Win! Naked! Win!

See? Attention-grabbing stuff. And true, sort of.

Well, that is, I'm running a contest for you to win a download of Naked Eyes, my new book from Changeling. So, I wasn't lying. Enter away, my pretties, and enjoy the nakedness!

If you were gay (but I'm not gay)

Ooh, a juicy subject. And just to make it more interesting, I've no actual idea what I'm really going to say in this post.

I was reading a Smart Bitches post about someone else's post about... repeat a bit... a romance novel where the hero admits he's had relationships with men. Shock, horror! The tar and feathers are out, mostly--okay, exclusively--from the Homosexuality Is WRONG And People Who Practice It Are ABOMINATIONS crowd. There was some stuff about it in last month's RWR--actually, there's been stuff about it for ages in the RWR. In case you've missed it or you really just don't care what the head honchos at RWA think about gayness, the issue was whether to define romance as 'between a man and a woman' or 'between two people'.

Just for the record, my stand on it is: if you love someone and commit to making their life happy, and they love you and want to make you happy, then I don't give a flying fuck if one or both of you are men, women, black, white or bleeding green. Okay, not green, since that would imply a certain standard of decomposition, at which point I do draw the line. But consenting adults who love each other? Falling in love? Supporting and caring for another person? Devoting your life to making theirs better? What could possibly be wrong about that?

Like with a lot of things, the arguments against it just don't make any sense to me, so I'm not going to bother listing them here. I'm sure if you're reading an erotica writer's blog, then you're not too touchy about the theme either, and you probably don't care for the anti-gay arguments either. I'm not going to start judging the judgemental.

But, anyway. It got me thinking about a side issue. I've written a gay scene or two, a couple of menages, and even a book whose whole premise was a relationship between two men and a woman (incidentally, my best seller for that publisher). And I've read plenty. And I've enjoyed them (but I'm not gay).

But you know what? They were all male-male-female or just male-male. None of them had more women than men. There are literally loads of books about gay/bi men in a market aimed at straight women. But none about gay or bi women, or so few as to hardly register. And, more to the point, publishers seem to shy away from the subject and explain that they don't sell well. Readers don't like it.

Why is this? Why do straight women like to read about multiple men, but not women? This has puzzled me a while, especially after years and years of being told that a reader likes to identify with the characters she's reading about--and surely it's easier for a woman to identify with a woman, not a man? Why is it okay in these erotica books for the men to get freaky with a woman, and with each other, but not for two women to get freaky--unless there's an equal number of guys to reassure them they're not lesbians.

Is that it? Are the readers of these books afraid that reading about lesbians makes you a lesbian? If you're turned on by women having sex with each other, does that make you gay? Or is it a hangover from feminism: two women with a man are just there to please him? I've really enjoyed the very few girl-on-girl scenes I've read (but I'm not gay). Much as I love my girlfriends and think they're gorgeous, I've absolutely no wish to get naughty with them.

Now, if Angelina Jolie were to pop round, I might change my mind. But she's Angelina, and universal, and therefore doesn't count (but I'm not gay).

Anyway. What are your thoughts on this? Why do you think women don't like to read about lesbians? Would you like to read about lesbians? Two women and a man? Or are you all about the cock, baby?

FAQing website

Er, yes. Actually, I've been messing with my website (it's like painting the Forth Bridge, every time I think I'm done I find something else that needs fixing. Actually, that's not like the Forth Bridge. It's like inheriting a government). Anyway, I've added a new page titled Extras. On here is all the stuff that doesn't quite fit on the other pages: FAQ, trivia, glossaries, pictures and all that. It's still growing: I keep thinking of stuff to add to it.

What do you think of my new page? Love it? Hate it? Can't stand the whole site? Getting a headache from all the purple? Want to see more, dammit, more? Let me know! The FAQ section especially is growing, so if you have anything to ask, just do it.

Ask, that is.

Monkeys in suits

No, dead monkeys in suits. No, the festering goo left behind by the dead monkeys in suits.

Still smarter than the idiots in charge of our local council.

They've just implemented the most ridiculous scheme I've ever heard of for recycling. Now, instead of it being a voluntary thing that makes you feel all warm and glowy because you're helping the environment by putting your empty bottles in a crate for the special lorry to come and pick up once a fortnight, it's a mandatory thing, executed in the most impractical way, that makes you feel resentful towards the whole idea of planet-saving.

At least, it does me. And I'm a freaking vegetarian. I cut up 6-pack holders so they won't kill little birdies. I love the environment. Plant trees and everything. And I think this new recycling shit is just bloody stupid.

The basis of it is this three bin system: three large, ugly-ass wheelie bins into which we separate all our household rubbish. Biodegradable 'wet' refuse in one, recyclable plastics and cans in another, and unrecyclable things to go in a landfill. With me so far? Separating out rubbish, sensible, yes? Of course it is.

Except...

I'm sure it sounded like a really good idea when the chief monkey came up with it. Only I bet the chief monkey never has to cook a meal, change a baby, or empty a bathroom bin. Because now, instead of scraping potato peelings, pizza boxes and cat food tins into the bin in the kitchen, everything has to be put into separate piles. The potato peelings go straight into the green-lidded bin. Yep, straight in. And they'll stay there until the bin is tipped up into a garbage truck at the end of the week.

Week-old potato peelings. Nice.

But the monkeys thought of this. Wrap all the 'wet refuse' in newspaper, they say. Er, actually I'd intended on reading the newspaper. Oh, you mean the free ones? Fair enough. But we only get those every other week or so. Plenty of people don't get them at all. And besides, it's rather insulting to all the local newspaper offices--not to mention the trees, who probably don't appreciate being so recyclable. Also, newspaper isn't terribly watertight. The rotting potato-peelings will ooze through.

There is a contingency plan, though. They kindly gave us a roll of biodegradable refuse sacks to put the oozy stuff into. Er, except the roll is just a long tube with perforations. You tear a bit off, about a foot long it is, tie a knot in the end to make a bag, and it's just about big enough for the potato, carrot, squash etc peelings from a nice pan of soup. So you tie a knot in the other end--remember, it comes as a tube--and put it in the green bin, and get another one. After about thirty seconds of cooking, you realise you've run out. So you need more.

But you know what? You can only buy them at the council offices, and they cost £6.99 for 50. Just for purposes of comparison, a pack of Tesco Value Refuse Sacks contains 30 black bags which hold... ooh, 50 litres each? That pack costs...wait for it...74p. That's 3p per bag, or 0.06p/litre. The special council ones, which hold 10 litres (depending, I suppose, on where you tie the knot) cost 14p each. Or, 1.4p/litre.

And the Tesco ones fit in my kitchen bin. Which is shiny and silver and a damn sight more attractive than the one outside. Plus, it's right next to where I actually cook.

So the council is making lots of money from this. Maybe they're getting a cut from petrol prices too, because did I mention that there are plenty of things you need to drive to a council waste-whatever site, like glass bottles? Also, you can only buy the special tiny knotty bags from the council office--which I think is 10 miles away. Well, that's certainly better for the environment than picking them up with the weekly shopping.

Oh, and I can't let it go without mentioning the nappucino. I mean, I have kittens so I don't have to piss around with the whole diaper-changing shit. But you know, if hell does actually freeze over and I find myself in charge of a noisy, puking, shitting infant, you can betcha by golly wow I will not be hand-washing cloth nappies. They can stink up the green bin. Or the black bin. Or the doormat of the monkey-in-a-suit who thought up this whole stupid scheme.

Kate Johnson interviews Cat Marsters

Or: Advanced Schizophrenia 101.

KJ: Hey Cat. You're looking very pretty today.

CM: Thanks, Kate. May I return the compliment? That holey sweater is particularly fetching.

KJ: Thanks. I borrowed it from you.

CM: Do you think we've done enough of the talking-to-ourselves bit yet?

KJ: Yes. Yes, I think we have. Okay. First question. You've got a new release out in a couple of weeks, haven't you?

CM: I certainly have.

KJ: Care to tell us about it?

CM: Sure. It's called Naked Eyes, and it's an erotic novella from Changeling Press.

KJ: Erotic, eh? Full of all the naughty stuff?

CM: Stop leering, Kate. Yep, it's got lots of sex in it--lots and lots--but it's also got plenty of plot. It's actually the start of a new series I'm co-writing with Amelia Elias. I'm writing the first book, she's doing the second, and we'll take it in turns from there.

KJ: Cool, I love Amelia's stuff. What's the series about?

CM: It's about superheroes! Who doesn't love a superhero? We're creating a whole new set of supers, with a whole new myth.

KJ: A whole new truck of radioactive waste hitting a whole new busload of people?

CM: Cheeky. Actually it's an electrical storm which hits a transatlantic flight. At least, they think it is. The passengers and crew are affected in different ways: in Naked Eyes, it's the co-pilot and a stewardess who wind up with an extra ability or two.

KJ: Such as?

CM: Well, Jack can fly for real, like Superman. And Laura has Second Sight: she can see ghosts, tell when someone's lying, see the future, that sort of thing.

KJ: Cool. So their superpowers are related to their jobs?

CM: Well, in this case they are.

KJ: How on earth did you come up with an idea like that?

CM: What, like it's hard? Heh, actually we were on a plane at the time. Our flight back from Dublin was delayed, and delayed, and delayed, and to pass the time we may have had a few bevvies. After the ones we'd had at the Guinness Brewery, of course. And not counting those wee baggies of gin that came with the tonic once we'd boarded...

KJ: Oh, good grief, another tale of drinking from Cat and Amelia. Just like all those escapades in Reno and Atlanta at the RWA conference, eh?

CM: Shut up, Kate, you beer monster.

KJ: Fair enough. So, okay. Aside from Naked Eyes, what else do you have in the pipeline for Changeling?

CM: Well, I've just had the green light from my editor on the next Sundown International story. It's called Duty and the Beast and is about an elf with enormous sexual magnetism and a very buttoned-up werewolf detective, tracing a vampire murderer. The problem is that she refuses to believe in the supernatural.

KJ: Excuse me? She's a werewolf who doesn't believe in the supernatural?

CM: It's called denial.

KJ: It sure is. Wow. Okay, and what else? You write for Ellora's Cave too, right?

CM: Yep, and my first book with them, Almost Human, will be out in print later this year. I'm also working on an untitled follow-up about the shapeshifter from Almost Human, Chance's cousin, Kett.

KJ: The mildly psychopathic bitter hag from hell?

CM: That's her. So sweet of you to remember.

KJ: What sort of unfortunate guy gets her?

CM: Someone just as mad as she is. Or maybe madder. Bael is a Nasc Mage--you remember the Nasc, the species Dark was king of in Almost Human?

KJ: How could I forget?

CM: Quite. Well, Bael is Nasc, only he keeps that a secret as much as he can. And he finds that Kett is his mate, which doesn't really please either of them. Bael's not really the settling-down type; in fact, he's more the roam-around-stirring-up-trouble type.

KJ: Sounds spine-tingly-dingly. Well, that's all we've got time for today, Cat. One last question before we go?

CM: Sure.

KJ: What books are you looking forward to the most over the next year?

CM: Easy. Amelia Elias's Guardian's League series. They're vampire books, very sexy, very smart, and very funny. The first, Hunted, will be her first paperback, in September. The second, Outcast, is out in e-format a week Tuesday. I read these books way back when Amelia and I were both struggling wannabes, and I was just amazed at how talented she was considering they were her first books. When she sold them to Samhain, I was as happy as she was! Well, nearly.

KJ: They sound very cool. I love me a good vampire book. But aren't you forgetting something, Cat?

CM: Hmm? Oh, yes. Of course, I'm looking forward to your first books, Kate. When is I, Spy? out?

KJ: 6th March, thanks for asking. And the second book in the series, Ugley Business, is out 8th May.

CM: Can't wait. Okay, deal: I'll buy yours, if you buy mine?

KJ: Deal!

New life, and new civilisations

It's always nice to discover a new author. Especially when you weren't expecting to. One of the great things about RWA and the large number of free books (well the free books is one of the nicest things, stat) is that there's an across-the-board selection, and if you're like me and will read the back of a cereal packet if it's put in front of you, then you'll end up reading lots of new things. As a writer, this is good because even if your book isn't given away, then a similar one might be--a reader might pick up an Ellora's Cave paperback they might otherwise not have read, loved it, and bought lots of others. This, clearly, benefits me.

Equally, I might pick up a book from the pile I'd otherwise have passed over, through sheer ennui. I love paranormal romance, okay--I write the stuff, so I'd better--but you know, sometimes it all looks the same. And author names blur into one another. I can't remember if I've heard of Karen Marie Moning's Immortal Highlander because someone's said it's awesome, or someone's said it sucks, or someone's just said it.

But you know, actually it is awesome. So here's a little recommendation, direct from me to you. KMM is cool (yes, I know, probably the rest of you figured it out a long time ago. Judging by her super-swish website she's not doing too badly. But I have to wait for the yearly conference for this stuff, people. 'Paranormal romance' is not a phrase ever used in British publishing).

As is Shirley Karr, whose first book What An Earl Wants I picked up last year just because the title tickled me. I don't tend to read a lot of historicals, because they--especially regencies--tend to all run into each other after a while--but this one surpassed my expectations by being fresh and funny and entertaining. And I just can't tell you how wonderful it is to pick up a book and find, with my jaded reader/author eye, that it's way better than I'd expected--whether I'd expected it to be rubbish, or I'd expected it to be great.

What's surpassed your expectations recently?

Stop blowing holes in my ship.

Or my aeroplane. Whatever.

This really irritates me. You know those security scanners at the airport? All those people in uniform? The rules about what you can and can't take on a plane? The searches and questions and all the endless crap you go through whenever you fly out of a UK airport to anywhere? What did you think they were there for? Decoration? No. They're to stop people taking bombs on planes. Just like the ones you were carrying. Did it not occur to you that maybe one of you might get caught? And once one had, then all the other airports--because they do talk to each other, you know--would be on red alert? And look even harder for more bombers?

Christ in a miniskirt. It goes without saying that if you're going to try and blow up a planeful of people, you're a few shots short of legless, but really. This is just insulting. And irritating. Is it so offensive to you that people want to go on holiday to Spain that you've got to go through all this to disrupt their travel plans? 'Cos that's what you're doing. Whoever you are, because you're not claiming it, you cowards, you're not getting much sympathy from me. Or, you know, anyone.

Look. We know about bomb threats in this country. The Second World War is still within living memory for a lot of people. All our major cities had the crap bombed out of them a scant 60-odd years ago. And 60 years is an eyeblink in the collective conscience of a country (I mean, we still regard the French as cheese-eating surrender monkeys and we haven't had a war with them them for over a hundred years now). Plus, in much more recent memory--mine, in fact, and I'm just a whippersnapper--we've had the IRA introducing us to the pleasures of unexpected mass murder. We've got the security stuff sorted out (as you just found out, twat-features). We've got the response down pat. We've been dealing with terrorism plots for hundreds of years (and damn, we knew how to treat them in 1605).

We're not intimidated. We're not frightened. And we refuse to be terrorised. Go sell panic somewhere else, because there's just no market for it here.

Drunk kittens

Not really, but they look it. My babies have progressed into adulthood. Or rather, put their toes in the door of adulthood, then had it ripped away. Under anasthetic, of course.

Yep, they've had the snip. Well, Spike has, Sugar's had the cut-open-and...actually, what do they do? I don't really want to know. She does, though, she's been picking at her stitches. So I had to run back to the vet and get a couple of collars for them. Boy, do they look stupid. Woozy from anasthetic, falling over, unable to judge how big something is because their whiskers are inside the cone... and, oh yes, the cones.

My babies are not happy with me.

I'll give you something to cry about.

Suitcase: £27.99
Earphones for Discman: £7.99
Book: £6.99
Inflatable travel-pillow: £4.99
Bottle of water: 80p
Buying every seat on board so the chances of having a baby cry for nine hours less than six feet away from me are brought to the absolute minimum: Priceless.

There are some things money can't buy. For everything else, there's Mastercard.


You know how shattering the sound of a baby crying is. Imagine not being able to escape from it because you're trapped in a tin-can the size of a mobile home with no exits. For many, many hours.

I understand that there are people out there who, for economical, practical and mental reasons unfathomable to me, prefer children to cats. I understand that they even, for some reason, want to travel with them (personally, I'd be travelling from them). But what I don't understand is why I, child-free and happy to be so, have to suffer the consequences? Why do people with small children inflict them on everyone else, and look so smug when they do it? Why in the name of all that is holy would you want to take a baby on a nine hour flight, anyway (I can't even contemplate the horror of a 22hr flight to Australia)? What sort of cultural goodness is someone who can't even talk yet going to get from travelling the world? Why did I pay six hundred quid to be kept awake by it?

I'm not the first person to suggest this, and judging by all the grumbling I've been reading in the travel sections of the paper, I won't be the last. But isn't it about time someone set up an airline--or even a subdivision of one--for adults only? I'll make the concession that children over ten could travel on it, because by that age they're less likely to cry for nine hours and more likely to respond to me threatening them if they do. they're also able to say things, like, "My ears hurt from the altitude, can I have a painkiller, please?" which a baby expresses through continuous crying. I'm wondering if this is the real reason why we're not allowed to take anything more dangerous than a plastic spoon on board a plane any more.


Child-free airlines--now! Either that, or mandatory tranquillisers for all children. Ahhhh, the bliss!

The internet is really really great...FOR PORN

Avenue Q is now officially the funniest musical I've ever seen. Possibly one of the funniest anythings I've ever seen. For those of you who haven't heard--do you not read the culture pages?--it's sort of like Sesame Street for grown ups. I dunno, I never really watched Sesame Street. But it has muppet-type puppets, and human people, and songs and little animations explaining things. Like how to pronounce Schadenfreude (Shaa-den-froid-a) and how 'purpose' can be rearranged (and pumped up a little) to make 'propose'.

FOR PORN!

Only, I'm pretty sure Sesame Street never had puppet sex. Because, oh my God, there is nothing funnier. Puppet. Sex. Bear in mind they stop at the waist and then turn into someone's arm--and then add in the sound effects of Oh, my God, Kate, no one's ever touched me like this before - you can't put your finger there - OOH! PUT YOUR FINGER THERE!. Trust me. Hilarity prevails.

FOR PORN!

How can you not love a show with song titles like The Internet Is For Porn, and Everyone's A Little Bit Racist? And characters called Mrs Thistletwat and Lucy the Slut. They're puppets. Swearing and having sex. It's funny.

FOR PORN!

Plus, some of those puppeteers? Damn cute.

FOR PORN!

Fangirl say what?

I have a fan! It's, like official. Bona fide. MySpace never lies. Apart from mine, and, you know, everyone else's. But anyway. Look! Ain't it cool?

(look in the Interests box on the left hand side. There ya go).

I'm still getting the MySpace thing sorted. It's kinda confusing, blogging about an imaginary character. I mean, I don't want to just give away large chunks of the plot, right? And there's not much else of interest in Sophie's life. That's, er, sort of the point. And yet, we manage. Partly because Sophie has some fictional MySpace friends to buoy her along. Yeah, I have way too much free time. Just don't tell my editors.

Save the Quiet Kitty

Natural disasters like floods, fires, and disability often hit without warning, leaving chaos in their wake. When a crisis hits our friends, we all want to help. The Save The Quiet Kitty Fund is here to help authors in crisis.

From time to time, many of us have organized a short term pool to help an author in crisis -- short term crises that called for short term solutions. The Save The Quiet Kitty Fund is a designed to be a longer term solution.

Tales of the Quiet Kitty is a Changeling Press series by Camille Anthony about a smuggler's space ship and its crew. The Quiet Kitty books were some of the first I ever bought from Changeling: they're funny, inventive, and very sexy. Please help Camille, so I can read more menagey goodness. Thank you.

RWA Nationals--Strike II

Okay, mes petites, I slept about twenty-four hours when I came home so I'm more coherent now. Note: more coherent. Ready to make my RWA Nationals report.

We'll start, as Maria von Trapp put it, at a very good place to start (it was Maria, right? Not someone else? I can't be expected to remember all that). The beginning. Well, not the very beginning, because that involves a nine hour flight with a baby who just wouldn't bloody shut up (this is the real reason they do not allow sharp items on planes, I fear) and an airport the size of Canada. Honestly, how they fit that into the state of Georgia is amazing. Timelord technology, I expect. I landed at 3.30pm, and got into a taxi at 5.20. Yep.

Anyway. While I'm milling endlessly around the Seventh Circle of Hell, otherwise known as Atlanta Hartsfield-Jackson International (even the name is too big), Amy texts me to say SK wants to take us out to dinner, and will I be ready by 6.30? You bet your Southern ass I will.

Me, Amy and Sheri. Like how I'm just callin' her Sheri there? Yeah. We're bestest friends now, 4eva and all that.

(something I kind of love about the South: how everyone's best friends with everyone by the time they've sold you a coffee. Over here we say 'hi' and 'thanks' and that's about it. Over there, you start with, 'Hi, how are you?' and end up being godmother to someone's child. Crazy.)

Anyway. My roommate Kim, better known as Kendra Clark, is a mate of Sherrilyn Kenyon's. They're in a local chapter together, roomed together at Moonight & Magnolias, and drove to Atlanta together. Sheri and Dianna Love Snell, and a bunch of assorted miscreants--I mean, writing professionals--took us out to dinner at an Italian place around the corner. Conversation flows freely, and then Kim mentions that she showed the Purple Prose Parody Amy and I wrote to Sheri.

Kim and I, before I smacked her upside the head for telling SK about the parody. Do I not look awesome in this pic? I look like someone else, that's why.

Just for those of you who don't know, our parody was entitled Widget Bones's Diary and was a crossover between Sheri's Dark Hunters and Bridget Jones. Poor Widget, the most incapable DH there ever was, is trapped in an eternity of powder-blue sweats and high heels. Don't ask.

So we were mildly mortified that Sheri was aware of it. Let alone read it. But then she said, "Did you tell them I wanted to put it in the Companion?"

The what, says we? I'm thinking it's a section of the labrynthine Hunter website. How cool is that?

"It's like the Dark Hunter bible," she says. "With bios and everything. Can I put Widget in there?"

After they'd picked me up off the floor, I of course said yes. Widget's gonna be in the bible!

Okay, enough of that. Other, conferencey stuff also occurred. I popped off to one of Jenny Crusie and Bob Mayers' workshops. By God, they're funny. The best double act I've seen in a long time. I was really miffed I had to leave the workshop early, but I had a luncheon to go to. My chapter, Passionate Ink, was celebrating its first anniversary with a luncheon (too posh to be called a lunch) at the Georgia Aquarium. The ballroom had a viewing window with these gorgeous beluga whales dancing and posing for us. They were adorable.

Beluga whale--and also some fishy things in a tank.

The lunch was fantastic--well, the veggie option consisted of a slice or two of vegetables and a piece of tofu, but then Americans seem to take a dim view of those freaks who don't eat red meat--the speeches were hilarious. Unintentionally so, I think, because when the speaker from Joyfully Reviewed said, "We love male/male erotica because we get two pairs of gorgeous pecs, two sets of gorgeous abs, and two delicious cocks," the waiter nearly poured coffee all over the table.

The Golden Heart awards ceremony was a blast. Last year's received heavy criticism, and rightly so, I think, because it went on too long, the venue was too small to hold all the attendees, and the video footage shown before each award was rather tactless. This year, there were only a few segments of video footage, all from films and TV, all depicting writers and publishing (does anyone know what that Australian film with Hugh Jackman is? Because, hoo mama). Nora Roberts emcee'd, Sheri and Jenny Crusie presented awards (okay, a lot of people did, but I love SK and JC) and the nice lady I sat next to at lunch on Thursday won her third Rita, which opens the doors of the RWA Hall of Fame to her.

Sheri, me and Kim at the GH ceremony--in the VIP section, if you please.

Dianna Love Snell also won a Rita, for her first book no less. I swear she was floating six inches off the ground all evening. I think her husband was floating, too. You never saw anyone so proud. It was quite adorable.

Dianna Love Snell and Sheri. Note the shiny Rita? I'm gonna get me one of those.

At the dessert reception afterwards, we found out what it's like to be a famous author. Crossing the lobby from the awards ceremony to the reception should have taken less than a minute. Actually, it took nearly twenty, because every five paces someone stopped Sheri to tell her how much they idolised her. Kim and I decided she's better at handling it than either of us would be. Note to all fans: when I'm a multi-million-dollar bestseller, just email me, 'k? All this gushing in person is just embarrassing.

Well, okay. Maybe a little gushing.