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Zinnia Hope, author of multi-genres and erotic romances; also writing as J. Emberglass |
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Zinnia Hope, author of multi-genres and erotic romances; also writing as J. Emberglass |
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About me
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I hope you'll check out the blog post below this o...
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April 2006 |
Print and EBooks
My Books Available Now From Freya's Bower
My Book Available Now From Red Rose Publishing!
Under My Psuedonym J. Emberglass Available at Freya's Bower My Favorite Reads
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Thursday, January 25Due to popul  ar demand, lol, I have a couple pictures of the snowmen. When the boys were finished, there were three, but two were flattened by the UPS man when he arrived. But I guess if I saw a giant blue pecker coming toward me, I'd probably wreck too, rofl! If you missed the initial post read the one below.
Monday, January 22WV, OH, TN, KY (No, not the jelly! Sheesh!) received snow and freezing rain. I've been watching the Weather Channel and know several cyber pals who have been dealing with that nastiness. All the warm temps and rain we had is now following in the Midwest's footsteps. So... School was cancelled today. My boys are outside right now building snowmen...snowomen...uh...snow-he/shes...? Hell, I don't know what to call them. I bundled myself, walked outside--slipping and sliding across the entire yard, while the chickens watched and clucked in hilarity, the little peckerheads!--and finally reached the main snowman to admire their work. Heheheheh... Know what I found? A king-size pecker sticking straight out from about waist high on the snowman. All with a nice set of gonads too! Oh, and let's not forget the set of hooters: size double D's. "What do you think mom?" "I think you made a snowman with a pecker--and boobs." I looked at the boys, trying very hard not to laugh. I mean, they know I write erotic material, but I don't even allow the oldest, who's 18, to read any of it! No way, no how. I wasn't sure if they were building the snowman/woman/snow-its (I said ITs, not tits! Get your brain out of the gutter, I'm struggling to keep it together here, lol...) to rattle my cage or if they're just being their usual highly ornery selves. My husband's young cousin is here too today. (His mother dropped him off on her way to work. Lord help me if she notices the mammoth size snowthing in the front yard with the giant pecker when she picks him up tonight!) He grinned and said, "Yeah, but isn't it cool?" Uh...yeah, especially since they mixed up blue food coloring and put it in a spray bottle and uh...gave the snowthing a few accents, including blue nipples. "It looks like Mr. Snowman Thing has been out in the elements a bit long," I said. "Yeah!" My oldest boy crowed. "That's the point!" "Why does it have boobs too?" I asked. They all looked at one another and shrugged. "Seemed like the cool thing to do at the time," the next to the oldest replied. Sheesh. Looks like the chickens have another perch to roost on--at least until the temperature rises. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!! Thank God we live back a long, long drive away from the main road. (If you missed the excerpt, see below.)
Saturday, January 20Dedicated to my green gemstone whose belief in me never wavers and who has been with me through all the chaos and misery. We made it, sweetie, and now the wounds heal. Prologue Seven years ago in New York City. Beauty and bliss visited for a while. Shock arrived, and for a few moments, the reality of what she’d committed took a backseat. Slowly, awareness finally returned, but shame slammed into her like an unexpected hit-and-run vehicle. Rustling fabric and footsteps permeated the haze in her brain. She managed to raise her head and look up at the man looming over her. He shrugged into a jacket and grinned. “It’s been great, but I don’t want the baggage that comes with you.” He scooped up a few tiny tablets on the coffee table with one hand and pulled a set of car keys from his designer slacks with the other. Without a backward glance, he dismissed her, and shut the door quietly. She raised her head, her gaze sweeping the immediate area. The room lay in ruin from their lovemaking. Her clothing hung from lampshades and the backs of chairs. Throw pillows lay helter-skelter on the sofa and carpet. Scattered magazines from the coffee table rested on the large area. One corner of the room held the shattered remains of a ceramic vase and its silk peonies. A baby’s cry erupted from her bedroom gradually transforming into a sweet chant, but to her, it might as well have been a fire siren intensified one thousand times. “Ma-ma-ma-ma.” She had to get up, but her head weighed a ton. She pressed her cheek to the cool hardwood floor and listened to the neighbor’s party upstairs. Pain bloomed in her head, an unfurling mushroom cloud of torture. The misery in her skull continued to crest until it matched the bass that boomed from above her apartment. Her roommates had gone to the party hours ago. If only she had accepted their invitation, she wouldn’t be on the floor now, feeling as though a tractor-trailer had just smashed into her, sounds heightened to mind blasting proportions. Deep down, she knew she was lying to herself. She had been so eager to please him, so intent on keeping him. He’d played upon her fears and insecurities, forcing her to give in to him. She should have ended the relationship weeks ago. How could I be so weak? “Ma-ma-ma-ma.” She groaned at the noise. It grew quiet in the bedroom, and when she didn’t appear, the infant began to fuss. God, if you haven’t abandoned me, I need your help. I’ve really made a horrible mess of things, but Alex needs me right now. Finally, naked and dizzy, she struggled to her feet and stumbled to her bedroom. A chubby, dark-haired boy angel stared back at her with innocent blue eyes. He pulled himself up by the crib bars and pointed at a bottle of juice on the floor. “Mmph.” He grinned. One lonely bottom tooth glimmered in the light. She retrieved the bottle, her senses spinning as if she had just stepped off of an amusement ride. Carefully, she laid her baby down and placed the bottle in his fat little hands. He sucked greedily; his eyelids fluttered and closed. She staggered out into the hall and wobbled along to the bathroom, one hand on the smooth beige plaster to steady herself. Upon reaching the doorway, she lunged for the toilet and spewed the remains of her chicken-fried rice and Lambrusco supper into the porcelain bowl. She’d heard that sometimes people experienced bizarre reactions to Ecstasy, and prayed the physical repercussions didn’t worsen. Satisfied that her belly wouldn’t rebel anymore, she nearly fell into the shower and fumbled to turn on the water. She knew he’d been rougher with her than she would have preferred, but his cruel hands seemed loving and gentle despite what her common sense had told her. As the water slid over the bruises on her breasts, arms and thighs, she realized that the drug had disguised nightmarish pain as pleasure. An idea arose from the steam. Luckily, her grandmother was gone for the weekend, and their roommates wouldn’t be home until late. She would clean up the room before anyone returned to the apartment, sweep up all the glass, and develop an acceptable excuse for the broken vase. No one would ever know. For more info CLICKEY! The chickens are waiting on the side with tar and feathers if you don't. (Well, in their case they're using synthetic feathers, but the idea's the same, lol.) Z's author newsletter CLICKEY!
Tuesday, January 16Here's a sneak preview of the first edition of my official author newsletter. I hope you decide to sign up. Things are really heating up for me on the writing front and I'm scrambling to keep up with blogs, forums, and my online fanbase. My newsletter is simple but nice and in a real newsletter format instead of plain text. (You'll need to enable html in your email if you opt to receive it in that manner, otherwise, you won't be able to see the graphics and colors.) You won't have to worry about graphics that make your eyes bleed (lol) or constant bombardment of promos, group messages, or anything else like that. My newsletter will be once a month. I had thought about bi-monthly or quarterly, but there's too much news of late to combine into one volume and I like to keep in touch with everyone on a regular basis. Newsletter issues will not only have writing news and the latest releases, but my chicken saga will be included as well as freebies for subscribers, contests, how-to writing articles and much, much more!  Click to join ZHnewsletter Mountain Greetings! Thank you for signing up for my newsletter. I have to say that not knowing html has really made me appreciate those who do. I’ve banged my head on my keyboard so much I have the imprint of the keys on my forehead. Since this is the beta version, bear with me as I tinker with the coding of subsequent newsletters until I find what I want to use. I haven’t yet decided if my newsletter with be bi-monthly or quarterly. It will, however, be full of the latest writing news, humor, articles, contests and free stuff for subscribers. Many of you know me from my erotic romances that I write for www.freyasbower.com. There are a lot of changes for me in the coming year. Although Freya’s Bower is my main e-book/print publisher, I’m branching out to other publishers too for my non-erotic romances. I’ve also been asked to write material for a new publisher that’s launching in the near future. (Details to come.) So, for those of you who choose to follow me on my journey, I welcome you.
Sunday, January 14
Wednesday, January 10 I've sold a new title to Amira Press!!! Blurb: When Regina’s boss gives an ex-con a job at the bookstore and an apartment across the hall from hers, she expects the worst. Arnold has served 50 years for murder, but Regina isn’t so sure he’s guilty. Over the course of a week, and throughout the torrential downpours of hurricane rains, Regina and Arnold discover that age and time has no bearing on true love. Purchase Link: http://amirapress.com/donnadee.htm The excerpt isn't available on the site yet, so I'm posting the opening scene here. Excerpt Visiting Donna Dee by Zinnia Hope Regina hated rain. The radio droned on about Hurricane Ivan's impending arrival to the Ohio Valley that September weekend. Gazing through a plate glass window, Regina studied the expanse of cornflower blue stretched over New Martinsville, West Virginia. She glanced at the clock. The man was late. She still couldn't believe her employer, Mr. Todd, had agreed to house and employ an ex-inmate, a Mr. Arnold Cuttshaver. Her boss had said little about the man. Her only instructions were to show Mr. Cuttshaver around the store, train him, and settle him upstairs in his efficiency apartment. Legends In Print enjoyed good business, but Mondays were the slowest day of the week. At noon, Regina locked the door and hung the OUT TO LUNCH sign before accessing the stairs to her apartment. She made a sandwich and grabbed a can of Diet Coke before moseying back downstairs. She locked the door again and sat down behind the counter. The cold, fizzy Coke refreshed Regina’s mouth. She closed her eyes as she gulped. Upon opening them again, an elderly man stood inside the vestibule, his forehead pressed against the glass, hands cupped around his eyes. They stared at one another. "We're not open for another forty minutes," Regina announced. "I'm Arnold Cuttshaver," he called through the glass. "I'm supposed to meet a young woman here by the name Regina." She studied the old man, her mind scrambling to re-assemble the mental picture she had constructed of him. Where was the forty-something guy with a long ponytail, acid rock insignia tee shirt, hole-riddled jeans and deviant smile? The fellow stepped out onto the sidewalk and looked up at the Legends In Print sign over the door. Brown trousers a size too large for him hung upon narrow, bony hips; clownish wing tip shoes peeked out from the cuffs of his pants. A black leather belt kept his shirt tucked neatly in his waistband; the shirt’s blue material gleamed dully in the afternoon sunshine giving the impression of cheap, over-pressed polyester. He peered up at the awning, a brown fedora shading his eyes. Nodding, he stepped into the foyer and pressed his face to the glass again, his large nose creating a flat oval, and asked, "Is Regina here today?" She grabbed her keys and walked to the door, unlocking it. "Come in. I'm Regina. Regina Mayse." He held out a large, gnarled hand. "Arnold Cuttshaver." Regina placed her hand in his warm, dry one. He gripped it snugly, and a strange sense of familiarity soughed through her like a summer breeze. Her gaze flew up to meet his blue eyes. “How old are you?” he asked abruptly. “I just turned nineteen a couple weeks ago—why?” “No reason. You just look terribly young to be managing a bookstore.” Not sure whether or not she should be offended, Regina studied him for a moment and said, “Well, I’m attending Wheeling Jesuit University two nights a week for my business degree. Besides, Mr. Todd gave me a trial period and was impressed with my management ideas and how well I work with the customers.” Arnold nodded. “Well, let’s get this show on the road.” It took Arnold a couple minutes to navigate the staircase leading to the upstairs apartments. At the top, waiting patiently, Regina wondered how an elderly inmate had ended up here. Slightly winded, Arnold reached the landing and his pale blue gaze met hers. She saw doubt in his eyes wrapped in a blanket of despair, and in the center of it all, a profound sadness that pricked Regina's heart. Regardless of his past imprisonment, she saw volumes of history archived in Arnold's eyes. She smiled nervously, feeling a bit of her own uncertainty. "Your apartment is on the left," she said. "It's not fancy, but it's clean, and there’s lots of shelving and cabinet space." "I have nothing to fill it with," Arnold stated. Embarrassment washed over Regina. “I’m sorry. Do we need to call someone to bring things that you might have in storage?” “I’ve been behind prison walls for fifty years,” the old man replied. “Everything I own is hanging on my bony frame. "Then maybe you'll enjoy filling your room with new things," Regina added in an attempt to soothe the tension. "Maybe I will, maybe I won’t." ~*~*~*~ Visiting Donna Dee is available now for pre-ordering. The grand re-opening of Amira Press is Valentine's Day, and right now, if you pre-order one title, you get a second title of your choice for half off between the dates of 2/14/07 and 2/28/07. Visiting Donna Dee is priced at $5 on the purchase page, but that is an error. The title is only $3 and it WILL be only $3 should you click to pre-order it. ~*~*~*~ If you missed yesterday's post, contest update and joke, you can find them in the post below.
Tuesday, January 9Good morning all! I'm in the middle of writing like mad on a new novel, so please don't give up on checking in here for funny posts and madness with the chickens. I want to make an ammendment about something, then I'll post something that had me laughing so hard I was actually crying and holding my belly. I have discovered that people are sending in guesses on my Conspiracy of Angels contest. I'm a bit hurt and miffed over this, but luckily, out of the handful of entries I've received so far, no one has answered correctly. So I'm ammending the contest to be fair to those who actually do buy and read the novel. {And thank you to all those who have purchased it. An unbelievable amount of time and headache went into writing that novel.} Ammended Contest Rules for Conspiracy of Angels: The prize is a nice collection of goodies. There will be a menagerie of things in it from books to writing supplies to greeting cards to jewelry to whatever else I decide to throw in. (***Overseas entries will receive an Amazon.com gift certificate for the approximate value of the goodies.***) All you have to do is tell me what color the carnation is that the mysterious man (angel) gives to Elizabeth AND what does the carnation turn into. Yup, that’s it. Email your answer to zinnia_hope@sbcglobal.net with the words "Conspiracy Contest" in the subject line. I’m not sure how long I’ll run this contest, but I’ll post the occasional reminder and notify everyone a couple days before I decide to draw the winning answer. You can find the novel HERE. Correct answers will go into a "hat" and one of my boys will draw the winner. Funny Stuff A while ago, I received the following from a friend and saved it because it's so hilarious--well, to me, anyway, lol. Some of you may have read this somewhere already, but for those of you who haven't, I hope you enjoy it. It gives me good ideas on how to torment the chickens...lmao... All hair removal methods have tricked women with their promises of easy, painless removal - The epilady, scissors, razors, Nair and now...the wax. My night began as any other normal weeknight. Come home, fix dinner, play with the kids. I then had the thought that would ring painfully in my mind for the next few hours: "Maybe I should pull the waxing kit out of the medicine cabinet." So I headed to the site of my demise: the bathroom. It was one of those "cold wax" kits. No melting a clump of hot wax, you just rub the strips together in your hand, they get warm and you peel them apart and press them to your leg (or wherever else) and you pull the hair right off. No muss, no fuss. How hard can it be? I mean, I'm not a genius, but I am mechanically inclined enough tofigure this out. (YA THINK!?!) So I pull one of the thin strips out. Its two strips facing each otherstuck together. Instead of rubbing them together, my genius kicks in soI get out the hair dryer and heat it to 1000 degrees. ”Cold wax," ( yeah...right!) I lay the strip across my thigh. Holdthe skin around it tight and pull. It works! OK, so it wasn't the bestfeeling, but it wasn't too bad. I can do this! Hair removal no longereludes me! I am She-rah, fighter of all wayward body hair and maker of smooth skin extraordinary. With my next wax strip I move north. After checking on the kids, I sneak back into the bathroom, for the ultimate hair fighting championship.Idrop my panties and place one foot on the toilet. Using the same procedure, I apply the was strip across the right sideof my bikini line, covering the right half of my vagina and stretchingdown to the inside of my butt cheek (Yes, it was a long strip) Iinhale deeply and brace myself....RRRRIIIPPP!!!! I'm blind!!! Blinded from pain!!!!....OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!! Vision returning, I notice that I've only managed to pull off half the strip. CRAP!!! Another deep breath and RRIIPP!! Everything is swirly andspotted. I think I may pass out...must stay conscious...Do I hearcrashing drums??? Breathe, breathe...OK, back to normal.I want to see my trophy - a wax covered strip, the one that has causedme so much pain, with my hairy pelt sticking to it. I want to revelin the glory that is my triumph over body hair. I hold up the strip! There's no hair on it. Where is the hair??? WHERE IS THE WAX??? Slowly I ease my head down, foot still perched on the toilet. I seethe hair. The hair that should be on the strip. I touch. I am touching wax.CRAP! I run my fingers over the most sensitive part of my body, whichis now covered in cold wax and matted hair.Then I make the next BIG mistake...remember my foot is still propped upon the toilet? I know I need to do something. So I put my foot down. DANG!!!!!!!! I hear the slamming of a cell door. Vagina? Sealed shut! Butt?? Sealed shut! I penguin walk around the bathroom trying to figure out what to do andthink to myself "Please don't let me get the urge to poop. My head maypop off!" What can I do to melt the wax? Hot water!! Hot water meltswax!! I'll run the hottest water I can stand into the bathtub, get in,immerse the wax covered bits and the wax should melt and I can gentlywipe it off, right??? WRONG!!!!!!!I get in the tub - the water is slightly hotter than that used to torture prisoners of war or sterilize surgical equipment - I sit. Now, the only thing worse than having your nether regions glued together is having them glued together and then glued to the bottom of the tub...in scalding hot water. Which, by the way, doesn't melt cold wax. So, now I'm stuck to the bottom of the tub as though I had cement-epoxied myself to the porcelain!! God bless the man who had convinced me a few months ago to have a phone put in the bathroom!!!!!I call my friend, thinking surely she has waxed before and has somesecret of how to get me undone. It's a very good conversation starter-"So, my butt and who-ha are glued together to the bottom of the tub!" There is a slight pause. She doesn't know any secret tricks for removalbut she does try to hide her laughter from me. She wants to knowexactly where the wax is located, "Are we talking cheeks or hole or who-ha?" She's laughing out loud by now...I can hear her. I give her the rundown and she suggests I call the number on the side of the box. YEAH!!!!! Right!! I should be the joke of someone else's night. While we go through various solutions. I resort to scraping the waxoff with a razor. Nothing feels better then to have your girlie goodies covered in hot wax, glued shut, stuck to the tub in super hot water and then dry shaving the sticky wax off!! By now the brain is not working, my dignity has taken a major hike and I'm pretty sure I'm going to need Post Traumatic Stress counseling for this event. My friend is still talking with me when I finally see my saving grace....the lotion they give you to remove the excess wax. What do I really have to lose at this point? I rub some on and OH MY GOD!!!!!!! The scream probably woke the kids and scared the dickens out of my friend. It's sooo painful, l but I really don't care. "IT WORKS!! It works!!" I get a hearty congratulation from my friend and she hangs up. To my grief and despair....THE HAIR IS STILL THERE.......ALL OF IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!. So I recklessly shave it off. Heck, I'm numb bynow. Nothing hurts. I could have amputated my own leg at this point. Next week I'm going to try hair color......
Thursday, January 4There are times that I’m in a serious mood. (Gasp!) Everyone online and off knows me for my zaniness, my rapier tongue (that often gets me in trouble), and lol, my chicken stories. I think most of my readers visit my blog for those poultry tales, but I’ve got to tell you, Z gets tired and runs out of things to write about just like anyone else. I admire my fellow author M.E. Ellis for her ability to always have something funny and or unique to blog about, but my brain has slipped into neutral of late and I can’t seem to kick it into gear. No, I’m not suffering writer’s block, it’s just that the chickens aren’t always on the warpath and I’m not always kicking field goals with them either. So, I’ve been working on a couple new novels. I’m looking forward to 2007. No, I’m not going to blog about my writing goals. And no, I don’t set resolutions, just goals. I do believe that positive thinking aids good energy to flowing the right way, so I’m focusing on blessings for the New Year. 2006—hell, 2005, ’03 and ’02 for that matter—were all rough years. One bright spot is that the husband and I celebrated our second wedding anniversary just before Christmas. (Our house full of boys and the new addition is a blended family.) Charity Anthology Update  I’ve spoken with Faith and Marci about the FB Charity Anthology, Dreams and Desires, as well has chatting briefly through email with several of the authors in this collection. Marci has sent out many press release packages to TV and radio stations as well as newspapers. I’m very pleased to be a part of this anthology, and it’s for such a good cause too. Do you realize that people donate three times more money to animal shelters than they do to help their fellow man??? All time, editing, stories and promotions have been donated for this anthology and all monies earned go to help a battered women’s shelter in Florida. For more information on e-book, print or hardback copies, you can find it HERE.Other Things There are going to be some changes for me over the next few months, so I’d like to invite you to my Z Group as well as Dreaming the Words, which is a group for writers and authors to find writerly support no matter what the issue. I’m very pleased with the group so far, plus we’ve had some amazing discussions. Also, Conspiracy of Angels was released December 19th. I want to thank all the authors and readers who read and/or participated at my all day loop chat. I have a little contest that I’m going to run on my blogs and a few of the places I frequent. The prize is a nice collection of goodies. There will be a menagerie of things in it from books to writing supplies to greeting cards to jewelry to whatever else I decide to throw in. (***Overseas entries will receive an Amazon.com gift certificate for the approximate value of the goodies.***) All you have to do is tell me what color the carnation is that the mysterious man (angel) gives to Elizabeth AND what does the carnation turn into. Yup, that’s it. Email your answer to zinnia_hope@sbcglobal.net. I’m not sure how long I’ll run this contest, but I’ll post the occasional reminder and notify everyone a couple days before I decide to draw the winning answer. You can find the novel HERE. That said, the natives are restless, so I better get supper on the table before there’s a mutiny.
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