It's official. I'm moving. Not to a new town, but to a new site.  I cherish and appreciate all of you who visit my blog. I know it's a pain, but please adjust your bookmarks and, if you have me linked, your blog roll. Starting 3/14/06 all new blog entries can be found at http://bethciotta.blogspot.com/

This site will retain my archives--feel free to browse--but for new ramblings on publishing and entertainment, please visit my new home. 

Peace and joy, Beth

Did you miss me? *grin*  Normally I blog in the morning, but the day started off with a bang and continued at the pace of a speeding bullet.

9am appointment with the vet. Check-up for Billie. We take Cheyenne along to acquaint her with the office.  She does okay until it's Billie's turn to go into the examining room. Steve takes Billie in. Cheyenne and I stay in the waiting room. Only Cheyenne starts squealing and whining. "Where's Billie?"  Steve pokes head out of examining room, tells me to bring her in so she'll stop crying. How embarrasing.  Doc examines Billie. Cheyenne pukes on floor. Car sick? Nervous? Who knows?  Mortified, I take her outside. We do some training. Heel. Sit. Down. Going good.... til she pukes.

Prognosis for Billie was good, thank God, except for some minor things due to old age. Drive home. Cheyenne pukes again. *Sigh* Then again at home. *Huge sigh*  This prompted me to do some major deep, deep cleaning in the outer living room, the room where Billie and Cheyenne spend most of their time. It's also where I have a beautiful roll top desk and do the bulk of my writing. I not only deep cleaned but rearranged furniture. Okay. I'm still working on it, and I should have spent the day writing, but, gosh it smells good in here, and the lack of clutter and dust is somewhat stimulating. I have a few more things to do and then I'm going to write. I am. Honest. 

Blog Alert!  In a couple of days I'll be moving the location of this blog. Well, this blog won't go away. It will be here for archives and to direct people to my new blog. Nothing fancy, and it will take me awhile to get used to it, but it's for the best. I just wanted to give you a head's up. 

Okay. Back to cleaning!         

Emceed a sweepstakes at one of the casinos last night. Since I was back-of-house (behind the scenes) I took my laptop and worked on the synopsis. Multi-tasking-R-Me. Made progress. It's going a tad slow as I'm thinking as I go, working things out in my mind, jumping back, adjusting, but it's all there. It's coming together. Yes!  

Every ten minutes the marketing person would tap me out of my creative fog to pass me the name of the next winner. I flick on the mic. "Good evening ladies and gentlemen and welcome to out $500 Every Ten Minute Sweepstakes taking place now until midnight. Just listen for you name and check the screens located throughout the casino. This could be your lucky night! Our 6:10 winner is Hedda Lettuce from Garden City, NJ. Congratulations! You have one hour to collect your prize at the casino cashier."  I flick off the mic. I go back to puzzling through the synop. This pattern continues for six hours. Yup. Every ten minutes we give away $500. The catch is if I call your name, you better hear it or see it one of the TV monitors because you only have one hour to collect your prize. If you left to go home or to visit another casino you forfeit the prize.

But let's say you were present and you did collect your prize. One minute you're playing the slots, or blackjack, or dining in the buffet... the next you're $500 richer. I've always wondered what the winners do with that cash. Plunk it right back down at the craps table? Visit the gift shop to buy that overpriced rhinestone pocketbook that caught their eye? Make reservations in one of the gourmet restaurants? ("We'll have a bottle of your best red, Charles.") If I called your name, you lucky winner you, what would you do with $500?  

  The sun is beaming here in Jersey. It's bright, clear, and we have a forecasted high of 61!

  I'm nine days into my 'Eating for Life' plan. Cooking healthy meals from scratch and exercising daily. I'm not weighing myself, but I am losing inches!  I can fit nicely into pants that haven't fit into in almost a year and I have more energy throughout the day! 

 Last night I had an epiphany. After weeks of struggling to write the synopsis for book 2 of The Chameleon Chronicles, it finally clicked! I stopped fighting a gut instinct, reasoned out where my characters left off, and ... Ta-dah! Cyndi had brainstormed the entire series arc with me on our friend/writer getaway a couple months back, so I emailed her a rambling blurb and she emailed me back a thumbs up with bonus comments that tied things up. Finally, I can feel this story. Writing this dratted synopsis shouldn't be nearly as painful now that I actually have a plot.    

So tell me, what's got you jazzed and walkin' on sunshine?  Personal or professional. Don't be shy, shout it out! Let's circulate some good news and good vibes!   

Brace yourself for a slightly nonsensical post. You've been warned.

Yesterday, while working at the library, I shelved a paperback and caught sight of one on my own--SEDUCED. My local library owns copies of JINXED, CHARMED, and SEDUCED. They ordered LASSO THE MOON. It should be in soon. Anyway, all three of my books have been missing from the stacks for a couple of months. Why? Because people keep checking them out! Woo-hoo!  JINXED and CHARMED are still out, but there sat SEDUCED right next to several Tom Clancy novels.  I had a surreal moment. I mean I was there working as a library assistant, looking at a copy of a book I'd written, a book patrons keep checking out to read. So far, I think only one patron knows that Beth the library assistant is the same Beth who writes those funny, sexy romance novels. Luckily, that patron, loved my books. What's even nicer, is that she doesn't read romance--mine were the first. She typically reads mysteries or more mainstream suspense. Here I'd been worried that she'd be shocked by the graphic language and sex, but all she said was how funny and refreshing they were. A really great moment for me. But I digress...

So I'm standing there admiring my book sitting next to Clancy's book, and I had the overwhelming urge to skim a page--of me, not Clancy. So I did. The moment became even more surreal. I didn't recognize what I read. It's not like I wrote it ten years ago. SEDUCED hasn't even been out for a year. But as I read, well it was like reading someone else's book for the first time. I didn't remember writing these passages, although I know I did. I didn't recognize the way certain words were strung together. The thoughts. The actions. It didn't seem like something I'd write, but I did. I stood there, reading, thinking, "Who's this Beth Ciotta person?" 

It was an incredibly strange feeling and it got me wondering, when I sit at my laptop and open my WIP, when the characters take over, when I'm in 'the zone'--am I really just in touch with another part of myself? The 'other me'? I confess, I'm still a bit weirded out by the experience. I'm thinking, I wish I knew the 'other me' a little better because she's ... I don't know, kind of cool. Hipper, edgier, funnier, deeper than the every day 'me'. The me I know. 

Has anything like this ever happened to you? Have you ever done something or said something or wrote something and thought, where did this come from? Who is this person? Who am I? As I write this, my mind is wandering down the spiritual, paranormal woo-woo path. Maybe, just maybe, the 'other me' is a me from a past life. Maybe I'm benefiting from her experiences, her humor, her intellect. Whoever she was, I'm glad she was. She's helping me live my dream.    

Beth's not writing a blog entry today. She's too entranced with everyone's pet stories in the comments section of yesterday's post regarding my trouble-making adopted sister, Cheyenne. I'm impressed too. Please add more tales!

Bless pet lovers everywhere! ~Billie 

Looks so sweet, doesn't she?

Loving?

Well, she is. Sweet and loving. But she also has issues. Cheyenne is a problem child.

Most of you know the story about where she ate my book contracts. The ones I'd just signed and needed to mail to the publisher. There have been other chewing incidents. Many others. Just three days ago, our checkbook bit the dust. Or rather Cheyenne bit our checkbook... lots and lots of times.  Aside from the contracts (and that worked out okay), she hasn't destroyed anything vitally important or expensive... until last night.

Steve was in the family room on his computer. I was in the living room on my computer. I had ear buds in, listening to soothing new age music while trying to push forward on a dratted synopsis. I took off my ear buds to hunt down a research paper and heard a weird noise coming from upstairs. I thought it was Steve up there, moving something around. The sound kept going. I called out,  "What are you doing up there?" No answer. I headed toward the stairs. The sound got louder. Faster. I couldn't imagine what it was. As I climbed the stairs the noise became louder and more frantic and my heart thumped as no lights were on. It couldn't be Steve. The sound came from the bathroom. The door was closed. And instantly I knew... Cheyenne had somehow locked herself in the bathroom and she was trying to get out.  I opened the door and she burst out and flew down there stairs. I glanced at the oodles of wood splinters and said, "Oh, Cheyenne."  Steve's cue to say," What did she do now?" as he climbed the stairs. 

What she did was claw frantically at the bottom of the door, actually clawed through one layer of wood and another to a third. I guess it's a cheaply made plywood door. I don't know anything about doors, except that this one now looked as though someone took a hatchett to the bottom portion. *Sigh*  We stooped down to scoop up wood splinters. I said, "Gee. I hope new doors aren't too expensive." Steve shook his head. "Why didn't she just bark?" 

I don't know. If she would have barked or howled, Steve would have heard her from where he was. If I hadn't had music blaring in my ears, I would have heard her scratching at the door sooner, and the damage wouldn't have been so bad. It was hard to be angry with her as she sat cowering in the corner of the couch.  I think it was a combination of being freaked out because she couldn't get out and the disappointed tone in my voice when I said her name. She's heard it so many times before, after she's destroyed something. She knows it's wrong, but can't seem to help herself. the chewing up stuff part. Although, honestly, she has gotten better in that department. 

The reason I say she has issues is because Steve and I have never laid a hand to her. Never smacked her butt or thunked her nose. Nothing. All we've ever done is take a firm tone. Not even shouting. Yet she cowers, shrinks away with her ears tucked back, and often her whole body trembles. She's clearly afraid.  Cheyenne was found abandoned in a woods when she was about six months old. We adopted her from a shelter soon after.  They warned us that she would be work as she was afraid of everyone.  After only a week in our home, she morphed into this sweet, happy, playful puppy. She's the best. Really. But when she does screw up and we correct her (vocally) she reverts to this pertrified creature. I told Steve the other day that I've concluded someone abused her as a puppy. Somebody must have hit her or kicked her whenever she did something wrong, or who knows, for the mean-spirited fun of it. One thing is clear, she thinks a verbal repremand is going to be followed by a physical swat. That makes me really sad. It makes me think about all the poor abused animals in this world. I'm horrified by some of the things I see on the news.

If you are contemplating adding a pet to your home, please consider adopting an animal from your local rescue shelter. We've adopted all of our pets over the years and they have brought us endless love and joy. Yes, even Cheyenne. As for the door, it's just a slab of wood. Like Steve said this morning, any animal would have freaked a bit when trapped inside a small, dark room.  Cheyenne may have issues, but she also has a heart of gold. We're lucky to have her.

If you read romance, if you follow current trends, you know the hot trend right now is erotic romance. It all started with Ellora's Cave, an e-publishing company that exploded onto the scene and who's stories are now available in most chain stores in trade paperback. The huge success and continuing demand for these ultra-spicy novels proved that they weren't just a flash-in-the-pan.  Highly sensual, extremely graphic sexy novels are here to stay and the major pubs took notice. Almost every (if not every) NYC romantic fiction publisher has launched an erotic line. Even the more traditional romances have gotten bolder. I recently read a straight-ahead historical romance by a bestselling author that opened with a scene where the hero was getting oral sex. If you're a writer who's recently attended an editors panel at a conference or who keeps up with publisher guidelines, you've no doubt heard (or read), "We're looking for hot, hot, hot!" 

Given American culture today, the 'erotic' trend in romance novels isn't surprising.  Music lyrics are more sexually graphic as are television shows and multi-media advertising. Sex is everywhere. Graphic language and explicit scenes aren't shocking, but accepted, maybe even expected.  So imagine my shock when I read the latest single-title romance by a multi-published, currently popular author only to learn there was NO SEX. Not on the pages anyway. It was implied. But, aside from some very hot kisses, the actual lovemaking took place 'off page'.  I can't remember the last time I read a romance novel where there wasn't at least one lovemaking scene. Sure, they're not all written in graphic terms, they're not all explicit, but the scene is THERE. On the page, in black and white.

Not in this book. And no it's not an inspirational romance. It's a very hip HQN romance novel by Pamela Britton called 'In the Groove'.  This novel stars a down-on-her-luck school teacher and a NASCAR racing driver. This story is funny, charming, romantic, and HOT! That's right--HOT--and there is no sex on page. So that got me thinking... What makes for a steamy read? What's sexy? What's hot?

One of the hottest kisses I have ever seen took place in the movie 'Dear Frankie'. The hero and heroine stood in a doorway, lingering a long, awkward moment after a night out. It wasn't really a date, they hardly know one another... but there is a fierce attraction, true affection. They don't speak of it. They hardly speak at all, but you know what they're feeling. You see it in their eyes, read it through their body language.  They stare into each other eyes for what seems an eternity before they brush lips. A brief, tender, tentative kiss, but it was... yeah, baby, yeah... HOT!

Another example is the movie 'Dangerous Beauty'--a historical drama starring Rufus Sewell and Catherine McCormick. They're desperately in love, but because of their social standings cannot be together. There are several scenes where they simply look at each other. Long, aching, hot, hot, hot gazes. Gazes that had me squirming in my seat.

Today's challenge: Name the hottest non-graphic/non-explicit scene you've read in a book or seen in a movie. Then tell us, what's your definition of hot?   

First of all, the Academy Awards. Last night I tuned in, all set and ready to be cynical. My attitude toward the entertainment industry has been, well, resentful, for a couple of years now. But then actors like George Clooney, Rachel Weisz, and Reese Witherspoon, and director Ang Lee reminded me of why I adore entertainers. When they received their awards, they spoke from the heart. Charming, classy, intelligent, humble, and genuine.  They blew apart my cynicism with their down-to-earth grace. I really needed that.

For those of you who read yesterday's entry, you know I was feeling somewhat blue. I thank everyone for their heartwarming comments. You guys are amazing. I ended up leaving the house for a couple of hours, went shopping, something I rarely do, and bought a few new clothes in bright, cheery colors. I didn't cringe when I looked in the three-way mirror, at least not so much.  I'm proud to report that I've taken a cue from my good friend Mary Stella and have started preparing healthy meals and exercising. I've only been doing this for five days and I have already lost weight. I'm astonished.  Now if I can only keep it up. I'm not weighing myself because I think I have an unhealthy number ingrained in my brain. I'm going by what I see in the mirror and how my clothes fit. I know what I'd like to see and that's my goal.

I've stopped and started eating and exercise programs before, however I'm fairly certain I'll follow through with this one. I admit, I'm somewhat motivated by vanity. Being in the limelight, whether it be on stage or at a booksigning makes me ultra-sensitive to my appearance.  But mostly I just want to look and feel more healthy.  I need more energy and a less-weighty mindset. I'm pretty sure the answer is better food, more exercise. Thanks for the inspiration, Mary! 

What are your current personal goals and what are you doing to make it happen?  

Blogging late this morning due to a late night gig. Tried to sleep in but Billie and Cheyenne (my loving, nutso, girlee dogs) wouldn't have it. They went to bed at a respectable time. To them, 7:30am seemed like a perfectly respectable time to rise. Steve saved me, getting up to let them out then feed them.

But then they came back.

Ah, well.

Feeling all kinds of weird today. Blew my voice out last night. Partly due to an inferior sound system. Partly because I now only perform (sing) once a month. The voice is a like muscle. If you don't work it regularly, you lose control. Although the audience was receptive last night, I know I didn't sound my best. Not even close. My vocal chords took a beating as did my confidence. Not. Fun.  On top of that, this morning my knees are killing me.  Due to my doctor's advice, last year I gave up the motivational and swing dance gigs.  He said I could sing on stage, but to limit my movements, staying away from things that 'twist' the knees. The problem with that is that I'm a performer, not a recording. I can't just stand there and sing with an occasional head and upper body bop. Well, I could, but that wouldn't be much fun for the audience... or me.

Last night I was feeling 50% but I gave 100%. Today I'm paying the price--physically and mentally. The thought keeps knocking in my head, I don't want to do this anymore. If I can't sing and dance at my very best, I don't want to subject the audience or myself to an inferior performance.  To sing at the top of my game, I need to perform at least three times a week every week. That's not going to happen. Atlantic City's desire for younger entertainers is still going strong. The alternative is to 'practice' at home daily. That's not going to happen either. I lack the motivation. I have limited free time and I'd rather use it to write. 

There it is, really.  At this point in my life, for many reasons, I'd rather write than perform. I only have the desire and stamina to do battle in one competative, fickle industry. I choose publishing over entertainment. (Although publishing is a form of entertainment--just off stage, so to speak) So why do I cling to this one last singing gig? Partly, because it pays well and for the most part the gig's a no-brainer. But mostly because it is my only singing gig and I can't imagine not ever performing live again. I can't imagine letting go of something that's been a part of my professional life since I was fourteen. But I know it's coming and that has me feeling all kinds of weird.

Tonight I'll watch the Oscars. I'll no doubt grumble about the actresses who obsess on being rail thin and pay for procedures that make them look unnaturally perfect and freakishly young. Another reminder of why I now prefer to pursue my creative endeavors 'off camera'. Tommorrow I'll immerse myself in my writing and get that same jazzed rush I used to get on stage. The weirdness will pass. Until next month's singing gig. Note to self: Let go and move on.