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

Join us at Coffee Time Romance on Tuesday

Jenna Leigh, Mila Ramos, and J Morgan are all going to be in one chatroom together, so watch out! Join them as they talk about their current releases, upcoming books, and even better, give away some great prizes!!

So, join us, Tuesday, March 20th at 8pm Central / 9pm Eastern
http://www.coffeetimeromance.com/Chat.html

Jenna Leigh: http://www.jennaleighzone.com/

Mila Ramos: http://www.milaramoswrites.com/

J Morgan: http://www.freewebs.com/jmorganslair/

Do you hear what I hear?

No, I'm not singing carols early. A few minutes ago, my hubby does the unthinkable and turns off the tv and asks me that very question. I said, what, is it them the voices talkin in your head again? *hee hee* Well, I thought it was really funny, if you must know. However, he did not, and soon I too heard the eerie sounds coming from right outside our chamber door. It weren't a raven that's for sure.

These sounds were low and angry, filled with rage and hate and angst, nothing that you'd think an animal could make. Let me explain that we live in a rural area where we do get visits from various forms of wildlife. Anything and everything has come into our yard, deer, coyote, panthers, possum, armadello, rabbits, squirrels and most recently to my husband's absolute panic, a skunk. But tonight it was something else, according to him. Something evil, heinous and bent on revenge against us for some unknown slight. Perhaps it was even a ghost!
I will admit it sounded horrible, it howled like something that might be undead.

But, if it was a ghost, why did he pick up the bb gun that he'd and my daughter had been playing with earlier? I asked him this and was informed it made him feel better. I myself had picked a vastly superior weapon.. a long handled wooden spoon. Everyone knows this is what you use for ghost busting. *snorts* Thus armed, we crept out onto the porch, amid the growls and howls of the horrid beasties as I could tell it was more than one. Once there, I started bravely down the steps. As I put my foot on the first stair, he decides that whatever it is, is under the porch and stomps his big redneck foot, loudly. I almost fell off the porch! I wish it known that I did not hit my husband with the spoon, however, it was a very near thing. Well, at least not until we got safely back inside.

Oh, what was the animal that made so much noise? It wasn't a ghost, or even a panther or a coyote. It was two cats, only they make angry hissy noises, besides humans that is. They'd decided that the area beneath our porch was hotly contested territory worthy of a test of if not wills, then at least a hissy fit or three. My own cat, who is strictly a house feline, is angry about this fact. Right now he's staring hard out of the screen door adding his own low, angry hisses to the chorus of howls and growls. Every once in a while I hear a meow. Now they meow, if they'd done that before, it could have saved me a trip outdoors in the middle of the night amongst all them skeeters, not to mention scaring a few years off my life. The next time that man hears something he can go outside by himself. Maybe next time, I'll stomp on the porch and make him jump ten feet in the air. I'll still have my spoon, though, don't yall worry.


Stirring Up Trouble On a Saturday Night

Jenna Leigh

When your hubby always..

Thinks that the weird chicks on tv, movies, etc.. are hot? I mean always. Not kidding. Here's the skinny, blonde, chick with the ginormous hooters, in other words the All-American version of hotness. Then you have the slightly quirky looking girl with crazy eyes flashing behind a pair of cateye glasses who has either brunette or red hair or heck give her streaks of both through her corkscrew curls, why not? Put them side by side and he'll pick that freaky chick every single TIME! He was just yelling that some strange brunette is HOT and to dump the boney blonde chick. Is this a tiny, little, itty bitty clue that maybe, just, oh maybe I'm weird? Nah.

But what makes men attracted to certain types of women? What makes say, men like my hubby go ape for the darkhorse of a woman who is crazy, quirky, yet strangely attractive and compelling despite her insanity? Besides her fabu good looks and all that is *cough cough* Now that he's been drawn into my web, he of course knows I'm a wonderful cook (when I feel like it), have a great sense of humor, am pretty good in the sack (I'm not saying how long or erm little time he waited to find this out, so shush) and many other things I can't share because then I'd have to kill yall. But I make him happy, so he says. He is sorta crazy too, you know.

But on the flip side, what makes others go towards the light.. You know, the perfectly toned extra slim blonde bombshell who never has a hair out of place. Who wouldn't know her way around a skillet or a punchline if it hit her in her oh so perfect face? These men usually are not perfect themselves so it isn't a case of like to like. I've heard of opposites attracting but come on, that means both parties are attracted to each other.

I myself think Hugh Jackman's hotter than Popeye's spicey fried chicken with a side of buscuits covered in gravy.. wait make that Hugh covered in gravy. *pauses* Anyway, where was I? Oh opposites. He is from down under I'm from the south of nowhere. He's rich and famous, I'm so not and yet, we're not an item... well, not yet. Ooh but we're both married, hmm. Ok, fine, I'm married to the wonderful man who thinks I'm cute, but he was just lusting after some trashy brunette on tv, so I can lust too, right? Riiight.

But my point still stands, we all have our types. Thank goodness my type is sitting in his easy chair quietly watching Casino Royale now.

Ooh, damn, speaking of type. Bond is pretty hot too. Color me shaken and stirred. Meowrrr.


Married Not Dead
Shallow Gal Jenn

Coming Soon Means Freak Out Time

When? Where? What? I sound like Vinnie Barbarino from Welcome Back Kotter now, don't I? But, when I get word that one of my books is coming out, I get a little crazy. Um.. ok, for those of you out there in cyber land who just fell off your chairs, I hope you get a ginormous bruise the shape of Louisiana on your butts. Fine, crazier, are you happy? Good, now get up off the floor.

My novella, Tigre Moon, is coming out in the Alien Seduction Digest with Midnight Showcase .. um.. soon. Yes, I'm wiggling around on my chair like a 1st grader after way too many trips to the water fountain! For one thing, this is a couple of firsts for me.

First scifi, (ish) first nonfunny, and first real erotic piece of work I've ever submitted for publication, so I'm nervous. On one hand, I don't want it to come out, but on the other, I'm ready for people to say yeah, we like it or no we don't so I can get that part over with and move on. Or more likely consume vast amounts of chocolate and hide under my bed for months on end, but that's another blog for another day when I actually have that substance in my house. If I talk about it now, my hubby may be injured as I'm sure he ate the last piece. *grr*

My point is, is there ever a time when an author is comfortable enough about their work where they don't experience what amounts to stage fright? Will I ever feel like everybody won't think it's horse dung? Will I ever think they won't open their mouths and scream like Donald Sutherland in Invasion of the Body Snatchers and let everyone know I'm a poser proser just pretending to be a real author? If so, then when, after the third, fourth or fifth or even the tenth book?

It's not the difference between ebooks and prints for me either, I've held my books in my hands, so that ain't it, girls and boys. And I know that if I got the 'call' today from one of those giant publishing companies and had the golden contract handed to me on a silver platter, I'd still feel in my lil redneck heart I'd still be waiting for the other shoe to drop (not that I wear them if I can get out of it mind you) and for someone to say. "She ain't a real author, now is she?"

Wait, that sounds suspiciously like one of my kinfolk, or else, like Me. Hmm. Now we're getting somewhere. Who knew blogging could be therapeutic? Or else, my assorted personalities are so busy reading what I'm typing they forgot to block it out. Well, ha to them! I won this round! Have a great weekend everybody!

Coming someday soon to a blog near you,

Jennochio.. a real live author *winks*

Compromising My Principles

Ok, not as a writer. I really haven't got all that many yet, actually. I just tell my stories to the best of my ability and hope people like it, or at least doesn't hate it enough to yell at me about it.

No, I mean about what I will and will not sit (in a highly uncomfy chair mind you), in a dark smelly cold theater for over two hours to see. I'm talking about 300 starring the admittedly hunkified GB. (Bows to NeeGnome's taste in hunks) I know he's hot, I know he's half nekkid in most of the film, but from what I see it's all fighting and frankly, um.. ew. I don't do battles.

Even in the historical romances of my favorite authors.... *pauses* Please forgive me for what I'm about to write oh wonderfully wicked writers of the ripped bodices. I will flip through the scenes. *flip flip flip* He thrust his sword. Gah, how long is this bloody battle? *flip flip flip* He parries. Grrrr! *flip flip flip* He thrust.. OMG, if he thrusts or parries one more freakin time.. oh *blinks* Well now, that's a sword of a different color. *grins and flips back* Give it to her Gavin! Because, as we all know all good heroes are named Gavin, Tristen, or Roark or um even Jake or Mattias or something. *coughs* It's scientific fact.

Anyway, my point is this, in a book, I can flip through the battles because, unlike my hubby, and all the rest of the people who LIKE battles I personally do not. I skipped half of the Lord of the Rings books because it was all battles. People talk about romance novels being repetitive. "How can you make the sex scenes different? It's all in and out!" Well, how the crap do you make scenes where all you're doing is lopping off arms, legs and heads any less so? After a while it all starts looking like one of those Jackson Pollock paintings done in one color. Red!

So, do I compromise and go to the 300 just because I'll get to see GB in what amounts to an ancient leather and um *drools* very brief freakin speedo with a shield, sword and cape for accessories, or do I take my hormonal stand now? One small step for women equals one giant step for womenkind! I don't like battleflicks and I ain't gonna take it no more! I'm staying home to watch urm, Shaolin Soccer or Kung Fu Hustle or something that shows me half nekkid man chests. Ok, yes, they have fight scenes but for some reason, I like those. Don't ask me why, I blame Bruce Lee and Kung Fu Theater late night Saturday nights.

Hey hey, you people just all hush. I grew up in a different world with three channels and no internet. Well, four if you count public broadcasting, which I most definately do. Without that, I'd have never had the most important of my TV addiction, Dr. Who, Black Adder and Red Dwarf. More on those later. It also gave me Reading Rainbow.. which leads me to Lavar Burton who later starred on what hit television show? Star Trek:The Next Generation. Life revolves around the Trek, I knew it.

Jenn/Spock's Gurl 4Ever.

Hubby can see 300 with the wookie for all I care.

PS: Shut up Glamazon, Star Trek is so too the bestest!

Watching a Movie With One Eye Closed

While I'm not the biggest fan in the world of comic book movie adaptations, my husband is and he's been dying to see Ghost Rider since he saw the trailer for it last year. So to prove my love to him I put on a bra and shoes and leave the house, on a Saturday no less. (yes, clothes too, jeez!)

Ok fine, really I do this for one reason and one reason alone. Nick Cage. *drools* He's one of my fave actors, I think he's just smokin hot. I dunno why, but he's just got this... something.

How was the movie? Hell, I don't know, but hubby kept doing his Thumper imitation in certain parts, so I guess it was good. The movie was dark, so was the theater, so I sort of snoozed and only really woke up when Nick was standing in front of the bathroom mirror soaking wet in a towel. Did I mention drool?

The premise is: Johnny Blaze makes a deal with the devil to save his father. As always when you make these sorts of deals, something goes horribly wrong and you end up paying for it for the rest of your life. He leaves behind everything he loved, including sweet Roxie (later played by Eva Mendes) So, Johnny lives this sort of halflife as a *snicker* daredevil jumping all sorts of things on his bike, doing stunts that would have killed other guys to prove that he is his own man, but he can't die because the devil has plans for him as dun dun dun!! THE GHOST RIDER!!

Enter the demons who were course are hot as hell (pun intended) but one of them apparently had some sort of communicable disease passed by touch (not really, they're demons, so that's how one of them killed bleck) so their hotness is of course, wasted. Isn't that always the way? Crap! They are after this contract that the Ghost Rider shown at the first of the movie took from Ol' Scratch. If they get it, you guessed it, THE END. Finally Johnny turned into the Ghost Rider and really burned up the screen, literally, he was on fire.

Some of my favorite parts of the movie are the motorcycle's morphing into it's comicbook version. I guess that's what it was suppose to look like because again, it wasn't MY comic, unlike say, Xmen or even Spidermen. Now my husband almost melted into a puddle of geeky goo when that bike morphed, so I'm guessin they got pretty darned close. I just liked the fact that Sam Elliot was in the movie and that they used the Ghost Riders In The Sky song by Johnny Cash et al.

All in all, the movie was ok. Plus, Nick decided NOT to make his Texas accent as horrible as what the hell ever that southern accent he was trying to pull off in ConAir. If he didn't stop that, I swear I was going to put that bunny he was so worried about somewhere the sun didn't shine. We so don't talk like that yall, for real. But I digress, did Ghost Rider follow the premise of the comic? Hubby says...yes. Was it good to me a non fan? Yeah, and I'd pay my money just to see Nick Cage without his shirt again, man was he ripped! Though hubby insists that sixpack was as fake as the CGI burning skull that he sported in over half the movie. I so don't care, it's Hollywood, I expect some airbrushing. He has so much room to talk having all those Playboy mags next to those Ghost Rider comics. Maybe I'll go read a few. The comics, not the Playboys mind you.

Funny aside, my daughter gets up to go to the bathroom and comes back looking all huffy. I asked her if she was ok, or did I need to go and kill people. She informs me very quickly that she does not look like Eva Mendes. I said um, ok and tried to edge toward my nominally less insane hubby. After a few minutes of silence she turns to me and almost spits out what happened. "Then why did a little kid point at me and yell OMG mommy, she looks like the lady off Ghost Rider!" Such are the life and times of my long tall sally teen livin in rednekkid land. *sighs* She does have long blondish brown hair and those big dark brown eyes with eyelashes that I'd kill for LOL. I told her that it's because she was so high up and he couldn't see that far. Man, she pinches hard.

Live Life Without Fear

Jenna

Boys have cooties and other things I knew in kindergarten

I sit here infected what is suspected to be a mutated form of boy cooties caught from my teenaged daughter aka Typhoid Mozilla. Hubby thinks she's been kissing on boys and has therefore spread the horrid boy cooties to our household as we are all sick.


Wait a minute.. I KISS HUBBY! And HE is a boy! *spits*

The point is someone shall pay for my illness, daughter or hubby. Hubby is crouping, daughter is puking and I have have been doing a combo of the above two the past few days all on top of a toothache mind you. But ill though I shall be, neither mucus, pain, nor fever shall keep me from my appointed blog of insanity. I will say that I do feel a bit better because Louisiana has decided to finally show her true colors, it was almost 80 degrees today. Yippee!

Oh yes, all of you northerners shiver and give me a glare, I so don't mind a bit. I bask in the warm glow of your jealousy. Oh wait, that's the sun. Hahhaaa! My mistake. *evil smile*

What was I going to say today before I got off track because of my illness and happy hippy shake about the weather which I have no control over, but will still brag about just because? Oh yes, words.

Words are something that will elude you when you need them the most. Slippery little devils that flit away until the middle of the night when you lay in the bed trying to sleep. Then they creep up and hover on the side of the bed and grin at you in an attempt to tempt you back to your keyboard to write. I've gotten more writing done at 2 a.m. than any time during the day. Why is that? Is there some sort of Muse Union that states You shall not write until after midnight, silly heifer, before then I'm busy being the Tooth Fairy. or what? I am quite sure there has to be a rule somewhere.

I want to petition to get that rule changed. I'm no spring chicken. I'm more a summer hen or if you must know, I'd rather not be poultry at all. I'd rather be a svelte animal, like a fox. Yes, a summer fox, clicking away at the keyboard, popping out her fab fiction without a qualm as to what time it is. But no! Here I am pecking away in the middle of the night with nobody for company but this evil gray cat who looks at me as if to say, "Get in the bed, you silly goose!" Look, at that, more poultry.. sighs.

I suppose it could be worse.. it could be not a creature was stirring.. not even a mouse. With him around that could be really dangerous.

So, I guess I'll keep yes, pecking away, whittling my WIP's down to the wire, getting to those words that are no less wonderful for their lack of length. Two tiny little words.

The End

Who said bigger is better?

Jenna Leigh

Ya know, he does this to get back at me

For not cleanin the cat box often enough.. I know it's true. I'm Cleopatra Queen of Denial about a lot of things, but not this.

I'm talking about that vile and wicked feline of various aliases, The Felonious Feline , Meowirus Redneckerus, Badasserus Rex, Wicked Whiskers, Bean So Mean, Evil Feline Overlord, EFO for short, or if he had his way, simply, Master. That ain't gonna happen, especially after tonight.

I made chili, and by golly, come hell or high water, I was gonna eat it, because, I make good chili if you must know. Nothing, not that silly child and her new bf sitting on the couch, not my hubby and his bad choice of movies,(European Bigalow or whatever), or EFO's tendency to jump up in my lap would run me off my couch until I'd eaten my little bowl full of yummy delight. Never say never, dearie!!

I sat through that dreck of a movie, with its grody sight gags, and I mean that literally, I did gag at certain parts. So, I had my head down, scooping up the goodness with my spoon, ignoring the igmos on the other side of the room when suddenly, my child says in her kewl teen voice. "Ew mah Gawd, he's got a mouse."

Sure enough, I look up and he's making a beeline right for my feet with a tiny field mouse in his evil maw. GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! I knew it! My husband's legs pop up in the air and land on each of the arms of his lazyboy faster than I've ever seen him move and much more limber as well. I note that for later use and at the same time, rise from my beloved couch and shuffle as fast as I can into my sanctuary and slam the door all the while screaming for someone to get it and throw it out!

How horrible! How pitiful and how in the crap am I supposed to finish my chili when it's sitting in the other room and there is a potential mouse zombie in there? I've heard of some strange diets in my time but this is ridiculous. Hubby finally took the mouse from EFO and threw it out. My chili was cold by then and I never got to see the end of DB2/The Euro Pimped Version! My life will never be complete.

I'm just glad tomorrow is Friday.. and I hope he doesn't think I'm going to be feeding him food anytime soon. He can give my hubby the feed me face. I am now immune. I mean it, I am! *looks down* Ok, I am immune to the face, however, threats with evil switchblade claws still work very well. My blog is now at an end.

Have a good weekend

Meowrrr
Jenna

Braless in the Baptist Church and Other News

Being an author is a wonderful thing. You get to do something that you love, create worlds from your own imagination and make people laugh, cry, gasp and sigh. Then, there are days you get to do what I did. Speak in front of a group of wonderful ladies in a literary group. They were great!

It was in the First Baptist church in my hometown, so I was pretty comfortable about it in a way, in another way, this is a romance novel and I was raised in a baptist church... so I could so hear my meemaw fussing at me in the back of my mind. She said things like. "Jenn, I cannot believe you're bringing that sinful trashy novel into the house of the Lawrd!" That's how she said it, you know LOL. But, in another part of my mind, my mawmaw, who read those same sorts of novels was hooting with glee and doing a little twostep, something else a good baptist wouldn't approve of, though she was one.

So, what's a good southern girl to do with not one but Two Little Angels on her shoulders telling her two different things? Well, she just has to keep on talking and hope that neither of these angels gets in her head to give her a butt whuppin for being too bad. I think I succeeded since I didn't feel any celestial stings and arrows from above, and no the roof didn't cave in on me, if you're wondering. I read an excerpt, managed to tie it in with my own experience in getting a contract AND had a wonderful Q an A session with the very interesting ladies of the group.

Southern women are a breed apart you know, on one hand, sweet and genteel, on another devilishly funny. That very duality is one of the things that appeal to the men in their lives and drives them crazy at the same time you know. Add in a dash of PMS induced insanity and you've got...well, me but that's beside the point and probably belongs on my hubby's blog if he had the guts to write one. *winks*

I've always been proud of my southern roots and will never stray far above the Mason/Dixon line if I can help it. While many of my relatives and high school friends have, I've never really felt the urge to roam, I wonder if it's because I have this need to hear the sugar coated accents of my kith and kin every day. I've found that no matter what you're sayin, if you say it with a sweet southern accent, it just sounds nice, you know? LOL.

Onto other news, and I do have some, I've been little under the weather, so I'm posting all this in one blog.

Fallen Angel Reviews gave Spellfire Moons Five Angels!

High Chairs and High Stakes By Jenna Leigh

Matthias Gregory, single dad, has placed an ad for a nanny to help with his child, Aurora, but he didn’t expect a witch. Erin MacKenzie had no idea it was a handsome vampire’s young daughter when she went in for the job. It seems they both are in a pickle when they meet. This wonderful story by Jenna Leigh seasons two characters in a stimulating read while mixing in a wee bit of suspense and a crafty plot.

All the tales in this book were absolutely charming and mouth-watering delights. With exceptional characters and outstanding dialogue that transport the reader into a breathtaking fantasy world of true enjoyment, Spellfire Moons is one satisfying read. Open this page-turner and escape into a world filled with unbelievable magic and allow the fairies to breathe a sweet, tantalizing spell your way.

To read the rest of the review from FAR click the banner. And thanks so much to LINDA!!



Oh, and Mistress Meme has revamped her page, go and take a look, please pay special attention to the page called, the Bitch Mafia. What she wrote about me makes me hoot, especially as most of its true, but man, what a way to describe your critique group. Only the Memenator.

Meme's Page of Wonders


Happy Humpday Yall,

Jenna
aka
The Grand Moobah