Monday Muser's Mad Question Time - Elizabeth Coldwell

Good morning all,
And another week is upon us. I think we are all still here. For those of you that are not and may have been raptured - well, you don't know what you are missing. My guest today is the lovely Elizabeth Coldwell and her question is ...

You are putting together a four course romantic dinner for two - you and a celeb of your choice. You have to choose each course from a different country. What would you choose? Remember -a way to a man's heart is through his stomach.

I think you will find her answer quite mouth-watering. I know I did. I have added her to my list of future dinner guests.Take the floor, Liz.

This is a great question, as if there’s one thing I really love to do apart from write, it’s cook. I shan’t name my celeb, if only because I’m pretty sure no one reading this will have heard of him! My mystery man used to play for the football team I support, and now he works as a coach for another club – if you’re really eager for a description, he’s very tall and dark-haired, with big hands and a nice smile. I know he likes to read, so I’d be able to discuss the great variety of books available from all those talented Muse authors, as well as quizzing him about his experiences in football (okay, so that last bit might sound boring to some of you, but I’d enjoy it!).
But, more importantly in relation to the question, what would be on my menu? My four courses would involve a starter, a fish course, a main course and a dessert, and I don’t want to spend a lot of time in the kitchen, because that would mean I couldn’t spend as much time with my guest. To start, I’d go with fresh Dutch asparagus, lightly griddled and served with lots of melted butter. Some of the best asparagus in the world is grown in the Netherlands, as I know from having eaten it there in the past, and not only is it supposed to have aphrodisiac qualities, there’s something very sensual about licking all that butter off your fingers.
For the fish course, the obvious choice would be oysters, but I’m not a great lover of shellfish – and oysters are a bit of a cliché, anyway. Instead, I’d choose some nice Swedish gravad lax. Cured salmon, with a delicious dill sauce – very good for the brain, because for me, being able to connect with someone on a mental level is just as important as any physical attraction you may feel for them. I’ve never been a great fan of pretty but stupid types…
The main course would have to be a classic French steak au poivre, with frites and a green salad. Unless you’re dealing with a vegetarian, what man can resist a nicely cooked piece of red meat? The pepper adds a little spice (because as you can tell from my fiction, spicy is good…), and using red wine for the sauce means you can save the cream for the dessert – my favourite course of all!
To round off the romantic dinner, I’d finish with a gorgeous English dessert, Eton Mess. The story goes that it was invented when a chef at Eton school was serving a pavlova, only to drop it on the way. Scooping the mixture of smashed meringue, fruit and whipped cream into a bowl, he served the result as a new creation. Whether that’s true or not, you can’t go wrong with this – it’s very easy, and at its best when made with juicy English strawberries. Again, the fruit is supposed to be an aphrodisiac, because of all the zinc contained in its seeds, but that, to me, is just a bonus.
All that’s left is to make coffee, serve with chocolate mints and you have a perfect evening with a perfect mystery man. Bon appétit!

Hungry yet, folks? Here is a little bit about Elizabeth...

Elizabeth Coldwell lives and writes in London. She’s always loved to make up stories, particularly ones involving hot men. Her other big passion is her home town football club, Rotherham United, and at weekends she can be found cheering them on to victory (hopefully!). Visit her at The (Really) Naughty Corner, http://elizabethcoldwell.wordpress.com

Here is a taste of her up and coming MuseItHot release

The Face In The Glass

Blurb:
Psychic Ceri is startled when her crystal ball starts showing her visions of a handsome man who isn’t the boyfriend of her current client. Things become even stranger when the man’s face appears in every reflective surface she looks into, and the visions become progressively more explicit, showing them making love. To solve the mystery, Ceri must visit the hall of mirrors when the fair comes to town, and use an ancient love spell to try to release the stranger from his bizarre captivity.

Excerpt:
I saw his face in my crystal ball with stunning clarity. Usually, the visions I receive are cloudy and soft-focus. They’re not always easy to define, but this was like looking into a mirror. Dark hair pushed back from a high forehead, brown eyes that sparkled mischievously, a mouth designed to be kissed till the lips were swollen with desire. Truly, one of the most handsome men I had seen in a long time.
Raising my eyes from the ball, I looked at the girl sitting on the other side of the table. “He’s very good-looking, isn’t he?” I commented. A visible thrill of pride ran through her, though I was sure she must hear such compliments on a regular basis. “Those beautiful brown eyes of his...”
She tensed, startled out of the relaxed pose I encouraged her to adopt as the reading progressed. “Rob doesn’t have brown eyes.”
“But that’s the man I’m seeing. Dark hair, brown eyes.” I peered at the vision once more, spotting something I didn’t notice the first time. “And a tattoo around his biceps. A Celtic knot design. Subtle, but distinctive.”
That was the point at which she stood up, snatching her purse from the table top. “That’s absolutely nothing like Rob. I knew I was wrong to come here. You can’t see a thing in that stupid ball of yours. You’re just a fraud. Well, don’t think I’m going to pay you for the garbage you’ve been spouting.”
She left, heels clicking on the floor of my little shop, the chimes hanging above the front door mocking me as they jangled in time to her exit.
I stared back at the crystal ball, but with the mood shattered so abruptly I no longer saw anything in its depths. I didn’t understand it. She asked me, as so many of my clients did, to see whether her boyfriend was faithful to her, and whether he was going to ask her to marry him. I had given her the ball to hold, telling her to concentrate on him and nothing but him. The spirits would provide the answer. Once the ball was in my grasp, that sensual, intelligent face presented itself to me. But if it wasn’t her boyfriend Rob, who was it?

Here are more links for Liz...
http://elizabethcoldwell.wordpress.com/
http://museithotpublishing.com/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=77&Itemid=82

SIX SENTENCE SUNDAY - MORE COLD, COLD HEART

Goodness me, is it that time again? Doesn't time fly and to think we all made it through the week. Either the Rapture didn't take place or none of us made the grade. Oh well, c'est la vie.
So, back to my six. Once again, I am posting from my up and coming MuseItHot Publishing June release, Cold Cold Heart. In this scene, Rachel Warner sets eyes on the famous singer-song writer, Daniel Haines, for the first time.

He wore almost black hair closely cropped, drawing attention to a well-sculptured profile. He was good-looking but not in a male model almost-too-perfect way nor did he possess a boy band laugh-you-into-bed cheekiness. Daniel Haynes was more the boy-next-door type; the kind of boy whose mother dressed him in Thomas the Tank Engine jumpers until age twelve.
He turned from Mai to look at her and her breath caught. Daniel Haines had the most beautiful, luminous, deep blue eyes; eyes big and soulful, fringed by the longest lashes Rachel had ever seen on a man but it was the way he looked at her that sent her heart fluttering. His gaze seemed to penetrate deep into her soul—as if he could read her innermost thoughts, feel her every mood.

Want to read more about this wee honey of a man? Here is a short excerpt...

The lights dimmed again and a crescendo of noise crashed over her head as fifty thousand people leapt to their feet and Daniel’s band ran out on stage.
“Come on!” Grabbing her by the hand, Lynn dragged Rachel from the comfort and security of her seat and plunged her into the screaming multitudes already surging up against the metal barrier. It was okay for Lynn. Years of rugby scrumming with her huge Belfast shipyard brothers and cousins stood her in good stead. She pushed and clawed her way to the front with Rachel clinging to her hand for dear life. Before she could scream an angry protest, a massive tsunami roar erupted and Daniel stepped out on stage.
In the midst of the Brazilian wave of fans, Rachel found she could not move. This man who strutted and danced from one end of the stage to the other, working the crowd, playing and teasing the girls into a frenzy as he smiled down, flirting, seducing the adoring audience into a state of near-hysteria—this was not the same man who, hours before, had been in her office, sitting at her desk, drinking coffee and listening to her trials and tribulations. As she watched him now, the worshipped idol of thousands, it all seemed like a dream.
He approached the edge of the stage and for one heart-stopping moment he seemed to stare right at her. A warm flush spread up from her toes to the roots of her hair. At her side, Lynn, in a state of near collapse, jumped up and down, screaming and twisting Rachel's arm. “Did you see that?”
Above the pounding beat of drums and guitars, Rachel just about made out her ravings.
“He looked at me! Oh, I think I'm going to have an orgasm.”
For the next hour, Rachel was pushed prodded and kicked (more often than not by Lynn). She was desperate to get back to her seat. It was impossible. Wedged tight against the barrier, hordes of screaming girls hemmed them in. With hands stretched up, they cried out for their god to touch them.
By now the Golden Boy had removed his leather jacket—much to the collective joy of thirty thousand or more females—displaying a toned torso beneath a tight-fitting, V-neck T-shirt that didn't quite meet hipster jeans: black naturally! Lynn retrieved a pair of her weeniest knickers from her pocket.
“You dare, Lynn Hudson!” Rachel shrieked in her ear. Grabbing the scrap of black lace, she stuffed it back where it came from.
“You are so not fun! Everyone does it. Oh, I can't believe it!” She dug her nails into Rachel's by now black and blue arm. “This is my favorite.”
So far every song had been her ‘favorite.’ Lynn could still do groupie with the best of them.
Slowly Rachel relaxed, caught up in the magic of Daniel Haines. The lights dimmed and when he moved to sit at a magnificent grand piano, her enjoyment turned to rapture. He mesmerized her. His fingers flew over the keys and the cacophony of noise abated. Hushed silence filled the auditorium. He held the crowd spellbound as his beautiful but powerful voice delivered a haunting ballad. The hairs on the back of her neck lifted when the pure notes soared up into the roof. She wanted to cry. She wanted to stay in the moment forever.

See you next week for more of the delectable Daniel. Meanwhile, check out some more posting at Six Sentence Sunday

http://sixsunday.blogspot.com/

A DAY IN THE LIFE OF....

I have been asked to describe my typical writing day. Oh dear, must I? Okay, confession time. I haul myself out of bed between 10am-10.30 {hey - I watch dvds til 2am}. First chore - on goes the coffee machine. I cannot function without my morning dose of good strong caffeine, all washed down wwith a lovely warm croissant straight from the bakers across the road.

While coffee is brewing, I release my agent from his cage and top up his food bowl. Next, follows the ritual dance where by Sir Maximus runs circles around my feet before settling down on the sofa with he best mates, his cuddly dog and yellow duck. There he will sit and watch CNN for hours.

Time to boot up pc and, with coffee and croissant in hand, I trawl through the mound of emails. Then - its facebook time! No day is complete without checking out the frivolous but often informative world of FB. Mr. Zucherman, I salute you.

That out the way, I will settle down to write any blog posts needed doing before attacking any edits. If I have a completed ms I then get cracking on transfering my illegible notes to Word. A time-consuming task as I am not a red-hot typist. Somewhere between now and 2pm, I release I have a pile of dirty dishes in the sink, a mound of laundry falling out of the washing machine and I haven't even considered what to cook - thus earning me, for the fifth year running Crap Mother of the Year award.

{ME - NOT}









When do you actually write, I hear you all ask, as in create? Can you believe when I am work, sitting behind the reception front desk? In those blissful couple of hours when most guests are either siesting or out by the pool, I revel in silence and I can really concentrate.

I suppose, one day, I will have to do some work and give out hotel keys to guests and probably answer the phone from time to time but, until then, I sit back in my chair, pen and pad in hand, create masterpieces

and hang up my Genius at Work sign.
P.S I do hope my boss does not subscribe to my blog.


Viviane

Monday Muser's Mad Question Time ...to Myself - Secret Girl Crush

Good morning, folks. It seems I have misplaced my guest again or, perhaps my question this week has her running for cover. I have to admit it is a tad naughty. It all stems from a tongue in cheek conversation I had with a friend a couple of years back. We were playing trivial pursuit and, quite calmly, she stated , if she was a lesbian, then Angelina Jolie woould be her chosen partner. You can imagine the hilarious debate that followed. So, that was the question I posed to my guest. I shall now pose it to myself. If I were to have a girl crush, who would it be?I must be clear; when I say crush, I don't mean in a sexual context but, rather, a woman with whom we are attracted to for what ever reason. I am greedy. I have picked three.

My first and long time girl crush is Uma Thurman. When I saw her kick ass in Kill Bill, I was hooked. I love the fact that she is not pretty pretty but is so attractive, not to mention a great actress.

Second - has to be Lady Gaga. How how I would love to hang out with her. What fun we would have. I admire her talent, her style but, above all, I love her sense of humour and tongue n cheek approach to life and herself.

Last but not least - Stevie Nicks. My favouite female artist of all time and writer and singer of many amazing songs. Sixty two years old and still so gorgeous and still making wonderful music. Stevie - I salute you.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stevie_Nicks



So come on, folks; own up. Who is your secret girl crush? This question is also open to any of you lovely gay men out there. If you had one day to be staright - who would you want to be straight with? I am so looking forward to the answers on this one.

Viv

SIX SENTENCE SUNDAY - COLD, COLD HEART

Nice to be back after a week's break. I thought, this Sunday, I would post from my June release Cold, Cold Heart. Not long before it hits the cyber shelves. This work was previously published under the title of Letting Go and I am happy to have been given the chance to tweak it and bring it up to date. So, with further ado, I introduce you to the world of Daniel and Rachel.

The boy squeezed back the tears. Needle sharp gravel dug deep into already bleeding knees and bit into stinging cheeks as merciless assailants grabbed hold of hair and twisted his neck to the side. He tasted dirt. A cruel smile spread across the ringleader's podgy face.
Still, the boy did not cry. Not wanting to give them the satisfaction, he did what he always did and shut off from the torment and humiliation.

Blurb:

Daniel Haynes has the world at his feet- fame, fortune, so why does he feel so empty inside? What is his interest in Rachel Warner, a girl from a quiet Home Counties English town? Why does she hold the key to his happiness?
But Rachel Warner is scared. Daniel's interest in her threatens her ordered yet unsatisfying life because she has to live with the shadow of her ex-father-in-law breathing over her shoulder. Can she let go of her fears?

Excerpt:

“You are not having a good day, are you?”
She sat up, ramrod-straight. Daniel Haines leaned against the open door, his arms folded and gaze fixed on her, probing once more.
“Do you always eavesdrop on private conversations?” Rachel rubbed at her eyes, grateful she'd been in too much of a hurry to bother with mascara.
“The door was open,” he replied in that Yankee tone. “I apologize….” He made a point of knocking loudly. “May I come in?”
Without waiting for her answer, he walked into the room, sat down in the chair on the other side of her desk and stretched out long legs before crossing them at the ankles.
“Make yourself at home…I would,” Rachel muttered. She pulled herself together. He was, after all, a hotel guest and a very important one at that.
For one long moment, he did nothing but stare at her, an unfathomable expression on his face. Then he said quietly, “You shouldn't allow him to intimidate you, you know.”
At first Rachel thought she'd misheard him. “Are you always so presumptuous?” she managed to blurt out.
“No.” He smiled at her. “I'm only concerned.”
A frisson of unease ran down her spine.
He leaned across the desk. “Actually, I've come to apologize for Mai. She can be real possessive at times.”
“Possessive?” Rachel tried not to laugh. “Obsessed more like. I mean I know she's beautiful and probably very obliging, but how can you stand to be smothered like that?”
“Excuse me?” He sat up. “Now who's being presumptuous?”
Guilt caused her cheek to grow hot. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply….”
He waved her apology aside. “Forget it. You are free to think what you want. As I said, I'm here because I believe my crew treated you with less than professional courtesy. Sometimes the guys get carried away. Try and understand. It's hard being cooped up in hotel rooms for weeks on end.”
Rachel couldn't hold back her grimace. Here it comes, the I'm-so-misunderstood-my-life-is-not-my-own sob story. She'd heard it a hundred times over and usually following a night of drunken excess and loutish behavior that prompted a host of complaints from the hotel cleaning staff.
“Interesting.” The smile disappeared. “You're skeptical. Are you judging me? You see me as an underworked, overpaid, and probably oversexed musician. I don't impress you much, do I?”
Her mouth fell open at the astute appraisal.
“You don't know anything about me, Miss…or is it Mrs.? I seem to recall a child being mentioned.”
Rachel’s hackles went back up. “It doesn't state anywhere in my job description that I have to discuss my personal life with the guests, Mr. Haines. I….” The words died in her throat. Reaching out to her, he pushed aside a lock of hair that strayed from her ragged chignon. Warm fingertips brushed against her cheek. She shrank back, her reaction born out of habit and her dislike of physical intimacy. She only felt comfortable hugging and touching Alex.
“Please.” His tone caressed. “Call me Daniel.”
“No.” The word left her lips before she had time to think. “I…I couldn't. It wouldn't be professional.” She looked away, heat creeping up her neck and rising to her cheeks. To her relief, he sat back, arms folded.
“You are so wound up.” Amusement etched tiny lines around his eyes. “You do need to chill.”
“I am perfectly 'chilled,' thank you.” She sniffed, more than a trifle irked.
“I think not. You're stressed. I can tell.”
“Mr. Haines, just why exactly are you here?” She was in no mood for American psycho-babble. She shuffled the papers on her desk, feigning efficiency.
“If you must know….” He folded his arms behind his head and the black T-shirt rose up, affording Rachel a glimpse of well-toned, tanned stomach muscles. “I've come to return your form. I know, I could have sent Mai, but I didn't want to be responsible for a blood bath. Quite honestly, I don't know who is scarier, you or Mai. Okay, okay, stop glaring.” He made the sign of the cross. “I'm kidding. Seriously, I couldn't think of anything to write. There’s nothing I need. We are all very comfortable here. My compliments to the man.” Gaze drifting to the shelf behind her head, he sniffed the air. “However…that coffee smells real good. I've changed my mind. There is something I need. A cup of that would just hit the spot. The stuff room service delivers is pretty damn weak. You can put that in the complaints section, if you like.”
Rachel swallowed. He wanted a cup of her coffee? The entire interlude was too surreal for words.
“Do you mind?” The blue eyes probed her thoughts again. “Only if it's not too much trouble….”
“Mind? Oh…no…of course not. Excuse me one moment, please. I'll just...em...find another mug.” Dropping to her knees, she rummaged through the cupboard under her desk for an un chipped mug.
Pushing aside four years' worth of debris, she wished the green hotel uniform had a longer, not-so-tight fitting skirt.
“Having trouble down there?”
Rachel sat on her haunches, her face flushed, cream blouse in disarray. “No.” Clutching a stained cup to her palpitating chest, she got to her feet, stumbling as her thighs protested. “Milk, sugar?” She turned to the machine. By now, she felt hot and bothered and more unruly strands of hair escaped the hairpins.
“I'm hurt. Isn't it your job to know these things? Aren't you supposed to be acquainted with my every like and dislike?”
Rachel spun round, sharp retort at the ready, but then she saw the sparkle in his eyes.
He laughed at her pique. “You really don't know anything about me, do you? Oh, but don't apologize. It's really refreshing.”

COLD, COLD HEART...Coming soon to MuseItHot Publishing

THURSDAY BLOG HOP - WHAT DO I DO WITH MY EDITS?

Och aye, hello tae ye all,

I have returned from a 4 day stint in the UK and, although I stayed with my sister in a quaint little village named Quainton {I jest not}, we were visited by my relatives from Bonnie Scotland. For those who know me, you will remember that I spent most of my childhood in Glasgae toon and a braw wee place it wus too. It was amazing how quickly the lingo came back to me. I am a bonafide weegie, apparently.
So, on to the question. What do I do with my edits? I love them. yes, I am that rare breed that enjoys editing. I have to say I am most fortunate in having two of the best at MuseItUp and MuseItHot publishing. We have fun, even though I think they may need valium after working with me.

Editing should be a team effort, a question of give and take. Your editor is there to help improve and tighten your work, not change your voice.
All I can say is. Anne...Penny...I salute you.

Viv

MONDAY MAD MUSER - EMILY PIKASSO

Hi folks,

I am writing this from sunny ye olde England. I quick four days oif family time - which basically means non stop eating. Anyweay, have to get back to planning today's food fest so without firther ado, I will hand the floor over to Miss Emily Picasso. Her question was...

If you had to choose three things to take with you in the event of aliens landing and hide in a safe cave, what would you select? {no family or pets asd this is a given}.


I would select:
A source of fire and fuel- matches, lighter, blow torch
Non-perishable food
Blankets

The above are if I was being sensible, now if I chose NOT to be sensible I would take:
My laptop and a solar powered battery
My music
Mead/methglin/melomel
This is taking for granted the cave has a source of water already. Also handy to have would be strong young men to do the heavy work, protect me and of course be candy for the eyes.

Thanks, Emily. Agree with the strong men. Here is a little bit about Emily..

Bio for Emily Pikkasso
Emily Pikkasso is proud Albertan, and horsewoman. She lives on a farm near Balzac, Alberta with three horses, one pony, twenty-four chickens, various dogs, cats and whatever else happens to wander into the yard. Emily’s first poems and short stories were published while still in grade school. She enjoys writing poetry and stories, both long and short. Emily welcomes feedback from her readers and can be contacted at

emilypikkasso@gmail.com
Please visit her webpage http://www.emilypikkassoauthor.ca


Emily's The Oak King's Daughter is avaiklable from MuseItUp Publishing.
Here is a blurb...

The Oak King's Daughter is a romance Fantasy. Dara, the Oak King's daughter, is in love with someone who her father deems unsuitable for her. Tinne, the court mage, is not worthy of his daughter in the eyes of the Oak King. And Tinne, well he seems to have an agenda all his own, or is he merely a pawn in a larger plan?

Dara decides to risk everything, including her father’s wrath, to run away with her lover, they succeed and Dara surrenders herself to Tinne, only to discover that the mage is more than what he seems.

Excerpt....

“Soon, Oak King’s daughter, soon,” Tinne promised her.
Before Dara had time to think or change her mind, she was astride her fastest horse and racing through the forest with Tinne hot on her heels. Her father wouldn’t discover her missing until late tomorrow morning or early afternoon if she was lucky, they must be on the ship and away by then. Despite the urgency of their flight, Dara smiled as the heat in her belly rekindled and her breasts tingled at the memory of Tinne’s touch. Yes, the sooner we reach the ship the better.
Behind her Tinne grinned and pushed the horses faster. This was even better than kidnapping the Oak King’s daughter. Making her an accomplice in her own disappearance was a stroke of genius on his part and if it included pleasuring her young body, well that was a bonus too, wasn’t it? His master would be very pleased with him when he delivered the Oak King’s daughter. The only hitch in the plan was that Tinne had grown very fond of Dara for her own sake, not just a prize to be ransomed.
The dark ribbon of road cut across the rolling hills that shone palely in the fading moonlight. Dara smothered a yawn and concentrated on staying upright in the saddle of the racing horse beneath her. I think we should have made Oak Landing by now. Dara tried to force her brain to make some sense of her surroundings and then gave up. Let Tinne worry about where we are. I just want to get there and get him in bed.
Tinne allowed his stallion to come abreast of Dara’s gelding as they crested the top of the last row of hills. The lamps of Oak Landing shimmered in the hollow below them and the last light of the moon silvered the waters of the high tide. The vessel Tinne had arranged for bobbed gently at anchor on the gently rolling swells. He reached over and took Dara’s reins, drawing her horse to halt beside his. Tinne leaned toward Dara and ran his cold hand gently down her cheek and into the hollow of her throat. Dara’s breath caught in her throat and she swallowed thickly.
“Are you sure you wish to do this?” Tinne’s voice hung in the darkness between them. It was better to find out here, away from anyone who might feel obligated to help her, if Dara should decide to make a scene about getting on the ship.
“Yes, I want to go away with you, where my father can’t interfere in my life.” Dara smiled against the hand that now cupped her cheek. “I want to make love to you,” Dara rubbed her face into his hand and purred like a kitten.
“Very well, then Dara, the Oak King’s daughter. Let us go.” Tinne released the gelding’s reins but stayed close by Dara’s side as they rode into town and made their way to the docks.