Welcoming Guest Author Kayla Perrin

Today we have a really fun gal joining us as guest deb—the delightful Kayla Perrin who is one seriously prolific writer. We hope you’ll enjoy Kayla’s post and check out her latest book, Single Mama Drama. Kayla will be picking a commenter at random who will win a book and t-shirt! Make sure to leave a comment! WHEN ROMANCE WRITERS PUSH THE BOUNDARIES In January my newest novel, SINGLE MAMA…

Saturday, February 9, 2008

Are You Sleeping With Ward Cleaver?

Deb Jenny’s book Sleeping With Ward Cleaver debuts this week! Jenny will tell you that Sleeping With Ward Cleaver is not exactly a romance. But to me, it was. I loved the idea of this book as a romance — not a romance novel — but a romance. Most chick flicks and romance novels end just as the relationship is beginning, when everything is fun and tingly and simple —…

Wednesday, February 6, 2008

Mr. G, Big Man on Playground by Deb Lisa

The first “book” I ever wrote was a serial romance starring Mr. Gemeinhart, our science teacher, read breathlessly to an enraptured crowd of giggling fourth-grade girls under the slide at recess. Every girl in school had a major crush on Mr. Gemeinhart, and we discussed him endlessly at lunch over twinkies and apple slices — his necktie selections, his sparkling blue eyes, whether or not he was cooler than “The…

Wednesday, September 5, 2007

Paris, je t’aime by Deb Jenny

And I do love Paris. Well, at least I think I do. I’ve only been there once, briefly. So I’m not sure if I’m in love with Paris, or in love with the idea of Paris. The Paris from books and films. The Paris I know intimately through others’ far more romantic experiences in that magical City of Lights. This summer, the movie that has claimed my imagination is Paris,…

Tuesday, August 7, 2007

Fluffy Avonside by any other name by Deb Jennifer

With all due respect to Anna (aka Benjamin), the porn name formula by which I have always sworn is name of first pet + name of the street you grew up on.  My name, by the way, would be Mumpsy Avonside.  Sexy, huh?  Okay, second pet: Fluffy.  This works much better.  Phew!   There’s also a romance novelist name formula I’ve heard of – your middle name + your mother’s maiden…

Wednesday, April 25, 2007

My protagonist and I By Deb Anna

I remember my mom, an avid reader, telling me when I was little that first novels were almost always autobiographical. At that stage, I was reading lots of S.E. Hinton books and had just discovered that S.E. was, in fact, a woman. So there was a lot of time spent plenty trying to figure out where she was in the midst of all those Ponyboy’s and Sodapop’s. It’s not so…

Monday, December 18, 2006

Kiss The Girl – by Deb Kristy

Alternate title: Why Jude the Obscure Infuriates Me  1982. Eighth grade. Fifth period. Speech class…Mark. I only had three crushes in eighth grade: Scott, Jerry, and Tom Selleck. Mark wasn’t a crush. It was love. And he wasn’t getting the hint. I upheld my end of the eighth-grade romance bargain. I’d done everything I was supposed to do. I’d told my friends, my friends told his friends,

Saturday, November 11, 2006

Love and Air Hockey by Deb Eileen

To be honest, I didn’t remember my first kiss. Luckily, I kept diaries growing up (you remember, hard cover books with tiny, tiny, little keys?) Looking through them for this post brought up several issues:   • My handwriting was awful; each letter is huge and bloated. The world wide deforestation is due in part to my writing. I wasted huge volumes of paper.  I won’t even mention the period where…

Friday, November 10, 2006

In The Treehouse by Deb Jennifer

Fifth grade.  Danny.  He had freckles and smelled like some exotic spice: cardamom or coriander.  He was a foster kid and only lived on our street for a year before being sent to another home.   What drew me to Danny (other than the mysterious scent) was that he came from a family more screwed up than my own.  His brother was in juvenile detention.  His mom was in rehab.  His…

Wednesday, November 8, 2006

Don’t Fear the Reaper by Deb Jennifer

It’s 1985.  My grandmother buys me a white Camaro with red interior.   The car is hot.  It has a red front vanity plate with my name in curly white script.  I smoke Carlton cigarettes and each pack comes with a plastic rose attached to a loop of elastic.  These hang from my review mirror.  I’m going way too fast through suburban streets, rocking out to Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd and…

Wednesday, October 4, 2006