Party on the Revenge!

The deck of the Revenge, the wee hours of of January 31^st. A tall, thin pirate comes aboard, trailed by a motley crew of vagabonds and hired help. Captain Hellion steps forward from the shadows around her cabin.

 -“Barbossa. I see you brought the workmen.” She eyes the raggedly group and sneers. “We have better.”

 -“I’m sure, but I don’t have yer charms now, do I?” He lifts an eyebrow at her. “And all yer smooth skinned lovelies be warming the bunks of the officers. This be scrub work, I brought scrubs.”

- Hellion laughs, “True and my treat is waiting in the cabin. Don’t damage my ship, Barbossa.”

- “Chance has made it plain the details ta make this party fer her alter ego…or would that be original ego?” He looked up at the tied up sails and tilts his head, then shakes it. “It don’t matter. The author be spoken fer, the bartender be where me sights are set. We’ll do this right! No fear. Where be the tender Chance?”

 - Hellion gestures toward the lights of Tortuga. “The Liquor Barn and then I think Ye Olde Bev Mo. She’s gonna buy out their rum stores.”

- “She knows her audience!” He grins and licks his lips. He’ll be thirsty before dawn appears.

- The Captain comments over her shoulder as she heads back into her cabin. “Maureen likely be showing up around 9am. Make sure those nasty lads be off my ship by then.”

- “Hellion, dearest? The rope is a bit tight…” The lilting tones of Captain Sparrow waft from her cabin. Barbossa sneers.

- “Coming, Jack!” Hellion disappears and the door slams shut. He hears the snick of a lock. As if he’d be interested in intruding. Sparrow, ugh!

- Barbossa looks out at Tortuga. “Wonder how she’ll get all that rum aboard?”

Hours later, the bunting is up, the bungee cord is secured to the tip of the main yardarm, the tables all spread with fire retardant cloth. The sound system is fully rigged for the renowned singer coming from Florida with the Coral Reefer Band. Until his arrival, a steel drum band is ready at the bow. Below, a full orchestra is set up for those who were looking to waltz and enjoy other delights in the dark recesses of the cavernous TARDIS-like hold of the Revenge.

Chance’s bar was expanded, every bit of silver and crystal shining fit to blind the crew as they come on deck and the morning sun hits the shelves.

 

Barbossa was beginning to wonder when Chance would make her appearance. The ship rocked violently and he took a step back as tentacles rose on each side of the ship. He cursed, then gaped as one by one, crates of liquor were deposited without a broken bottle in sight on the deck. A moment later, Chance slid down a tentacle to land near the bar. She grinned, turned to the sea and called out, “Thanks! I know Maureen is looking to make an entrance! You get over to Monterey and fetch her!” The bartender turned to survey the preparations.

-“I knew I could depend on ya, Hector. Looks good. Help me unpack the Kraken Rum, will ya?”

- He snorted before stepping forward and wrapping arms around her. “First, a kiss.”

- “You brushed yer teeth lately?” she asked warily.

- “Brushed, flossed and straightened per yer instructions. I even visited the skin doctor ya recommended. Now, kiss me!”

She laughed and enthusiastically kissed him before putting him back to work.

***

The crew rise with their assorted hotties and wander onto their transformed deck. Chance pops up from behind the bar, straightening her hair and adjusting her bustier. A moment later, Barbossa slides to the front, tucking his shirt into his breaches.

 

Chance clears her throat. “Morning! Crew! Guests! Gate crashers! Everyone is welcome! I have an assortment of Kraken Rum drinks. The blender is set for margaritas, another for daiquiris, the trays have no calorie chocolate bombs, the richest of pastries lighter than air and later, we have more substantial goodies to serve.”

She climbs to the top of the bar and hollers. “HEY! LISTEN UP! OUR GUEST OF HONOR SHOULD BE ARRIVING ANY MOMENT! MY REAL WORLD PERSONA AND WRITER OF EXTRAORDINARY PIRATE ADVENTURES…MAUREEN O. BETITA!”

The crowd looks around expectantly. Nothing happens.

“I SAID MAUREEN O. BETITA! … NOOOOOOOW!!!!”

A steel drum roll comes from the bow as a massive swell raises the ship. The crowd fights to keep their feet as a neverending tentacle rises from the starboard. Eyes rise to follow it as it goes up and up and up! Twice as tall as the tallest mast. It wavers a moment, then the very tip opens up to reveal…

The author! She spreads her arms and bellows. “I’M HERE!”

The crowd roars! She bows and laughs madly as the tentacle sweeps her off her feet and she slides down the spiraling slide to the deck. She lands with a leap and sweeps a drink from Chance’s hands, downs it in three great gulps, and shouts with gayety, “LET THE PARTY BEGIN!”

***

The Kraken’s Mirror went on sale at the stroke of midnight, at Decadent Publishing. This wild story features second chances, albino kraken, pirates, curses, time travel, a touch of zombies, some waltzing vampires and a Tortuga straight from my wild mind, with the help and inspiration of every member of the crew. I dedicate this book to… The Romance Writers Revenge!

 

Thank you to Decadent Publishing, to my editor, Kate Richards, my agent, Saritza Hernandez and all who have told me I am insane and this will never sell. So there!

Spend the day celebrating with me, we will be drinking, dancing, laughing and making mischief all day and into the night!

And I will give away three copies of my book to three random commenters, electronic for now. When the print version is released, I may do this all over again! Any excuse for a party! Let me know, what would you like to see at the print release bash? And who did you bring to the party with you? All characters welcome, btw! Well, no preaching teetotalers...

Thank Heavens, today is my last day to post hotties for a long, long time. (I almost said "do hotties" and remembered Janga's thoughtful post about choosing the RIGHT word in order for meaning not to be misconstrued....Thank you, Janga!)

This week, on my vacay day, I watched R.E.D. with sexy Bruce Willis and the gorgeous Helen Mirren, and boys and girls, this movie was hilarious. Laughed my ass off. John Malkovich stole every scene he was in. The dialogue was a scream. I loved all the characters. Funny stuff. And Bruce is just one of those guys who just keeps looking good. What is with that?



I can't resist a daddy and baby picture. I just can't.

Now stay tuned for Monday when the Loader, our newly published 2nd Chance will be commandeering the day to celebrate her debut, The Kraken's Mirror, now available! See her invite below!

"Monday, January 31st. Aboard the Romance Writer's Revenge...come dance
and drink and be silly all day and into the night on the Revenge as we
celebrate the release of The Kraken's Mirror!

Free kraken rides! Slippery tentacles make for an exciting ride into
the turquoise waters of the Caribbean!

Bungee jump from the crows nest!

Flirt with resident hotties or beautacious ship's officers! Challenge
Quartermaster Sin to a knife throwing contest! Dodge the darts of the
newest member, the deadly Leslie Langtry!

Challenge me to a drinking contest! Throw your inner critics to the
kraken!

And celebrate the release of my first book!

Maureen O. Betita"

BIG NEWS: New Pirate to Join Ranks of RWR, Introduced by the Fantabulous Captain Jack Sparrow

*camera zooms in and out, wobbly picture until we realize we’re staring at a close up of Jack Sparrow’s beard braids; camera withdraws and Jack smiles, teeth glittering*

Jack: Very good. I knew Hellie would figure out the camera eventually. Strange how she’s never able to get it to focus in the bedroom.

Hellie: Yeah, that is weird. Why don’t you focus, Jack, and introduce our new crew member?

Jack: She’s bossy in the bedroom, too, folks. Just a bit of trivia for the folks at home. Now, as I was saying I’m here today, as my fabulous, fantabulous captain self, to intro-- *hissing sound, then twuck; small feathered dart is sticking out of Jack’s neck. Jack pulls it out, stares at it in confusion* That can’t be good. *passes out with a loud thud*

*ruckus ensues on deck as someone swings from the Crow’s Nest, rappelling on Sin’s black ninja rope, and lands on the deck with a jaunty wave*

Leslie: *looking down at Jack who is lying on his back, eyes closed, a little smile curved on his lips* Sorry about that, but you know he’s infinitely more attractive when he’s not talking. You know that, right?

Hellie: You didn’t kill him, did you?

Leslie: No, he’ll be good as new.

Jack: *waking up, looks confused to be lying on the deck* What happened? Was there rum involved? *looks at Leslie* Leslie! When did you get here? I was just about to introduce you.

Leslie: How good of you! What were you going to say?

Jack: That you’re wittier than Hellie, funnier than Marn, and deadlier than Sin. I’m sure you also throw better parties than Bo’sun and mix better drinks than Chance, but we’re not allowed to say that because the Kraken gets cranky and spits on you. Takes forever to get the ink out of the lace. *waves a cuff at Leslie as another hfft of sound distracts him and he plucks another dart from his neck* Crap, it’s going to happen again, isn’t it? *passes out*

Leslie: *straightening* That should take care of him for now. Now onto business.

This Be Me Jolly Roger! Arrrrrrr!

 

And this be me Pug’s Jolly Roger!

Thanks be for the great intro Capn!   Ye be true scalawags… oh enough - I don’t think I could do that for a whole post.

Anyway, Damned Happy to be here on the Romance Writers Revenge!  I’ve been a guest a few times and this time, they’re letting me stay.  Oh, and sorry about Jack, Hellion.  He’ll come to.  Now, where is that cabin boy you told me about who looks like George Clooney?  Yes, that’s what you said when you lured… I mean invited me aboard!  He’s here isn’t he?  What’s that?  Oh, rum!  Yay!

Some of you know me from my Bombay Family of Assassin books:



And the rest!   

BTW - do you like my new covers for the e-editions?  Had a run-in with my publisher so Jana DeLeon and I stormed the decks and took our rights back just like pirates.  Well, in this instance, Jana was more the pirate and I was more like her Smee.  And like a true pirate, I sell these as e-books online and keep the booty for meself.  Gar.

I’ve loved pirates since Kevin Kline bared his chest in Pirates of Penzance.  And when the Pirates of the Caribbean came out, I was first in line to see them.  So when I decided to finally write a novel, I wrote a pirate historical set in Georgian England and France.   I titled it, BLACKHEART.

It sucked.

So I wrote a sequel about pirates and the slave trade in Africa.  That one was DARKHEART.

It sucked a little less, but it sucked nonetheless.

I was not cut out for historical.  My next book was a contemporary called THE ADULTERER’S UNOFFICIAL GUIDE TO DISNEY WORLD.  I didn’t think that one sucked, but publishers and agents said I couldn’t write books with adulterers as the heroes and they were pretty sure I couldn’t even mention (looks right, then left) Disney World. They said that would make their lawyers sad.

Then one night I had this weird dream about a woman named Gin Bombay who is an assassin and viola!  That one sold!  Apparently, serious pirate drama doesn’t work for me but funny books about a family that kills for the family business does.  Who knew?

So here I am, as a new member on a crew that seems to lack a cabin boy who looks like George Clooney for some reason (I was promised!).  Apparently, being able to make rum grog with blowfish poison is a valuable and needed skill on this boat. 

NOW!  Go to the Skull Generator and make yer own Jolly Roger!  And lift up your rum and drink up me hearties yo ho!

If you’ve not been paying attention, Coxswain Hal is in her last month of pregnancy.   As I just did the last month of hell, I feel for her.

In my last trimester, I had the world’s worst craving for these no bake cookies that I make.  They’re a lot of butter, a lot of sugar, chocolate, peanut butter, and oatmeal.  I boil them on the stove and then let them set up and they taste like heaven when they’re done.  With my first pregnancy, I craved mint chocolate chip ice cream.  But it was a particular brand—Turkey Hill Mint Choco Chip—that I had to have and it got so bad that my DH would call on his way home from work and ask if we had some in the freezer.  That’s love, my friends, that’s love.

But, of the two MS I’ve written, I rarely mentioned food.  In fact, I don’t notice food in a lot of stories I read.  Yet, my life pretty much revolves around sweets and good yummy food.  Right now I’m waiting on cinnamon rolls from the oven.  If food’s so important to me, why isn’t it as important to my heroines?  And if my hero likes beef jerky, that might add something to my story.  Like in Ocean’s Eleven, when Brad Pitt’s character is constantly eating.  I love that about him.

Same could apply to anything we think is important.  A reliance on coffee.  A reliance on Mountain Dew.  An affinity for handbags.  Shoes.  A love of the zodiac.  Whatever.

So what about you?  Do you use food in your MS?  Any movies where the characters wouldn’t be the same without their love of food?  Any foibles you could include in your characters?  Anyone eating anything good today?

When I was younger, I used to watch football on TV every Sunday.  We planned "the game" into our schedule like it was a holy ritual, with chips and soda our sacrament.  When the season was over, we didn't know what to do with that extra day in the week.  It was like being released from a religious vow.

Last month, I had the opportunity to watch the New England Patriots kick some football butt on TV.  It was the first time in a long while since I'd done that, and it filled me with nostalgia, making me realize how much I miss the whole Sunday ritual.

However, it didn't take long before I noticed some interesting parallels between a game of football and writing. 

1.  You get more than one try to reach your goal

The game starts with a kickoff.  The ball sails through the air, and everyone watches breathlessly to see how far it will go before it's caught.  It would be amazing if it went right through the goal posts, but where's the sport in that?  It's actually the start of the game, a long march to the goal line, and nobody expects that it'll be reached on the first attempt.  That's why each team gets four downs, four chances to make progress towards the goal. 

The same with writing, and getting published.  It's rare for a bestseller to be written the first time out.  It does happen, but it's the exception, because that's not how the game is designed.  It's slow, and steady, one foot in front of the other until the goal is reached.  It may not be your first book that gets published, so you just keep writing, and writing, and writing, until you make it to the goal.

2.  Just when you think someone is down for the count, they're not

I couldn't believe how many times during that game a player was stopped, by someone bigger and heftier, and everyone just kind of let their breath out, saying, "Well, that was still pretty good."  And then all of a sudden, the runner took one or two steps and they were free, flying towards the goal again.  Everyone had misjudged that situation.  Everyone.  The other team, the announcers, the fans.  Everyone except the player.  He was determined, and wasn't ready to get knocked down.  He actually ended up with the longest punt return in the team's history when everyone else was positive he would get knocked on his ass the second he caught the ball.

A writer is going to hit situations like that all the time.  But a determined writer keeps going when it looks like there is no hope.  No one would blame the writer for saying, "Well, that was still pretty good".  A bad rejection, a cruel contest judge, or even the slimy tentacles of self-doubt can derail a writer, or they can strengthen the writer's will to succeed. 

3.  If you can't go through, go around

In the above example, the player could have just gotten knocked down, and said, "Hey, there's still more downs".  And that would have been perfectly acceptable.  But sometimes the answer is to try something different.  If what you're doing isn't working the way it always has before, it's time to fall back a couple paces and look to see what's open somewhere else.  Obstacles can stop you, or they can give you a chance to see things in a different way, maybe even show you possibilities you didn't know existed.

4.  It's not over when you reach the goal

I love all the celebrating and high-fiving and ass-slapping that goes on in a football game.  Each small achievement is part of the bigger one, and they're definitely worth acknowledging.  However, as soon as the touchdown is on the scoreboard, and the dancing is done, everybody goes back to work.  It's time to go for another goal, and another one, until the game is won.

We should celebrate each achievement too, from hitting our word count goals to writing "The End".  You got a request for a full?  High five.  You finaled in a contest?  Shake that booty.  Everything we accomplish is worthy of our happiness and joy and strutting around with pride.  But then it's time to write another book.  And another one after that. 

5.  There are people around to help you out

When the player is running his heart out, trying to get to the goal, he's not doing it alone.  He has teammates blocking those who are trying to keep him from moving forward.  He has coaches helping him learn new skills to develop his natural talent.  He has devoted fans who believe he can do anything.

Writers are in a similar situation.  Their team can consist of an agent, editor, beta readers, crit partners, or devoted friends and family.  Some of them are there to cheer and some of them are there to increase the skills and abilities.  But they all have the same role: helping us become our best so we can attain our goals.

Rah rah sis boom bah!  I know there must be other football analogies to add.  Let's hear them!  Or use another sport if you'd like.  Let's get inspired! 

Today is an interesting day of the year. It’s Blue Monday; and tall drinks of rum are in order. Why? Because this is officially the most depressing day of the year. According to some guy’s complicated computations, based on weather, debt, failed resolutions, and time elapsed since Christmas, today is the pinpointed day of greatest depression. Probably also doesn’t help that we don’t have another major holiday until Memorial Day.

As ridiculous as the calculations are, I’m looking out my front door at the piles of snow, shivering at the bitter wind that’s whipping past me to raise my heating bill, and I have to admit: weird math dude’s gotta point. I’m not feeling especially hopeful right this second. I’ve huddled up in my apartment all weekend and accomplished only a new record for sleeping and eating. However, even in the most gray cloud there is a silver lining. He who calculated the most depressing day of the year also calculated the most happy day of the year, which coincidentally falls around the summer solstice. Basically the day of the year where we have the most sunlight, we’re the happiest. We just need to hang on about six more months.

So I’m assuming a lot of pirates are suffering from similar bouts of whining, shivering, eating, drinking, and sleeping. Any writing is lambasted with nasty criticisms from the internal critic until we learn to avoid our laptops altogether. Therefore, today, we’re going to do a little writing exercise to scare away the doldrums and the nasty critics—and this will work because it will not be a story that has hope and dream pinned to it. It will be a story written for the joy of writing. Bad grammar and verb tense and headhopping are all welcome here. Every trope will have its day. Purple prose will violet up the place. Bring it, pirates, I dare you. Let’s have FUN on this most depressing day of the year.

I will start us out.

I’d heard my share of wedding day stories: beautiful lovely ceremonies that only confirmed the love and cherishing that all my friends and cousins had found with their Prince Charmings. Today was my story; and Kevin was well on his way to trumping every story. As the minister read the familiar vows, Kevin smiled down at me, lifted one of my hands that was clasped in his, and kissed it. I could practically hear the congregation sigh. How could you not love Kevin?

“If there is any reason why this man and woman should not be joined, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

For some reason, I held my breath, which was ridiculous. This was Kevin. But I hadn’t finished holding my breath when the church door opened, and I and everyone else turned to see who would show up to a wedding ceremony this late.

A man strode down the aisle, looking like a tall, brawny tornado of menace and irritation. “This wedding is canceled.”

What? No. I stiffened. “Excuse me? Who are you and what are you doing here?”

The man glared at me and I was paralyzed beneath the stormy gaze of his slate gray eyes. “I’m Federal Marshal Evan St. James, and this man, Kevin Woods, is under arrest.”

Okay, that’s the beginning. Now fling in every cliché you can think of. Secret babies, secret wives, time travel, a kidnapping, werewolves, vampires, whatever—now’s your chance to excise your bad writing here so you can write the good stuff in your own work. You don’t have to go in order, you can just write some dialogue or a scene—or just tell us what you think happens next. Let’s make Blue Monday purple!

I go as weak in the knees as the next girl at a wide set of shoulders and firm, manly biceps; however, if you really want to make me swoon, have a voice to die for. Yes, Alan Rickman, I'm talking to you. If you can't find Alan Rickman or one of his movies you can fastforward to all his dialogue, you can always go here:

681

Here you have the option of having Joseph Fiennes (I've loved him since he played Shakespeare) and Greg Wise (I've loved him since he was Willoughby) and some other hot Brits I don't know but they make me suddenly VERY interested in the classics. It's not enough sometimes to see a still life posed picture of a man without his shirt off. I mean, sometimes it's nice, but the smooth tenor of a masculine voice reading to you, his gaze looking up now and again to see if he has your undivided attention, the scholarly fall of his hair across his brow, and the buttoned up smoothness of his clothes that makes you want to rumple him up if only he'd stop reading.

Good times.

There has been some discussion (read: whining) among the pirates about putting the hotties on hiatus (they are overcrowding the ship a tad) and doing something else with our Sundays. Perhaps have a book club once a month; maybe have a writing prompt inspiration blog; and of course, the occasional hottie of the month or something. To those of you who are ready for some change, I don't think you'll be disappointed. To those of you who are groaning that your hook up with half-naked hotties has been reduced severely, you'll get over it. It's not like we're taking them away forever.