The dialogue of planning a wedding…

Next month, my oldest daughter marries the man of her dreams. He proposed to her last December. Since then, some very interesting bits of conversation have surfaced while we’ve traveled (survived) the path of planning for the big day. By the way, this child of mine is by nature the very detail oriented, almost obsessive compulsive organizer of all things. Yes. Wedding planning has propelled her strategizing to frightening new heights.

Conversation between just engaged future son-in-law (FSIL) and his mother:

FSIL: *bragging voice* “I don’t have to worry about her turning into some sort of bridezilla, Mom. You know how level-headed she is. Everything will be fine.”

FSIL’s Mom: *knowing smile toward her poor deluded son* “Whatever you say, dear. I just don’t think you realize how important this day is in a girl’s life. It’s a day they all dream about.”

Three days later FSIL calls his mom, whispering into the phone while hiding in a safe place.

FSIL: *panicked whisper* “Mom. We have wedding books. Lots of them.”

FSIL’s Mom: *stifled giggle* “Really?”

FSIL: “And binders. And magazines. And a folder with dates. And an appointment with a wedding planner.”

FSIL’s Mom: “That’s nice, honey.” *knowing chortle*

Conversation between daughter (Bride-to-Be or B2B) and her younger sister (Matron of Honor or MoH) and me (Me) during the FIRST wedding party dress fittings. (Yes. There is never just one fitting.):

B2B: *determined, chiding tone* “If you don’t suck it in, I’ll never get it zipped.”

MoH: *teeth clenched about to kill her sister tone* “It’s my freakin’ rib case. If I suck in more air, it’ll just get bigger!”

B2B: *exasperated huff* “Then blow it out and don’t breathe any more ‘til I tell you.”

MoH: No reply. Just looks at me in the mirror with a “you better do something or I’m going to be an only child” glare.

Me: “Maybe we need to try a different style?”

They didn’t kill each other and here’s an iPhone shot of the lovely Matron of Honor.

Granddaughter is going to be a junior bride’s maid. As long as she got to twirl in front of all the “magic mirrors” as she called them, she was happy.

Conversation between daughter (B2B) and hubby (Father-of-the-bride or FOB):

B2B: *threatening I-have-been-pushed too far tone* “You are NOT wearing your kilt to my wedding!”

FOB: *amused that he’s miffed his daughter tone* “Why not?”

B2B: “It clashes with my colors.”

Me: I don’t say a word, just give Hubby the “look” signaling I have heard enough of him pestering B2B.

FOB: *resigned tone* “Fine. I’ll wear the damn tux.” *brighter tone* “But I’m wearing my kilt to the rehearsal dinner and the reception!”

B2B: *knows she doomed so dismisses him with a wave* “Fine.”

Conversation between B2B and myself.

B2B: *strained patient tone she always uses when she’s ready to launch into a lecture* “Mom. Have you found your dress yet?”

Me: *Living with hubby for thirty-three has ruined me. I can’t resist teasing her just a bit.* “I’ve decided I’m wearing nothing but my pearls.”

B2B: No reply just a stony stare.

Here’s the dress SHE picked out for me since I’m only an expert on jeans.

Conversation between B2B, MoH and myself in the shoe store.

B2B to me: “Here. These shoes will look great.”

Me: “I don’t want any heels. I’ll break my neck.”

B2B: “You can’t wear flats with that dress. Try these on.”

Me: “They hurt my feet.”

B2B: “Can you walk in them?”

Me: *sullen tone* “Yes.”

B2B: “Just wear them to the wedding and for a little while at the reception.”

MoH: “I like them.”

Me to MoH: “The wicked things are yours after September 22^nd.”

MoH: “Sweet!”

Here’s the wicked shoes AND the comfortable pair I’ll be changing into once I’m given permission.

Most recent conversation (text messages) between myself and bridezilla…er…B2B:

Me: “How many days?”

B2B: “35.”

Me: “Holy crap!”

B2B: “I know! I’m about to hit ultimate freakout.”

Me: “Yes. We know.”

**Disclaimer: Bride-to-be is normally a very patient, loving soul. We all look forward to a return to her usual fun-loving personality once “demon planning bridezilla” is successfully exorcised on September 22^nd. 

Marriage of convenience or recipe for love?

I’m so pleased to host the very talented Sandra Dailey at my cyber home today. And guess what? Sandra’s giving away a pdf copy of her new release, The Chief’s Proposal. So, don’t forget to leave a comment after you enjoy her post. I’ve decided Sandra is also a bit of a tease. She’s piqued my interest with a personal story that we’re going to have to wrangle out of her at some point in the future! Join me in welcoming Sandra and you’ll see what I mean. Welcome Sandra!

Thanks for hosting me on your blog today, Maeve. I can’t wait to meet your friends.

I’ll start by telling you all a little about myself.

I live in North Florida with my husband of thirty plus years. I’ve included a picture of a place just north of us called the Okeefenokee Swamp. It would be south of the area where The Chief’s Proposal takes place.

I’ve had a list of careers in the past, but none have been as much fun as writing. Unlike most of my peers, I wasn’t born with the burning desire to write. What I was born with was a huge imagination.

One day a few years ago, I was confined to my house after surgery. I had just moved and my supply of unpacked books was thin. I finally found one I hadn’t read. I opened that book and it inspired me. Yes, it was the worst book I’d ever tried to read. I thought to myself that I could do better. I opened my computer and went to work. That first manuscript is still sitting in a box. Since then, I’ve taken a few writing classes and here I am.

My new release, The Chief’s Proposal, is dear to my heart. Not only is it my debut, it’s also a marriage of convenience story. My own marriage began as ‘an agreement’. That’s a longer story then I have time to tell today. However, as I said above, we’ve now been married for over thirty years. I can’t imagine living with anyone else. I think my hero and heroine in The Chief’s Proposal feel the same now, but in the beginning they had a pretty rocky start.

Here’s an excerpt of my hero and heroines first morning after meeting:

Just as Ginny began to drift off, a loud clatter came from down the hall. It was followed by a stream of cusswords. Someone was breaking into the house. Could this night get any worse?

Ginny threw on the light robe she’d left on the end of the bed. She groped around in the dark for a weapon. She grabbed something solid from the dresser and slowly sneaked down the hall. The light was on in the kitchen. She flattened herself against the wall and peeked around the doorframe.

“You a coffee drinker?” Brett stood by the stove looking as gorgeous, and as formidable, as he had the night before.

“All the noise woke me up.”

Brett raised a brow. “Yeah, well, your hair dryer was a nice surprise at three o’clock this morning too.

Here’s another rule. No loud noises while I’m sleeping.”

“Sorry.”

“So, what’s with the duck?” he asked, nodding at her hand.

Ginny looked down to find she was holding a wooden decoy duck by the neck. So much for showing confidence and class.

The Chief’s Proposal has a few laughs and a little suspense and a lot of sexual tension.

You can find my book at:

The Wild Rose Press http://bit.ly/PSiSNR

Amazon for Kindle http://amzn.to/MCNbDU

Barnes & Noble http://bit.ly/RTDJ01

You can find me at:

www.sandradailey.com

www.sandradailey.blogspot.com

www.facebook.com/sandradailey.author 

Exciting new read alert!!!

Yep. You heard me right. EXCITING NEW READ ALERT! Allow me to introduce Linda Trout, a fresh new voice of Romantic Suspense with The Wild Rose Press.

I’m so glad you came to visit my little cyber home as one of the stops on your blog tour, Linda! By the way dear Readers, be sure and check out the other stops on Linda’s tour at her website:  http://www.lindatrout.com/  Leave a comment  at one or more of her blog stops because at the end of her tour, Linda’s giving away a digital copy of her new release GRAVE SECRETS!

Maeve, Thank you so much for having me! I love your website and the man candy, there’s nothing like a good looking man in a kilt. I write romantic suspense, but I’m not an RS snob. I love reading a lot of different genres and Scottish books are right up there.

The pictures of your Mystical Seven inspired me. I don’t have any dragons, but I do have a Gargoyle. Does that count? 

Let me tell you a bit about myself. I grew up on a farm in northeastern Oklahoma. I’m a degreed accountant and wound up in the oil & gas industry. My husband is a retired Marine and has also retired from his civilian job. Thank goodness he supports me in my writing. We have 2 black Labrador Retrievers and 4 cats, who all think they have to help me write.

I’m a motorcycle mama. Yep, I love riding my own bike. I used to ride behind my hubby, but got tired of him asking me if I was done squirming yet. Uh, no. My butt hurt so I most decidedly was NOT done squirming! But it was incentive to learn how to ride my own. That and the first time we went to a motorcycle rally in Sturgis, SD, he kept staring at the women bikers…said he found them sexy. Well, all rightly, then. Here I am posing with my Duece, and yes, that’s a Harley.  However, when I’m riding I don’t look much like this, not with the leathers and horrible helmet hair. LOL

I’d thought of having my heroine in GRAVE SECRETS riding a bike, but it wasn’t happening. She’s a businessman’s widow who lives in the better part of town. Only she’d give it all up to have her husband and baby back. Her child disappeared the day of her husband’s funeral and she’s been searching for her daughter ever since. Here’s a blurb:

When Sara Adams' infant daughter is abducted, she moves heaven and earth to find her. But six months later, time is running out and Sara turns to the one man she shouldn't—insurance investigator Morgan Daniels. Dangerously attractive, he's a threat to more than just her heart, and if she isn't careful, he'll unearth secrets better left buried.

Proving Sara murdered her husband is Morgan's top priority. Helping her find her child is the perfect opportunity to get the proof he needs. But when he starts to think of her as a woman rather than a suspect, she slips under his armor. He can't trust her. Worse, he can't trust himself around her.

All evidence points to Sara as a murderer, but Morgan's gut tells him the evidence is wrong. Is his obsession with her blinding him to the facts? Or is the real murderer still out there…stalking Sara?

Maeve, thank you again for having me on your blog. Here are buy links to GRAVE SECRETS:

The Wild Rose Press: http://tinyurl.com/d4cxc7h

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Grave-Secrets-Linda-Trout/dp/1612173071/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1342970187&sr=8-1&keywords=grave+secrets+by+linda+trout

My Dragon Army

Allow me to introduce my Dragon Army or as I affectionately call them, The Mystical Seven. ;-)

The newest recruit to join the ranks is Fury Infernicus Brimstone, a wishing dragon. Inside his chest beats a golden star that grants his chosen one all their dreams. Luckily for me, he's sworn his loyalty to me forever.

This relaxed fellow is Blazerous Coaldun-Mistrach. An amiable soul who rarely rouses from his dreams but when provoked, reduces any irritant to a pile of cinders. Blazerous is also known as guardian of the writerly cave.

 Smaller in scale but no less lethal, this feisty beast is Charconus Smee. A bit sensitive about his diminutive size, Charconus tends to sizzle first and ask questions later. His duties include guarding the sacred ink cartridges and ensuring all printer cables are not sabotaged by marauders.

 Wee Poof makes up the junior ranks while he excitedly awaits the grand day when he's able to produce his first flame. He's unable to assume any major assignments at this time but serves the purpose of tattling to command whenever the other dragons shirk their duties. Yes. Poof is not favored among the senior ranks.

 Raucous Firestrom is the founder of the army. As shown here, Raucous represents the core belief of the Mystical Seven: Never allow anyone to tell you you'll never make it. If you believe you can, you will.

 Seamus Puck is an agreeable soul able to see across the web of time and either nod or shake his head to predict the outcome of any venture.

And last but far from least is Virgilious Amoratio, better known as Virgil the Preener. He adores the ladies and never misses an opportunity to flaunt his colorful scales and belch sparkling flames.

By the way, the troops asked me to pass along that they're always looking to increase the ranks. Gifted dragons are always welcome but snakes and lizards need not apply. 

Lucky 7 Meme challenge!

The super talented Sabrina Garie gifted me with The Lucky 7 Meme. Be sure and visit her blog. I know you'll be glad you did. 

The challenge, should I so choose to accept, is to share some of my work in progress in RAW UNEDITED form *shudder*. I have the choice of sharing 7 lines down from the first 7 lines of the page from page 7 or 77. Then I send the Meme on to 7 other writers who I think you'll enjoy. 

Challenge accepted. These 7 lines come from page 7 of my current WIP that I haven't quite named just yet. It's a paranormal romance filled with passion, betrayal, sacrifice and hope. I hope you enjoy this taste:

What a glorious feeling it would be to touch the steady pulse of Egrin’s inner draecon-kha –his dormant dragon form –waiting to be unleashed. Strength pulsed in her lord’s scarred lean form. Pure predatory grace shone in every fluid move. What she wouldn’t give to feel that force pounding into her during the throes of a mating embrace. Lilith wet her lips, suddenly breathless at the enticing prospect. Smoldering heat flooded her core, ready to burst with blazing passion at the slightest provocation. Damn Egrin’s refusal to name her consort of Fhearann-Saar until his precious spawn had been recovered. 

Now. The 7 LUCKY authors I select are:

Victoria Roberts

J. Michael Radcliffe

Marsha A. Moore

Tami Dee

Beth Trissel

Vonnie Davis

AJ Nuest

Check these authors out. They're all fantastic. By the way, the Meme is an understanding soul for those unable to join in. Life's too short to sweat the little stuff. ;-)

Think you wanna marry a writer? READ THIS FIRST!

Due to a major change in our household, this post is dedicated to my husband. What upheaval –er –major change, you ask? Grab your favorite beverage and pull up a chair. I’ll give you a wee bit of back story before we get to the meat of today’s subject.

Hubby and I have been married thirty-three years. One thing I can honestly say about this particular chunk of my life is there’s never been a dull moment. Twenty-three of those thirty-three years, hubby worked twelve hour shifts that cycled back and forth between day shift and nights. His schedule only allowed two weekends off a month. The other breaks always fell during the week –while I was away at MY full time day job. Are you picking up on the trend here? Yep. You got it. Hubby and I didn’t occupy the house at the same time very much. But due to the vast differences in our personalities and idiosyncrasies, it worked. In fact, it worked DAMN WELL.

Last month, hubby retired from that job and took another position in an adjacent plant. Now his schedule is straight days. Home every night. Every freakin’ weekend off. Just. Like. Mine. *sigh*

Don’t get me wrong! I love my husband but I’m here to attest there is such a thing as too much togetherness.  ESPECIALLY if one of you happens to be a writer. An unable to manage her time well writer who becomes surlier than a sore-tailed bear when she doesn’t get any writing accomplished.

So, as I said, this post is dedicated to my husband. It’s a compilation of his warnings to those who might be toying with the idea of taking a writer as a mate.

1.      Learn how to cook. If you can’t cook, you better know the hours of operation to any nearby restaurants because if your writer is connected to that laptop, it’s the only way you’re gonna eat.
2.      Put the trash can in an enclosed area so all the stuff can be strategically stacked as high as it’ll need to go or you’re gonna have to take it out once a day instead of once a week.
3.      When your writer’s eyes get all squinchy at you over the top of their laptop screen, back out of the room. Slowly. Without taking your eyes off your writer in case they make any sudden moves.
4.      When the dog is sitting at the front door, yipping to go outside and water the trees and your writer says, “What’s that dog want now?” That is code for: will you PLEASE get your ass up out of that recliner and walk him? Now?
5.      Learn to follow along behind the writer wherever they go, picking up after them, and keeping track of where they’ve left glasses, keys, notes, ink pens, yadda yadda yadda. When they’re in the middle of a story, they can’t even remember their own names.
6.      Your house won’t get or remain spotless unless you hire somebody or do it yourself.
7.      IF your writer emerges from their world long enough to clean pig sty house under the impending doom of company coming, prepare for laser eyes mentioned in Warning Number 3.
8.      Be thankful laser eyes are not fully armed and equipped with death ray option. Although, as writers evolve, this could be a distinct hazard in the future.

I’m sure hubby has more warnings but the above are the only ones he felt comfortable sharing. I tried to pry a few more out of him and got this reply, “I haven’t lived this long by being stupid.” 

Hmm…good advice?

Sunday Sneak Peek

I've decided to start something new here at my little cyber visiting post. I've dubbed it, "Sunday Sneak Peek" because I'm entirely too wordy for "Six Sentence Sunday". This week's sneak peek is from The Highlander's Fury. I hope you enjoy it!

As he turned the page of his book, the priest squinted at the pages and ran his trembling finger along the words.  “Then let the betrothal be recorded.  The wedding shall be held a year and a day from today, unless…” He cleared his throat and glanced about the room. “Unless an…uh…ev-event oc-occurs that brings about the marriage sooner.”

“If he’s anything at all like his brothers, she’ll be his wife before tomorrow’s dawn!”  A rumbling voice echoed across the hall, as Angus MacKay shouted from the back of the room.

The crowd cheered at this announcement.  They clapped their hands and stomped their feet upon the wooden benches.  “Aye, Faolan!  Consummate your vows this eve!  Dinna wait for the wedding feast!”

With a groan, Faolan ignored the rowdy crowd and bent to brush his lips across Ciara’s in the required sealing kiss.  With a start, he stiffened when she slid her soft hand up the back of his neck.  He shuddered as she laced her fingers through his hair and pulled his head down to hers.  His wind fled his lungs as she opened her mouth beneath his.  She sent him the most intimate of messages with her warm, moist tongue.  Her other hand rested on his chest as she slid her body closer.  

Instinct over-rode his stubborn mind and Faolan deepened the kiss.  He pulled her close; hardened into her curves as she pressed in subtle invitation against him.  Her delicious scent, a warm mixture of ginger and vanilla intoxicated his senses.  His mind filled with visions of what she’d look like sprawled against the pillows of his bed.  He reeled with the taste of her, lost himself in her arms; he almost forgot he stood before his clan.

“Oh Aye!  There’ll be no Wedding Feast in a year and a day for this union.  We’ll more than likely be a celebrating the christening of a bairn!  Here’s to the birth of the first of many sons!” 

Buy Links:

http://www.amazon.com/Maeve-Greyson/e/B004PE9T9U/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1337519859&sr=8-1

http://www.thewildrosepress.com/index.php?main_page=advanced_search_result&search_in_description=1&keyword=The+Highlander%27s+Fury&x=0&y=0