We first discovered My Beloved was afraid of heights in a cable car dangling thousands of feet in the air above an Alpine valley. It was not a happy moment.

I don’t have the same problem. I’ll tell you about my idea of hell at the end of this post. But don’t worry, that’s after we’ve been to lunch in the restaurant on the mountain. It’s my shout - an Aussie expression meaning I’ll pay.

Ready? First, hop on the cable car to reach the start of the trail.

Here’s the path. Off you go now.

Be sure to hold onto the “railing.”

Keep an eye on the guys in front.

And be careful if you have to pass someone going the other way…

Up a few steps now. Oh, can’t see them? On the left.

It’s a bit steeper here. Better get your toes in those holes.

Only a few more steps. Trust me…

Hey, look! You made it. The table’s in my name and guess what? The food’s free for anyone who makes it to the restaurant. Talk among yourselves, okay? I’ll join you later.

My idea of hell?

I’m not real good at small spaces and I hate arguing and anger. Hell for me is being locked in a metal box with wheels (ie a car) with My Beloved while we circle an underground car park looking for a space - endlessly, endlessly - and he rages and curses with frustration. It drives me insane.

Do you have phobias? Heights? Caves? Spiders? The number thirteen?

Don’t forget - every month there’s a chance to win everything droolworthy - Tim Tams and hunkalicious postcards - including Mr Gorgeous . Check the Current Contest page and keep the comments coming!

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Awards and contests are funny things. I’m not sure what purpose they serve. Do they help sell books? Or do they just make the recipient feel good? Well, they sure are fantastically good for this little black duck - or at least her ducky little ego. I feel all warm and fuzzy and stroked. But for all our sakes, I thought I’d bundle up a few of them and get the crowing over and done with in one fell swoop. (I have no idea why I’m waxing ornithological.)

The Ellora’s Cave editors have a wonderful blog called Redlines and Deadlines, particularly good for aspiring writers. Yesterday, they posted their favourite thirteen fantasy novels - and guess what? TAILSPIN was there. Yay! I thought it was pretty damn cool, but when I checked the other twelve, I just about swallowed my tongue. Tolkien??? LKH??? Marion Zimmer Bradley???

And me? Huh?

But I’m okay, I can cope. *fluffs hair*

And of course, you already know TAILSPIN is also a finalist in the Passionate Plume Awards. Because I trumpeted about it all over the place.

And then, Nina Pierce, one of the wonderful PI CyberCircuit authors, bestowed a Blogging with a Purpose award on this blog. I’m not sure Under and Over actually has a Purpose with a capital P. My theory is that it’s primarily to keep me entertained. It’s reassuring to know I’m not the only one whose mind works in weird and mysterious ways! I like to talk with like-minded people about the things that interest me. So if this blog helps you in any way - with company, or entertainment, or information, or laughter, or even a lust object or two - well, that’s just nifty!

I guess every blog out there is a community in its own way, and with its own purpose. So know you’re welcome to invite all your friends and relations. Well, hell, anyone really. The more the merrier!

I’m curious. Do awards and contests play any part in your reading choices or your book-buying habits? I have to admit, they do with me. I’ll often go check out some award winner. But after that, I still have to like what I see. A lot. Remember me? The Picky Bitch?

Don’t forget - every month there’s a chance to win everything droolworthy - Tim Tams and hunkalicious postcards - including Mr Gorgeous . Check the Current Contest page and keep the comments coming!

This is really really weird, but somehow this lovely post got corrupted so that it looks really weird in Firefox. Internet Explorer doesn’t seem to be affected. I’ve had to delete the entire post - and ALL the comments to fix it. Sorree…

So now I’m going to try adding the comments back in, because I saved them all. Cunning, eh? It’s going to look like I’m talking to myself, but there you go… *grump*

I’ve never thought much about why people forward jokes, but a friend sent me this beautiful message the other day, and the lights went on. Read this and you’ll never think of a message that starts FWD: Three men walked into a bar…. quite the same way again.

A man and his dog were walking along a road. The man was enjoying the scenery, when it suddenly occurred to him that he was dead.

He remembered dying, and that the dog walking beside him had been dead for years. He wondered where the road was leading them.

After a while, they came to a high, white stone wall along one side of the road. It looked like fine marble. At the top of a long hill, it was broken by a tall arch that glowed in the sunlight.

When he was standing before it he saw a magnificent gate in the arch that looked like mother-of-pearl, and the street that led to the gate looked like pure gold. He and the dog walked toward the gate, and as he got closer, he saw a man at a desk to one side

When he was close enough, he called out, ‘Excuse me, where are we?’

‘This is Heaven, sir,’ the man answered.

‘Wow! Would you happen to have some water?’ the man asked.

‘Of course, sir. Come right in, and I’ll have some ice water brought right up.’ The man gestured, and the gate began to open.

‘Can my friend,’ gesturing toward his dog, ‘come in, too?’ the traveller asked.

‘I’m sorry, sir, but we don’t accept pets.’

The man thought a moment and then turned back toward the road and continued the way he had been going with his dog.

After another long walk, and at the top of another long hill, he came to a dirt road leading through a farm gate that looked as if it had never been closed. There was no fence.

As he approached the gate, he saw a man inside, leaning against a tree and reading a book.

‘Excuse me!’ he called to the man. ‘Do you have any water?’

‘Yeah, sure, there’s a pump over there, come on in.’

‘How about my friend here?’ the traveller gestured to the dog.

‘There should be a bowl by the pump.’

They went through the gate, and sure enough, there was an old-fashioned hand pump with a bowl beside it.

The traveller filled the water bowl and took a long drink himself, then he gave some to the dog.

When they were full, he and the dog walked back toward the man who was standing by the tree.

‘What do you call this place?’ the traveller asked.

‘This is Heaven,’ he answered.

‘Well, that’s confusing,’ the traveller said. ‘The man down the road said that was Heaven, too.’

‘Oh, you mean the place with the gold street and pearly gates? Nope. That’s hell.’

‘Doesn’t it make you mad for them to use your name like that?’

‘No, we’re just happy that they screen out the folks who would leave their best friends behind.’

***

So…

Sometimes, we wonder why friends keep forwarding jokes to us without writing a word. Maybe this will explain.

When you are very busy, but still want to keep in touch, guess what you do? You forward jokes.

When you have nothing to say, but still want to keep contact, you forward jokes.

When you have something to say, but don’t know what, and don’t know how, you forward jokes.

Also to let you know that you are still remembered, you are still important, you are still loved, you are still cared for, guess what you get?

A forwarded joke.

So, next time if you get a joke, don’t think that you’ve been sent just another forwarded joke, but that you’ve been thought of today and your friend on the other end of your computer wanted to send you a smile.

You are all welcome @ my water bowl anytime.

I can’t imagine an afterlife worthy of the name where my old friends wouldn’t be welcome. Not when they gave me so much in their comparatively short lives. A part of the family.

It’s rather a different take on jokes, isn’t it? What’s your first thought when you see a forwarded joke in your email? Anticipation or irritation? Perhaps you run a joke list. If so, why? What do you gain from it?

Don’t forget - every month there’s a chance to win everything droolworthy - Tim Tams and hunkalicious postcards - including Mr Gorgeous . Check the Current Contest page and keep the comments coming!

Introducing the Passionate Ink Cyber Circuit: We’re a group of writers who belong to the Passionate Ink chapter of Romance Writers of America and write erotic romance. (See the links in the sidebar.) Once or twice a month our members will tour a recent release, so you get to find fabulous new authors for your TBR pile!

It’s my pleasure to introduce our next author out on tour - Sharona Nelson aka Barrie Abalard.

The Book:

The story of a single mom, a single man, and a health insurance plan…

Single mom Sunny Montgomery survived a lousy childhood with hippie parents as well as a terrible marriage with the cheating Kirk Stanley (AKA Kirk the Jerk), so she figured she could deal with whatever life threw at her. In short order, however, Sunny loses her job, car, health insurance, and life’s savings.

What’s a single mother to do? Get married, of course-though not for love.

Sunny accepts a marriage-of-convenience offer from her landlord, Ben Hart, so that she and Libbie, her asthmatic daughter, will have health insurance. The only problem is, she’s falling in love with him-despite the fact she thinks he’s gay. And, while she sometimes craves more distance from the temptation known as Ben, heaven knows that good, affordable apartments in Boston are as rare as winters without snow.

Through it all, Sunny perseveres. Whether beset by estranged hippie parents, money troubles, a creepy new boss, an is-he-or-isn’t-he faux husband, or the Boston mob, Sunny sustains herself with her inner strength, her best friend Dulcie, odd-duck neighbor Ray, and lots of mac-and-cheese, hot dogs, and ice cream. Oddly enough, what Sunny’s daughter, Libbie, wants-comfort food and plenty of SpongeBob SquarePants on the tube-aren’t fundamentally different from what Sunny wants-happiness and love.

Sunny’s struggles teach us that making lemonade from life’s abundant supply of lemons isn’t too difficult, as long as we follow our hearts…

Read an excerpt. Click the cover to buy!

About Sharona

I spent most of my adult life in the Boston area. (I miss the city, but not the winters. Heaven is eighty degrees and blue skies.) While in Boston, I was a jack-of-all-trades, mastering two: radio personality and technical writer/online help designer. I also worked as a taxi driver, clerical chartist for the Federal Reserve Bank, and temporary office worker for half a dozen companies. However, fiction writing is my first and longest-lived love.

Modern romantic comedy with attitude-because you don’t want to read your mother’s romances!

Blog

MySpace

The Interview:

This is the bit where I get to ask all those cheeky questions. Nosy? Moi?

With which character do you identify most closely?

I partially identify with the heroine, Sunny, but also equally identify with her nutty hippie mother, Daphne (”Daffy”). Because both characters have elements of me in them, COVER ME was a pure hoot to write. I was very much a hippie chick for many, many years, and still hold a lot of the same political values. I also have a grown daughter, so I know how the mother would feel about the estrangement with her daughter. But, because I’ve also dealt with difficult parental relationships in my own life, I perfectly understand why Sunny might want to keep her mother and father at arms’ length, and why she might feel pissed off at them.

Where did you get the idea for your latest book?

A long time ago, I was living with the man who’s now my husband. We’d never felt any special impulse to tie the knot, but when my ex said he planned to remarry, that meant I’d lose my health insurance. So, my live-in of nearly ten years and I got married. Though we do love each other, we had some fun with the wedding, including putting the initials of the health plan on the arch over the bride and groom atop the ice cream cake (ice cream cake because my daughter doesn’t like regular cake.)

I told the complete story of my wedding to someone once, and they said, “You should write a story about someone who gets married for health insurance.” The idea appealed to me, and the inspiration for COVER ME was born.

I spent most of my adult life in the Boston area, so setting the story there was a no-brainer. By the way, the information about health insurance options for the unemployed was accurate when the book went to press. But now Massachusetts has a completely different system. (Just wanted Massachusetts readers to know that yes, I do the research, but the Commonwealth changed the game on me when it was too late to revise the manuscript!) Continue reading »

I’ve often giggled at my mother when she misplaces her glasses. “Wait a sec,” she’ll say. “I can’t hear you without my specs.” Meaning she can’t see my face, and my lips moving.

Facial expression is an absolutely essential part of human interaction. I was reminded of this very powerfully yesterday when I watched a colleague struggle to assist a woman wearing a full burqa, complete with the veil over the eyes. Because for us humans, it’s the eyes that really carry the conversation.

Think of the big deal writers make out of the colour and/or expression of a character’s eyes. Think of how irritated you become if a character’s eyes change colour (without explanation) part of the way through the book. (Well it drives me insane, but then we all know I’m the Picky Bitch from Hell.)

There are so many ways to describe eyes, and all of them carry a subtext to which the reader responds emotionally. For example, I have light brown eyes, a shade of khaki really. Extraordinarily ordinary. Certainly not especially romantic to my mind. But think of all the heroes who have “amber” eyes. Huh? Have you ever met anyone with eyes that are actually the golden-orange of amber, or the yellow of real gold ? It’s remotely possible, I guess, but I suspect we’re talking about the romantic version of my brown-khaki eyes, which do have a yellowish cast. Sounds revolting, doesn’t it?

For example, a man with dull, black eyes can’t be the hero! (Unless he’s miserable, or ill.) There’s a sort of code I think - something to do with the length of the lashes and the unusual eye colour. Brin, from GIFT OF THE GODDESS has black eyes, but they’re not just black, you know? They’re midnight eyes!

…fathomless. Midnight eyes, framed by inky lashes. The tiny part of her mind still functioning noted slashing cheekbones, a high-bridged nose and a firm, beautiful mouth. But she couldn’t drag her stare away from his, from the cool intelligence shining there, the adamantine will.

If Trey was warm, sweet fire, this man was night. Deepest, darkest, midnight and velvet. Beautiful.

And infinitely dangerous.

And a little later -

Without releasing her from his stare, he growled, “You’re the poet, Trey. Tell her about the goddess.” His eyes were enigmatic, compelling, sucking at her soul, her self-possession. Despising herself, she squared her shoulders and fought to keep her nerve.

Even though it’s a first impression, Brin’s eyes convey to Anje, and through her, to the reader, an enormous amount about his personality. In fact, I just counted and the word “eyes” occurs seventeen times in Chapter 1! It’s astonishing how much we look at each other!

Meet Grayson, Duke of Ombra, hero of THE FLAME AND THE SHADOW (Coming 4th November) -

She’d thought his eyes must be as dark as his hair, but this close, they were a clear, limpid gray. Long-lidded eyes, full of secrets, shielded with extravagant lashes, surely the gift of some besotted goddess. His brows were strongly marked, with an upward slant at the corners. They gave him a sardonic air that went well with his lithe, self-contained grace.

He’s a very different guy, nothing like Brin at all. If you like ‘em all dark and tortured and angsty, Gray’s your man! BTW, all heroes have wonderful eyelashes, it’s obligatory. Actually, most men do, ever noticed? My son has the best eyelashes in the family and the loveliest eyes - a vivid blue-green.

So, what sort of eyes stop you in your tracks? Either in reality, or in fiction?

I love the contrast between eyes and hair and skin. The so-called “Irish” colouring of blue, blue eyes and black hair makes me breathless every time. In fact, I always find the light eyes/darker skin combo stunning - Jason Momoa, for example. We talked about him and Stargate.

What are the most unusual eyes you’ve ever seen? (Contact lenses don’t count!)

I once knew a girl with reddish-brown eyes, fox colour. She had auburn hair. I guess the best description would be sherry-brown. Fledge in TAILSPIN has her eyes, but there’s no sherry on Phoenix sadly, so I settled for calling them russet. Then there was the school friend with the palest of pale gray eyes - they were truly silvery. She was blond. Definitely a bit disconcerting and I’ve never seen anything like them, before or since.

And just to get you in the mood, here’s a pair of extraordinarily expressive eyes to enjoy - I sure did!

Don’t forget - every month there’s a chance to win everything droolworthy - Tim Tams and hunkalicious postcards - including Mr Gorgeous . Check the Current Contest page and keep the comments coming!

It’s newsletter time, which means…

Rackety Kate and the Pirates

Chapter 8

The Next Trembling Step

The story so far:

One kiss and Jack swears he’ll have Kate’s heart and soul as well as her delectable little body. The Brazen Hussy sails on through the magical Mist protecting Sweet Sisters Isle, home of the pirates, and Kate’s eyes open wide…

Kate gazed into the translucent blue depths, marveling. She could see all the way to the sandy bottom. Shoals of small fish nosed about the stout wooden piles of the dock where the Brazen Hussy was moored. Smiling, she watched them darting back and forth, like a cloud of living jewel-toned sweets.

A strong hand fisted in the back of the shirt she wore - Jack’s shirt. Speak of the devil… “Don’t tumble in, pretty Kate.”

Ooooh, yes, chorused the Hormone Harlots.

So masterful, sighed one.

Kate frowned. This voice was languishing and soft, ultra-feminine. The one she’d heard in the cabin had been a husky contralto. So there were two of them?

Uh-huh. They spoke together.

A spotted ray flapped past below, the tips of its wings furling up and down like a heavy tablecloth in a breeze.

“You picked a beautiful spot,” she said grudgingly.

“Aye.” The silk of Jack’s beard brushed the side of her neck. “I have excellent taste.”

“All’s shipshape, Cap’n,” rumbled Duka, looming behind them.

“Good.” Turning, Jack raised his voice. “Who’s for home, lads?”

At the chorus of enthusiastic shouts, he grinned, so like a boy that Kate’s heart did a flip-flop. Ridiculous thing.

With a rebel yell, blond Peter dived neatly over the side and stroked through the gentle swell to the shore. Spectacles clutched in one fist, he rose up out of the water like a piratical version of Mr Darcy. Kate sighed. Heavens, he was sweet! Look at those shoulders in the wet shirt. And that ass in the wet breeches, and…

“Enough,” said Jack crisply.

The world swung, then steadied as he scooped her up in his arms. Kate clutched at his shoulders. “Will you stop doing that?”

“There are other ways.” Jack glanced back over his shoulder as he started down the narrow gangplank. He reached the dock and lowered Kate until her feet hit sun-warmed wood. “Like that, for instance.”

Turning in his arms, Kate followed his gaze and gasped.

Duka had wrapped his belt around the waist of the Duchess. There was at least a foot of leather left over. He had the tongue of the belt in one huge fist so that the Duchess had to stumble along the deck behind him, almost trotting to keep up with his long stride. With a delicious little shock, Kate realised the other woman’s wrists were secured together with a length of rope.

But when the First Mate set foot on the narrow piece of timber that did duty for a gangplank, the Duchess baulked, the angry flush fading from her fair cheeks until she was pale as milk. “No,” she whispered.

Slowly, Duka turned, the plank bowing under his considerable weight. “What was that?” he enquired mildly.

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

Want even more than that? Join my newsletter - see below.

Subscribers to my newsletter get to interfere with Kate’s love life. Sign up to join the fun!

Don’t forget - every month there’s a chance to win everything droolworthy - Tim Tams and hunkalicious postcards - including Mr Gorgeous . Check the Current Contest page and keep the comments coming!

This post is about Stargate Atlantis. It’s also about losing my purse. Don’t see the connection? Read on, my friend…

Last week, I opened by bag and discovered my purse was missing, together with all the cards in it. You know that horrible feeling when your guts turn over? And your brain is filled with a long wail of disbelief and horror? “Oh, nooo-ooo!”

There’ s a happy ending, I hasten to add. I’d left it in the Post Office (because I’m an absent-minded idiot), but there was a whole night of terrible tension before I could find out for sure. I couldn’t eat, couldn’t settle to anything. It was awful.

What to do to take my mind off it?

I watched five episodes of Stargate Atlantis, back to back. And it worked a treat. By the time we’d beaten off yet another Wraith attack, I was so tired I could actually sleep. Thank heavens.

And yah boo sucks to the snobs who frown on escapism in reading and entertainment.

I LOVE SF/fantasy shows like Stargate. Don’t even get me started on Serenity/Firefly and its premature demise. Or the way Babylon 5 had to finish in a hurry. I was completely intrigued by the whole premise of Babylon 5. *sigh*

On the other hand, I’m very slow at catching up. I think I’ve said before, I watch very little TV. I did catch the original Stargate though and developed a close personal relationship with Daniel. What can I say? You all know I love intelligent geeky gorgeous men. So I’m only up to Season 2 of Atlantis. It’s kind of engaging, you know? First there’s Joe Flanigan playing John Sheppard. Excessively cute and he reminds me irresistibly of a young Harrison Ford, right down to his repertoire of handy-dandy expressions. See the photo above for a few of them.

I enjoy all the characters, especially Rodney McKay, who’s the Stargate version of Dr Smith in the old TV series of Lost in Space, and Teyla, the exotic warrior woman type. I like that she’s small and curvy and still hard-muscled and tough. It’s all very Boys’ Own Adventure crossed with space opera. And Beckett, the Scottish doctor - which makes a change from Chief Engineers. I keep expecting him to say, “I canna get more speed oota the medical hyperdrive, Cap’n.”

And of course, how can you go past the hubba-hubba addition of Jason Momoa as Ronon Dex? One of my writing buddies is so fixated on him, dreadlocks and all, that he’s the model for her current hero. There were loads of pics of him in costume, but I thought you’d prefer this one. He’s definitely gorgeous, but he’s also unusual, with those light eyes and dark skin tones and the dreads into the bargain. I think he’s Hawaiian. And he’s big - boy, is he a biiiig guy! He carries off the casual violence of the Ronon character very well and he looks like he’s enjoying himself.

What do you watch when you need an escape from daily reality? Have you ever been in a situation where book/movies saved your sanity and helped you get through?

Do you like SF/fantasy shows? Go ahead - a fangirl squee is completely acceptable on this blog. Do you like Stargate? BTW - no spoilers, please! I still have a way to go. Not to mention, I’ve only just discovered the West Wing. Blown away, but that’s a subject for another post.

Don’t forget - every month there’s a chance to win everything droolworthy - Tim Tams and hunkalicious postcards - including Mr Gorgeous . Check the Current Contest page and keep the comments coming!

Does he smell right? You can sniff your way to your own true love - did you know that?

There’s a relatively new branch of science called evolutionary psychology, dedicated to investigating the way our most primal instincts, the ones encoded deep in our DNA in caveman days, still influence our behaviour. I’ve always been fascinated by people and the things they do and say, so bear with me here. Most writers are inveterate and unrepentant people watchers, I find. Funny that!

One of the most interesting tests is the so-called “Sweaty T-shirt Experiment”, in which the subject gets to sniff the sweaty T-shirts of a several members of the opposite sex to determine which they find the most attractive. The hypothesis is that we are driven by our genes to select the mate who gives us the greatest chance of producing healthy offspring - that is, a person whose immune system and genetic makeup is VERY different from ours. Here’s Dr (Sir) Robert Winston explaining all about it. (There’s a slight degree of repetition in the middle. Ignore it.)

Got that? Amazing, isn’t it?

How much of attraction, and even love, is chemically based, do you think? For example, I loved the smell and the texture of My Beloved’s skin, from the very beginning. Still do, unless he’s sweaty enough to be gross. Physically, we’re very different types - I’m small and dark and sort of Celtic, he’s broad and blond, rather like a shorter, cuddlier Viking. And we had NO problem falling pregnant or making healthy babies. Scary, how easy it was, now I look back on it.

Have you ever thought someone smelled right - or wrong? And what happened after that, hmm?

Don’t forget - every month there’s a chance to win everything droolworthy - Tim Tams and hunkalicious postcards - including Mr Gorgeous . Check the Current Contest page and keep the comments coming!

Yesterday was Mother’s Day. I had such a nice time - hugs and kisses and a bunch of flowers. I like gerberas, such bold, cheerful little numbers they are. So here are some for you, whether you’re a mother or not. Everyone has a mother or grandmother or aunt, or precious nephews and nieces, honorary or not. Happy Mother’s Day to all of us!

Do you have a precious memory you’d like to share? I’d love to hear about it.

I can remember a vignette so clearly - trotting down the street holding Mum’s hand, chattering nineteen to the dozen. (Are you surprised? LOL) I’m thinking I would have been about seven at the time, but I could still take you to the exact place. I was very very proud of her, so young and slim and smart. She was always perfectly groomed (as she is now) and I can still hear her heels tapping briskly along, her skirt swishing.

Or the expression on My Beloved’s face as he held our son in his arms for the first time. Especially as we’d both been convinced he was a girl! Then there was the time he crawled over to the dishwasher (my son, not My Beloved) and knocked to come in, meanwhile giggling his little head off. He was too small to be walking. I recall thinking, “Thank you, Powers That Be, he has a sense of humour. He’s going to be okay.” And, most of the time, he has been.

Fighting with Miss Two and looking down in horror to see this tiny little person with her hands set firmly on her hips, arguing the toss with me. Arguing, mind you! What was worse was that I was arguing back. Aaargh! We’d created a mini-monster!

Of course, I could go on and on - the time DS nearly ate a big fat (dead) cockroach, or the time he and his friends threw his sister’s doll up into a tree and she stood and berated all nine of those boys until they fetched a ladder and the oldest one climbed up and got it down. (Are you discerning a theme here?  :wink: ) The quiet snuggle times, the bedtime stories and the way Mum and Dad’s bed was the refuge from all life’s storms.

And today, I am so proud of two beautiful young people, making their way in the world. They’re both bemused and amused by their mother’s writing career, but extremely supportive. Same with my mother.

So let’s hear a story from you - about your kids or someone else’s, your mother, your grandmother, your aunty, an honorary aunty. It can be sweet, funny, poignant, whatever. Up to you. I know Sami has a gorgeous one, if she pops in.

Don’t forget - every month there’s a chance to win everything droolworthy - Tim Tams and hunkalicious postcards - including Mr Gorgeous . Check the Current Contest page and keep the comments coming!

Introducing the Passionate Ink Cyber Circuit: We’re a group of writers who belong to the Passionate Ink chapter of Romance Writers of America and write erotic romance. (See the links in the sidebar.) Once or twice a month our members will tour a recent release, so you get to find fabulous new authors for your TBR pile!

It’s my pleasure to introduce our next author out on tour - Lyn Cash

The Book:

RC Jones poses a problem for his sibling, who wants RC out of the way before their grandfather’s upcoming birthday. Shanghaied, inebriated, and tossed onto a cruise ship for the kinky, only to wake up with a leather-clad dominatrix standing over him-just what every alpha male needs!

April is a psychology major who earns extra money during the summer by working as a dominatrix on a cruise ship.

When RC gets shanghaied, April thinks he’s her next submissive. But a challenge is issued-if she falls for him during his ‘vacation’, she becomes his submissive for two weeks.

What’s a woman to do?

Click the cover for an excerpt and to buy!

Lyn Cash is the multi-published author of over fifty short stories and confessions, a couple of non-fiction books, and over a dozen novellas and novels. Her mainstream fiction is written under Bobbie Cole, her erotic fiction under the pen names of Lyn Cash and Cash Cole.

The Interview:

This is the bit where I get to ask all those cheeky questions. Nosy? Moi?

What do you like best about romantic suspense ?

The Great Unknown. Edge of the seat situations, wondering what makes people tick, trying to find their Achilles heel, their hot buttons, what turns them on or how they’ll react in any given situation.
What makes a hero for you? Do you see them on the street, or are they simply in your head?

They’re in my life, all the time! I see courage and determination, the will to overcome the negative and stress the positive, I witness the traits I admire best in the people I love. Continue reading »