Dance For Me

Sean Michael, bestselling Torquere Press author, was kind enough to review my latest title.

He writes: Rick and Mike have been together forever, at least that’s the way it feels to Rick, when they go to a party thrown by their friend. At the party, Rick sees Mike with new eyes when he catches sight of his lover flirting and then dancing with other men. It turns him on and they share a wild night of passion. Soon they’re exploring this new kink, going further and further to keep things hot and interesting.

CB Potts has penned an absorbing picture of a couple searching for that spark, that excitement that they used to enjoy in each other, and the question of just how far is too far, where do you draw the line? Along the way we’re treated to some smokin’ hot, and unique, sex scenes, and a fascinating exploration of varying aspects of voyeurism.

This is a fantastic start to the new line.

You can buy this new title here: http://www.torquerepress.com/cart/cart.php?m=product_list&c=1302

From what I've heard from readers so far, it's my best book yet. I'd like to see what y'all think!

Hi Everybody!

Popping in to say Hello! Figure I'm here less than the Spambots, and that's no good. Watch for semi-regular postings to appear in this place soon -- and until then, I'm over at http://cbpotts.livejournal.com

Welcome Aboard, Gertie!

I know, I know... I never post here anymore. I like LJ better, honestly. Better sense of community, better features, less comment spam telling me how to grow my penis and please all the ladies.

Visit me there at cbpotts.livejournal.com

But until then, welcome my sister to the Blogosphere. She's at gertiek.blogspot.com and you should all go say HELLO! She's really a wonderful person, creative and smart -- not nearly as weird as me, but nobody is perfect.

Farewell Peacock Records

On WPTZ today, Peacock Records is closing its doors after 22 years in business. Farewell to a neat, funky, independent music store.

I am so going to hell

So I stop at our local country store this weekend. I'm looking for the newspaper. There might be a story I've written about woodstoves in there.

Friendly clerk, who knows me and knows why I'm here, says upon seeing me, "Sorry, we sold out! We don't have a paper for you."

Man at desk, who is obviously not from these parts, looks me up and down condenscendingly. I should add that he's wearing a three piece suit. A North Country man wears a three piece suit once in his life: whilst entering his coffin."Oh, coupons."

"No," I replied. It must be admitted that I look more like a mad coupon clipper than a sage for the ages, commenting on the intricate balance of our social network, so I had no problem with his confusion. "I write for the paper." At the same moment, the friendly clerk chimed in, "She works for the paper."

Suit man is bemused. Perhaps I do not resemble Millay enough to fufill his writer-appearance expectations."No, really, what do you do for the paper? Delivery?"

I smile. God help me, I smile. And then I looked around, dropped my voice, and confided,"Well, you know we've had all this rain, right?"

He nods.

"Turns out it has adversely affected the fertility of the local elk population." I nodded wisely, stumbling over these big words. "But luckily, there's something in soy ink -- you know we use that to print all the words in the paper -- that stimulates elk ovulation."

He nods, like he's known this all along. Good for him, for at this point, I am talking directly out of my ass.

"So we collect the papers, and back at the shop, we turn 'em into paper mache." Here I blush, a Southern belle fallen from grace. "Paper mache elk phalluses."

He blinks.

"Turns out if we, um, stimulate a female elk with one of them paper mache phalluses, she gets quite randy. More than ready to breed, if you get my meaning."

I nod, wisely.

The friendly clerk at this point is intensely interested in the lotto machine. She may, in fact, be rewiring the unit to pull in satellite tv.

Suit man stares at me. I smile back. His wife doesn't know what to think, but you can tell the idea of a paper mache elk phallus has piqued her curiousity.

A long moment passes. The lotto machine can now pull in HBO and Cinemax.

"So," he finally says, "what do you write? Sports?"

I'd mirror post from my LiveJournal, but Gertrude might kill me. Right now, I'm having a few anger issues, the type that are generally best dealt with by setting small things on fire and then hurling them, preferable via trebuchet, at the offending types who have caused the mood. Right now, I'm working really hard on discovering why this is not a good idea.

Want to know what I've come up with?

When using a lighter, I often get a hot little tender circle on the edge of my thumb. It turns white, the skin dries out, it irritates me for weeks.

Other than that, people, I've got nothing. I can have a fairly decent trebuchet rigged up by noon.

So perhaps this isn't the most thoughtful blog post I've ever made. It won't inspire great poetry or change the world.

It is, however, the only time I've ever thought, "And they think Harlan Ellison is an asshole? If only they could hear me now" although in my defense, I've not touched a single person this morning, save for the continual, non-stop unrelieved tedium touching that is motherhood, the stream of carry me upstairs, I've got to go potty, I've stubbed my toe, I'm not happy, I want to cuddle, I am happy, carry me downstairs, I want to go in my motherfucking sandbox mom would you listen to me and step away from the freaking computer, I don't give a rat's ass that it is the one thing that is keeping you from flipping right the fuck out, I want to play.

And you know what? I'm hardly the only woman who feels this way. We're legion. And given one more freakin' straw upon our backs, and I don't know what's gonna happen. But it will involve flamethrowers.

There's been some changes round here

'Bout all I can manage with shall we say dramatic -- In that Jane Austen, OMG I'm Dying sort of way -- children is to turn anon comments back on. For my wee sister, who does not want a blogger account.

So if you see an anon comment, it's from her. Gertrude. Gertrude Gerhazniz. I'd tell you more about her, but she'd like her privacy protected.

Say Hooray and Huzzah

For my dear friend Charity, who has been granted a reprieve of nine months. This gives her time to deal with the necessary court proceedings, and if all goes well, stay with her family! Happy day!