Friday, July 1, 2011
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Who wants to win a book?
Anna Mayle, one of the most talented new writers I've read in some time, has got a new release out. And she'll be giving away a copy on my blog. All you need to do to enter is leave a comment in the comment section and a random winner will be drawn, Wednesday, July 6th.
So what are you waiting for?
Blurb:
A cop dies in the city, life goes on. For one little boy, though, it changed everything. Haunted by his past, Maxwell Thomas has grown up homeless and friendless, trapped by his guilt. Prowling the city, the small man guards the Church District like a vigilante, trying to make up for his crime. When he rescues the wrong rent boy, he is pulled back into the madness that destroyed him as a child. And now, another cop's life is on the line...
Nick Kenna is a beat cop with dreams of being a detective. When he stumbles across a murder and the very unusual suspect, he finds himself caught, not only by the mystery of the vagrant he's apprehended, but something deeper that sparks between them.
Will Nick be able to save Maxwell, from his past and himself? Or will love be lost as the broken man fades into the shadow of his hero?
Excerpt:
Midnight, in a city that no longer slept. The frosty chill that crept in with the autumn evening helped to dull the acrid smell of humanity, but not by much. A subtle hint of clean air didn’t seem like a decent trade-off for the noise that accompanied the world while the sun hid its face. After dark, the pall that settled over the city went beyond the usual sounds of cars and conversation.
A small, grime-encrusted figure crouched in the shadow cast by a crumbling building, watching as if in mourning. Long red hair, matted and dirty with the stink of the street, framed a face nearly as dark as the shadows, deep sienna skin blending with the night. He hated his hair, so bright in a place that shunned color and light. It set him apart from the pain around him, sacrilegious, like wearing red to a funeral. He might as well have been; the city was dying. Its death cries were carried on the concussive sound of a firing gun and the cries of a drug addict in the throes of a bad trip. The violent, dulled crunching of bones breaking under another man’s fist competed with the calls of the street walkers selling their wares, selling themselves.
The keening wail of a loud engine and booming stereo that screeched around the corner and past his resting place broke his musings. The thrumming base vibrated through the concrete beneath the worn out soles of his boots. A growling, hoarse voice bellowed, “I don’t give a fuck!” the unspoken anthem of the streets. No one cared that no one cared. It became a damning cycle of apathy. The man in the darkness shook his head, tried to stop himself from thinking. He had known someone who cared once. That person had died young. It was what happened eventually, when you cared too much.
The man long dead once told him, “if we can inspire one person to concern themselves with the well-being of others, then we have lived a rich life.” The watcher blinked then closed his eyes tightly. That caring person had been killed by the very rag-wrapped hands the redhead now fisted at his sides. Guess he failed.
Then again, he’d been plagued since that day, by moments when he forgot to act like an intelligent person. Times he stuck his neck out for others. Sometimes a voice deep inside of him told him he had no other choice but to react, to protect people. The same people who looked down on him sneered and spit; people who would never mourn or even notice his eventual passing or pain. That man was probably laughing his ass off in whatever afterlife he’d gone to.
He had no choice left to him. Not anymore. He’d come to terms with that long ago. He had inherited his duty from his victim. The city had become his to protect in the absence of its original savior. It remained his life, both joy and burden. He’d been born in the city. He would die there, accompanied by one of those grotesque night sounds.
A chill that had little to do with the weather filled the dirt-coated man, and he stood, moving on. A dark alley waited ahead of him, one he knew well. He slipped toward it, brushing past the hookers blocking his way. They didn’t bother to proposition him anymore. It might have been the smell. He slipped out of the mob of people, using a trash can to boost himself. A good jump propelled his little body upward enough to catch a decent hold and scramble onto the metal bars of a fire escape. It stood above the dirt and din, and the window near it wasn’t sealed properly, so a slight warmth misted out into the chill night. Any port in a sinking city.
Home sweet home.
So what are you waiting for?
Blurb:A cop dies in the city, life goes on. For one little boy, though, it changed everything. Haunted by his past, Maxwell Thomas has grown up homeless and friendless, trapped by his guilt. Prowling the city, the small man guards the Church District like a vigilante, trying to make up for his crime. When he rescues the wrong rent boy, he is pulled back into the madness that destroyed him as a child. And now, another cop's life is on the line...
Nick Kenna is a beat cop with dreams of being a detective. When he stumbles across a murder and the very unusual suspect, he finds himself caught, not only by the mystery of the vagrant he's apprehended, but something deeper that sparks between them.
Will Nick be able to save Maxwell, from his past and himself? Or will love be lost as the broken man fades into the shadow of his hero?
Excerpt:
Midnight, in a city that no longer slept. The frosty chill that crept in with the autumn evening helped to dull the acrid smell of humanity, but not by much. A subtle hint of clean air didn’t seem like a decent trade-off for the noise that accompanied the world while the sun hid its face. After dark, the pall that settled over the city went beyond the usual sounds of cars and conversation.
A small, grime-encrusted figure crouched in the shadow cast by a crumbling building, watching as if in mourning. Long red hair, matted and dirty with the stink of the street, framed a face nearly as dark as the shadows, deep sienna skin blending with the night. He hated his hair, so bright in a place that shunned color and light. It set him apart from the pain around him, sacrilegious, like wearing red to a funeral. He might as well have been; the city was dying. Its death cries were carried on the concussive sound of a firing gun and the cries of a drug addict in the throes of a bad trip. The violent, dulled crunching of bones breaking under another man’s fist competed with the calls of the street walkers selling their wares, selling themselves.
The keening wail of a loud engine and booming stereo that screeched around the corner and past his resting place broke his musings. The thrumming base vibrated through the concrete beneath the worn out soles of his boots. A growling, hoarse voice bellowed, “I don’t give a fuck!” the unspoken anthem of the streets. No one cared that no one cared. It became a damning cycle of apathy. The man in the darkness shook his head, tried to stop himself from thinking. He had known someone who cared once. That person had died young. It was what happened eventually, when you cared too much.
The man long dead once told him, “if we can inspire one person to concern themselves with the well-being of others, then we have lived a rich life.” The watcher blinked then closed his eyes tightly. That caring person had been killed by the very rag-wrapped hands the redhead now fisted at his sides. Guess he failed.
Then again, he’d been plagued since that day, by moments when he forgot to act like an intelligent person. Times he stuck his neck out for others. Sometimes a voice deep inside of him told him he had no other choice but to react, to protect people. The same people who looked down on him sneered and spit; people who would never mourn or even notice his eventual passing or pain. That man was probably laughing his ass off in whatever afterlife he’d gone to.
He had no choice left to him. Not anymore. He’d come to terms with that long ago. He had inherited his duty from his victim. The city had become his to protect in the absence of its original savior. It remained his life, both joy and burden. He’d been born in the city. He would die there, accompanied by one of those grotesque night sounds.
A chill that had little to do with the weather filled the dirt-coated man, and he stood, moving on. A dark alley waited ahead of him, one he knew well. He slipped toward it, brushing past the hookers blocking his way. They didn’t bother to proposition him anymore. It might have been the smell. He slipped out of the mob of people, using a trash can to boost himself. A good jump propelled his little body upward enough to catch a decent hold and scramble onto the metal bars of a fire escape. It stood above the dirt and din, and the window near it wasn’t sealed properly, so a slight warmth misted out into the chill night. Any port in a sinking city.
Home sweet home.
There is great cuteness afoot
over at the Evo blog with more adorableness like this - my sweet Killian reading a book with Syd Vicious - my oldest day care girlie, many, many years ago.
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Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Winners Have Been Chosen!
GRAND PRIZE WINNER
Erin Cavin
2nd PRIZE
Theresa Angelosanto
3rd PRIZE
Tracey D
Congratulations!!
We'd like to thank everyone who entered. We were thrilled at the response and are so excited. The above winners will be contacted via email and will need to respond to Jessica (jessica@jessicajarman.com) within three (3) days to claim their prize, otherwise a new winner will be chosen.
Congratulations to all the winners!
Jessica, Devon, Bronwyn, Gwendolyn, Kris and Suzanne
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Who wants to win a shiny new e-reader?
The sizzling heat of summer is coming! What better way to beat the heat than with a brand new Nook Wi Fi 3G or a Kindle 3G with Wi Fi!
Six sexy authors of erotic romance are coming together with a fabulous giveaway this summer solstice! And entering couldn't be simpler. Just visit each of our blogs beginning June 14th, and leave a comment on the contest post with:
* your name (or user name) and contact email, and
* your top two (2) choices from the author's backlist to kick-start your E-Reader library should you win.
Contest will close at Noon ET on Tuesday, June 21st, 2011, and a winner will be drawn at 1:16pm ET from all the readers who commented on all six blogs:
Gwendolyn Cease at gwendolyncease.blogspot.com
Suzanne Graham at suzannegraham.blogspot.com
Bronwyn Green at bronwyngreenblog.blogspot.com
Jessica Jarman at jessicajarman.blogspot.com
Kris Norris at krisnorris.blogspot.com
Devon Rhodes at devonrhodes.blogspot.com
The Grand Prize winner will receive their choice of a brand new Nook Wi Fi 3G or a Kindle 3G with Wi Fi plus two ebooks of their choice from each author!
Second Prize will be winner's choice of two ebooks from each author's backlist...that's 12 new books!
Third Prize will be winner's choice of one ebook from each author's backlist for a total of 6 books!
More surprises and prizes at each blog, so what are you waiting for? When summer hits its height, you could be the winner!!
Details:
* In order to be eligible for the drawing, you must leave a comment at each of the six blogs with your email address and choice of two books. We're sorry, but anyone who misses a blog or forgets to leave their contact info will be disqualified.
* All comments must be posted by 12:00 Noon, ET, on June 21st.
* Valid entry comments must be in response to the official Contest post on each blog, although we also welcome comments on other posts, so feel free to poke around!
* The E-Reader will be shipped to the winner's house. Ebooks will be emailed separately to the winner.
* Winner must respond to Jessica within three days or an alternate winner will be announced.
*******
So here we go! Check out my books and decide which two you want! There are links on my website that will take you to a page with all the excerpts. You can also click on the covers along my left sidebar to go to the publishers' websites for blurbs, excerpts and reviews. I'll also be drawing a few random non-winners for extra prizes after the contest is over. :D
To enter, just comment below with your name and contact email and which two of my books you would like to win! Optional to add, do you have anything you are really looking forward to this summer? Then visit the other five blogs and cross your fingers!
GOOD LUCK!!
Monday, June 6, 2011
Riding in Cars with Boys - Part Thirteen
I was recently asked about the Riding in Cars with Boys posts and if they know how cute and smart they are and if they know I post these blogs.
The answer to the first question is that I think they amuse each other and respect each other's intelligence so there's always a sense that it's "game on" when they're together - particularly with their verbal sparing. I think if you asked them if they were smart, they'd tell you that they get good grades. I don't think they realize at all just how bright they are. Which is probably good for all the parents involved. ;)
The answer to the second question is much easier and quicker to answer. They don't know at all. It's for a couple reasons. One is purely the selfish reason of I didn't want them to clam up because I enjoy them so much. Even if I didn't share with you guys, I'd still be writing this stuff down, because it makes my happy. The second is because I didn't want them to play to an audience and try to top themselves constantly. I'd just like them to be them. When they graduate, I'll give them each a bound copy of the awesomeness that is them.
So this is just them. Unvarnished boyness.
There's been a lot of talk of Girl Island recently. Not-Kevin has a crush on a girl who may have the good sense to like him back. For several days in a row, he arrived at the car positively giddy.
Me: You're awfully happy today, what's up.
Not-Kevin: Ballroom dancing.
Me: Seriously? You guys have football, crew, equestrian club, water polo and ballroom dancing at this school? WTF?
Justin: Not dancing. But the rest? Yes.
Killian: This school caters to the rich and bored.
Me: Right. But back to the ballroom dancing. Please to explain.
Justin: Also the rich and bored have bad taste in music. Everyone listens to rap.
Me: You don't.
Killian: We're not rich. Or bored.
Me: Touche. But the ballroom dancing?
Not-Kevin: Okay, so everyone in this school - except us - listens to shit for music. Justin Beiber and rap are the only genres.
Justin: Which makes no sense it's all baby baby, rape, drugs, rape, bitches and hos.
Killian: No one pays attention to the lyrics.
Not-Kevin: So anyway, I was talking to this girl.
Killian and Justin: Who?
Not-Kevin: I dunno. I forget her name. And anyway, we were leaving class and she sarcastically asked me if I wanted to rap. So I said, what should we rap about - bitches and hos? And she said, how about if we rap about how much we love and respect our women?
Me: I like her. I think she's from the island.
Not-Kevin: I think so, too.
Me: So what did you rap about?
Not-Kevin: Nothing. We couldn't think of anything of that rhymed with respect, so we ballroom danced down the hall, instead.
Justin: So what's her name?
Not-Kevin: I don't remember.
Killian: You danced with her and you don't remember?
Not-Kevin: Nope.
Justin: I call shenanigans.
Killian: I call bullshit.
Justin: (stroking his non-existent beard) I can only think one reason you won't tell us. You're embarrassed about her.
Me: Or perhaps he doesn't want you to introduce yourselves to her for fear that you'll embarrass him.
Justin: Pffft. We'd never do such a thing.
Me: Riiiiiight.
Justin: Why do all the hot, nerdy girls date douchebags?
Not-Kevin: I think it's a low self-esteem thing.
Justin: Well, it sucks.
Killian: Kenzie's a hot nerdy chick.
Justin: Exactly! And she's dating a douchebag!
Me: Hey! That's my kid.
Justin: You know what? I'm gonna start interviewing hot, nerdy chicks who are dating douchebags.
Me: You could start your own blog.
Justin: Yeah! And I'll call it, "So you dated a douchbag." And Kenzie's going to be my first guest.
Killian: (laughing) Fuck you.
Justin: Fuck you first.
In case you're wondering, I'm pretty sure that's "I love you" in boy.
The answer to the first question is that I think they amuse each other and respect each other's intelligence so there's always a sense that it's "game on" when they're together - particularly with their verbal sparing. I think if you asked them if they were smart, they'd tell you that they get good grades. I don't think they realize at all just how bright they are. Which is probably good for all the parents involved. ;)
The answer to the second question is much easier and quicker to answer. They don't know at all. It's for a couple reasons. One is purely the selfish reason of I didn't want them to clam up because I enjoy them so much. Even if I didn't share with you guys, I'd still be writing this stuff down, because it makes my happy. The second is because I didn't want them to play to an audience and try to top themselves constantly. I'd just like them to be them. When they graduate, I'll give them each a bound copy of the awesomeness that is them.
So this is just them. Unvarnished boyness.
There's been a lot of talk of Girl Island recently. Not-Kevin has a crush on a girl who may have the good sense to like him back. For several days in a row, he arrived at the car positively giddy.
Me: You're awfully happy today, what's up.
Not-Kevin: Ballroom dancing.
Me: Seriously? You guys have football, crew, equestrian club, water polo and ballroom dancing at this school? WTF?
Justin: Not dancing. But the rest? Yes.
Killian: This school caters to the rich and bored.
Me: Right. But back to the ballroom dancing. Please to explain.
Justin: Also the rich and bored have bad taste in music. Everyone listens to rap.
Me: You don't.
Killian: We're not rich. Or bored.
Me: Touche. But the ballroom dancing?
Not-Kevin: Okay, so everyone in this school - except us - listens to shit for music. Justin Beiber and rap are the only genres.
Justin: Which makes no sense it's all baby baby, rape, drugs, rape, bitches and hos.
Killian: No one pays attention to the lyrics.
Not-Kevin: So anyway, I was talking to this girl.
Killian and Justin: Who?
Not-Kevin: I dunno. I forget her name. And anyway, we were leaving class and she sarcastically asked me if I wanted to rap. So I said, what should we rap about - bitches and hos? And she said, how about if we rap about how much we love and respect our women?
Me: I like her. I think she's from the island.
Not-Kevin: I think so, too.
Me: So what did you rap about?
Not-Kevin: Nothing. We couldn't think of anything of that rhymed with respect, so we ballroom danced down the hall, instead.
Justin: So what's her name?
Not-Kevin: I don't remember.
Killian: You danced with her and you don't remember?
Not-Kevin: Nope.
Justin: I call shenanigans.
Killian: I call bullshit.
Justin: (stroking his non-existent beard) I can only think one reason you won't tell us. You're embarrassed about her.
Me: Or perhaps he doesn't want you to introduce yourselves to her for fear that you'll embarrass him.
Justin: Pffft. We'd never do such a thing.
Me: Riiiiiight.
Justin: Why do all the hot, nerdy girls date douchebags?
Not-Kevin: I think it's a low self-esteem thing.
Justin: Well, it sucks.
Killian: Kenzie's a hot nerdy chick.
Justin: Exactly! And she's dating a douchebag!
Me: Hey! That's my kid.
Justin: You know what? I'm gonna start interviewing hot, nerdy chicks who are dating douchebags.
Me: You could start your own blog.
Justin: Yeah! And I'll call it, "So you dated a douchbag." And Kenzie's going to be my first guest.
Killian: (laughing) Fuck you.
Justin: Fuck you first.
In case you're wondering, I'm pretty sure that's "I love you" in boy.
Friday, June 3, 2011
QUICK! Come read!
Hi. It’s Cait. So I hacked my sister’s blog… as you may have nooooticed. MuwahahaHA!
“But why, Cait? Why, oh, why would you do such a thing and break the bond of sisterly trust between the two of you?” you surely ask.
Well, one: Seriously? This isn’t gonna break a damn thing.
And two: You're joking - it’s not like it was hard. Same brain people. Keep up.
But the real reason I’ve violated her privacy is to tell you all something extremely important.
I love my sister.
While I occasionally dabble with writing (I am nowhere near as good as she), I know that I don’t have the words to describe how truly marvelous she is. I suspect that even Shakespeare would be hard pressed to translate my love and adoration into spoken or written language because I feel such words just don’t exist. Although, if he could, that'd be some pretty bad ass iambic pentameter.
I digress.
Anyway... I love my sister.
I love her because she never didn’t have time for me. I love her because she accompanied Mum for Special Person Day in kindergarten which meant I got to have TWO people which made me the special-est of all. I love her because even though it would leave her crying and heartbroken, she always took goodnight phone calls from my four-year-old self that ended with me begging her to come home and not be married anymore. I love her because she didn’t listen to me.
I love her because she gave me books. Let me be a pirate and have a yellow horse. Tied my shoes. Taught me how to cross stitch (but not how to drive). She sang me bedtime songs that I didn’t know weren’t lullabies. Dyed my hair for the first time. Bought me a Tarot deck. Held me when I cried. Tweezed my eyebrows because I’m lazy. Built me a charm bracelet. Gives me bottles of Coke and mason jars full of Dove chocolates on bad days. She gave me the gift of music. Takes my stupid texts. Once stayed on the phone for twenty-five rings just to wake my ass up. She supported me in doing theatre and encouraged me to finally sing in front of others. (Blame for all my drunken karaoke falls upon her shoulders. And the Guinness.) She drove with me to my first day of college and set up my dorm then was there four years later at graduation. Called me her gypsy girl. Knows that daffodils mean “I love you.” And the greatest and most loving hug I’ve ever received was from her the day I told her I’m gay. Even though she already knew.
She’s fan-fucking-tastic. Her greenbean casserole is Heaven lightly coated with cheese, then baked. Her sugar cookies are the best in the whole damn world – really, the recipe says so. Her heart is bigger than her abuse of sarcasm. She is a remarkable mother. A talented and dedicated author and editor. A loyal and bluntly honest friend. She is beyond all words that mean greatness and her eyes are tearing as she reads this, but that’s okay because mine are, too. And it’ll be “all-bettered” in just a little bit because I can tell her about yet another stupid adventure of mine and her blue eyes will be rolling and her head shaking and she’ll laugh like sunshine.
Her laugh is my laugh.
So yes, my sister. You may call her Bronwyn, Bron, and other lovely, loving endearments. But I will be forever grateful that someone up there liked me enough to give me the privilege and honor of calling her Sisty.
Happy birthday and wedding anniversary. Sorry I announced - loudly - to the congregation during the ceremony that I had to pee. And thanks for not listening to my pleas of not having a husband anymore. For as much as you are a second mother to me, he’s been the best father a girl could ever have.
Love always,
Didder
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Riding in Cars with Boys - Part Twelve
The other day Corwin told me that he'd be having a party in his choir class today. The deal is that the kids all sign up for something that their parents will then provide.
Corwin: I signed you up for the easiest thing, mama."
Me: Cool. Please let it be paper plates. Please let it be paper plates. What is it?
Corwin: (smiling happily) Fruit!
Me: Oh. Guh - the most expensive messy thing to bring.
Corwin: That way you don't have to cook. I know you hate cooking.
So that really was very sweet of the boy. And since I'm busy (and also lazy) I bought a fresh fruit tray at Meijer. This morning when we went to pick up Justin for school, the fruit tray rode in the middle of the back seat.
Corwin: Watch out for the fruity goodness.
Justin: Why to I have to ride share with a tub of fruit?
Corwin: Because it's for the choir party at school today.
Justin: Whoa! The bitch is actually letting you guys have a party?
Corwin: Yep.
Justin: You know it's just a ruse to steal your soul, right?
Corwin: Meh. I already sold mine to video games.
Justin: Enjoy the fruit. You're safe.
Corwin: I signed you up for the easiest thing, mama."
Me: Cool. Please let it be paper plates. Please let it be paper plates. What is it?
Corwin: (smiling happily) Fruit!
Me: Oh. Guh - the most expensive messy thing to bring.
Corwin: That way you don't have to cook. I know you hate cooking.
So that really was very sweet of the boy. And since I'm busy (and also lazy) I bought a fresh fruit tray at Meijer. This morning when we went to pick up Justin for school, the fruit tray rode in the middle of the back seat.
Corwin: Watch out for the fruity goodness.
Justin: Why to I have to ride share with a tub of fruit?
Corwin: Because it's for the choir party at school today.
Justin: Whoa! The bitch is actually letting you guys have a party?
Corwin: Yep.
Justin: You know it's just a ruse to steal your soul, right?
Corwin: Meh. I already sold mine to video games.
Justin: Enjoy the fruit. You're safe.
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