Sunday, 25 October 2015
Tuesday, 20 October 2015
Saturday, 17 October 2015
As I took a shower, I looked out my window and saw large crows gathering on the rooftop...
...of the apartment building behind me. #HitchcockMoment
Thursday, 15 October 2015
Thursday, 08 January 2015
Wednesday, 07 January 2015
Puddle Jumpers
Love this! The first photo is called "The Puddle Jumper"
and was taken by the photographer Martin Munkácsi, for Harper's Bazaar, in 1934.
The second was taken by Richard Avedon, also a fashion shot, and also in Paris, but in 1957.
Beautiful!
Tuesday, 06 January 2015
Friday, 02 January 2015
Wednesday, 31 December 2014
My five New Year's resolutions...
Resolution #1:
Stay healthy.
(Note to Self: eat more root vegetables, and less sugar!)
Resolution #2:
Stay happy.
(Note to Self: much more sex, much less [caloric] sugar!)
Resolution #3:
Acquire a new language.
(Pig Latin does NOT count.)
Resolution #4:
Experience new things, with total abandon!
(Unless they include black-outs, tattoos, or joining a cult.)
Resolution #5:
Two thousand words a day!
(More writing. Note to Self: skipping martini may do the trick...)
Sunday, 22 June 2014
Yep, Jersey Boys, the Movie, is definitely worth seeing.
Click here to listen to "Sherry Baby"
Enjoy!
-- Josie
THE HOUSEWIFE ASSASSIN'S HANDBOOK
978-0-9740214-0-9
FREE!
ORDER NOW, from
Amazon.com (US) / Amazon.UK
Also in all Amazon countries!
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Apple iTunes Bookstore / Apple iTunes Bookstore (UK)
In all iTunes countries!
Monday, 09 June 2014
10 Things You Should Never Say to a Novelist
(c) 2005 Alex Steuart Williams (FLIP) and Erica Rothschild
I'm being serious.
Okay, here goes:
1. "I'd write, too, but I can't stand the thought of all the trees I'd be killing."
Yes, I've heard this one. My response back then was, "Don't worry. You won't sell enough books to raze a sapling, because your pub house won't push you that hard to begin with."
Today, I'd add, "And besides, most books are digital, so you can't use the tree-killer bullshit as an excuse not to write anymore."
2. "I'd write, too, but I just can't make the time."
Good. Stay busy. The world doesn't need anothor author. Here's a hint: It's not a hobby. It's a profession.
3. "Why don't you kill off your series' villian?" Because then I wouldn't have a series. And if I don't have a series, I don't have the rent money. I'll make you a promise: when and if he quits paying the rent, I'll quit writing about him.
Then again, I'm not JK Rowling, either.
If a writer is persistent and lucky, he or she will find that their income is somewhere in between minimum wage and unimagined wealth.
I'm not saying it's an easy way to make a living. It took years to crawl my way up beyond the government set poverty line. To make the rent, I wrote other things: game questions, greeting cards. magazine articles, even horoscopes. (No, I was not a licensed astrologist, just a mom with two growing kids who could go through money like the Pentagon).
5. "The best authors--like JD Salinger, or, say Margaret Mitchell-- only wrote one, or maybe a just few, books in their lifetime."
Oh, really? I guess that leaves out Dickens, Twain, Wharton, LeCarre, Dreisher, Trollope, James, Chandler, Christie, and Doyle, to name a few--all of whom are on my favorite authors list--along wtih Salinger and Mitchell.
And by the way, some of the worst writers only wrote one book as well.
I'd say the odds are with those who get the most chances at the plate. Don't forget, Babe Ruth broke records for hitting home runs and for striking out.
Not to mention, a writer's skill level rises each time up to bat.
6. "When am I going to see you on the New York Times Bestsellers list?"
Maybe never--and that's okay with me. A Times review won't necessarily pay the bills.
For that matter, a Times review won't necessarily be a good one. Just ask any author who has been scorched, panned, or ridiculed by one.
7. "When will I see your book reviewed in the New York Times?"
Again, maybe never--and that too is okay with me. I write commercial literature--romantic suspense, funny mysteries, contemporary women's fiction--and those books usually don't get a NYT review unless they're deemed such a cultural phenomenon that even the Times can't ignore them.
As for those authors who are waiting for some news outlet to review their books, all I can say is, good luck. Even the best New York publishing house publicist rarely scores a major newspaper review for a mid-list or debut author, let alone a segment on the Today Show. Now, if you're willing to change your first name to Snooki, or your last name to Kardashian, you may actually get that review, or some air time.
It's just the way of the world: a ghosted celebrity can garner more air time for a mediocre book than a gifted author will receive for a notable work.
So suck it up.
Better yet, don't reach for the stars when that is not the lasting definition of success. You're better off working the crowd instead of waiting for the crowd to come to you. In fact, I know many authors whose books have gotten better--and substantially more reviews--than those I see in the Times--
From readers.
Rude awakening: many major newspapers have done away with book reviews--and book reviewers--altogether. That being said, the voices that are ever more important to authors are avid readers, especially those readers who are willing to write a review on the websites of the bookstores (both online, and brick-and-mortar) where they buy their books. Even better is when they chat up your books to friends.
In today's book market, a four-plus star reviews by hundreds of readers on an online bookseller's site can generate more sales than a few kind words in a Times review on any given Sunday.
Bottom line: word of mouth means everything.
8. "You can write more than one book a year? Hmmm. You're not an artist. You're not even a craftsman. You're...a hack!"
Here's the scoop. Even painters have to produce more than one painting in a lifetime--let alone a year--in order to eat, pay rent, and pay for their kids' braces.
The same goes for musicians. They have to play more than one gig. And songwriters have to write more than one song.
No one wants to be a one-hit wonder.
In fact, even one hit is akin to winning the lottery.
As for being a craftsperson: the proof is in the satisfaction of the buyer.
I'm very proud of my body of work. Every book has received an average of four or more stars. And every day, I get letters from readers who were kind enough to take the time to tell me how much fun they had with my books, or how much they love my characters. I love to hear that it kept them up at night (it certainly did for me when I was writing any one of them!) or that they laughed so loud that it woke their spouses.
That, my dear friends, is satisfaction.
9. "It must be nice to be able to set your own hours."
I write at least ten hours a day.
Believe it or not, some chapters are written in my sleep.
When I'm not writing, I'm plotting. Or researching.
The creative process is the most important aspect of my profession. But the marketing of my books are just as important. That being said, when I'm not writing, plotting or researching, I'm concepting covers, going over edits from my proofers and editors--
And promoting, promoting, promoting.
In any regard, I'm thinking about my books twenty-four/seven.
None of it is easy. But it can certainly be rewarding. I guess that's what makes it a "job," and not a hobby.
10. "It must be great to have such a fun job."
I wouldn't be doing anything else. And I'll do it, as long as I please my readers--and myself.
But like any job, it's not always fun. Sometimes it's frustrating. Sometimes I disappoint myself with how slow I am at it. It takes time to craft a sentence, let alone a paragraph, a scene or a chapter.
Then you have to do it time and again, until you have a cohesive story. Creating a work that even you enjoy, despite having read it so many times, you want to scream.
I remember the reaction my sister had when I told her I'd sold my very first novel. "In fact, the contract is for two books," I proclaimed proudly.
This was met with a look of horror. "You mean, they can make you write another?"
"God, I hope so," I declared.
Eight years and seventeen novels later, I still feel that way.
And, now a bonus comment...
11. "I've got a great idea for a book! Why don't I give it to you, and we can split what you make, 50/50?"
Ha ha! I get this one a lot! I've even gotten it from my sister.
Thank you, but I respectfully decline your offer. You see, I have so many ideas already, that I wonder if I'll have the lifespan in which to write them all.
And besides, at best, a concept is a one-liner (at the most ten words). Even if it's the best book concept in the world, but then you're leaving me with the heavy lifting--that is, coming up with the other eighty thousand words that makes it a book.
You see, a book may start out as a high concept, but it needs a beginning, a middle, and an end. That's a lot of sweat equity--especially if the concept doesn't resonate enough with you to (a) spend the time to research the era or topic, or (b) create characters who go through the motions to bring it to life--and make readers laugh, cry, or write you to tell you how much your words meant to them.
That being said, go ahead and write it, as only you could do.
And let me know when it's published. I look forward to reading it, and supporting you, just like you read and support me.
Josie Brown is the author of The Housewife Assassin's Handbook series, as well as the Totlandia series. Her next book, The Housewife Assassin's Deadly Dossier, will be released in June 2014.
Thursday, 10 April 2014
"I don't mind living in a man's world..."
"...as long as I can be a woman in it."
-- Marilyn Monroe
____________________________
THE HOUSEWIFE ASSASSIN'S HANDBOOK
Murder. Suspense. Sex.
And some handy household tips.
978-0-9740214-0-9
FREE!
ORDER NOW, from
Amazon.com (US) / Amazon.UK
Also in all Amazon countries!
BN.com (99 cents)
Apple iTunes Bookstore / Apple iTunes Bookstore (UK)
In all iTunes countries!
Thursday, 26 December 2013
When it comes to a boat, what's in a name?
The boats in the San Francisco Yacht Harbor have wonderfully whimsical names: Irish Whisper. Calico Dragon. Sea Hawk. Kookaburra. Nai'a. Daisy. Escapade. Effie Jane. Portola.
Then there's the one named, simply, "Sailboat."
Talk about putting things in perspective.
FREE!
THE HOUSEWIFE ASSASSIN'S HANDBOOK
Over 150,000 downloads.
Find out why readers love it.
Read more about Donna at www.HousewifeAssassinsHandbook.com
Wednesday, 18 December 2013
Goodwill toward all customers, for sure. WestJet airline does it right.
I think this is possibly the best public relations campaign I've ever seen an airline come up with. When you get to the end of the video and see the tears of joy and gratitude in the customers' eyes, you'll know what I mean.
Way to go, WestJet!
Murder. Suspense. Sex.
And some handy household tips.
FREE! Now in
BN.com (99 cents)
Monday, 16 December 2013
Woman gets her jollies on a San Francisco Cable Car. One hundred lovers and a $50K settlement later...
l love this article, from the archives of the San Francisco Chronicle. Brings to mind one of my favorite Judy Garland classics, "The Trolley Song," from the musical, "Meet Me in St. Louis:"
Love this lyric: "I went to lose a jolly".
I'll just bet you did,
-- Josie
"Cable Car Nymph"
Excerpted from
"San Francisco's Top 10 Sex Scandals"
Kevin Fagan, San Francisco Chronicle
Published 4:00 am, Thursday, May 28, 2009
It was supposed to be a routine trip on the Hyde Street cable car in 1964, the 29-year-old woman said. But when the car lurched and she was heaved against a pole, the collision "somehow unleashed emotions hidden deep in the dark closet of her mind," The Chronicle reported - and thus was born "The cable car nymphomaniac" who took a trip on the "Cable Car Named Desire."
The woman sued Muni for $500,000 six years later, saying her injuries had triggered an insatiable sexual desire that drove her to take 100 lovers, leaving her perpetually unsatisfied. Reporters left her name out of news accounts, to protect her privacy, referring to her instead by her nickname, or as "the buxom blonde" from Michigan.
She was awarded $50,000 by a jury, whose members said they hoped she would use it for counseling.
(c) 2009 San Francisco Chronicle
With my high starched collar
And my high topped shoes
And my hair
Piled high upon my head
I went to lose a jolly
Hour on the Trolley
And lost my heart instead
With his light brown derby
And his bright green tie
He was quite
The handsomest of men
I started to yen
So I counted to ten
Then I counted to ten again
Clang, clang, clang went the trolley
Ding, ding, ding went the bell
Zing, zing, zing went my heartstrings
From the moment I saw him I fell
Chug, chug, chug went the motor
Bump, bump, bump went the brake
Thump, thump, thump went my heartstrings
When he smiled I could feel the car shake
He tipped his hat
And took a seat
He said he hoped he hadn't
Stepped upon my feet
He asked my name
I held my breath
I couldn't speak because
He scared me half to death
Buzz, buzz, buzz went the buzzer
Plop, plop, plop went the wheels
Stop, stop, stop went my heartstrings
As he started to go
Then I started to know
How it feels
When the universe reels
The day was bright
The air was sweet
The smell of honeysuckle
Charmed you off your feet
You tried to sing
But couldn't squeak
In fact, you loved him
So you couldn't even speak
Buzz, buzz, buzz went the buzzer
Plop, plop, plop went the wheels
Stop, stop, stop went my heartstrings
As he started to leave
I took hold of his sleeve
With my handAnd as if it were planned
He stay on with me
And it was grand just to stand
With his hand holding mine
Till the end of the line
Clang, clang, clang went the trolley
Zing, zing, zing went my heart
Songwriters: HUGH MARTIN/BLANE, RALPH
Published byLyrics © EMI Music Publishing
Monday, 12 August 2013
The Almost Marilyn Monroe, Almost Naked
The renowned burlesque dancer, Dixie Evans, died this weekend. She was known as burlesque's "Marilyn Monroe." Yes, the resemblance was uncanny! See for yourself. Here's how she built her act.
Take it off, take it all off,
August 10, 2013
Dixie Evans, Who Brought ‘Monroe’ to Burlesque Houses, Dies at 86
By MARGALIT FOX / New York Times
Dixie Evans, a popular stage performer billed as the “Marilyn Monroe of Burlesque” — the first two words in very large letters and the last two in very small ones — died on Aug. 3 in Las Vegas. She was 86.
Her death was announced on the Web site of the Burlesque Hall of Fame in Las Vegas, of which she was a former curator and director.
Ms. Evans was a marquee name at midcentury, mentioned in the same avid breath as Gypsy Rose Lee, Sally Rand and Lili St. Cyr. In later years, she was featured in newspaper articles and television programs about burlesque and appeared in the 2010 documentary “Behind the Burly Q.”
She was profiled in the 1996 book “Holding On: Dreamers, Visionaries, Eccentrics, and Other American Heroes,” by David Isay, with photographs by Harvey Wang.
Reflecting on her unlikely stardom in a 1992 interview with CNN, Ms. Evans said, “I was not that talented and I wasn’t that pretty.”
But her close-enough resemblance to Monroe — enhanced by a peroxide blond coiffure and the uncanny ability of Ms. Evans, who never met her subject, to mimic her speech and shimmy — ensured her success as a locus of transference.
“If you couldn’t meet the real Marilyn,” Ms. Evans told The New York Times in 1998, “you could come to the burlesque and meet me.”
Night after night from the early ’50s onward, at burlesque houses around the country, Ms. Evans took the stage in Monrovian garb and swung into musical numbers that recalled those in Monroe’s films. Unlike Monroe, she ended the numbers far more lightly attired than when she began.
She kept the act going for more than a decade, modifying it enough to mollify Monroe, who at once point threatened to sue. Wherever she played, she drew a devoted, even rarefied, following.
“Walter Cronkite used to come every year to see my act,” Ms. Evans told The Los Angeles Times in 1993.
Frank Sinatra was said to be a fan. So, too, was Joe DiMaggio, who was reported to have visited the show for consolation after his divorce from Monroe in 1954.
Then, in 1962, Monroe’s suicide rendered the act obsolete overnight. As Ms. Evans told The San Francisco Chronicle in 2002, “When she died, I died.”
She held a string of jobs, doing public relations for a hotel in the Bahamas and working as a nurse’s aide in California, before an abandoned goat ranch in a dusty Western town afforded her an improbable return to burlesque’s glittering glory.
Mary Lee Evans was born on Aug. 28, 1926, in Long Beach, Calif., to a well-to-do family. Her father, an oilman, died when she was a girl, and the family fortunes declined precipitously. Young Mary worked in the celery fields and during World War II was an airplane mechanic.
Dreaming of stardom, she began her stage career as a chorus girl in touring musicals. One night, in her late teens or early 20s, she found herself stranded in San Francisco between jobs with 50 cents in her pocket. She discovered that the local burlesque theater paid four times what she had been earning.
A few years later, when Ms. Evans was performing at a Minsky’s burlesque house in Newark, Harold Minsky, the son of the impresario Abraham Minsky, transformed her into Marilyn.
In the late 1980s, Ms. Evans learned that her friend Jennie Lee, a retired burlesque star, was terminally ill with cancer. Ms. Lee, who was living on a former goat ranch in the desert in Helendale, Calif., had created a de facto museum there from her old memorabilia.
Ms. Evans moved in to help care for her, assuming responsibility for the collection after Ms. Lee’s death in 1990. She expanded it into the Exotic World Burlesque Museum and Striptease Hall of Fame, whose holdings included Jennie Lee’s silver-sequined pasties, Gypsy Rose Lee’s wardrobe trunk, the cremated remains of the burlesque queen Sheri Champagne and — perhaps the collection’s most curious artifact — a photograph of Lili St. Cyr with Eleanor Roosevelt.
In 1991, Ms. Evans founded the Miss Exotic World pageant, an annual competition she liked to call the Olympics of burlesque.
In 2006 Ms. Evans moved the competition and the museum, now known as the Burlesque Hall of Fame, to Las Vegas, where she made her home from then on.
Ms. Evans’s marriage to Harry Braelow, a prizefighter, ended in divorce. Survivors include a sister, Betty, and many nieces and nephews.
For years in the 1950s, Ms. Evans was a fixture at the Place Pigalle, a burlesque house in Miami Beach. One night, she was arrested.
“Whenever it was election time in Miami, they’d raid the strip joints,” she told The Los Angeles Times in 2009. “I told the judge, ‘Your Honor, this is the same act you saw at the policemen’s show.’ ”
His Honor dropped the charges.
This article has been revised to reflect the following correction:
Correction: August 11, 2013
An earlier version of this obituary omitted a survivor, Ms. Evans’s sister, Betty.
(c) 2013 New York Times
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Monday, 05 August 2013
Gotta love this headline in The New Yorker: "The Pay Is Too Damn Low." Duh, yeah.
I don't feel the need to elaborate on this New Yorker article.
America, isn't it time you vote you pocketbooks, instead of letting the lobbyists decide your fates?
THE FINANCIAL PAGE / The New Yorker
THE PAY IS TOO DAMN LOW
BY JAMES SUROWIECKIAUGUST 12, 2013
- A few weeks ago, Washington, D.C., passed a living-wage bill designed to make Walmart pay its workers a minimum of $12.50 an hour. Then President Obama called on Congress to raise the federal minimum wage (which is currently $7.25 an hour). McDonald’s was widely derided for releasing a budget to help its employees plan financially, since that only underscored how brutally hard it is to live on a McDonald’s wage. And last week fast-food workers across the country staged walkouts, calling for an increase in their pay to fifteen dollars an hour. Low-wage earners have long been the hardest workers to organize and the easiest to ignore. Now they’re front-page news.
The workers’ grievances are simple: low wages, few (if any) benefits, and little full-time work. In inflation-adjusted terms, the minimum wage, though higher than it was a decade ago, is still well below its 1968 peak (when it was worth about $10.70 an hour in today’s dollars), and it’s still poverty-level pay. To make matters worse, most fast-food and retail work is part time, and the weak job market has eroded what little bargaining power low-wage workers had: their earnings actually fell between 2009 and last year, according to the National Employment Law Project.
Still, the reason this has become a big political issue is not that the jobs have changed; it’s that the people doing the jobs have. Historically, low-wage work tended to be done either by the young or by women looking for part-time jobs to supplement family income. As the historian Bethany Moreton has shown, Walmart in its early days sought explicitly to hire underemployed married women. Fast-food workforces, meanwhile, were dominated by teen-agers. Now, though, plenty of family breadwinners are stuck in these jobs. That’s because, over the past three decades, the U.S. economy has done a poor job of creating good middle-class jobs; five of the six fastest-growing job categories today pay less than the median wage. That’s why, as a recent study by the economists John Schmitt and Janelle Jones has shown, low-wage workers are older and better educated than ever. More important, more of them are relying on their paychecks not for pin money or to pay for Friday-night dates but, rather, to support families. Forty years ago, there was no expectation that fast-food or discount-retail jobs would provide a living wage, because these were not jobs that, in the main, adult heads of household did. Today, low-wage workers provide forty-six per cent of their family’s income. It is that change which is driving the demand for higher pay.
The situation is the result of a tectonic shift in the American economy. In 1960, the country’s biggest employer, General Motors, was also its most profitable company and one of its best-paying. It had high profit margins and real pricing power, even as it was paying its workers union wages. And it was not alone: firms like Ford, Standard Oil, and Bethlehem Steel employed huge numbers of well-paid workers while earning big profits. Today, the country’s biggest employers are retailers and fast-food chains, almost all of which have built their businesses on low pay—they’ve striven to keep wages down and unions out—and low prices.
This complicates things, in part because of the nature of these businesses. They make plenty of money, but most have slim profit margins: Walmart and Target earn between three and four cents on the dollar; a typical McDonald’s franchise restaurant earns around six cents on the dollar before taxes, according to an analysis from Janney Capital Markets. In fact, the combined profits of all the major retailers, restaurant chains, and supermarkets in the Fortune 500 are smaller than the profits of Apple alone. Yet Apple employs just seventy-six thousand people, while the retailers, supermarkets, and restaurant chains employ 5.6 million. The grim truth of those numbers is that low wages are a big part of why these companies are able to stay profitable while offering low prices. Congress is currently considering a bill increasing the minimum wage to $10.10 over the next three years. That’s an increase that the companies can easily tolerate, and it would make a significant difference in the lives of low-wage workers. But that’s still a long way from turning these jobs into the kind of employment that can support a middle-class family. If you want to accomplish that, you have to change the entire way these companies do business. Above all, you have to get consumers to accept significantly higher, and steadily rising, prices. After decades in which we’ve grown used to cheap stuff, that won’t be easy.
Realistically, then, a higher minimum wage can be only part of the solution. We also need to expand the earned-income tax credit, and strengthen the social-insurance system, including child care and health care (the advent of Obamacare will help in this regard). Fast-food jobs in Germany and the Netherlands aren’t much better-paid than in the U.S., but a stronger safety net makes workers much better off. We also need many more of the “middle-class jobs” we’re always hearing about. A recent McKinsey report suggested that the government should invest almost a trillion dollars over the next five years in repairing and upgrading the national infrastructure, which seems like a good place to start. And we really need the economy as a whole to grow faster, because that would both increase the supply of good jobs and improve the bargaining power of low-wage workers. As Jared Bernstein, an economist at the Center for Budget and Policy Priorities, told me, “The best friend that low-wage workers have is a strong economy and a tight job market.” It isn’t enough to make bad jobs better. We need to create better jobs. ♦
ILLUSTRATION: CHRISTOPH NIEMANN
(c) The New Yorker. All rights reserved.
My way to help the wage slave is to offer THE HOUSEWIEE ASSASSIN'S HANDBOOK for free. Download it here:
(Book 1) Signal Press
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Friday, 05 July 2013
Are you kissable? That depends. Are you Iron Man?
So Zoosk.com, a top online dating service, surveyed more than 3,500 singles to reveal pop culture’s most memorable kisses.
And your name didn't make the list.
Just kidding. Okay, here are some of the results:
The most memorable on-screen smooches of summer 2013 are…
- 41% of Americans say Tony and Pepper’s lip lock in “Iron Man 3” was the most memorable kiss among this summer’s blockbuster flicks.
- 23% of singles say Spock and Uhura in “Star Trek Into the Darkness.”
- 21% of singles say Alan and Cassie in “The Hangover III” shared the most memorable kiss of this summer’s blockbuster films.
The top 3 kissing songs are…
- “Could I Have This Kiss Forever” by Whitney Houston & Enrique Iglesias (21%)
- “A Kiss From A Rose” by Seal (17%)
- “Blow Me One Last Kiss” by Pink (12%)
The most romantic places to kiss are…
- On the beach (30%)
- In a car (23%)
- In front of a roaring fireplace (15%)
- On a carriage ride in New York’s Central Park (14%)
Do you agree with these results? Tell me why -- or why not -- on my FaceBook page:
http://www.facebook.com/JosieBrownAuthor
You can watch the kiss, below. (Of course, it's always better to watch a kiss with foreign subtitles...)
THE HOUSEWIFE ASSASSIN'S HANBOOK
(Book 1 - Signal Press)
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Wednesday, 19 June 2013
Hump Day Haiku: "Kiss Bliss"
THE CANDIDATE
Signal Press - eBook
Seduction and intrigue are rampant on the campaign trail when a political campaign adviser discovers that Washington's power broker elite have embroiled his presidential candidate in a plot involving an act of terrorism on US soil...
SYNOPSIS
Democratic political campaign consultant Ben Brinker can’t remember the last time he was excited by a candidate’s vision. He feels he’s lost his way, both emotionally and professionally. Worst yet, his show-me-the-money policy seems to have finally caught up with him. Two of his recent clients have been disgraced in one way or another: a senator is caught in lurid sex scandal, and a congressman is indicted in a kickback scandal. In no time at all the political pundits are calling Ben a "candidate cooler." Now Ben is desperate for any campaign gig he can get.
As luck would have it, Andrew Harris Mansfield, the charismatic junior senator from North Carolina and former Marine pilot, asks Ben if he wants to run his soon-to-be-announced campaign for president.
Little does Ben know what's in store for Andrew, or their country--
Nor does he realize that the key to saving both have been placed in his hands.
Tuesday, 18 June 2013
Ha! Just re-read one of these scenes in The Housewife Assassin Book 3, which is one of my faves
On sale now!
EXCERPT
“You are older looking than your online dating photo, Nadia,” General Melmud Massoud Shammam says as he scrutinizes me from top to bottom.
In fact, it’s my bottom that fascinates him the most. To my chagrin, he holds up one of my dating profile pictures in order to compare it to the real thing. “Did you Photoshop your buttocks to look like Pippa Middleton’s? Yes, of course! I see that now! Shame on you, sister, for coveting an infidel’s likeness!” He shakes his index finger at me.
Yeah, okay, busted. It wasn’t my ass. That was Arnie’s idea. I’ll never listen to him again, that’s for sure.
“I should be disappointed, but I am a practical man and prefer hips large enough to bear many, many children. So perhaps you will make me happy after all.”
Ha! Says you, I think, but I stifle the urge to stick my stiletto into his heart.
Besides, his breasts are bigger than mine, so I’m not sure I’d find his heart underneath all that blubber.
I’d sure have fun trying, though. Like playing a real-life version of that old game, “Operation.”
Instead, I bow my head to the man once renowned as the top torture expert in Gaddafi’s army and murmur, “It is true, sir. Allah has given me many wonderful years. But the life of a fertile virgin is empty if it is not spent at the side of an honorable husband.”
Melmud was ID’ed by Interpol’s Universal Face Workstation as the thug standing with Carl in the munitions exchange video. His payoff in arranging the fatal meeting was a new identity and a one-way ticket to the United States.
Ladies, big FYI: because this coward left his three wives and nine children to face Libya’s mob rule, he’s back on the market. His online dating profile in Anastasia Date (the leading website for men seeking Russian brides looking to move overseas) reads like this:
Join me in America!
Strong, virile and handsome man seeks slim and perfect woman with whom to share his life. Let’s hit the links, and take long walks on the beach at sunset!
Must be Muslim, and a virgin. Natural blonde preferred. Must like golf and also hiking, since sometimes we may spend time camping out in the desert for long periods of time. But I am well-endowed, so it will be worth your while.
Quite a charmer, ain’t he?
Arnie hacked into Melmud’s account and zapped the responses from the few Slavic singletons desperate enough to answer the ad so that I’d be his default choice.
My own response was fine-tuned in the hope of making me sound meek, pious and submissive. My profile photos were shot by a photographer who freelances for Playboy, and all that implies. With the help of a sheer, form-hugging shift and some soft backlighting, the photographer knew exactly how to accentuate the positive.
So did Arnie, who’s a wiz at Photoshop. Pippa has set a very high bar for the rest of us. I may have been wearing a headscarf, but now it’s obvious that Melmud’s eyes weren’t drawn to the shape of my head.
Ideally, “Nadia” would have flown from Moscow to LAX, but thanks to some Arnie’s hacking, the best Melmud could pull off on such short notice was a flight to San Francisco, where he was to her up, then fly her into Santa Barbara on his private jet.
A blond female Acme operative with my height, weight measurements (perky breasts and all) and an identical head scarf boarded the flight. When she got off, she went into the fifth stall the closest ladies’ lavatory, where I was already waiting for her. We’re dressed as twins down to our matching headscarves, so anyone following her would presume we’re one and the same. She handed me her ticket to put with my fake passport, changed her clothes and wig, and then there was one.
Melmud’s bodyguard met me at baggage claim and hustled me into another terminal, where Melmud’s private customized Gulfstream G650 was ready to whisk us down to Santa Barbara. The plane is tricked out with a private living room, bedroom, dining room and kitchen galley.
In other words, all the comforts of home for a fugitive on the run.
Now that I’m in mid-flight with my supposed betrothed, I’ll slip him the ultimate mickey—SP-117, a concoction invented by the Russia’s external foreign intelligence arm, the SVR. It’s tasteless, colorless, and leaves the victim clueless as to anything he may have said.
While he’s under the influence, I’ll ask him the whereabouts of the missing munitions cache. But it’s only a fifty-minute flight, so I’ve got to work fast. My problem: being Muslim, neither Melmud nor his thug drinks liquor or caffeine. A glass of water will have to do.
I begin with flattery, in my best Moose-and-Squirrel accent. “Sir, my innate shyness forces me to request that our time together be private.”
By the way he raises an eyebrow at this unexpected modesty it looks like he believes that perhaps he really did find the only virgin on a website loaded with Slavic vixens. I guess he’s giving me the benefit of the doubt because he snaps his fingers at his bodyguard, who disappears into the cockpit with the pilot, closing the door behind him.
I reward Melmud by loosening the top button of my already low-cut, floor-length tunic, revealing the lacy camisole beneath it.
The plane hops over a cloud, giving me the opportunity to tumble against him. Oops! My hand falls in his lap in the hope of bracing my fall. I cover my mouth, as if shocked by this seemingly innocent action.
But when our eyes meet, I lick my lips in anticipation.
His response is Pavlovian in one regard. He’s panting for a treat.
“In my country, we toast the holy union between a groom and his bride.” I lower my head. “Will you allow me to serve you, my honorable fiancé? Just a glass of water, of course.”
He smiles and nods toward the kitchen galley. I bow slightly before gliding to a cabinet and pulling out two glasses.
He is too busy loosening his tie and planning the tests that will prove my virginity to see me slide the medallion on my ring and release the drug into his drink.
As I hand him his glass, he shouts, “Prost!”
He passes out just as he had begun to slobber all over me. Yuck! I shove him off to the far end of the couch. I go over my mental checklist of everything on my list—
Oh, fudge! I forgot to check the SFO duty-free shop for any Furbys!
Note to self: get better at multi-tasking.
But first things first. Buy time.
I grab Melmud’s cell phone from his pocket and yank the subject’s SIM card from his phone. Then I dial Jack with the satellite connection on the wireless SIM card reader I’ve concealed in my valise.
“How’s our little mail order bride?” he asks.
“Cut the crap. I’ve just pulled out the SIM card. What now?”
“Great! Arnie’s on the line, too. All you have to do is slip it into that little doohickey he gave you. When it’s done, uplink it, and voila! He’ll have access to a week, maybe two, of previous text messages and traceable cell numbers.”
Uplinking the
data on the SIM card takes much too long: all of six minutes, and I’ve still
got an interrogation to conduct.
By the time the upload is finished, Melmud’s Kickapoo Joy Juice has kicked in.
“Who is the Quorum?” My voice is gentle but authoritative.
“Infidels. But they pay well for arms. Enough for me to buy the mansion next door to Oprah in Montecito. But Oprah’s dogs crap in my yard all the time. Still, I don’t mind. They are Oprah’s dogs! Some are Laboradors, but there are also a couple of Springer spaniels. Not to mention the golf club in Montecito is top notch. I have a two handicap. Soon they will soon make me a member. I am sure of it.”
Someone should have warned me SP-117 leads to diarrhea of the mouth. If this were just another extraordinary rendition, I’d have already given this dude a Cheney spa treatment and tossed him out the door.
I start over. “Melmud, try to stay focused. What is the Quorum doing with heat-seeking missiles?”
“Taking down a plane.”
Like, duh. At thirty-three thousand feet in the air, this guy better tell me something I don’t already know, or one of us is going to jump ship. I don’t want it to be me. “Where will it occur? On what day, and at what time?”
“What I know is—”
A sharp rap at the door stops him cold. That damn bodyguard!
In Arabic, the bodyguard is telling his boss that we will be landing in five minutes. He wants to know if there is anything we need.
Melmud is about to say something when I hiss, “Don’t answer!” I reach for my satellite phone. This time I dial Arnie direct.
When he picks up, I whisper frantically, “I need you to dial Melmud’s bodyguard as if it’s coming from Melmud, and give him a message.”
Arnie pauses. “Why would I do that?”
“Because I’m in the middle of interrogating this creep, and the guard is standing right outside the door! I can’t have Melmud answer him out loud. He’s in a trance! No telling what he might say! I need the guard to get a text message telling him to scram! But to be authentic, it’ll have to be in Arabic, and my bandwidth doesn’t stretch that far.”
“Don’t worry, piece of cake. And I’ll make sure the caller ID will show Melmud’s phone. Just text me what you want it to say.”
I think for a moment before sending him this:
While she is smart and beautiful and surely would make a fine and pious mother, I still have my doubts that this woman is a natural blonde. I am testing my theory now. If the door is still closed when we land, no one is to disturb us! When I am done, I will meet you by the limo. Allah willing, my bride is flaxen and therefore worthy to accompany us to Montecito. Oh, by the way, the next time Oprah’s dogs take a dump in the yard, shoot them.
The chirp outside the door tells me the bodyguard has gotten Arnie’s message. A moment later I hear Melmud’s thug murmur, “Yes, General,” in Arabic, before trudging back to the cockpit.
I breathe a sigh of relief. “Thanks, Arnie.”
“Glad it did the trick. But, Donna, what the heck was that stuff about Oprah’s dogs?”
“I needed to add a tinge of authenticity to the message. Trust me, it did the trick.”
I click off and shake Melmud back into interrogation mode. “Tell me, quick. Where is the shipment from Libya right now?”
“The Quorum infidels would not tell me. To hide this knowledge from me, they spoke in French. But they did not realize I speak it, too. All I know is that it is coming in by ship. From a toymaker.” A sly smile rises on his lips. “And by the way, the female infidel really did have a butt like Pippa. But by her amorous moves with her partner, I am guessing she is no virgin.”
Valentina’s a slut, and Carl enjoys it? No surprise there. And for the record, this dude has no idea what he’s talking about. No way does her bum look better than mine!
His cruel cackle puts me back on task. “Why should I care, anyway, when the cargo arrives? The less I know about it, the better. I’ve worked too hard establishing my excellent new identity as a successful self-help guru from Dubai. I’m working on my book now. It is called Don’t Worry, Be Happy: Six Must-Do Moves to Being a Better You. I have no doubt it will be a sure-fire bestseller! I will leave it in Oprah’s mailbox, and she will love it and build a whole television network around its teachings.” Obviously, the truth drug has made him delusional. “I love Oprah. And I love Julia Louis-Dreyfus. Did you know she lives nearby? I love Seinfeld, too. I wonder if he ever visits Elaine…”
I hear the vibration of the plane’s wheels dropping. Time to wrap up our little tête-a-tête, and it couldn’t come a second sooner. Hanging out with this guy is driving me nuts.
I force him to sip again from his glass. A moment later, he drifts off to sleep. By the time Melmud’s bodyguard shakes him awake, I’ll be just a pleasant memory.
I’ll also be brunette again, and long gone.
The plane’s landing is smooth as silk. As planned, Jack is there waiting on the tarmac. The credentials he presents to the flight crew and the bodyguard identify him as the field office director of the Santa Barbara County branch of the Immigration and Naturalization Services.
The bodyguard turns white under his swarthy tan. The last thing he wants is for the INS to question him about his passport, or Melmud’s, for that matter.
On the other hand, he’ll gladly step aside so that Jack can take me off the plane in handcuffs. Here’s a shocker. Turns out, I’m not a virgin after all. Apparently, “Nadia” has run away from her husband, a Muslim jeweler based in Moscow.
“Your boss is bereft,” Jack tells the bodyguard. “He asks that you not disturb him. He said something about five salads.”
The guard eyes open wide. “No, he means ‘salats.’ He wants to pray.”
This means only one thing. The Self Help Guru Formerly Known as the Mommar’s Mutilator is very upset that his life-size Barbie wasn’t the fantasy bride he’d hoped for.
“Learn anything?” Jack asks, as we roar off in his Lamborghini.
“Yes. It’s coming in by ship.” Talk about a needle in a haystack. “Also, I now know why Gaddafi’s regime was so dysfunctional.”
“Do you think it might’ve had something to do with the fact he was a nut?”
“No doubt that’s a big part of it. But it turns out we Americans were the real cause of his downfall.”
“Sure we were. We played an important if somewhat covert role in aiding and abetting the rebels.”
“Nope, I mean even before the Arab Spring. You see, Mommar’s generals watched too much American television. To them, life is a series of self-help aphorisms culled from daytime talk shows. They also think sitcom characters are real.”
“So do most Americans. So I guess we truly are a global village.” Jack shakes his head sadly. Then his eyes light up. “Oh, wow, that reminds me. The Big Bang Theory is on tonight!”
“You’ll have to catch it on demand. Have you forgotten the Oprah special airs tonight? She’s interviewing Pippa Middleton! I’m sure as heck not going to miss that.”
Jack sighs appreciatively. “Speaking of Pippa, did anyone ever tell you your butt looks a lot like hers?”
When I punch his arm, he almost drives off the Pacific Coast Highway.
(c) 2012 Josie Brown. All rights reserved. This excerpt may not be resold or redistributed without prior written permission from Josie Brown or Signal Press Books ([email protected]).
The Housewife Assassin's Killer Christmas Tips is on sale now!
Wednesday, 12 June 2013
Hump Day Haiku: Take a Crack at That
Love our place, except/
The re-do from hell, next door/
Can be heard AND seen(!!!)
Check out my latest novel, THE CANDIDATE
Signal Press - eBook
In all online bookstores June 15, 2013!
Seduction and intrigue are rampant on the campaign trail when a political campaign adviser discovers that Washington's power broker elite have embroiled his presidential candidate in a plot involving an act of terrorism on US soil...
SYNOPSIS
Democratic political campaign consultant Ben Brinker can’t remember the last time he was excited by a candidate’s vision. He feels he’s lost his way, both emotionally and professionally. Worst yet, his show-me-the-money policy seems to have finally caught up with him. Two of his recent clients have been disgraced in one way or another: a senator is caught in lurid sex scandal, and a congressman is indicted in a kickback scandal. In no time at all the political pundits are calling Ben a "candidate cooler." Now Ben is desperate for any campaign gig he can get.
As luck would have it, Andrew Harris Mansfield, the charismatic junior senator from North Carolina and former Marine pilot, asks Ben if he wants to run his soon-to-be-announced campaign for president.
Little does Ben know what's in store for Andrew, or their country--
Nor does he realize that the key to saving both have been placed in his hands.
Enter THE CANDIDATE'S Contest for a $100 Gift Card!
______________________________________
Sunday, 09 June 2013
Fabulous! The movie trailer for Woody Allen's latest, "Blue Jasmine", starring Cate Blanchett
I'm a total Woody Allen fan, and even had a Woody sighting myself, when he was filming his latest flick, "Blue Jasmine," here in San Francisco.
I think the trailer looks great. I love seeing all the San Francisco/Marin County shots, including a scene on the Muni F Line (the 1947 Philadelphia trolley car); several locales in Belvedere, California, across the Golden Gate Bridge; the bar, Aub ZamZam, in the Haight; Market Street; Geary Street; the Sunset District--
And of course, Ocean Beach.
Hey, even the quaint Mount-Tam-hugging town, Larkspur, California got into the picture.
And Cate Blanchett looks sublime, doing her "StreetCar Named Desire"-esque Blanche Dubois routine on her sister (played by British "Happy Go Lucky" wonder girl, Sally Hawkins).
It's a wonderfully updated take on that Tennessee Williams classic.
I love it that Alec Baldwin is Woody's new Every Patrician.
Definitely worth checking out, for the eye candy alone.
Because we always rely on the kindness of strangers (and no one is stranger to us than family),
THE CANDIDATE
Signal Press - eBook
In all online bookstores June 15, 2013!
Seduction and intrigue are rampant on the campaign trail when a political campaign adviser discovers that Washington's power broker elite have embroiled his presidential candidate in a plot involving an act of terrorism on US soil...
SYNOPSIS
Democratic political campaign consultant Ben Brinker can’t remember the last time he was excited by a candidate’s vision. He feels he’s lost his way, both emotionally and professionally. Worst yet, his show-me-the-money policy seems to have finally caught up with him. Two of his recent clients have been disgraced in one way or another: a senator is caught in lurid sex scandal, and a congressman is indicted in a kickback scandal. In no time at all the political pundits are calling Ben a "candidate cooler." Now Ben is desperate for any campaign gig he can get.
As luck would have it, Andrew Harris Mansfield, the charismatic junior senator from North Carolina and former Marine pilot, asks Ben if he wants to run his soon-to-be-announced campaign for president.
Little does Ben know what's in store for Andrew, or their country--
Nor does he realize that the key to saving both have been placed in his hands.
Enter THE CANDIDATE'S Contest for a $100 Gift Card!
Wednesday, 22 May 2013
Hump Day Haiku: "Beach Umbrella"
To celebrate the launch of
The Housewife Assassin's Relationship Survival Guide,
I'm giving away a $100 gift card to the bookstore of your choice!
Thursday, 16 May 2013
Thursday Couple's Kiss: "Catch and Release"
If she had been expecting his kiss, it would have landed on her lips, as opposed to her eye.
Or maybe not.
If she'd been expecting it, she might have pushed him away.
Or run in the opposite direction.
Or come up with a million excuses as to why she ducked and dodged him.
"I haven't brushed my teeth," she might have said. Or, "Stop! Someone might be watching!" Or "Not now... not here... not me."
But he took away her option to say no.
Instead, he gave her the option to fall in love.
Then he let her go.
He learned this while fishing. "Catch and release," it's called.
But women aren't fish. They love the chase. They imagine the possibilities.
They anticipate his next kiss.
The Housewife Assassin's Handbook!FREE!
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- EVERY DESPERATE HOUSEWIFE WANTS AN ALIAS: Donna Stone has one...and it happens to be government-sanctioned.
- BUT DONNA EARNED IT THE HARD WAY: Her husband was killed the day she delivered their third child.
- TO AVENGE HER HUSBAND'S MURDER: Donna leads a secret life: as an assassin.
- BUT ESPIONAGE MAKES FOR STRANGE BEDFELLOWS: And brings new meaning to that old adage, "Honey, I'm home..."
Friday, 10 May 2013
TGIF Excerpt: The Housewife Assassin's Handbook: "Her Kitten Heel on His Throat"
I've been told that the verbal sparring between Donna Stone, the heroine in The Housewife Assassin's Handbook, and Jack Craig, the hero of the series, is hot enough to steam an ice cube.
Works for me.
For my TGIF except, I've chosen their first meet-up, which has Jack on his back with Donna's heel at his throat.
But not for long.
Enjoy! And if you do so, download from Amazon, Kobo, or Apple, where it's free. It's 99 cents in BN.com. I've put links below the exerpt.
EXCERPT
“You know, you’re kind of cute when you’re angry.” When, finally, he can speak, his words come out in a husky mutter.
I’m guessing that’s because I’ve got my kitten heel on his jugular.
He’s lucky I’m not wearing my six-inch fuck-me stilettos.
“You think so? You should ask around about that…Oh, sorry, you can’t—because anyone who’s seen me really angry has never lived to tell about it.”
Despite my chokehold, he’s able to mumble out, “I love it when you talk dirty to me.”
“Oh yeah? Tell, me, do you love it when I do this?” I press his arm to the breaking point. “And how about this?” I lean down on my heel again, but just enough.
I’m enjoying the sound of him rasping for air when, from the other side of the door, I hear Mary ask, “Mom, is everything okay in there?”
That breaks my concentration, enough for him to grab my ankle. Next thing I know it’s me who’s facedown, on the bed. I can feel his knee in the center of my back. The pressure he’s putting on me is excruciating, but I’m not going to let him know that.
“If you don’t answer her, she’ll walk in here and find us… like this.” This is murmured more as a promise than a threat. I don’t know what makes me angrier: the thought that he thinks he’s scaring me, or the realization that the warmth of his breath on my cheek is turning me on.
Either way, I won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing it.
I resist the urge to spit in his face. Instead I collect myself, and then in my best sing-song mommy voice, I answer, “Yes, honey, everything is fine! We’re just moving a few boxes in the closet. Why don’t you go downstairs and check on the chicken? If it’s browned, lower the oven to 275. Oh! And do me a favor, and mash the potatoes.”
“Um… Okay. Just call down if you need anything.” She sounds uncertain, but a moment later I hear all three of my children clomping down the stairs.
He’s listening closely, too. I inch my one free hand up slowly. I’m hoping to punch him in the groin—
As if reading my mind, he grabs my arm and curls it behind my back. “Gee, Mrs. Stone, I didn’t take you for the kind who liked the rough stuff, but whatever turns you on.”
To keep from groaning in pain, I let loose with a litany of words that, had I’d heard them coming from my own kids’ mouths, would have me reaching for a bar of soap.
“You’ve got quite a little potty mouth, now don’t you?” To drive his point home, he gives me a smack on the ass. “You know, I can play like this all night, but the boss man may not be too pleased that we’re keeping him waiting.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I hiss at him. “Just who are you, anyway?”
I guess he realizes that this really isn’t my idea of a meet-and-greet because suddenly he eases his knee off my back. “You mean you really don’t know? And all this time I thought this was just your way of welcoming me to the family. I hadn’t had you pegged for the type who gets into rough foreplay—”
“Foreplay?” I’m so riled that I sit straight up. So, he wants it rough? Wait until I pull out the Taser I’ve stashed under the mattress…
Then it hits me: “Wait, start over. What do you mean, ‘welcoming you to the family?’ Just who are you, anyway?”
“I’m Jack Craig—”
The name sounds familiar. Where have I heard it…?
Now I remember! What is it that they call him on the spook loops? Oh, yeah: Wild Card Jack. The agent known to shirk protocol whenever it suits him; to bend the rules according to his whims. He’s not above going rogue when the impulse hits—
Especially if there’s a woman around to impress.
“—but you can call me ‘Carl darling.’ That’s as my new alias.”
I can’t believe my ears. “The mission calls for you to pretend to be my husband? No! No way in Hell—”
“Look lady, don’t shoot the messenger. It was Ryan’s idea. I told him it was crazy, too.” He shrugs. “No one in their right mind would believe I’d be attracted to someone like you—”
“Oh yeah?...What’s wrong with me anyway?”
“Well to be honest, you’re not exactly my type.”
I’m trying hard not to snicker. “Considering what I’ve heard about your ‘type,’ I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Your reputation precedes you, too—or haven’t you noticed that Wikipedia uses your photo beside the definition of ‘man-ho.’”
“You see? This is exactly what I told Ryan. You’re one of those women who have no self-control. You’ll just fly off the handle, mission be damned. Being saddled with you would just tie me down.”
“You’ve got some nerve, saying that to me!” I reach for the phone. “I’m calling Ryan right now.”
“Fine by me. If we’re going to take down the Quorum, I’ll need a swallow who doesn’t carry around her emotional baggage like a third boob—”
“Third boob? Why you…. Wait! The Quorum? What’s that got to do with you?”
A brow raises just as the smirk hits his lips. “What, you haven’t had time to read the directive? I saw you at the drop. I know the cut-out in the ice cream truck handed you the order—”
“You were there, watching us in the park?”
“Sure. Hey, I’m no fool. I didn’t want to walk in here and get blown away for breaking and entering.”
I can’t help but shrug proudly.
But then he ruins it by adding “Besides, it’s ice cream. From the looks of things”—he scrutinizes my backside critically—“I’m guessing you’re not opposed to a sugar fix every now and then. I would have guessed you’d have torn into it before you even got into that mommy mobile they’ve saddled you with.”
“How dare you!”
“Just teasing. Look, it’s not as if you’re a total heifer but a little toning up wouldn’t hurt. Might get rid of those love handles.” He has the audacity to put his hands on my hips.
When I try to slap them away, he smiles, but he doesn’t let go. Instead he nudges me closer, as if we’re playing some sort of game, until I’m right up against his rock hard abdomen—
And it’s not the only thing that’s hard—
“You know what they say: sex is the best exercise,” he coaxes seductively. “Since we’ve got to play house anyway, might as well enjoy the fringe benefits, right? Hey, I won’t even mind if you close your eyes and call me Carl—”
My punch to his jaw has him reeling backward, into the wall. “Dream on, you son of a bitch. Just to let you know: you’re not half the man Carl was.”
He grimaces as he rubs his jaw. “Just trying to do my conjugal duty.”
“Get dressed. And make it snappy. I want to get this meeting with Ryan over pronto. I’ve got to be home before eight, to put Trisha to bed.”
“Speaking of beds, do you like the right side, or the left? For that matter, are you a top or a bottom? Not that I’m partial, either way—”
To shut him up, I toss his clothes at him.
As he grabs for them, his towel drops to the floor and I’m given a full-on view as to what all the spook loop fuss is about—
Wow.
Okay, I’m wrong. He’s got at least one thing in common with Carl.
To hide my shock and awe, I turn and walk out of the room, slamming the door behind me.
Even from the bottom of the stairway I can hear him laughing.
***
I tell Mary that we’ll be back in time for dinner, but just in case our “run to the store” takes longer than expected, she is to put Trisha to bed no later than eight, and for Jeff and her to go down no later than ten.
She gives Jack a shy peck on the cheek. On the other hand, Trisha throws herself into Jack’s arms, body, and soul. It only takes a second for his initial look of shock to melt into gentle appreciation. Jeff’s wary handshake is taken just as seriously.
I wonder if this cover is going to be harder for him than he initially imagined.
Already my heart is breaking. Shame on Ryan for putting my family’s emotional wellbeing at risk! He better have a hell of a good reason for doing this to us.
Jack and I take separate cars. He refuses to be seen in my “mommy mobile.” That’s fine with me. The way he peels out in his Lamborghini Aventador roadster, I’ve no doubt he’s just an accident waiting to happen.
Three heads that turn as he races down Main Street are those belonging to Penelope, Tiffy, and Hayley. They’re sitting at one of the outdoor tables in front of our local Starbucks, dishing some neighbor’s dirt, I suppose. As Jack idles at the corner, Penelope licks her Collagened lips and lifts her sunglasses in order to get a better view of him.
This is not lost on Jack. Through his side-view mirror, I can see him honoring her with a wink and that lazy smile of his.
It’s all I can do not to ram him from behind.
Instead I lay on the horn.
As he screeches out of the grand gates fronting Hilldale, I wave at them sweetly. The way they show their obvious disappointment is to ignore me.
I wonder how they’d treat me if they thought Jack was my husband. They’d be jealous, for sure. But I know better than to presume it would earn me their friendships, let alone their respect.
Not that it matters. As soon as I lay down the law to Ryan, Jack Craig will just be a fond fantasy for Hilldale’s mères terrible.
An even bigger problem is explaining to my children that he’s not who they think—and hope—he is:
Their father.
Copyright © 2011 by Josie Brown. Published in May 2011 by Signal Press. All rights reserved. This work is protected under copyright laws and reproduction is strictly prohibited. Permission to reproduce the material in any manner or medium must be secured from the Author.
-------------------------------------------------
Murder. Suspense. Sex. And some handy household tips.
The Housewife Assassin's Handbook
(Book 1) Signal Press
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ho they think—and hope—he is:
Their father.
Monday, 06 May 2013
Mad Housewife Monday: Kelly Reemtsen's Flower Power
One of my all-time favorite artists is Kelly Reemtsen. She so aptly captures the desperation of the ladies who lunch -- especially when they get a bee under their bonnet about something.
Take this painting, called "Flower Power." The way this wifey in the retro shift holds her hedge clippers implies self-emmolation. And yet, her cocked knee implies a dark streak for dangerous flirtation. Perhaps she's saying, "Approach at your own risk."
Truly a thorny situation.
Ms. Reemtsen's paintings can be found in the Skidmore ContemporaryArt (Los Angeles) and the David Klein Gallery (Birmingham, MI). If you're close by, they are worth the visit.
To celebrate the launch of
The Housewife Assassin's
Relationship Survival Guide (Book 4),
I'm giving away a $100 gift card
to the bookstore of your choice!
And click here to get a FREE COPY of
The Housewife Assassin's Handbook (Book 1)
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Thursday, 02 May 2013
Hump Day Haiku: "Cross Purposes"
We say the same thing
But we don't hear each other
Let's not speak. Just...touch.
Guess what's free right now?
Free!
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Apple iTunes Bookstore
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Wednesday, 01 May 2013
Couples Kissing Tuesday: Wet Kiss
for a chance to win a $100 gift card
from your favorite bookstore!
Sunday, 28 April 2013
One of my favorite scenes in THE HOUSEWIFE ASSASSIN'S GUIDE to GRACIOUS KILLING
Whenever I re-read a book I've written, invariably I'll run across a scene that made me laugh, cry, or shiver with delight as I wrote it.
This scene, in The Housewife Assassin's Guide to Gracious Killing (Book 2 of the series) is one of those. And it rated a "shiver with delight." Read it, and then you'll know what I mean.
Excerpt
Chapter 4
How to Choose
a Party Dress
When you’re a guest at someone else’s soirée, your first impression should be also be a lasting one—and certainly not because you either overdressed, or underdressed, for the occasion. When in doubt, keep it simple and elegant: black, with pearls.
If the dress code is not in the invitation, take the time to query your host regarding the proper attire.
Note of caution: should your host’s recommendation include, say, crotchless panties, a naughty schoolgirl plaid skirt, brocade ankle restraints and a head harness with a muzzle gag, be sure to bring along something you’ll know he deserves, for getting on your bad side.
A cement overcoat will do nicely.
****
“Go with the backless one. You’ve got the shoulders to carry it off.”
I turn around to see who’s offering an opinion on my hunt for the right gown to the Breck shindig tonight. My advisor is a man who sits on a settee in a darkened corner of the Bergdorf-Goodman couture suite, just off to the side of the circular bank of mirrors.
While I’ve been scrutinizing my profile, he’s been admiring my shoulders, supposedly. But only now does he lift his eyes—from somewhere far below my shoulders—to meet mine.
From the look of his suit (made to measure for a man whose fit physique would look great in a gunnysack, let alone a fifteen-thousand-dollar charcoal gray Brioni) he has great taste.
He should. He is Jonah Stanford Breck IV, one of the wealthiest men in the world.
Sweetly, I smile at him through the mirror. “You like it better than the blue one?”
His eyes sweep over me, appraisingly. “Much more so. Albeit the blue sets off your… eyes.”
I laugh at his ridiculous attempt to avoid the obvious. My eyes are brown. What looks great in the blue dress is my ass.
We both know it.
“Great, then. The blue one’s the charm.”
“You’ll be the belle of the ball.”
“Not a ball, really. Just dinner. In fact, I’ll be dining at your place, Mr. Breck.”
His eyes, gray like his trimmed sideburns, flash suspiciously for a moment before dulling into wariness.
“Your wife, Babette, extended the invitation. My daughter, Trisha, has been playing with Janie all afternoon. I presume Babette felt the diversion would be welcomed.”
“Ah! How thoughtful of her. She’s right. These business affairs can be deadly without a few petite amusements.”
As if on cue, a woman in a flesh-toned, sparkly low-cut gown walks out of one of the dressing rooms and over to Breck. She turns her back toward him, just slightly. “Zip me up, will you, darling?” Her murmur is deep and soft, like velvet.
Slowly, he runs the zipper along the swayed arch of her back then pats her ass, not so much to let her know he is done with her, but as a promise that he isn’t.
His eyes stay with her as she makes her way back to the dressing room. Finally, as if remembering I was still in the room, he adds, “She’s Babette’s personal shopper. Unlike me, after eight years of marriage, my wife finds trekking through stores ‘a chore and a bore.’ Marilyn is exactly her size and coloring, so these little shopping excursions are win-win for everyone. Beautiful, don’t you agree?”
“The woman or the dress?”
He points to my profile in the mirror. “A beautiful woman makes the dress.”
I smile my thanks. “Then I presume I’ve just had a preview of what Babette will be wearing?”
His smile fades. “Don’t presume anything. Babette doesn’t always agree with my taste.”
“A shame. So fetching.”
It is his turn to ask, “The woman, or the dress?”
“Since you’re paying, you tell me.”
He laughs uproariously at that. “I always do. And dearly.”
“Speaking of the dear, will she be joining us for dinner?”
His smile hardens into a smirk. “Later. Dessert. I have a voracious appetite, especially for sweet things.” His eyes catch mine in the mirror. “Remember, dinner at eight. Sharp.”
By the time I leave the dressing room, Jonah Breck and his personal shopper have already checked out.
When I take my dress to the sales clerk, she informs me, “Mr. Breck put it on his tab. He asked me to relay his sincere appreciation for your daughter’s hospitality, and he looks forward to returning it, personally.”
I guess I can tell Ryan he need not worry whether we’ll get close enough to the summit’s host. If Breck has his way, we’ll be up close and personal.
Or at least, I will.
Oh yeah, Jack should love that.
(c) 2012 Josie Brown. All rights reserved. This excerpt may not be resold or redistributed without prior written permission from Josie Brown or Signal Press Books ([email protected]).
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Wednesday, 24 April 2013
Hump Day Haiku: Shooting Star
Flashing by, then gone/
Life as we'd like to know it /
Look up! Is that one?
Monday, 22 April 2013
Couples Kissing Monday: Coffee Break
He asked for a little sugar with his coffee.
_________________________________________
The Housewife Assassin's Handbook
(Book 1) /Signal Press
NOW FREE!
Buy it from
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Wednesday, 27 March 2013
Monday, 11 March 2013
Love this opening number, in SMASH
I know it's de riguer to diss SMASH this season, but I've got to tell you, I loved the opening musical number on SMASH (week of March 3, 2013).
Tell me if you don't agree that it was a blast. It's called "Public Relations."
Yeah, I can picture this on Broadway...
Wednesday, 06 March 2013
Hump Day Haiku: "Fashion Week"
Oh my God...I'm here! /
Why is she front row center? /
This collection sucks.
Saturday, 02 March 2013
Today is a play day (sort of). Which means a trek through Golden Gate Park.
In many ways, San Francisco is a wonderland. One locale in the city that is always on parade is Golden Gate Park, which runs three miles east to west, and half a mile north to south. Its 1,017 acres make it 20 percent larger than New York's Central Park.
Our park ends at the Ocean, so I'd say that's another wonderful advantage. It's far side ends in the Haight, which is why it was once a hippy haven ("Once"? Frankly, it still is. Everything changes, and stays the same).
We'll park at one end, and meander through it, down to the other. In the meantime, we'll pass the archery field, the Frisbee Golf grove, merry-go-rounds, drumming circles, roller blade dancers, both The DeYoung Fine Arts Museum and the California Academy of Sciences, the first home of the San Francisco 49ers (Kezar Stadium) and several lakes (Stowe, for rowers; Spreckels, for those who are running their minature yachts, or sailing their miniature sail boats), not to mention a herd of buffalos. groves of picnickers, and a windmill or two.
Our own favorite passtime is discovering the wooded nooks and crannies; serene groves where one can lose oneself in a good book, while lolling on a blanket, or sprawling on one of the many benches that you'll come across.
The park was concieved in the 1870s, and hosted several public expositions, of which some of its historic buildings remain (the flower conservatory,and its renowned Japanese Tea Garden are but two).
And to think the park might have never happened, had San Francisco's silver barons gotten their way: they lobbied hard for a race track!
Now, go out and discover something new,
Below, the architecturally renowned California Academy of Sciences
Tuesday, 26 February 2013
Okay, here were my favorite Oscars dresses...
So many dresses, so little time to review every fold, hue, cut, and designer
making us ooooh and ahhhh during Sunday's Oscars 2013 presentation...
But I'll try my best. Okay, here were my favorites:
Halle Berry in a glitzy Marchesa gown...
Jessica Chastain in a copper, Art Deco-inspired gown by Armani Privé...
And Naomi Watts is also in an Armani Privé gown,
in a glitzy silver with an intriguing cut-out.
Also...
Amy Adams in gray fringed Oscar de la Renta...
Charlize Theron wore a peplum-waisted Dior Haute Couture gown...
And Jennifer Lawrence's Dior Haute Couture
pink blush gown, with voluminous train.
All beautiful, don't you think?
I'm soooo inspired, I'm off to get my own little princess a gown!
Monday, 25 February 2013
Last weekend, San Francisco's Chinese New Year Parade was PERFECT.
The synchronized dragons.
The stiltwalkers.
The elaborate masks and costumes.
And of course, the looks on the children's faces:
both those in the parade, and those wishing they'll be in the next one,
taking part in all the fun.
The parade gods blessed us with clear skies and a full moon on a balmy night.
Bliss,
Saturday, 23 February 2013
Bitch Creek? Love the name.
It actually exists somewhere. Go figure.
Glad it caught this brewer's imagination.
Makes you wonder about the woman whom the creek was named after.
And who named it for her.
Yep, there's a story there, somewhere.
In any regard, I hope they're talking about me, when they tout
"Extra Special Brown".
Sunday, 27 January 2013
Happy 200th Anniversary to Pride and Prejudice!
It is a truth universally acknowledged that Jane Austen's timelessly precious gift-that-keeps-on-giving will continue to delight and inspire the world for as long as there is a world. The story will soar on, beyond every form of media we humans can devise--which is why author Josie Brown and I were moved to make a musical of it, a humbling experience which demanded of us the best, and then some. While others have tweaked, twisted and revised the tale to make it theirs, we aspired to keep it authentic, as if Jane herself decided to add songs. And the sweet audiences at our Ruislip Operatic Society, UK world premiere in November seemed to approve. Happy Anniversary, Jane, and thank you from the bottom of our millions and millions of hearts.
Of all my writing accomplishments, no one project has touched my heart more than the musical I've created with Rita Abrams. My love for Jane Austen's words are second to none. The opportunity to bring this particular story to life is an honor. For part of your celebration, please feel free to click onto these song samples -- and the full songs, too!
Enjoy!
-- Josie
(Josie and Rita)
Friday, 21 December 2012
Free! RIGHT NOW! On Amazon! THE HOUSEWIFE ASSASSIN'S HANDBOOK...
The first book in the
|
In "Totlandia," the salacious secrets of Desperate Housewives meet the aspirational lifestyles of Sex and the City in San Francisco’s most elite mommies group...
But not everyone is PHM&TC material. The club’s founder, Bettina Connaught Cross, adheres to strict membership rules: Moms only. No single parents or working mothers allowed. Membership is an arduous commitment. And there’s no room in the club for scandal, bad behavior, or imperfection…from tots or their moms.
Four of the six candidates vying for the remaining four slots have a secret that would knock them out of the running. Can these hopeful moms keep up appearances long enough to outlast the competition? Or will their chances—and their private lives—go up in flames?
Friendship. Lies. Betrayal. Seduction. Welcome to Totlandia.
Feel free to tell all your friends and family about this offer...
and have a happy holiday!
|
Saturday, 10 November 2012
My 10th NaNoWriMo Tip is here...
It's NaNoWriMo Month!
(National Novel Writing Month, for the uninitiated...)
For those of you who have begun writing your first book, every day I'll repost my fave creative writing tips here, just for you.
Here's Tip #10, for Saturday, the 10th...
The previous day's post can be accessed on this page, too.
Don’t forget to enter my HOUSEWIFE ASSASSIN’S GUIDE TO GRACIOUS KILLING contest, for a chance to win a $100 gift card to the bookstore of your choice!
Buy THE HOUSEWIFE ASSASSIN'S HANDBOOK Today, on
Thursday, 08 November 2012
NaNoWriMo Tip #8: Better late than never...
It's NaNoWriMo Month!
(National Novel Writing Month, for the uninitiated...)
For those of you who have begun writing your first book, every day I'll repost my fave creative writing tips here, just for you.
Sorry I'm late with today's tip, but I had to finish up on my own daily word count (3,500...Ouch!)
Here's Tip #8, for Thursday, November 8th...
The previous day's post can be accessed on this page, too.
Buy THE HOUSEWIFE ASSASSIN'S HANDBOOK Today, on
Tuesday, 06 November 2012
My NaNoWriMo Tip #6!
It's NaNoWriMo Month!
(National Novel Writing Month, for the uninitiated...)
For those of you who have begun writing your first book, every day I'll repost my fave creative writing tips here, just for you.
Here's Tip #6, for Tuesday, November 6th...
The previous day's post can be accessed on this page, too.
Buy THE HOUSEWIFE ASSASSIN'S HANDBOOK Today, on
Sunday, 04 November 2012
Are you ready for my NaNoWriMo Tip #4?
(National Novel Writing Month, for the uninitiated...)
For those of you who have begun writing your first book, every day I'll repost my fave creative writing tips here, just for you.
Here's Tip #4, for Sunday, November 4th...
The previous day's post can be accessed on this page, too.
Buy THE HOUSEWIFE ASSASSIN'S HANDBOOK Today, on
Thursday, 01 November 2012
Day 3 of NaNoWrMo...
(National Novel Writing Month, for the uninitiated...)
For those of you who have begun writing your first book, every day I'll repost my fave creative writing tips here, just for you.
In fact, here's Tip #3, for Saturday, November 3rd...
The previous day's post can be accessed on this page, too.
Buy THE HOUSEWIFE ASSASSIN'S HANDBOOK Today, on
Monday, 22 October 2012
Olivia Luccardi has been added to the cast of NBC's Secret Lives of Husbands and Wives
This just in, from The Hollywood Reporter! Another new castmember has been added to the NBC drama, based on my novel, Secret Lives of Husbands and Wives. (I know my son will ask me to set him up with her...Hey, I'm just the writer of the original material. He'll have to go to someone with "producer" in their title...)
Click here to order the book, on Amazon...
Olivia Luccardi has joined the Jerry Bruckheimer-produced project starring James Tupper and Martin Henderson.
NBC's The Secret Lives of Husbands and Wives is welcoming a newcomer to the mix.
The Jerry Bruckheimer-produced drama pilot has added newcomer Olivia Luccardi to the main cast, The Hollywood Reporter has learned exclusively.
Based on the Josie Brown book, the project is described as a thriller/dramatic soap about the lingering aftermath of a murder. Luccardi will play India Deaver, the angry and uncommunicative daughter of Danielle (Perrey Reeves) and Richard Deaver (James Tupper). Martin Hendersonand Jesse L. Martin will co-star.
Husbands and Wives marked Luccardi's first pilot audition ever.
From Warner Bros. Television, Bruckheimer will executive produce alongside Sascha Penn, Jonathan Littman and KristieAnne Reed. Penn will write the pilot.
Luccardi, repped by One Entertainment, will guest star in a season two episode of HBO's Girls when it returns Jan. 13. Her previous credits consist of two short films.
E-mail: [email protected]
Twitter: @insidethetube
Sunday, 21 October 2012
You can't just be beautiful. You have to be smart, too. Great example: Grace Kelly.
No doubt about it: reading looks fabulous on everybody.
Saturday, 20 October 2012
As an author, I'm super impressed with Kobo's platform and bookstore...
I just uploaded the books from my HOUSEWIFE ASSASSIN series, and it was easy-peasy, from start to finish.
To buy either The Housewife Assassin's Handbook, or The Housewife Assassin's Guide to Gracious Killing on Kobo, click onto their titles, or the book's photo.
Also, it has culled reader reviews from various sources, so even if you haven't read it via one bookstore, you can see a more comprehensive list of what readers are saying about it.
For example, a couple of the readers for The Housewife Assassin's Guide to Gracious Killing say this, on Amazon.
Hope you like them...and BUY them!
So fun with twists you actually don't see coming! October 20, 2012
I loved, loved, loved this book! Just the right balance of love, hate, seedy bad guys, hot good guys. And oh so much fun! It is just so easy to get sucked into the story and just keep going!
I felt the storyline was a bit darker this time around, but it was done well. The book still had enough humour and lighthearted moments that lessended that impact though, and so it wasn't too 'in your face'.
Lots of twists and turns and plenty of OMG moments, and just an all round fun ride.
The only question remaining: how long til there's more?
Saturday, 13 October 2012
Lauren Allen joins the cast of the NBC TV show based on my novel, SECRET LIVES OF HUSBANDS AND WIVES
Love it! Another actress has been cast in Secret Lives of Husbands and Wives. I loved Lauren Allen in Awake, so I'm sure she'll be great in the show.
Check it out below, from Deadline Hollywood...
Laura Allen Joins NBC’s ‘Husbands And Wives’
Laura Allen has been cast as one of the leads in NBC’s pilot The Secret Lives Of Husbands And Wives. The thriller/dramatic soap is from Jerry Bruckheimer TV and writer Sascha Penn and revolves around the lives of several couples. Allen, repped by Gersh and Impression Entertainment, will play Alison Dunn, a grounded and levelheaded mother and wife who happens to be hiding the darkest secret of all. It’s a return to NBC for Allen, who was cast in a supporting role then bumped up to female lead on the network’s Awake.
Wednesday, 10 October 2012
REVENGE's James Tupper is another new cast member in the TV show based on my novel, SECRET LIVES OF HUSBANDS AND WIVES
This just in, from Hollywood Reporter! Love it! -- Josie
'Revenge's' James Tupper Joins NBC's 'Secret Lives of Husbands and Wives' Pilot (Exclusive)
James Tupper is heading to NBC.
The Revenge and Grey's Anatomy alum has joined the network's Jerry Bruckheimer drama pilot The Secret Lives of Husbands and Wives, The Hollywood Reporter has learned exclusively.
STORY: NBC Pilot 'Secret Lives of Husbands and Wives' Finds Lead in Martin Henderson
Based on the Josie Brown book of the same name, the pilot is described as thriller and dramatic soap about the lingering aftermath of a murder. Off the Map's Martin Hendersonwill star as Kyle Dunn, a former flight surgeon and astronaut who returns from a long absence to find something is different about the life he left behind.
Tupper will play Richard Deaver, a likable and fun guy who moves to town with his wife and daughter to open a real estate business, but underneath his nice exterior is a troubled and dangerous personality.
STORY: Jerry Bruckheimer Soapy Thriller Gets Pilot Order at NBC
From Warner Bros. Television, Bruckheimer will executive produce alongside Sascha Penn, Jonathan Littman and KristieAnne Reed. Penn will write the pilot.
Entourage's Perry Reeves and Rent's Jesse L. Martin will co-star in the drama.
Repped by ICM Partners, Untitled Entertainment and Jackoway Tyerman, Tupper's credits also include Mercy and Men in Trees.
Email: [email protected]; Twitter: @Snoodit
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