You Know You Read Too Many Romances When… (A Top Ten List)

 

10. You're disappointed when the romance hero is only a millionaire.

9. Having sex on the back of a camel begins to seem plausible.

8. You respond to your man's amorous advances with, "Are you trying to bed me?"

7. You summarily dismiss any guy named Bob, Frank or Paul as a possible love interest.

6. You start thinking of real people as TSTL.

5. You expect 4+ orgasms every time you have sex with your own man.

4. Your passwords are all names of your favorite romance heroes.

3. You start saying "och" and you aren't even a Scot.

2. You know that a rake is more than a garden tool.

and most importantly,

1. You know at least 50 different synonyms for penis—including MWOP.

This list was compiled from amazon romance forum posts. Thank you, ladies!

Repost from Ainsley's blog (http://ainsleydavidson.blogspot.com/)
 

Breaking Up is Hard to Do

Back in May, I wrote about my reality show audition. As part of the process, I had to fill out tons of forms, including a detailed background questionnaire: When was the last time you used drugs? How many X-rated movies have you been in? Are you current on your child support payments... and so on. Filling out the forms were exhausting, and kind of painful, because they were intended for 25 year-olds. Contestants for these shows are evidently kids who actually know the e-mail addresses of their college roommates.

With all the work I put into getting on the show, I started getting really optimistic, and truly interested in the idea of changing the world and being on TV. My plan to just enjoy the experience went out the window. The show loves me! And I love the show! We were meant for each other! I spent a lot time imagining my new future.

Months went by, and I realized my love affair with the show was one-sided. The show did not pick me. The show did not love me. I'm embarrassed to admit that I was actually mad. And then I was sad. And then I was all, "The show is gonna suck anyway, and besides, the show picked nothing but narcissistic, high-concept lack-wits." And then, finally, I accepted the rejection. I had a pretty happy non-Hollywood life before, and I would again.

Less than a week ago, I got a phone message from the show. My love needed me! I was thrilled and flattered. I knew the show was being filmed, and had heard there was some trouble with the contestants not following the rules. Happy that the show loved me again, I returned the call.

The show was, as I suspected, looking for alternates. Yes, I was still interested in being on the show. Yes, I could be ready as long as I got two weeks notice. But at the end of the day, I was massively irritated. Why had my great love returned? All the emotional work I did to get the show out of my heart and mind was wasted. I started dreaming about my new and exciting Hollywood future again. Which is nuts because the future is bleak: The young casting assistant who spoke to me knew only my name and number. Nothing else. Not the forms I'd already filled out, not what sort of person I was, not that I already had an audition "package". 

I'm pretty sure the show called me only because I'm an entry in a little black book. Some love. Heh. If anything exciting happens, I'll post an update. Otherwise, I'm going back to my happy non-Hollywood life.

YOLO: Reality Show Audition

We had a family emergency recently. It took days of hard physical labor to get things fixed up and back to normal. I returned to Colorado exhausted, keenly aware of my mortality and my limitations. When faced with such a gloomy realization, some people might turn to religion, or maybe drugs.

I auditioned for a TV reality adventure show.

I took my youngest daughter’s motto to heart: YOLO or You Only Live Once, and filled out a short online form. I made hay about being an erotic romance writer. I figured that would distinguish me from the multitude of personal trainers. I swept through the questions, my answers more snarky than pensive. Halfway through the questionnaire, I got my cheery back.

Not long after, I got a call from a producer/casting/assistant type of person, inviting me to an on camera interview. I went.

The on camera audition was an altogether unfamiliar, and lovely, experience. There were three young people in the room. Two transcribed what I said onto their laptops (I think that’s what they were doing), and another worked the camera and asked questions. The interviewer was empathetic and highly personable. I wondered what they were looking for.

I’ve always been goal-oriented. Concrete achievements are the measure of success. Like a degree. Or getting to the top of a mountain, or potty training a child, or getting a book published. I soon recognized that audition success had nothing to do with a curriculum vitae. Beyond the basics of my background, the casting folk just didn’t care.

They were looking for personality.

To get to the next round, I’d need to allow the producers to see some innate, inborn part of me. I’d have to pitch who I was, not what I’ve done. And I’d have to do it by showing, not telling. Was I funny? Intellectual? Judgmental? Adventurous? Psycho? Personality analysis happens during all job interviews, I suppose, but usually there’s a pretense of discussing skills and education. The purpose of a reality show interview is only to find people who’ll make good TV. Heh. We'll see how far I get. In any case, I'm having an adventure.

Pole Dancing and Me

I've always believed that I should write what I want to know, rather than what I do know. Learning something new makes writing fiction a full-on blast. But sometimes I cheat. Like when I wrote exotic dance scenes in Management Skills, I ended up relying on my general dance experience.

But ever since, I've wondered... shouldn't I find out what exotic dancing is all about? I got my chance last Friday when one of our local pole dance studios (yes, we have two!) offered a trial class for 5 bucks. Armed with curiosity and a full water bottle, I went. The instructor was cute as a button, wearing some sort of tiny volleyball shorts and jogbra. Happily, she was patient and a skilled teacher. She started out with stretches and upper-body strengthening exercises. I should've known I'd be in trouble when she started doing one-armed planks.

Soon we were learning mini-routines on the pole. Arm strength is critical. Why? Because pole-dancing is actually not dancing; it's gymnastics. It is an athletic event. The pole is made up of some sort of material that's supposed to stick well to skin. Evidently, a bare thigh squeeze can help hold a person up. Hence the instructor's volleyball shorts. Unfortunately, I wore super long shorts, sometimes known as pants. So no thigh squeeze for me. I had to hang and slide and twirl using my upper-body.

Which brings me to the subject of sexiness and pole dancing. Grimacing and grunting and landing in a meaty heap is not normally considered sexy. Let's just say I tried hard. But the instructor did teach us a little routine we could do on the floor. I convinced myself I was even graceful doing it. I committed the little dance to memory, intending to show my husband.

I performed my floor dance for him. He found it... inspiring.

The pole-dance class left me with aching shoulders and arms. I hurt for two days. I still have bruises on my inner and outer thighs and ankles. I can't wait to go to class again.

Miss You, Sir: Cover Reveal

I'm thrilled to announce that Siren will be publishing my new BDSM novella series about the Quinn Brothers. Miss You, Sir will be coming out at the end of February. Take a look at the terrific cover. I love it!

How Not to Apologize for Plagiarizing

Shia LaBeouf, the "Transformer" actor, has been called out for plagiarizing a graphic novel written by Daniel Clowes for his short film. Here's Shia's apologetic tweet from Dec 28.

"When you've made a mistake you should apologise. But more importantly -- most important of all -- you've got to learn from your mistakes."

This apology is a huge mistake for three reasons.

1. A victim of theft doesn't want to hear about how a thief is going to learn from his mistakes. Tell that to the judge--or to your mother, Shia.

2. The tweet itself is plagiarized.  Nick Clegg, the UK Deputy Prime Minister wrote the same thing in 2012--including the British spelling of apologize.

3. The promise to "learn from your mistakes" is less than sincere when theft is getting to be a habit.  LaBeouf's short graphic novel "Stale N Mate" allegedly plagiarizes a Melville House book by Benoit Duteurtre.

Shia's tweet from Dec 30 continues the sorrys:

I can't apologize enough. I'll always be sorry this happened. Trust is hard earned and I messed that up. #Gottadobetter

"Sorry this happened" isn't an apology. It puts the blame on fate. Fate is a trampoline blowing into someone's yard--not the theft of ideas.

And Shia tweets on Dec 31:

Mr. Clowes, I can only ask that you view my apology as a stepping stone toward repairing this misunderstanding between us. I'm sorry.

Misunderstanding? Again this an attempt to minimize the problem. Where's the personal responsiblity, Shia?

And finally, here's Shia's latest tweet. He blames his supposed drug habit:

Im addicted to lean & that shit ain’t no joke. I can barely remember all the things I’ve done & said. However there’s no excuse 4 skywriting