Starry-eyed about the perfect hero? You know the guy - all those gorgeous muscles and so hot in the sack you self-combust just turning the pages. He’s a quick-thinker, a warrior who’s never at a loss in any situation. He might be dark and wounded, or light and wounded, or even apparently normal and wounded. But hey, by the last page, his heroine has fixed him right up.

We know he doesn’t exist, right? Not in Real Life.

Or does he?

Something Hannah said (in our discussion Size Matters) about the writer’s responsibility not to set up impossible role models got me thinking. And so did my friend, Amy Andrews, who’s been blogging about why she believes in love. And it was all to do with her personal hero.

It might be brave to fight dragons, but surely it takes more courage (in the true sense of the word) to commit to the daily grind, with all its hassles and chores and obstacles? Day in, day out.

Because you promised and because you love someone.

Let’s build us a composite of a Real Life Hero. He could be a husband, a lover, a son, father, brother, friend. We all have them. I’ll start.

Here are some of the reasons why My Beloved is my hero. In fact, I asked him once if he was bothered about all the gorgeous guys running around in my head. His brow furrowed. “I’m here,” he said at last. “And they’re not.”

Says it all really. Here we go…

1. He always builds me up, he NEVER tears me down.

2. He tells me he loves me - every single day. I believe him.

3. When life is tough, he puts his arms around me and tells me everything will be all right.

4. He has nicknames for me - “Hey, beautiful!”, “Hi, gorgeous!”

5. He’s a wonderful cook and he cooks every single day, with a roast on Sundays.

6. He does all the shopping. I call him my hunter-gatherer, and I’m not entirely joking.

7. Even after all our years together, if he walks into the bedroom as I’m zipping up and buttoning the last button, he says, “Damn, I missed it!”

8. He totally adores my bottom. Still.

9. I adore his bottom.

10. He was a great father from the very beginning - nappies, vomit, tantrums and all. The kids love him to pieces.

11. He’s one of the most intelligent men I know, with a terrific quick wit. He makes me laugh.

12. He’s a supremely rational being - except about football.

13. I love the smell and the texture of his skin.

14. He tells anyone who’ll listen about my books. His chest swells with pride - about me.

15. He takes responsibility for his own health. He walks and exercises every day. He’s losing weight, even though he loves his food and wine.

Aaaaah… My Real Life Hero.

Okay, over to you. Give us the top characteristics of your Real Life Hero. Maybe not 15 though. (Hey, it’s my blog, I get to rave. heh heh) How about somewhere between 1 and 5?

Last day to comment or subscribe for a copy of A RED HOT NEW YEAR!!!!

Come meet Mirry and play some games and win stuff. Possibly even a free book.

Yep, I talked him into it. Actually, I twisted his tail, but VERY gently. (Don’t tell Jan.) I tried asking Fort, but he just grunted. Griff laughed and went off to clean his knives. *sigh*

Lucky Mirry’s so insatiably curious…

We’re chatting on Kayelle Allen’s Romance Lives Forever group tomorrow (Friday 28th March) from 8pm to 10pm New York time (that’s EST right?).

For Aussies - Saturday 29th March, 10am-12 noon.

You’ll need to join Kayelle’s group - click the logo on the right.

I suspect this story of an extraordinary reunion isn’t new. In fact, I’d say it’s been around quite some time, but I hadn’t seen it before and I thought it was absolutely remarkable. To see such unabashed joy and affection between man and animal almost reduced me to tears. I thought you might enjoy it.

The two English guys in the right adopted a lion cub and brought it up for a year. (I have no idea why.) But once the animal reached maturity, they were no longer permitted to keep it. They did the right thing and settled in an wildlife sanctuary in Africa.

A year later, they returned to see Christian the lion, and were told the animal would not remember them. Have a look at what happened next. (The picture quality is a little grainy, but persevere, it’s worth it!)

Have you experienced affection like this from an animal? Perhaps you get a greeting like this every day when you get home from work? Our dog turns herself inside out for My Beloved after every parting, no matter how brief. Me, she’s quite fond of.

Size really does matter, you know. And so does the way it’s described. Let’s take a woman of size, for instance.

What? You thought I was talking about something else? Tsk, tsk!

There’s a whole world of difference between voluptuous and plain old fat, isn’t there? Because it’s not just about avoirdupois, it’s about personality and self-belief. It shows in the way a woman carries herself, the way she walks and meets your eye. I love the natural dignity of a woman like Queen Latifah. She’s not only beautiful, but because she believes she is, she projects tremendous personal power.

Think of all these gorgeous words - wouldn’t a heroine rather be any of these rather than fat - or even overweight?

Ample, lush, curvaceous, Rubenesque, queenly, voluptuous, statuesque, full-figured, buxom, plump, Junoesque, opulent, generous. So many…

Meg, the heroine of my novella for the UNLACED anthology, is a big girl - my first true woman of size. Here she is, seen through the eyes of her lover, John. BTW, John himself is a big guy, about 6ft 5in. He’d totally squish a shrimp like me, but oh, what a way to go. *ahem* Sorry, got a little carried away there…

He stroked a broad, callused palm over the luscious curve of her rump. The only girl in the Cressy Plains who could match him. Five foot eleven inches in her sturdy bare feet, Meg’s cushiony body fitted perfectly against his huge frame, her long legs and smoothly muscled thighs a comfortable cradle for his eager weight.

And a little later, after things have progressed…

Some strange presentiment lifted the hair on the back of his neck, so that instead of lunging forward and throwing her down to ram himself deep, John could only stand like a block, gripping a sturdy wooden post as if he would crush it to kindling. He stared, fixing her image in his mind, all plump, smooth curves, painted in cream and gold. Her lips were parted, shining a soft berry pink, the tips of her full, heavy breasts already furled and dusky. Waiting for him, for his big rough hands and impatient mouth.

There’s something extraordinarily sensual about anyone who enjoys their food. Honestly, I’ve never met a man who’ll admit to preferring ultra-skinny women!

If you consider yourself a woman of size, what’s the loveliest compliment you’ve been paid?

Tell us about a sensual description of a plus-size heroine. Who does it well? Who made you believe the woman was desirable? Beddable?

Writers (published and unpublished), we’d love to see how you describe a full-figured woman. You’re very welcome to share short examples of your talent. If you paste in a link to the book it came from, it will work. Show off your writing chops!

If you’re dubious about the concept, go read the Wordplay page, where All is Revealed.

Would you like to suggest a word or phrase or even a theme for the Wordplay treatment? Go right ahead and we’ll do it another time. I LOVE lists, like darling Mirry. *snork*

Close the pod door, Hal. Arthur C. Clarke is gone.

He died last week at the age of ninety. If you’ve never heard of him, here’s a quick retrospect of his life, his writings and his importance.

Clarke was much, much more than a science fiction writer, even though he was a brilliant and original storyteller. He was a scientist and a visionary with an incredible mind. He was credited with the concept of communications satellites in 1945, decades before they became a reality. (Geosynchronous orbits, which keep satellites in a fixed position to the ground, are called Clarke orbits.) With Walter Cronkite, he was a commentator on the Apollo moonshots in the late sixties.

But you can find this information in a quick Google search. There are obits all over the Net at the moment.

I’m thinking about the part Arthur C. Clarke played in my life and my thinking. And my development as a writer. It was My Beloved who introduced me to both Clarke and to Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings. I’d discovered Georgette Heyer and Mary Stewart and was pretty well fixated right there. Boy, did my eyes open wide! And so began my love affair with science fiction and fantasy. (And also My Beloved.)

There are some reading experiences that are imprinted forever on your mind. For me, one is Clarke’s story, The Nine Billion Names of God. It’s the quintessential example of a tightly written short story with a stunning twist in the tail. Two techie types are hired by a Buddhist monastery to set up a computer program to print out all the possible names of God. The monks believe that once the True Name is discovered, the universe will cease to exist.

Still completely sceptical, the technicians skip the country as the program nears its end, fearing the reaction of the monks. Because, of course, the whole concept is simply ridiculous. They know this. At the border, they pause to look back, and “overhead, without any fuss, the stars were going out.”

All the hair on the back of my neck stood up. It still does, whenever I think about it…

Then there was Childhood’s End, an amazing book with an incredible premise that is also incredibly satisfying, or the Kubrick film, 2001: A Space Odyssey.

And at ninety years of age, he just finished proofing the edits of his last manuscript. Talk about taking it to the wire! In fact, when he was asked how he’d like to be remembered, given his vast and varied achievements, he said it was as a writer. This is his last message. It’s nine minutes long. Be sure to listen to the very last section (fast forward to 7:30) in which he quotes from Rudyard Kipling. It’s very moving. I was in tears.

“If I have given you delight, by aught that I have done…”

But then, I’m a writer, and while I’m hardly in the same ball park, especially intellectually, I think it’s how I’d like to be remembered too. Without pretension of any kind, just as an entertainer.

Do you have a memory of Arthur C. Clarke? Is there a writer - of fiction, mind - who has changed your outlook on life in some way?

Okeydoke, here you are - the first group of anthologies you recommended, in no particular order. I’ll post the rest next week.

Click the image for a buy link. And yes, I know I’m evil. heh heh (Some of them were a bit difficult, I just did my best.) Thanks so much to everyone who contributed.

BTW, I’ve posted the answers to the colour quiz in a comment on the Colouring In post. Scroll right down through the comments…

I’m having a pyjama party at my place - it’s early in the morning Down Under. Must be pretty close to lunch Over There by now. Um, I think.

What the hell. Have lunch in your jammies. You’re all invited! PJ’s optional.

STRONGMAN IS OUT - FINALLY!

Yeehah!!!

You can buy a copy from Ellora’s Cave this very minute. There’s a hot excerpt up there - or you can read the whole of the first chapter on my website.

But back to the party. I’m dancing around the study in my Mr Gorgeous T-shirt. Come on, come on, who better to take to bed than Mr Gorgeous?

Here it is, on the right, for your edification. Oh - that’s not me. Sorry. Did your eyes just open wide? As you may have guessed, it’s My Beloved. Ellora’s Cave sent me this wonderful T-shirt, but it’s waaay too big for me, so My Beloved consented to model. (He’s lost a lot of weight since this pic was taken, BTW. I’m very proud of him.)

It’s like a dress on me, so I wear it as a nightie. With ugg boots. Any one of my heroes would be helpless to resist. Yeah, right.

What are your PJs like? And the slippers? C’mon, ‘fess up!

Congratulations to Kim !!!

Winner of the free download of STRONGMAN

My Beloved chose your comment at random. Email me at deniserossetti @ gmail.com (no spaces) with your preferred format.

Thanks so much to all of you, whether you read or commented, or both. I think we’ve got this little blog off to a mighty fine start!

BTW, I’ve posted the answers to the colour quiz in a comment on the Colouring In post. Scroll right down…

Colours are wonderful tools. The complete artist’s palette is there for the taking. I love, love, love using colour in my writing, whopping great dollops of it. I’m a highly sensate person and colour really speaks to me. All the colours of the rainbow - red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet.

Yeah, so? you say. Colours, so what? I know my colours.

But you see, there are the most scrumptious words available to describe every possible shade and hue. And, like all words, each has its own “feel”. You can roll them in your mouth, almost like a wine. For example, don’t you think vermilion sounds a whole lot more exotic than red? (It’s a bright orangey red. Also called Chinese red or cinnabar.)

When I wrote TAILSPIN, I was determined the reader be able to “see” the Aetherii, with their magnificent wings and tails. Or at least, I was determined to try. A character called Miriliel the Burnished would have to be tawny, wouldn’t he? Here we have Fledge finding Mirry’s “dead” body on a charnel heap. All she can see is one wing.

Beneath the herdbeast lay a highhunter, its glorious wings spread in a pathetic arc, completely limp. The very size of the raptor was awe-inspiring. It had to be three times bigger than any she’d ever seen, even when the Fair had traveled through the Mountains of Morn. Blood and dirt splattered its plumage, dulling what had once been the sheen of vibrant color - amber, russet, glowing apricot, smooth terracotta - all the hues of the living earth.

Not only did I use words other than orange or brown - bleah! - I piled them up, one after the other, the idea being to convey the richness of Mirry’s plumage, the amazing depth of colour. I did look at pictures of birds and feathers, especially eagles. And I did choose colour words most people would know.

Then, of course, there are eyes. All writers know how important eye contact is for human communication. Think how disconcerting it is to talk with someone wearing mirrored sunglasses. Eye colour is incredibly important. Blue, green, brown - yeah, yeah, we need to do better than that. And we can - with those fabulous colour words.

Here are Mirry’s eyes -

They were raptor’s eyes, large and dark and round. Each iris was rimmed with a ring of yellow as hard as topaz.

And Jan’s -

The feathery tip of Jan’s tail nudged his thigh and he clamped his mouth shut on a yelp. His head jerked around to find Jan’s indigo gaze fixed on him from under sooty lashes. “You’re looking well, Mirry.”

Immediately, we know Jan’s eyes are beautiful, because indigo is a beautiful word - meaning a deep, intense blue. *sigh* Think of all the variations on blue - turquoise, cerulean, cobalt, sapphire, periwinkle, cornflower, azure, navy…

Writers (published and unpublished), I’d love to see the sensual way you use colour. You’re very welcome to share short examples of your colour wordplay. If you paste in a link to the book it came from, it will work. Show off your writing chops!

Everyone - wanna play? Here are ten colours. How many can you guess off the top of your head? - without looking at the dictionary! Let’s see how you go. I’ll post the answers in a comment. (And no, I didn’t know them all.)

1. damson
2. viridian
3. gentian
4. eau de Nil
5. ecru
6. celadon
7. lapis lazuli
8. cerise
9. sable
10. sienna

If you’d like to, go ahead and give us a piece of colour writing, a sentence or poem or whatever you fancy.

If you’re dubious about the concept, go read the Wordplay page, where All is Revealed.

Would you like to suggest a word or phrase or even a theme for the Wordplay treatment? Go right ahead and we’ll do it another time. I LOVE lists, like darling Mirry. *snork*

My newsletter has just gone out, which means it’s time for… TADAAAA!!!

Crime, Punishment and a Good Spanking

The next episode of Rackety Kate!

Chapter 6

The story so far:
Jack accepts Kate’s challenge, though she didn’t really intend to make one in the first place, but that Irish temper… The Comte betrays the Duchess and Duka, Jack’s First Mate, is mighty taken with her, though she abuses him roundly. When Jack decrees she be punished, Duka happily accepts the task of getting the haughty blonde to see the error of her ways.

You can read all of Kate and see more pirates on the Rackety Kate page.

Duka turned to Jack. “Now or later?” he enquired.

Jack pursed his lips in thought, his considering gaze fixed on the furious Duchess, squirming in Duka’s grip, still gasping threats.

Hang you, you bastard,” Kate heard her mutter. “Draw and quarter…”

“Let’s begin as we mean to go on. Punishment should always follow directly after the crime. Go ahead.”

Duka’s grin split his dark face. “Aye,” he rumbled. “My pleasure.”

Ignoring her shrill protests, he tugged the Duchess toward a barrel. Upending it, he seated himself and pulled her to stand between his spread legs. He stroked her cheek. “Can ye take it, sweetheart? Like the brave lass I know ye are?”
The Comte snickered. “She’s better at dishing it out, in my experience.”

Duka shot him a killing glare and he subsided. The black man smiled at the Duchess. “What’s your name, darling?” he crooned. “Tell me.”

“Go to hell,” snarled the Duchess.

“It’s Venetia,” said the Comte. “I told you that.”

“Aye, but I want her to give it to me with her own pretty lips. Your name, love?”

“Pig!” spat the Duchess, quivering. “Brute! Bastard!”

Duka looked pained, though his warm brown eyes twinkled. He gave a theatrical sigh that expanded his chest in a most delicious fashion, the slabs of muscle sliding under smooth mahogany skin. Acutely conscious of Jack’s big firm body pressed all along hers, Kate caught the flutter of the other woman’s lashes as she flicked a glance at Duka’s chest.

Jack bent his head and nibbled Kate’s earlobe. “What do you bet me he can make her reach her pleasure?”

“No!” gasped Kate. “Not here, in front of…” She flailed a hand in the direction of the calendar of pirates, her heart hammering with a strange dark excitement.

“Oh aye,” murmured Jack, nuzzling her hair. “That’s just it. Here, in front of everyone, the weight of their eyes, the warmth of their breath, the hardness of their cocks, knowing how much they want you, but knowing you’re safe because your man won’t let them touch you. Unless you ask, that is.”

Want more? You can read all of Kate and see more pirates on the Rackety Kate page.

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