BLONDE JOKES 

What can I say? I love blonde jokes. They’re just funny! I personally know a few blonde jokes, but I won’t tell you about them. It might hurt their feelings. <g>

Luckily, none of my sisters were born blond. And very few other people I know are brave enough to smack me for liking the jokes. (There are people out there who might be brave enough, but most of them aren’t dumb enough.)  

As I’ve said, some of my favorite people in the world are blond. They always know the best BJs.  (bj stands for blonde joke. Get your mind out of the gutter.)

Do you have a favorite BJ? If you do, send it to me and, if I like it, I’ll post it. Maybe even if I don’t.

We can have a contest. The person who comes up with the best joke will win . . . something. But if you don’t enter, you can’t win whatever it is.

GYPSY

I just sent off a query to WRP for Gypsy. Keep your fingers crossed for her. She needs to find a home!

A medium since birth, French Quarter palmist, Gypsy, helps abandoned teens—in life and beyond the grave. A throw-away at fourteen, she understands how perilous it is for kids on their own, so she does everything she can to help them. Caught by Hank Stryker, whose pocket she picks in order to feed the latest three, she makes an uneasy alliance with him. So that he won’t turn her over to the authorities, she must help him find his niece. Working together, they uncover a deadly sex-for-money business where homeless kids are pawns, anything is game and Hank’s lost niece is in the competition.

 

Like I said, keep your fingers crossed.

Another Blonde Joke.

A blonde’s car gets a flat tire on the Interstate one day. So she eases it over onto the shoulder of the road. She carefully steps out of the car and opens the trunk, takes out two cardboard men, unfolds them and stands them at the rear of the vehicle facing oncoming traffic. The lifelike cardboard men are in trench coats exposing their nude bodies to approaching drivers.

Not surprisingly, the traffic became snarled and backed up. It wasn’t very long before a police car arrives. The Officer, clearly enraged, approaches the blonde of the disabled vehicle yelling, “What is going on here?”

“My car broke down, Officer”, says the woman, calmly.

“Well, what the hell are these obscene cardboard pictures doing here by the road?” asks the Officer.

Who knew?

Who knew getting ready to take a quick trip would take so long? Trying to find a flight to some place close to my aunt’s hometown was a startling experience. They ranged from around $800 to $1600! A-R-G-H! So we opted to fly into Denver and rent a car, then drive. It’s a long ways, but it saved many $$.

The first hard thing, though, was find out which siblings would/could go with us. Sister Lisa knew immediately she couldn’t. (And I so appreciated knowing.) For Sister Cindy and Brother J, I had to wait.

Anyway, it ends up that Sister Deb and I are going out alone. Since we probably remember the aunts most, it’s best that way.

But I spent most of my day finding the flights. And getting it all set up. And finding us a place to stay. Then I called my cousin. Not home. I shouldn’t have waited to call her. Who knew they had football for her to watch in Colorado? I figured kids up there played hockey or skate racing some other freeze-y game.

I called her son’s house and talked to his sweet wife. I’ve never met the girl, but I love her already. I gave her the message for Cousin, then asked her what local hotel we could call. She invited us to stay with them! Never met me in her life, and offered me a bed. Is that sweet or what? Made me wonder if she was of Okie stock. <g> But since I don’t know her, and haven’t seen her husband since he was a tyke, I thought it would be easier all around if we stayed in a hotel.

And there just happens to be a new Holiday Inn in town. They had only 3 rooms left! At least that’s what the operator said when she decided it was time to get my card number.  Yowsa! I nabbed it. 

So now all I have to do is figure out what I’m going to want to wear three days down the road. *sigh* I never know what I’m going to wear tomorrow, much less that far in the future. I just hope I don’t take the entire wardrobe like I did for the Wichita trip. 

It wasn’t pretty.   

Going? Coming?

I’m still trying to catch up on sleep/rest/kickin’ back time. Thank goodness, the Magic has begun! That contest really wore me out. Not so much the physical-ness of it, but more the emotional stuff. And then, after 8 or 10 hours of reading, my eyes kept freezing over. Making it where I could read and not comprehend the words. Not a good thing for a writer. <g>

Anyway, here’s what’s been happening lately around Shayland:

1- A new author signed in at Wild Rose Press, named Sydney Shay. She sold a climbing rose to WRP called, The Noel Bandit. I’m really looking forward to reading it. Anyone named Shay has got to be good! 

Realize, I don’t read all the emails that come in on that loop, but I do scan them. And when I saw one with the name Shay, I was jazzed. So I sent her a welcome-to-the-group, cousin! email. The sweet girl told me her name wasn’t really Sydney Shay. Sydney is her dad’s name, and Shay was her mother’s maiden name. Hey, being cousin to her mom makes her my cousin once removed. Right? Or is it a second cousin? I never know.

2- Speaking of cousins, my real cousin called last night to tell me her mom had passed. They’ve lived out of state for years now, but that doesn’t make losing another tie to my mom any easier. And I can’t imagine what it would be like to be an only child and have to go through the plan making all alone. Thankfully, my cousin has a great husband and three kids, who live nearby. So she’s not alone, but none of them have the same loss she does.

So, I’ll be heading to Colorado this weekend. I love Colorado. I just wish I could stay long enough to really enjoy it.

3- Yesterday I took my dad and his wife to the doctor for “the procedure.” I enjoyed my time with them, but hated it that my dad got so sick. For some reason, certain members of my family get really blech when they’re knocked out for surgery or procedures.

I LIKED the doctor who did their procedure, too. Nice guy. I might have to hook dh up with him when his time comes. (Thankfully, I just had mine. Don’t plan to do it again for at least 5 years. Or ten. Or ever.)

4- Baby boy hasn’t been home from college lately. He’s homesick. I’m homesick. It’s no fun when you don’t get to see your kids at least once a week. I have talked to him. He called to say, Pay my tuition, and, I’m homesick, but that’s it.

5- Middle son is getting ready to have a birthday (Oct 2) and then he’s moving out four days later. Wouldn’t you think he’d wait to move out until I got over being homesick for bb? Empty nest. *sniff*

6- Speaking of empty nest, I talked to Sister Lisa last night. She informs me that, handled correctly, EN can be mucho funo. Maybe I can get DH to handle my missing fledgling feelings! <EG> 

7- Sister Lisa’s middle son had a birthday recently, (Ryan, if you’re reading this, stop right now! I don’t want to spoil your surprise.) and I bought the card Dad sent him. It says something about it being to a man who has discriminating taste and a dignified sense of humor from a guy who doesn’t. And it has a whoopy cushion in it. I don’t think Dad was thrilled with my choice.

I loved it.

Maybe I’m the one who doesn’t.

8- I’m really getting into the story about Annadaluvia Mancini (my muse). It’s so much fun to write something that’s pure fantasy. You get to make up your own world with your own rules. I know when people die and go to Heaven, they don’t become angels or muses or anything of the sort. But it’s fun to play. And I’m playing for all I’m worth. She just finished receiving her assignment. Tomorrow she meets “her mortal”.

I’m so excited, she might just meet her tonight, after work.

But I might go take baby boy out to dinner instead.

  

Where the Magic Begins

We have finalists! Here they are–

Historical

Final Judge: Kate Seaver, Berkley

Through The Fire – Beth Trissel

McCaid’s Woman – Elaine Levine

Heaven Sent – Deb Yates w/a Jenna Stuart

Erotica

Final Judge:: Angela James, Samhain Publishing

Wings of Desire–Cynthia Arends

Her Harem’s Challenge–Jackie Powers

Her Ladyship’s Companion–Nicole Collins 

Paranormal

Final Judge: Heather Osborn, Tor

Hedda’s Sword – DeAnne R Wildes-Mickelson

Contemporary Amazon – Sandra James

Shadows Fall- Karin Shah

Romantic Suspense

Final Judge: Megan McKeever, Pocket

An Untamed Heart –  Lori SewellRetribution – Jean Mason

The Cost of Love – Vannetta Chapman

Sensual Contemporary

Final Judge: Suzanne Clarke, Harlequin

Grave Secrets – Linda Trout

The Dance of Love – Laura Holslin w/a Laura Breck

James – Sandy Loyd

Single Title

Final Judge: Rose Hilliard, St. Martin’s Press

Flaherty’s Crossing – Kristina Y. McMorris & Linda Yoshida

For Love or Ravioli – Laurie DeSalvo

Rules of Lying – Stephie Smith

Sweet Contemporary

Final Judge: Bryony Green, Harlequin

Capturing the Cowboy’s Heart – Kimberly Duffy

The Nature of Love – JoAnn Weatherly

The Water Bearer – Wendi Christener

Winners will be announced on October 14th at the Cimarron Dreamin’ conference in Tulsa, Oklahoma.

I have to say, congratulations to all the wonderful writers! This contest is getting tougher and tougher each year. Some–make that many!–of the entries are ready to be published as entered. As I’ve said before, if the rest of the manuscript is as great as the first 25 pages, they’re on their way.

I know it looks easy-breezy to run a contest. Especially one that’s online like WTMB. But believe me, it’s not. It’s a little bit like Christmas morning for a child. All you do is wake up one morning and wow! Presents.

In a contest, there’s a lot more than just turning in manuscripts and wow! A winner. Even if everyone who volunteers to judge does, there are still discrepancies to take care of. And that’s usually the last minute. (We don’t have a lot of leeway between the day the judge get them back to coordinators and when they have to go out to final judges–the editors.

And with all they do, let me just say how much I appreciate the editors that do the final round up. They have to read three wonderful manuscripts and rank them, 1-2-3. Not an easy task!

This is the first year since the first WTMB that I haven’t entered. I won first place in the single title category two years in a row.

In 2005 I really didn’t see it coming. The manuscript was Gypsy (hasn’t found a home, but I’m still looking!) I hadn’t been able to pry a thing out of the contest coordinators, even though I was rooming with them at the conference. I knew I was a finalist, so I’d at least get third.

We were at the Cimarron Dreamin’ brunch.  I didn’t pay attention to the order of the categories. I was just glad I wasn’t having to stand up in front of the room full of women with my voice shaking as hard as my knees while I announced winners. BFs Marilyn and Meg had to do that.

So it was a l-o-n-g time before they got to single title. By the time they got there, I was a little numb. I knew all the reasons why I’d probably take 3rd.

After all, Gypsy is . . . different. It’s about a woman who lives in New Orleans and helps homeless kids on both sides of life (ie: living and dead.) In the first scene, she picks the hero’s pocket so she can feed the latest three she’s taken under her wing. 

Maybe the editor I drew didn’t like paranormal elements. Maybe she didn’t like New Orleans. Maybe she didn’t like my name/character’s names/manuscript’s name. Maybe she didn’t think picking a pocket was heroic.  

 They announced 3rd place. It wasn’t me. My heart rate picked up.

2nd place was slowly announced. And much to my surprise, that wasn’t me, either. That couldn’t mean I was the winner, could it?

I honestly wondered if the judge had decided there wouldn’t be a first place. Maybe the ladies would say, and that’s the end of our program.

But what they said was, “First place, single title category, is Susan Shay with Gypsy!”

At first my heart was pounding so hard and loud, I wasn’t sure I’d heard right. Had I misunderstood?

But everyone in the room was clapping and looking at me, and Marilyn and Meg were grinning these huge grins that looked like they might tear their faces in half.

I laughed and cried and danced across the room! It was wonderful! LIFE was wonderful. WRITING WAS WONDERFUL!!!

The prize was a certificate with three big gold stars across the top in graduating sizes that says,

Romance Writers Ink Presents

2005 Where the Magic Begins

First Place Single Title

Susan Shay

GYPSY

 And I won a gold pin that says MAGIC and has a magic wand angled across it. The certificate is framed in silver, hanging on my wall where I see it each time I sit at my computer. The pin rests on top, except when I take it and its twin (for Masquerade) to a conference with me to wear on my badge.

It’s so much FUN to win!

Friday Funny #3

Friday Funny #2

Friday Funny #1

The End Looms Nearer.

The contest is almost over, thank goodness. Let me clarify that–my part of Where the Magic Begins is almost over. In other words, I’ve made about all the mistakes I can.

The latest was fun. One of our final judges prefers to have a hard copy to judge rather than getting them in an email, and I don’t blame her one bit! It’s much easier to judge/critique a manuscript with a pen than with a keyboard.

 Since it was my category, I printed out the three manuscripts. Put them all in one envelope, put in an SASE, added the correct amount of postage to both manuscripts and sent it on its way.

Then I went to work, trying to get rid of my headache. (Yes, it was the day after the air condition gilflirted and my head was banging like the entire drum corp.)

Yesterday, the day after the envelope was gone. The day it became too late. The day I got the air conditioner fixed–one of the other members of the contest committee mentioned in passing that “requested material” should have been on the outside of that envelope.

WHAT? Nobody told me. How could I know . . . ? How could I have guessed . . . ? I couldn’t.

I do know that editors get a mountain of coorespondence every day. And I know that if your manuscript is requested, you should put requested material on the outside of your envelope. It just stands to reason that you put either requested material or contest entries or something on the outside so she’ll know which envelope they’re in. Especially since we need them back by October 8th.

So on the advice of of level-headed, bf Marilyn (who contrasted totally to my panic mode yesterday) I sent the editor an email. It went something like this, “I realize this probably means you’ll never buy a manuscript from me, but I screwed up.” I went on to explain what I’d done.

The editor was very gracious. She was more than gracious; she was nice! So I’m sending her the entries again, and this time, I’m putting, “CONTEST ENTRIES” in red letters all over the envelope.  

     

The air conditioner is fixed.

I begged my air conditioner people to get me help for my crippled machine. Since I live in a small town, they know I’m not usually ready to face the world at 8:00 in the morning.

“Please send him as soon as possible,” I pleaded.

Shannon is always so diplomatic. “Bruce could come on his way to work, but it would be early.” (That was definitely a warning.)

“It doesn’t matter. Anytime.” Then I took a deep breath. “What time do you think it’ll be?”

“Oh, eight or eight-thirty.”

“Send him.” I was desperate.

This morning, when I got out of bed, I got dressed before I went downstairs. No way I was going to get caught in my jammies again. (Long, ugly story.)

And I did it. I was dressed before the guy got there. Did I mention this guy just happens to own the business? And another business, too. It’s called either Rooster and Rose or Rose and Rooster (I can never remember who comes first, the chicken or the flower).

Long story short, my air conditioner is fixed. Hallelujah! Now we can close the windows and sleep without breathing all the dust and creepies that are in our air. And maybe my stuffy head can clear up. And my headache go away. And maybe I’ll quit feeling meaner than a snake.

Now for the ugly story: Preface #1: DH and I watch New Detectives every night. And in every episode, someone gets murdered.

Preface #2: I sleep in a t-shirt and shorts. A really OLD t-shirt and shorts. With a few discreet holes. It’s really comfortable.

 One day I was chatting on the phone with bf Meg. We were about to hang up when my doorbell rang. I froze.

“No one ever comes to my house.” I told Meg. “I only hope it’s Jehovah’s Witnesses.”

The bell rang again and I gave a little squeal.

“You’d better see who it is,” Meg advised.

GULP!

“Maybe I can peek at him without him seeing me.”

I tiptoed out of my office and into the family room, where I hid behind a corner that juts out. When I looked all I could see was a big man, wearing a pair of overalls.

Jehovah’s Witnesses NEVER wear overalls. I was more frightened than ever. (The previous night’s episode of New Detectives was playing through my mind.) “Whatever you do, Meg, don’t hang up. And if I do, call 911.”

“I won’t hang up,” she assured me. “I promise.”

So I crept to the door and slowly opened it. It was my neighbor! “I just wondered if we could unload a tractor and drive it through your yard to mine.” Then he looked at the way I was dressed, and I think it scared him out of about three years of life. “Sorry, I guess I shouldn’t have come over so early.”