Who wants to see the cover for my next book. You do? Well then, wait no longer!

Ishtaer is a mystery. A blind slave, beaten and broken by her sadistic mistress, with no memory of a time before her enslavement.

Kael Vapensigsson is one of the elite Chosen—a Warlord whose strength comes from the gods themselves. But despite all his power and prestige, he is plagued by a prophecy that threatens to destroy everything he loves.

When Kael summons Ishtaer to his room and discovers the marks of the Chosen on her body, including the revered mark of the Warrior, both Warlord and slave seem to have met their match.

But as their lives become increasingly entangled and endangered, Ishtaer is forced to test whether the Chosen ever have the ability to choose their own fate.

Impossible Things will be released by Choc Lit in early 2014!

Who’s the sexiest robot?

A guest post today, on a very important subject.


Electra Shepherd is the pseudonym for an award-winning, bestselling romance/women's fiction author. She enjoys travelling, reading, and extreme Lego.

Oh, I do so love Sundays, when I tuck myself up in my eco-dome, put on my favourite tinfoil hat, and consider the vital question of Who Is The Sexiest Robot?

If you google ‘sexy robot’ you get quite a few hits, but they tend to be overwhelmingly about the sort of shiny big-breasted fembot who wears very little but a rubber bikini (or you might end up with this real-life abomination.

Essentially, they’re male-fantasy sex toys. (Number Six from Battlestar Galactica and Seven of Nine from Star Trek: Voyager are exceptions, as they have actual interesting personalities as well as killer bodies.) While these are fine, in a very very obvious and unimaginative way, personally, I prefer my sexy robots to be male, or possibly adrogynous, and to have definite character traits.

C3PO & R2D2

I suppose my earliest robot crush was on R2D2 and C3PO. Whilst they’re not exactly anatomically correct, it’s easy to imagine that they might have some spare attachments somewhere to help out. Mostly, though, the attractive part about these two is the fine love/hate bromance they’ve got going on. They would make a great M/M couple, don’t you think?

Some of my friends confess to lusting after Transformers, notably Optimus Prime and Bumblebee. Myself, I worry about the multi-function parts. What if something went wrong and mid-coitus you found yourself with a huge lorry on top of you, thrusting away? That could be very painful indeed; at the very least you’d get tyre marks.

Data

 

As far as Terminators go, the reprogrammed T-800 from Terminator 2 is pretty damn sexy: fiercely protective, good with a gun, super-strong and inexhaustible. Unfortunately he looks like Arnold Schwarzenegger, but you can’t have everything I suppose. His nemesis, the T-1000, whilst evil, has some definite sexual possibilities, what with being able to melt and reform into any shape. But y’know…evil.

VCG-60L...er, does he have a name?

There are some robots I’m very fond of, but which aren’t really sexy as such. Marvin the Paranoid Android is fine, especially when he’s got Alan Rickman’s voice, but physically…meh. GERTY in Moon, who sounds like Kevin Spacey, is a sympathetic robot with a conscience but a) he expresses emotion with smiley faces and b) he’s attached to the ceiling. Jude Law’s Joe in AI is probably the least sexy gigolo I’ve ever seen. I haven’t seen Robot and Frank yet, but I’m guessing it’s heart warming and quirky rather than an all-out sexbot fest. Worse luck.

I’ve noticed that my favourite sexy robots are quite human in appearance, but they have certain quirks in behaviour that mark them out as something other. I enjoy the mechanical parts of them, but what I like best is how they both struggle with and revel in being different. Data is probably my all-time favourite, but a close second is David from Prometheus. Something about their ultra-precise speech and movements, their vast intelligence and lightning-quick grasp of every situation, their unassuming appearance which belies incredible strength…

David

Oh yeah, baby. That does it for me.

Who’s your favourite sexy robot? 

Electra’s latest book, MAN OR MACHINE, is out 5th of April with Ellora’s Cave. Book 2 of the BODY ELECTRIC series, it’s a funny romantic erotic novella about a computer geek who builds herself a sexy robot companion…and then discovers her ex-boyfriend hidden in her wardrobe with a remote control. 

Electra’s website

Buy Electra’s ebooks from her publisher: Ellora’s Cave

Buy her books on: Amazon.co.uk 

Electra on Twitter

Electra on Facebook

A storm in a teacup

An American acquaintance of mine who lives in England said recently that one of the hardest things to adjust to was food shopping. Sure, we have lots of the same foods, but they have different names...and let's face it, there are always going to be things you can buy abroad that you just can't get in England, and vice versa.

And then there's the different attitude we have to food. And to drinks. And to one drink in particular. It's time to talk about tea.

The English are famed for tea consumption. We have something of a national obsession with it. (It's probably something to do with the Empire.) I'm saying 'English', because when you think of tea you think of England, but it's more of a British obsession. My Irish friends also understand tea perfectly (according to the UK Tea Council--yes, it's that important--the Irish drink more tea per capita than the British). You don't have to explain tea anywhere in the British Isles. Everyone gets it. But travel abroad and it's a disaster. American hotels don't even have kettles, and surely that's a basic human right.

And if I read one more book set in Britain where tea is done wrong, I might scream. So here's my guide to British Tea.

Rule one: Tea has milk in it. 98% of British tea is drunk with milk. The other two percent, I suspect, is the speciality kind of tea, such as Earl Grey, which is better taken with very little or no milk, or by those who don't consume dairy. Lemon is acceptable, but it is a bit weird.

Rule two: Tea has milk in it. I know this sounds like rule one, but it's important, so like Fight Club, I'm saying it twice. Cream tea does not mean tea with cream in it. You don't put cream in tea. If I read one more book (usually by a well-meaning American but not always), that has someone adding cream to tea I really might vomit. As would you if you drank tea with cream in it. Cream is thick, and floats in tea. Yes. It floats. Like scum. It is very, very wrong to put cream in tea. It's milk. Cow milk. I'm going to petition Parliament about this.

Have we got that straight? Good. Rant over.

Rule three: Tea means black tea. It comes from tea leaves. Herbal tea is not tea. Fruit tea is not tea. Green tea is technically tea (same leaves, different process) but it's not what we talk about when we talk about tea. There are lots of varieties of tea, and some are very fancy indeed, but if someone is making a cuppa, it's black tea.

Rule four: You can put sugar in if you like. Unlike with milk, no one will judge you.

Rule five: I don't know what that nancy boy on the Diet Coke adverts really does for a living, but he's not in construction. Real builders drink tea. Brew it strong, brew it dark, and make sure there's plenty of sugar available.

Rule six: There will always be arguments about whether you put milk in first or milk in last. It actually is a class thing, involving types of china and how it could withstand heat, but these days it's more about snobbery, and that's a totally different animal.

Rule seven: Tea is important. Tea is cultural. Tea is part of the fabric of British life in such a fashion that I truly believe society would collapse without it. Tea cures everything, or at least makes it better. You know that Doctor Who episode where James Corden touches the goo and gets really ill and the Doctor cures him with very strong tea? No one in Britain found that weird.

As this important public service announcement demonstrates, Tea contains Moral Fibre.

Now, go and put the kettle on.

Impossible Things

Exciting news: today I posted off the contract for my next Choc Lit book, Impossible Things! This is the book formerly known as The Warlord, The Blind Slave, And The Dog Called Brutus (but try fitting that on a book cover), and that basically describes it. Unfortunatlely, the operative word there is 'basic', and I've been trying to find a better way to explain it.

Krull the Warlord: scourge of the sea, terror of the Empire, and... actually quite a nice guy who reads bedtime stories to his kids. One of the elite Chosen, a Warrior whose power comes from the gods themselves, he's horrified to find a blind slave with the marks of the Chosen on her body. How can a slave be Chosen? How can a woman bear the mark of a Warrior? And why does she insist that the wolf who follows her everywhere is actually nice doggy called Brutus?

Hmm...I'm not sure that qualifies as 'better', but it'll do for now. Hussah for new books!

Les Miserables: a review

A really long review, I warn you. It's been two weeks since I saw it (who releases a film called The Glums in JANUARY? Sure...no one needs cheering up this time of year) and I've been meaning to put down a few thoughts about it, when I've assembled them correctly.

(and yes, there was another reason for the pause. It's taken me a while to be able to assemble coherent thoughts after my beloved cat Jack died, very suddenly and wholly unexpectedly, on 20th January. I don't know whether grief really is all the worse when it comes suddenly, but it sure as hell feels like it).

Anyway, to the barricades! Well, eventually to the barricades, because one of the distinctive features of Les Mis is that holy crap, is it long. 158 minutes long, which is 2hrs and 38 of our Earth minutes. And considering that it's a totally sung-through musical, with barely a few words of dialogue, that feels a little too long. Yes, I know the stage production is similarly lengthy, but this isn't a stage production. Things work differently on screen. There's no interval for one thing (more on which later). I'd have made some cuts, especially at the beginning when there's rather a lot of Valjean staggering around looking bedraggled and singing introspectively about his fate. Chop chop!

Speaking of Valjean, I heard Tom Hooper say that their wishlist went: "1: Hugh Jackman. 2: Please refer to number 1." It's a big, big role, not just because of its popularity but also because it fills such a huge portion of the screen time. Valjean ages over 16 years, going from convict to respectable businessman to soldier to old man. It's a lot to take on. Generally, I think ol' Huge does a pretty good job, but I do wish he'd stop doing that vibrato thing with his voice. I'm not quite sure he deserves his Oscar nod, though.

Who does deserve their Oscar nod is Anne Hathaway. Yep, we've all seen the clips and read the news that it was her own hair she had cut off (now that's method acting!), so there's a lot of hype, but for the fifteen minutes or so she's on screen you feel every minute of her pain. Fantine loses her job at Valjean's factory, due to the spite of her colleagues:

[WOMAN TWO]
Have you seen how the foreman is fuming today?
With his terrible breath and his wandering hands?

[WOMAN THREE]
It's because little Fantine won't give him his way

[WOMAN ONE]
Take a look at his trousers, you'll see where he stands!

[WOMAN FOUR]
And the boss, he never knows
That the foreman is always in heat

[WOMAN THREE]
If Fantine doesn't look out
Watch how she goes
She'll be out on the street! 

...which is precisely where she winds up. Desperate for money to keep her illegitimate child, Cosette, safe, Fantine sells her hair, her teeth, and finally her body. We see a grimy, unwashed sailor take her to his cabin and heave about on her for a few minutes, before chucking some coins at her and wandering off. Fantine sits up in the nasty little bed and sings I Dreamed A Dream, with the camera tight on her face. It's difficult to watch. She doesn't spare any of the ugliness of her situation.

But, okay. I watched some cast interviews and they all said how Tom Hooper got right in their faces as they auditioned, because that was where the camera was going to be. Which works for I Dreamed A Dream, because it's precisely right for Fantine's terrible situation. She has nowhere to hide and neither do we. However, he pulls the same trick on another couple of solos, and it loses its charm. Here's why, with two examples.

One of the other very famous songs from Les Mis is On My Own, sung by the street rat Eponine about her unrequited love for rebellious student Marius. I think Samantha Barks does a marvellous job as Eponine, conveying her toughness as well as her vulnerability, but when On My Own comes around, it lacks a bit of scope. Well, a lot of scope. Eponine imagines what life would be like if Marius loved her:

In the rain the pavement shines like silver
All the lights are misty in the river
In the darkness, the trees are full of starlight
And all I see is him and me forever and forever

and then, devastatingly, when reality crashes back around her:

I love him, but when the night is over
He is gone
The river's just a river
Without him, the world around me changes
The trees are bare and everywhere
The streets are full of strangers

And yet what do we see while Eponine is pouring out her heart? Do we see the lights misty in their river? The trees full of starlight? Do we even see a river or any trees? No, we see some wet cobbles (which don't shine like silver), and then the camera gets right up close in Eponine's face and, oh look, nowhere to hide again. I want to see her fantasy world, or at least a glimpse of it. I want to see how much bleaker the real world is. I want to see those streets full of strangers. But she really is on her own.

The second time I think a bit of fantasy would have worked is after the revolution has failed (oh come on, I'm not spoilering, it's there in history books if you can be bothered to look) and Marius laments his dead friends in Empty Chairs At Empty Tables. It's a devastating portrait of grief:

Here they talked of revolution.
Here it was they lit the flame.
Here they sang about `tomorrow'
And tomorrow never came.

 Eddie Redmayne was a bit of a wildcard in the casting--maybe those on the inside of the industry knew he could sing but the rest of us didn't. He makes a great Marius: romantic and idealistic without being, as Michael Ball (the original Marius) describes him, 'a bit of a drip.' His grief for his friends, his guilt at being the only survivor, is palpable in this song. And yet when he sings:

Phantom faces at the window.
Phantom shadows on the floor.
Empty chairs at empty tables
Where my friends will meet no more

...I'd kind of like to have seen some evidence of these ghosts, please. If I recall correctly, at this point in the stage production we actually see the ghostly figures of his friends appearing around the edges of the stage, and of course on screen you can do a lot more than that. No, we don't need cheesy Jacob Marley-style hauntings, but I wanted to see a tiny glimpse, out of the corner of my eye, of Enjolras or Gavroche; the flicker of a shadow; the echo of a song.

 

You know what it's like when you've lost someone. You keep thinking you've seen them, and then you remind yourself that you couldn't have. So many times in the last two weeks I've heard a cat meow, or seen a tail flick around a doorway, and thought, "Oh, is that Jack?" Of course it's not. And the reminder that it can't be, will never again be, is dreadfully painful. Empty Chairs is all about that hollow little gap where someone should be, and isn't. Redmayne does a great job, but he's singing, "My friends, my friends, please forgive me!" to ghosts who aren't there.

Who patently is there, solidly and relentlessly, all the way through, is Inspector Javert. Russell Crowe has had a bit of flack for his portrayal, but I reckon he did a good job. He's an interesting villain, because he's not actually a bad person. Javert is a policeman in the same way that a tree is wood. It runs all the way through him. He believes in the law, and will pursue the law singlemindedly. The law has saved him from a pitiful beginning--born in a prison with 'scum' like Valjean. Javert sees the world in black and white, and when he's faced with Valjean, who's been lightening his shade of grey for decades, he simply can't compute.

There's an exchange right at the start that illustrates Javert very neatly, when he's handing Valjean his parole. He only ever addresses Valjean by his prisoner number, 24601. I'll do it in prose-style:

  Valjean protests that all he did was steal a loaf of bread because his family was starving. Javert replies, "You will starve again, unless you learn the meaning of the law...Yes, 24601."
 "My name is Jean Valjean," spits Valjean, incensed.
  To which Javert replies, implacably, "And I am Javert. Do not forget my name; do not forget me," and adds, pointedly, "24601."

 And from this pillar of the law, I'll move on to the antithesis, which is the villainous Thenardiers. They run an inn, and apparently take care of little Cosette (remember her? Good), while in reality using her as unpaid labour and extorting ever more money out of poor Fantine. Sacha Baron-Cohen and Helena Bonham-Carter, who clearly had the time of their lives when they did Sweeney Todd, are just as clearly relishing these roles. Master of the House is one of the times when the film style works better than the stage show, because it can move that much faster and contain that much more detail. The befuddled, whirling customers, unaware they've not just had their pockets picked but their glasses have gone too; his 'band of soaks, my den of dissolutes, my dirty jokes, my always-pissed-as-newts,' who are dribbling and covered in vomit; the pair of them charging a bridal couple 'two percent for looking in the mirror twice', and a second later 'three percent for sleeping with the window shut.' Thenardier lamenting the loss of his dear 'Colette' who clearly can't wait to get away (a just-the-right-side-of winsome Isabelle Allen). Top stuff. Leavens the misery nicely.

 I think that only leaves Cosette, who is played as an adult by Amanda Seyfried. Now, I've always thought Cosette was a bit of a thankless role, just a lot of mooning around and warbling in a voice so high only dogs can hear it, but Seyfried manages to pull off a not-quite-so-irritating performance, on which she should be congratulated. The otherwise nausea-inducing A Heart Full of Love is redeemed by some nice cinematography (check out those butterflies!) and when Marius introduces himself and stammers, "Cosette...I don't know what to say!" her sweetly embarrassed shrug is nicely judged.

All in all...well, you've probably got to love the musical before you can love the film. Some of its problems are inherent, such as the odd jarring moment at the end of the spectacular, rousing One Day More which ends Act One: in the theatre, you clap and clap and then you get up and queue for the loo or go to get your interval drinks. In the cinema, you just sit there wishing those giggly teenage girls behind you would shut the hell up, and wait for the next number to begin. The pacing can be a little slow--what's measured and thoughtful in the theatre can drag in the cinema--and as I said, I think there could have been more scope in a couple of numbers--and a lot less HERE IS MY FACE SINGING cinematography. That said, the big crowd scenes are spectacular, and there are some nice touches, like the death pose of Enjolras mirroring the way he falls backwards over the barricades on the stage.

But, as my friend Alysia said when we left the cinema, "I know there's a clue in the title, but my God that was depressing."

Free short story on Luke & Sophie

Yep...that's the headline! The lovely people at National Express, who have transported me to and from airports and got me home in the middle of the night, are offering free short stories throughout December, and one of them is mine! It features Luke and Sophie from Run Rabbit Run, and some chocolate, and even a recipe. You can get the code to download the story free for most devices by following National Express on Twitter or Facebook. Fill your boots!

Busy busy

I seem to have been up to my eyeballs lately with a variety of things, but I did manage to get in a blog post over at the Choc Lit Authors Corner, and it's full of lovely pictures of Venice too, a bit like this one. Pop over and have a look!

Photo by: Alysia Ramsdale

The Next Big Thing

I've no idea who started this, but it's been all over the net like a...well, a net. The Next Big Thing is an author thing where we tell you about what we're doing next, and since I've been trying to think of things to tell you about my next book, it's all rather neat that Jane Lovering tagged me for it. Jane is my fellow Choc-Liteer, and has also spent many an evening in my company, usually in the presence of wine, discussing men we fancy (Aidan Turner, yes; Tony Robinson not so much).


What is the working title of your book?

It's called Impossible Things. It had dozens of working titles, none of which were quite right, before I thought of this one. Impossibility is quite a theme in the book, plus it rather reminds me of that Alice in Wonderland line about believing six impossible things before breakfast. Alas, my book does lack talking rabbits.


Where did the idea come from for the book?

I never quite know, but I do recall with this one that I'd had a dream where strange tattoo-like markings appeared on my hands and face, and just thought that would be quite a cool thing to put in a book. And then there was the frankly terrifying dream about being a servant in a house that was welcoming the Devil. I'd also read a book with a blind heroine and, well, I like to challenge myself every now and then. This and about a million other ideas just sort of went into the pot and cooked for a long time, and eventually they turned into Impossible Things.


What genre does your book fall under?

Fantasy romance, I suppose.


Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?

Ooh I love this game. Actually in that dream I had about the devil, he looked a lot like Richard Armitage, and that devil eventually became my hero, Kael. He's a big, powerful, sarcastic, kind, impatient, clever, war lord (hmm, have I written one of those before?). And he can be so scary my heroine actually thinks he's the Devil. I reckon my Mr Armitage could do that.

As for my heroine, Ishtaer, I'm not sure. I originally imagined someone fine-boned and classic, like Keira Knightley, but the more I wrote her the more this didn't seem to fit. Then I chanced upon that famous Steve McCurry 'Afghan Girl' photograph and thought, "Oh my God, that's Ishtaer!" She has dark hair, skin like warm honey, and strikingly pale blue eyes. She always looks like she's poised to run. I don't know who could play her, actually!

Ishtaer befriends a student called Eirenn, who I reckon could be played by Robert Sheehan. Ishtaer, being blind, knows nothing of what he looks like, and Kael notices little more than that he's dark-haired. But he's very charming and charismatic, and I think the lovely Mr Sheehan would play him nicely.

For some reason I have a really clear vision of Bradley James, who plays Arthur in Merlin, as Marcus. Marcus isn't particularly nice to Ishtaer throughout most of the book, he's rather vain and spoilt--but then, he's rich, good looking and very skilled at what he does, so I suppose he's entitled.


What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book?

It's about a warlord, a blind slave, and a dog called Brutus.

(Brutus would be played by a wolf, incidentally)


Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency?

It's currently under consideration with Choc Lit, who published my previous two books.


How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript?

Er, quite a while! It was a story I started a few years ago but didn't know what to do with, and kept restarting because I couldn't get the right note, a bit like starting a song with a mischord. But once I restarted, I wrote the bulk of it in about six months.


What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?

There isn't an overabundance of fantasy romance around, but I think Sara Douglass's Threshold was quite a big influence.


Who or What inspired you to write this book?

I'm not sure any one thing or person did. I was inspired by the same things that inspire me to write all my books: rampant curiosity, hours of daydreaming, and, as Capt. Mal Reynolds so memorably said, a powerful need to eat this month.


What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest?

There's a dog who might be a wolf. Come on, you've got to admit that's cool!

(Editor's note: I've completely run out of people to tag for this. I may well be the last novelist in the universe who hasn't done it yet. Far out, man! If I'm not, and you want to do it, then feel free to tag yourself. Just don't do it in the street and frighten the horses)

New editions!

A lovely package arrived for me today, containing the large print version of The Untied Kingdom and the audiobook of Run Rabbit Run. How exciting!

You can get the audiobook for £25.52, which is a lovely palindrome of a number, direct from Whole Story Audiobooks. Hopefully both it and the large print Untied Kingdom will be available on Amazon and other retailers soon.

Anyway, now you can listen to Sophie and Luke's exploits while doing housework or walking the dog or driving. Just, please, drive safer than Sophie!

What I did on my holidays, by Kate, aged 13 (going on 30).

So I've been a bit quiet lately, but that just means I've been busy! Finishing up The Warlord, which is now (tentatively) called Impossible Things, and darting thither and yon doing exciting things.

Exciting thing number one: the Paralympics!


As I may have mentioned, I'm probably the least likely person to get caught up in excitement over a sporting tournament. Which means no one was more surprised than me when I found myself utterly obsessed with the Olympics. As soon as it was over I cried a bit, then consoled myself that there was still the Paralympics to come. And do you know, I think the Paralympics might have even been better. I mean, watching Usain Bolt break his own record in the 100m is amazing, but watching a man with no legs do the same? Astonishing. For yes, I'm adding my crush on Oscar Pistorius to my crushes on Jonny Peacock, Greg Rutherford & Jon-Allen Butterworth, not to mention my girl-crushes on Victoria Pendleton, Ellie Simmonds and Nicola Adams.

The Orbit. No, I don't know either.

Quite apart from my unseemly daydreaming about muscular hunks, ahem...I really wanted to be a part of the Games. I mean, when else am I going to get the opportunity to visit an Olympic Stadium? Especially one that's about thirty miles away? So me and my dad toddled off to the Paralympics to watch the last session of the Athletics, and it was absolutely magical. The Olympic Park was glorious, with even the weather smiling on us. Amid trees and wildflowers and little girls wearing Union Jack dresses, we listened to a capella choirs and cooed over police horses.

The Stadium was surrounded on all sides by water, which is kind of appropriate in an island nation

Inside the Stadium we saw record after record being smashed, often by the same person. Athletes with no legs running on blades, athletes in wheelchairs racing faster than most normal people can run, athletes only three feet tall breaking shot-put records. We saw one man break a high jump world record, win the gold medal and then go back for another go at breaking the record. Which he did. We stood up and cheered athletes from countries we've never visited and listened to crowds belting out the Chinese, Russian and American national anthems, often with more enthusiasm than accuracy, but I know which one I'd prefer.

The atmosphere inside the stadium was electric

We had a wonderful day. I only wish we could do it again next year!

The Paralympic cauldron

Exciting thing number two: book launch!

Ruth with that most lovely of things, a whole stand of her own book!

Exciting in a totally different way was my trip to Dublin for the long-awaited launch of Ruth Frances Long's The Treachery of Beautiful Things. I'd already read it as an ebook, but couldn't wait to get my hands on a hardback and, let's face it, it doesn't take much to get me to Dublin. So off I went, booked myself into a swanky hotel overlooking both the Wicklow Mountains and the Irish Sea, and ate lunch in a ballroom one day and a funky cafe the next, with a launch involving cheese leaves and flowered cake in the middle.

Ruth's beautiful flower cake, which tasted as good as it looked

Treachery is the story of Jenny, an ordinary girl whose brother Tom is stolen by the fae. When she tries to retrieve him, she's sucked into the dangerous and amazing world of the fae, where absolutely nothing is as it seems and nobody is trustworthy. Except for Jack, and even he's not sure if Jenny should trust him. Both Jack and Jenny have destinies and promises to fulfil, destinies both of them have to fight. After all, while Jack might know the treacherous world of the fae better than Jenny, but she knows her own mind better than anyone, and she's not going to calmly accept the fate a bunch of mad fairies throw her way. It's a fabulous book, full of twists and revelations, with two wonderfully portrayed leads and the strong underlying message that no one has to accept anyone else's idea of what they should be.

The Gutter Bookshop, in the Temple Bar district of Dublin

 
Exciting thing number three: actual holiday!

View from the Slipway Inn. And yes, that is the hill where Doc Martin lives.

All right, this was exciting to me more than anyone else. It seems I've been away plenty this year--my suitcases are more repacked than unpacked--but only on short, fragmented breaks that didn't give me much time to do what I really like doing, ie sit around reading and drinking whilst looking at the scenery. Therefore a week in Port Isaac was exactly what I needed.

Believe it or not, this street is also called Temple Bar!

Keen blog readers (there must be some of you) may remember me mentioning that Port Isaac is the inspiration for the Cornish fishing village of Port Trevan in the fourth Sophie Green book, Still Waters. Above is the street nicknamed Squeeze-ee-Belly Alley where Luke and Sophie stay with Maria; the cottage on the right, Jolie Brise, was the cottage I stayed in when I came up with the idea and, therefore, the cottage featuring in the story. Apparently you can still rent it, although it looks like the cherubs have gone (thank god!).

I don't believe this place was open when I wrote Still Waters, but if it had been I'd have sent Luke and Sophie there, because it's the most charming restaurant I've ever been to. Absolutely tiny, serving only 30 covers, it's incredibly atmospheric and the food--mostly seafood--is just wonderful. If you're in Port Isaac, book a table!

So...what did you do with your summer?

 

We could even answer that universal question: why?

Generally speaking, by the time someone tags me in a meme, everyone else I know has already been tagged. It's a bit like school sports in that respect. So instead of tagging a random load of hapless bloggers with the Why meme Jane Lovering so kindly bestowed on me, I'm just going to answer it, and let anyone who wants to meme themselves (sounds dirty) do it. Mm-kay?

Here are the 'whys' I'd like the answers to.

1. Why are the most annoying songs earworms? And why, when you politely ask someone to stop humming it because it's driving you demented, do they do it louder? (there is a law that says you're allowed to attack them with whatever comes to hand at this point, right?)

2. Why do totally random shoes hurt? Not just the showy stilettoes, but sneakers, or Birkenstocks? Why don't they label them thusly?

3. Why the mosquito? Just...why?

4. Why does 'why' have an H in it?

5. Why can't I think of any more questions?

Tomorrow I'm off to the Olympic Park (which may answer no.5: I'm too excited to think properly!) to watch the last three hours of Paralympics Athletics. I shall take my camera, so you may expect many pictures of the stadium, mascots, me kowtowing to Oscar Pistorius and Jonnie Peacock, crying "We're not worthy!" etc. Toodles!

The Olympics: How shall we extol thee?

The other day I was at the pub and someone said, "The Olympics. What a waste of money.Do you know how much it cost?" And I didn't punch him, because in this post-Olympic world I am a Better Person (but I still wanted to). He was the first person I've met, or even heard of, since the Games began three weeks ago, who wasn't in love with the whole thing. I, an unsporty girl who is chronically unco-ordinated and used to actually go home instead of doing PE at school, am mourning the end of the Olympics. It's like my best friend left the country and I won't see her again for four years. And even then it'll be somewhere weird and strange and I won't be able to get there on the train.

So why, despite the Olympics being unbelievably expensive, disruptive, and, let's face it, the epitome of my worst nemesis, Sport, did I love it? Well...

Because there was James Bond, and the Queen, jumping out of a helicopter. A sentence so full of epic win I had to put it in bold type.

Because for the first time there were women on telly that I'd be really happy for my infant niece to want to emulate. Women who worked really hard on their bodies not so men would fancy them, but to achieve their goals. Women who were gracious when they won, or when they lost. Who shook hands and hugged their competitors. Who fought like gladiators but behaved like ladies.

Because the athletes of both sexes are pretty hot, and I am, let's face it, shallow.

Photo: The Telegraph

Because when I said to my dad, "Doesn't the football start up again soon?" he replied, "I don't know. I don't care." Because after a fortnight of good sportsmanship and athletes who actually win stuff, footballers are starting to look like the tawdry, overpaid, underachieving dickheads I've always suspected them to be.

Because a whole western nation was on its feet screaming in delight for a black man called Mohamed.

Because there was a horse dancing to The Lion King, and if that doesn't make you happy then I suspect you're incapable of emotion.

Because we had the BBC (which actually cost about a fiver per person during the Games. Yep)

Because 'You fight like a girl' now makes me think of Nicola Adams, Katie Taylor, and Jade Jones, and wonder where I've put my boxing gloves.

Photo: The Guardian

Because for two weeks this damp little island, broke and debt-ridden, grey and rainy, miserable and self-loathing, whose national sport is usually whingeing, actually became a land not just of hope but of glory too.

Because for two weeks, the whole of Britain was actually happy.

Do I know how much it cost? No. But I know how much it was worth.

For those unenamoured of bondage

No one hides from the Empire. They see everything. They know everything.

I'm very pleased to announce the rerelease of my alter-ego Cat Marsters' Empire series: four erotic romance novellas from Changeling Press. The collection is available as an ebook in all formats direct from Changeling Press (other vendors will follow).

I really loved writing this series, which was darker and bigger in scope than anything I'd done before, and I was really proud of it. It even won the odd award or two.

There isn't any bondage in it, and nobody signs a contract. Nobody is a billionaire, except possibly for the Emperor and he's really nobody's hero. There's a shape shifting tiger, a merman, a dragon girl, a pirate ship, a secret vampire and a girl who can save the world with an orgasm. Oh, and there are sexbots.

It's post-apocalyptic erotic romance. What's not to love?

For an excerpt, click here.

Danger: writer on deadline

Vampire dreams, or: Why I'm a fan of fanfic

There's been a lot of chatter lately about fanfic, and whether it's a good thing or not. Some people think it's little better than plagiarism, some think it's a great starting off point for writing fiction. I'm in the latter camp.

Why? Well, probably because I used to write it.

It's no secret I'm a huge Buffy fan, and that I loved Spike's character so much I named my cat after him, so you can probably guess the nature of the fanfic I wrote. The Buffyverse gives you a lot to play with: a multitude of characters, relationships and arcs to begin with.

Here's what I really like about fanfic: you don't have to stick to the world and plots you're given. Sure, you could write another season of Buffy, set in Sunnydale, if you wanted. Why not? But how about if you take the idea that there are no vampires, Slayers and the rest, and they're all normal human beings? (Well, relatively normal). What would Buffy be like if she wasn't a Slayer? How would Willow have turned out without the magic stuff? Would Spike have even become Spike if he wasn't a vampire, or would he have remained William the Bloody awful poet?

I reckon we all daydream a bit like this. Whether it's doodling your name and that of your favourite popstar in a heart on the back of your maths book, or fantasising about being a character in your favourite TV show, it's a normal thing to do, especially for writers whose imagination is a skill to be developed.

Which is why I think it's quite a good thing for fledgeling writers to try. It's a safe playground, an apprentices workshop. I just looked back at some of the fanfic I wrote when I was just starting out, and while I can see there's some good stuff there, it's also full of rookie mistakes. However, I did see a couple of turns of phrase and plot devices I've used again, so clearly it was a useful proving ground.

But here's the real reason it's a great tool: you get feedback. Fanfic comes with its own community and they're not shy about their opinions. They'll tell you if your plot is slow or if the sex is terrific (and yes, a lot of fanfic is about sex. Since that's often one of the stumbling blocks for new writers, it really is helpful to have somewhere you can, er, practise safely...)

Sure, you can put original fiction up on these sites, but to put it bluntly, the chances of anybody reading an unknown author's story about unknown things are quite low. Whereas readers hungry for more stories about their favourite TV show, series of books, video game or whatever, well, they'll glom up anything they can.

It's not for everyone. And there are strong feelings about fanfic authors trying to make money from it. It's an etiquette thing as much as anything else, plus anyone who makes their living from inventing characters will tell you it doesn't feel good to have other people making money off it too. But most fanfic is put up for free, in return for honest feedback.

Give it a try. You might like it.

And no, I'm not telling you where my old fanfics are. There's a reason people use pen names...

Image from Icanhascheezeburger.com

Kate's top ten writing conference survival tips

As I may have mentioned, I've recently returned from the RNA's annual conference. Next week, I believe it's the RWA's turn. Although I'm not attending RWA this year, I've been four times before, and seven times to the RNA. So, here are my top tips on conference survival...

1. Shoes.

Romantic novelists are obsessed with shoes. There, I've said it. I even put it as number one. All right, so some of it is my fault, for turning up to my first RNA do in purple satin diamante heels (pause for sigh of nostalgia) and a sort of escalation whereby I wore sillier creations every time I met my writer friends. At most events, the first thing people say to me is, "Show me your shoes!" I mean, it really is. Not even "Hello," or "You look hungover." The RNA blog has a whole post on conference shoes.

However. There is a lot of walking and standing to do at these things. The RNA conferences are much smaller, but the RWA events are freaking massive and you can walk for miles in those hotel conference centres. I'm not exaggerating. In Washington DC the hotel was so huge it would take me twenty minutes to get from my room to some of the workshops. That's a mile (and I'm actually a pretty fast walker).

My RNA conference gala dinner shoes. I loves them, my precious...

So. Take some pretty shoes. But don't feel you have to wear them all the time. My advice? Put a pair of flats in your bag and use them for most of your walking around. You know, like in Working Girl (only maybe a bit prettier). In this, ballerina shoes are your friend. I have some devilishly pretty ones and they've saved my feet more times than I can count. Also, don't underestimate those gel inserts for the ball of your foot, and take plenty of sticking plasters, especially if you're out walking in the heat (more on that later).

But please don't just wear sensible shoes. It makes me sad when I see people wearing shoes that are just sensible, and not any sort of fun. Not even coloured, or with any decoration. It makes your feet sad, too. That's why they hurt, you know.

2. Clothes

Wear them. Haha. No, okay, let's be serious. I'm not going to tell you what to wear, give you a packing list that contains things I don't even own (capris and a cute shirt--give me a break). The first conferences I went to, I was 23 and terrified of not being taken seriously. I dressed up way more than was necessary. I had a natty little pink tweed suit, it was adorable, I felt like Lady Penelope from Thunderbirds (and about as natural). I didn't feel like myself. After that, I started wearing clothes that felt more, well, like me. Okay, I admit I spend quite a large portion of my day in pyjamas, and after that it's some variation on jeans and a t-shirt. I'd go a little fancier than that for a public appearance.

Because don't forget: this IS a public appearance. Wherever you are on the scale of first-unpublished-draft to multi-published author, you're going to these events because this is something you're taking seriously as a career. You're meeting other authors, publishing professionals such as editors, agents, booksellers and librarians, and quite probably a fair few members of the public. And think carefully about those members of the public. When they see you cross the lobby of the Marriott, proudly wearing your RWA namebadge, do you want them to think, "Hey that woman looks like a slob. I never thought much of romance writers in the first place," or "Hey that woman looks stylish and professional. Maybe romance writers aren't as stupid as I'd thought." Up to you.

3. Hair and make-up

See above re: clothes. It's really the same principle as above. Respect the people you're meeting and don't turn up looking like you've just fallen out of bed. Or like you're going out clubbing.

Oh, and go easy on the perfume. Two thousand women in one room all wearing clashing scents is enough to bring on a real attack of the vapours. But don't, I beg you, go easy on the deodorant.

4. Climate

This is a funny one, because these conferences are usually held in summer, and as anyone on this side of the Pond knows, we haven't had one here in Blighty. I travelled to Penrith this year in my old brown boots, with a rainproof cape in my suitcase pocket. And an umbrella. And a winter jumper. I used them all.

However, RWA conferences tend to be held in much warmer climates. The first one I went to was in Reno, in July. They might as well have held it on the sun. This year it's in Anaheim, not known for its drizzle. So if you're attending, and you intend to poke your head out of doors, wear clothes that'll keep you cool, and remember the sunscreen.

Thank God I remembered the sunscreen in DC...

And remember that these huge hotels are airconditioned to within an inch of their lives. I mean you could freeze water in some of these venues. So maybe a jacket or cardigan, or your faithful winter jumper, might be a good idea.


5. Stationery

Take a notepad. A big one. And several pens. You will take LOTS of notes.

Did I mention pens? When you meet your absolute favourite author and pluck up the courage to ask her to autograph your absolute favourite book, don't expect her to have a pen. She might not have read my advice.

Business cards. You should have some. They don't have to be fancy, you can get perfectly decent ones from Vistaprint for not very much at all, but they should have your name, pen name if you have one, and maybe some kind of note about what sort of books you write. "Jane Bloggs, author of historical romance" is just fine. Your email must go on there, and blog or website address if you have one. If you tweet, consider adding that. Phone number is up to you. I hate talking on the phone so rarely give out my number, but that's just me. Remember if you're going transatlantic to put the international dialling code on there too (if you have a British phone number, it's +44, and you drop the first zero, ie: instead of 01234 567890 it's +44 1234 567890).

6. Goody bags

A two-parter, this one. If you're promoting your books you might want to put something in the goody bag/room (at the RNA the bags are pre-stuffed, at the RWA you get a pre-stuffed bag when you check in, plus there's a whole room full of goodies). I've got several bags of stuff I've brought back from conference and never looked at again. Paper goods tend to get left behind--by which I mean postcards, bookmarks, etc. People want something they can use, so pens are ever-popular, but it can get expensive.

Try to be imaginative with what you donate to the goody bags. The best things are more expensive, of course, and if you can get your publisher to sort them out then you're laughing. I've done pens, chocolates, and teabags. There are always some left over, but you know what, I use pens, eat chocolate, and drink tea, so it's not a total loss. And remember, this stuff is tax-deductible.

The other thing is that you're also going to be receiving one of these bags. Remember that when you're packing your suitcase. I'd advise taking a bigger case than you need on the outbound journey. You can of course ship things home if it all gets too much, but man that's expensive, especially if you've ended up with loads of free books. And you will end up with loads of free books. I had 40 from my first RWA conference. Yes, 40.

I take my own bag...in which I keep my flats, because HAVE YOU SEEN MY SHOES?

The good part (apart from the free books) is that these bags are usually pretty substantial, and since you'll end up carrying a lot around--notepad, pens, business cards, flat shoes, conference notes which, boy howdy, were a foolscap booklet an inch thick last time I looked--you'll have a decent shoulderbag in which to do it.


7. Food and drink

RNA conferences are fully catered, but you still need to let them know in advance if you have a special diet, which means everything from vegetarian to 'I only eat peas'. RWA conferences, on the other hand, only cater a couple of meals, usually a keynote luncheon and an awards luncheon, and maybe a dessert reception for the Ritas. Serving two thousand people is a slow business, and you'll have to tell the staff about seven times before they stop putting a plate of chicken down in your vegetarian place setting. Quite often, I am sorry to tell you, instead of chicken and vegetables, you'll get vegetables and vegetables. There is often one 'special diet' meal for everyone from vegetarian to 'I only eat peas'. So try and get a good breakfast, or do what I do and take cereal bars to munch on.

Gala dinner, RNA conference Greenwich 2010

The rest of your meals will probably come from hotel restaurants, which are usually pretty comprehensive, and open all day. Or depending on the location, there are probably shops and delis you can get supplies from (such as milk for your tea: see below).

You might get a refrigerator in your room for milk & soft drinks, or for vodka if you prefer. I'd advise a little bottle you can keep in your bag, to refill with water. You'll be talking a lot, and getting really thirsty.

If you're British and you're going to America and you want to drink tea, take your own. And a kettle. American hotel rooms have coffee makers, which are lousy for tea.

At RNA conferences, we're legendary for our wine consumption. The bar often runs out, and we have kitchen parties, like students. So take some wine with you, and anything else you fancy like chocolate or crisps, because there probably won't be a shop on site.

At RWA conferences, everyone drinks Coke or iced tea. Maybe a margarita in the evening. Us British winos are a minority. Just sayin'.

8. Pitching books

I'll put this right out there: desperation stinks. I've heard of editors being pitched books while they're trying to go to the toilet. It's not the time, people. If you find yourself in close proximity to an editor you want to impress, engage her in conversation some other way (I was once told the best opening line is: "Can I buy you a drink?"). Get her to remember you in a good way, not as "that crazy bitch who shoved her manuscript under the toilet cubicle", so that when you send her your query letter, you can say, "You may remember meeting me at the RWA conference in Anaheim." She might not remember you, but then again she might, and you want that memory to be along the lines of "Yes, she seemed friendly and professional, I'd like to work with her."

Don't shove your book at editors and agents. Don't take copies of your manuscript to conference. Don't launch into a prepared pitch, unless you are, of course, at an appointment to do just that. If you are, find a short 'elevator pitch' way to describe your book, and be prepared to just chat about it. Trust me, if you sell the book, you'll describe it to so many people, over and over, you'll be doing it in your sleep.


9. Workshops and sessions

There's a whole breadth of information on offer at these conferences, and it can get a little overwhelming. My first RWA conference, I was at workshops from 8am to 8pm some days. I was exhausted. Pick and choose, and if there's nothing you fancy or you're just too tired, go back to your room for some downtime. If you're as introverted as most authors, you'll probably need it after all that socialising.

Also, it's a bit late for this year, but if you're prone to jetlag (if you've never flown transatlantic before, why risk it?) try to arrive a day early, if you can afford it. If you find you're fresh as a daisy, you've always got extra time for sightseeing.

10. Have fun

That's the most important thing. Yes, this is a business, and yes, it's your career. Don't lose sight of that. But remember there are about a billion other careers which are easier and more secure than writing for a living. If you're not having fun, why are you doing it?

RNA Conference 2012

So I've just got back from Penrith--well, actually I got back yesterday, but I spent most of the intervening time catching up on sleep, having utterly failed to get to bed before midnight on any of the four nights I was there. I didn't quite hit the highs of the two 4am, oh-god-those-are-birds-singing moments from last year, but there was at least one 3am. I blame those fabulous kitchen parties. You all know who you are.

Anyway, sleep-deprivation notwithstanding, what did I come away with from the conference?

Photo by RF Long

Well, lots of books, obviously, and a suitcase containing an unnatural number of shoes. Aching calves from Morris dancing on Sunday and wearing heels all weekend (some of which are displayed on the RNA blog. Try to guess which ones!). A renewed love of Pixar films. A mildly sore throat from talking and laughing way too much. New friends. More time spent with old friends. A reinforcement of my geek credentials when I told the conference that the book I couldn't live without was Joss Whedon's Serenity: The Official Visual Companion. A reputation for leading RoNA winner Jane Lovering astray (note: do not discuss Fifty Shades of Grey with someone known for making ad-hoc speeches which often include mentions of bodily functions, shortly before she makes an ad-hoc speech). A mental list of books I want to read. A renewed love for the books I've written, and am writing. A fabulous time.

Why isn't it July 2013 yet?

Run Rabbit Run in Australia

I was going to make some comment about running down under, but however I put it, things sounded dreadfully wrong. So I'll put it sensibly: Run Rabbit Run is now on sale in Australia! You can pop over to the Australian Romance Readers Association for more deets. Bonzer!

Brevity

It should come as no surprise that I have an illustrated copy of the Serenity shooting script. And it's annotated. By me. With stuff that I look up if I need a hand with my writing.

Yes, those are Post-It bookmarks. What of it?

I was flicking through lately when I found a bookmark labelled 'brevity'. It highlights this scene, just after Serenity has evaded The Operative:

The Operative stares blankly at the Ensign.

THE OPERATIVE:
Define "disappeared".

The Ensign just looks uncomfortable.

That's the whole scene. Brilliant, isn't it?

Musing on Music

Today I'm blogging at the Choc Lit Authors' Corner, about musical inspiration, men who can move mountains, and songs about schizophrenia. (As the psychiatric nurse said in the Simpsons: Try to guess which one! I think you'll be pleasantly surprised...)