A Rant. A vile, disgusting rant.

If you're easily disgusted, don't read any further.

Let me start out this rant by saying I love my son. I love him to pieces. I would do anything for him. He's a sweet kid, wildly creative but easily distracted.

For the last two weeks, I've been reminding him to pick up the legos on his bedroom floor. Fast forward to tonight and the following conversation.

Corwin: (stumbles down stairs, looking a little green.) Clean-up on aisle one.

Me: What?

Corwin: I tried to make it to the bathroom...but I chunked on my bedroom floor. I got my retainer out in time though.

Me: (sobbing on the inside) Awesome...

So, clutching paper towels, a plastic bag and a container of clorox wipes I head upstairs to discover that my darling son never picked up his legos like I'd asked. Now, I'm not talking about 50 or even 100 pieces, I'm talking close to 1500. 1500 fucking legos that are now covered in puke. So much that I have to call for paper towel reinforcements and a bucket to put the legos in. I've never seen so much puke in my life. Never, and I'm a parent and former child care provider. Honestly, this kid had the coverage of a frat boy after four or five keg stands.

While I'm cleaning up this specfuckingtacular mess, Corwin's cwtched up in my bed. My beautiful, comfortable bed. All of a sudden, I hear the unmistakable sound of retching child.

Me: Please tell me you didn't puke in my bed.

Corwin: I'm sorry mama.

Me: (fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck) It's okay, honey. Just hang out in the bathroom for a bit.

I've just spent the last two and a half hours on my hands and knees cleaning puke and washing legos. Now, I'll be up most of the night doing laundry since he cleverly manged to cover my sheets, my blankets, my quilts and my pillows. Yeah...frat boy...keg stands...epic coverage. That's the kid I've got.

An Open Letter to February

Dear February,

Please take your snow, your ice, your sleet, your cold winds, your gray skies, your slick roads, and your nasty, dirty slushy crud. We no longer have any use for any of it.

We'd like you to return our blue skies, our green grass, our delicately unfurling leaves, our sunny yellow daffodils and our softly scented lilacs. We miss them.

Sincerely,
Bron
(and probably most of the midwest)

Who Wants a Spanking?

Today, I'd like to tell you about my dear friend, Brynn's new book. It's deliciously naughty, and this opening scene makes me think of good ol' Father What-A-Waste... But I digress. I was lucky enough to read an advance copy of this book and I'm here to tell you it's freaking HOT! You can get your very own brand spanking (snort) new copy today at Resplendence Publishing.

Blurb:

Prim Natalia Cooper lives life on the straight and narrow, never veering into naughty territory. But she wants to. One night, years ago, her boyfriend gave her a few swats on the rear as part of their sex play and she loved it. She wants more. But he’s long gone and she hasn’t been spanked since. When she learns of a club where she can get exactly what she needs—anonymously—she’s so turned on and ready she can hardly bear it.

For Ethan Tavish, The Dungeon has served as a place to exert his dominance without making lasting commitments. He can hardly believe his eyes when he enters the play area to find his secretary, Natalia, bent over the spanking bench in a school girl uniform. They’re both masked, but he’d recognize her anywhere. In an instant, he has a plan to give them what they both want…and perhaps a whole lot more.

Excerpt:

Play acting had never been high on Natalia Cooper’s list of activities, but today she found herself dressed up and filling a role that made her positively wet. Why? Who knew? She didn’t. Who really understood the wanton directions of a person’s most titillating fantasies? Hers was already curling tendrils of need in her middle.

She sat in a hard, molded plastic chair in a brightly lit room made to look like a school office waiting area. It appeared genuine, but this place, The Dungeon, was far from that. The Dungeon specialized in fantasy fulfillment. Hers had always been the naughty girl scenario.

“Miss Smith, the principal will see you now.” Natalia stood at the use of her fake last name. No real identities were allowed here. She straightened her miniscule green plaid skirt and followed the secretary into the “principal’s office”.

Nerves began to ball up in her belly. She’d always followed the straight and narrow and had rarely been punished as a kid. She’d never even been spanked. That was until a boyfriend had smacked her ass a few times during sex. He’d just been messing around, but she’d liked it. A lot. She’d longed for it ever since, but never found anyone…

And now what was she doing?

“He’ll be right in,” the “secretary” said.

Natalia nodded, unable to speak. She bit her lip and wondered if she was insane to be here waiting for a man to paddle her. According to the play-acting sheet, she was a habitually naughty student at Her Lady of Perpetual Need Catholic School and she’d been caught sneaking two boys into the locker room of the all-girls school.

As the woman left her alone, Natalia reached up to touch the mask that covered the upper portion of her face. Not only were names protected here, but faces as well—

“Miss Smith.”

Her throat went dry. Her back straightened as the door behind her scraped open and the man’s deep voice preceded him. She didn’t dare look, and she folded her hands together in her lap.

“So we meet again. It seems you like my office.”

“Um…no sir,” Natalia answered as he came into her line of sight. Sweet Jesus! He was huge.
Dressed in a black suit and a black shirt with a priest’s collar, he looked like someone who might oversee an all-girls parochial school.

He leaned against his desk and crossed his arms over his wide chest. His coat strained over the muscles in his arms. His large hands looked like they would engulf hers if he took her fingers. Oh, her ass was going to sting.

Her breathing grew shallow as she envisioned it.

He looked down at her, his deep blue eyes studying her through the mask he too wore. It should have distracted her, the mask, but instead, it heightened her want. No matter the scenario, he was a stranger and he was going to give her exactly what she’d longed to receive for years.

One long finger tapped against his biceps. “Skipping school. Drinking in the parking lot. Cheating on your math test. Putting glue in Sister Martha’s coffee. And now bringing these two boys into school. What are we going to do with you?”

She shrugged a shoulder and bit the corner of her lip. “Detention?”

He slowly shook his head. Rounding his desk, he slid off his suit coat and hung it on the back of his chair. Methodically, he folded his sleeves up his forearms. “No, I think we’ve moved beyond that. You’d sleep through detention, just like always, then leave your gum under the desk. I’d call your parents, but we both know that wouldn’t do any good. It seems I’ll need to take you in hand.”

“What are you going to do?” She really didn’t know, and her stomach was flipping at the options. Her panties had been drenched ever since she’d gotten here and put on this teeny-tiny uniform skirt and top. The second she bent, it would creep up her torso, exposing part of her back.

She slouched in the chair, thinking to take the part of naughty girl even further. She parted her knees slightly and ran her finger along the slightly veed collar of her shirt. “You could take up where those boys left off.”

His lips compressed. “I think not, Miss Smith.” His palms flattened on his desk as he leaned toward her. “Stand up. Now!”

Shaken, she leapt to her feet.

“You will remove your panties and leave them on my desk.”

Take…off…her panties? She blinked at him. She’d thought she’d leave them on while he did this. If she took them off, he’d see how wet she was. He’d smell how aroused she was. He’d… Oh God, he’d punish her naked ass.

“Problem, Miss Smith?”

“No, sir.”

Songs I Write To

I was chatting with Janna the other day about our favorite song, Hallelujah. It's by Leonard Cohen, but it's been covered by everyone under the sun including Bono and KD Lang, but my favorites are the Jeff Buckley, Rufus Wainwright, Damien Rice and Lisa covers - Lisa is a lovely Dutch girl with a fantastic voice. Thank you Janna for introducing me to her version!

Talking about this song made me think of the my go-to songs for writing. While each book's soundtrack changes, there are some songs that are constants. Here's my top five writing songs. None of them are particularly happy. Mostly they're about struggling relationships or dysfunctional relationships and for some reason, that makes good writing music - for me, anyway. Not sure what that says about me as a person other than I love me some wangsty music.

I have tons of other favorite songs 'cause I'm a music girl, but these always do it for me. Well, these and pretty much every song on Counting Crows August and Everything After.



Damien Rice - Rootless Tree



In the Sun - Joseph Arthur



Wonderwall - Ryan Adams (Oasis Cover)



Damien Rice and Lisa Hannigan -Volcano



Hallelujah - Rufus Wainwright (Leonard Cohen cover)

This must be some kind of record for me...

It's true, I'm not an awesome blogger who blogs everyday, so four in a week must be some kind of new record for me.

Today, I was invited by the lovely Lisabet Sarai to be a guest blogger on Oh, Get a Grip. All week long, they've been blogging about their favorite characters, so as I'm sure you've already guessed, I'm doing the same. I'll give you a hint...it's a guy. I'd love it if you stopped by for a visit. :)

I hope everyone is having a great weekend. I'm going to try to keep my head down all weekend and write. I might come up for a venti cinnamon dolce latte...maybe that will be my reward.

Winners! (yes, multiple!)

You guys are freaking awesome! Thank you all so much for helping me celebrate both my new website and my number one status. I can't quite believe it's still there. But anyway, because you guys are so great and the response was awesome, I'm giving away more than one copy!

So...Corwin, The-Official-Name-from-the-Hat-Picker, has chosen the following:

sweet vernal zephyr

mishkismom

Beth

and because Corwin said, "Shouldn't it be an even number, Mama?"

mamasand2

So, please email me at bronwyn @ bronwyngreen .com (no spaces) and let me know what format you'd like and I'll send it off to you.

Thanks again to everyone who entered!

Oh How I Love You, Friday

My kids are on mid-winter break which means I didn't have to get up at the ass-crack of dawn today. Soooooooo happy.

The boys have been little vidiots since the got out of school. Corwin's been playing Halo like a fiend and Killian played W.O.W. until 4:30 am - the little dork. I called his name to wake him up at noon and he very sleepily answered, "Here." It made me giggle.

I've been working hard on writing, the day job and not much else...as plainly evidenced by the mountain of laundry and the dishes in my sink.

This week over at Writer's Evolution, we've been blogging about the awful manuscripts under our beds and I'm up today. I'd love it if you came over and had a peek.

I'll be announcing the winner of the contest tonight after 8 pm EST - so check back!

Time to Squeeeee

I'm pretty damn happy today. I just found out that Just Right is number one at All Romance E-books! I'm not sure how long it'll stay there, but I'm freaking excited!!!

Also - the fantabulous Kris Norris made me a beautiful new website and I'd love it if you checked it out. It's all misty and blue and prettiful - I absolutely love it. I think she should start a side business of websites and book trailers! The woman does amazing work! She did her own website, too.

To celebrate, I'm going to give away a copy of Just Right. All you need to do to enter is leave me a comment on my blog and I'll choose a winner at Friday night at 8pm. Easy Peasy!

I hope you're all having a specfreakingtacular day, too!

It's Dean Day!

What's Dean Day? I'm so glad you asked. Well, Janna, and Pixie decided that Valentine's Day is now known as Dean Day, where all us Dean Girls get together and list ten things we love about Dean.

Now, for those of you who aren't familiar with the wonder that is Dean, lemme fill you in. Last April, when Brynn went away to RT and I stayed home, she very cleverly got me hooked on a show called Supernatural. She doled out discs to me like they were crack, and like a good little junkie, I wrote the prerequisite number of pages, got my Supernatural fix and went back to Brynn for a new disc. I crammed four seasons of Supernatural into four months and managed to write two and a half books while I was doing it. Dean is very good motivation. Hell, who am I kidding...so is Sam.

In a nutshell, Sam and Dean travel the US hunting ghosts, demons and a host of other Supernatural/urban legends. There's a series long plot line about their family, good vs. evil, belonging...okay, I could go on, but I won't. On to Dean Day! (And yes, for those of you who didn't already know, I'm a giant nerd.)

Other Dean Day participants are Janna, Pixiedust, Veronica, Savory Tv, ggs_closet, Sayuri, JoJo, Eliza Gayle, Donna Grant, Leontine, Stacy, Sagi, Fallon Blake and Bellie7.

My Dean's Day list - in no particular order.



















1.) Those eyes. Seriously - they're all bedroom-y and full of painful secrets. Yeah, it's that whole Dean-went-to-Hell wounded hero thing. Who doesn't love that? Also, they're green - my favorite color.















2.) Devotion to family - particularly Sam. Gotta love a guy who will do anything to protect the people he loves. And sometimes love means locking people up in a demon proof detox room.




















3.) Those lips. Those kissable, bite-able lips. Le sigh...



4.) Love me some bad boy-ness. Never underestimate a guy that knows his way around weapons, rock salt, dead man's blood and iron...and also handy Latin banishing/binding phrases.



5.) Copious use of sarcasm and the best one-liners. He always makes me laugh and it's no secret, I love a man who can make me laugh.










6.) His emotional depth. Underneath that bad boy, who gives a fuck exterior is a guy who feels things deeply even though ninety percent of the time he's trying to hide it. For some reason, I find that attractive. I'm not sure, but that may make me somewhat dysfunctional.



7.) He personifies the word hero. This is a guy that never gives up - ever. Even in the face of overwhelming odds...like say, a war between Heaven and Hell, he keeps fighting even though he's emotionally and physically exhausted.













8.) I love his laugh and his sense of playfulness.



9.) Love that adorable smile.















10.) Yes, at the risk of objectifying, this guy is just hot. Typically not my type, but yeah, he totally does it for me.

The Choices I Make

Before I get on with today's post, check back tomorrow when I'll be having Dean Day in conjunction with Janna and several other bloggers.

Okay...on to the actual post:

It's no secret that the vast majority of writers love writing - I say vast majority, because at any given time, someone's having a love/hate relationship with it. Sometimes that someone is me. Writers write because they need to - it fulfills a deep seated need to create. Granted, most of us would like to be making money at writing, but the truth is, we'd write anyway. Although, I'll admit, Dakota makes a good point about piracy, the money we lose and considering packing it in because of it. But even if I chose not to write for publication anymore, I'd still write for me. Probably not at this current, frantic feeling pace, but I'd do it.

Because I'm lucky, the day job and the writing can be done from the comfort of my living room couch, often with the warmth of a catghan. (Thank you, Chris for that awesome word.) However, because both my writing schedule and the day job are so demanding, I'm on the computer all day and well into the evening. There's rarely a point where I say, "Okay, quitting time," and walk away. Someday, I hope to be far enough ahead of my schedule where I can do that.

But, that's not to say my family suffers. Of course, there are those evenings when I'm on a particularly tight deadline and I put in the Do Not Disturb headphones. But most of the time, when my family is home, I'm actively engaged with them. We hang out while they do homework, I make supper while they do their chores, sometimes we'll watch tv together, I hang with the hubby when he gets home and we talk.

I love to write, but I love my family more. If someone held a gun to my head and said, "Choose." I wouldn't hesitate. My family brings me more joy than anything else. Would I miss writing? Absolutely, but not as much as I'd miss my family. When I'm deep in work mode, I remind myself that my kids' childhoods are whipping by. Do I want to crank out that next 1000 word right this minute or do I want to have fun with my kids while they're still interested in having fun with me? Fun wins. Are there days when they drive me nuts because I can't get anything done? Sure - they're kids and I'm a mom. It happens. Come to think of it, it happens with the hubby from time to time, too. But ultimately, I feel like we have a good system.

I also think that there's an unspoken life lesson here for my kids. Following your dreams and achieving them doesn't just magically happen. You have to be dedicated and work towards them, but you also have to make time for all the important aspects of your life.

I'd like to introduce you to my sister...aka Flypaper for Freaks

I'd like to introduce one of my favorite people in the whole wide world - my baby sister, Cait. I'm the oldest of five and she's the youngest and we've got three brothers in between. Anyway, Cait is not only the most freaking amazing sister I could have possibly asked for, she's also Flypaper For Freaks...just like me.

She had this encounter a few years ago before she left for college and I've been begging her to write it down, so you could all see that it's not just me. It really does run in the family.

So please welcome Cait~

My sister has a way of making me do things. Maybe it’s the Catholic guilt we’ve both maintained, or the fact that she is so completely awesome that I can deny her nothing. Either way, I’m doing her bidding.

When I was a teenager, I used to hang around this dingy little coffee shop in the downtown area. And I mean the bad part of downtown. People only ventured this way if they needed a fix of some kind. Gritty sidewalks filled with grittier people, the occasional needle lying on the curb, “emo” and “scene” kids loitering about wearing their skinny jeans and their hair covering what I assumed to be dark painted eyes. Morningstar 76 seemed a magical place where dreams come true.

Oh nay, nay, friends.

I was there one night, seated in a chair that I’m sure hadn’t seen a good day since the 1970s, reading a novel, and chain smoking. Looking back, I know blame this entire event on my pack of Basics.

She was blonde and had black, thick-framed glasses shielding her blue eyes. Pretty girl. Pretty crazy girl.

Her: What are you doing?

Me: (already irritated) Reading.

Her: No, your cigarettes. Basics are terrible. They’re just the tobacco and sawdust swept from the factory floor. You need a real cigarette.

She handed me a Camel Light and pulled out her lighter. I thanked her and went back to my book. Mistake number two. The first had been acknowledging her at all.

Her: Good book? I like to read, too. My boyfriend has a great collection.

Me: Very cool.

Her: Yeah, he is. He’s so open and expressive. I’m really lucky.

Me: Sounds like. (page turn) Congratulations.

Her: Yeah. We’re really good together. Super compatible, you know?

Me: Mmhmm.

Her: Even in bed. I know it’s not the most important thing, you know? But it does matter, right?

Me: Indeed. (I stubbed out the gifted cigarette and returned to my book.)

Her: He’s really submissive. You wouldn’t expect it from him. See? (She pulls out a photo of said boyfriend.)

I kid you not, this dude looked exactly like Spike from Buffy. No, really. He did. Promise. Hell, pinky swear. He just doesn’t look like the type, know what I’m saying?

Me: No. No, he doesn’t.

And you don’t look the dominatrix type, but I’m sure in your world of vanilla kink you’re a regular Mistress of Pain.

Her: He likes the whip the best. And when I ride him like a pony.

Me: (I whipped my head to face her. This woman had my complete and horrified attention.)

Her: I really like it, too, but the outfits are my favorite. Especially when I dress up to use the good whip.

Me: …Good whip?

For those of you playing the home version, this was mistake number three.

Her: Yeah. It’s a cat ‘o nine. But improved, you know? We bought little round glass beads and tied them to the ends so that he gets that extra sting. His scars are really sexy.

Me: … I bet.

Her: Totally. He asks for it, know what I’m saying?

No, frankly, I haven’t a clue.

Me: Yeah... sure.

Her: I like the knife best.

Me: Right… of course.

Her: Oh! (Excited Sadist Time!) Last night was the coolest thing ever – he asked me to carve my name into his skin. It was pretty intense.

Me: Did he? And… you did..?

By this time, I forgot I even had a book. Hell, I had forgotten where I was.

Her: Of course. He’s been such a good pony lately.

As if this explained it all.

Me: Uh huh.

Her: It bled a lot.

Me: Well, that can happen. It’s the downside of carving into someone’s flesh.

Her: But it healed rather nicely. Wanna see?

Me: Fwuh?

Her: (Whips out two Polaroid pictures of a carved up penis and lays them on the table.)

Me: I couldn’t look away. Could. Not. Look. Away.

By the by…her name is Wendy.

Her: Anyway, now he has my name on his dick for the rest of his life. (Nodding.) He’s like my property. …. So what are you reading?

Apparently, being flypaper for freaks is a family trait. Yesterday, my ex theatre prof approached me with his hand shoved deep into his pocket and asked me if “rashes are supposed to be bumpy”.

Wish I were kidding.

I'm not sure how one segues from penis pictures to what are you reading, but apparently Wendy was a special kinda crazy. Sadly, Morningstar 76 is no more, and luckily Cait's found better, Wendy-free hangouts.

So, my husband...

We were both laying in bed reading the other night - I was reading Shiver by Maggie Stiefvater
and Matt was reading one of the Dresden Files books by Jim Butcher. I was nearing the end of this amazing book and crying because it's absolutely gut-wrenching - beautiful, painful and uplifting. For those who won't read a book with a sad ending, this ends well - and it's about shape shifters.

But anyway, I was reading...and crying...like you do and Matt, never looking up from his book, hands me a tissue and says, "I thought you'd vowed to never read a Nicolas Sparks book."

I stared at him for a minute after blowing my nose and told him to fuck off. It seemed like the only reasonable response at that point - but I couldn't help but laugh. Honestly...like I'd read an N.S. book - no offense, Mr. Sparks, but there's more than enough depressing in the world. Thank goodness I have Matt around to make me giggle.

My day job is trying to suck my soul.

I'm having one of those weeks. It's one of those never ending projects that I can't seem to make headway on no matter how hard I try. Of course, it also could be that I'm procrastinating.

I need to preface the following conversation by explaining that I hate housework. I also hate to cook. I not only hate it, but I suck at it. My family has adjusted to the fact that the house is a bit chaotic and supper will never be elaborate and lovely because I'm so not that person. I always have books going as well as the day job and I'd rather hang with the fam at night than clean.

So anyway, my husband came home the other day and looked around in surprise.

Matt: Wow...it looks really nice in here.
Me: Thanks.
Matt: No really. It looks great.
Me: Thanks.
Matt: And supper smells really good, too.
Me: Thanks, honey.

(long, dead silence)

Matt: You must really hate that project.

That man knows me sooooooooo well.

Over at Writers Evolution we've been talking about writers' conferences and I've posted some DOs and DON'Ts. Yes. . . some of them are from personal experience. Think of me as a walking talking PSA.