I know when close friends mean something other than the literal reading of their words. So "Does this make me look fat?" really means "I don't feel good about how I look right now. Comfort me." and *my* answer would be "Why you gonna ask ME that? You look great, let's go."

Heh. My friend TOTALLY failed to do that for me when I was in a fashion show for her store last week. I was wearing a shorty-short mini and showing A LOT of my (substantial) bare legs. After changing into the skirt I told her "I'm feeling a little insecure about my legs."

She said, "Eh. It'll be dark out there."

I was like, "NOOOOOOO you're supposed to say my legs are totally sexy and hott!!!"

(Also, my friends and I like to ask each other, "Does my ass look fat enough in these jeans?")

Hairpats here (in this thread/at this board), are constructive criticism, I think. When I first committed fic, I posted it in the fic thread. My bad habits were kindly pointed out (too many dialogue tags, and the wrong sort), etc. I was given resources to help me clean up my style. Just last week, deb not only called to my attention, but talked me through a fix in a drabble, that significantly improved it. When I made the fix, then I got the ego pats. And really, that's what I'd prefer.

I've written more badfic and managed to get it at 100 words. Inspired by the phrase "impale me with your fleshy-headed crusader" which I found on livejournal reading a rant about cocks in fanfic (specfically HP) (see lj user alittlewhisper).

Tonight would be most specialist of all nights when her beloved would declare his undying love and claim her as his own sweetest treasure. She was untouched by man and unschooled in the ways of carnal matters. The mere thought of the night’s education made her blush, tinging her skin the rosiest of pinks. As her peginior slid down her body she felt the first warm stirrings in her most secret womanly place. Tomorrow they would leave for the uncharted West. But tonight she would be his Manifest Destiny and he would push forward into her with his fleshy-headed cursader.

I am DYING over here. Askye, that's - dayum. What I tend to think of as the "terrified salacious Catholic school" school of bodice-ripping.

Are the spelling mistakes deliberate? Specialist instead of specialest, tinging instead of tingeing? I couldn't tell. Because boyoboy, do they work.

Fleshy-headed crusader. Awe-inspiringly horrible.

I have been scarred by the fleshy-headed crusader. Or, in my head, the cervelliere.

Her rosy bosom swelled above the bodice of her torn gown. She gasped as he touched her for the first time. She all but sighed his name, “Colin, Colin….”

“Oh, Alicia, my sweet. How beautiful you are. I could see your perfection beneath your sarcasm and quick wit.”

“Colin, we musn’t. Your father will be angry and send you away to America! I will not be your downfall, my darling”

“A pox on my father. Let us run away and be married. I have my own land in America. We’ll sail tomorrow. Alicia…Alicia…”

“Colin…Colin….My name isn’t Alicia.”

“I’m not Colin.”

The bad spelling was a mistake. I was in a hurry to get this up because I'm at work and somehow Word didn't put the squiggle-y red line underneath.

I'll leave them though.

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

OK, we're getting into the serious funnies.

In other news, I think my pointed little "I did the edits on the plane, I hope you can read this" proofing of my publisher's first edits to Matty Groves bore some fruit; just got an email saying the the first-pass layout is being fed-exed to me, to arrive Friday. This time the deadline is 1 June.

Two weeks instead of two days. YES PLEASE.

Fleshy headed crusaders.

Bwah!!!!

Sharing bouncy news because I need to bounce this week...

Romatic Times gave Murder in the Hamptons four and a half stars, which is awesome, and said, "Garvey writes a fresh mystery with an unexpected twist." Wheee!

A friend went into B&N yesterday to buy it, and couldn't find it. Asked the manager, who told her they'd sold out. Now, they might have ordered only a few copies, but still. Sold out! (and were ordering more.) The woman in line behind my friend overheard the exchange and chimed in with, "Murder in the Hamptons? Oh, I loved it! I just read it!"

So Renee asked if she knew I was a local author, and also if she'd read Wicked Women Whodunit. She hadn't read it, but told Renee she was going upstairs to find it and buy a copy on the spot.

Takes the sting out of AAR's C+ review, too, which actually didn't sting too much since they give Fs. Seemed like the reviewer thought I could have done better, and I had failed to live up to her expectations, which kind of sucks but is still better than hearing, "Who on earth gave this woman a contract, she writes like an illiterate gnat on bad crack."

And I got the cover for the next book which is a thousand times better than the crapola I had for Murder. So, squee-worthy news.

t /mememe