I'm Talking Dimples and Ice-Ton My Blog Tour -- With Giveaway!

I'm over at Sharon Saracino's blog today with a giveaway of THE DIMPLE OF DOOM!  So stop by, why not?  There are hot men to look at...

Your Long, Torturous Wait Is Over -- THE DIMPLE OF DOOM Is Here!

Blog friends, a journey of 75,000 words begins with a single joke.  And thus did my journey to publication for THE DIMPLE OF DOOM begin with a potato ball (it was super yummy) and a harebrained idea about a secretary and an art thief who fall in love completely unwillingly.

And what a nice inaugural review to get:

"Ooh what a laugh. Here I am sitting reading my book and looking like a complete nincompoop for laughing out loud at what looks to the rest of the world like nothing. ... From daring (but funny) art heists to steamy hotel moments to shoot outs, this was action packed, passion filled and funny from start to end.  A must read if ever I have seen one." -- TheJeepDiva.com

My contemporary romantic comedy is available at most major outlets today FOR ONLY $.99!  (Linkys to Total-E-Bound (my pub), Amazon.com, AllRomance.  For Nook, Sony, & iBook users, buy from Total-E-Bound and choose the ePub format.)

A BUCK!

You could order one size smaller at Starbucks today and have money left over to buy an action-packed thrill-ride of epic proportions, and also filled with lots of sex, because why not?  Or hell -- you get that venti and still read the shit outta my book BECAUSE IT'S ONLY A DOLLA, HOLLA.

Here's the blurb:

THE DIMPLE OF DOOM
by Lucy Woodhull

It may sound like common sense, but never hump an art thief. Turns out, Samantha Lytton's Common-Sense-O-Meter is super duper broken.
Failed actress Samantha Lytton is getting along just fine in her lonely little life when a charming criminal called Sam or Nate or maybe even Richmond kisses her, square dances most provocatively, opens his not-so-wicked heart, and gets her in trouble with not one, but two international art theft rings as well as the LAPD.
She's either gonna end up in jail or famous.  Maybe both.
Along the way, she fights for her life and falls for this funny, sexy disaster of a man… and learns that finding happily-ever-after with yourself is the first step to real contentment. A cute dimple is just the second.

THANK YOU SO MUCH!

PS:  I turned in the manuscript for Samantha Lytton, Book 2 (THE DIMPLE STRIKES BACK) yesterday, so more adventures to come!

Don't Say I Never Tried to Give You Anything

 

I'm over at Book Reading Gals today with an exclusive excerpt from RAGNAR & JULIET and a giveaway!  WOOOOO FREE SHIT!  It's going on for about 11 days, so stop on by, chuckle at my excerpt (hopefully) and enter to win a free copy (even more hopefully)!

It's part of #DFRAT (the Digital-First Read-A-Thon) highlighting the awesomeness of digital-first authors.  Like me!  There are tons of excerpts in the DFRAT event and lots of other giveaways, too, so check us out!  Search #DFRAT on Twitter for more deets.

Ovaries Before Brovaries -- You Are What You Eat

I just came across an interesting and rage-inducing article on NPR called "Hollywood Needs More Women."  It's here, and I highly encourage the reading of it.

Some highlights:

Maybe you've noticed something missing at the movies - like women. I'd like to say hooray for Hollywood, but women make up a minority of movie creators: 7 percent of the directors, 13 percent of the writers, 20 percent of the producers. That's nearly five men for every woman working behind the scenes. Our cover story today: film's forgotten females.

Out of last year's biggest movies, 28 percent of the speaking characters were female. That's down from a third, five years ago. Those numbers are from the Annenberg School at the University of Southern California.

UGH.  Gross, right?   Women are half the population!

Do you notice when only 28% of the speaking characters are female?  I sure as hell do, but I didn't always.  When we grow up watching TV and movies and the low percentage of women is everywhere, we get very used to it.  I would encourage anyone to really begin paying attention to the gender and racial makeups to the media you consume -- you'll find it to be overwhelmingly White and male.  Now, some of my best friends are White dudes, but sometimes I enjoy looking at somebody different.

More from the article.  Caution:  anger, ahoy!

(Geena) DAVIS: My theory is that since all anybody has seen, when they are growing up, is this big imbalance - that the movies that they've watched are about, let's say, 5 to 1, as far as female presence is concerned - that's what starts to look normal. And let's think about - in different segments of society, 17 percent of cardiac surgeons are women; 17 percent of tenured professors are women. It just goes on and on. And isn't that strange that that's also the percentage of women in crowd scenes, in movies? What if we're actually training people to see that ratio as normal so that when you're an adult, you don't notice?

(Jacki) LYDEN: I wonder what the impact is of all of this lack of female representation.

DAVIS: We just heard a fascinating and disturbing study, where they looked at the ratio of men and women in groups. And they found that if there's 17 percent women, the men in the group think it's 50-50. And if there's 33 percent women, the men perceive that as there being more women in the room than men.

LYDEN: Oh, my goodness.

DAVIS: So is it possible that 17 percent women has become so comfortable, and so normal, that that's just sort of unconsciously expected?

Let me repeat one of those tidbits in there:   ...they found that if there's 17 percent women, the men in the group think it's 50-50. And if there's 33 percent women, the men perceive that as there being more women in the room than men.

Just think about that for a second.  Anything more than 17%, and women have overstepped our welcome.  That's disgusting!  And I'm not even addressing the gross imbalance and poor representation of People of Color in the media.  (Here's a great place to start on that score -- Racialicious articles about representation in media.)

What can I do about this?  Well, I don't write for the screen as of now, but I do write books (and I wouldn't mind one of them becoming a movie.  Abrams, call me!), and I now think about gender imbalance whenever I create a new character.  I used to find myself defaulting to men every single time, unless I needed a M/F pairing.

AAAAHHHHH YES!  Even me, the female-character lover, the pro-female-person champion!  EVEN I have been brainwashed into thinking that male = more interesting.  We all have.  So now, when I can make a character female, I do.  Isn't that just as bad as always defaulting to men? a small-minded person might cry.  Nope.  I'm seeking to address the imbalance, and creating as many female characters as I can is a way to help.  I'm not Nora Roberts or Julia Quinn, but maybe, just maybe, I can help in my own, small way.

I would encourage anyone reading this to choose books and films, if you can, that serve both the sexes.  This weekend, I'm going to see The Heat starring Melissa McCarthy and Sandra Bullock.  Both because I hear it's AMAZEBALLS funny, and because I just plain want to give a woman-centric film my money.  Vote with your dollar -- money is the only thing that changes the landscape.  Buy a book written by a woman or a Person of Color, maybe even one with a protagonist who is not a dude.

Don't worry, you're already giving the male-centric stuff your attention.  You can't help it.

Buns in the Afterlife -- a Guest Post with Jessi Gage

I have a treat today, blog friends.  Please welcome delightful writer Jessi Gage to talk about fabulous butts and her new book, ROAD RAGE.

* * *

Thank you for hosting me today, Lucy! I love your quirky romances and am so excited to have a guest spot on your blog!

My topic today: How busted is too busted?

We’ve all read (and some of us have written) characters who have been very naughty. But how naughty is too naughty? At what point is a character unredeemable?

In my new release, Road Rage (Lyrical Press), the hero, Derek, is a divorced construction worker with anger management issues who makes a bad decision that ends up hurting someone else. He really messes up. Like really, really messes up. And the consequences are real and harsh and not restricted just to him. 

Why did I write a hero who makes a really, really big mistake? Because I’m insane? Probably. Because I love a good redemption story? Definitely.

Derek is massively imperfect (and so is his heroine, Cami). We’ve all heard the expression “hitting rock bottom.” Some of us may even have visited rock bottom. It’s a sucky place to be. But the beauty of rock bottom is that most of us don’t stay there long. That’s the point, actually. When you hit rock bottom, you’re in a situation that is intolerable. Whether you brought it on yourself with bad decisions or you just found yourself pummeled by circumstances until you felt like the bottom man in the pig pile, one thing about rock bottom is clear: It motivates us to change.

I don’t know if Derek hits rock bottom. I mean, I didn’t write a depressing book by any means, but he definitely reaches a point where he understands that (a) he has caused 95% of the crap in his life, (b) his crap has begun leaking over into the lives of others, and (c) he has to take action to fix his anger problem. And spurring him on to do the right thing is his heroine, Cami, who has her own issues but who also has a heart big enough to forgive an angry idiot.

I hope the presence of realistic consequences and the absence of an “easy fix” makes Derek a character worth reading about. He won’t be everyone’s cup of tea. But he does have many redeemable qualities, both in and out of the bedroom. Did I mention he is very hot? No? Well, skip down for an excerpt to glimpse the hotness that is Derek.

So where’s your line in the sand? At what point does a character’s actions make them unredeemable? Is there a point where a character is unredeemable? Do you have a favorite book with a good redemption theme?

Thanks for reading! And thank you, Lucy, for having me!

Read on for the blurb and an excerpt of Road Rage:

Lashing out in anger, construction worker Derek causes an accident on the freeway. His truck escapes unscathed, but he can’t say the same for his conscience. Plagued by nightmares of the wreck, his only comfort comes in the form of nightly visits by a mysterious woman who interrupts his dreams with sensual caresses and words of solace.

Cami has no idea who she is, until she wakes in a hospital bed and learns she’s been comatose due to a car wreck. Her visits with Derek must have been a dream, so why can’t she shake the feeling he was a real man who truly needed her help?

When Derek learns his mystery woman is none other than the driver of the car he cut off and she is fighting for her life, he must decide: Is he man enough to face her and ask forgiveness, or will he run away and avoid the consequences of his anger, yet again?

CONTENT WARNING: Sex with a perfect, imaginary dream girl who really isn’t imaginary

A Lyrical Press Paranormal Romance

Excerpt of Road Rage:

She had to be dead. There were too many checks in the column to keep denying it.

After spending the night on the edge of the man’s mattress, soothing him through his nightmares, she’d found herself back in the fog. Interminable hours later, it still held her prisoner.

She could move her limbs, but had nothing to move against, no foundation, no gravity. She didn’t know whether the person she’d been had believed in heaven or hell, but the fact that this disorienting nothingness clearly wasn’t heaven felt like a betrayal.

“Was I that bad?” she asked the fog. It didn’t answer. “Do you hear me? Anyone? Please!”

Frustration and desperation were her only companions.

“I hate this!” she yelled. The fog swallowed her protest without so much as an echo.

She felt abandoned. Worse than alone. A lonely person at least had a sense of self. She didn’t even have that.

But she’d had the blond man for company, even if just for a night. And she’d had the feeling he’d needed her. Maybe she had some kind of weird commission to comfort people having nightmares, and if she did a good enough job, she could earn her way into heaven. Since that hope stood between her and despair, she clung to it like a lifeline.

Suddenly, the fog thinned. A solid surface came up to meet her feet, and the last of the smoky wisps parted to reveal the man’s room. She was back in her corner.

“Oh, thank God!” She fell to her hands and knees in relief. Being somewhere, anywhere, beat that nothingness. But she had to admit, this room made her feel safe.

As she regained her composure, she noticed the man doing push-ups between the foot of the bed and the dresser, in nothing but a pair of tight, black boxer briefs.

His toes braced on the floor mere inches from her hands. Directly in front of her, his calves and thighs made a long, muscular line to a cotton-hugged rear end. His tanned back flared from a narrow waist to broad, muscular shoulders. Powerful arms bunched deliciously as he pumped the plank of his body up and down. The hair at the nape of his neck curled with perspiration. She had an urge to plant her nose in that moist hair and draw in his scent of Irish Spring soap and summer sunshine.

Virile, masculine flesh filled her vision, and the rhythmic rush of heavy breathing bathed her ears with a sound of life so welcome after the deathly silence of the fog. After hours of sensory deprivation, she greedily feasted her senses.

Before she could think better of it, she extended her hand toward the man’s right foot and stroked a finger down his sole, tracing the arch from heel to ball. His skin was warm and taut, slightly pink, and toughened with every step he’d ever taken. The touch sent a thrill of connection through her while at the same time she cringed back, fearing his response.

He gave no sign he’d felt anything.

Disappointment settled in her belly. Some sort of reaction would have been nice.

She thought about attempting something more insistent, like a pinch, but the man finished his push-ups and got to his feet. He moved out of reach and bent at the waist to stretch his hamstrings. On the one hand, being dead sucked. On the other hand, if she got to drool over buns like that as part of her afterlife, she supposed she could make peace with it.

Buy Links

Amazon Barnes & Noble iTunes Lyrical Press

Jessi Gage’s Bio:

Jessi lives with her husband and children in the Seattle area. In addition to writing paranormal romance, she’s a wife, a mom, an audiologist, a church-goer, a Ford driver, a PC user, and a coffee snob. Her guiding tenet in her writing is that good triumphs over evil, but not before evil gives good one heck of a run for its money. The last time she imagined a world without romance novels, her husband found her crouched in the corner, rocking.

Website | Blog | Facebook Fan Page | Twitter | Goodreads

Where In the World Is Me?

WHAT A CRAZY FEW MONTHS!  Y'all, I have been writing my little butt off, and I have a new book (or three) to show for it!

I sold THE DIMPLE OF DOOM to the amazing folks at Total-E-Bound, a UK-based romance publisher poised to take over the world.  They've been delightful to work with, and have turned my little book about criminal dimples and the loser secretaries who love them into a 3-book series!  THE DIMPLE OF DOOM will release on TEB's site directly in e-book form on July 5th, and wide (Amazon, B&N, AllRomance, etc) in paperback & e-book form on August 2nd.

I've been busily writing the sequel, entitled THE DIMPLE STRIKES BACK.  I wrote a book in eight weeks!  I have to give myself double snaps for that.  Right now TDSB is with my beta readers, and hopefully it makes sense with the words and the plots and whatnot.  As soon as I turn in TDSB, I begin work on the third book, tentatively titled THE WRATH OF DIMPLE.  See the theme, you clever person, you?

In the midst of all this, I'm trying to find time to finish up draft two of a new paranormal series based in rural Florida that I'm calling (as of now) the Gator Riviera series.  The first book is a multicultural romance between an African-Vampire-American nerd who owns a comic book shop under attack, and the singing-telegram Caucasian-Were-Bunny-American lady who steps in to help save him.  Whew, say that ten times fast.  I grew up in Florida, America's wang, and I'm so excited to try to find the time to finish this first book in the Gator Riviera series.  Building a funny paranormal world in the land of bugs and humidity has been really, really fun.

I'm also participating in DRFAT, the Digital-First-Read-A-Thon!

From the Book Binge blog linked above:

For the next thirty days, Book Binge and our friends over at Tracy’s Place, RR@H Novel Thoughts and The Book Reading Gals will be celebrating all things published digitally first.  We have so many great things lined up for the entire month of July.  Fantastic excerpts, giveaways and loads of reviews for the books that we’re reading for the DIGITAL FIRST READ-A-THON.

In case you missed last year’s fun, the digital first read-a-thon is a month long reading adventure where you read as many books that were published in digital format-first as possible.  There are a lot of books that have been released in e-format before they were released in print and these are the books that we’re spotlighting.  If you read more traditionally published books then you’re missing out on a lot of fantastic stories.  You’ve missed out on some pretty amazing characters and we’re here to spotlight those books for the entire month.

Awesome, right?  Over the course of DFRAT, I'll post links to my exclusive excerpts from all three of my books, as well as giveaways of the same.

I think that's all the news that's fit to print.  Or blog.  Thanks for listening!  Or reading.

Pssssst -- You Can Preorder THE DIMPLE OF DOOM starting today!

 

You can pre-order direct from my publisher here.   Right now it looks like only digital* is available for pre-order, so if you'd like a physical/paper copy, stay tuned here for updates.  Release from my pub will be July 8th, and wide release (Amazon, etc.) will happen on August 5th.

This book is very close to my heart for its heroine, who starts the book pretty much as a loser grappling with where failure has taken her, despite her efforts to the contrary.  Pizza Rolls and box wine are a fine way of life… but adventure with a hot anti-hero is always better.

Here's the teaser, followed by a sample!

THE DIMPLE OF DOOM
by Lucy Woodhull

It may sound like common sense, but never hump an art thief. Turns out, Samantha Lytton's Common-Sense-O-Meter is super duper broken.

Failed actress Samantha Lytton is getting along just fine in her lonely little life when a charming criminal called Sam or Nate or maybe even Richmond kisses her, square dances most provocatively, opens his not-so-wicked heart, and gets her in trouble with not one, but two international art theft rings as well as the LAPD.

She's either gonna end up in jail or famous.  Maybe both.

Along the way, she fights for her life and falls for this funny, sexy disaster of a man… and learns that finding happily-ever-after with yourself is the first step to real contentment. A cute dimple is just the second.

*(If you're wondering the best kind of file to order for your e-reader, check out my help page here.)

* * *

Chapter One

It's a Not-So-Wonderful Life

Accountants should not be so sexy.

It all started at the office Christmas party, as many terrible hangovers do.

My palms began to sweat at the sight of The Accountant walking in my direction. His shining eyes said, I wanna spread your sheet, his masterful gait said, Damn, I'm masterful, and his tantalising smirk said, I've read the Kama Sutra-all the way through.

I swallowed the lump of lust in my throat and twiddled with the tablecloth of the catered buffet table. My usual party plan involved making winsome eyes at the food, but tonight I salivated over more than just the pigs in a blanket.

"Potato ball?" he asked. Sam Turner, aka The Accountant, held the fried offering palm up on a festive red and green paper plate.

I had the hots for a dude named Sam. My name is Samantha. Samantha 'n' Sam. It was the stuff of obnoxious wedding invitations.

What colour were his hazel eyes today? Glancing up, I slid into hormone heaven. He stood, eyes mossy green pools of sensual seductiveness, and offered me the Garden of Eden apple. Except it was a potato ball.

Cocking my head, I posed in an alluring manner that I hoped brought Marilyn Monroe to mind. I should say something. Something not stupid.

"I love balls." Oh, damn. "And potatoes!" Did I just tell him I loved to eat balls? "I mean I love to eat food! In ball form. You know. Because it's easy. To eat. Except when it rolls. Then it can be hard to catch."

Stop.

Talking.

"Okay." Sam's lips turned upward in mockery on his almost handsome, totally charming face, topped in curling, floppy, please-run-your-hands-through-me brown hair.

Yes, I absolutely had told him I loved to eat balls. I decided I should smile through this faux pas. Everyone knew a bright grin made unpleasant things go away. Ask Judy Garland.

"I like food in stick or chip form myself," he said, munching a piece of celery in stick form.

I couldn't come up with anything to say about sticks that wasn't dirty. "Chips are good." Really, I impressed even myself with the brilliance of my witty banter. At any moment my clothes would be ripped off my quivering body by Sam, my same-named accounting crush.

I hated the office Christmas party.

Sam blinked and appraised me in what I chose to interpret as a captivated manner. A girl could dream. Instead he said, "So, Scott told me you entertained the employees at last year's party."

"Yes. I fell down the steps." My cheeks burned like the carpet at the end of two flights of stairs. I wasn't clumsy too often, but when I made the effort, I really won at it. "You can still see the splotch on the floor from the blood. I lost a tooth, but gained a reputation."

"That's gross." He grinned. One wouldn't call him drop-dead gorgeous or anything. At first, you might consider him kinda ordinary-looking. Then the naughty glimmer in his eye caught your breath. The smile appeared, emphasising the lickable curve of his bottom lip. Charm emanated from his very pores.

And, of course, he possessed the nuclear weapon of facial features. The dimple. Only one-on the left side of his face-deep enough to bury yourself in. One flicker and panties fell at thirty paces.

My body temperature had suddenly shot upward to somewhere near surface of the sun levels. I'd disconnected completely from the conversation and reverted to teenage-girl-like gawking.

I took a steadying breath and jumped back into the fray. "So, accounting? Is that as glamorous as it sounds?" I had, apparently, decided that deriding his profession was the way to go, flirt-wise. Plays like this were risky, but desperation had sunk in. His temp job in the finance department ended today-I would have no more chances to bend and snap at the water cooler for his benefit.

The corners of his sometimes green, sometimes brown, always dreamy eyes crinkled. "Of course. Usually I have eight models in my accounting entourage, but I gave them the night off."

Uh-oh. He was funny, too. It just wasn't fair. "How kind of you. You could say you're a model boss! Ha ha!" Yes, I laughed at my own joke, which was a behaviour shared by the most sophisticated of ladies. Then I remembered I turned a horrid shade of blotchy red when I got too excited. I choked off my laughter and forced down some potato.

"I could say that, but I won't."

"No, you really shouldn't."

The dimple chose that moment to come out and play. Oh, Sam-let's retire to the supply room and hump. It had been so long since I had humped anyone. Or anywhere. I shoved more mmmmm-yummy potato ball into my mouth and almost didn't get it on my festive sweater, the beautiful red one I'd spent way too much money on in the hopes of getting Sam to notice me.

He noticed now. "You have a blob of-"

Then he grabbed my boob.

"Jesus, I'm sorry!" His eyes became saucers, and he jerked his hand back, leaving my skin scorched and feverish. "There's a bunch of potato on your…sweater. Let's, um, let's go to the kitchen. There's a sink."

My stomach dropped three storeys-I'd just accidentally got to second base in public. He grabbed my arm, and we hurried past a maze of monochrome cubes draped in twinkle lights to the break room. This was the most exciting event in the office since they had switched the carpeting from taupe to tan.

Sam stood there while I applied a paper towel to my tit. Actually, he didn't merely stand there-he stared, turned away, blinked and stared again. I couldn't blame the guy. The girls were rather ravishing-perky from the cold water, encased in a formidable push-up bra, eager for more inappropriate fondling.

"I'm sorry about…that." He slumped and shoved his hands in his pockets.

"It's okay. It happens." I smiled, brimming with reassurance.

The tension finally broke when he snickered. "It does? How often does it happen? You should avoid potato balls."

"And accountants."

We laughed at each other. For once I wasn't laughing by myself.

Yes, This Is How I Spend My Free Time

I posted this a couple of Easters ago,  but had enough fun with it that I'm bringing my Peep drama back.  Hope you enjoy!

War and Peeps

by Lucy Woodhull

Every year the same thing. Damn the humans and their thirst for Peep blood! Er, marshmallow! Captain Peeter Peecker of the Twenty-First Peep Infantry spit out the last of his cigar and sauntered to the stair banister. Usually he was able to fight the human scourge with a clear head, but this year, this year was different. This year, this year they had captured his girl, Peeptunia.

"C-c-captain Peecker?"

"Yeah, Private Peenaski?"

"The kitchen is clear. I recommend we go in immediately. I heard the humans go upstairs and turn on the Barry White, sir. They should be up there for three, four minutes. Maybe less."

Peecker leaned against the cool metal rail. "Sure, Private, sure." He had seen many a Private like Peenaski. Young, eager, green. But they didn't know shit from shinola.

Peecker leaned against the cool metal rail.

Sure, war seemed glamorous at boot camp. I wonder why they call it boot camp, he thought. We can't wear boots. We have no feet.

In the real world, war was hell. H-E-double-hockey-sticks hell. He spit. Bah! He was a soldier, not a philosopher.

He had seen many a Private like Peenaski. Young, eager, green.

And today he had the most important mission of his life. He must save Peeptunia.

His Peeps assembled, he led the column down the stairs to the linoleum floor of the kitchen. Peenaski shimmied to the countertop and down again. "C-c-captain!" he panted. "I see her. She's on the chopping block!"

"Yes, I know! The human lash is long, indeed."

The Private rolled his eyes. "Um, I mean literally, sir. She's sitting on a chopping block.”

“Don’t be a dick, Peenaski.”

“Sorry, sir. Several other of our Peep brethren are there, too. They... they didn't make it."

“Don’t be a dick, Peenaski.”

Peecker sneered heavenward. What kind of God would allow such brutality? Surely not one made of food coloring and... whatever else Peeps were made of.  He spit. Bah! He was a soldier, not a theologian.

He scaled the cabinets and struck a dashing pose against the dishwasher. Once that was complete, he crept across the counter.

"Peeter!" Peeptunia called. Her shining pink skin looked like sweet sugar candy to his hungry eyes, er, eye. "Peeter! Help me!"

Hurrying to his girl's side, Peecker gasped to behold the carnage he beheld. So many good Peeps - murdered in the evil humans’ game. To what purpose? Many Peeps were killed by the giant ones, yes -- ripped head from body and eaten. But this slicing and dicing? It was butchery! It was the kind of sick experiment that had cost him his eye back in Easter '08.

It was butchery!

Peeptunia clung to him, quivering. "Let us escape, my big, strong Peecker!"

The Captain flexed his 'mallow and called, "Private Peenaski!"

"Yes, Sir!"

"Take Peeptunia to safety. I'll meet up with you back at base. I need to investigate what treachery is afoot, er, aPeep here."

"No! No, Peeter, you must come with us!" Peeptunia clung to him. Peecker gave his best chick a long, hard kiss. Reluctantly, he let the Private drag his protesting girl to safety.

Peecker gave his best chick a long, hard kiss.

No more time for mushy stuff.  He was a soldier, not a porn star.

Peecker crept along the sink to the far side of the kitchen. He could see something in the distance -- maybe a dish of some sort. I have a bad feeling about this, he thought. Or maybe that was the goulash he had for lunch.

He pressed on.

At the edge of the plate he took a deep breath. Rolling up to the very front of his marshmallow belly he saw... he saw... some really bad shit. [Ed. note -- He’s a soldier, not a writer. Give the guy a break.] He yelped and drew back in horror. Then... voices!

"Wow, Ricky. That was an amazing two-minute romp."

"You were wonderful, Lucy. When'd you get so flexible? You're the most beautiful woman in the world, and that's counting Angelina Jolie."

"I know. It’s a burden. And now my darling, I have something to show you."

The humans approached Captain Peecker. He dove behind the platter of slaughter.

"Voila!" said the female one. "It's Peepshi! Peep sushi."

Rolling up to the very front of his marshmallow belly he saw... he saw...
some really bad shit.

"Awesome! Lucy, you're the best wife ever. You're never annoying or anything. And you'd never make me dress Peeps in costume and take infantile pictures of them."

"Of course not. What kind of freak spends Easter morning doing that?"

They began to feast upon the eviscerated bodies. Peecker could do nothing but wedge himself under the edge of the serving dish in terror.

"Look at this one," said the man.

Peecker looked up in slow motion. It was happening -- just like his recurring dream, the one that always ended with him dressed in drag and singing "La Marseillaise." The man's humongous hand gripped Peecker's helpless body. Peecker struggled, but could not fight the monstrous strength.

"Uh, oh. I guess I missed one," said the woman.

"Not for long." The male one laughed, the sound more menacing than Peeptunia giving him a marriage ultimatum. Peecker flew through the air for one split second, every fiber of his marshmallow wobbling in dreadful anticipation, until CHOMP!

The end.

Ragnar VS. Ragnar: The Epic Battle!

Vikings do it in the ocean.  But they always use protection.

The hero of my first book, RAGNAR AND JULIET, is named Ragnar.  (SPOILER!)  It recently came to my attention that the History Channel has totes stolen this brilliant idea and has named the hero of their (pish!) TV show, Vikings, Ragnar as well.  I tuned in, friends, to see what they had gotten up to with MY *ahem* name.  I noticed that there were several key differences between the Ragnars.  I shall elaborate below so that my dozens of fans do not get my book mixed up with a big-budget television show.  Which is totally a thing that could happen!

Let's start with the sames.

Same 1:  Both Ragnars have pretty blue eyes, the better to bat them at... well, my Ragnar bats them at the heroine, Juliet.  Vikings Ragnar tends to bat his at his hallucinations, er, visions.  He enjoys wandering off along the shore, gazing at the sky and dreaming of what's across the ocean.  (Sea monsters?  Clothing with zippers?  Who can say?)

Same 2:  Both Ragnars have ships.  My Ragnar zooms about in a spaceship, because my book is set in space, and that sort of vehicle helps you not die in the cold, airless cosmos.  Vikings Ragnar has secretly built a ship for to travel west across the ocean to look for zippers, or whatever.  It will help him not die in the cold ocean.  It is possible that there will be space ships in future episodes of Vikings (perhaps for May sweeps).

Same 3:  Both Ragnars have taken up with kickass women who subdue would-be rapey assholes, which means the menfolk have excellent taste in ladies.  Take note, men!

The diffs:

(That's cool-speak for "differences."  I think.  I'm not very cool.)

Diff 1:  Viking Ragnar begins his story by gutting some unfortunate dude with a sword.  He doesn't even introduce himself!  It's all wham, bam, oops your guts are on my shoes now.  My Ragnar starts his book by having a cocktail.  If I had my choice of being gutted by or drinking with a sexy, blue-eyed fellow, well, I'd choose booze any day of the week.  But maybe I just really enjoy my Whiskey.

Diff 2:  Both the Ragnars' women are awesome warrior-types.  The main difference between them is that Juliet would never wear the long skirts that Lagertha does.  I mean, Juliet even wears a gynecologist-approved miniskirt when she impersonates a nun!  She ain't got time for no old-fashioned, knee-covering modesty sacks.  And that's why, at least comparing book 1 of the Ragnar and Juliet series to episode 1 of Vikings, Juliet gets laid way more often.  Take note, ladies!

Diff 3:  The Viking Ragnar has no tail, seeing as he is a human being.  My Ragnar has an adorable devil tail that likes to trail up your skirt, as he is an alien.  Thankfully, they both have the usual other male appendages.  I assume, anyway.  Viking Ragnar has not shown his off because he lives on basic cable.

In conclusion, if you enjoyed the butt-kicking in Vikings, you will probably like my books, too.  They are dirtier, anyhow, and that's always a plus.  However, my hero Ragnar never wanders off to spacey music and hallucinates.  You'll have to decide for yourself whether that's a good or a bad thing.

You Asked (?) for It — I Have Another Book Coming Out!

This summer, my first full-length contemporary rom-com THE DIMPLE OF DOOM will release in print and digital from Total-e-Bound books!

This book is very close to my heart for its heroine, who starts the book pretty much as a loser grappling with where failure has taken her.  (I can relate, ahem.)  Pizza Rolls and box wine are a fine way of life… but adventure with a hot anti-hero is always better.

Here’s the blurb~

THE DIMPLE OF DOOM by Lucy Woodhull

It may sound like common sense, but never hump an art thief. Turns out, Samantha Lytton’s Common-Sense-O-Meter is super duper broken.

Failed actress Samantha Lytton is getting along just fine in her lonely little life when a charming criminal called Sam or Nate or maybe even Richmond kisses her, square dances most provocatively, opens his not-so-wicked heart, and gets her in trouble with not one, but two international art theft rings as well as the LAPD.

She’s either gonna end up in jail or famous.  Maybe both.

Along the way, she fights for her life and falls for this funny, sexy disaster of a man… and learns that finding happily-ever-after with yourself is the first step to real contentment. A cute dimple is just the second.

Squuuueeeeeeee!