when I'm finished he laughs. "Buddy you shouldn't have let her in here with you. But now that you have, we are going to have to make some diet changes." It behooves me to point out that you shouldn't mess with a doctor that knows not only your medical history but also that of your aunt, grandfather and grandmother who are all diabetic. He doesn't know his father's history as he's a stubborn as Hubby and refuses to come in as he's afraid THIS will happen to him, the junk food loving, chicken.

The result is.. he no longer gets to eat what he as a genuine Irish American Redneck considers the 4 basic food groups. Taters, Cornbread, Bread and Sugar. In other words, no fun! Oh the horror! He called his father and told him. The response "You might as well shoot yourself in the head! I'm never goin up there now!" An hour later, he called back and magnanimously offered, "I'll come get that mint chocolate chip ice cream you bought the other day so it won't go to waste." My hubby sweetly offered to cut him if he tried it.

So I'm on a search for low carb, high taste crap to feed this poor deprived man who has informed me that he will weigh 20lbs by the end of the year. I doubt it, not when he figured out today that pork skins have no carbs (oink oink big boy). Now I have to put up with the stinky eye every time we pass the bread aisle at the super market. But he does feel fuller after his high protein meals. I just feel better knowing he'll be around that much longer for me to torment erm.. I mean love.

The Devil in the Blue Scrubs,

Jenna Leigh

The cover for The Wolf's Heart is up on the Samhain Site!

Each step in getting a book ready for publication is still really new for me, everytime something comes up, I'm worse than a kid at Christmas. Well, Santa Anne Cain put a great gift in my stockin early this year with this cover. I drool over it every time I look at it. *sighs* Where was I again? Oh yeah.

The Wolf's Heart is the story I started for NaNoWriteMo back in 2005, which I won by the way. I got my 50, 000 words, but, the story of Lainie and Marcus wasn't finished by a long shot. No, they kept talking and talking and yes, talking. I became a conduit of sorts for a compellingly dark yet funny story that kept me glued to my keyboard until it was finished. Then, strangely enough, I got the guts to do the *gag me* synopsis, and turn it into Samhain. Even stranger, on, Friday Octber 13th, they sent me an email saying, yes. Let me tell you, this hefty white chick CAN jump. (and holler and scream and cry and consume vast quantities of chocolate in celebration)

Now, I have to do something else....Wait. *blinks* I'm not too good at that you know. They say patience is a virtue, well pffth! Come on June! In the meantime, I'm working on the sequel to that book, which I'm calling The Wolf's Mistress. Now, I say that's what I'm calling it, but you just never know. I have to call it something, Meme laughs when I call it that damn book with the hot dude and mean girl in it. I owe her one anyway, she cyber-nurpled my cover hottie's bewb, I mean jeez! The cheek of some people! *grins* I'm really just mad I didn't think of it first, you know.

Still Droolin
Self Lovin Cover Slut
Jenna Leigh

My Mother, My Daughter and Me

If you stand us up side by side, you can maybe see a few features here and there that are the same. Ok, we have the same wide spaced, eyes that can go from dark chocolate brown to the pits of hell black magic evil at the drop of a hat. I also know that we've got the same smile that hides three of the sharpest tongues in the South. Otherwise, we're very different women. Mother older and yes, much much wiser than us. (pfth) I am the middle and more temperate one (flutters lashes) and my daughter, well, let's just say she's still getting her sealegs in this thing I like to call reality.

For the sake of your sanity, the we'll use code names. I say yours, as mine was lost yesterday, and the other two never had theirs to begin with. Gah! Nana, Mozilla and Jenn. We planned to drive to meet Nana after work to get my teenaged daughter a prom dress. Now, my husband had been hemming and hawing about this very outing for over a month because of two things.

1. He hates to have anyone go to town w/out him for fear he'll miss somethin.
2. He knew good and well we weren't gettin' him his comic books.

So, he whined but we went anyway. I think I may have left fingerprints on that child's dash, because I foolishly thought she drove like she had a lick of sense. Man, was I wrong! If I told her once, I told her a hundred times to slow down. "But why?" is not the response you give me. My answer will always be. "Because, if you don't, I'm gonna kill you graveyard dead."

However, we made it to my mother's work on the outskirts of what I call Funroe. It ain't, let me say that up front, this is something I like to call sarcasm. Anyway, my mama is standing beside her truck with her hands on her hips tapping her foot, pointing at the parking space she wants my child to park in. Of course, Mozilla makes a beeline for it. That is, if bees went 70 miles an hour!

"Slow down Mozilla!" She looks shocked. I just snicker and resist the urge to kiss the ground when I get out, as I don't know how many squirrels have used it for a toilet.

Mozilla fusses about getting in the back of the big pickup truck I know my mother has bought to make up for the fact that she's barely over five feet tall. But I have senority, so I get shotgun, whoohoo! Nana begins to yack and yack and yack about what she wants Mozilla to get. However, Mo is adamant that she will have this thing called a 'froofy' skirt. I don't know what that is, but hopefully, despite the way my mother is talking, driving and cussing people in front of her all at the same time, we will make it to the store and find out. Now I see where my daughter got her mad skills behind the wheel.

Finally, we arrive and we look and look and look and look and if we don't stop looking and start picking, I'm going to scream. Mozilla is very certain about what she wants, she turns to tell Nana but we can't see her over racks. Oh, but we can HEAR her. "Ooh, and these and ooh these. And I must have THESE!"

Mozilla: "Mother go and get Nana out of the shoes."
Me: "How do you know it's shoes?"
Mo: *raising a brow* "Oh please, it's Nana!"
Me: "Mama!! Out of the shoes now!"
Nana: "Aww." After a long pause, she still hasn't appeared, so I go fetch *read drag* her away from the blingy flipflops. "But they're 5.99. I could have a pair in every color." When this doesn't work, she tries bribery, "I'll buy you some too, dear. Not that grandchild, she's evil."

Then.. I become invisible as she spies the frou frou dresses. She knows that you can't pay me to wear a dress, especially not this kind. However, Mozilla is a clothes horse of a different color. "Oh yeah, baby." My mother practically threw me to the floor as she ran to those dresses. "So, red, right?"

"No red."

"Yes, red, I like red, and this shiny red is the best." So said my mother the magpie. "And this one has feathers!"

"No red, Nana."

"So, this dark red, is even better and shinier." Have I ever mentioned the fact that I get at least one red article of clothing from my mother for Christmas every single year? Well, I do. She will deny it, but it's true.

"No red, Nana, I want pink." Mozilla pulls all the pink dresses she likes off the racks and grabs me by the collar on her way to the dressing room.

Me: "Ew pink? I shall hurl. Urk!"

"Pink is a good color, Mama, now get in this room with me." She shoves me in front of the curtain that is all that separates her from the rest of the store and starts to strip.

At first I don't know why she's got me stationed there, until I hear the clip clop of Nana's little cloven high heels and then.. *swish* My mother snatches the curtain back. "Aren't you dressed yet?"

My child exhibites a heretofore unknown ability to scream at a level only dogs and small children and unfortunately her mother can hear about being naked. Perhaps she is a mutant X-Brat known as Banshee and I am an X-Bitch known as Bitchshe? Heeeheee!! *ahem* Back to the shopping. Oh yall hush, yall can see from this here, why I'm insane!

Suffice to say, we got the first dress she tried on, unfortunately, we tried on more than one dress before we decided on that first one. All of them were pink, all of them were beautiful. However, the one we got is the one she wanted. Mozilla's happy and Nana's happy(pink is pale red after all, right?). Jenn's just damn happy it's over. I never want to go shopping with them again.

Some evil friend of mine (Kat, whose gonna get hers, mark my words) pointed out to me that one day I'll be helping her to pick out a wedding dress. I don't find that funny at all. I only have one word to say to my daughter on this subject. If you love me ..

Elope.


Jenna Leigh

PS: Can't share it yet, but I got my cover for The Wolf's Heart and all I can say is.. woof woof baby!! It's beautiful. Believe me, the first chance I get, I'll have it up here, and everywhere. For right now, it's on my desktop. Marcus never looked so good. Oh, but I can share this!
http://samhainpublishing.com/coming/the-wolfs-heart
That's right, I'm on the coming soon page! This just sort of makes it real. I know Samhain already said yes, but a little part of me still thinks they'll go 'psych! take backsies!' and you know, then I'd cry.

I admit, I got a thinkin' problem.

And a procrastinatin one too. When I put off writing, I surf.. a lot actually, so when I came upon Romancing the Blog where a writer was talking about the RITA's, I read it, hoping to glean some knowledge about the contest itself. I'll admit up front that I don't really know much about them other than than there's no chance in hell I'll be getting one because I don't belong to any of the romance clubs nor do I enter contests cause A)I'm po and B)I really don't get down with havin' to pay to play. (hmm) But that's horse of a different color that could be beaten to death, fried and force fed to me. It'll probably be much more palatable than the crow which I'm sure I'll eat one day, when I plop my money down and enter with the rest of the starry-eyed hopefuls.

However, that's not what I've been thinking about since I read that blog. No, really what I'm wondering is this; do readers think that authors stop reading once they get published? I sort of inferred it from some of the comments I saw there. I also almost passed out when I saw Nora Robert's name in the comments, so that should give you your first clue that I at least, am still very much a reader, and a big fan of other authors. As an aside, another of my favorite authors, Mary Stella commented, which made me smile, for very different reasons. I know her, as in I've met her, personally. I'm also a fan of hers, not in the OMG IT'S MARY STELLA! I'M GONNA BLOW CHUNKS BEHIND THIS CONVENIENT POTTED PALM! freakout, but a less insane, more personal, but still very much fan type thing, and a friend as well. (sorry, to Nora for any future freakout hurling I may do *ahem*) I admit that I don't have as much time to read anymore, so what I do purchase is what I know I will read..er.. soon.

I know readers look at authors as a different species. Heck, I do it myself, see the above flip out about Nora Roberts. She is a goddess of the literary field to me, so therefore how can she take time out of her busy schedule to comment on a blog? Ohmegawd, you know? I lose IQ points, that believe you me, I don't have to spare when I think of being in the same cyberspace she may or may not been in at some time or other, so I understand. Now, I know good and well that I in no way shape or form am in the leagues with this woman, so please, save your comments about how lowly I am in comparison to her loftiness. But, I'm pretty sure she reads books too, or has a well oiled male slave to read them to her while having her feet rubbed. Or, this is what I'd do in her place.

Here's how I look at it the reader/author thing.

Do doctors stop needing medical care when they receive their diplomas?
Do pilots stop needing to be flown anywhere ever, ever again?
Do chaffeurs ever let someone else drive?
Do singers ever listen to someone else sing?

I love to read, and that will never change. I look at it like a vacation from what I do every day, where I create the world and direct the players to suit my needs. Another author's book is like a freebie where I don't have to do a thing but sit back and enjoy the fruits of their labor. While I admit I see the backstage process a little more clearly than I did before, I can still lose myself in the characters, the story, and yes, hope like hell that they get their happy ever after by the time I get to the end.

Maybe a more apt analogy is the mother who cooks supper every single night for her family. One night she's taken out on the town by her wonderful husband for a romantic dinner just for two. There's candlelight, roses, and soft music and wonderful conversation. She doesn't have to do a thing but sit back and enjoy the meal. She can taste the seasonings in the dish, feel the smoothness of the sauce on her tongue. She knows how that wonderful meal was prepared, because, heck, she can cook it herself, but by golly, she didn't have to lift a finger to do it tonight. And even better.. she doesn't to clean up, and if she's lucky, she doesn't have to pick up the check either. (Hooray to hubby for buying Kim Harrison's book so I didn't have to whoohoo!!!)

Most of us were readers long before we were authors, I know I was, I've read since the age of four, when I did good to write my name. If anything we're creatures of habit, we hoard books like fiends, saving them for the literary rainy days better known as the horrible writer's block. Screw movies, nothing beats curling up with a good book when you've got the blues. Reading's an escape from a reality that so often bites the big one, and nobody, I mean nobody knows that better than a reader. But on the flipside writing's also an escape. Why do you think readers make such prolific authors?


Old Readers Never Die,
They Just Get Published
To Support Their Addiction

Jenna
Book Ho