Thursday, February 11, 2010
Were Love Blooms gets Best Book
Sorry, I've been absent of late but I'm working my brain to this side of crazy
wrapping up Love Bites 3. Yeah, I know a short trip that one but sometimes you need to take a break from the almost sane. That said, I had to stop in and share some amazing news. Were Love Blooms has been selected Best Book by LASR. Who knew people liked books about Werewolves? Okay, maybe I did a little but this has totally floored me.
I wish to thank Holly at LASR for making my day and for so many kind words I
just about sniffled.
Here's just a taste but I invite you to please stop by and read the entire
'If you are looking for a story to brighten your day and make you laugh out
loud, this one will work quite nicely. I recommend this one for all of you who
want lighthearted fun and romance with a touch of spicy romance.'
And if you'd like to link up to the rest just click below.
Here's a bit of Were Love Blooms to get you howling at the moon.
Were Love Blooms
Not to sound totally insane, but how much wax does it take to do a bikini line when you're a freaking werewolf? It wasn't even close to a full moon and I looked like I'd just staggered off Gilligan's Island and the Professor hadn't figure out how to turn a coconut into a Lady Bic. I'm sure Mabelle would have an absolute cow if I showed up at the Gilded Lady with a five o'clock shadow all the way down to my hot pink toenails. As a fully debutanted Southern Belle, my appearance represented not only myself, but the entirety of the South. Heady thought, but I'd grown used to the pressures associated with my station in life.
I'm not being egotistical. Please don't think you're dealing with one of those crazed high strung society sluts who thinks the world revolved around them. I'm nothing more than your average every day run of the mill country girl who just so happened to live in an antebellum home with fifty or so acres to romp around on and a trust fund that'd make your jaw hit the ground. Not bragging, stating the truth. Don't hate me for being beautiful. Hate me because your boyfriend just slipped my number into his Top Five.
I'd call myself pretty much normal if not for the whole hairy-howling-at-the moon-time-of-the-month situation I'm in the process of dealing with. Not sure, but I doubt Midol had an extra-strength anything for that. Lord knows it barely covered a good old fashion cramp. But those are things left unspoken by a girl of my genteel sensibilities.
Like I said, as a proud member in good standing of the venerable Lee family—no relation—I had to be a point of inspiration for all those girls who weren't born me, as well as a pillar of the community since I learned the proper way to curtsey. Age five, by the way and thank you very much. Without me, beingwellme, the whole town would probably fall into ruin and damnation. The men folk would surely revolt if I let even a smidgen of my face into sunlight without my make-up firmly in place and my long naturally curly auburn hair set just so. It's a wonder I hadn't degenerated into a basket case with so much pressure heaped upon my tender shoulders.
Which only made this entire werewolf fiasco all the more traumatic. What would the Ladies League have said if they found out? They would've all choked to death on their Mint Juleps! Drunken church ladies aren't a pretty sight to begin with, so let's not go there. It's not like I asked to become a foo-foo-woof-woof. I'd spent my life avoiding unsightly hair growth for heavens sake.