I just had to buy this

Especially since it's actually a kid's t-shirt (yes! I can fit into kid's clothes! Well, sorta), and was therefore only £3.50. I love supermarket clothes.


In case you can't read it (I tried to stretch it out but I'm, er, not very flat anywhere) it says Forget love, I'd rather fall in chocolate. Since it was actually on a stand facing the vomitorious Valentines displays (can you tell I loathe V-Day?), I thought it was especially funny.

How to improve Britain

So, I'm reading the News Review from the Times, which isn't really a review of the news so much as a set of regular columns where clever, funny people say clever, funny things about topics that are slightly relevant to something clever, funny people are currently talking about. I usually read it for Jeremy Clarkson, because while I don't always agree with that he says, I do find him bloody entertaining, and rather clever.

He mentioned the Government's new plan to make cookery classes compulsory for all schoolchildren. It's about damn time, because when I was at secondary school, we had one 'Food Technology' lesson a fortnight. It was for an hour. Maybe once every five or six weeks we had a 'practical' lesson--however practical you can be when you've an hour to prepare, cook and clean up after yourself (and it was always made clear to me that the cleaning up was WAY more important than the cooking). The rest were spent talking bollocks about how to add more fibre to an apple pie recipe, or being miseducated about vegetarianism (although that was kind of fun, if only to see the look on her face when I said that I'd been vegetarian for something like seven or eight years, and clearly knew way more about it than she did).

Anyway. Clarkson also reckons that children should be taught other practical skills, like how to fix your sink, or at least how to speak Polish so you can communicate with the guy you're paying to do it. I think these are both much more useful than algebra or Thomas Hardy (if I ever meet Doctor Who, the first thing I'd do is go back 150 years and stamp on Thomas Hardy's fingers before he ever learned to pick up a pen. Actually, that's a lie. The first thing I'd do with the Doctor is shag him).

I reckon a useful thing would be to scrap maths lessons once kids have learned how to add, subtract, divide and multiply. Instead, use the time to teach them how to fill out a tax return. That's a practical application of maths, isn't it? Or maybe they could use it to cook a complicated meal, with different foods being cooked for different times at different temperatures. God knows I'd have appreciated that, instead of all the algebra bollocks which I still find completely useless.

On another page of the Review is a collection of various ideas from various notable bods on how to improve Britain. Nicolas Sarkozy apparently has 300 ideas on how to improve France (must not comment on how it needs more than 300...must not...oh, dammit). These people were asked for one each. Some were very sensible, like Jilly Cooper calling for harsher punishments on people who are cruel to animals (a fine? Fuck off. Kick, burn and starve them, see how they like it). Rory Bremner thinks a national service of community projects is a good idea (I reckon every teenager should be forced to work in a shop, cafe or airport, so that when they're older and richer, they might have some empathy for the person getting paid minimum wage to be shouted at all day). Grayson Perry would ban chewing gum. Bob Geldof would tow the country 300 miles south to a more tropical climate (but if we just contradicted your advice, Saint Bob, global warming would do it all for us).

Myself, I'm wondering why the Government hasn't hit upon the idea of taxing fat people. Pretty much every day we're told how we're all going to die of obesity, perhaps expanding like Violet Beauregarde, or perhaps just crushing our own bones and organs under layers and layers of fat. Either way, the Government's usual approach to something it considers bad for us, or the environment, is to tax the hell out of it. This, of course, has never stopped anyone drinking, smoking, or driving a car, but it might cause a bit of guilt, and it certainly raises lots of money that they can then spend on failing to teach children anything useful. So why, I've often wondered, don't they tax high-fat foods? And clothes for fat people. They could even use the money to subsidise the production of healthy foods, or gym memberships, or even medical care for people whose obesity isn't caused by too many pies--but that, of course, would just be ridiculous.

In the flesh

I almost forgot. Well, actually, I did forget, but now I've remembered. Look what I got today!


The first time I've actually had my own copies of Almost Human in print. Awww. They're so beautiful. Well, actually, I don't love the new cover (she is wearing jeans, and he really does look blond to me), but they're beautiful like a red, bawling newborn is. Sort of figuratively.

Karma-type stuff

Soul feeling a little worn-out? In need of some spiritual spring-cleaning? Well, look no further! With just a couple of clicks, you can petition the government (British citizens/residents only) to create a public holiday to commemorate Remembrance Day.

Okay, that's crass. But I think it's a really good idea: Armistice Day is formally celebrated on a Sunay, when it doesn't inconvenience anyone. Well, it damn well should. If it made a difference to people's working weeks, they might remember it more. It's hard enough to remind people to observe a minute's silence at 11 am, on the 11th day of the 11th month (see? Really hard to bring to mind). War is a horrible, shitty thing, and to die for your country, whether in a great, popular Cause-type war, or a stupid, unpopular crusade, is something that shouldn't just be remembered whenever it's convenient.

Okay, rant over. The other karma-type thing is I went for my interview at the animal shelter and it seemed to go quite well. They have so many lovely cats there! There's one enclosure where they have three cats who are FIV--like HIV for felines. Since they can't really be allowed to come into contact with other cats or the outside for fear of catching something, it's really hard to rehome them. It's a shame, because they're really sweet cats.

Oh, and they had three young kitlets--not tiny kittens, maybe six months old. Black and white, fluffy as anything. God, I wanted to bring them home!

Can't imagine Spike being too pleased, though.

1,2,3,4, let's play kitten war

Okay, Alysia, this is all your fault. I'm now reduced to checking Kitten War a gazillion times a day just to see if Spike's up there yet. And once he is, I'll be searching him out and, like, making him beat the other kittens. Because he is SO the cutest.


See? Proud mama.

And here's a LOLcat I made of Sugar, just for shits'n'giggles. Might send it to them, if I can be bothered.

This week's news round-up

Well, I've been working on finishing (rather late, sorry sorry nice editor!) the next Sundown book for Changeling. It's about a werecat on heat and a swordfighting werewolf who looks like Richard Armitage. Because yes, the flame of my crush still burns brightly. Have a picture.


Also in the crush category is the original and best James Marsters, who appeared as a guest star on Torchwood on Wednesday. Now, I wasn't entirely sure how much I loved Torchwood when it started, last year. Maybe it's John Barrowman, who is certainly very handsome but looks a little like a Ken doll. Or maybe it's that this sexy, smart, alien-battling outfit is based in Cardiff, where nothing has ever or will ever happen (sorry, all those who live in Cardiff, I'm sure it's fab, but you've got to admit basing Torchwood there is just weird). But I suppose the whole point of Torchwood is weird. And mad. And sexy. And dangerous.

So, having JM turn up as Captain Jack's former partner 'in every way', worked fine for me. Especially since he established his sexy psychopath credentials in the first ten minutes by, in chronological order, intervening in a fight and throwing the aggressor off a building; evicting all the ugly people from a bar and then threatening them with guns; snogging Captain Jack then beating the crap out of him; then downing half a bottle of neat vodka and admitting he'd just come out of rehab for drugs, alcohol, sex and murder.

And I really like his jacket, too.

Also on Wednesday I got offered an interview for a weekend job at Wood Green Animal Shelters in Heydon. I've had a soft spot for Wood Green ever since the very nice lady there matched us up with Honey, who was the Perfect Dog (at least in restrospect, when compared to the Demon Puppy). Heydon is the smaller of their two sites and deals mostly with cats and small animals. Cats, people. And they pay people to do this?

The secret diary of Spike, aged 22 months

God, I'm bored. Well, actually, Me, I'm bored, because it's generally understood that I am the God King around here. Humans are a bit dim and it took them a while to catch on, but they seem to understand now. Young Female in particular makes a very good worshipper. She's not very bright: she can't distinguish between the Hungry Miaow and the Play With Me Miaow, but she does try.

The only problem with being a god is that you have to have an antithesis. Mine lives in the same house. The Demon Puppy tends to get arsey about me being fed first, even though, as Young Male has explained, dogs understand heirarchy in a similar way to lions, with the most important pride members eating first. As the God King, it is only my right to eat first. Demon Puppy, however, clearly thinks she is more important (blasphemer!) and sometimes growls at me. Perhaps she is jealous, since I get flakes of cod in jelly and she gets tripe.

Fur is looking very magnificent these days. Winter is clearly my season: long, thick, fluffy fur that prompts extra admiration from humans. Although they do have this weird tendency to put on strange accents and talk about Mr Bond when I sit on their laps.

For some reason, the humans took down my theme park--you know, the one that was put up about a month ago, with a fun fake tree to climb and all these things to bat and bite and chase around. Still, I got some new fun toys to play with, all full of catnip. Note to self: cut down on catnip. You don't want to be a junkie God.

Young Female tells me that her efforts to raise money for some other cats weren't very successful. Don't know why she bothered: after all, I am the most important cat in the world, why should the others even be of interest? It is, however, slightly distressing that even pictures of me, looking adorable as a baby or magnificent as an adult, didn't inspire people at all. What's wrong with them? Young Female has pointed out to me that she is trying to support the place from whence I came (Heaven? Very odd), and all the other cats who weren't lucky enough to live with someone who worships them as much as she does.

Personally, I think those cats have got it made. After all, there's no Demon Puppy there, is there?

Hey, it's been a week

...and I was going to say something. I was. But, um. I can't remember what it was. I have a memory like a...oh, you know. Thing with holes in it. Use it for draining salad.

Anyway. I've been working this week on my next Changeling release, Here Kitty Kitty, which as the title suggests includes creatures of the feline persuasion. Specifically, a werecat. Well, not specifically. There's a werejaguar and a were-not-entirely-sure-what-species-of-cat. And a werewolf. Who looks like Richard Armitage. Because I'm still in the throes of an almighty crush.

I've also been reading over an ARC of my friend Lexxie Couper's first release with Samhain. Savage Retribution is out in February, and if you've any taste then go and buy it, because it's brilliant. Featuring a very hot Irish werewolf and...hang on, do you need any more than that? Hot Irish werewolf, fast-paced action, great sparky heroine and lots of Australian sarcasm. Lexxie's my friend because we both adore David Tennant (pauses to go into reverie about RA making a guest appearance on Doctor Who), but also because she creates brilliant, strong characters and can write a sex scene that scorches off the page.

And now I need to get back to reading the end...

On Beauty

Subtitle: Why are the beautiful people always evil?

In the bad old days of bodice-ripper romances, the heroine was a very beautiful, fiesty virgin who had no real idea of her looks. Frequently, she thought she was terribly plain (the old "Why must I be slender and blonde, with such large breasts, when all the other girls of my village are stocky and strong, with small breasts that never get in the way when they're carrying oxen to market?" lament). But the hero (macho to the point of cruelty) nonetheless saw the sparkling, defiant beauty hidden behind her ponytail and paint-stained overalls, and fell into a mad passion and a love that dared not speak its...etc etc.

Fast-forward twenty or so years, and we've turned a corner so sharp we're facing back the other way. The beautiful heroine is No More. In her place is a gal with a few extra pounds, hair that's unmanageable, and tiny little flat bosoms. She doesn't have the time or money for designer togs and expensive manicures (but she can still go out without make-up, so she can't be truly ugly). She's meant to be like you and me. She's meant to be normal.

But the gorgeous blonde with the dainty hips and giant bazoombas hasn't gone away. She's still there...as the Evil One.

You know how it goes. Improbably gorgeous hero falls for klutzy heroine, cellulite and all (and if I read one more hero who gets turned on by stretch marks, I might vomit), but then heroine sees him talking to the gorgeous blonde, and hatred fills her. How dare this tiny little pixie with her Kate Moss eyes and her perfect manicure horn in on our heroine's territory? How dare she be so skinny? And beautiful? How dare she have such perfect hair and large breasts? What a bitch. She must be destroyed.

Inevitably, she turns out to be the hero's ex, and incidentally Satan in disguise. So it's okay that our heroine hates her. Because she's eeevill!!

Which does, of course, lead me to wonder how damn stupid the hero was that he couldn't see past the big bazoombas and the fluttery eyelashes to the soul-sucking demon within. Our heroine could see it straight away. Or could she? Did she hate the ex because she knew, instinctively, that she was evil? Or just because she was beautiful?

And why must the Beautiful People be eeevill!! anyway? Can't we have a pretty person in a book who's, well, quite nice, actually? Must she be eeevill!!? Why is it that our ordinary heroine (who is of course unutterably beautiful to our hero, who is probably an ancient vampire warrior from a time when women had some padding on them, dammit) can't stand the beautiful one? Why is she made into a creature of pure eeevill!! again and again?

It can't be jealousy. Because that would imply that the author has some sort of complex about beautiful people, which in turn would imply that the author isn't herself perfectly attractive. But we all know that romance authors aren't all old, fat and ugly, so that can't be it.

A while ago--not long after the birth of her child, I think--Gwen Stefani was quoted as saying that she'd worked damn hard to achieve the fabulous body she has, and she was damned if she was going to pretend she hadn't (I can't remember the exact quote, and I sure as hell am not going to bugger around all day Googling it). Being beautiful is a full-time occupation. Not many people roll out of bed looking like Gwen. Gwen doesn't roll out of bed looking like Gwen. She works hard and it pays off.

Maybe, then, this hatred of the Beautiful People is a kind of jealousy. Not because she's prettier than the heroine, but because she works harder on her appearance. She does the stomach crunches that we don't want to do. She spends half her salary on highlights. She denies herself chocolate and burgers. She works hard. So, are we jealous of the way she looks, or the effort she puts in? Are we jealous because she's maximising the assets God gave her? If she exploited a talent for playing the piano, would you despise her for that?

You don't tend to get beautiful heroines any more. And when you do, they're not aware of or interested in their looks (this goes double on TV, where everyone is beautiful and unaware of it). Well, that's bullshit. You don't walk around looking like a catwalk model and get to behave like an ordinary person. Next time you're anywhere near a beach or a pool and you spot that gorgeous girl in her bikini, don't send her death rays. Watch how she's treated. Men hassle her. Women hate her. Whenever she's in a bar, she gets drunken come-ons, often from men who don't understand 'No'. She doesn't keep male friends for long, because inevitably they make a pass at her. She can never be sure she got her job because she's actually good at what she does. If she turns up anywhere looking less than perfect, she gets five times the hassle an ordinary woman does.

So why do I never read about this in a book? Why is the beautiful heroine unaware of her looks? Why is the beautiful ex automatically eeevill!!? Maybe if someone wrote about a beautiful heroine who dealt with the crap beautiful people have to deal with, then we wouldn't all hate them all so much, and they might get a better deal in books.

That's my thought for the day. Any takers?

So this is 2008

And it's going to be brilliant.

Christmas break over, and I'm already back at work, actually. I've been self-editing the Untied Kingdom, ready to send off to some agents. It came in a little long (okay, very long), so some cutting is needed, but that's okay, it needs a spit and polish all over (rather like its hero).

Edits of a more official nature are also underway on Sophie Book 4, more formally known as Still Waters. This is actually my favourite book to date: not only is it set in a couple of places close to my heart, but it's also the one where Luke and Sophie admit, at least to themselves, what's really going on...

And work is underway (if you're my editor, it's almost done) on the next Sundown book. Its working title is Here Kitty Kitty, but I've no idea how long that'll stick! And yes, it's about cat shifters. Two of my favourite things!


As for New Years Resolutions...you know, for years I never made any. I said they were pointless. And I never achieved anything (well, okay, twenty-odd ebooks and five paperbacks isn't the same as nothing, but my bank manager ain't impressed). So this year, my resolution is simple: this year is going to be brilliant. You're going to need sunglasses to look at me. I know conventional wisdom says only 10% (or 5%, or 1%, depending on whose wisdom is defined as conventional at any given moment) of authors make a living from their writing, but I look at it this way. If you were given a 5% chance of survival, would you give up?

2008 is going to be the Year of Kate. And I'm not listening to anyone who says I can't do it.

Christmas came early

(and no, no James Bond jokes, thank you)

I got a TRS CAPA nomination! Woot! It's for Get Lucky, which I'm so pleased about because I love that little book, it's bright and sparky and fun and has not one but two very hot incubi. Unfortunately, no one actually bought it (the exact same thing happened with Naked Eyes, no one bought it but it still got a nomination from eCata).

Also nominated is the cover art for A is for Apple, which I'm so pleased about because I love, love love the covers for these books! Scott Carpenter created them, and I'm hoping he's going to be working on the next one, for Still Waters (for which I was filling out a cover request last night).

And I spotted a nomination for my good friend Amelia Elias's Chosen, which I'm so happy about because it's a fantastic book, and I just adore the hero, Gareth. He's a big bad vampire who runs his whole clan and contends with various kinds of nasties...and also take vampire tours around New Orleans. I love a guy with a sense of humour!

Anyway, I'm about to be late to go pick up my best friend for lunch (we always do this on Christmas Eve: go for lunch, laugh at all the harrassed last-minute shoppers, panic when we realise we've forgotten to get something vital, then go and see something suitable festive or cheerful at the cinema. Then it's off down the pub when I get home. Nice way to start Christmas). So, in case I don't catch you all before--or if you live in Australia or somewhere else Christmas has already started--let me wish you a very merry Christmas and a wonderful new year, and I hope both of them are filled with everything that you both want and need.

Last lines

So okay, I've finished the Untied Kingdom, or at least I think I have. It's the actual ending that's giving me trouble. I mean, I know what happens at the end (and in fact for several years afterwards), but I don't know where to stop writing. and I've really got to figure it out, because it's 133k and I'm going to have to cut a whole load of it anyway.

So, do I end it with the happy scene, the super-duper happy scene, or just the you-know-what's-going-to-happen-next-anyway scene? Do I go for the Life on Mars ending where the credits should have rolled, or the one where they actually did? Because honestly, I liked seeing Sam go back to 1973, but to end it where he jumped off the building would have been a hundred times more dramatic and brilliant.

Tell me your favourite endings, and the ones you thought should have been fixed...

Boy, it's been quiet

Was it really Tuesday when I posted last? Well, busy busy, Christmas and all. There's always so much to do, isn't there? Funny how we create all these things to do, then complain about them.

Anyway, went out last night for a Michaelmas dinner (far too posh to be just a Christmas dinner) with the family, which involved putting on a posh frock and then spilling port on it (FYI: Port and silk are not very mixy things). Am out again tonight at the neighbours' house. I know, it's all too thrilling. There are some pictures, but you don't really want to look at me in a posh frock, do you?

Um. I don't actually really have much else to say right now, so here's a picture of my gorgeous boy helping me with the Christmas decorations. And, as ever, a reminder that I'm donating all the December royalties from my two Christmas novellas to the Cats Protection League, so go and buy one and keep a cat warm this Christmas.