Happy thanksgiving to all my American friends, and anyone else celebrating the holiday.Washington D.C. / November 23, 2011 — In a press conference today, President Obama’s pardoned turkey gave the straight gobble about his new life as a free bird.
“Well, I guess it’ll nice to not be on the dinner table tomorrow,” said Liberty the Turkey. “I need that day to go to the memorials for my wife, Freedom, and my cousins, America, Constitution, and Pursuit of Happiness.” Liberty’s parents were gutted last Christmas at the family home of a politician. “I won’t say who,” said Liberty, “but he knows who he is *cough*RickPerry*cough*.”
Liberty shuffled listlessly on his spindly legs as he pondered the fate of his entire family, ruthlessly slaughtered so that humans could eat too much and burp on the couch in front of football. “Of course,” he added in sad turkey tones, “I’m not the first to suffer losses. Let’s ask our Native American friends how they feel about this holiday. Bueller? Bueller?”
Several reporters remarked that this press conference was a real fucking bummer, but that they would forget it all tomorrow when they dug into a nice pumpkin pie. Also noted with surprise was Liberty’s ability to flip the bird, even without possessing fingers.
Juliet Lawrence, of the New York Lawrences, is a successful bounty hunter, successful enough to have decorated her ship in antiques and herself in large wardrobe of trollop-sexy clothes. Having accepted a contract from King William the Nefarious, she hotly pursues Ragnar Manscape, only to find herself deeply attracted to the alien space captain, whose crime was liberating one of King William’s enslaved concubines. As Juliet debates whether to bed her captive or turn him over for the money, King William’s staff of Bad Guys captures them both. As Ragnar helps devise an escape plan, Juliet discovers the joys of having a partner, especially one with such a talented tail, and finally finds herself in a relationship that could last a lifetime.Ragnar and Juliet, a lovely spoof of space operas and romance, is grounded in a fine storyline, with strong, well-developed characters. Juliet is a delightfully New-York-mouthy woman with a taste for trash in clothes and one-nighters. Ragnar, on the other hand, is an alpha male with a soft heart (he let his little sister name his ship Bobo), who wants to bring her home to meet his family, after having mind-blowing sex with her. And the sex is hot! The supporting characters are nicely done, as well, particularly King William the Nefarious, whose taste in women runs toward the totally submissive dressed in Princess Leia. Ms. Woodhull’s humor avoided slapstick and had me laughing almost every page. When Juliet finally handles her commitment issues and quits running from Ragnar, I wanted to cheer. Ragnar and Juliet definitely deserves the JERR Silver Star Award. It’s delightful! This book definitely goes in my re-read stack to keep me warm this winter!
Silver Star: This rating is for those exceptional short books consisting of 100 pages or less. The ones the reviewer feels she won’t forget because of its exceptional quality. It engaged the senses in a way that she became the story, that she couldn’t lay it down and would return time and again. These books are the best of the best.
Thanks, Lucy, for inviting me here to talk about my novella!
“We’re overdressed.” Ruby’s remark, designed to draw Spence out of his emotional cesspool, received no response.
Spence adjusted his black tie and the cuffs of his jacket. He pursed his lips in concentration and followed his ex-wife’s path along a small man-made pond, around which an eclectic collection of four-legged pets and their largely oblivious owners paced off their morning constitutionals. Those humans who weren’t sipping half-caf lattes from Styrofoam cups or chatting on cell phones clutched bright white or yellow “doggie doodie” baggies in their free hands.
“We should have worn jogging suits,” Ruby whispered.
“It doesn’t matter. This is just recon. I’m not going to approach her now.”
Ruby stared sidelong at Spence. The whole point was to get the mission over with as quickly and cleanly as possible. Too much recon would just prolong Spence’s well-hidden agony. “When, then? You don’t want to draw this out any longer than you have to.”
“Soon. She’s heading around the pond. Let’s go, keep visual contact.”
Ruby scanned the park. In the golden glow of the autumn morning, their black suits would stand out like tears in the space-time continuum. They’d already gotten a curious glance from a lady walking two Irish Setters and a questioning yip from a passing Chihuahua.
“Why don’t we request telemetry on her apartment and meet her there when she’s done with her walk?”
“Because she’s not going there.”
Ruby raised a brow. Dulcie had reached the far side of the pond now and stopped to talk to a woman on skates, who led a slender platinum-brown Weimaraner by a silver chain. Her floppy-eared mutt eyed the purebred dog with visible disdain.
“And you know this because…?”
“That’s not her dog. It belongs to her friend Vivienne.”
“Oh.” Without Vivienne’s DNA, they couldn’t get telemetry on her place.
“So we have to follow her.”
“I thought that was the plan anyway.” Exasperated, Ruby initiated genetic resequencing. His ears and nose began to elongate. His forearms and legs shortened, and his clothing even transformed into a coat of coarse, mottled gray and black fur.
With his head now at the height of Spence’s knees, Ruby glanced up into his partner’s horrified face.
“What the hell are you doing? Somebody could have seen you.” Spence did a quick scan around, but their shadowy hiding place was secure for the moment. “I didn’t tell you to shift.”
Ruby lifted a four-clawed foot. “I took matters into my own…hands.” Half-Myxmerian on his father’s side, Ruben possessed the ability to shift his molecular structure from human to alien form. Myxmerians had perfected their long-tailed, quadruped form as a defense mechanism, which allowed them to hide in plain sight when the occasion called for it.
“And what is this going to do? No one’s going to believe you’re a dog.” Spence’s harsh whisper grew louder.
Ruby snorted and pawed the grass. “Of course not. This form is far more attractive than a canine but just as serviceable.”
Spence closed his eyes. “Just how is a bushy tail and a long snout serviceable in this situation?”
Ruby chuckled. With his voice somewhat compressed to fit into a slightly smaller body, the sound came out a bit too high-pitched. He tried to clear his throat, which in turn sounded like a wet slurp. “It’s not the tail and snout that are important at the moment.”
“Oh, and what is?”
“The extremely hyper-developed leg muscles.” Ruby would have grinned, but his extra long upper lip didn’t move that way. He snorted instead and took off running toward the pond.* * * *
The sight of his four-legged, fur-covered partner loping across the manicured lawn leading to the artificial pond might have been hilarious in some alternate universe. In this one it was nothing short of a mid-air collision. Spence could have named any number of realities he’d rather have been in at the moment—most of them post-apocalyptic.
Cursing, he ran after Ruby. He should have let him chance being picked up by a roving dog catcher, if any still existed, but something propelled him from his hiding place, halfway around the pond at a dead run and right into Dulcie’s path.
When he and Ruby had left ISTA headquarters a few hours ago, he’d thought he’d had the scenario all figured out in his head. They’d find Dulcie, and she’d seem less vibrant and beautiful than Spence remembered. There’d be no spark of humor in her eyes, no lilt of laughter in her voice, nothing to touch the empty spot her absence had left in his heart. It would be easy for him to hypnotize her, take her statement about Y’Nori’s death and be on his way to a cold, sour Rangorian beer and a long, lonely night in his bunk. Case closed.
He’d managed thus far to ignore his own racing pulse and the bittersweet memory of how she’d felt nestled in his arms in the VIP stateroom the Bojzhan had given them aboard Decadence after their wedding ceremony. He’d had everything about this mission under control—except for Ruby.
On his stubby legs, the Myxmerian barreled toward the fluffy, white dog standing next to Dulcie. It took the mutt a moment to process, but once she noticed the black and gray ball of fur heading toward her at warp speed, she did what any canine in her position would do. She barked, ran around Dulcie’s slender ankles looking for cover then yanked hard on the leash, toppling Dulcie.
Now caught on the ground between a yapping dust mop and a crafty alien, Dulcie spent all of three seconds looking stunned.
Spence raced toward her, afraid she’d start to scream and work herself into an emotional state not conducive to hypnosis.
“I’m so sorry, miss. Are you all right?” Those hadn’t been the words he’d planned on saying to her when he saw her again. This mess bore no resemblance to the fantasies he’d harbored of their eyes meeting across a crowded room one day as he strolled back into her life to reclaim the love he’d been forced to give up.
Her response, however, was dead on. “Oh my God! I can’t believe it.”
Spence’s heart stopped. Did she recognize him? Maybe the mind block ISTA had used to wipe her memories hadn’t taken. He met her gaze, and his breath stilled in his lungs. “I know…it’s—”* * * *
Meg’s mother can't even say the word sex. Her great aunt is a nymphomaniac. The few men she’s slept with left her frustrated. The closest she’s come to sex was as the unwitting visual aid for hot flatmate, Sam’s, cowboy style, wanking session. No wonder her libido went on permanent vacation and she substitutes ice-cream and chocolate for sex.
With so many hang ups, why does she agree to no strings sex with Sam? Why is
hunky, strip club manager Michael bent on seducing her? And why the hell does she invest in a male escort business offering extra services?
Sam’s delighted when he convinces Meg to let him go looking for her missing G
spot. A ride on his wild stallion shows her how good sex can be...with the right
man. One encounter leads to a dozen. Sam is living every man’s dream, sex with no commitment, too bad it’s not his dream.
His new life turns nightmare when Michael enters the scene. Will the Irishman steal her away, or will his involvement in her Male Order business lead to a disaster that gives Sam a chance to prove to Meg their relationship is more than a sexual rodeo?
I don’t know what you did this weekend, but my husband and I finally got down and dirty…
filming the Ragnar and Juliet book trailer.
Our house is a disaster of spaceships made of shoe boxes and duct tape, Barbie dolls in stupid outfits, and cat hair in the shot, except we didn’t notice it until we’d done four takes. So if you watch this crapfest and see giant cat hairs, well, that’s just “ambiance.”
I spent most of the time painfully laying flat on my belly, arms way out in front of me close to the ground, making Barbie and Ken (Ragnar and Juliet) hump, or jump, or chase. There were actually moments when my husband wanted them to get too graphic for my taste. Yes, turns out I have taste.
This thing is so stupid. I really wonder if it’s a good idea of a spectacularly bad one in which I scare off more readers than I attract.
But we laughed so very much, even more than we snapped at one another. Too bad no one will hear any of the dialogue I gave to the dolls. My husband lost it several times. Of course, I think the liquor helped. There is no part of this thing that was produced 100% sober, and I’m proud of that.
We broke out the fog machine. I decided that we are awesome because we own one to just use whenever we want to.
Now my man will edit it, hopefully to be completed by Sept 12th, my release date. When you see it, please lie and tell me that the hours of work that went into it were not a waste of our precious lives.
