Story Orgy Creature Feature: Mum's the Word #storyorgy #mmromance #serial #malexmale

Good morning friends and readers! Today I have a special post for you- the much belated beginning of my new Story Orgy story has finally arrived!

Please meet Izzy and Owen, two modestly ambitious archaeology students who are about to embark on the adventure of a lifetime. Look for updates all this week as I write and edit like the wind to get caught up with Hank, who is sharing the fourth episode of his story today. (Link below)

Mum's the Word

Chapter One

Aug 3: "It's my belief we're all crazy."

“What kind of music do mummies listen to?”

“You’re crazy.” Ignoring his roommate’s greeting, Izzy dropped down onto the battered brown sofa beside Owen. He didn’t care that he smelled of gasoline, grass, and sweat from an afternoon of mowing lawns at his landscaping job.

It felt good not to support his own weight, so he let his head fall back and sank into the cushions in a tired sprawl,  using the edge of his mother’s old coffee table to pry off his sneakers. If Roberta Waters had seen it she’d have been appalled, but then there wasn’t much about Isaac Waters that wouldn’t have appalled his mother these days, from his threadbare jeans to his raggedy hair to his part-time boyfriend.

Said boyfriend didn’t look up from the tablet he perched on his knee, just shoved a white and red cardboard pizza box on the floor toward Izzy with his toe. “It’s my belief that-”

“We’re all crazy.” Having heard the statement, and various long winded explanations

of Owen’s pet theory many times in the past six years, Izzy finished for him. Stretching his arms toward the ceiling until his bones cracked, he rolled his head. Izzy leaned forward and flipped open the box lid. He scowled at the contents.  “I don’t like pineapple on pizza.” His stomach grumbled loudly at the criticism.

“And I don’t like salty fish.”

Anchovies and pineapple. Irreconcilable differences. Just one reason for that part time status. Izzy and Owen made great roommates because of their shared interests in archeology, B-movies, and the male anatomy, but made a lousy couple because as much as they were alike, they had certain quantifiable, unalterable, unacceptable differences.

“You could have at least gotten it half and half.” And that was the biggest difference of all. The one Izzy couldn’t get past. Where Izzy was happy to compromise, Owen wanted his own way all the time and saw only his own point of view.Izzy had seen in his parent’s marriage what happened when one person… his mother… did all the compromising. The other partner turned into a petty tyrant, like his father, who flew off the handle at the least sign of rebellion from his spouse or progeny.

Shrugging off the unwelcome thoughts, Izzy picked up a slice and plucked off a few offending tidbits of fruit. Beggars can’t be choosers. And by hanging out here all summer with Owen instead of going home to Oakwood Crescent, with its shiny three story pseudo-antebellum houses, country club wives and white-toothed, tennis-skirt wearing daughters, he’d chosen to be a beggar, hadn’t he?

At least, that’s how his father had put it.

“Nope. Jose said no more freebies. This is what was leftover at the end of my shift, so this is what I got. Dude called in the order and never showed to pick it up.”

“Free is good.” Spicy tomato sauce exploded on his tongue and his stomach growled again in appreciation. “Mmm.” There was just the slightest tang of pineapple leftover, but the garlic and tomato and cheese… “Mmm.”

Owen flicked his finger at the tablet screen and the television in front of them sparked into life. A damsel let out a distressed scream. The image froze. “You seen this one?”

Izzy snorted in disgust. “The Mummy, 1959, Terence Fisher. Gotta try harder. This one’s a classic.”

“Can’t believe Ernesto retired.” Owen returned immediately to the topic that had haunted their summer. Professor Ernesto Gamez had headed the archeology department at UM since decades before Owen and Izzy had taken their first intro to arch 101 class six years earlier.

“Whatever they say. He didn’t retire. He was forced out.” Izzy eyed his pizza gloomily. The previous spring his… their… favorite professor had been targeted by a hate campaign. “No way he molested that girl. Dude was gayer than a Pride Parade.”

“Way he checked out Peterson’s ass? No doubt.” Owen agreed gloomily, reaching for another slice of pizza.

“When does the semester start again?” Izzy dropped the gnawed crust of his own slice back in the box.

“Friday. You think we still have jobs?” It had been a long, hard summer. They’d managed to scrape by with a collection of low wage jobs by canceling everything except their internet services, not running the air conditioning and eating a lot of pizza from Owen’s delivery job.

“I’m going to assume so until I hear otherwise.” Professor Gamez had hired them as his TA’s for the coming year, which should have allowed for plenty of time to complete their dissertations, gain some classroom experience, deliver a few lectures, grade a few papers. When the professor had lost his job, they’d lost their internships for the summer, and the much needed field work. Losing the teaching positions would be devastating.

“They’d have called.” Owen muttered. They sat together in morose silence, staring at Isobel Banning running from the horrible Mummy’s embrace. The chirp- chirp of Owen’s phone broke the silence.

Prophetic. Please let it be the bursar’s office. Izzy crossed his toes and reached for another slice of pizza. “Answer it.” He muttered through his bite.

“Nichols.” Owen put on a cheerful, professional tone. His expression stilled, eyes widening. “Yes sir. Yes, we’re still available. Early? Tomorrow morning?”

Izzy let the pizza fall. Tomorrow? He had to work tomorrow. “I have a shift at the nursing home.”

Owen shook his head frantically, covered Izzy’s lips with a pizza scented finger. Effectively hushed, Izzy decided to take his revenge by nipping and sucking.

“Eight o’clock. We’ll be there. Thank you sir.” Owen disconnected the call and tossed his phone onto the floor, expression a mix of elation and arousal. “We still have our jobs!” he shouted, then toppled them both to the floor by tackling Izzy.

“Awesome,” Izzy murmured, distracted by the weight of Owen’s sturdy body… the lust that instantly burned away his tiredness and the ache of his muscles from hours of mowing lawns. That ridiculous second job that had helped pay the rent all summer.

“Mega awesome…” Owen’s hands dug under Izzy’s shirt, reaching for his nipples, as though he needed any foreplay. Then again, he did enjoy the pinch and pull.

“Ahh.” He sighed, arching, rubbing his firming cock against Owen’s thigh, his roommate’s thin athletic shorts scant barrier to the growing heat of his erection.

What followed was quick, dirty and just the sort of thing he needed to loosen up after a hard day of physical labor. They twisted and contorted themselves in the narrow space between sofa and table until they were able to get the kind of pressure that escalated sensation to the breaking point. Grunting and grinding their way to sticky, messy satiety was a matter of minutes.

***

“So…” Owen peeled himself away from the tangle of limbs with a grimace.

“Hm?” Izzy mumbled sleepily.

“You never answered. What kind of music--”

“Pfft. Wrap Music, of course.” Izzy blinked at him, and Owen almost got lost again in the depths of those blue eyes. Sometimes, he felt like there was more Izzy hiding in there than the whole world knew about, and if he could just stare long enough without feeling like a creep, he’d find out something real important. But staring was creepy, and uncomfortable, so he jumped back to a familiar topic.

If you enjoyed my post, click on over to the rest of the Orgiasts and read more! 

Hank Edwards

Havan Fellows 

EM WOODS

Available Now: The Man Trap #malexmale #romance #sensual

Announcing the Re-release of The Man Trap

A Contemporary M/M Romance

Now Available At

Amazon    Smashwords    All Romance 

Greetings friends! *sips coffee* *grins* I'm excited today to announce that I have finalized the re-release arrangements for another of my former Breathless Press books. As you may recall, Breathless Press closed its doors in May of 2015 after five years in the publishing business. This left about eighteen of my stories without homes in the e-book market. I've been working ever since to get them back out and available to readers. 

The Man Trap is one of my first Story Orgy stories as well. It's a sweet, romantic tale of second chances and missed opportunities. The gorgeous cover art was designed by Breathless Press cover artist Victoria Miller for the original edition, and I was thrilled to be able to purchase it for the second edition. .

THE MAN TRAP 

A Contemporary M/M Romance 

When former classmate Alexi Manetas wanders into his book store, Simon Harris seizes the opportunity to rekindle a flame he'd carelessly extinguished years earlier.

Simon Harris has proclaimed his bisexuality loudly since college, despite never having dated a man. While his family and friends laugh, he knows the truth: there is one man he's always been attracted to. Once, fear kept him from acknowledging that attraction. No more. The next time he finds himself wanting to kiss a guy, he's going for it.

Alexi Manetas has never gotten over his schoolboy crush on Simon. When Simon graduated, Alexi moved on. He may not have pined for Simon, but he never forgot, and always, lurking at the back of his mind, buried deep in his heart there's been Simon and the hope that they would meet again.

A little help from an old lover and a busybody sister-in-law brings Alexi and Simon together, but Simon's fears might still tear them apart…

EXCERPT

Try as I might, I couldn't keep my gaze from straying to the slender, dark-haired man resting on his heels on the faded green carpet in the third aisle. He kept sliding his pale fingers along the bindings of the books on the shelves, and I swear every time he did I felt the touch as a caress on my own skin. Jeannie, damn her, noticed my inattention immediately.

"Who is that, Simon?" my blonde sister-in-law demanded nosily, peering intently at the man I had discreetly eyed since he crossed the threshold of my bookshop that morning. He'd actually become a Saturday morning regular at my shop during the past month. He wandered in and browsed the cookbooks, the classics, and the science fiction section. He always bought something, but never when I stood at the register. I swear he waited till I turned my back before he’d buy his books. Today was going to be different. I planned to stay at the register until he checked out or hell froze over, whichever came first.

I jerked my gaze around to her inquiring blue eyes. "Who is who?"

She snorted, par for the course. Despite her delicate blonde appearance, Jeannie made no pretense at being ladylike, or even mannerly. Her blunt attitude was both refreshing and disgusting all at once. If family pressure hadn't assured me she'd make an admirable assistant, I never would have trusted her around the customers. I needed someone to man the shop while I visited estate sales, sure, but usually shopkeepers prefer to have assistants who treat customers nicely.

"The remarkably pretty, vaguely familiar guy in the cooking section who comes here every Saturday morning. The man you're watching out the corner of your eye like a poor imitation of Mike Hammer. That's who."

Oh yes. Thank you, Jean, for pointing out my lack of subtlety and discretion. I shuffled a stack of shipping invoices from the printer to the corner of the counter and dumped the cardboard box I'd carried from the storeroom in their place. "That, Jeannie, darling, is the reason—other than an insane crush on Brad Pitt and unrequited lust for Johnny Depp—I can say with absolute certainty I am bisexual, not straight."

Jeannie scoffed at me, as the rest of my family and friends always did when I made the claim. I'm not sure what they thought, that I was trying to be cool or something with my claim to bisexuality. Only people who aren't gay think being gay is cool.  When you've thought about your sexuality and agonized over why you like men, it's enough just to accept it. They never believed me. The skepticism could, I suppose, have something to do with the fact I'd only ever dated women. Could I help it if Brad Pitt never returned my calls?

Jeannie nodded dubiously, continuing to print shipping labels and eyeing the man in aisle three, absorbed in perusing cookbooks. I smacked her in the shoulder swiftly. "Stop staring; he'll see you looking at him."

"I don't get it. Who is he? And what's all this crap doing on the counter?" She waved a manicured hand at the battered brown cardboard box of high school memorabilia.

My used bookshop, specializing in rare and antique editions, does a thriving e-business, and we reserve the front counter with its glass display cases for the books, orders, and wrapping materials comprising that business. Random stuff gets in the way, so we have an unstated rule nothing goes on the counter unless a customer makes a purchase. I had visited several estate sales that week, and a few customers brought in boxes of books for exchange value. Books lay in tottering piles on my desk, the floor, and the shelving in the area around the counter. The new material needed logging into inventory, pricing, and shelving. What this meant in the long run was there was no place else to put my "crap," as Jeannie so lovingly labeled the mementos of what I cherished as the best moments of my life. Simon Harris in a box, that's what I'd just put on the counter.

Some people claim high school is hell, and the premise sure seemed accurate while I attended the local one. Classes started too early, teachers made too many demands, classmates were jerk-offs or punks, and sports were a huge waste of time. I hated teachers telling me what to read and what to think. I lived to party and school interrupted my fun. Of course, the man in the cookbook aisle had been a big part of my high school days, and a big part of why I cherished the memories in this box.

Alexi Manetas had been a grade below me in school, but because he was an overachiever and I an underperformer, we ended up in the same classes a lot during high school. I couldn't miss the fact that the boy with the big gray eyes and ink-black curls was infatuated with me. I swear he never even attempted to hide how he felt.

You can imagine how that went for the kid. And me—I had nothing against Alexi, but I wasn't up to being into guys. Plenty of girls wanted to date me and I found them attractive enough. If Alexi's gray eyes and black curls snuck into my dreams at night, well, a man can't control his dreams. Who I ate lunch with, who I took to the dances—those choices I made consciously. I played it cool, and Alexi didn't create drama, so everything was all right. I didn't encourage him, but to my shame I didn't discourage him, and I never had the guts to tell the others in the crowd to lay off the kid and cut him some slack, either. Hormones are hell, but peer pressure is even worse.

So all through high school, I had this ego boost. No matter what chick dumped me or rejected me, or how low my grades dropped, there was always this knowledge in the deepest recesses of my mind. Hey, I couldn't be all bad if Alexi could love me, right?

So I had my emotional security blanket all wrapped around me throughout years of torture, and when graduation day arrived, I hit the high road and never thought I'd ever look back.

Like a lot of dumb kids, I enrolled in a school as far away from my hometown as my budget would let me. High school doesn't prepare you for college. Don't let anyone fool you that it does. No matter how smart you are, there's going to be someone smarter. No matter how hot you are, there's going to be someone hotter. And no matter how popular you were in high school, you're going to be fucking lonely in the freshman dorm.

I was. And you remember those dreams about silky dark curls and big gray eyes? That's what I missed. Not the fluffy blonde cheerleader I dated exclusively senior year or the succession of girls who'd preceded her. I missed Alexi.

When Christmas break arrived, I determined to man up and talk to Alexi, but got the shock of my life to discover he'd apparently gotten over his infatuation and moved on—to no less than the star quarterback of the varsity football team, the biggest culprit when it came to teasing Alexi about his crush on me. I guess jealousy motivated him.

In a mind-boggling fit of desolation, jealousy, and self-pity, I wrote Alexi a letter I intended to send to him before I left town. Fortunately, or unfortunately, however you choose to look at the situation, reason prevailed and I never sent it. Or maybe cowardice prevailed. I didn't send the letter, but I kept it. Now my bitter outpouring of teenage angst lay in this box right in front of me on the counter of my bookstore, along with the Christmas gift I'd bought and intended to give to Alexi that long-ago holiday.

Alexi hadn't changed much since I'd last seen him strolling across campus hand-in-hand with the jock. He still barely reached my chin; I'd have to bend down to kiss him. The gift, wrapped in unimaginative blue snowman paper, was a sweatshirt from my alma mater. The navy blue shirt should fit just fine. I'd bought the smallest size available at the campus bookstore, and had planned to ask him to wear it for me. Now, the opportunity had come to pass the letter and the gift along to their rightful owner.

At the very least, giving him these belated tokens of my esteem would force Alexi to acknowledge me—that he recognized me—that if I was right, he wandered into my shop every Saturday because of me, not a selection of ancient cookbooks. I tugged a yearbook from the box and flipped to the photo I recalled, then settled against the counter to outwait my prey.

It scared me a bit how fortuitous his reappearance in my life had been. I mean, I only even have a shop for storage. Random foot traffic brings in some money, of course, but I make the big bucks on eBay, Amazon, and my website.

And thanks to that random foot traffic, I had a second chance with the only man I'd ever truly wanted. Johnny and Brad were only fantasies. Alexi was very real and approaching the counter right in front of me. Time to spring the trap.

He pretended not to see me as he placed a copy of Colorado Cache on the counter and acted like the magnetic bookmarks my sister-in-law insisted I sell engrossed him.

"Hi, Alexi." I demanded he acknowledge the past connection between us, admit he recognized me. Since he didn't meet my eyes, I let my gaze roam across the very familiar planes of his face. Fine pale skin, the faintest hint of beard shadow, and those same enticing plump bee-stung lips that had haunted my high school dreams.

 "I'm sorry?" Vacant gray eyes met mine.

Right. Now, I may be thirty–one and not eighteen anymore, but I don't look much different than I did in high school. I still keep my brown hair in the same longish skate-boy cut, still carry my summer tan year-round, and former classmates swear I haven't aged so much as a day since graduation. My brother swears I haven't matured emotionally either, but I know better. At sixteen I was a taker, and I'd taken Alexi's affection for granted. The intervening years had taught me a thing or two about appreciating the finer things in life. Alexi was the finest life had to offer.

I leaned on the counter, stared straight into his eyes, and tapped the yearbook photo between us. His eyes followed the direction of my finger and widened, as they landed on the picture of the Chess Club we'd both—briefly—been members of. "That's you," I said, smiling in amusement. I dragged my finger over the picture. "That's me you're staring at." That's me you're worshiping with your eyes, adoring with your posture. Don't tell me you don't remember!

"Umm, yeah—okay—you got it, that's me, Alexi Manetas. That would make you—" He pretended to read the caption under the photo upside-down. "—Simon Harris."

Jeannie's interested gaze never left us, and Alexi sneaked peeks at her as he fumbled with his wallet and nudged the cookbook toward me.

I smiled at him, "Yes." I rang up his purchase and shoved the book in a bag as he passed me a credit card.

He nodded, swallowing. "I remember you."

"I thought you might. I have some things that belong to you." I dug through the box again to retrieve the package and the letter.

I read the confusion in his eyes as he stared at me. He blinked, breaking the connection, and picked up his bag, shaking his head. "Those aren't mine. I don't understand what you're talking about."

He stepped away and pivoted on his heel to leave, but I lunged across the counter, sending stacks of invoices and their matching books flying. "Oh, but they are yours." I tilted the articles so he could see his name clearly written on each, the envelope and the package. The trap couldn't close if he didn't take the bait, now, could it?

 Clear gray eyes met mine again, his cheeks flushed the delicate shade that had haunted my high school fantasies, and I released a breath I didn't realize I held. His hand trembled as he touched the letter, and something in the involuntary response caused the light to glint off a gold band on his ring finger.

The Man Trap release 8/24

Amazon http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B013Y1SKVW

ARE https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-themantrap-1872741-149.html

SW https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/569225

Payhip

Foo Fighters, Skeleton, Fall Garden Beds #writestuff #gardening

Good morning everyone! Ready to kick another week off with a a fabulous Sunday? Yeah… *sips coffee* It's still gray and cloudy out, which on day three is not a blessing to me. A few days of gray usually has me climbing into bed and pulling the quilt over my head. But this morning is special, because when I got up to make the coffee, I logged onto Facebook and saw this:

FOO FIGHTERS RICKROLLWESTBORO BAPTIST PROTEST 

That right there is all the sunshine I need today. *ear splitting grin* *sips coffee* And in honor of their stalwart spirits, we've declared today to be Foo Fighters day – musically speaking, that is. So I've got them queued up in the background while I swill coffee and get my day started. 

And this… (it's not a mummy joke, but I found it while searching for mummy jokes, and well… I'm still laughing so…)

            A skeleton walks into a bar and says to the bartender, "I'm going to need a beer and a mop."

Today's goal with Mum's the Word is to get the first few scenes polished up and ready to post on the blog starting tomorrow. TOMORROW. Hopefully it won't get here too soon. I'm a little worried about it, because I find that frequently I am not as funny as I think I am. So I kind of stress over that light-hearted approach. We shall see. 

Meanwhile, I spent over an hour last night trying to find something to watch on Netflix that wasn't The Walking Dead. There wasn't anything. SMH. Even skittered over to Amazon Prime TV and couldn’t find anything. So I’m at season four now. Because what's Netflix for but binge watching things? I told a friend the other day that if I had to wait for episodes I'd lose interest, and that's the truth. By the time I get to the end of season five, season six will be on television – but waiting a week for the next episode will just kill it for me. I only have one lingering WTH moment that's been pinging around in my brain the last day or so. It's a big one.

            How come none of the animals turn into zombies when they die?

Other things on the agenda today? I'm plotting some fall 

garden beds and wondering if I have time for a crop to grow. If I can get them in by the end of this month, I think I can make it. Plant some spinach, basil, carrots and beets that can be harvested young and preserved. Then I'll be turning my attention to the greenhouse I got last Christmas. I used it briefly to start seedlings that were drowned in the May and June torrential downpour. But I could easily grow a few indoor crops this winter in that greenhouse. Nothing huge… but again, some herbs, some small root veggies. What do you think? Do you garden? Grow any produce inside during the winter months?

Monday is also the re-release date of The Man Trap. The Man Trap was one of my very first Story

Orgy stories- five years ago! Incredible how much time has passed. It was at Breathless Press, but Breathless is gone now, and so I'm putting it back out there. I confess, I love this story. A newsletter is going out tomorrow with the information, so I won't say a lot here, just, thanks to all of you who've pre-ordered it, and please enjoy Simon and Alexi's story. (If you want to sign up for the newsletter http://eepurl.com/qBhBb, you can click the link. At this time I am sending newsletters only when there are releases, so you might get three in one month, or none, just depends)

*refills coffee mug* Thanks for hanging out with me guys. I've got to throw some chicken in the crock pot and clean the bathroom before I start writing Izzy and Owen out of the hole I left them in. Y'all enjoy your Sunday and I hope I see you tomorrow!

Rain, Silver Stars, Book Tours #writestuff #malexmale #thankyou

Hey there friends and readers! 

Thanks for stopping by the blog this afternoon! *sips coffee* It's Saturday, so naturally, I'm getting a late start to the day. Slept in. It was rainy and thunderous… really nice read-a-book-in-bed weather, you know? But all good things must come to an end, and so I am awake and working…sort of.

I wanted to be sure to post today because I have a special message for you. Thank you. Thank you so much for your ongoing support. Keeping House, the second edition, has earned a Silver Star at All Romance eBooks, as has Dead Man's Hand, the latest in my Pulp Friction 2015 Series, Jack of Spades. Those silver stars may not seem like much, but they're a huge deal for an author. So thank you. You're all the best.

(I have a bone to pick with you!)

What did the mummy say when he was angry at the skeleton? 
That's right. I'm still working on the initial scenes of my new Story Orgy project. I do have a title now, however: Mum's the Word. It's intended to be light rom-com, but who knows where the twists and turns of fate will take this story? Right now, my characters are heading to a job interview, in their cheap Brooks Brothers suits, that is. Today's goal is to do about 2K on this story- and to start posting here on Monday. *fingers crossed*

If there's going to be writing, then there's got to be music. Chasing away the rain this afternoon with some classic rock music from Foreigner and Steely Dan. That right there is quintessential good music.

Fab cover art by Laura Harner

I've just booked a book tour for Keeping House with Will at Pride Promotions. Had some paperwork to complete for them, so I feel like I've already accomplished something today. LOL. You ever have those, I'm-breathing-give-me-a-cookie days? Sometimes the littlest things give you a sense of accomplishment. Managing to attach six different items to an email? That makes me King of the Computer for the day. I hope you'll all join me on September 7. There's a gift card giveaway and all sorts of fun to go with it.

I'm considering signing up for this… SPOOKAPALOOZA. One thing holding me back is that I know I'm going to be absolutely agonizing over how to spell that made up word. But then again, I participated in this a few years ago and it was fun. It's been a long time since I did this sort of event. Partly because basically, I'm just a shy book geek and I never know what to say in a group. Socially awkward, even on the nets, that's me. So maybe. I have a few days to decide.

Then there's this.

Trolls, Negative Reviews

Christy is a great person, a Pulp Friction beta reader and a very articulate advocate for causes she believes in. If you're an author, a reader or a reviewer, take a look at her post on negative reviews and trolls. I wish I could think of a solution, but other than wishing Goodreads and Amazon would enforce the same policies our elementary school teachers did, you know… Do unto others, and be nice or be quiet… Well, what else is there?

*refills coffee mug* Thanks for hanging out with me guys. I've got to get Izzy and Owen over to that job interview with the creepy professor, and who knows what's going to happen after that? Y'all have a great day.

Widgets, Ziggy, The Walking Dead & Coffee #caffeinateme #writestuff

Good morning friends and readers!

*raises coffee in salute* *sips* *blinks sleepily* There you are. Had a difficult time sleeping last night, which of course, translates to a difficult time waking up this morning. But I am moving… sort of. Drinking coffee is part of a writer's work, right? 

It's another gorgeous, sunny day here, but looks like it might be a bit warmer than yesterday. That's okay, as long as it's not in the nineties I can deal. Got to watch the sunrise, which always makes me feel like I'm getting off to the right start.

The right start. LOL. Sorry, that just reminded me of my childhood. When I was a kid, my mom insisted we eat breakfast every day, but with nine children, well… She wasn't able to stand at the stove and take orders. So most days we got our choice of Cornflakes or Cheerios. And let me tell you, *mumble* years ago, Cheerios came in one flavor- oat. No fruit, chocolate, peanut butter or even honey nut. So our "right start to the day" was choking down a tasteless bowl of soggy circles. *shudder* Anyway…

Why didn't the mummy have any friends?

(Because he was wrapped up in himself!)

I told you yesterday, I've been struggling with my new story? The struggle goes on. But I did have an idea inspired by of all things, the advertising on my Facebook page. I was updating the other day and in the sidebar was an ad for Brooks Brothers suits at 40% off. I had to laugh. First, yes, I was shopping for suits. My SO has to attend a wedding out of state in October and it's been a while since he's bought a new suit. I won't say he's grown… but uh … that suit seems to have gotten smaller since it was stuck in the very back of the closet. Maybe some tailor from Narnia sneaks over occasionally and practices his skills by taking in clothes. Anyway… I had to wonder, do people who wear Brooks Brothers Suits really need to bargain shop? I'll be working that into the story, along with the mummy jokes and trivia. Fun times. We'll see how it goes today, huh? Also, on that front, I MAY have written sex in the first chapter. You don't mind that, do you?

This morning, I'm jamming with the king of rock … uh not Elvis, David Bowie. David Bowie is a god among musicians, but what I love about him is his ability to create characters. (Ziggy Stardust )

Back to the Walking Dead. Zombie Apocalypse day six, season three: I'm still addicted. And still bewildered.

1.      Winter passed quickly, and they all survived. The men grew fab facial hair, but Carol's hair stayed really short. Okay. But I saw that prison behind them at the end of Season 2. They didn't find it until months later? And four of their group were native to that area- but none of them thought, oh yeah there's a big prison near here?

2.      Michonne is one badass character. That's not bewildering me. I just wanted to put it out there. I'm betting she's a red shirt though. (Star Trek rules: All new characters die. Especially ones you like.)

3.      Herschel wants to plant the prison yard with tomatoes, cucumbers and soybeans. Excellent idea. Then I wondered, as they left the farm with the barn in flames, he was shooting zombies through the head one after another, bang, bang, bang like Clint Eastwood on steroids. When did he grab seeds for the garden?

4.      EVERYONE CAN SHOOT. Have you ever tried to shoot a target? I can't believe however good a teacher Shane was, he was able to teach every single person to shoot a moving target dead in the head.

5.      Is Rick still calling out to Morgan every morning on that ancient walkie talkie?

At least they've finally learned to conserve ammunition. Hopefully the prison kitchen yields giant cans of spam and tuna fish. I know I just added a few to my grocery list. For the coming winter of course, not the zombie apocalypse. Well, whichever comes first.

In other news, I stumbled across a great looking recipe this morning on Pinterest to enhance my

"beans and rice" repertoire. We eat a lot of beans and rice… inexpensive and tasty foods are ideal. This one is red beans, white rice, cooked with coconut milk, ginger, red curry paste, and then spritzed with lime juice and scattered with cilantro leaves. Sounds delicious and I added coconut milk to my grocery list just so we can try it. And in the same trip to Pinterest, I discovered that my garden dreams are not over for the season! I've decided to do some fall planting based on this article.

Pinterest is my friend today J And I'm doubly excited about it, because I've discovered that you can make widgets… got to love that word… for your boards! *blushes* I've been playing with it. The widgets inspire me to clean up my boards and share them a little more. Have you tried them?

Then there's this, which wasn't on Pinterest, but I found it yesterday on Amy Lane's Facebook page.

Never Read a Romance Novel? Grow Up

This is an excellent article defining some reasons why people find romance stories attractive. It's amazing that the top selling genre is still regarded with such disdain by some people. I write romance, and I read romance, not because I like sex… because I've seen sex scenes in many a gritty detective story or angst ridden drama… but because I like the assurance that there is someone out there to help you shoulder the burdens of existence.

*refills coffee mug* Okay, thanks for hanging out with me guys. I'm off to drag Izzy and Owen into danger, and maybe to Brooks Brothers to buy a cheap suit. If you think of any cool mummy jokes or have anything else you'd like to share (recipes, songs, etc.), I'd love to hear them here or on my Facebook page. Have a great day!