Rearview Vegas

New Cover!!

2011-08-06T14:03:00.001-07:00

THE HOODED MAN RISES!!

The Hooded Man Rises!

2011-08-05T22:00:00.000-07:00

Great news, maninis, THE HOODED MAN has been acquired by Decandent Publishing. I have received the cover and it is beyond beautiful. I will post it as soon as I am giving the green light. I will be on and off with more details as they arise.
I am so excited.
This book has been my baby for many years. Robin Hood is and always has been an obsession of mine and to have my re-telling, and it really is a new twist on the tale..thank you very much Mr. Ridley Scott, step off and let me show you how it's done, being finally published is more then I can stand.
I am over the moon.

I think I love writing dirty stories. :P

New blog

2011-07-09T22:26:00.001-07:00

Hi all. I've started another blog where we will be having a history party. If you want to learn about some fun and dirty stories about American history please feel fre to check it out.
Www.historysmistress.blogspot.com

Daughter of Fire

2011-05-19T07:58:00.000-07:00

So I am pleased to announce that "Daughter of Fire", the second in my Hawaiian Paranormal series has been chosen as an editor's choice at Textnovel.com...after only being on the site for 2 days.

More and more evidence that people DO want to read Hawaiian Paranormal.

I'm starting to feel confident about the path of my writing.

Name change

2011-05-18T09:04:00.001-07:00

I have changed the name of Curse of the Goddess to Drums of the Island. I am also saying a big resounding Fuck You to the person who told me that " no one wants to read Hawaiian Paranormal romance because that can't pronounce that names." I know Hawaii. So I am going to go back to writing about it.
Watch out Carina Press, I am sending you Daughter of Fire and you better not piss off Pele.

Drums of the islands you're beating in my heart
You're with me no matter where I roam
If ever I wander if ever we're apart
I know that you will lead me home

If I should journey across the deep blue sea
I'll never forget these coral shores
Drums of the islands I hear you calling me
And I'll return forever yours

I love each valley each grain of sand each hill
The flowers the music of the isles
These are the things I love and always will
Though I may roam ten thousand miles

9 Days Paradise - Chapter 4

2011-04-01T19:15:00.001-07:00

Seated in the restaurant, flowers in my hair, surrounding me with their decadent aroma like a veil of the most expensive perfume I wait. The drink sits on the table in front of me, the obligatory frou-frou tropical confection containing an umbrella and a slice of pineapple. Waiting. I am early by as much as fifteen minutes. The open air seaside restaurant had sand for a floor. I kick off my shoes and curl my toes in it in a concerted effort to calm my racing blood. This is where he asked me to meet him. Would he look the same? How would the years have altered him? They had most certainly altered me. My waist, once flat and girlish, now carried fifteen extra pounds and was rounded in a truly womanly fashion. My hair, still black and long enough to sit on, was subtly shot with grey. Would he notice? Would he care? Waiting.

9 Days Paradise - Third Chapter

2011-03-31T00:15:00.000-07:00

He was surfing, a glistening streak of bronzed sinew cutting through the crystalline white and blue. I stood rooted to the sand, toes curled in the hot grains watching him slice the sea. At the tender age of 18 my mouth hung open in a gauche display of gangly teenaged lust. I barely felt my friend's bony elbow dig into my side as we both watched him step from the surf like some kind of ancient god come to life.
He flashed us a brilliant smile laced with mischief and candor before coming to stop in front of us. Dropping his purple surfboard at our feet he laughed and struck up a conversation. I no longer remember what we talked about or for how long but I remember every line of his face. Every curve and twist of his body. Every strand of hair of his head.
He spent the day with us showing us the sights and sounds and smells of his home, his Kona-town. And when my friend slipped into our hotel room in the early evening cursed with a sunburn in need of aloe, I spent the evening with him. Dinner and a walk on the sand under a full luxiourus moon blessed me for the next 15 years of solitude.

9 Days Paradise - Second Chapter

2011-03-28T16:30:00.001-07:00

There's ocean beneath me now. I'm flying in the great metal bird toward the brithplace of a king. It's a fathomless blue at this height, a dark royal blue kissed while white as the breakers crest out in the sea. There is a whale breaching just below us, says the happy voice of the captain from the PA system.
There is no one sitting next to me, so I lean over to to see if I can catch a glimpse of the leviathan below. I can't.
I'm alone with my thoughts for this short jaunt to Kona. Only 55 minutes trapped inside the steel hull of the plane.
Will he be there waiting for me at the airport? Once I had gained control of my pounding heart and racing blood, I responded to the soul changing email. I raided a box buried in the closet. Buried under the past, buried under everything I am trying to forget. Until I found it. His smiling white teeth flashing against bronzed skin.
I responded.
Two simple words.
I'm coming.

9 Days Paradise - First Chapter

2011-03-28T14:37:00.000-07:00

This story will be written over the course of ten days utilizing only the notes function on the Ipod or Iphone. This will be presented warts and all.
It is also available on Textnovel

The sun hasn't risen yet by the time I land in Honolulu. Walking in the dark between terminals, my bag heavy on my shoulder despite being almost empty, I look at the sky. It's that early morning pink, the same color of the underside belly of a freshly skinned salmon. In a few hours I'll be on kona. I have no idea what I'm doing, dressed in a cheap box store tee- shirt, oversized faded jeans and flip flops in Hawaii.
I'd been to the islands once before when I was 18. Firmly on the cusp of childhood and adult life, the wispy summer before high school grads make that all important jump to college, the islands had pulled me in for a jaunt that lasted a month. I'd boarded the plane bound for home back then without a backwards glance and set my life on the path I'd been treading ever since.
Hawaii never crossed my mind again in those 15 years...until a week ago.
The email was simple. Two words from an unknown address. Something burst in my head, a flash of intense longing and pain I'd thought I was having an anuyerisum.
I shot away from the computer, fear making my hands shake. It couldn't have been from him. It's been too long. He no longer kept me up at night with the constant replayed of shared memories. Until now. Two simple works sent me packing instantly.
Come Home

The journey continues...

2011-03-10T21:19:00.000-08:00

I have found the path once more.
There was a time when it diverged away from me,
I let myself be swept away from the true calling.

I am writing plays again. I am writing again. For a while there I was gripped with an all consuming writer's block and I couldn't write word. The floodgates have opened and I am once again gripped by my muse. I want to write everything and anything. I feel all powerful in my prose once again. My art is breathing and screaming inside of me. It is an amazing feeling to have.
There is a sense of loss when you as a writer, as an artist, are in the deathly clutches of writer's block. There are phantom pains in your hands and fingers, those appendages that help us express the very thoughts locked in our heads and souls. Your head hurts as if your brain is in a vice that is constantly being tightened. As long as you are under the evil spell, you forgot who you truly are.

I am a writer. I write. It is something I need to do. It is as essential to me as oxygen or water. If I could never write again I would shrivel and wither like a dried grape on the vine passed over by the vintner.

Back to work I go...my play is calling me to finish. After that I will treat myself to sleep.

I love being an artist.

I want to be an ostrich

2011-03-06T15:51:00.000-08:00

I wish I was the kind of person who could stick their head in the sand and not care about anything beyond their sphere of existence.
I am an activist. I donate my time and money to making this world a better place. When a crisis happens I think of same way I help. Many times I feel as if I am not doing enough. Sometimes I wish I could be like people I know where the world's struggles don't bother them. The earthquake in Haiti was deemed, "Oh that's sad" and the BP disaster "Guess that means we don't get fresh fish this year" A massive earthquake in New Zealand leaves them asking me...Where is New Zealand? Half the time these people have no idea what is going outside American Idol and Keeping up the Kardasians.
The kind of person who has no idea what Prop 8 is why I fight it with every fiber of my being.
There are some many things out there that escape those people's notice.
It would be some much easier to live my life like that. My head stuck deep in the desert sand, my world only encompassing me. But I'm not like that. I simply can't look away when people need help. I have been blessed with an amazing family, wonderful caring friends, and good life. I need to give back.
I am an activist. I am an American. I am a human being.

If you want to help me help others here are a few organizations I support:
http://jphro.org/
http://www.noh8campaign.com/
http://www.theshadetree.org/

I've Received the Stylish Blogger Award

2011-02-28T18:26:00.000-08:00

WooHoo!! I so totally rock, squirt!!

Now I have to tell you internet weirdos seven things about me...here goes...

1. My favorite movie of all time is Moonstruck. I've been known to quote it ad nausem.

2. I have an addiction to Bollywood movies...an unhealthy addiction. Just saying.

3. I have a five octave range and use to be able to shatter glass with my opera voice. (Out of practice now)

4. I had a huge poster of Michael Keaton as Batman on my wall until I was about 14 when a shirtless Jordan Knight took over.

5. I want to live in the Hollywood Hills and write screenplays for the rest of my life. At some point in time I want to hear the words..."Seege Sheets beat Aaron Sorkin at the Oscars?!?!" hopefully with crying and wailing. It will rock.

6. I'm really short so I always wear really high heels whenever I go out. It's the old bait and switch with my feet.

7. I am a huge advocate for Gay Rights in my hometown. I'm straight but not narrow minded.

Thanks to The Laundry Hag herself the amazing Jennifer Hart for the award! Now, to pay it forward!

Hawaii's Last Queen

2011-02-13T17:43:00.000-08:00

As many of you know, I have been studying Hawaiian history for several years now. Most especially the history and life of the last queen of Hawaii, Liliuokalani.

When I first visited Hawaii almost ten years ago, I knew nothing of this woman and her amazing story. I only know what every mainland child knew of Hawaii. Hawaii is a chain of islands, they have the most active volcano, and there was this king called Kamehameha. There is so much more to Hawaiian history. My interest and connection to Hawaiian history changed quickly one sunny day.

I was strolling down a side street running in front of my parent's condo( my parents live in Hawaii and I am blessed to be able to visit them and the islands that have stolen a piece of my soul) and the Royal Kona Resort. I was heading up to the bay to sit on the seawall and watch the surf.

When you pass the Royal Kona, you see large portraits hanging on the walls outside near the lobby. These are portraits, copies of course, of the royal family. There is Kamehameha the great, the chief that united all the islands to become King. There is Kamamalu his favorite wife and many more. The final picture is Queen Liliuokalani, most likely in her early thirties when she was still a princess. A face strong and commanding with eyes so dark and intriguing I was gripped with the desire to ask the painting questions, as if she was real. Who was she? What had she done? Why was she on this wall?

I promptly bought a book called, The Betrayal of Liliuokalani, at the ABC store I passed on my way to the pier.

In the years that came after that day, I became more and more obsessed with Liliuokalani and her life. I felt the overwhelming need to write a screenplay about her life and times. I brainstormed and researched until I was blue. Yet I didn't write anything.

Until now.

The other night I was attending a birthday celebration for one of my closets and dearest friends. I got to talking with another friend and his wife. They write screenplays with another couple and they had asked what I was working on now. I mentioned how I wanted to write about Liliuokalani. We chatted about her life and I told them what I had learned. "What a great movie that would make! I never knew any of that." With that statement I realized it was time to sit down and write her story. Give her highness a chance to tell her story and let the world know what an amazing person she was.

I now realize I don't have to be afraid to write this screenplay. I have it in me.
For some reason, the queen has chosen me - a mainland haole - to write her story. And I feel she is standing beside me on this journey, guiding my hands as I type.

Mahalo nui loa, Liliuokalani - ali'i nui of my heart.
Aloha!

Listening to : Nathan Aweau - a Place called Hawaii
Watching: Hawaii Five-O
Reading: Kalakaua Renaissance King.

Shut up voice or I will poke you with a Q-tip

2011-01-25T10:23:00.001-08:00

I have too many stories rolling around in my head. I am going insane because of it. Sitting at my computer to work is a difficult task right now because I’m not sure what to work on.
I have a running list of brainstorm ideas that is roughly three pages long. Anyone else have this issue?
If I was as prolific as my friend Saranna DeWylde, the Amazon goddess of doom, I most likely wouldn’t even think this was an issue. She can write 20K in a day. I can do about four when I have the time.
The Gods aren’t done. Pele isn’t done. Sam’s story is in pieces. I have six shorts started.
I’m a bad writer and planner.

Desert Living and Cactus love

2011-01-22T10:22:00.000-08:00

It is no secret that I love my hometown of Las Vegas. I was not born here but spent most of my life here. I was a mere babe of ten we when first pulled up stakes and claimed Lost Wages as our new home.

I love living in the West, in the wide open spaces. That said, I think I could happily live anywhere. The skyscrapered skyline of NYC, the close cosy comfort of D.C., or the open plains of Kansas. But if I have to choose it is Vegas all the way.

All that Vegas love-in mush above leads into the idea I have for a new book. Cowboys and the NFR and country music. All this I love as much as I love the desert. As many of you know the NFR, or National Finals Rodeo is held in Las Vegas every winter. That means my little slice of heaven on Earth of a hometown is inundated with Wrangler butts and Stetsons. What more could a red-blooded American girl ask for? The situation makes for a great romance novel...I hope.

For the Blaze endeavor I also have a Secret Service book planned....but that's for another blog, as well as the Civil War Romance.

I have goals this years, ones I fully intended to actually accomplish. One of which is to sell a book to Harlequin for their Blaze line by the end of the year. I have decided to be proud and out loud about the fact that I write Romance. It is nothing to be ashamed of. And frankly, as your friend, If I tell you I write romance and you laugh, no matter how non-judgmental you mean it, my feelings will get hurt. So, just a word of warning, don't be a douche when asking me about my writing. Jane Austen wrote Romance. Charles Dickens wrote Romance in a way. Shakespeare wrote Romance. Do you laugh at them? Didn't think so.

I've been posting back on textnovel.com again. I need to get my work out there and I need to write daily. Being on textnovel helps force me to do that.

Well off for now my minions. I have tons to do today and not a plethora of time to accomplish it in. See you tomorrow!

Current tune-age: Arlington by Trace Atkins
Current book: Wild Rose: The True Story of Civil War Spy by Ann Blackman

Daughter of Fire

2010-12-30T11:52:00.001-08:00

My semi-finalist Hawaiian paranormal novel, Daughter of Fire, is back as a free read on textnovel.com

It is dedicated to the divas who have had my back all this year, through tough times and good.

Candi Wall, Jennifer L.Hart, Gail Hart, Saranna DeWylde, Liane Gentry Skye, Valorie Dorr. You all rock and you are my strength.

Enjoy at your leisure.

http://www.textnovel.com/story/Daughter-of-Fire/5543/

Greek God story on Textnovel

2010-07-09T13:36:00.000-07:00

So I recently discovered my newest WIP, Betting on a God, was chosen as an editor's choice.
Woot!

http://www.textnovel.com/stories_list_detail_reviews.php?story_id=4336

Read, enjoy, do a little snoopy dance.

Reflections on the 4th

2010-07-04T20:19:00.000-07:00

The night sky has been illuminated in fiery fashion. The cups of the American people have been filled once again with the sweet wine of patriotism.
Today we celebrate and come together as a nation to understand who we are as a country. When you look up into the sky to watch those blazing balls of light explode in time to John Phillips Souza and Irving Berlin, what crosses through your mind? Do you think to those brave men on that hot and humid day signing a declaration for a new nation? Can you see those valiant men in blue and grey, falling by the thousands on that verdant green field in Gettysburg, so that all men could be free? Are the faces of men storming a beach in Normandy to stop a mad man so the world could be free floating before your eyes? Do you think of the men and women dying and fighting this very night in a far off country?
Remember no matter what problems you might have right now, there will always be something bigger and stronger and more pressing then that small issue you face right now. Take a breathe, step back, and then you will understand. You will know what this day truly means. This Fourth of July. This 234th birthday of our great United States. God Bless America.

Excerpt of Tusk

2010-06-07T16:04:00.000-07:00

Here is an excerpt of my newest W.I.P. Hawaiian paranormal...Tusk:

Puna, Hawaii, 500 years ago
The unfathomable pain and revolting aroma of scorched flesh filled the usually sweet tropical air, turning it sour. Pain, no mortal could endure, pushed him past the brink of sanity. Luckily, he wasn’t mortal. His back was on fire, covered in thick lava and flames. Dropping to the ground he routed against the earth in a desperate attempt to put out the fire searing his flesh.
Opening his eyes, the cool soil absorbing some of the pain, he glanced down at his forearms. Beneath the surface of his bronzed flesh, something rolled. His stomach turned as a wave of crippling pain overtook him again. His bones lengthened and curved. A popping sound filled the air and a roar ripped from his throat. He grunted and fought against the change the torture forced his body to make.
His muscular frame bent low to the ground, course fur rippled along his arms, down his torso, and tusks exploded from his lengthening snout. He grunted out, the pain in his back slowly subsiding as the change overcame him.
He stood on all fours, more animal then man and turned his head to the mountain dripping lava down its sides. He cursed silently, the anger and mistrust filling every inch of his brain. She will pay. All women will pay. He was a fool to give his heart. Never love a goddess.

New Textnovel Posts

2010-06-04T15:44:00.001-07:00

Hey blogstalkers, check out my newest work over at Textnovel.com
It is called Tales of a Las Vegas Shopgirl. Follow the adventures of Dema Dawn, a less the perfect pin-up girl burning her youth in Vegas.

Freaking Sparkly Vampires

2010-05-18T21:23:00.000-07:00

I will take flack for this. Don't Care. :D

I have never read Twilight. I have never seen the movies. Robert Patterson or what ever the crap his name is does nothing for me. I only think that Jacob kid is cute because I remember when he was Shark Boy. I want my vampires evil, wearing leather, and sometimes blond a.k.a Spike in Buffy.
It strikes me as odd, and kind of weirds me out really, when a woman my age - someone the shy side of 30 - goes all teeny bopper about Twilight.

Can someone please explain it to me??

Blog Post for Lana Griffin...Romance in Hawaii

2010-03-10T22:33:00.001-08:00

Aloha e komo mai. Let me first say Mahalo nui loa to the amazing Lana Griffin for having me here today.

As you know, I write paranormal romance. Wow, when you say it that way it sounds like I need an intervention. I set my books in Hawaii and use the Hawaiian panethoen for a very simple reason…I was bored with Vampires. (No offense Lana, DUSK rocks)

NOTE FROM LANA: I’ve loved the ocean since I was a little girl. But I’ve also loved vampires since I was a little girl. I can’t imagine growing bored with vampires any more than I can imagine growing bored with Hawaii. Though I understand your point, that paranormals in Hawaii certainly differ from typical vampire fare.

Like many paranormal romance lovers, I read Christine Feehan and Sherrilyn Kenyon. I devoured every book I could get until one scorchingly hot summer’s day---I live in Las Vegas, it’s like living on the sun--- when I was standing in Borders and looked up to see vampire romances as far as the eye can see, nothing but rows and rows of tortured vamps and the slayers who love them. I annoyed. I wanted something new. With some many amazing cultures in this world you'd think publishing would branch out. So I decided I would write my own. I had no idea what to write about until I took a trip with my family to the Big Island of Hawaii. There I found what I needed to kick start my true writing path. Two helpful items in particular come to mind, the beauty of our fiftieth state and Hawaiian Mythology by Martha Warren Beckwith. Beckwith’s book is the definitive collection of Hawaiian myth. For a long time it was the only written record of many of the tales of Pele, Lono, and the other gods. With good old Martha by my side and a view of the Pacific Ocean stretched out in front of me, the idea came for Kona Warrior and the two WIP sequels.

As I wrote about the ancient Hawaiian tradition, I came to respect Hawaii and it culture heritage more and more each day. A friend asked me if I was born in Hawaii. No I wasn’t but I think my soul was born in Kona. The terrifically talented A.J. Llewellyn, who also writes Hawaiian romance, referred to us as Pele people and I believe he is correct. That is one of the main reasons I lose my cool when I read something set in Hawaii that is inaccurate. One in particular made me toss the book across the room in anger, but I’m not naming names. When you write about an existing culture you must honor that world, not simply use them for cultural appropriation purposes.

Another addiction that feed my Hawaiian love is cheesy beach movies. Don’t act coy. You know which ones I mean, something from the late fifties or early sixties, featuring the curvaceous Annette Funicello and the manly Frankie Avalon in the throes of teenage hormones How about the ones with Elvis and his white swimsuit strumming a ukulele? When I pop Blue Hawaii or Paradise Hawaiian Style into the DVD player I am instantly taken back to the shores of my island home.

In my first novel, Kona Warrior, my hapless heroine Gloria is confronted with the most delicious Hawaiian hunk when Mano steps from the ocean into her arms. She doesn’t even mind that he occasionally turns into a shark. As a paranormal romance novelist I get to cruise around in the rich textured world of Hawaiian lore and write about sexy beach boys and girls. In my current Hawaiian paranormal WIP, Daughter of Fire, all American Jack O’Connor is discovering the mystique of a true island girl with a fiery lineage. Kalama Young is not your usual bikini clad goddess. She also happens to be the daughter of a goddess, Pele the Goddess of fire. Jack’s in trouble, but the good kind.

Is it any wonder I write beach romances set in Hawaii? The mystique of Polynesia and the hunky surf god has always been an attractor for me and my fevered imaginings. There is something so incredibly appealing about an exotic hero and I think a Polynesian warrior is as exotic as they get. A line I love from a cheesy ‘80’s film, spoken by Shelley Long in the character of a romance novelist no less, sums it up best for me. “If there is one thing women love more than muscles, it is brown muscles.” Give me a tall tanned delicious hero and I am set every time.

Reflections on a suit...and a table and a chairs

2010-01-11T13:55:00.000-08:00

In Decemeber I went to Washington D.C. to visit my parents, who now live there. One cold Wednesday morningmy mother and I journeyed to the Museum of American History at the Smithsonian. I am an American History geek and she indulges my complusion.
The museum was filled to the brim with eager and not so eager goers. Groups of school aged children obviously forced to endure a day at the Smithsonian Mall intermingled with a myriad of Midwestern families and hard –core history buffs. I am one of the latter. I truly love history, especially American History.
The artifacts that line every conceivable space of the museum were plentiful and amazing. But something like nothing I have ever seen before stopped me in my tracks. I went no further and soaked in the beauty of it, much to the unhappiness of those others around me. I was rooted to my spot and they had to travel around me.
It was Lincoln’s suit. The actual suit he wore to the office, you know that Oval one, every day. It was a faded black, almost a rich brown under the muted lights of the display case. My first thought at seeing this item was, Lincoln was skinny. After that the overwhelming sense of history, of life confined in that glass case. The conversations this configuration of fabric and thread had been privy too was mind blowing. To everyone, including me, Lincoln was the Great Emancipator, the Father of the Civil War, one of the greatest president’s we have ever known as a people. But to me especially, he was something more
I am a Nevadan. Now I know what you’re thinking. What does that have to do with Lincoln? My states motto is Battle Born. You see, Nevada became a state October 31st, 1864. Lincoln was the president who gave my home a real American identity. Nevada was born in the heat of the Civil War, in the heat of battle, hence Battle Born. As I gazed on this suit, I couldn’t help but wonder was he wearing this when he gave Nevada Statehood? What went through his mind when he made Nevada more than a territory out west he would never lay eyes on? Home means Nevada, home means the hills. Home means the sage and the pine. All this from a lanky man in a faded black suit. Thanks Abe.
Next we turned a corner into The Price of Freedom, Americans at War exhibit. This exhibit traces America's mitilatry from the Revolutionary War to the present. Plainly put, it was amazing. George Washington's uniform to 'Stormin' Norman's battle fatigues. But to me there was nothing so beautiful and so moving as the chairs and table Lee and Grant sat at for the surrender at Appomattox Court House. Over this simple wooden tabletop the Union once again became whole, in a manner of speaking. I had to turn away from my mom, I didn't want her to see me tear up. I shouldn't have worried. She calmly said, "It's okay honey I understand. You look all you want." And I did just that.
Has something in history ever effected you that much? How and what was it?

Guest Blog...Let Your Voice Be Heard

2009-12-10T08:16:00.000-08:00

Since I have been busily scribbling away on The Hooded Man, I bring you a guest blog by my good friend Jennifer L Hart. Not only is Jen an amazing person, but she is a phenomenal writer! I am honored and glad she decided to stop by today.

Take it away, Jen,

Let your voice be heard!

Thank you Courtney the Magnificent for having me! The Hooded Man for Next Best Celler! Yeah baby!

Kay, I’m done sucking up. ;-)

See what I did there—other than brown-nose the good hostess— I gave you a taste of who I am as a writer, the particular flavor which makes up my voice. One part snark, one part pop-culture sass, two parts grateful human being.

Voice is one of those nebulous phrases aspiring authors read about all the freaking time, with no real concept of what it is. Quite a frustrating predicament; I mean how can you master something if you are unable to pick the suspect out of a lineup?

When I first started amassing rejections for The Misadventures of the Laundry Hag: Skeletons in the Closet, one of the most memorable was “Truth be told, I’m afraid these pages just didn't draw me in as much as I had hoped.”

As much as I appreciated the good agent’s effort in responding to me personally, you have no idea how much time I spent fretting over this sentence. In addition to the question chasing it around inside my brain.

What was I doing wrong?

Several things, but the biggest was obsessing over one person’s opinion. Took me awhile, but after reading a particularly horrific book told in first person POV I realized because I didn’t like the protagonist, I didn’t like the story. Was the author at fault? Absolutely not, it was my personal opinion, nothing more. Similar to the way some people like chocolate while—shockingly—others don’t. Could I change the agent’s opinion? Not on Laundry Hag.

So, I spent time focusing on my story instead. Tightening up paragraphs, deleting passive sentences and stall phrases. By getting rid of the clutter, I allowed my voice to belt out a chorus I was proud of for the first time. While I believed in my idea beforehand, I loved my story after. That’s what editing is all about!

I sold the manuscript. And as of a few days ago, the next in the series!

So the best way to develop your voice is to write, edit, repeat. Get to know your story, your style and the parts which comprise your unique ability. Will some not like your work? Of course, rejection is part of life. Only you can decide if developing your voice as a writer is worth the effort. I can tell you though; the world wants to read your story. Will you share it with us?

Guest Blog.. Pele's Power by AJ Llewelyn

2009-12-07T08:29:00.001-08:00

Today we bring you the first of our guest blogs here at Rearview Vegas.
Joining us today the amazingly talented AJ Llewelyn.
Take it away, AJ!

I am heading to Oahu on December 17, meeting my family for the holidays. It is starting to feel real now that everyone is calling me for my address on island, to send parcels and boxes and also so that they can pick up their cars from Dollar (say dull-ah) and head straight on out there once they land in Honolulu.
With family members flying from all over the world, I decided only this morning to stop stressing about my house not being…well, elegant. It is a fantastic place up in the mountains. It’s pretty ramshackle, but I love it and hope, when I am able to carve a full-time living for myself, to stay there year-round.
I feel in awe of even owning my house, the model for the homes in my Phantom Lover and Waikiki Vampire books. The house is in much better shape in those books than in real life, but that’s the beauty of being a novelist. I can renovate to my heart and mind’s content!
My house is Goddess Pele-protected and blessed. Pele loves children. Pele loves me, even though I feel her anger that it’s been ten months since I went and paid her a visit. One of the things I love about my place is the endless greenery. In spite of a near-legendary drought, we still have a lush bamboo trail out back and rare, tropical birds love to come and visit me. The unruly garden backs onto what used to be Paradise Park, a bird sanctuary, and when the owners went broke, they released the birds. Let’s not talk about what the introduction to all those foreign birds did to the fragile island eco-system. The birds have gone forth and multiplied by the thousands, but I love them. Nothing thrills me more than a bright-red macaw (a messenger from the Volcano Goddess, I tell myself) shows up at my kitchen window.
My brother and his wife loathe my house, calling it Gilligan’s Bohemian Island, but their kids love it. It is a fantastic house for kids because inside or out, nothing can hurt them. We don’t have snakes and poisonous spiders do exist but not on our part of the island.
The kids are into geckos and frogs and we have plenty of those. My neighbor has a dog who likes to come over and has a fondness for carrots. I’ve played Santa for a few years now and I feel blessed that my niece and nephew still believes in him…and I have a more than willing recipient for the multitude of carrots the kids leave out for the reindeer.
My niece is convinced Santa likes beer (I think my brother told her this outrageous lie) but I’ve told her Santa prefers a Mai Tai in the islands.
“I don’t think so, Uncle Andrew,” she said on the phone to me yesterday. “He likes beer.”
So, I’ll let my brother handle the Primo and I’ll take care of the sugar cookies.
I’ve taught the children in my life to respect island traditions as much as Christmas and nobody leaves my house with so much as a pearly shell or piece of lava in their pocket.
In August, I attended a Hawaiian festival here in Los Angeles. I purchased a fresh cigar-flower lei to bring to Pele’s altar here in my home and mysteriously, it vanished before I could get it in the house. Yeah, she’s pissed. Pele has played these kinds of tricks on me before…but usually she returns things she takes, just to make sure I am paying attention.
I used to keep her little games to myself for fear that people would think I’m nuts. Undoubtedly I am, but she does play games with me. Now that I am a prolific and published author of Hawaiian paranormal gay erotic romances, I get to address her powerful ways, not to mention her peppery spirit and priceless sense of humor.
Going home to Hawaii is essential for me, both to bond with her, and also, to do fresh research for my new books. Ninety-percent of my books are set there and yes, they’re paranormals, but they are all grounded in reality.
Most of all, I am grateful that Pele led me to discover a kindred spirit in author Courtney Sheets. I bought her book Kona Warrior and loved it.
We are Pele people and I know we will become very good friends. Whatever you are doing this holiday season, honor the Pele within you – the power of finishing the old, starting the new and doing both fearlessly.
Drop me a line and let me know what new, magnificent eruption you are creating for next year. I think Pele, Courtney and I would love that.
Aloha oe,
A.J.
www.ajllewellyn.com
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Do you hear what I hear?

2009-12-02T09:47:00.001-08:00

There is a radio station in town that plays nothing but Christmas music up to December 25th. I have to admit I love it. There is something about Christmas tunes that warm my heart and make me feel good. Well most Christmas songs. I could live without hearing the Christmas Shoes or Jingle Bell Rock again. I use to work at a local mall and we had so many damn dancing Santa’s shaking their butts to Jingle Bell Rock one year, I was almost driven to hunt down Peggy Lee and pelt her to death with them.

Truth be told, my favorites are O Holy Night and White Christmas.

There is a line in O Holy Night that gets me every time I hear it and I mean every time. And I mean every time, doesn’t matter if I’m at work, in the car, or sitting at home reading. “Fall on your knees, O hear the angel voices” I’m not an overly spiritual woman, at least not since I was 16 and gave up my plans to be a nun, yet this line squeezes my heart. Hard. I think it is the notion that there is something so powerful, so moving that your legs refused to work and you can only kneel. I picture someone so overcome with emotion their legs give out. There is something about that imagine that speaks to the romantic in me, and the believer in me. Good stuff.

What can I say about White Christmas? Bing Crosby. Enough said. I live in Las Vegas, where we rarely get snow, which means we are more Mele Kalikimaka land. This makes the lyrics of White Christmas even truer for me. I AM dreaming of snow…for about a week. Then I remember my college years spent in Reno freezing my butt off in May. Still, White Christmas is so smooth when Crosby sings it you can’t help but sigh a little and reach for a hot coca with a shot of peppermint.

What’s your favorite holiday tune and why?

The Hero Factor

2009-11-30T11:36:00.000-08:00

In light of The Hooded Man making it into the top ten of the Dorchester/Tenxtnovel America's Next Best Cellar Contest I thought a post on Robin Hood was appropriate.

The Hooded Man is my baby, and I am so happy that it has made it this far in the contest

Who was Robin Hood? Was he a mere man made into myth by constant oral storytelling or a symbol of a much simpler time? One could say that he is an exciting mixture of both, a unique melding of myth, hero, and man. While the legend of Robin Hood is rooted in history, it is also a combination of human interest and pagan mythology. So once again we can ask who was that hooded man? 'Was he man, or spirit of the forest, like Robin Goodfellow or the Green Man?"

In many intellectual circles, Robin Hood has been thought to have been a real man named Robert Fiztooth, the Earl of Huntingdon. While the true identity of the legendary outlaw has been highly debated throughout academia, history and Hollywood, Fiztooth probably is the most widely accepted character for the mythical woodsman. Another alter-ego belonging to the English Rogue is Robin of Loxley, a Yorkshire fugitive. Yet another identity is that of a humble forester who was outlawed for killing a deer in the Royal forest. Perhaps Robin Hood was a composite of all the mediaeval forest outlaws of England. Never the less, Robert Fitztooth's grave at Kirklees is considered to be the burial place of Robin Hood. It is visited many times over by tourist every year, searching for Robin Hood.

Many other questions arise when people try to put Robin Hood in an accurate place in history, along some type of actual time line. Was he a knight in the crusades? Did he live in the reign of Richard the Lionhearted, Henry III, Edward I, II, or III? Many books, tales and movies place him in the highly tumultuous time of Richard, a time of great turmoil and skullduggery, thus making the villain he defeats Prince John. John's plans to take over the throne were thwarted by the return of King Richard from the crusades in March of 1194. In spite of this setback Prince John does actually ascend to the throne in 1199 when he returns to England after his five year exile. So if there was really a man by the name of Robin Hood, he did not stop John from becoming King as many movies suggest. He only succeeded in slowing him down a bit. In his bid for the throne, John was indirectly responsible for advanced poverty and low public moral. These factors have contributed to the creation of Robin Hood.

John himself was not really all that terrible. He wasn't a bad or weak king; he was just king at the wrong time. His father Henry II and his brother Richard left him a rocky foundation of a kingdom. John did encourage some of the more powerful nobles to use military strength to gobble up more land and property, while he turned a blind eye, in the hopes that they would support him in his quest for king. In the end, the nobles did not support him and all John achieved was to allow the nobles the opportunity to see how powerful they really were, which caused the destruction of the Magna Carta. On the other hand, John does have a reputation for standing up from himself against all comers, but he did not have any redeeming or very loveable qualities, which helped historians and Hollywood, paint him in a sinister light.

If Robin was not a human, perhaps he was a "God." From the pagan standpoint, Robin of the Hood is connected to the Green Man. The Green man, according to the Celtic Pantheon of Gods, is Cernunnos, the God of Vegetation and fertility. Cernunnos is also the Lord of the Trees. The oak tree is sacred to Cernunnos. "The Green Man represents the male aspect of nature." Robin is consistently described as wearing Lincoln green and living in the forest. In Sherwood Forest there stands a mighty oak tree simply called The Major Oak. The tree is believed to be the meeting place for Robin Hood and his merry men. "The gargoyle-like carvings of the Green Man show a human face almost completely camouflaged by leaves." Robin has an uncanny ability to blend in with his surroundings, becoming part of the forest, much like the Green man.

The Green Man has two personas, the Holly Lord and the Oak Lord. The Holly Lord, or "old man winter", dies at Beltane and is reborn as the Oak Lord, or "baby new year". He then marries the May Queen. The horned God aspect of the Green Man is just another form of Herne. Herne is the Celtic hunter god. He is most often portrayed with stag's horns sprouting from his head. In many of the original gestes, or tales, Robin is referred to as Herne's son. This approach is taken many centuries later in the popular British television show, Robin of Sherwood. "It seems likely that Llew's [a Celtic sun god] mediaeval successor, Red Robin Hood was once also worshiped as a stag."

"Robin's weapons and tools are laden with pagan significance." Robin Hood is the best archer in all of England. In this way Robin can be seen as another type of manifestation of Herne, God of the hunt. Herne's sacred creature is the stag. In one of the most famous stories of Robin Hood, the outlaw enters Nottingham Castle with a stag thrown over his shoulders and tosses it on to a banquet table in front of the Prince, flaunting his disdain at the nobles the whole time. This scene alone made Errol Flynn as legendary as Robin himself. Many believed the forester identity came about from the killing of a stag in the Royal Forest. Laws of the Forest were strictly enforced, especially around 1200 to 1350. These laws prohibited any one not of royal blood to hunt in certain forests, Sherwood being one of them. If Robin Hood was in all actuality Robert Fiztooth, this would not have been a problem for the Earl, because he was royal blood. The episode of killing the stag as the main factor in Robin turning outlaw points more toward him being a forester, guardian or yeoman or the forest, then a nobleman. Also Foresters were there to prevent the wholesale destruction of the land. According to an old historical account several foresters were outlawed for poaching in the very forests they were to protect.

The May Queen is the main character, the leader, at Beltane. Beltane, which means Bel's fire and is held on May 1st, "marks the beginning of the summer, and the light half of the Celtic year." The May Queen takes over as head of the festival and summons the Holly Lord to her. Then her handmaidens kill him, which transforms him into the Oak Lord. Maid Marian may be the Christianized version of the May Queen. She loves Robin and in the final gestes, or ballads, of Robin Hood she marries him in the Greenwood Wedding, much in the same way that the May Queen marries the Oak Lord at Beltane.

Another figure Maid Marian may represent is that of the Virgin Mary. She is equated with the virgin by the simple fact that she is clearly Robin's "lover" yet she remains a maid, or virgin at all times. She retains this title in both her name and her reputation. Robin is devoted to the Virgin Mary in the well known versions of the ballads. He is equally devoted to Marian. He follows a fierce code of chivalry never harming a woman, which extends to Marian. On the other hand Robert Graves, in his book The White Goddess, states that "Marian is not even faithful to Robin." Graves argues that during the dark time of the year, the time preceding Beltane, she becomes the mistress of his rival, The Sheriff of Nottingham. In this aspect Marian is a symbol of the Lady of Misrule who is celebrated during Twelfth Night.

Considering the state of social acceptance of women in the mediaeval time period, Marian plays a very active role in the stories. She is never ridiculed for following her lover into the forest and living as the only woman among male outlaws. In one much later ballad Robin and Marian, in disguise, engage in sword play and knock each other about for awhile before they realize their mistake. The art of battle was not something women were encouraged to know, yet it is perfectly acceptable for Robin Hood's consort. Although she does not appear in many of the surviving ballads she is key to the legend.

Another legend that Robin Hood may be associated with is that of Puck. William Shakespeare used the character of Puck, giving him the name Robin Goodfellow as well, in his play A Midsummer Night's Dream. Although Shakespeare, who may have been influenced by the Welsh Pwca, refers to Puck using both names, Robin Goodfellow and Puck are in all actually two separate creatures. Now however, they are considered the same character. Puck was a shape-shifter. Robin Goodfellow was a master of disguise. Both had an uncanny ability to give travelers a hard time, much like Robin Hood. Shakespeare's drinking buddy and fellow writer Ben Johnson even used the Robin Goodfellow character in his unfinished Robin Hood play, The Sad Shepherd. "Since the Robin Goodfellow ballads appear later then the Robin Hood ones, it's possible that the faerie may have taken his name from the outlaw-not the other way around."

We all know Sherwood Forest to be the place Robin Hood calls home. But many tales place him in Barnsdale. Still another is Loxley in Yorkshire, thought to be the traditional birthplace of our hero. His central base of operation is the Major Oak in Sherwood Forest. This one thousand year old tree is still standing to this day. If Robin is not so closely associated with the Green Man of pagan life, would this tree, an oak tree, be as sacred to him?

Mythology is not the only place that manifests different types of "Robin Hoods." Literature has several versions of the tales under different names. The Scarlet Pimpernel, by Baroness Orczy is yet another re-telling of the Robin Hood stories. Sir Percival Blakeney even wears "Blakeney Green." While he does not rob from the rich and give to the poor, he does save several poor souls from the guillotine. The Pimpernel acts almost in a reverse of Robin Hood. Sir Percy "steals" the rich aristocrats out from under the noses of the poor French mob. He is an eighteenth century Robin Hood. He must win the love of his wife, Marguerite, whose name happens to be the French variation of Marian or Mary. Marguerite is just as spirited as Maid Marian, maybe even more so. And the villainous Chauvelin is constantly trying to seduce her, much like the Sheriff in several Hollywood versions of Robin Hood.

Another exciting literary outlaw is Zorro. First created in 1919 by the writer Johnston McCulley, Zorro is the Hispanic version of Robin Hood. Don Diego Vega, a man of noble birth, fights for the people of Los Angeles against the evil Alcalde. The Alcalde of the Zorro stories is very much like the traditional Sheriff of Nottingham. In The Adventures of Zorro, the wealthy land owners seek the protection of the Alcalde. He in turn uses them in his bid to be governor, much the same way John used the nobles. The peasants are then made to suffer with outrageous taxes to pay. Don Diego protects the peasants from this "terrible" government by assuming the identity of El Zorro or the fox. "He is simultaneously wise, brave, charming, cunning, and romantic. Zorro has true cross-generational appeal, with four generations around the world having grown up with the character." Both The Scarlet Pimpernel and The Adventures of Zorro carry many of the same themes and characteristics of the original Robin Hood tales.

How do people deal with hardship, by creating a hero. Any hero can be looked on as a bastardization of Robin Hood. Super heroes and everyman characters that are endearing in our minds can be broken apart to show their similarity to the mythical Green man of Sherwood. Robin Hood could be compared to Captain America doing war times in The United States. Robin, dashing and full of adventure, fought off the "Evil Prince John" in efforts to protect the English crown. The monarchy, while mainly a figurehead with no real politic power, is something viewed as sacred. When their monarch is threatened, the English people take is personally. Captain America fought Nazis, protecting the American way of life. Throughout history humanity has always needed a hero.

Who was that hooded man? Great debate has continued through out the ages looking for historical basis as well as mythical proof as to the existence of Robin Hood. Did a single man live to take on the tyranny of injustice or was he something more?

Robin Hood is a hero for all ages. He and his legend have enthralled us for centuries and it will continue to do so for many more to come.

Running Naked Down the Las Vegas Strip

2009-11-30T10:53:00.001-08:00

Armed with a razor sharp wit, a great pair of legs, and a less then perfect body, I have attempted to navigate the choppy waters of the dating pool in the sin capital of theworld, Las Vegas, for quite a while now. The best and most accurate description of dating in Las Vgeas would be like telling a rabid dog to sit calmly at the foot of the bed while a pair of howler monkeys bounce up and down rapidly. Not a pretty sight.

The single male Las Vegas, a creature unlike any other, when faced with the choice of a smart career-minded woman in sensible shoes or Bambi the weather bunny, seem to experience full brain meltdown. Following that object loacted in the Southern Hemisphere of their bodies, men are ultimately drawn to Bambi.

Now I use the name Bambi as a generalization. Sometimes her name is Tiffani or Buffy or Brittany or some other name that should be banned from the English language on the sheer saccharin content of it. Pop singers and beloved TV characters aside. With breasts that leviatate through the smoky air of any nightclub in a way that befuddles even David Copperfield, wedged into the smallest top available at the juniors department, these women blind the average male in Las Vegas, with the ridigitiy of their nipples alone. Come on girls, it ain't that cold in here. Much like a deer in the headlights of an oncoming SUV. Mere mortal women like myself do not stand a chance.

Perhaps part of my dating trouble is I refuse to squeeze my ample endowments into something so tight as to cut off all bodily functions. Now don't get me wrong. I like to dress sexy, but I feel if one fears going to the bathroom because you're not to sure your pants are going to make it all the way back up, then said pants are too tight. I speak from a vicarious experience here. Ask me about a night at Dylans with Deanne. But I digress, that is another blog altogether. Personally I have to much pride, or fear of every hot guy in the room seeing my granny panties, to risk the ultimate humiliation of my pants splitting down the seams in the middle of a dance floor. And me, I likes to boogey.

Go out and meet people my mother, and I think anyone over the age of 25's mother has said, says to me. And I do. But please how many nightclubs, bars, and mixers can a person go to before their IQ is forever damaged. Also in Las Vegas, as I am sure this happens in every big city but with different names, there is a plathora of what I commonly refer to as Leisure Suit Elvi. They are a cross between your average dirty old man and a baboon, with a little Richard Nixon thrown in for good measure. This makes for an unholy combination that would scare the leather pants off Alice Cooper. Imagine being faced with such an abomination as you calmy stand at the bar, daiquiri in hand. The sight alone would stop the Croc Hunter dead in his tracks with more then just one 'crickey!" Not quite forty, but well above thirty, their favorite prey is a woman of around 22. Someone with enough brains to know what sex is and how to do it, but not enough to realize that polyester should have died with disco.

What makes dating in Vegas different from other cities, is it the neon? Is it the casinos? Is it the fifty foor billboards plastered with women in bondage gear on them? No, it's the mentality of the people. It is a sandbox for the young, bored, and emotionally stunted. Don't get me wrong we have a fair share of smart people, but they are hideously overhsadowed by the pod people who inhabit downtown, uptown, and everywhere in between. I think the disease stems from too much neon light soaking into their veins.

In a city that markets sin and sex in every flavor, it is amazing how little of either a single person can get. I think drastic measures are in order. Full frontal nudity is an arrestable offense here so perhaps I won't go that route. Plastic pants and tube tops from Wal Mart don't suit my style or my Rubenesque frame, so that too is out. I could be a naked table dancer, but I can't even stay firmly planted in my sneakers let alone those tall spiked objects of torture strippers wear on their feet.
So I fear I must go the traditional way, and wait for Prince Charming to me meet halfway, if he isn't in a strip club.

So you see that love and life have a hell of a time tryign to mix here in Sin City. Drinks do it easier than humans. But keep your fingers crossed for me. There has to an Elvis out there for me. If not, I can always be a nun, a rare commondity indeed.