The Getaway Girls is finally in hard copy!  Well, technically it's a quality paperback, but if it hit you it would feel hard.  Anyway, it means you don't have to have a Kindle to read - so order one today, pack it in your beach bag and sip on something cool while you read about flesh-eating scavengers this summer.  Because nothing says fun like monsters and mayhem.  And Moms.  Who kick ass.

Click here to check it out!
http://www.amazon.com/The-Getaway-Girls-Orleans-Monsters/dp/1484149483/ref=tmm_pap_title_0?ie=UTF8&qid=1358997424&sr=8-1

Top Five Reasons The Getaway Girls: A New Orleans Tale of Monsters, Mayhem and Moms makes the perfect Mother’s Day present

1. It’s got Mom in the title, so she can tell you care. Sure, you could have gone with poetry for moms or inspirational verses for moms, but doesn’t she already have enough of that shit? Wouldn’t she prefer an actual novel that gets her away from her life for a minute, instead of a bunch of phrases about how selfless and wonderful she is for washing the dishes and cleaning up everyone else’s crap?  

2. It’s got hot guys. Maybe you don’t think moms care about hot guys anymore.  And maybe you think the tooth fairy still owes you for that root canal. News flash: moms aren’t dead. Or nuns. So yeah, they like hot dudes as much as anybody and there’s plenty of man candy in my book. Sure, most of the guys are killers, but here’s the upside: when a flesh-eating scavenger’s done with you, you don’t have to pick his dirty socks off the floor. Because you’re dead. Glass half full, kids.

3. It’s cheap. I mean, what else can you get her for $4.99?  (Please don’t say wine). Buy her my book, a $10 dollar bouquet from the grocery store, her beverage of choice and a hunk of dark chocolate and – bingo – instant awesome!  Not that I’m advocating pinching pennies when it comes to moms, but if you were just gonna order some flowers from FTD and ugly earrings, I can think of better ways to spend your money.  Order my book and you’ll still have cash leftover – which will come in handy in a few weeks when the hard copy of The Getaway Girls comes out and you can buy her that, too. Win-win! 

4. It’s about women on a girl’s getaway trip – and let’s face it: this book might the closest she’s coming to a weekend away.  Now, I’m not gonna lie – a bachelorette party in Vegas it ain’t. These ladies deal with some bad shit. But they have fun and they kick ass. Which is way more fun than kicking dirty soccer cleats out of the way for the @#$% time because nobody else ever puts anything away.  

5. For once in her life, could your Mom get to read a book where the main characters are actually her age instead of teenagers? Don’t get me wrong – young adult fiction’s fine, but sometimes you gotta wonder – are leggy young girls the only ones who get to have fun around here? Hells no! This Mother’s Day, buy her a book where the hot young girls are hot women.  Like her.

Happy Mother's Day!  Check out The Getaway Girls: A New Orleans Tale of Monsters, Mayhem and Moms on Amazon.com - currently available as a Kindle e-book, hard copy coming soon!

Check out the new Darker Times Anthology Volume Three- short stories and poetry from a bevy of  writers, all covering "dark" themes including horror.  And yes, I am totally biased - I wrote one of the stories included, so yeah, I kind of think it's worth reading.

I haven't blogged in almost a month because I've been struggling with my next Getaway Girls book.  It's always fun to write about flesh-eating scavengers, but they're not the most cooperative of characters. You give someone a lust of human flesh, superhuman hearing, and a hot body and suddenly they're out of control. Divas!

So here's a quick snapshot from my current book, The Getaway Girls: A New Orleans Tale of Monsters, Mayhem and Moms  - and hey, if you like it, you can read the entire first chapter for free on Amazon.com. Just a thought . . .

Beth hurried out of the casino and scanned the front entrance but there was so sign of Syd or Audrey. 

She walked quickly around the side of the building, her eyes darting back and forth to make sure no one was following.  Something moved in the darkness and she held her breath.

 “SYD!”  Audrey’s voice screamed.

“Audrey!”  Beth called out as she ran toward her friend.  Audrey’s dress was spattered in blood and dust, her brown hair hung in her face and dried red speckles dotted her cheek.

“Shit, you’re bleeding!” Beth said, but Audrey shook her head.

“No, it’s not mine. Chet killed a girl in the bathroom.  Syd and I were there,” Audrey panted, looking around the empty lot.

“Where’s Syd?” Beth demanded.

“I don’t know!” Audrey replied, “I left her in the bushes to go find her some clothes, and when I got back with this coat she was gone.”

“Why’d she need clothes?” Beth asked.

“Long story,” Audrey answered.  “Short version is that Syd just danced in the Burlesque Ball.  She’s wearing a g-string and pasties and now she’s disappeared.”

“Shit.” Beth bit her lip. “Naked and missing is not a good combination when we’re getting picked off one by one.” She turned back toward the casino entrance and beckoned. “Come on, let’s get a cab.”

“Where are we going?” Audrey asked.

“The Ninth Ward,” Beth replied grimly. “Declan told me to go there right before he flipped out.”

“What do you mean he flipped out?  Where is he?” Audrey looked around, suddenly realizing Declan wasn’t there.

“He went looking for you and Syd in the bathroom,” Beth said as they hurried toward the taxi line. “And then the place was on fire and Declan stumbled out looking like three kinds of crazy. He shoved me, acted like he wanted to fuck me or kill me, and then he said to head for the house.  He said Chet had killed some girl and told him that Carl had you and Syd.”

“Chet was there all right,” Audrey said, shuddering. “But not Carl.  Chet blocked us from leaving the bathroom, so we climbed through the air vents till we hit the stage.”

“Whoa, that’s so Die Hard!”

“It was so scary is what it was.” Audrey said, wiping a sticky strand of hair from her face.  “But I can’t believe we made it out of there to lose Syd in the bushes!”

“You didn’t lose her, somebody took her.  Let’s get out of here before we’re next!” Beth said, flagging down a taxi. 

The driver, a middle-aged black man wearing wire-framed glasses rolled down his window.  “Where you ladies want to go?”

 “We need to go to the corner of Clouet and Roman.”

The driver raised a graying eyebrow and looked Beth up and down. “You don’t want to go there, Miss.”

“Yes we do,” Beth insisted, reaching for the door handle.

The driver immediately pushed the automatic lock button and shook his head. “Not with me, you’re not. That’s just bad news waitin’ to happen and y’all ain’t got no business there.”

Beth opened her mouth again to argue when a shiny black van squealed to an abrupt stop behind the taxi.  The driver looked in his rearview mirror and swore.  He looked at Audrey and shook his head, mouthing the word, “Run!” before he gunned the gas pedal and took off down the street.

The door slid open and a white hand gestured from within, as an unfamiliar voice called out, “Get in now!”

Beth and Audrey looked at the door and didn’t move.

A man’s head popped out.  He was tall, thin, and dark-haired with cool gray eyes that scanned the women in quick appraisal.

 “Why should we get in with you?” Beth asked, as she and Audrey took a step back away from the curb.

The man took an iPad from the van and held it out in his hand for the women to see.  On the small screen they could see Evie draped across a couch, her eyes closed.

“Evie!” Beth cried.

The man answered in a smooth, lilting voice, “She is safe.  For now.”

Beth hesitated and the man sighed.  “Oh, all right.  We have the other one, too.” He tapped the screen and a different image appeared, a woman wrapped in a black cloak looking at once frightened and extremely pissed off.

“Syd!” Audrey said, and angrily demanded, “What have you done with her?”

The man pursed his lips.  “I’ve done nothing.  And I will take you to both of them, but I must insist that you come with me. ”

“This seems like a bad idea,” Audrey whispered and Beth nodded, just as a giant blonde hulk of a man emerged from the driver’s seat and moved swiftly around the corner of the van.  Beth looked up in surprise and his thick arm swept her straight into the vehicle, Audrey tumbling in beside her. The door slid quickly closed behind them and the automatic locks clicked into place, the sound chillingly loud in the dark, quiet interior.

 “Where’s Syd?” Audrey repeated as they huddled in the soft black-carpeted interior of the van.

“She’s with us,” the gray-eyed man replied from the front passenger seat.  “We found her naked in the bushes, where you left her.”

“I left her to go find some clothes!” Audrey said defensively.

The man shrugged. “If my friend was naked and Carl was on the hunt, I wouldn’t leave her in a shrub.”

“Hey, fuck you!” Audrey said, and Beth tugged on her arm.

“Remember, he’s got Syd and Evie. Don’t piss him off.” Beth murmured. 

The man gave a self-satisfied smirk to Audrey before turning his gaze back toward the iPad, where he’d changed the image back to Evie again.  He gave a luxurious sigh.  “I’ve been enjoying Evie’s company, she’s a delightful girl.”

Audrey glanced at the screen.  “She looks unconscious.  How exactly have you been enjoying her company?”

The man’s mouth curved up into a dangerous smile.  “Oh, I find women don’t always have to be awake to be enjoyed.”

Want to read more?  Check out The Getaway Girls: A New Orleans Tale of Monsters, Mayhem and Moms on Amazon.com.

Who doesn't love a leprechaun? Happy St. Pat's, enjoy . . . 

__________________________

Sunday afternoon and the bar was empty. Audrey sighed as she sipped her wine, tucked into a window booth overlooking the antique shops on Royal Street. She wished Declan hadn’t left so soon.

A glint of gold caught her eye and she peered around the dusty drapes.  Was that an earring in the corner?  Something green moved just out of sight and she turned suddenly to see a small, fat hand poised over her wineglass.

“Hey!” Audrey snapped and grabbed the arm of a tiny man wearing a soiled emerald jacket and a sour expression. 

“Damnit!” The little man cursed as he slumped into the seat opposite her.  He had a whiskery red face with untidy eyebrows and sharp, yellow teeth.

“Who are you – and what’s in my drink?” Audrey demanded, looking into her glass, where a suspicious powdery substance left a filmy white trail.

“Just call me Frank.” He growled in a nasally Brooklyn accent.

“And my drink?” Audrey pressed.

Frank shrugged. “Hey, my lucky charms ain’t what they used to be.”

 “You’re a leprechaun?” Audrey looked skeptical.

 “Well, I ain’t Santa.” Frank snorted. Wiggling a scruffy brow, he rasped, “Wanna ride my rainbow?”

 Audrey shuddered. “I’ll pass.”

Frank scowled. “Your loss, girlie.  Not all my parts are pint-sized.”  He leaned over the table. “That ain’t what I want, though.”

“Then what do you want?” Audrey asked.

“I’m . . . hungry.” Frank looked at Audrey with wet, rum-tinged eyes.

She shoved a silver bowl of snack mix across the table.  “Help yourself.”

Frank shook his head. “I’m an Atkins man, girlie.  Meat only.” He licked his lips and stared longingly into the v-neck of her sweater. “Tastes just like chicken.”

 “Whoa!” Audrey grabbed her purse to her chest.

Frank’s rubbery lips curved in an unconvincing smile. “Aw, don’t be that way.  Just a taste?”

“No!” Audrey hugged her bag tighter.

“How ‘bout a toe,” Frank pleaded, “you got ten, you won’t miss one.”

“No!” Audrey shoved her feet under the chair rung.

“Come on!” Frank moaned, his nails scraping the table.  “I’ll give you a pot of gold for your pinkie.”

Audrey scooted to the edge of the chair, eyeing Frank’s greedy fingers.

 “Don’t make me beg, girlie.”

But Audrey wouldn’t budge.

“Bitch!” Frank hissed. Suddenly he was beneath the table, sinking his sharp teeth into Audrey’s ankle.

“Ow!” She cried, feeling Frank bite down harder, scraping bone.  Blood spurted onto her jeans as Frank’s strong, fat arms tugged on her legs.  Panicked, she smashed her wineglass over Frank’s head and he shrieked, relaxing his grasp.

“Let go, you little troll!” Audrey kicked him hard and he rolled into the dark space beneath the piano while she ran out the door.

Under the piano, Frank the leprechaun sat up slowly, rubbing his jaw.  He picked a strand of Audrey’s flesh from between his pointy teeth and pocketed a gold earring from the floor. Straightening his vest, he grimaced.

“Next time I pick a fucking blonde.”

______________________

Like Audrey? Want to see her kick some flesh-eating scavenger tail?  Click here to read the first chapter of my book, The Getaway Girls: A New Orleans Tale of Monsters, Mayhem and Moms for free!

First, I wanted to write a little post-Oscars recap, but the week got away from me.  I'll just say two things:

1.  My Mississippi peanut-butter brownie mud pie turned into Mississippi cardboard, due to my miscalculations on the baking time. That's what I get for trying to turn it into pie in honor of Life of Pi.
Math. It always gets you in the end.

2.  Say what you will about Seth McFarlane - the boy can sing.  Yes, he sang a very dumb, offensive song about boobs, but if you're going to offend people it helps to have a nice voice.

3.  Sorry - I know I said two things, but what can I say?  Math.  Anyway, my South Philly meatballs kicked ass.

Enough about movie awards - I won something myself this week.  My short story, The Closet won February's Darker Times flash fiction award.  And another story, The Runaway, received an honorable mention.  Check out the awards page for the full list:   (But of course, please read mine!)  The Runaway is actually a rough excerpt from my second Getaway Girls book, as yet untitled. I'm still noodling with it, but it does have a nasty flesh-eating scavenger scene, so enjoy!
(Note - the site is having weird paragraph spacing issues to be fixed, please ignore)

It's Irish-fest weekend here in Dallas.  Normally we go every year and attempt to listen to music while chasing after our children who only care about the dogs and the bounce house.  This year, with everyone recovering from sinus infections we're skipping the festival.  So I've come up with a little top five list in absentia:

The Getaway Girls New Orleans Top Five Reasons Not to Take a Flesh-Eating Scavenger to the North Texas Irish Festival:

1.  The Cleavage. Attire at the Irish festival is like the Renaissance Faire meets Hooters. You can't take a flesh-eating scavenger to a place chock full of women sporting busty corset tops on full display.  It's like taking someone on Atkins to a cake pop party, and it's just cruel.

2.  The Kilts. For some reason, the Irish festival brings out a bizarre impulse among otherwise normal-looking men to wear kilts without anything underneath.  And I know this because their t-shirts tell me so.  That's right - somebody's dad's walking around with a shirt that says "What's under my kilt? How warm are your hands?" Euwwwww.  Bump into a couple of these guys and you'll be tempted to let your scavenger pal eat one, just to put the silly shirt out of its misery.

3.  The Beer. After you've walked around and seen all the Irish wolfhounds and step-dancing you can stand, you'll want nothing more than a patch of grass and a nice cold Harp.  But flesh-eating scavengers are like children - take your eyes off them for a minute and it's mass destruction.  Sit down with that beer and I guarantee there'll be one less wolfhound on the fair grounds. Just say no.

4.  The Bagpipes.  Little known fact: scavengers hate bagpipes. That impressive-looking line of men in kilts (again, why?) marching down the aisle will drive your flesh-eating friend into a frenzy before you can say Amazing Grace.  

5.  The Plaid. If there's one thing scavengers loathe more than bagpipes, it's plaid.  And you couldn't find more plaid in an L.L. Bean catalog than the North Texas Irish Festival.  Unfortunately, as we've already established, most of it's in kilts.  But there's also plaid skirts, plaid shawls, plaid blankets, plaid ponchos, plaid dog sweaters with wee little plaid dog berets.  That folksy green and black pattern will drive your scavenger into a flesh-eating fashion intervention faster than you can say Project Runway.  Not only will he rip out throats, he'll rip a lot of perfectly good ponchos in the process.  And that's just wasteful.

So - in conclusion, I say either go to the North Texas Irish Festival sans-scavenger or stay at home and get your Gaelic fix watching The Commitments.  Again.

Or you could watch my video or buy my book, The Getaway Girls: A New Orleans Tale of Monsters, Mayhem and Moms.  I can guarantee there won't be any plaid.

I’m taking a break from my book, The Getaway Girls: A New Orleans Tale of Monsters, Mayhem and Moms this week in honor of The Academy Awards.  Because nothing stops a flesh-eating scavenger in his tracks like goddess-styled chiffon and diamond-studded heels.   

The Oscars are to me what the opening day of baseball is to my husband – a holy day of television, food, wine and fashion-ogling. (OK, perhaps the last one is not quite the same for my husband, but you have to admit those Rangers uniforms are striking.  Especially when worn by Nelson Cruz).

I love movies. My husband and I have almost nothing in common – I’m a Democrat, he’s a Republican.  I prefer dark chocolate, he’ll take milk.  He likes sushi, and I think if you’re going to serve me fish the least you could do is cook it.  But we both love Midnight in Paris.  We may argue politics till we’re blue in the face (much like Mel Gibson in that movie all guys love and I can’t ever remember the name? There’s a bunch of fighting and stuff – you know what I mean). 

But we’ll always have movies.

Every year, I concoct a special menu for the Oscars in tribute to the nominees for Best Picture.  Used to be only five films and those were the salad days.  Asian pork chops for Crouching Tiger, no problem. Risotto for Gladiator?  Piece o’ cake. French bread or wine for anything remotely French?  Duh.  (And there’s always something French. Trust me).

But then the Academy went and added a bunch more nominees just to screw with me.  Like, come on – it was bad enough trying to whip up 4 courses with 2 kids underfoot, but now I gotta fix five more? Am I running a buffet?

So I slid downhill.  First I tried only picking the movies I’d actually seen (sorry Academy, you pick 9 movies, I pick which ones are worth precious babysitter time).  Then I picked the ones I liked.  Some years, when the movies are especially dreary, this list got real short. Then there was the year I flat out gave up, made pasta and claimed each ingredient represented a nominated film.  Black pepper was Black Swan.  Weak. 

But no more.  This year, I’m putting on my big girl apron and bringing Oscar back into my kitchen.  Here goes:

The Getaway Girls New Orleans 2013 Oscar Menu

• Beasts of the Southern Wild – Hush puppies (of course!)
• Lincoln  – bourbon. Yes, I am aware Lincoln didn’t actually drink.  But he was born in Kentucky, I grew up in Kentucky – it’s like we’re related.  So I feel entitled to take a certain Bluegrass liberty here.  However, like Lincoln was reported to have done at state dinners, I will only put the glass of bourbon to my mouth without actually drinking any.  And then I’ll have a beer, which probably goes better with hush puppies anyway.
• Argo – Hummus with pita chips.  Because I like hummus and I like Ben Affleck. Match made in heaven, really.
• Zero Dark Thirty – Middle Eastern salad.  Maybe not so historically accurate - for all I know, terrorists might all be on Atkins, but something in this menu needs a vegetable.
• Silver Linings Playbook - South Philly meatballs with rigatoni and vodka sauce. Because really, any excuse for meatballs is good by me.
• Django Unchained – Mississippi peanut butter brownie pie
• Life of Pi – same thing.  But wait, I’m not cheating! The brownie recipe isn’t actually for pie, so I have to do fancy magic to figure out how to adjust the cooking times for a pie pan.  That’s math, people.  Like Pi.  
• Amour – French bread (told you!)
• Les Miserables – Fat Bastard Cabernet.  Because Doomed Prostitute Chardonnay just didn't sound that appealing.  

And hey, if you get bored during the Oscars or just want to tune out a spouse who periodically pops in to say “they’re all fixed!” (which I have heard every year since Russell Crowe didn’t win for A Beautiful Mind), you could always read a little of my book, The Getaway Girls: A New Orleans Tale of Monsters, Mayhem and Moms.  Or watch my video, The Getaway Girls New Orleans Rap.

After seeing that some virus thingy sent an annoying tweet about losing body fat in 2 weeks from my Twitter account, I just wanted to clarify that wasn't me.  In case you don't believe me, may I present:


The Getaway Girls New Orleans Top Five Reasons I would Never Send a Dumb Tweet About Losing Body Fat

1. Seriously?  If I knew the fastest way to lose body fat, I would live on red wine, dark chocolate with sea salt, and spaghetti.  Instead of trying endless diets where I only eat soup.

2. If I knew the fastest way to lose body fat, that’s such a kick-ass nugget of knowledge I’m sure I would find a way to work it into every single thing I wrote.  Like instead of flesh-eating scavengers, maybe my book would feature a fat-sucking incubus.  Which sounds awesome, but Melissa Marr’s already sort of covered that in a terrific short story called “Flesh for Comfort” in the book Faery Tales & Nightmares.  Which I got for Christmas. I love short stories.  Flannery O’Connor and Dorothy Parker rule.

3. I’m not tech-savvy enough to tweet anything with one of those super short “bit.lyz whatever” links.  I’m really not.  It took me two weeks of tweeting before I figured out you could actually put URLs into a tweet because I thought oh man, this is gonna be longer than 140 characters. Two weeks.  Yeah.  Someday I hope to decode Tumblr.  Or at least figure out what the hell it is.

4. A tweet from me at 9 pm on a Saturday?  Please.  At 9 pm on Saturday night I better be tucked under an afghan watching Downtown Abbey or Dallas. (Damn right – in our house, we watch both the big Ds).

5. I hate changing passwords. Because somebody sent out those lame tweets I had to change my password on Twitter and I can barely remember any password, so I. Did. Not. Appreciate. That.  I realize the smart thing would be to keep track of them all somewhere but I don’t, so every time I try to download a song from the iTunes store I am so screwed.  Like, come on Apple – I just want that damn Imagine Dragons song, do I have to give you some bizarre combo of uppercase letters, numbers, and my percentage of body fat?

Which, as we all know, is zero because I know the fastest way to lose body fat.

Happy Sunday!  Check out my book, The Getaway Girls: A New Orleans Tale of Monsters, Mayhem and Moms.  Or my video, The Getaway Girls New Orleans Rap.