In Our Humble Opinion . . . if you have all of your teeth, you have no chance of winning the lottery.
In Our Humble Opinion . . . the FBI has lots of better things to do than to look for panda smugglers at the border.
Make sure you read that last one in Freddie Mercury’s voice.
We got another convert! I hope you read that sentance in a sing-song voice because that’s the way I wrote it.
Those of you who know me, know the story of how I came to romance. It was long and convoluted with a lot of speed bumps. There were many detours. I took jaunts over to other genre fiction like mystery and horror, but I really liked to pretend that I was a literature snob. Well, there was no pretending. I was a literature snob, but still I read everything. Everything but romance and science fiction. Even that was a lie. I’d read chick-lit (Bridget Jones, The Shopaholic series, etc) and some sci-fi (Dune and the Hitchhikers series). But romance? Oh, no. You can thank Ava and Julia Quinn for my love of romance. And then I brought over Kelli who fell just as hard as I did.
Like all converts, I am rabid about my new found love and I’m thrilled when I bring over another misguided reader.
This particular incident happened at Bank of No Forks. I’d printed out my current work in progress to read and give to Ava to do the same. I had been floundering a bit and was afraid my hero wasn’t very likable. It turns out that I was off base and, when read all at once, the first six chapters were fine and my hero was coming across just as I wanted him to. The receptionist in our office wanted to know what I was doing. So I offered her my finished pages to read.
“Oh no,” she said. “I don’t read romance.” Ah, I’d heard this before. “I normally read a lot of mysteries and thrillers.”
“Fine,” I said. My feelings weren’t hurt. I understood her prejudice. People who don’t read romance don’t realize that romance stories are all about people and their story of falling in love. They expect them to be mindless and, let’s face it, stupid. You’ll find that modern romances are told by master storytellers who often have mad skills. Mine just happen to also be funny.
“Well,” she said lingering at my desk where the pages sat, waiting to be picked up and read. “I don’t have anything else to do.” Such is life at Bank of No Forks – it’s either feast or famine.
“Go ahead,” I nudged the pages closer to her. “See what you think.” I felt like like I was luring her into my car with candy. Really good chocolate with an almond middle. Candy she would like and beg for more of.
She sat down in the chair before my desk and began reading. I heard a couple of snorts and a chuckle or two. Eventually, she took the pages to her desk to finish. That night, I had to take the pages home to work on them, but she made me swear I’d bring them back in the morning.
She came back to ask questions. What exactly was the dog/squirrel debacle? What did “hubris” mean? Who were these other people?
Ha ha ha ha ha. Did you read that sentance with a Snidely Whiplash laugh? Well, that’s how I wrote it.
Tomorrow, she’s requested to read Book 1 – Lady Belling’s Secret.
And another one bites the dust.
In Our Humble Opinion . . . your day can be considered a rousing success if you don’t fall over your own damn feet and break something.
In Our Humble Opinion . . . you can only wear clogs if all of your other footwear has been stolen and the house is on fire.
In Our Humble Opinion…just once, one of the princesses should tell it like it is and call the prince a dumbass.
In Our Humble Opinion . . . calling something a “body shaper” doesn’t make it any less of an uncomfortable inside crushing girdle.
The glass is half full – of cough medicine
You knew it was going to happen. Those damn kids got me sick. My nose is running and I’ve started sneezing. There’s a cough tickling around back there. And the absolute worse thing of all – I have laryngitis.
Laryngitis.
This is epic.
I can’t holler at the kids. I can’t squeal at the puppy or croon to the cat. I can’t order Starbucks in the drive through lane.
If I can’t talk my head will explode. Explode, I tell you. All the words, the jokes,
the sarcasm and snark, all of that will build up in my head and there’s no way my puny skull will be able to take the pressure and the top will pop right off.
I’m certain you’ll hear about it on MSN or FoxNews or somewhere like that. Maybe I’ll live through the experience and Jon Stewart will interview me on The Daily Show. I really love Jon Stewart. I think I’d be perfect for his show. I am 100% confident that I could come up with enough brilliantly witty stuff not to embarrass myself.
I have such a crush on Jon Stewart.
This might just work out.




