I’ve always wanted to find a way to ask a few of my favorite authors over for a nice, leisurely Sunday brunch, and that became the idea for this blog.
Each week I plan to invite a couple friends to this blog so I can ask them a question. My friends will share their answers with me and you, gentle readers, can give your answer to my question in the comment section below. I’ll choose one random person from the comments and reward them with an ebook surprise, it’s that simple! Comments are moderated, so don’t despair if you’re not posted immediately! All commenters will be entered into a drawing, so don’t be SHY!
This Sunday, just to remind my children they have a mother (and also because I have always wanted to do this) I plan to make Eggs Benedict. If I succeed, I might take a picture and share it here, if I fail, I’ll probably put the whole horrible experience behind me and never mention it again. Wish me luck!
Last week’s winner is: druuuuuuumroll please: John Spear! I’ll be sending you an email asking which ebook you fancy pronto! Thanks for playing along.
Last week I gave my authors the very tough assignment of defining art. This week, I have a much simpler question!
What is the most ironic thing that ever happened to you!
I’ve been trying to decide upon my most ironic moment. It could be the time a friend of mine tried to teach me how to drive a stick shift, using his old dodge van with three-on-the–tree; unsuccessfully, until the night my friend and I “borrowed” his van in an effort to get him off the roof of her house.
Adrenalin is a wonderful thing and the resulting low-speed chase across the desert had us laughing so hard we must have left damp spots on the threadbare and cracked Gumby-green seats. Come to think of it, the fact that I was never able to properly drive his van until I stole it from him was probably Guy’s most ironic moment, not mine.
But in the spirit of the season–just weeks away from Gay Romance Literary Retreat in Atlanta next month—I think I’ll instead share the irony of last year’s event in Albuquerque – Land of Enchanting Green Chilies.
For this story to make any sense, you’ll need to understand a little about me. I have a serious hot tooth. I’m addicted to spicy heat at all levels and it’s not unusual to find me sprinkling ghost peppers on my popcorn. But it’s not only the heat I crave – it’s the flavors of chilies in all their forms. In particular, the green and red chilies grown all over New Mexico and transformed into some of the most amazing sauces.
I was turned on to these flavor profiles at a Mexican Mercado in Salt Lake City at the age of five or six, and I can still remember the cavernous space broken up with serapes and woven panels of blue and gold, and the black velvet paintings of bull fights and matadors gracing the walls… I still dream of their enchilada sauce, dark and rich and with a piquant pungency that made my tongue beg for more. My love of these flavors has only increased with time, and during my last trip to Santa Fe I managed to drag home an extra five pounds of ground and whole dried chilies – long since used.
So that’s me last October–a chili slut in heaven, heading to New Mexico at the height of the green chili roasting season with an empty pantry at home. I was so excited that I made extra space in my bag for all the chili booty I would be dragging back to the bay area.
On this trip I was also bringing along a little something extra–my roommate for the GRL retreat the lovely Irish lass, Kelly, who was visiting with us in California. Kelly was (and is) a complete delight, perfect in all ways with one tiny little exception. Kelly is extremely allergic to chilies, which I did not know at the time. Imagine my chagrin.
We spent the week together dodging death by vegetable, all over Albuquerque and Santa Fe.
And when I saw a sign for a farm roasting green chilies on site, I confess to making a quick calculation on the value of human life versus frozen roasted green chilies for the rest of the year. Despite evidence to the contrary, I’m not a monster and no lasses were harmed in this tale, but I did find the irony of the situation very amusing. – Author L.E. Franks
When I was younger I had this thing about paranormal stories… I hated them. I loved historicals, romances and science fiction stories, but I was staunchly against paranormal and fantasy stories. Why? Because I think I was a little too analytical or logical. I couldn’t conceive of a world where elves, vampires, and wolf shifters existed. So I didn’t read them and when I would sit down to write stories I wouldn’t write them either. I read romance books but stayed away from anything paranormal, fantasy, or supernatural.
I read Anne Rice’s “Interview With A Vampire” and fell in love with vampire books and movies, but that was it and even they were few and far in between. Years later, I read Mary Calmes’ “Change of Heart.” That was completely by accident. I thought it was a book about a woman and a man, I bought the book (on Audible) without reading the blurb. And right there my world was opened to paranormal stories. I went on a spending spree and before you knew it my stories had changed. Suddenly, the boy who refused to read paranormal stories because they were just so unrealistic, became the man who loves writing paranormal books because he gets to blend the impossible with reality. – Vicktor Alexander
i·ron·ic [ahy-ron-ik] adjective
1) using words to convey a meaning that is the opposite of its literal meaning; containing or exemplifying irony: an ironic novel; an ironic remark.
2) of, pertaining to, or tending to use irony or mockery; ironical.
3) coincidental; unexpected: It was ironic that I was seated next to my ex-husband at the dinner.
Okay, so now that I have the whole actual definition thing down, let me think… *tapping chin*
Well, it could be the time I was deployed to the middle east for Operation Enduring Freedom as an active duty Army soldier, and ended up running into a guy from the Air Force… who just happened to have been in either Concert or Jazz band with me in high school. Oh, and did I mention that in high school I’d had a mad crush on him? Yeah, that was one for the books. We went to school together in Marquette, Michigan. The last time I’d seen him was in 1983 or ’84
I think. And there I was, in the middle of a huge freaking desert, and some Air Force Captain is scoping me out. Then he’s all… didn’t you go to MSHS? Yep, total odd-ball coincidence. But then again, my life seems to run on them! – author Cherie Noel
Incongruent Angel is the upcoming sequel to Angel Baby, which is available, HERE
(Editor’s note. ZOMG. Awesome covers this week.)
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