NEW RELEASES
Looking at the bright side of an arrest record
Ava was off from work today. That left me and the receptionist (who has decided her pseudonym will be Gatekeeper for the purposes of this blog) to our own devices. Things went badly, but honestly, they probably would have been worse had she been with us.
We started out the day reading the newspaper as we usually do. There was an article about the ridiculously idiotic children of Mexican drug lords tweeting about their exorbitant lifestyles. There was a picture of a cheetah wearing a studded collar hanging out of a Range Rover like a dog. The
Here kitty, kitty, kitty.
owner of this animal also owns a tiger cub and a full grown lion. He was just arrested in our town when he was crossing the border. More on that later.
We went to the Chick-fil-A for lunch. We know what you’re thinking, but they’re very close to work and they have yummy milkshakes so don’t judge us. We joined the queue and waited like civilized people. Just when we got to the front, a woman walked into the place, ignored all ten of the people in line, and marched to the front.
“Hey!” I said and looked at Gatekeeper.
“Excuse me,” she said to the cutter. I’d like it to be clear that she used a very polite voice at this point. “There’s a line here.” Gatekeeper indicated the beginning and ending of said line.
The woman turned her snotty blonde head, sneered at us, and said in the bitchiest possible manner, “Yeah, well, now there’s a line here, too.”
Gatekeeper and I looked at each other in disbelief. Who does that? Who? Was this the first time they’d let her out of her cage?
Right then, the Chick-fil-A gal raised her hand and called, “Next person in line.”
Gatekeeper and I actually ran to get there before Bitchy Woman. There was a great deal of posturing and snotty looks from her, but there were two of us, so we weren’t afraid. As we all waited for our food, we actually became quite amused by the whole thing. The woman was texting furiously – probably about the big Mexican girl and the short fat one what were harassing her. LIKE WE STARTED THIS!
I told Gatekeeper with some dismay, “Crap. I’m going to have to back you up, and I’m not really dressed for a brawl today.” I looked at my freshly painted toenails peeking out of my flip-flops. Was this the outfit I really wanted to be bailed out of jail in? Well, at least it’s comfortable while I wait for Ava to show up with money.
The one bright shining moment in all this was the thought that if we were arrested we might get a chance to meet the cheetah guy.
Useful skill – reading like the wind
The Patron Saint of the Quill Sisters is Julia Quinn.
All hail the Julia.
Honestly, she is the one who set us on this path. Good or bad, this is all her fault.
When a Julia book comes out, we’re like the crazy people at the bookstore, our faces pressed against the window, drumming our fingers against the glass until they let us in.
The Sum of All Kisses came out this week. I bought it immediately, even knowing I can’t read it until I finish the manuscript 
that is overdue and the book I’m currently reading. You can tell I love Ava because I gave her Ms. Quinn’s book to read on Monday evening – with the stipulation that she finish it by end of business Tuesday. Otherwise there is the potential the long holiday would commence, I would finish my manuscript AND my current book and risk the potential that I wouldn’t have Ms. Quinn’s book to read.
We’ve all lived through an episode of that horror show and none of us wants to do it again. It would probably be less terrible to live through a zombie apocalypse than that. Or being revisited by the plague. Or a nuclear war.
Seriously. It’s that awful.
Ava read while on the treadmill at work. She read while on boring conference calls. She read while she was doing everything in an effort to be done before the end of work. I left her alone because I was dying to read it.
“The brilliant Julia is baaaaa-aaaaaack,” she’d tease. Later she insisted, “Oh my God, listen to this line.”
My response was always, “Get back to reading, you!”
Well she did it! She did it! She read Ms. Quinn’s book all day and gave it to me at 5:45. I CAN’T WAIT.
Now, if I could just finish writing Chapter 23.
Hold on, Julia, I’m coming!
Where happiness comes with samples.
We were doing some Christmas shopping this weekend and My Honey mentioned that he’d never been in a See’s Candy Store 
before.
“Seriously?” I asked. How can that be? That must be amended immediately. Not only is the candy wonderful, but the lovely ladies in the cute white and black uniforms give out free samples.
Free samples in a candy store? Are you kidding me? The Bandit was in absolute heaven.
In case you don’t know, you can assemble your own custom box of candy at See’s. It’s like going to Dunkin Donuts and putting together your dozen donuts only with glorious chocolate. You can have an entire box of nuts or creams or toffee’s.
We assembled a lovely box for a whopping $12. That, my friends, is an entire box of happiness for a measly $12. You’d think the lovely people at See’s would send me a present for this endorsement (hint hint).
I’m getting fatter just thinking of it.
Jingle something!
We’re fervently hoping that The Bandit doesn’t see this commercial this season. We have enough trouble with him keeping his underwear on as it is. We don’t need an eight-year old boy ringing any bells all over the house – or the mall – or while visiting Santa.
November 22
This will come as something of a shock to you – so have a seat before you go further. Comfortable? Okay, here we go. The Sisters disagree with People’s Sexiest Man Alive selection for 2013. Shocking right? Not shocking that we disagree about something – our curmudgeoness almost guarantees our being disagreeable – but shocking that we could possible disagree with their selection. After all, you say, People has selected George Clooney (agree), Bradley Cooper (we can see that) and Richard Gere (ooooh, An Officer and a Gentleman). We just can’t get behind Adam Levine. We don’t get it. Not at all. Before you send hate mail, 
you should know, we have selected five other men and certainly you’re going to agree with us on at least one of them and probably all five. Okay, here we go . . . get ready to drool.
1. The Skinny One. If skinny is what you’re in to that’s alright with us. We prefer substantial men ourselves, but there are exceptions to prove the rule. Might we suggest a nice Timothy Olyphant? We’re like Celebrity Crush Sommeliers. We prefer him specifically in the role of Raylan Givens. This here, our friends, is what they call a tall drink of water. Raylan kicks ass, takes names, shoots all the right people, but generally screws up getting the girl. That’s not to say he hasn’t slept with them. His ex-wife describes him as the angriest man she ever met – and 
yet they continue to have an off and on affair. We don’t blame her one bit. He’s so damn charming even while he’s seething. Yummy.
2. The Tattooed One. If it’s tattoos that’s doing it for you, then Tom Hardy is your man. Also, he’s a total badass. Even as the moodiest Heathcliff ever in Wuthering Heights, he was a badass. If you need a guy that can whoop some serious butt, there’s nobody better than Tom. This particular picture is from his gig as Tommy Conlon in Warrior. This movie is astonishingly good. You think you know what you’re buying into when you start watching, but you
don’t. This movie, and his performance, will sneak up and smack you upside the head. AND he has his shirt off for more than half of it. Total estrogen win.
3. The Musician. Our pick here is going to totally show our age, but come along for the ride anyway. There was a long debate about chosing Springsteen, but we decided what we love him for is his poetry and not his physicality. That’s a different blog. We’re kids of the 80’s and were indoctrinated in hair metal. Even still we can’t believe we’re putting
Tommy Lee on this list. NO! It’s not because of the video. You’re disgusting. There is some sort of charming quality about him and he’s one hell of a drummer.
4. The Telelvision One. Charlie Hunnam. Do we really need to go into why? Haven’t we documented quite well our love and lust for his character on Son’s of Anarchy? Honestly, we aren’t familiar with too much he’s been in. There was some talk of Nicholas Nickleby but we make a point of only watching one Charles Dickens movie a year, and that’s not 
it. We only ever intended to see 50 Shades of Gray if he was in it. One of the niftiest things about Charlie is even though he plays a uber-tough biker, he speaks with a British accent in interviews. Nice juxtaposition.
5. The Movie One. Johnny Depp. You know, honestly, Johnny could be the answer to any of the categories. He’s skinny, tattooed, musical, has been on TV (21 Jump Street anyone?) and in movies. Apparently the answer is ALWAYS Johnny Depp. Speaking as your Celebrity Crush Sommelier, we can assure you that Johnny Depp is an excellent pairing with anything that rocks your world.
If we pull this off we want Congressional Medals of Honor for saving Thanksgiving
Did you know it’s almost Thanksgiving? Really. We can’t believe it either. Still, pie is coming, thus making this one of my favorite holidays.
Of course that also brings up all kinds of turkey discourse.
Butterball has been in the news for a couple of reasons lately. First, they’re going to have men answering the Butterball Turkey Talk-Line. Bravo, we say. At our respective houses we often have a fried turkey and we’ll tell you that we NEVER get anywhere near that boiling oil. Maybe it’s a flash back to former lives as Viking warriors or something but boiling oil just seems like a bad idea. We’re a bit fond of our skin, and we’re not known for our grace
Pre-Quill Sisters Diet Plan
It seems reasonable that our husbands and brothers-in-law would want to chat up the Turkey Guy. The men in our lives seem to have a penchant for making friends with strangers.
ALSO – and this is way more important to Thanksgiving – there seems to be some trouble with skinny turkeys this year. Butterball has no idea why the turkeys wouldn’t get fat. They said they tried everything and the damn birds are still skinny.
Two weeks later – easy.
The doctors at the Quill Sisters Clinic for Obesity prescribe white cake squares with white frosting and sprinkles, left over Halloween candy, pizza, orange chicken and coffee cake.
Those little suckers will be waddling for sure.
Guest Post: Susana Ellis
Regency Christmas Traditions: The Kissing Bough
In the middle ages in Europe, the kissing bough was the top of an evergreen tree hung upside-down (a symbol of the Holy Trinity) in the doorway of the home to represent heavenly blessings for the members of the household. In addition, visitors would exchange embraces with the master and mistress of the household upon arrival to demonstrate friendship and goodwill.
In Georgian times, the kissing bough is a round ball of mistletoe (wound around a circular wire), evergreens, apples, oranges, paper flowers, ribbons, colored paper and dolls representing the Mary, Joseph and the Christchild. In many places, households would vie with each to produce the most elaborate kissing bough.
The custom of stealing kisses beneath the kissing bough, or even a sprig of mistletoe hanging from the ceiling or doorway in a place where people were certain to walk beneath it, became popular in the late eighteenth century.
In A Twelfth Night Tale, the Barlows and their guests decorate neighboring Livingston House—which had been sadly neglected since Mrs. Livingston’s death several years ago—on Christmas Day, mostly because Mrs. Barlow is anxious to find a suitable way to divert the rambunctious children away from her home furnishings. While the children eagerly make paper flowers and chains at the neighbors’ home, Lucy and Andrew spend some quality time together as they set out in search of greenery for their part of the project.
Celebrate the Holidays With a Kissing Bough
History becomes real to children when they become a part of it themselves; thus the reason for Thanksgiving and Christmas pageants and plays. Creating a kissing bough for your home is a Christmas tradition the entire family will enjoy. You can use wire or oasis balls and decorate with ribbons, paper flowers, mistletoe and greenery, holly berries, and whatever you choose.
Instructions For Making a Kissing Bough
Upper Canada
Derbyshire, England
The North Pole
The Gardian (lots of family holiday projects here)
Celebrate the Release Day of A Twelfth Night Tale!
Susana is giving away a fabulous sterling silver necklace and A Twelfth Night Tale Christmas charm bracelet (silver-plated). Click here for the Rafflecopter!
About A Twelfth Night Tale
A wounded soldier and the girl next door find peace and love amidst a backdrop of rural Christmas traditions.
Without dowries and the opportunity to meet eligible gentlemen, the five Barlow sisters stand little chance of making advantageous marriages. But when the eldest attracts the attention of a wealthy viscount, suddenly it seems as though Fate is smiling upon them.
Lucy knows that she owes it to her younger sisters to encourage Lord Bexley’s attentions, since marriage to a peer will secure their futures as well as hers. The man of her dreams has always looked like Andrew Livingston, her best friend’s brother. But he’s always treated her like a child, and, in any case, is betrothed to another. Perhaps the time has come to put away childhood dreams and accept reality…and Lord Bexley.
Andrew has returned from the Peninsula with more emotional scars to deal with than just the lame arm. Surprisingly, it’s his sister’s friend “Little Lucy” who shows him the way out of his melancholy. He can’t help noticing that Lucy’s grown up into a lovely young woman, but with an eligible viscount courting her, he’ll need a little Christmas magic to win her for himself.
Available
Ellora’s Cave • Amazon • Barnes & Noble • Kobo
Excerpt
All Rights Reserved, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.
A Blush® Regency romance from Ellora’s Cave
Chapter One
The Barlow Home
near Charlbury, Oxfordshire
23 December 1813
“It’s so kind of you to call, Lord Bexley. The flowers you sent are simply lovely, are they not, Lucy?”
Unable to miss the warning tone in her mother’s voice, Lucy sat up straight in her chair and smiled sweetly at their caller.
“Oh yes indeed. They are undoubtedly the most beautiful I’ve ever received, my lord.”
Of course, she did not mention that they were the first flowers she’d ever been sent by a gentleman. And considering that there were few opportunities to meet eligible gentlemen in the quiet little neck of the woods where the Barlows resided, the arrangement was quite likely to remain the only floral tribute to come her way.
Her caller beamed with pleasure. “They were the best I could find at the florist, but of course they cannot hold a candle to your beauty and sweetness, Miss Barlow.”
Lucy swallowed and forced herself to reply. “You embarrass me with your flattery, my lord.”
“Not at all,” he insisted. “You were quite the belle of the Christmas Ball last evening, Miss Barlow. I was much envied to be allowed the honor of two dances with you when so many gentlemen had to be turned away.”
The “Christmas Ball” was merely a small celebration at the local assembly rooms. Her mother had encouraged her to favor Lord Bexley, but in truth, Lucy herself had not found him objectionable. He was an accomplished dancer and quite distinguished-looking, in spite of the fact that he had at least twenty years over her.
At eighteen, she was of an age to be out in society, and Lord Bexley, a wealthy widower from Warwickshire, was undoubtedly the most eligible gentleman in the county. Recently out of mourning, he was seeking a new wife and a mother to his three children, and as Mrs. Barlow kept telling her, Lucy should be flattered that he seemed to be favoring her for the role.
Well, she was flattered. Wasn’t she? The number of young ladies far exceeded that of eligible gentlemen, and she didn’t wish to be left on the shelf. With her family in financial difficulties and four younger sisters to be married off, Lucy knew she owed it to them to marry well and do what she could to find her sisters suitable matches as well.
She was prepared to do her duty and make the best of it, but somehow, when she thought of marriage and children, it was not the kindly Lord Bexley who came to mind. It was the face of the strapping, dark-haired Adonis with laughing gray eyes who lived on an adjoining estate with his younger sister—her bosom friend Jane—who had teased her unmercifully from the time she learned to walk. She couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t been in love with Andrew Livingston—she’d even asked him to marry her at the age of five when he’d been twelve and about to leave for Eton. He’d laughed and quipped that it would be like marrying his sister, and she’d nursed a broken heart ever since.
She sighed as she frequently did when she thought of Andrew and his affianced wife, and her mother glared at her. Fortunately, Phillips wheeled in the tea cart and Mrs. Barlow’s attention was mercifully diverted.
“Please do the honors, Lucy. An excellent opportunity to practice your housewifely skills.”
Lucy flushed. Could her mother’s intentions be more obvious? But Lord Bexley did not seem to notice. He smiled kindly at her somewhat shaky inquiry as to his preferences, and thanked her graciously when she brought him his tea and a plate of cherry tarts.
“Quite charming,” he commented as he regarded her with obvious approval. It was unclear whether he was speaking to her or to her mother, and Lucy wasn’t sure how to respond.
Fortunately, there was a shriek followed by the sound of fierce arguing from the back rooms of the house. Lucy turned instinctively to the door, which was promptly thrust open and filled by the figure of her sister Lydia, who was breathing hard and wringing her hands in agitation.
“Do come, Lucy! Lila and Louisa are having one of their rows again, in the kitchen of all places. Lila broke one of Cook’s mixing bowls, and Cook swears she’ll leave if someone doesn’t stop them and you know you’re the only one who can, Lucy!” She flushed when she saw Lord Bexley and her mother’s angry face. “Oh…pardon me, I didn’t realize we had a guest.” She backed out into the hall, shooting Lucy a pleading look as she did so.
Relieved for an excuse to terminate the social call, Lucy muttered her excuses and scrambled out of the room. But not before she heard her mother’s mortified apology and Lord Bexley’s soothing reply that he found it quite agreeable to discover a young lady so accomplished in the maternal skills.
Goodness, he really was intent on courting her! She should be flattered. She was a sensible girl, and it was pointless to set her cap at Andrew Livingston, in any case. Lord Bexley would be an excellent match for her. His three daughters could not possibly be as troublesome as her two youngest sisters, after all.
She gritted her teeth and hurried to the kitchen, the ineffectual Lydia as usual trailing behind her. The second eldest Barlow daughter was as helpless as their mother at controlling the two youngest children. When Lucy married and left the house, as she would in time, her bookish middle sister Laura was going to have to take up the reins.
About the Author
A former teacher, Susana is finally living her dream of being a full-time writer. She loves all genres of romance, but historical—Regency in particular—is her favorite. There’s just something about dashing heroes and spunky heroines waltzing in ballrooms and driving through Hyde Park that appeals to her imagination.
In real life, Susana is a lifelong resident of northwest Ohio, although she has lived in Ecuador and studied in Spain, France and Mexico. More recently, she was able to travel around the UK and visit many of the places she’s read about for years, and it was awesome! She is a member of the Maumee Valley and Beau Monde chapters of Romance Writers of America.
Contacts
Web site • Email • Facebook • Twitter • Linked In • Pinterest • Google+ • Goodreads
Susana’s Parlour (Regency Blog) • Susana’s Morning Room (Romance Blog)
We hope this means there’ll be HellBoy 3
We live in the only state in the main US that doesn’t do Daylight Savings Time. What that means is several times a year we don’t know what the Hell time it is. That is to say, we know what time it is at home, but in relation to everyone else, we’re totally confused. What time is it in LA? If we have to do something for work at 3 Eastern Central Time it will take us twenty minutes to figure out if that is that noon or one? 
The reason I bring this up is because the time just changed EVERYWHERE ELSE and now all the good cable TV shows come on an hour later. This can get really distressing when something super exciting is happening on TV and you have no one to talk to about it.
These days Sons of Anarchy comes on at 11:00 and doesn’t end till about 12:30 or so. This is really bad because I have to watch it all by myself. If you don’t watch this show let me emphasize the fact that this is a seriously drama laden show. It’s brutal. Characters die all the time. Characters you love. Characters you hate. There are massive twists and turns. This is the kind of show that you want to watch with someone so that you can shriek, “What the hell just happened?”
So last night My Honey went to bed since he gets up for work at 5AM knowing that the DVR would record the show and he could watch it today. Ava never stays up that late. A couple of the other girls at work watch and it’s our water 
cooler show, but you still can’t be calling or texting them at midnight or later.
It was killing me. Epic things happened. Really epic. I was desperate. I contemplated poking My Honey awake to tell him. I WAS DYING!
Even after I got to work on Wednesday and got to discuss it with everyone, we periodically would yell across the office, “I can’t believe XXXX is dead!” My Honey texted me that afternoon when he got to watch it. He texted me, “Holy crap they killed XXXX!”
I really hate Day Light Savings Time. It seriously delays the enjoyment of good shows.
It’s not really bad unless ABBA is involved.
Today is National “Have a Bad Day” day.
At first, the Sisters thought that was funny. But it’s not, not really. Clearly, it’s a direct hit on all of those people who tell you to, “Have a nice day”. The Sisters never follow that directive. We just aren’t the kind to do what we’re told. The last time a sales clerk told us to, “Have a nice day” – we didn’t. On purpose. Don’t tell us what to do.
Amylynn told the fool flat-out, “Young man, we work at Bank of No Forks, a nice day has been off the table for years.”
Say what you will, the man could work a sparkle.
Sometimes Ava takes things too literally. When Amy told her it was National “Have a Bad Day” day, she wanted to know
Classic 70’s!
Amy insisted BAD meant terrible. She refused to entertain the 70s, unless Peaches and Herb or maybe Captain and Tennille are involved. “Surely Muskrat Love will ensure a bad day”, she said. Amylynn also wasn’t interested in hearing about the Michael Jackson theory. That made the day bad for Ava who really wanted to wear one sparkly glove and a black and red leather jacket. Moon walking could have been on the agenda.
But no. Amy said, “NO! I’m not going out with you dressed like that.” Besides, Ava’s not coordinated enough to moon walk. A trip to the emergency is NOT the kind of bad day we’re really interested in.
We hope a Bad Day was had by all? How was yours?
Oh, the possibilities are endless
Rob Ford, the Toronto mayor who’s in such trouble, was asked during an on-air interview if he’d ever purchased illegal drugs. It took him eight seconds to utter a single syllable of reply. Eight seconds. That’s a really, really long time. Try it. Close your eyes and count out – one Mississippi, two Mississippi, etc. See? A long time.