OMG OMG OMG

Well knock me down with a feather and call me Big Bird. Secret Intentions has made it onto the MyBookstoreandMore Bestseller list.

Yes. I confess I am rather excited.

So a jinormous thank you to everyone who has bought the book. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

And in other news I'm guest blogging over at the deelicious Jess Dee's blog tomorrow...

Secret Intentions - First Review

Angel at Samhain Cafe had this to say...

Another interesting and exciting read from Caitlyn, with a multilayered mystery and some sizzlin' lovin'.

Secret Intentions - OUT NOW!!!

Yee har! I'm a multi-published author! After a nervous wait last night... yes I have no idea why but I was so nervous I couldn't sleep... Secret Intentions is now published in its e-version.

You can get it from...
http://www.mybookstoreandmore.com

Curious?

Here is an excerpt of the first few pages...

Sheltering in the lee of the bell tower, Zani Best stared up at the imposing façade of Edes House and wondered whether suicide would be an easier option than going inside. It probably would, if she chose a painless, non-messy version. A bus roared past, charging up North Street toward the Market Cross. She almost managed a smile at the irony.
Cyanide, perhaps? Strychnine? She glanced around at the grey council chambers across the road and the huge cathedral that loomed behind her. Little chance of finding cyanide around here.
A movement in the shadowy cathedral porch made her hesitate and look more closely. She peered toward it, shivering a little, trying to make out the dark figure she thought she’d seen. The light rain had misted her glasses, and she pulled them off, squinting uneasily as she polished them dry on a corner of her scarf. The porch was empty when she put them back on. Must have been the ghost.
The wind gusted, and a cold drip from the roof of the bell tower landed on her head. She couldn’t stand there forever. She had a choice: Go inside, face Corbin de Villiers, lie, spy, do everything required to find out if he’d begun to stealthily orchestrate a management buyout. Or she could leave, go back to her own warm, safe office at the marina and seal her father’s fate.
She looked up at the building again. Her father’s words echoed in her mind: “Please, Zani, I could lose everything. We need you, darling.”
A tight ball of guilt lodged in her throat. She didn’t have a choice at all. She never had. Suddenly impatient, she hurried into the building.

“Just go on up, two flights of stairs then first door to your right.” Sunberri’s cheery receptionist pointed the way. “He’s expecting you. Don’t take the lift, it’ll be hours.” She was a local girl with a soft Sussex accent. Hours sounded like “aaahs”. “Good luck,” she added with a grin.
Zani climbed the stairs slowly. Her legs felt like lead. Each step took her closer to Corbin de Villiers. Closer to the man who could ruin her family. Anger at his transparent greed warred with fear. What if he succeeded? She couldn’t bear to think about it.
“Hello,” she called, and cleared her throat peering anxiously into the empty office, then took a couple of hesitant steps through the door.
Papers rustled and there was movement through a doorway on the opposite side of the room.
“You’re nearly four hours late.” He strode in frowning. “And then you go and waste even more time hanging about outside.”
“What?” stuttered Zani. “I’m sorry, I…” She scrambled to come up with an apology, twisting the end of her scarf around her fingers. The truth, that she’d been hiding in her own office at the marina until guilt and emotional blackmail from her father drove her to reluctantly drag herself to the Sunberri office in Chichester, would not help in this situation.
“Still, I suppose you’re here now, and that’s better than nothing,” he continued. “Do you think you’ll be as useless as the last temp I had?”
Zani knew one thing for sure. She’d make the last temp, no matter how woeful, look like an administration angel.
“Only if she spat in your coffee,” she said.
She tried not to enjoy the startled silence.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I said, only if she spat in your coffee. It was a joke.”
She’d seen a couple of blurry photos of Corbin de Villiers in the local papers, but they hadn’t done justice to the black smudges under his eyes and his grey face. He looked dreadful.
“I don’t appreciate your sense of humour,” he snapped.
Zani unwound her fingers from her scarf and settled her bag more firmly on her shoulder.
“That’s probably because you’ve got a cold.” She smiled sweetly.
“Somehow I doubt that, and I’m not sick.”
“You look sick. Your eyes are all bloodshot and your nose is red,” she said with some satisfaction. It wasn’t every day you got to tell local most-eligible-bachelor he looked awful. Though, despite his cold, his wavy chocolate hair and crystal blue eyes made an enticing combination. She’d imagined him to be shorter, more evil looking, with piggy greedy eyes or a cunning squint. “You should take something for it.”
His scowl became even more forbidding, and there was another silence, this one not quite as enjoyable as the last.
“Look. Here.” She dug about in her handbag and produced a crumpled foil packet of painkillers. “Take two of these, they’ll make you feel better.”
His frown didn’t budge. “Thank you but no, I don’t believe in drugs. When I’m sick I believe in letting my immune system fight the infection.”
“What, your body’s a temple, is it?” she asked, snorting in amusement at the thought.
“Which agency did you say you came from?” He asked the question mildly, though the threat was crystal clear.
Zani twisted her fingers in her scarf again. She hadn’t come from an agency. Her brother Paul, Sunberri’s Chief Financial Officer, had hurried her into the role, telling the head of Human Resources she was his stockbroker’s niece. Obviously nobody had mentioned it to Corbin de Villiers.
She hesitated, the carefully rehearsed explanations fading as she realised how ridiculous they were going to sound. Stockbroker’s niece? What had Paul been thinking?
De Villiers’s gaze dropped to her hands and the twisted scarf.
“Is this my desk?” She pointed with the end of her scarf and strode past him in a brusque, businesslike way.
“Yes, but—”
Zani glanced around quickly enough to see him examining the ceiling with an expression of pure exasperation. He muttered something that sounded distinctly uncomplimentary and shook his head slightly. “You haven’t told me your name yet,” he said and followed her across the room. She moved quickly around the desk, wanting to keep it between them, as if it’d provide some protection.
“Oh Zaniah, er, Chis…um, Chiswick, but everyone calls me Zani.”
The lie came more easily than she’d thought. Chiswick had been her mother’s maiden name, and to say it aloud was almost a comfort. Almost. Corbin de Villiers watched her expectantly, and she wondered if she should hold out her hand, shake his, but then baulked at the thought of touching him. Touching tended to be something she avoided, especially when bad-tempered, virus-ridden company CEOs were involved.
“Zani, then. My name is Corbin le Joli de Villiers de Saint Marc. I shorten it to de Villiers, but you can call me Corbin. This is your desk, Zani.” He gestured toward it with a faintly mocking smile. “Please, take a seat.”

New Banner Ad for Secret Intentions - How Cool???

Better Now

Well thank the lawd for anti-biotics. The purple, pus-encrusted goobs of flesh that were my tonsils, I am happy to report, are more or less back to normal.

What? What was that? Too Much Information you say? Aah yes. My speciality.

Just wait until I stop being shy and start sharing about awesome spots I've squeezed... hey I could take photos as well...

Well, it'd beat telling you all what I've got playing on my iPod. (Snooore - and I don't mean snoore because my taste in music is boring, just that I never have any idea about what songs people are talking about when they write that sort of thing on their blogs. If it wasn't a hit in the 80s or currently being played on the radio then I have NO idea).

And yes, I did download a-ha from iTunes last week. I dearly wanted to lose my virginity to Morten at the age of 14 and nothing has changed since then. NOTHING.



I love you Morten.

Crock Pots

I am goddamn stupid bloody sick again. I know. Its starting to get really embarrassing. So embarrassing that I'm keeping it a secret. Okay, maybe telling the entire internet is not exactly how one goes about keeping things secret, I do take your point on that. However, I know you guys wouldn't tell a soul. My secret is safe. Yes?

Anyhoo. I was supposed to go out last night with the girls. Couldn't due to soaring temperature and rapidly deteriorating temprement. Am most extremely cranky about this. It'd be what... two months since I got to go out to a place that doesn't knowingly allow any under 18s. Then I have to cancel.

So, instead of blogging about the rollicking good time I had and bemoaning my seedy hangover. I am going to chat about tidying the pantry and my new slow cooker.

Yes.

I don't see why if I am to miss out on a good time you all shouldn't be punished as well.

Look at it this way. Am currently editing Drive Me To Distraction. Trying to make it so that the punctuation actually follows the rules set out by... Actually that's a point. Who did set out the rules for grammer? Well, that's another blog post. But what I'm trying to say is that I could be rambling on about comma splices, passive voice and run on scentences. So consider yourselves lucky it's just kitchen gadgets and an oversupply of baked beans.

So here is my pantry....

Oh KIDDING. That is Chris Jordan's pantry http://www.notesfromthetrenches.com/. Yes, it makes me want to lick the screen as well.

This is my pantry.

And this.









What am I going to do with all those plastic bags? Err, yes I do use my nifty green bags, but um, sometimes I forget. Okay, more than sometimes. Possibly frequently. Yes, the Entire Environmental Crisis is due to me. Sorry about that. The guilt is a burden I shall carry always.

The four visible cans of tomatos are just the tip of the iceberg. Tucked away at the back I have enough stockpiled to see us through the current financial crisis and into the next one.

Hubby has promised to spend the afternoon clearing it out and making it orderly. (Yeah right).

And this is my new slow cooker, or crock pot. It does plug into the electricity, I just had to photograph it sitting on the hob because the rest of the kitchen bench tops are a foot deep in clutter. And no I am not photographing that as I am trying to maintain the myth that I am a total and utter neat freak.

I love it. Today is going to be 32 degrees (that's 89.6 in American) and I'm still planning on using it.

K, am going back to bed now.

Intrigue at the House of Nicholas

Yes. We have a mystery.

At 5.31pm on Monday 15 September a dull thud echoed through the House of Nicholas followed my much muttered swearing. Upon investigation the following crime scene was found.

There are five suspects. Each has a watertight alibi.

Miss Bugalugs: Under table, feeding playdough to dog.
Miss Beaniebaby: In garden, burying toys in Sandpit.
Ella The Dog: Eating playdough.
Pepper The Cat: Miaowing pathetically outside the kitchen window.
Hubby: "I didn't do it. I SAID I didn't do it. Now go away. I'm cooking."

Alas, the camera never lies.

A Question of Trust

Have just started reading the wonderful Jess Dee's latest release. Its called A Question of Trust and its HOT.

Really hot.

Watermelon

Yes, watermelon, that would be the shade of my face earlier on today. Have been to the gym, for a fitness test. Managed to do 17 pushups in 60 seconds - who knew! Lugging the small but dense screamies about the place must have given me more upper body strength that originally assumed.

Still, it was around about push-up 16 that I got a weird tearing sensation across the front of my chest.

Yes, I thought I was having a heart-attack as well. At that point I wouldn't have minded much because I would've got to lie down and not move.

But, thankfully, nothing so dramatic. Have managed to pull all the muscles in my left arm and across my chest. So it really hurts when I hang out the washing. I KNOW. Have resigned from all washing hanging duties in order to look after my health and spend more time with my family. SEE. I could've been a sportstar. I can talk in nothing but cliches.

Yes, 36 years old, 10kgs overweight and I harbour fantasies about being an elite athlete.

Who said I wasn't an optimist?

Waxing Lyrical

Came across a great blog on literary tattoos. http://www.contrariwise.org/

Its about people who've tattooed themselves with literary quotes and why they did it. This one resonated with me the most....

"I shall not live in vain."

The poem it comes from is called Not In Vain, by Emily Dickinson.

If I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain:
If I can ease one life the aching,
Or cool one pain,
Or help one fainting robin
Unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain.

Love it. Love it. Love it.

Round up of the Conference

So, Saturday. I had my pitch to Cindy Hwang of Berkeley Press on Saturday morning and this pretty much saw me pacing around my room, reading my pitch out loud and then generally wandering around morning tea unable to concentrate on anything. Finally, finally the magic time of 10.55 arrived and I was safely in my seat outside the room trying to get my heart to slow down and doing deep breathing exercises. Yes. I was in that much of a state. Over a pitch. I know. Useless.

Anyway, I stuttered and stumbled through it only to look up from the table and find Cindy grinning at me. "I'm really interested in this," she said. "Er, pardon," was my graceful reply! But a request for a full manuscript it was.

Of course I am presently having a major stress out over the plot, and am in re-writing hell, but hopefully I'll have it to her in a couple of weeks and then the fingers crossed waiting begins! Yikes.

So, floated through lunch in a dream. Had another Margie Lawson workshop in the afternoon, very useful (okay, I wasn't really concentrating, I was dreaming about ginormous book deals) and then in the evening we had the awards dinner. Lots of excellent food, nice wine and a great deal of clapping.

Unfortunatly on Sunday morning I had terrible news. A dear family friend had died of cancer after a long battle. I missed the morning sessions, and just hung out in my room getting my head around it all. These things are always such a shock, even when you know they're coming. Tottered downstairs for lunch, really only becuase I had to check-out, but then in the afternoon I had a workshop on story-telling.

The storytelling workshop was hosted by the ever bubbly Imelda Evans, and it was fascinating. Who knew there was a way to tell stories. Needless to say, I was not exactly good at it, but I've been practicing on the kids and they love it.

Then it was more hanging out in the bar until it was time to catch my train back to Sydney. Loved the train, even more this time as on the way home we were at the very end of the train, away from the damn whistle and I slept all the way.

Brissy next year.

Can't wait.

Friday Workshop in Melbourne

So, on Friday I spent the day with Margie Lawson doing her workshop on empowering characters emotions. It was long, it was bamboozling, and if you'd asked me what I learned when I walked out of the room I'd have muttered, "nuthin," and then tottered off to find the nearest source of caffeine to get my fried brain to, yanno, do something.

But, on reflection, I got a lot out of the workshop. The principal point being that my characters Have No Emotion. Nope. They smile, they act out cliches, they frown, and then they barrel along to the next paragraph of action or dialogue. I realised that my readers don't own the characters emotions. I tell the reader how the character feels and they take note and move along. They are not there feeling the emotion with my character. But Margie has given me some brilliant tips on how to fix this, and whilst last nights attempt was fundamentally awful...

Ice, sharp and jagged stuck in the base of her throat, stopping the words with furious dismay, and silence, as cutting as the ice split the room like a searing bolt of lightening.

Hell, I'd had three glasses of red wine. But I can see what Margie was saying about 'freshing' your writing and adding more to the emotion. I still can't believe I was missing it so completely.

DUH!

Friday Night Cocktail Party

Oh had a very nice time at the cocktail party. Being here on my lonesome I took myself to the Baa to be a bar-fly (a long time occupation of mine) and watch the world go by. Of course being in a hotel with 200+ romance writers in it, I wasn't lonely for long. After five minutes I was joined by two ladies in witch outfits on my left, and then a few minutes after that joined by three more ladies, also in witch outfits on my right. Yes, a coven of Romance writers.

I had a stripy top on and my new scarlet shrug, which had, until that point, seemed quite the latest thing to wear. Apparently I was wrong. Almost everyone had dressed up in enchanted outfits and the cocktail party was heaving with faries and witches and wizards.

I met up with Crissy Brashear and Angela from Samhain Publishing, which was very exciting. Not to mention Cindy Hwang from Berkley. I'll put up some photos when someone emails me some.

In Melbourne...

It has been an extremely busy month, with me flat out getting The Bunker all finished and beyootiful for my pitch to Cindy Hwang at the Romance Writers Conference in Melbourne. Where I happen to be right now, and, let me add, it is perishing cold and pouring rain. So instead of having a bracing walk along the Yarra I am holed up in my hotel room, eating chocolate and selecting which beauty treatment I shall spoil myself with. Yes, I am suffering for my art (again).

I arrived here at around 8am this morning, after spending last night on the sleeper train from Sydney to Melbourne. It was an extremely cool way to spend the night. I had my own little room, all to myself, and a tiny tiny bathroom, where you had to unhook the toilet from the wall, and the sink. Unusual is the only comment I shall make on the bathroom experiences. Very unusual. Being an extremely light sleeper who gets driven completely up the wall by external noise, meant that the fact my cabin was around eight metres behind a massive diesel engine and accompanying horn that had to be blown about every twenty minutes, was not conducive to a long and restful night. I did however lie on my bed and watch the moonlit nightscape fly past, drifting off, until the driver blew the sodding horn again. I'm doing it again on Sunday night, but think this time I'll involve alcohol.

Then had my first run in with a Melburnian taxi driver, he only managed to get us nearly killed four times in a five minute trip. He was amazed to discover that Sydney is so far away from Melbourne. Yes. Nuff said really.

Two hours spent over breakfast, then shopping, lunch, bumped into two famous comedians (think Chaser boys), gallons of tea, lots of chocolate and after I've had a manicure, I will be lying in bed and getting someone to Bring Me My Dinner. Given that dinner is generally eaten standing up, keeping the peace between the screamies, I'm rather looking forward to it. Oh, and I might pop down to the bar, just for a spot of networking you understand. Nothing more. Just networking.

I should of course be perfecting my pitch, and I may well get the relevant bits of paper out and scatter them around a bit - good grief, its hailing - but really I am carefully conserving my strength for tomorrow - an all day workshop with Margie Lawson on empowering characters emotions. Yes, I can't wait either.

Five Hearts for Running Scared

Woke up to a lovely email from the equally lovely Jess Dee this morning alerting me to the fact that Running Scared had been reviewed by The Romance Studio.

Here 'tis

It’s a starry night in Sydney Australia when wealthy bachelor and archeologist Mitchell Cartwright meets Julie Marchant, expert gemologist, at a society banquet. The pair fall in lust for the night and go their separate ways in the morning.

To this reader it looks like the author did a lot of research for this novel. Her descriptive writing about gemology, archeology, the post Vietnam War era in Laos, Thailand and Vietnam looks to be very well done. She gives us an up-close look at the people, their lives and the countries Mitch and Julie travel through while trying to escape the country in turmoil. In every stage of their travels each separately or together is helped or hindered by an acquaintance or friend who adds a unique flavor to the story. There’s just enough romance, conflict, intrigue, suspense, information and humor blended together to make this an easy read that‘s hard to put down.

Overall rating:
Sensuality rating: Explicit

Reviewer: Dee Dailey
July 18, 2008

Farewell Olive

Am sad to report that Olive Reily, the world's oldest blogger died on Saturday. Those of you who've read this blog for a while will know that I've been a fan of Olive's for a long, long time. Her website http://www.allaboutolive.com.au/ is currently melting down, but SMH have a nice article about her, and there is a brief couple of posts up on her alternative blog.

Oh, I need a hug. :(

Secret Intentions

YAY, finally the cover of Secret Intentions, and the blurb. How cool?? The e-version is out 23 September and its up on the Coming Soon pages of the Samhain website already.

Just when you think things can’t get any worse…

Zani’s mission is simple. Go undercover as personal assistant to the loathsome Corbin de Villiers, prove he’s leaking corporate secrets, and leave him to the tender mercies of the fraud squad. Her family name will remain untouched by any hint of scandal, and she can get on with building custom-designed yachts.

Things get complicated when she discovers that Corbin is less loathsome—and far sexier—than she’d ever imagined.

Corbin’s new PA may be easy on the eyes, but she can’t even find the computer’s on button. He has no choice but to fire her; still, she doesn’t take the hint. Everywhere he turns she pops up, keen to divert him from tracking down the person who is out to destroy his company.

It’s crystal clear that she’s up to something. Maybe it’s better to keep her close. For investigative purposes, of course. That she’s temptation with a capital T has got nothing to do with it. Nothing.

Complicated doesn’t even begin to cover it when Zani is kidnapped by the Russian Mafia. Entangled in a rapidly unraveling web of lies, Zani and Corbin must learn the rules of this new game fast…or die.

This title contains graphic descriptions of luxury yachts. Oh, and some hot sex, as well. A moderate amount. You have been warned.

I cannot do it all

It's been with a great deal of consideration that I write this blog entry.

A few weeks ago I was watching Grey's Anatomy, it was the final episode, and the character Dr Miranda Bailey handed over her responsibilities in the hospital clinic to Izzy. When she was asked why she was giving up something she loved so much she said the following...

I have realised that I cannot do it all and have it all at the same time.

These words resonated with me.

I am exhausted.

The reason I am exhausted are that I am trying to do it all and have it all, and I too have finally realised that it is just not possible.

I have enjoyed writing this blog, words cannot describe how much. However, lately I've been struggling, at home, at work, and with my writing. Something has to give and I'm sorry to say that the blog is going to be one of those things.

I'm not closing it down completely, and perhaps when things calm down a bit and I've got my mojo back I'll get back to my old form. However, for the time being I'm planning on a once a week update which will focus on what writing I am doing.

Again, thank you all for reading my blog, you have no idea how much I appreciate you all.

Edits

Well, the edits that were due last Sunday nearly killed me. Sensibly, very sensibly, I was editing when feeling under the weather on Saturday (yes I was hungover - hey it gets my internal editor to shut up and things flow better - yes I am justifying myself). Only late on Saturday I realised I had left the latest edits I'd done on another computer that I couldn't access until Monday and that I had been Editing The Wrong Document all day.

Yes, Karma.

So come Monday I manage to get all the changes into the one document, then come Monday night am doing the last finishing touches. Shut the document, pat self on back, have glass of wine and compose witty email to editor. Go to attach file. CANT FIND IT. Yes, had accidentally saved it in the email temp folder and when I opened the version sitting in Outlook it overwrote EVERYTHING I HAD DONE.

Fuck.

Two hours later it was all back as it should be (and we're talking way past midnight now) and I have never been so glad to see the back of a manuscript ever.

Second Round of Edits

Second round of edits have just arrived, and I have the extremely short deadline of Sunday night.

Plus I'm flat out at work from Thursday.

Yes. I am coping in my usual unflustered style.

HAH.

Try, head on desk muttering "It'll be alright, everything will be just fine..." over and over.

Just 2hrs until I can open a bottle of wine...

sigh.