Well. That was…nifty. In a totally “pass me that big-ass carving knife so I can slit my own throat” kinda way.

Quote Of The Day #3, (courtesy of my mother):
“J. [otherwise known as Dr. March] left ten minutes ago to pick up his black musician friend.” [emphasis most assuredly not mine]

As opposed to his “Jewish musician friend” and his “Italian musician friend” and his “gay musician friend,” all of whom celebrated Thanksgiving elsewhere this year, lucky bastards. But it’s good to know Ma has them all categorized by ethnicity and/or sexual orientation. Otherwise, we might FORGET. And then…chaos in the streets…dogs and cats living together…you get the idea.

The menu:
~cream-cheese-and-pistachio stuffed Medjool dates
~Greek olives stuffed with garlic cloves
(*sigh* “I miss pimentos.”
“Ma, you don’t even eat olives.”
“It’s the principle of the thing.”)
~turkey
(”I keep hearing about this whole brining thing, but who wants a pickled turkey?”
“Whatever you say, Ma.”)
~sage-onion dressing
~almond dressing
~gravy
~cranberry relish
(”Why can’t we just have it from the can? It’s traditional!”
“Because it’s my @#$#%$ house, Ma, that’s why.”)
~garlic and cracked black pepper mashed potatoes
~hard-shell candied sweet potatoes
~bacon-spiked creamed corn
~fresh green beans steamed with pearl onions
~creamy coleslaw
~homemade pies: apple, pumpkin, pecan
~pumpkin bars
~homemade eggnog
(”Are you spiking that eggnog?”
“I’m seriously considering it, yes. Why?”
“It’s just not necessary.”
“Are you drinking the eggnog, Ma?”
“You know I hate eggnog.”
“Right.” *up-ends bottle of rum*)
~cranberry punch
~lots and lots o’ wine

Quote of The Day #2, (also – imagine the coincidence – courtesy of my mother):
“I just can’t understand why anyone would want to vacation in India in the first place. I mean, of all places…INDIA??”

I’m not saying it wasn’t worth it. Nor am I saying I won’t ever do it again. But given that I’m weeks behind on two deadlines and haven’t provided a syllable of value to any of my crit partners in what feels like months AND we’re leaving for a Tacoma in *gulp* three weeks, I think maybe I bit off more than I could chew this year.

Quote of the Day #1, (courtesy of Youngest Spawn, eleven-and-a-half next month):
*looks down at me as I’m sprawled at the end of my bed, drunk on eggnog, glasses askew, still fully-dressed down to the gravy-smudged apron and says…*
“Just so you know? I’m NEVER doing Thanksgiving.”

And rob me of my chance to drive you to the crumbling edge of bloody, poultry-scented matricide? We’ll see, little girl. We’ll see.

Back in fall of 2006, I took the PBW Ebook Challenge and wrote the short paranormal romance, Dark of the Day.

You can find it here on my site, or you can get it free at All Romance Ebooks in PDF or HTML, complete with cover art.

My first 5-star review from Rainbow Reviews!

“Despite the unfortunate title [yeah, my sense of humor is an acquired taste, I get that ~SM], this is a first rate paranormal adventure! The story is somewhat reminiscent of “The Haunting” a terrifying haunted house movie from the early 60s, not the less than stellar remake from the 90s! [Actually, it was inspired by Shirley Jackson's book, THE HAUNTING OF HILL HOUSE (see here) upon which "The Haunting" was based, and maybe a little by Richard Matheson's HELL HOUSE ~SM] However, as far as inspirational material for a scary story, you can’t do much better than “The Haunting” [agreed ~SM].

As in that story, there are five people sent to a house that is reputed to be haunted – one who believes that the house desires to keep them forever. Also, similar to “The Haunting,” there is relatively no blood; the terror is almost, but not quite all psychological – whispered words inside their heads, remembrances and impressions of terrible deeds.

So, whether “The Haunting” inspired it or not, this is a well-written, scary story peopled with great characters. A favorite was Leo, a gay psychic from New Orleans who is described as six-foot-three, two hundred twenty pounds, and “built like a Calvin Klein model crossed with a starting forward for the Celtics.” With a southern accent, good looks and an occasional stutter when he speaks, Leo is irresistible. [What? No love for Tommy, the bad-boy ghostbuster from South Boston? *sigh* Better luck next time, dude. ~SM]

The plot is wonderful. The events happen fast and furious; it really kept my interest. Within moments of entering the house, things start occurring and hardly let up until the last page. Things are never what they seem and that kept me engaged and guessing [I love it when a plan comes together. ~SM].

This is a great roller-coaster ride – a scary haunted house, some hot sex, and surprises around every corner. I highly recommend this story!” ~Matthew, Rainbow Reviews

Thank you, Matthew, wherever you are!

In the past six months, whenever I was asked for whom I intended to vote in the presidential election, I always answered, “Barack Obama, but I don’t believe he has a chance in hell of actually winning.”

So said my black little heart, steeped in the cynicism first brewed dark and strong during the debacle they call the 2000 election.

This morning, I’m happy to trade that brew for a heaping helping of crow with a side of “I told you so” from anyone who’d like to serve it up. I’ve never in my life been so thrilled to be thoroughly, utterly and completely wrong. I’m celebrating my wrong-ness. I’m BASKING in it. Look at me! I was grievously mistaken!! YAY!!!!

*  *  *

Let us rise up tonight with a greater readiness. Let us stand with a greater determination. And let us move on in these powerful days, these days of challenge to make America what it ought to be. We have an opportunity to make America a better nation.

…We’ve got some difficult days ahead. But it doesn’t matter with me now. Because I’ve been to the mountaintop. And I don’t mind. Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. But I’m not concerned about that now. I just want to do God’s will. And He’s allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I’ve looked over. And I’ve seen the promised land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the promised land.

~Dr. Martin Luther King, April 3, 1968

I said I’d post Halloween pics. It seems a little late now, and more than a little inappropriate, given the import of the day, but I promised Eva, so…

And while I rarely/never post pics of my children out of respect for their privacy, I have permission from Chickalicious (also known as Youngest Spawn) to post this one. And even if I didn’t, it’s just too, too charming to skip.

*   *    *

And hey! WHISKEY TANGO FOXTROT made the October bestseller list at Amber Quill Press/Amber Allure. Nifty.

1. Calendar Boys—October: Trick Of Silver – Jamie Craig (Gay / Werewolf)
2. Shattered – M. L. Rhodes (Gay / Shapeshifter)
3. A More Perfect Union – J. M. Snyder (Gay / Shapeshifter)
4. Vampires Of Noctra: Blood Bounty – Darcy Abriel (Gay / Vampire)
5. Crave – Vivien Dean (Gay / Dark Fantasy)
6. Tall, Dark, Tattooed And Twisted – Lee Avalone (Gay / Vampire)
7. Whiskey Tango Foxtrot – Selah March (Gay / Ghosts)
8. Hungry? – Helen Louise Carrol (Gay / Futuristic)
9. Wild, Wicked, And Haunted In Hollywood – Lee Avalone (Gay / Vampire/Ghosts)
10. This Time For Keeps – Christiane France (Gay / Ghosts)

*   *   *

I attended a Youth League cheerleading competition this weekend. It was cheer-TASTIC. One might almost say cheer-GASMIC. My ears are still ringing. And then there was the Youth League Cheerleader’s Ball, which I chaperoned, that consisted of dozens of pre-and-barely-pubescent girls dancing to “Cotton-Eyed Joe” and shrieking the lyrics to Kid Rock’s “All Summer Long.” And I quote:

And we were trying different things
We were smoking funny things
Making love out by the lake to our favorite song
Sipping whiskey out the bottle, not thinking ’bout tomorrow
Singing Sweet home Alabama all summer long
Singing Sweet home Alabama all summer long

The irony is that ninety-nine percent of these kids wouldn’t know “Sweet Home Alabama” if it jumped up and bit them on the toes of their Uggs…except for Chickalicious, who’s been basting in Southern Rock since she was in utero. Still, it was disturbing to watch her pantomine chugging Jim Beam from a bottle with her little friends. We’re both glad her father skipped the party.

*   *    *

On the issue of the election and its importance to the country and the rest of the world, I don’t have much to say that hasn’t been said before, so I’ll post this video…which isn’t much to look at, but the lyrics? Killer.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QHIROoYpRyQ&feature=related]

Lyrics: Long Road Out of Eden, The Eagles:

moon shining down through the palms
shadows moving on the sand
somebody whispering the twenty-third psalm
dusty rifle in his trembling hands

somebody trying just to stay alive
he got promises to keep
over the ocean in america
far away and fast asleep

silent stars blinking in the blackness of an endless sky
cold silver satellites, ghostly caravans passing by
galaxies unfolding, new worlds being born
pilgrims and prodigals creeping toward the dawn
but it’s a long road out of eden

music blasting from an suv
on a bright and sunny day
rolling down the interstate
in the good ol’ usa

having lunch at the petroleum club
smokin’ fine cigars and swappin’ lies
he said: “gimme ‘nother slice o’ that barbecued brisket!”
“gimme ‘nother piece o’ that pecan pie!”

freeways flickering, cell phones
chiming a tune
we’re riding to utopia, road map says we’ll be arriving soon
captains of the old order clinging to the reins
assuring us these aches inside are only growing pains
but it’s a long road out of eden

back home i was so certain
the path was very clear
but now i have to wonder, what are we doing here?
I’m not counting on tomorrow
and i can’t tell wrong from right
but i’d give anything to be there in your arms tonight

weaving down the american highway
through the litter and the wreckage and the cultural junk
bloated with entitlement, loaded on propaganda
and now we’re driving dazed and drunk
been down the road to damascus,
the road to mandalay
met the ghost of caesar on the appian way
he said, “it’s hard to stop this bingeing, once you get a taste.”
“but the road to empire is a bloody stupid waste.”

behold the bitten apple – the power of the tools
but all the knowledge in the world is of no use to fools
and it’s a long road out of eden….

*  *  *

EDITED TO ADD: Read a little about the early suffragettes and what they suffered to earn our right to vote.

I love that quote: “Courage in women is often mistaken for insanity.”

Today I’m talking about achieving the balance between romance and horror over at the Amber Quill Authors’ blog.

Tomorrow I’ll post a few photos of Halloween prep at the March household. Every year I say “I’m gonna start early, avoid that ghoulish last-minute rush.” Every year, I fail. This year is no exception, though I do have the excuse of truly crappy weather getting in the way of outdoor decoration. Seriously. Snow and freezing rain in October? SERIOUSLY.

In the meantime, here are some pics of our yard from last week, when the days were still crisp and dry, and the leaves hadn’t yet leapt to their deaths.

Posted especially for my brilliant and ever-stylish crit partner, Barb Ferrer, because I know she misses fall in the northeast.

Brand-spanking new release: WHISKEY TANGO FOXTROT.

Well…not so much with the SPANKING, per se. Not in this one. The NEXT one, though…yeah. Big with the consensual spanking. HUGE.

ANYway.

TITLE: Whiskey Tango Foxtrot
AUTHOR: Selah March
PUBLISHER: AmberAllure/Amber Quill Press
GENRE: Homoerotic Paranormal Romance/Horror (M/M)
PURCHASE LINK: http://www.amberquill.com/AmberAllure/WhiskeyTangoFoxtrot.html

Leo Delacroix considers his psychic gifts a burden till he meets Tommy Mulvaney, a sexy ghostbuster with serious attitude. Now Leo and Tommy are trapped in a house of horrors, facing down an ancient evil. With Tommy’s help, Leo can win this battle. But at what cost?

EXCERPT:

Leo laughed again, gravel-rough and rumbling. The buzz against Tommy’s skin made him shiver like a struck tuning fork, which in turn made him pull away and fight for equilibrium. He was Tommy Mulvaney, for Christ’s sake — the guy one of Missy’s girlhood friends had called “the biggest slut north of the equator.” He’d spent his twenties honing his technique on all the available men and half the women in South Boston, and he’d be damned of he’d let some psychic brainiac get the better of him, no matter how good he looked or how well he kissed.

Leo grinned down at him as if he knew exactly what Tommy was thinking and it amused him to no end. “Let me guess — you want to know how a geek like me learned to seduce a guy like you, right?”

Shit. Really gotta work on the poker face.

“I told you to quit reading my mind.” Tommy looked away and tried to scowl. He was pretty sure he failed spectacularly, mostly because of the way Leo’s hips rolled against his, slow and inevitable as the tide.

“And I told you I’m half Cajun. Seduction’s bred in the blood, cher.” The sudden deepening of Leo’s bayou accent made him sound older and a lot more sure of himself. Plus…

The stammer’s gone again.

Tommy snapped his gaze back to Leo’s face.

But Leo’s expression was open and guileless. When he kissed Tommy once more, there was nothing but sweet heat and the nag of Tommy’s conscience reminding him what an irresponsible fuck-up he was to let this happen.

“You all right?” Leo asked, his lips moving along Tommy’s jaw. And yes, Tommy was all right. Tommy was better than all right — he was was fan-fucking-tastic — but that didn’t change how out of control this was getting, or how it needed to stop. Like, yesterday. Yet every time he tried to speak, Leo shut him up with a hard little bite to his bottom lip.

“Leo,” he tried to say, and it came out like the dirtiest groan this side of a porno flick. Not exactly the discouraging note he was going for. He needed to pull his shit together and–

“Shh.” Leo’s hands came up to cradle Tommy’s face, like he was something precious. “You think too much.”

Tommy would never admit it — not on pain of death — but it was the tenderness in Leo’s touch that undid him. Nobody touched him like that. He guessed maybe he didn’t invite tenderness or care. And that was fine, since he had no need for either.

So why, when Leo smoothed his hands down over Tommy’s shoulders, did Tommy feel something in his chest crack open and give way? He heard himself make some stupid, girly noise. Then Leo pulled him closer, trapping Tommy’s cock between them and turning the discomfort of his arousal into a sharp ache of need.

Leo bent and whispered, his breath like a jet of steam against Tommy’s ear and neck. “I know you’re used to being in control. You want me to back off?”

There it was — Tommy’s chance to put an end to this stupidity.

Instead, he rocked his hips forward. Every nerve ending in his lower body lit up like the fourth of July and Christmas combined. Through his own jeans and Leo’s chinos he felt the hard line of Leo’s cock and wanted it — against him, inside him, it didn’t much matter, so long as it involved skin-to-skin contact and some relief from the arousal that lay over his skin like a thick fog.

Leo grabbed Tommy by the shoulders and spun him till Tommy found himself with his palms flat on the surface of the table, pushing back against Leo’s weight. When Tommy conjured up the ability to speak, his voice sounded weak and shaky in his own ears. “I don’t know what you’ve got in mind, but we can’t…” He stopped and cleared his throat. “I mean, maybe you’re a boy scout with the condoms and lube in your pocket but–”

Leo cut him off with a thrust of his hips. “Don’t be an idiot.”

He fumbled with Tommy’s button and fly, laughing when he discovered Tommy was going commando. “Do you even own proper underwear?”

“Depends on what you mean by proper.”

Without further discussion, Leo spit into his palm and shoved his way inside with a hand that felt like it had been crafted to fit around Tommy’s cock. Tommy bit the inside of his cheek and arched his back, which made his jeans fall off his hips and halfway to his knees.

Shouldn’t feel this good. Gonna be over way too soon.

But the fear of humiliating himself by coming in thirty seconds flat wasn’t enough to keep Tommy from bucking his hips in a silent plea for friction, or grunting an obscenity when Leo complied with a long stroke just this side of too rough — exactly how Tommy loved it. Naturally. The ginormous geek was reading his mind again.

“Fuck.”

Leo snorted against the back of his neck. “Thought you said that was off the menu,” he said, and proceeded to jerk Tommy off like he had a patent on the process.

I fail at life. And certainly at blogging. But at least I’m woman enough to admit it, right?

RIGHT??

Couple things:

THERE CAME A KILLING FROST is Joyfully Recommended:

“THERE CAME A KILLING FROST was so enjoyable that I didn’t want to put it down.  Kit and Lourdes were amazing together, sheer electricity and dynamite.  Ms. March has done a great job in rounding them out by developing these characters with credible intensity.  I can tell this author has feelings for the people and world she’s created.  Kit’s character made me fall in love with cowboys again.  I stopped gravitating towards westerns unless they’re the old school spaghetti films.  Placing the old west into the future with Kit and Lourdes, adds freshness.

Lourdes is tough and unspoiled despite her sordid life.  She’s a realist and I appreciate what she’s willing to sacrifice for Kit, and vice versa.  I was glad that they got to fly off into the sunset together.

I Joyfully Recommend THERE CAME A KILLING FROST for its strong visual writing and sharp dialogue.  The sex scenes burn hotter than a furnace, the villains would fit right in with Lee Van Cleef, and no one would remember Clint Eastwood after taking a turn with Kit Frost.” ~Patrice for Joyfully Reviewed (Link to full review.)

Also, cover art for upcoming Halloween release, WHISKEY TANGO FOXTROT:

Contemporary erotic paranormal romance (M/M).

Just in time for Halloween, the story of a reluctant psychic and a ghostbuster with attitude trapped in a house of horrors… Leo Delacroix regrets the day he discovered his psychic talents. Being called on to find missing loved ones and rid houses of angry spirits is messy, exhausting work. But he knows it would be wrong to turn away from his gifts when he’s helping so many people.

Tommy Mulvaney knows something about regret, too. He regrets not being there to save his sister, Missy, the night she was pushed from a balcony by unseen hands. He regrets Missy’s anger and frustration at being out of commission and unable to run the family paranormal investigation business. Mostly, he regrets that it’s Missy in the wheelchair and not him.

When Leo and Tommy meet at Nil-Chance, a house with a dark and sordid history, they find the attraction between them to be undeniable. But before they can explore their feelings for each other, they must defeat whatever haunts Nil-Chance…or die trying.

Available October 26 from Amber Allure.

Excerpt coming soon.

I know it’s not in my best interest to fly my left-wing freak flag where I’m supposed to be promoting my fiction. I mean, I KNOW this. It’s burned me before. But since I can’t seem to work up a head of steam over anything but politics right at the moment, and this space is just begging for a little content…

Point the First: If you never watched THE WEST WING, some of this will make no sense to you. All you really need to know is that Jed Bartlet was a fictional president played for seven seasons by Martin Sheen on an award-winning TV show. He was liberal, brilliant, and often crucified for it. He was replaced by Jimmy Smits in the final season.

Point the Second: Yeah, I know Aaron Sorkin is a drug addict who was arrested in an airport for carrying a few different kinds of controlled substances. But Aaron Sorkin isn’t running for president, he’s just making a comment about the current contenders. And? George W. Bush is an admitted alcoholic who was arrested for driving under the influence, and nobody seems to have a problem with his being the leader of the free world, so.

Here’s a link to a make-believe conversation between Jed Bartlet and Barack Obama.

Remember, it’s FICTION. Mr. Obama never had this conversation; it was written by that evil, lefty drug addict, Sorkin – incidentally, also the author of the Tom Cruise/Jack Nicholson vehicle, A FEW GOOD MEN.

Still, it’s damned compelling fiction that uses a bunch of facts to bolster its argument.

My favorite bits?

OBAMA …They pivoted off the argument that I was inexperienced to the criticism that I’m — wait for it — the Messiah, who, by the way, was a community organizer. When I speak I try to lead with inspiration and aptitude. How is that a liability?

BARTLET Because the idea of American exceptionalism doesn’t extend to Americans being exceptional. If you excelled academically and are able to casually use 690 SAT words then you might as well have the press shoot video of you giving the finger to the Statue of Liberty while the Dixie Chicks sing the University of the Taliban fight song. The people who want English to be the official language of the United States are uncomfortable with their leaders being fluent in it.

OBAMA You’re saying race doesn’t have anything to do with it?

BARTLET I wouldn’t go that far. Brains made me look arrogant but they make you look uppity. Plus, if you had a black daughter —

OBAMA I have two.

BARTLET — who was 17 and pregnant and unmarried and the father was a teenager hoping to launch a rap career with “Thug Life” inked across his chest, you’d come in fifth behind Bob Barr, Ralph Nader and a ficus.

AND…

OBAMA The problem is we can’t appear angry. Bush called us the angry left. Did you see anyone in Denver who was angry?

BARTLET Well … let me think. …We went to war against the wrong country, Osama bin Laden just celebrated his seventh anniversary of not being caught either dead or alive, my family’s less safe than it was eight years ago, we’ve lost trillions of dollars, millions of jobs, thousands of lives and we lost an entire city due to bad weather. So, you know … I’m a little angry.

OBAMA What would you do?

BARTLET GET ANGRIER! Call them liars, because that’s what they are. Sarah Palin didn’t say “thanks but no thanks” to the Bridge to Nowhere. She just said “Thanks.” You were raised by a single mother on food stamps — where does a guy with eight houses who was legacied into Annapolis get off calling you an elitist? And by the way, if you do nothing else, take that word back. Elite is a good word, it means well above average. I’d ask them what their problem is with excellence. While you’re at it, I want the word “patriot” back. McCain can say that the transcendent issue of our time is the spread of Islamic fanaticism or he can choose a running mate who doesn’t know the Bush doctrine from the Monroe Doctrine, but he can’t do both at the same time and call it patriotic. They have to lie — the truth isn’t their friend right now. Get angry. Mock them mercilessly; they’ve earned it. McCain decried agents of intolerance, then chose a running mate who had to ask if she was allowed to ban books from a public library. It’s not bad enough she thinks the planet Earth was created in six days 6,000 years ago complete with a man, a woman and a talking snake, she wants schools to teach the rest of our kids to deny geology, anthropology, archaeology and common sense too? It’s not bad enough she’s forcing her own daughter into a loveless marriage to a teenage hood, she wants the rest of us to guide our daughters in that direction too? It’s not enough that a woman shouldn’t have the right to choose, it should be the law of the land that she has to carry and deliver her rapist’s baby too? I don’t know whether or not Governor Palin has the tenacity of a pit bull, but I know for sure she’s got the qualifications of one. And you’re worried about seeming angry? You could eat their lunch, make them cry and tell their mamas about it and God himself would call it restrained. There are times when you are simply required to be impolite. There are times when condescension is called for!

***

I apologize to those I’ve offended by linking to this essay. If I had an agent, he or she would no doubt be beating me about the head and shoulders with one of my three copies of the last Dixie Chicks CD. For anyone who’s still interested, I’ll be blogging on the topic of balancing plot with smut in m/m erotic romance later this week. Should be a hoot.

Happy Sunday, y’all. There are 45 days left till the election.