I pre-posted Friday and Saturday’s blogs, figuring I’d be too busy to bother for once. And I was right. The conference in Shreveport, Louisiana, hosted by the NOLA chapter, ended last night. I’ll have pictures to share tomorrow, but I have my weekly status report to give you first. Yeah, sorry. You have to suffer through it, but keep in mind that I do this to keep things real.

The sad reality is I’m close to completing just one chapter of the big book for the entire week. I worked on nothing but the big book, so I can’t claim progress on anything else. I have excuses—good ones—but excuses won’t get the book written.

This next week doesn’t bode well either. Daughter’s hubby is going out of town, so guess who gets to come babysit babies, dogs and chickens? I have to convince the one-year-old that her playpen is a happy place and the dogs that one trip to the back yard really is enough. Good luck, me. But that doesn’t happen until Thursday, so I better write like my hair’s on fire through Wednesday.

I want to wrap up three chapters this week. Hold me to it. ~DD

I thought it might be fun to share some my favorite scenes from books I’ve written, and scenes I get a lot of mail about because readers loved them too. This particular scene is one I laughed myself silly writing. You’ll see why…

Welcome to Honkytonk, the hottest town in Texas—thanks to its adventurous women, irresistible men, and sizzling sex…

Bound and Determined
Bar owner Tara Toomey is in the mood to serve bad boy Cody Westhofen more than a drink. What better way to capture his attention—and more—than to kidnap him for a wanton weekend? Tied to Tara’s bed, Cody is more than willing to cooperate…

Breezy Ridin’
When Joe Chavez and a sheriff’s deputy pull over a speeding motorcycle, it’s no surprise the county judge’s naughty daughter Sarah Michelson is behind the wheel—naked. And when she bribes them with a threesome, all laws are suspended as the men prepare for the ride of their lives…

Night Watch
Schoolteacher Amy Keating never planned to be a voyeur, but one innocent glance into deputy Logan Ross’s bedroom window has her hooked. Now she’s into a world of sexual play she never knew existed…

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The next afternoon, Amy was on her knees sliding out the shallow plastic box from beneath the bed, eager for a little dress-up. She’d already spent the day cleaning the house. Now she wanted to do everything she could to give herself a little boost in self-confidence before her date with Logan.

She’d pulled a dress from her closet, still wrapped in plastic from the store. The short navy sheath with tiny sprigs of pale gray and pink flowers had been bought on a whim and never worn. Too short for school, and with no man around to inspire in her the courage to actually wear it in public, it had stayed at the back of her closet. But not tonight. A pair of silver sandals, also never worn, would complete the ensemble.

The choice of dress and shoes had been the easy part. She hoped what was stored in the bin would solve the rest of her problem. She pulled the black thong panties and corset from the bin, and bit her lip, wondering if the corset was too much.

It was another gift from her happily married sister whose answer to all dating woes was the right underwear.

Amy dropped her robe on the bed and slid into the panties, enjoying the thrill of the narrow strip of fabric sliding between her buttocks.

She felt naughty and a little braver when she turned in front of the mirror to assure herself her butt didn’t look like a sumo wrestler’s.

The corset wasn’t as easy to don. The slender cords cinching the waist laced up the back. Before attempting to put it on, she fed the strings through the eyelets, leaving them loose, and then shimmied the silk garment up her long legs and tugged it over her hips. That was the easy part. Reaching behind her to draw the ends of the strings up and tighten them took a contortionist’s skill, but then it wasn’t designed for a woman to put on, or remove, by herself.

The thought of Logan seeing her in this drove her to persevere. She wanted to impress him. Let him think she was less of a mouse than she really was.

The thought of what he’d done last night, how he’d kissed her, what he’d said, had left her warm and pink-cheeked all day long.
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I suspect that every writer has his or her own ritual, however elaborate or simple. Something the writer does to coax the muse out of hiding. Why do them at all? I think it’s all about creating habits.

I’ve said it before, but a professional writer can’t sit around waiting for inspiration to strike. The pro sits in front of the PC, hands on keys, and writes. Writing, for the pro, is something you practice and do often.

When I was in the corporate world, I attended every productivity seminar out there. One thing stressed over and over was the idea that habits, good or bad, are created by repetition. And it takes about 21 days of doing a particular task, over and over, to make it a habit.

Rituals are a palatable way to “set” a new habit. Maybe you decide you’re going to hit the treadmill every morning, but you hate exercise. If you know you have to do it 21 days in a row to establish the habit, you will want to turn part of that daily task into a pleasant ritual—so maybe you play the theme to Rocky to make you smile before you step onto that rubber track. Maybe you create a playlist of inspirational songs to keep your feet moving for the entire 30 minutes you set as your daily goal.

Writing needs to be a habit, reinforced with repetition and maybe flavored with a ritual to make it a little more fun.

When I decided that I wanted to create “morning pages” every day like Julia Cameron suggests in The Artist’s Way, I tried it, but couldn’t keep up with the exercises. I felt like I was “wasting” my muse on getting words onto a page that no one would ever read. I think I’m a little too German for the “fruitier” creative strategies. I took her idea of “morning pages” because I could see the benefit of opening up the tap every morning, but I decided to turn it into something more productive for me. I now blog religiously every morning. It’s the thing I crawl out of bed to do before I’m fully awake and before I’ve brushed my teeth, had that first cup of coffee, or talked to another human being.

My daily “getting-ready-to-write” ritual now includes: “morning pages” blog, cup of coffee, quick update of my To Do list, then opening my page counter spreadsheet and my WIP.

I’ve shared my ritual, now I want to hear about yours. Maybe we’ll all see something we’d like to try.

I leave for Shreveport and the NOLA conference tomorrow, so today, I have a ton of things to do—laundry, pack, clean the car, etc. I will also try to get some more pages done today. And I will pre-post a couple of blogs. Have to pick a worthy topic. Any suggestions?

For today, I’ll let you do the work. I have a question and I’m interested in your answers!

When you look back on the life you have lived to this point,
what in particular amazes you the most?

The thing that amazes me the most is that I’m still alive.

Anything past 20 was gravy because I was a wild child with a penchant for bad boys, illegal substances and fast cars.

When I hit 30, I couldn’t believe I’d done it without ending up in jail or sold in a slave auction (long story, there).

40 was a miracle, because I still hadn’t learned to look before I leaped and even lobbied hard to go to a war I didn’t have to see.

Now, I’m a venerable old 51 and am still having little unexpected adventures (burning hair, snakes in the pool)—and I’m hoping the rest of however many years I have left are just as interesting.

What amazes you?

DELICIOUS
Berkley Heat
ISBN: 978-0425232422
Release Date: March 2
BUY LINKS:
Amazon
B&N

He can’t control his desire…

Luc Traverson’s entire future is planned out—but there is one very sexy obstacle in his path: Alyssa Devereaux . She’s a former exotic dancer turned strip club owner and restaurateur. Recently, Alyssa and Luc shared one night of wild abandon that left Luc terrified by his loss of self-control—and Alyssa desperate for more.

And that’s just the way she wants it.

Fulfilling a promise, Luc is the guest chef for Alyssa’s restaurant debut. The sight of her makes Luc wild, so how can he survive a week without letting loose and ravaging her—especially when she’s begging for it? Luc’s desire for her explodes when he realizes he isn’t the only man desperate to have her. But one of the others is deadly. And that’s not the end of Alyssa’s secrets…which are as dark and mysterious and enticing as her fantasies.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Until Alyssa Devereaux, had he ever gotten stone hard just by looking at a woman from across a room? Luc didn’t like the answer.

He didn’t have to wonder what was under that little skirt; he knew. Sleek thighs surrounded by garters in some color designed to drive a man wild. A lacy thong that would reveal far more of her assets than it concealed. And under that… The feel and taste of her slick, swollen folds dive-bombed his memory and revved him up, as if he’d injected rocket fuel in his bloodstream.

And he had to work beside her for a week. Hell. How was he going to prevent a recurrence of the event he wanted to forget—yet couldn’t?

You’re a professional. Cook and keep your hands to yourself. Besides, it wasn’t as if he had nothing else to think about. Negotiations for his cable TV show were nearly at an end. He had a bit of editing to do on his latest cookbook. There wouldn’t be that much downtime this week, but what little there’d be, he would fill.

Clearly, Alyssa had a way to fill her time as well. The huge slab of man at her side whose cheek she’d kissed a moment ago wore a Sexy Sirens T-shirt stretched across his enormous chest. A bartender? A bouncer? Whoever he was, the guy slanted a possessive glance at Alyssa that Luc couldn’t miss, then glared at him.

Tamping down his irrational anger, Luc reminded himself that if Alyssa wanted to fuck her hired help, that was her business.

The violent urge to dismember her employee would pass.

Alyssa took a step toward Luc, then another.

“Mistress Alyssa,” a female called over the speakers in a saucy vamp voice. “Your turn!”

She stopped. Closed her eyes. Sighed. Bracing herself?

Then, as if the hesitation had never been, she flashed him a cool blue gaze, pointed at a chair in front of the stage, then turned away and strode backstage. Luc couldn’t help himself. He watched her walk away, the sway of those curvy hips a siren call. Damn.
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UPDATE:

Just back from Nick’s salon. When I walked in, he looked up and said, “What are you bitchin’ about? It’s not that bad.” Until, he actually had his fingers in my hair. Then it was, “Uh, I thought that was a cowlick.” And, “I think I’m gonna have to take some more to even it out.” Good thing is, it’ll grow back. Here are a couple of quick picks. Keep in mind, I’m way tired, my eyes are bloodshot, my glasses are crooked, and I’m wearing my oldest hoodie.

My favorite picture of me—evuh!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Yesterday, I couldn’t find a hair stylist open that I would actually trust. Since I was already dressed, out of the house, and thinking about “improvements”, I had my toes and fingernails done. The pedicure was interesting. I sat in a massage chair (don’t they all have them now?), but this massage chair is very naughty. Not only does it have the rollers that poke and squeeze at your back, but it has a roller that comes up between your butt cheeks. I’m sure my eyes popped wide open the first time it happened.

No writing last night. I babysat the 5-year-old and 1-year-old. The five-year-old is all into Idol, which wouldn’t be so bad if she weren’t completely tone deaf and “auditioning” with Taylor Swift songs. The 1-year-old is practicing to be a Houdini. Every time I turned my eyes away from her, she reached into her onesy and pulled her diaper out her leghole. Then she’d stand gleefully peeing down one leg. Yeah, it was that kind of night.

A friend of mine is running through my big book for me, tearing it apart. She’s through chapter six and so far no huge problems. When she gets to the middle and realizes that there’s a whole lotta naughty goin’ on, she may pull back and say, where’d the story go?

Today, I continue the haircut quest, so I doubt I’ll get much writing done. 😥

But y’all wanna know who won yesterday’s contest, right? The random number generator decrees that the #6 entry is the winner, and that lucky person is…Anna Shah Hoque! Anna, email me!

If you post a comment today, you’ll be in the running
for a free download of this anthology!

I’ll be away from my computer again today. There’s always an adventure in this house and yesterday’s involved the wood-burning furnace. I was adding a couple of logs to the fire, and bent to lift one of them, when a burst of flame, like something out of the movie Backdraft, flared out. I didn’t have time to move back, and dummy me, couldn’t even blink because it was beautiful. I felt and heard little sizzling crisps tumble onto my shoulders, saw my glasses fog. I took a step back and swiped my hair and face as quick as I could and when my hands came away from my hair, I was clutching tons of crispy bits. Yup, I burned my hair, singed my eyebrows and my eyelashes. I have very strange little damaged curls at the ends of most of my hair in the front so I am going to beg my hair dresser to fit me in. He might have to cut my hair very, very short. Bright side, at least that quick burst of flame didn’t burn my skin.

I’m sure I’ll have plenty to talk about after a visit with him. He’s my age, has a long gray ponytail and wears shorts no matter the weather. Love Nick to death, but he’s going to be laughing his ass off at me.

Anyway, this book was released in March 2007 and is part of the Seasons of Seduction anthology. The winner will get a download of the entire anthology. Good luck!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Newlywed Lady Margaret du Bary must find a way out of the marriage her king decreed. Lord Roland is far beneath the ideal knight she’s dreamed of — and she won’t have him! But how can she distract the brute from consummating their marriage until she can steal away from the keep and return to the convent that ejected her?

Lord Roland is very pleased with his mousy bride. Besides the lands and fine castle she brings, she’s pleasing to the eye and has a suitably demure demeanor. The only thorn in the ointment is he has no experience tupping a gentlewoman. Bedding his modest bride will prove a true test of this knight’s steel.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Another flagon of ale!” The new lord of Beckwith Keep slammed his empty cup on the wooden table. A serving wench tripped in her haste to reach him, spilling more ale onto the table than into his hammered silver chalice. He ignored her dismay and planted his elbow in the puddle, tilting back his head to take a long draw of warm ale.

“Perhaps you should curb your thirst.”

Lord Roland Du Bary cast a baleful eye at his friend, Dougal Fitzhugh. “Why ever for?”

“The wedding night is still to come. Are you not afraid your ardor will flag?”

Roland licked the foam from the hairs that curved over his upper lip. “A little ale has never impeded me in bedsport. Not once have I failed to rouse my staff when the occasion called.” He cast a glance at his bride. The shy little miss had taken a seat further down the table. Her hair, neither blonde nor brown but all the pleasing shades of a pheasant’s tail feathers, hung in a long curtain to her hips. “Besides, my wife inspires me sufficiently.”

“Aye, you are a lucky man. You’ve a fine keep and lands—and a comely wife.”

His gaze still on his young bride, Roland replied, “She seems a pleasant mouse. Although methinks she tends to overimbibe. Her cheeks are quite flushed already.”

“Why say you she is a mouse?”

“She’s so timid, she has not once looked me in the eye.”

“Perhaps she is put off by your ill looks,” Dougal said with a laugh.

Disgruntled, Roland straightened his shoulders. “My looks haven’t a thing to do with it. My sword arm and my fame as a warrior are all she’s concerned with.”

“You only met the girl today. How do you know this?”

“Why, you heard her. When she greeted us at the steps of this keep, all she could say was, ‘You are Sir Roland Du Bary? The king’s knight?’ And she looked me up and down as though she could scarce believe her good fortune.”
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