Happiness is Candy on Sale

I love those fat, juicy red candy jujube hearts that show up every February. (Valentine’s Day, not so much, but the candy hearts, yes.) And starting today or tomorrow, they will be on sale, along with all the rest of the heart-shaped sugar in the world. February is the Month of the Dead (as far as I’m concerned) and then there’s the snow problem, and it’s cold as hell here, too (except isn’t Hell hot?) but at least the candy is on sale. And delicious.

Also Happy Valentine’s Day. Or Happy Lupercalia, which had priests slapping women with bloody strips of goatskin, which is still marginally better than getting generic red roses and a sappy card with bad chocolates, not that I have bitter memories or anything. Why yes, I do write romance; why do you ask?

What made you happy this week?

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Romance, Sex and Context: A Theory

I’ve been thinking about sex in romance novels lately. (This is going to ramble some. My Deep Thoughts often ramble.)

I used to get reviews that said my romances were pretty hot. I reread a couple of those books recently and compared with what’s out now, they’re barely lukewarm. That’s fine with me, but I’m wondering now what the blurring of the lines between romance and erotica means to the genre. That is, how is it redefining romance? I have no problems with erotica, but it doesn’t have the same aims as romance, any more than women’s fiction is romance-centered. I’m not even sure chick lit is romance, but then I’ve never really been sure what chick lit is. The point is, romance is the only genre that’s romance centered, so what happens to romance within the genre is important.

And I think sex is mugging it. Continue reading

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This is a Good Book Thursday, February 11, 2021

This week I reread Welcome to Temptation and Faking It, mainly to see which parts I don’t skim when I read now. Those are almost always the scenes between the H and H. It’s the romance, stupid. Now, back to cutting Nita. And figuring out the rest of Anna and Lily, not to mention Nadine and Alice. And Liz. Also, do you know how old Dillie would be now, give the date of publication when she was 8? Twenty-nine. That’s almost in my heroine age range. Of course she probably still doesn’t have her driver’s license, but still . . . (That also means Sophie and Phin and Wes and Amy and Davy and Tilda are somewhere in their fifties. And having a wonderful time, too.)

What did you read this week?

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No, This Isn’t a New Post

It’s snowing again. It snowed again yesterday, too. It’s going to snow this weekend. It’s going to snow a lot more at the beginning of next week. I have ordered Cadbury chocolate from England (because England has not screwed up Cadbury the way the US has because, as SNL pointed out, the only thing that still works fine in America is Tom Brady) and Tate’s walnut chocolate chip cookies from Amazon even though they’re a dollar cheaper in my local grocery, which I would have to dig out my car and drive through the snow to get so, hey, an extra buck is fine with me (sorry about that Amazon driver, but since you just leave the boxes on the hood of my car, never mind, I’m not sorry AT ALL), and a heated pad for Emily to sleep on since she will NOT leave the sun porch although she does deign to accept head scratches now along with pricey cat food and a full water dish, and also from Amazon both thick and thin Chop Suey noodles, not for Emily but for me because it’s comfort food time . . .

Where was I?

It’s snowing again. I have a draft post on New Thoughts on Writing Sex Scenes which I might get up tonight but probably not because I will have spent the afternoon shoveling white stuff which is still coming down, albeit not as enthusiastically. In fact, you could call this latest snowfall “lackluster snow.” It’s going to keep going, but it’s not going to be sprightly about it. It’s snow shrugging its shoulders as it falls. Whatever, it’s thinking. Who cares? Even snow is tired of snowing.

I don’t mean to complain (yes, I do, I do mean to complain) but I’ve had enough winter. It’s beautiful and peaceful and I’m sure there are other positive aspects to it, but whatever they are, they’re buried under the latest eight-to-ten inches (man, there are a lot of Game of Thrones “Eight inches of Snow is a good thing” memes), so, nope, not seeing the upside.

Feel free to talk about whatever you want in the comments since this isn’t a real post. Actually, you can always feel free to talk about whatever you want in the comments on any post because we’re not Topic Nazis here. That’s the royal We; it’s just me, really, covered in snow, on the lookout for any personal attack comments which have happened twice in the past sixteen years here, so it’s not like I have to be alert, which is good because I’m covered in snow . . .

It’s still snowing.

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Happiness is Brioche in the Breadbox and a Cat in the Bedroom

I made it out of my driveway (thanks to my neighbor Allan and his snowblower) and into town and the first thing I bought was bread because you can make it through damn near anything if you have bread. Naan, challah, sour dough, whole wheat, and my personal weakness, brioche. One of my favorite things from my childhood was thick white bread toasted and then slathered with butter and topped with an equally thick layer of sugar, so that the sugar melted into the butter and formed this ambrosial sludge on top of the toast. Needless to say, I can’t do that any more, but brioche toast and butter is a pretty good substitute.

Also Emily and I are now at the I-still-don’t-trust-you-but-I’ll-let-you-scratch-me-behind-the-ears stage of our relationship. Also, she’s ridiculously fat and fluffy and laid back, so I think the whole adoption thing is shaping up well.

What made you happy this week?

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