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October 31, 2005

Flirting with... Jill Winters!

Quick note: The Literary Chicks would like to thank Beth Kendrick, Jennifer O'Connell, Shanna Swendson, Teresa Medeiros, Laura Resnick, Joyce Millman and Jill Winters for joining us this month! And for those of you wanting to know who won a copy of Flirting With Pride and Prejudice... we think you might want to read the rest of this entry. Wink wink.

From where I sit, flirting is at its best when it’s innocuous. Flirting for the sheer fun of it, without agenda, without real purpose. Men and women alike indulge in this very natural impulse, almost automatically, and just for the hell of it. If you observe people at banks, stores, post offices, on the subway, in restaurants, you’ll notice how many brief, flirtatious encounters spark between total strangers, and are over almost as quickly as they’ve begun. Interactions like these – flirtatious smiles, glib conversation, chivalrous courtesy and its subsequent appreciation – are ephemeral and mutually uplifting. They bring nothing more than the instant gratification that comes from feeling attractive to the opposite sex, and that’s when flirting, to me, is most satisfying.

But when the act of flirting changes – when it shifts into something else entirely – is when it’s infused with desperation. It’s an ugly word, but let’s just call it what it is. Flirtatious behavior that is part of a deliberate, conscious strategy to find a relationship is rarely subtle. The wanting shows, the need shows, the desperate desire for a partner shows. Now flirting becomes calculated. It becomes hopeful, agenda-driven. It’s wholly different than when, for example, the gas guy flirts with you when you get your tank filled, and you flash him a dazzling smile back, before you peel out. Or when a man gets up and gives you his seat on the bus. Those incidents are never disappointing because they’re spontaneous—fleeting but flattering, natural and impulsive.

This is one of the things I love about Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice. The whole book revolves around hooking a husband (we’re talking about the nineteenth century, after all), yet the only real flirting that takes place carries with it no matrimonial designs. Rather, Elizabeth and Darcy flirt with each other in the most natural, impulsive sense of the word. They have no conscious interest in each other and neither considers the other a viable spouse, yet the verbal sparring that crackles between them is nothing less than exquisite flirtation. Their zinging repartee fuels their attraction, and their attraction, in turn, fuels their repartee. Neither character would’ve called it flirting, but that’s exactly what it was.

Bingley and Jane, on the other hand, don’t flirt. Instead they are drawn together with a distinct purpose in mind. Bingley may be charming and complimentary, but there is nothing innately casual about his attentions; rather, he makes his long-term interest in Jane quite clear. And she reciprocates it—demurely, but just as clearly. In fact, every interaction they have is steeped in Jane waiting for a marriage proposal and implicitly hoping not to blow it.

Marriage-driven Mr. Collins doesn’t bother with flirtation, either. He proposes to Elizabeth without any attempt to charm, engage, or attract her beforehand – and then ultimately marries Charlotte, who is just as practical, deliberate, and marriage-driven. The only two characters who sizzle on the page are Elizabeth and Darcy, which makes Pride and Prejudice a great showcase for the true delight of flirting.

Out now is the anthology Flirting with Pride and Prejudice, which offers a wide range of essays and fiction pieces about Jane Austen’s classic novel, and I had a wonderful time contributing to the book. I hope you’ll check it out – best wishes!

Jill Winters realized that she preferred fiction to term papers when she wrote her first novel Plum Girl instead of her master's dissertation. Coincidentally, this was around the same time she became a sleep-deprived, ruminating coffee-junkie. She is the author five humorous, sexy romantic mysteries, including Just Peachy, Raspberry Crush, and Lime Ricky, which will be released in May. Jill contributed the original essay "The Secret Life of Mary" for Flirting With Pride and Prejudice, available in stores now from BenBella Books! She is currently at work on her next novel, as well as another Smart Pop anthology for BenBella. You can visit her online at: www.jillwinters.com.

Thanks again, Jill and everyone! And now for the moment you've all been waiting for, the 10 winners of Flirting With Pride and Prejudice...

Dawn Chilson!
Brittney Caan!
Holly Gault!
Jackie Wisherd!
Joy Isley!
Karen Gray!
Nicole Hulst!
Carol Mintz!
Sheri Maderos!
and...
Debbie Fluehr!

Congratulations, all winners! And thanks to everyone who entered! More cool stuff to come next month, when the Lovely and Talented Whitney Gaskell joins us! Her new book, She, Myself and I is totally fab and available now!

Posted by Lani at 6:00 AM | Comments (0)

October 30, 2005

Flirting With...Children's TV

From Michelle, Laughing in Rotterdam...

A short one from me today because I'm totally distracted by (a) the two new books I am working on, and (b) because the sun is shining and Oh Patient One and I have some "must do" chores (shopping, but not the boring food kind of shopping).

But why, I hear you all cry before I disappear to either (a) hang with fictional people, or (b) head for a bout of retail therapy, is Meesheroo (a) flirting with children's TV and (b) laughing her head off in Rotterdam?

Well...

You know, sometimes children's shows carry a subtle subtext that the kids don't notice - because it is really aimed at the adults. And sometimes the subtext isn't so subltle at all.

In England there used to be a children's show on TV called Rainbow. It was shown at lunchtimes and was for quite little kids. My sisters used to watch this show. I used to watch this show with them when I came home for school for lunch.

But I don't remember this particular episode...

Meesheroo, rolling around the floor in a very undignified way

Posted by Michelle at 6:33 AM | Comments (1)

October 29, 2005

Flirting with Other Women

From Lani, cruising for the CWKs...

One quick note before I get started on today's blog: I'd like to apologize for the crickets that were here last week. We've had what you might call a slump here. Alesia just finished BLONDES HAVE MORE FELONS, which is fabulous but almost killed her. I just finished revisions on THE COMEBACK KISS - also fabulous, also a near-death experience. And Michelle has not one but two works up in the air, both of which are SO FABULOUS (she told me all about them and they're so, so, so good!) that I'm fearing for her wellness as I write this. So, we apologize for the crickets, and we think it's time we introduce you to their leader.

Jiminy, Cool Readers. Cool Readers, Jiminy.

Jiminy, the Cool Readers are very cool, as you know because they're here.

Cool Readers, Jiminy can be a tad self-righteous. If he tells you anything about doing what's right no matter what the consequences, tell him to bite you. And note - your nose? Will not grow if you lie. He totally made that up. Sanctimonious butthole.

With that out of the way...

... I have to admit something I've been kind of keeping a secret. It started a little after I got married, got worse after I had my first child, and continues to this day.

I flirt with other women.

Okay. Now I know how that sounds, and it's not what I mean. What I mean is that, since I got married, flirting with other men is, let's say, frowned upon. But it's hard to quit cold turkey. I mean, I've been flirting pretty much since I came out the chute. It's not like you can just turn it off.

But you can redirect it. After I got married, I found that now that I had me a man, I kinda wanted more women friends. Or better, couple-friends, the elusive combination of a married man and woman who can be good friends with both me and Fish. This, as it turns out, is very hard to find. Either the woman and I are totally tight and the guys are like, "Hey," or... well, the other alternative hasn't happened yet. Fish is, shall we say, a bit of a homebody. The only guys he ever goes out for a beer with are his brothers, and unless they're in town, he's pretty much all mine. Which I love, and which is great, but because I need time out with the girls, I need him to have time out with the guys, because...

... well, because I'm horribly selfish and it's all about me, me, me. Wow. Here I am writing a blog, and having an Oprah moment. Dude. That rocks.

Anyway, once I had kids, I started cruising for CWKs - chicks with kids. It started with the Mommy and Me group I went to in Anchorage, where I sat with a bunch of women who... hmmm. How do I describe them? Let's just say that I've seen Vice Presidents of national companies that are less competitive than these women.

"Hi," one would say to me, holding out her perfectly manicured hand, "I'm Gillian. I baked the apple pie there on the table. Did you see it? It's perfect, isn't it? You can't have any. It's my first perfect pie. You can smell it though, if you want. It smells great, doesn't it? Go ahead. Smell it."

"Oh!" the breastfeeding one would say, grabbing up a toddler with her free hand and holding him up like she'd just won an Oscar. "I knitted this sweater. Myself. While making little ladybug snacks out of tomatoes and raisins. My kids love tomato and raisin ladybugs, seriously. I know it sounds disgusting, but they love it. Really. And I love breastfeeding. It fulfills me. I'm going to breastfeed Abigail until she leaves for college. Phineas self-weaned." She'd sniff, and steal a sorrowful glance back at her six-year-old. "I couldn't stop him. It was beyond my control."

"Whatever," the skinny one in the back would say with a derisive snort. "I sewed Hannah's Halloween costume while giving birth to Madison, breastfeeding Fiona and hosting a dinner party for Thomas's doctor friends." She'd wink at me knowingly. "I had a bucket all ready for when my water broke. Didn't get any on the carpet, and my stitches on that costume? Flawless."

The one wearing green would just sit at the back table, scrapbooking furiously with a twitch in her right eye. I think she might have been saveable earlier on in the game, but by the time I got there she was too far gone.

What freaked me out most about these women wasn't that they'd done all these things, but that they were lying. Through their teeth. To impress... me. And not because I was anything special, but because I was alive on this planet and as such it was imperative that I see that THESE WOMEN WERE THE BEST MOTHERS EVER TO GRACE THE STAGE. It was Stepford-Wife creepy except CREEPIER because these women? Were real. I grabbed my kids and high-tailed it out of there, and I put an end to cruising for CWKs until I got over the PTSD.

Then, this year, at the bus stop. I met her. The CWK of my dreams. She's got three kids, all spanning roughly the same ages of my kids. The kids all get along great. And the CWK? Not crazy at all. Not scrapbooking while whipping up gourmet treats and having a facial. Totally normal, very cool, I really like her, and she lives in an apartment I can practically see from mine.

And... she's moving. I mean, yeah, she'll still be within a half-hour drive, but our kids won't be in school together anymore and it won't be easy to just take her kids so she can clean the bathroom or leave mine with her so I can run to the grocery store. I should have known it was too perfect to last.

:::sigh:::

Now, it's back to flirting at the bus stop.

I'm such a whore.

Posted by Lani at 6:00 AM | Comments (5)

October 27, 2005

Flirting With...Red Tape. Again!

From Michelle, Frustrated in Rotterdam...

Yes, once again I am doing battle with Dutch Red Tape.

But why, I hear you all cry? We thought you'd sorted out all that pesky red tape here and here.

It's a long story. You have been warned...

Well, a little while ago Oh Patient One and I told my niece (whom we fondly refer to as Teenager #3) that if she was serious about taking a year out before college, and if she wanted to do this in a different culture for the experience of it (i.e., in the Netherlands with us, rather than in the UK), then our door was open. Of course, there was bound to be some red tape, but what the hell...I could help her wade through it, no problemo. Or so we thought...

After she arrives we go to the town hall to find out what documentation she needs to register (it's the law that she has to register, but then again the law has changed since we moved here last year so better to check). After a gazillion billion hours (feels like) of waiting in line just to explain our business to the receptionist and hopefully, if we pass muster, to get a ticket number from the receptionist so that we can then get in another line and wait another billion hours to see a town hall representative, Unfriendly Receptionist hands us three forms and tells us that they have to be completed before she can give us a ticket.

Form #1 is basically for Teenager #3 to Tell Her Life Story (seems like) and also to Tell The Life Story of her family. Okay, not a problem. Piece of cake.

Form #2 is for her sponsor to fill in. Sponsor? I am bit baffled by this because the Netherlands is a European Union (EU) country and residents of any other EU country (um, like the UK) can move over here and live and work. It's a bit like the United States of Europe, in theory. Plucking up my courage I flash Unfriendly Receptionist my friendliest smile.

"Um, can you please tell me why we need to comlete this form?" I ask in my friendliest voice. "Because surely Teenager #3 is allowed to move and live here due to that, you know, EU connection thing."

"It's the law," Unfriendly Receptionist growls back at me (and guess what? She's definitely not smiling).

"Um, my husband and I live here in Rotterdam. We are responsible for Teenager #3. Rather like parents, in fact. Can we complete the form?" (More friendly smiling from me, because it can't hurt, can it?)

"Yes, but you need to include copies of your passports."

Owkey. We're making progress, here.

And then I look at Form #3. It is for Teenager #3's landlord to complete to confirm she is living at the address she says she is living at.

"But she's living with my husband and I. We already had our landlord fill out the same form when we registered," I tell Unfriendly Receptionist. "Can't I just bring in that form? Because we're the ones paying the rent."

"That makes no difference," Unfriendly receptionist says. "You have to ask your landlord to fill in the form and to confirm that your niece is allowed to live in your apartment. It's the law. Plus we get our kicks from torturing poor, hapless clients, mwahahahaha."

No, she didn't really say that last part, but by now my smile is starting to slip.

"So we can't see a representative until we do all this?" I ask.

"No." Unfriendly Receptionist glances at her watch. I wonder, briefly, if she's due a break, but first she has to deal with that pesky thing called, well, her job.

"Can you tell me if there's anything else we need to bring with us when we come back, apart from these forms, copies of our passports and Teenager #3's passport and birth certificate?" After all, it makes sense to ensure we don't have to get in line again only to find out that the town hall needs a copy of her entire school history right back to pre-school, or photos from every school concert, or an eye exam, or whatever. Plus, I am now pissed with Unfriendly Receptionist and am determined to make her wait as long as possible for her break.

"I'm not a representative, therefore not an expert," Unfriendly Receptionist tells me, smirking rather evilly. "You have to wait until you see a representative. But you can't see the representative until those forms are filled out. It's just something we do to torture all our clients, mwahahahahaha."

No, she didn't really say that last part, but by now my head is spinning and I just want to go home and drink tea.

The next day, after collecting every single piece of documentation I can possibly think of and more, Teenager #3 and I trip along to the offices of the large real-estate company that leases our apartment to us. There's bound to be a problem. I know this, because there just always is.

Well, Nice Receptionist cannot speak English (a rarity here in the Netherlands), but I manage to explain in my terrible Dutch what it is that we need. My Dutch turns out to be not as terrible as I think it is, because she understands me. Yay! Nice Receptionist tells us that it's not a problem (or rather, geen probleem), she calls through to one of her colleagues and Nice Colleague completes the form and stamps it with the company's official stamp, and we're out of there in ten minutes.

If only everything in life were that simple!

So we go to the town hall and the line is now out of the door and we just can't face standing in line for a gazillion billion hours only to be be tortured by another unfriendly receptionist, so we decide that we'll go back the next day.

The next morning we go back at the crack of dawn and, joy of joys, there are hardly any people at all on line. This is surely a good sign, I think to myself. We get to the front of the line and, yippeee, we are being seen by a different receptionist and this one is smiling. Another great sign!

Unfortunately, she is only smiling because she is about to torture us.

"You haven't got two photos of your niece, as is required before I can give you a ticket to see a representative," Unfriendly Receptionist #2 tells me, her smile turning into a smirk.

"You have really bad stinking breath and really bad stinking body odor," I smirk back at her, because two can play at her game. Actually, I don't say that at all because knowing my luck I will get her again on the return trip and she will definitely not give me a ticket to see a representative. Ever. Instead, I say, "Have a nice day," and Teenager #3 and I head out of the town hall. But not before I discreetly flip Unfriendly Receptionist the bird...

So Teenager #3 and I go and get photos done, head back to the town hall, and the line is now a gazillion billion people long, and we are so disheartened by the thought of standing in line for a million trillion hours only to be told that we can't have a ticket to see a representative, so we go home.

Next day, again at the crack of dawn, we head back to the town hall. The line is short, receptionist #3 is nice and friendly and gives us our longed for ticket to see a representative and, joy of joys, after a short wait it's actually our turn!

"I cannot register your niece," Unfriendly Representative tells me, smirking in a very unpleasant way (do they take lessons in how to do this?) "First she needs to get a letter from her parents, copies of her parents' passports, her birth certificate needs to be aposteeled (that's notarized to you and me) by the UK Foreign and Commonwealth Office in London. Oh, and then she has to get a job and then her employer has to fill out this packet of forms," she adds, holding out an impressive looking packet.

I don't say a word. I mean, what's the point?

Anyway, when we get home I call the tax office to see what hoops we have to jump through to get Teenager #3 a tax number. Because this is bound to be a problem. And after I fumble my way through the Dutch recorded menu options, I finally get a real human being on the end of the line. And, oh yay, it is a real human being in the right department!

"Your niece just needs her UK passport," Nice Tax Person tells me. "I can make her an appointment to come in and see us if you like."

"Are you sure?" I ask, because this seems too easy.

"Yes - the Netherlands is an EU country," Nice Tax Person says in a very friendly voice. "And as the UK is also an EU country your niece has the right to live and work here. Let me see when we have an opening for you."

Well, knock me down with a feather.

However, the appointment with the tax office is on Halloween, so I'm not holding my breath...

Michelle

Posted by Michelle at 6:29 AM | Comments (3)

October 26, 2005

Flirting with... Joyce Millman!

I have never written a chick-lit novel. I'm not even sure I know what the term means, except maybe that it's lit written by chicks. And how do you define "chick" anyway? When I was a kid, "chick" was a dirty word, but I find that the women I idolized when I was in my teens and 20s -- rockers like Chrissie Hynde and Bonnie Raitt -- now refer to themselves as chicks. And I'm right there with them. I don't mind being called a chick, as long as it's done on my terms. To me, a chick is someone who knows her worth, is comfortable with her sexuality but not defined by it, who can laugh at herself and roll with the punches. Most importantly, a chick has some years on her, chronologically, emotionally and intellectually. She has been the main course at the banquet and now she's been bumped down the menu in favor of the younger, more succulent and serious birds. But a chick doesn't mind being bumped down the menu. Down the menu is where the good stuff is, like dessert and Cognac.

Anyway, I've been asked to write a few words about the topic of the month, flirting. Now, back in the day, "flirting" was on the same no-no list as "chick". Silly girls flirted, not liberated women of substance. Liberated women of substance tempted their prey with heated political discussions over cheap wine, followed by mutually respectful sex within agreed upon boundaries. I feel cheated. I was robbed of the flirting experience by the prevailing social mores! Oh sure, I flirted when I was a teenager, but what did I know then? And I went to work at a newspaper in the '80s, when women were too busy inflating Boeing 747-sized shoulder pads to flirt with male colleagues. Besides, if we did flirt, the men would have sensed weakness and had us swiftly removed to the Lifestyle nunnery. Somewhere between then and now, I got married and had a baby. But wait! The kid is now 14 and, according to the women's magazines, I'm supposed to be in my middle-aged second adolescence. And, as luck would have it, I have emerged from hibernation into the glorious sunlight of an era where, I'm told, it's OK to be a flirt and a chick. Outta my way while I make up for lost time.

So, I try to flirt. The problem is, I think my internal flirt-age is stuck on 18. To the outside world, I'm Mrs. Robinson but inside I'm Elaine. I have set my sights on the cute twentysomething guy who works the meat counter at the supermarket. Each time he waits on me (flutter, flutter), I smile brightly and hope for the best. But Butcher Boy keeps things on a strictly professional level. Breasts, thighs, wham-bam-thank you, ma'am. How demoralizing.

However, I am a very successful flirtee. It seems that I have become a magnet for older men. Way older men. Like, in the 65-to-90 range. Wizened gents are always winking at me in the produce aisle or striking up conversations in parking lots. "I can't believe bell bottoms are back in style," one old smoothie said to me as I was bent over trying to reach a package deep in the trunk of my car. Well, they are, Gramps, and thanks for checking out my butt. Last Election Day, an elderly poll worker almost knocked his female colleague to the floor in his rush to paste an "I Voted" sticker on my left breast. And, yes, he copped a feel. Once, I was in a restaurant with my family and an elderly man with a walker stopped in his tracks, looked me in the eye and smiled -- behind his wife's back, I may add. Well, actually, it was behind the back of her wheelchair. That man was shameless.

I am resigned to never again being flirted with by anyone born after 1940. And, of course, my flirtation with Butcher Boy has been futile. (On the bright side, the intimidating female butcher recently told me I looked pretty, but that's another story, perhaps one best explored over political debate and cheap wine.) For now, I will confine my flirting to my husband. I'm pretty sure that he is required by law to flirt back. And if he doesn't, I have a few seasoned admirers who would love to have me for dessert.

Joyce Millman's essays about TV and pop culture have appeared in the New York Times, Salon.com, the San Francisco Examiner, Variety and the Boston Phoenix. Her work also appears in the BenBella anthologies Alias Assumed and the upcoming Mapping the World of Harry Potter. She lives in the San Francisco area with her husband and son. She contributed the humorous essay "Pride and Prejudice: The Reality Show" to Flirting With Pride and Prejudice, available in stores now from BenBella Books!

Posted by Lani at 7:52 AM | Comments (2)

October 25, 2005

A Tribute to Grace and Courage

From Alesia, with the greatest respect

Rosa Parks, the black seamstress whose refusal to give her seat on a Montgomery, Alabama, bus to a white man sparked a revolution in American race relations, died on Monday at age 92. She is mourned by a nation who owes her a great deal.

At what point do we stand up for what is right? At what point do we say “Enough!” and put aside our fear, our exhaustion, and – yes – the thought of the inconvenience we might face if we don’t just fall in line. Go along to get along. Be sheep.

That day on December 1st, 1955, Rosa Parks was tired from a long day of work. But she was more tired of the persistent abuse, mistreatment, and discrimination she’d faced throughout her life. Being told “Sorry, you didn’t pass” the blatantly discriminatory voting examinations. “Sorry, you can’t vote.”

Not just once, but twice. “Sorry, you can’t vote.”

“Sorry, you can’t sit here.”

"Our mistreatment was just not right, and I was tired of it," writes Parks in her book, Quiet Strength, (Zondervan Publishing House, 1994). "I kept thinking about my mother and my grandparents, and how strong they were. I knew there was a possibility of being mistreated, but an opportunity was being given to me to do what I had asked of others."

The rest of Parks' story is American history...her arrest and trial, and then an amazing display of courage and grace: the 381-day Montgomery bus boycott. I’ve watched a documentary about that boycott, and I watched with tears running down my face. In awe of the courage. Wondering if I’d have been strong enough. Hoping that I would have been.

Finally, the Supreme Court handed down its landmark ruling in November 1956 that segregation on transportation is unconstitutional. Finally. 1956. The decision was triumphant. The late date of it was shameful.

Thank you, Rosa Parks. I’m sure that in heaven you’re sitting wherever you darn well please.

Alesia

Posted by Alesia at 10:08 AM | Comments (0)

October 24, 2005

Flirting with... Laura Resnick!

Writing is a lot like sex.

It's also a lot like yoga, cooking, parenthood, opera, war, gardening, and conjugating French verbs. But we're going to go with the sex analogy today.

I make this handy analogy for the benefit of readers who secretly contemplate turning into novelists, as Jane Austen did. I'm guessing that Miss Austen didn't use this analogy; but as the author of about twenty books, it works for me. And so I pass it along to you, in case you're flirting with writing.

I’m often flabbergasted when I hear about how someone else writes a book. Multiple drafts? (I’d quit in exhausted despair.) Graphs and databases and flow charts? (I'd run screaming into the night!) Everything planned in advance, down to the finest detail, before composing the prose? (I’d never feel compelled to write if I already knew everything that would happen.) Scenes written at random, then later shuffled around and quilted together. (How does one even do that?)

I’m sometimes equally aghast at people’s (unrequested) descriptions of their sex lives: You do what to get in the mood? You did it where? He asked for what? And this was how many people? But wasn't the chocolate incredibly sticky? And will your sheets ever be the same again?

I’m also regularly bowled over by the work habits that writers come out of the closet with: Writing from 4:00 AM to 7:00 AM. (Sorry, I’m busy REMing at that time.) Writing ten pages a day everyday no matter what. Writing on separate projects in the morning and the afternoon. Writing without leaving a room for weeks. Writing in public, in private, by hand, with voice-operated software, without music, with one specific piece of music playing non-stop, with the TV on, with the blinds drawn, with candles burning, with cookies at hand, outside, inside, at the beach, on a laptop, in a laundry room...

And what have you learned, Miss Elizabeth?

Everyone’s different. There’s no “right” way to write. There isn't a "correct" writing process. It’s like sex. Once in a while, someone may have a specific gem of advice that will help you find the path to fulfillment, but mostly—whether writing or making love—you just have to muddle through by yourself (or with your collaborator, shall we say), in an open-hearted trial-and-error quest, and find your own way of doing what you need to do in order to get what you want.

Like sex, writing is also a private, special, individual process which often yields a very public result (a book or a baby)—and which also sometimes fizzles out into an awkwardness you don’t ever want anyone else in the whole world to know about (those “what was I even thinking?” moments at the keyboard, those “oh, let’s have a drink and forget the whole thing” moments with your partner).

Finally, there are several common urges that both writers and lovers typically experience after a particularly satisfying, active, or grueling session. Some crave a hot shower, some pour a stiff drink, some discover they're ravenously hungry... and some light up a cigarette.

Laura Resnick's next release is Disappearing Nightly (Luna Books, 12/06), the first novel of a new crossover chicklit-fantasy series. Her recent fantasy novels The White Dragon and The Destroyer Goddess both made the "Year's Best" lists of Publishers Weekly and Voya. Also the award-winning author of many romance novels written under the pseudonym Laura Leone, her latest contemporary romance, Fallen From Grace, was a Rita Award finalist. Laura contributed the essay "Bride and Prejudice" to Flirting With Pride and Prejudice, available in stores now from BenBella Books!

Posted by Lani at 6:00 AM | Comments (0)

October 19, 2005

Flirting with Getting Out of Bed

From Lani, snuggling in the sheets...

Well, good morning. I'm seriously considering not getting out of bed today. I'll let you know how it goes.

See, I just finished my revisions on THE COMEBACK KISS (out May of 2006, please buy it, my kids like to eat) and I have Light's 4th birthday party coming up this weekend and as a matter of fact, Light woke up at six o'clock this morning and has since been in my bed saying things like "I want hug!" and "I wanna watch Dora!" and "Listen to me sing my ABC's!" and already I'm freakin' exhausted, and it's not even eight o'clock yet.

Okay. Side note. You know how, in Dora the Explorer, she constantly tells the kids to yell things out to "help" her? Like, she can't open her backpack unless my kid yells BACKPACK at the TOP OF HER FREAKIN' LUNGS?

Yeah. So, as I write this entry, keep in mind that I've got a (currently) three-year-old yelling "GATE!" and "BACKPACK!" and similar in my ear.

All right. Where was I? Yes. The not getting out of bed thing. That's pretty much a lost cause. I've got kids and a family and I have to go shopping for said birthday party this weekend and life goes on even though I've just finished a book, but in my ideal world, here's my day.

Wake up, unassisted, naturally, circa eight o'clock in the morning.

Make coffee without two small children whirling around me like electrons demanding Cheerios NOW NOW NOW!

Drink coffee without two small children whirling around me like electrons trying to knock me down. My kids really like that game, the let's-knock-mommy-down game. (I keep thinking that back in the days in which kids were made to pick their own switch off the hickory tree, they didn't play those kinds of games. I know that beating children with a switch is bad, I'm just saying.)

Go back to bed and finish reading a book. Doesn't matter which one. Just finish reading one. That's all I want.

(Okay, Light is obviously able to read because she just yelled, in my ear, "COME ON YOU CAN'T STAY IN YOUR ROOM ALL DAY!!!" as though Dora asked her to. Weird.)

Um, where was I? Oh, yes. Read a book. Take a bubble bath. Do a pedicure. Do a manicure. All without interruptions.

Have food delivered to the door.

Have maids delivered to the door.

Have wine delivered to the door.

Spend quality time (wink, wink, nudge, nudge) with my husband without little children sneaking up to the side of the bed and saying, "Hey, whatcha doing?" to which we respond by screaming and grabbing at the bed linens.

So, that's it. That's my whole fantasy. The reality is that as soon as I'm done with this blog, I will get up, get showered, make coffee, spill coffee on my shirt as the kids do the knock-mommy-down game, go shopping, get Sweetness ready for school, beg and eventually bribe Light to take her nap, try to get some downtime by knitting and/or sleeping, be interrupted every five minutes by Light who needs to pee/poop/have a kidney transplant/whatever she thinks will work to get a few minutes out of naptime, get Sweetness back from school, talk about school, hide in my room while they fly around the house like banshees, make dinner, wrassle the kids into bed and fall onto the bed, where I pass out ass-up with my legs hanging over the side, my last thought being, "I really should have gotten some laundry done...."

:::sigh:::

Light just nudged herself under my arm.

"YOU STOP CLICKING!" she demanded. "HUG ME!"

I did. She smiled up at me, put her grubby hand on my cheek, kissed me with a big SMACK and said, "I'm gonna go in the other room now."

Then she ran off, giggling.

And you know what? My day ain't so bad.

Posted by Lani at 7:54 AM | Comments (4)

October 17, 2005

Flirting with... Teresa Medeiros!

He leaned across the table toward me, his dark blue eyes sparkling with a come-hither look. With his bad boy grin and lightly tousled hair, I couldn't help but want to take him into my arms. He reached across the table, closing the space between us.

"You're so pretty," he whispered, gently stroking my hair.

Before I could respond, his mom snatched him up into her arms and snapped, "Don't mind him. He's a terrible flirt and he just loves blondes."

I grinned as she carried the four-year-old across the crowded pizza joint. He hung over her shoulder, waving wistfully and still casting me longing glances. So it's true, I thought. Some men really are born flirts!

I once worked with just such a guy. Based on his numerous and well-documented affairs of the heart, you would have expected him to be a combination of George Clooney and Brad Pitt, with a little Keanu thrown in to spice the mix. Instead he was a stocky, rather ordinary looking fellow with a receding hairline, a slight paunch, and a mischievous twinkle in his eye. I just couldn't figure out what it was about him that made perfectly rational women abandon both their morals and their marriages. Then during one slow night on the ward, he offered to teach me how to play Chinese checkers. Since he wasn't exactly inviting me up to his place to see his etchings, I decided I'd be safe. That's when I learned his secret. He treated me with perfect respect. (I was HIS supervisor, after all). There wasn't even a hint of inappropriate innuendo, no casual touches or suggestive winks. BUT his focus on me was absolute. During those magic moments, it was as if I was the only woman—no, the only human being—on the entire planet.

Ah ha! That was it, I realized! That was how he convinced women to tug off both their panties and their wedding rings! (Not to worry. I was in no danger of doing either.) But I did feel as if I'd spent an hour in the company of a master flirt. He'd reminded me that women are absolute suckers for attention because let's face it—we deserve so much more of it than we ever get.

So the next time that cute guy at the theater concession stand gives you an extra squirt of butter on your popcorn or a handsome businessman offers to help you heft your luggage into the overhead bin, it's okay to feel warm and tingly. Just keep your panties—and your wedding ring—on until you get home!

Teresa Medeiros wrote her first novel at the age of twenty-one. All sixteen of her books have been national bestsellers, climbing as high as #12 on the New York Times bestseller list, #20 on USA Today, and #9 on Publishers Weekly. She is a six-time RITA finalist, a two-time PRISM winner, and a two-time recipient of the Waldenbooks Award for bestselling fiction. Her latest New York Times bestseller and very first vampire romance, AFTER MIDNIGHT, is on sale now. Teresa Medeiros contributed the humorous essay "My Darling Mr. Darcy" for Flirting With Pride and Prejudice, available in stores now from BenBella Books!

Posted by Lani at 6:00 AM | Comments (1)

October 16, 2005

Flirting with My Name

From Michelle, Reflecting in Rotterdam...

So, I've been away for a bit...

I was in America, yay, and I had a lovely, lovely time hanging with Teenager #1 who has just started college in America, and also I had a lovely, lovely time at the New Jersey Romance Writer's conference last weekend where I got to hang with our Lani and also a lot of other lovely, lovely people I hadn't seen in a while.

It was a complete blast! And, I am relieved to report, I had no trouble whatsoever with trains, planes or my hire car, and even more relieved that this time, my trip did not involve public transport strikes and extortionate cab fares of $150 or being put on flight standby! (But it did involve a few outletting trips and bargains, because I love a good bargain!)

So why am I flirting with my name? I hear you all cry. What's that got to do with the price of Kenneth Cole bargain shoes at the outlets?

Well...

While I was at the conference during which I (a) inelegantly spilled coffee down my new pale green skirt, (b) inelegantly dropped my bread roll on the floor, and (c) inelegantly dipped the sleeve of my new jacket in gravy, I wondered, as I have at other inelegant moments in my life, if changing my name would miraculously make me (a) nonclumsy, (b) suave, and (c) sophisticated.

But rather than change my name to oh, I don't know, Claudia or Naomi or Kate and become an instant supermodel (in my dreams) it occured to me that I could change my name without, you know, actually changing my name. All I have to do is switch it from English to another language!

Here are my options:

1. In France, people call me Meechelle (except with a French accent which sounds much more exotic than in English).

2. In London, cockney people call me Meeshew (with an emphasis on the Mee bit).

3. In Holland, Dutch people call me Michell-le (adding a syllable to the end of my name which sounds like the French "le").

4. In Japan (and I know this not because I have ever been to Japan, but because Teenager #1 is studying Japanese) I am Meesheroo. In Japan, in full, I am Koonar Meesheroo San.

Oh, but I am so in love with option 4 because doesn't that sound like the name of someone elegant and nonclumsy? Also, secretly I've always wanted to be Japanese because all the Japanese women I've met are elegant and poised and definitely do not throw food on their nicest clothes...

Meesheroo, off to cook Sunday lunch (but hopefully in an elegant kind of way).

PS. The skirt and jacket made a full recovery!

Posted by Michelle at 6:14 AM | Comments (5)

October 14, 2005

Flirting with Exhaustion

I finally finished the 480 pages of my first legal thriller yesterday at six pm, after yanking out the middle and redoing it. Then I had to get up at 6 a.m. to go help out in a classroom filled with first graders.

Owning a first grader of my own, I was very afraid.

The kids were terrific, though, and way more awake than me. I had tons of fun listening to them read and explaining what an author is, though most of them seemed to take a sort of “yeah, right” attitude to my professed career. My favorite response?

“You can’t be an arfer. You’re not dead.”

Trust me, after this week, I feel a little dead. So I have absolutely nothing fun, except a quiz to tell you which SERENITY character you are – go here.

Or the GORGEOUS cover of my July, ’06 chick lit, SEVEN WAYS TO LOSE YOUR LOVER. (you have to scroll down a bit)

Or the website of the very talented Charlaine Harris, whose Sookie Stackhouse southern vampire mystery series I just discovered.

Me? I’m going to bed.

Hugs and happy weekend,
Alesia

This very loosely-themed blog was brought to you by Flirting month here on Literary Chicks! Alesia contributed the essay "The Evolution of Envy" for Flirting With Pride and Prejudice, available in stores now from BenBella Books, to which Lani and Michelle also contributed. For more information on how you can win a copy, click here!

Posted by Alesia at 8:49 PM | Comments (1)

October 10, 2005

Flirting with... Shanna Swendson!

I really should identify with Lizzie Bennet in PRIDE AND PREJUDICE. After all, she's the kind of smart, sassy Everywoman who is the prototypical chick lit heroine (as I suggested in my FLIRTING WITH PRIDE AND PREJUDICE essay ­ see how cleverly I brought that in?). But to be totally honest, I think I have to identify more with Mr. Darcy.

Darcy may be handsome (especially now that for so many of us he eternally wears Colin Firth's face), wealthy, intelligent and an all-around good guy, but let's face it, he hasn't the slightest clue about how to flirt. Dare I say, he's even a bit socially inept. He just hides it well behind that arrogant facade.

Lizzie accuses him of being proud and arrogant, but I have to admit that when I'm at a party, I act a lot more like Darcy than Lizzie. Instead of talking easily with the guests and flirting with the women (who are more than willing to flirt back), he hovers on the sidelines and makes sarcastic remarks about the proceedings to hide his discomfort. Yep, that would be my standard party behavior. It's even worse when he sees someone he finds appealing. That's when all his social skills fly right out the window. His friend suggests he ask Lizzie to dance, and he goes overboard denying he has any interest in her, going so far as to insult her (and come on, we all know he'd already noticed her eyes).

That's definitely a been there, done that scenario for me. If I'm at a party and have noticed a particular guy, the last thing I want is for one of my friends to suggest I talk to him or ask him to dance. If he's within his earshot, that's when I want the earth to open up and swallow me, right then.

I find myself reverting to seventh grade, when it was mortifying to think of a guy knowing you were interested, and I find myself immediately denying any and all interest.

Gee, no wonder I'm still single!

But as we later learn, Darcy is more shy than arrogant. He's an entirely different person when you see him in his comfort zone around his close friends and family. He's not a person who's going to do well at parties. He still struggles a bit with expressing himself ­ who else would declare his love for someone by telling her how horrified he is about feeling that way toward her? ­ but when she gives him a chance, he's more than able to show his admiration for her. He may not be someone who can make witty conversation at a party, but he'll go to the ends of the earth to help you when you most need it.

Maybe that's why Mr. Darcy is one of the most beloved romantic heroes of all time. His shyness and lack of flirting ability make him human. A character like Darcy (especially if he really did look like Colin Firth) who was totally at ease would be almost insufferable. He'd be too good to be true.
But Lizzie can be fairly well assured that he's not going to stray from her.
If he prefers the company of his loved ones and makes a terrible first impression, that's going to make it difficult for him to start an affair with anyone else.

So, while I wish I could be a Lizzie, who can be the life of the party with a clever quip for every occasion and a friendly, open nature, I'm stuck with being a Darcy, doomed to hover on the edges of the party, wishing I could be at home with a good book. But is that really so bad? Do we all need to be good at flirting, or do we need a few people who'd far rather be direct instead of playing games and who'd rather stick with a few close friends than be the life of the party? I just need to get out of junior high and get over that fear of anyone knowing I'm interested. Then maybe I could have a nice, direct conversation with someone I find appealing and give him a chance to see what I can be like in my comfort zone.

Shanna Swendson sold her first book at the age of 24 and went on to sell four more short contemporary romances before the age of 30. She didn't know it at the time, but she was always writing what we now call chick lit, just published in romance novel form. Her latest book, ENCHANTED, INC., was a June 2005 release from Ballantine Books. A sequel, ONCE UPON STILETTOS, will be released in June 2006. Shanna contributed the analytical essay "The Original Chick-Lit Masterpiece" for Flirting With Pride and Prejudice, available in stores now from BenBella Books!

Web site: http://www.shannaswendson.com

Posted by Lani at 6:00 AM | Comments (0)

October 8, 2005

Flirting with Grammar

From Lani, kicking herself in New Jersey...

Hey, all! I'm sitting in my hotel room here at the New Jersey Romance Writers Put Your Heart In A Book conference (a room which I'm sharing with our own lovely Michelle; we miss you, Alesia!) working on my revision of THE COMEBACK KISS. I don't have a real blog for today, but I did want to share a revelation that I just had.

I have to say, grammar and spelling have always come pretty easily to me. I don't know why, as the English language is as confusing and inconsistent as a spoiled debutante, but I have some kind of affinity for it, and I ain't looking the gift horse in the mouth.

Despite this affinity, however, I've always had one problem...

... well, actually, two. Affect and effect. I've never really understood how to use them, what makes them not interchangeable. I've asked the question quite a few times of different people, and I always got these long-winded explanations about what affect means (to bring about) and what effect means (to have brought something about... or something) and it never made any sense.

Then, this morning, I looked it up again on the internet and according to Dictionary.com, the difference is pretty freaking simple.

Affect is a verb.

Effect is a noun.***

Now it makes total sense. Now I get it. Why the hell didn't anyone just say that before? Strunk and White, writing teachers, everyone I've asked or referenced has given this huge explanation of the difference without bothering to get to the heart of the fact that affect is a verb, and effect is a noun, which would have solved my problems ages ago.

***Note to grammar mavens: If this information from Dictionary.com is wrong and the difference between affect and effect is infinitely more complex and subtle, do me a favor? Say nothing. Let me live with my delusion. Pretty please? Thanks.

This very loosely-themed blog was brought to you by Flirting month here on Literary Chicks! Lani contributed the essay "My Firth Love" for Flirting With Pride and Prejudice, available in stores now from BenBella Books, to which Alesia and Michelle also contributed. For more information on how you can win a copy, click here!

Posted by Lani at 10:01 AM | Comments (5)

October 7, 2005

Flirting with Disaster

From Alesia, who always has to do things the hard way

I killed someone, and it’s really causing problems. Well, actually, I killed two people, but the guy I murdered was really crucial to the flow and pattern. But the woman I killed was nice and everybody liked her, and her husband is devastated. This, as I learned, is a tough thing to pull off.

[EDITOR’S NOTE: Alesia is, of course, talking about the CHARACTERS in her BOOK, and not the actual taking of life, which we at Literary Chicks are very, very much against.]

It’s hard, as you might guess, to balance what is basically a funny book with a dead sympathetic character. LESSON LEARNED. I’ll never do it again. But it was a challenge, and I wanted to try it, and my normal daredevil, death-defying nature (let’s call her Evilla) said, “What the heck! Try it! What have you got to lose?”

This is always BAD.

This is the same Evilla who told me jumping the speed bumps in the road on my brand-new roller blades with the neighborhood kids would be a good idea. She disappeared when the wrist fracture happened, though. Evilla only likes to flirt with disaster, not live with the consequences.

Now my five year-old daughter, Princess, is carrying on the family genes in fine style. The very first week of first grade, the phone rings.

Her: “This is the school nurse--”
Me: What did she do? Are there broken bones? [Note that I have a son in that school, too. But it never even crossed my mind that it was him.]
Her: Not this time. But it involved the balance beam, and a maneuver that tried to defy the laws of physics . . .

While I frantically asked for more information, I could hear Evilla in the background, chuckling. “That’s my GIRL!” she said. I knew I was doomed.

There is a problem with my life these days, though. All of the risks I used to take – the ones that made life fun and crazy (and occasionally stupid) – I don’t seem to take any more. I have kids. I have to be responsible. I only get my risks out on the page, which is a great place to take risks, because it makes my books better, but still . . .

I’m going to jump out of my ruts and routines. I’m going to go crazy. I’ll report in here occasionally about how flirting with disaster . . . or flirting with ADVENTURE . . . is making over my life.

YOUR WEEKEND ASSIGNMENT: Tell me one thing you plan to do to jump CLEAR out of your normal routine, and then GO DO IT!!! I’ll go first – I’m going to teach all the kids in the neighborhood how to stand on their heads. In the rain.

Hugs,
Alesia, off to find that balance beam

This very loosely-themed blog was brought to you by Flirting month here on Literary Chicks! Alesia contributed the essay "The Evolution of Envy" for Flirting With Pride and Prejudice, available in stores now from BenBella Books, to which Lani and Michelle also contributed. For more information on how you can win a copy, click on the logo on our site!

Posted by Alesia at 10:08 AM | Comments (1)

October 5, 2005

Flirting with Zen

From Lani... ohm...

Life is insane. Kids. Work. Money. Marriage. Everywhere I look there's something else there, looking at me with a 70/30 mix of expectation and the blank certainty that I won't be able to live up to that expectation. Or maybe that's me projecting. I don't know. It's been a long time since freshman psych. Anyway, I remember when I was a kid watching some variety show and they had one of those plate spinning guys on. You know what I'm talking about? This guy.

Yeah.

That's what I feel like much of the time. Except that my plates are chipped, mismatched, and purchased on clearance. But I get that feeling most of the time, like I'm just zipping from one plate to the next, trying to keep them all spinning.

So, I've made a decision. I've decided that it's time to find my zen. It's time to stop stressing about all the things I'm doing wrong and start doing yoga or pilates or shrooms. Something.

Okay. Fine. I'm kidding about the shrooms. But still. How is a super-neurotic, raised in the northeast girl supposed to find zen? It's not like you can just go to a bar, buy it a drink, have disappointing sex and call it yours. It seems much more complicated than that. So, like most writers when faced with a question they're not sure how to answer, I went to my most trusted friend.

These are some of the results I got:

Find Your Inner Zen with this great MP3 player. This was the #1 response for "How to find your inner zen." An adver-article selling me an MP3 player. This is what I believe in zen circles is called "bullshit."

Next, is a quiz to find my IQ. Only, I didn't ask about my IQ. I asked about zen. The only connectoin I can find is in the name of the website. Zenhex. Google, babe, you're really letting me down.

Oh. And apparently I'm a genius. Too bad the quiz is, also, bullshit.

Take the quiz: "Find your IQ (pictures)"

Genius IQ 141 and above
Wow. Your IQ is 141 and above. Meaning you are smart as hell. Intelligence probably runs in your family but you are probably very modest about your intelligence and may down play it to feel like you belong. Rock ON Smart Ass!

Next comes more advertising, something for guitarists about a bass zen, and then this link for laughing librarians. Now that's just weird. Librarians shouldn't be laughing. Everyone knows that.

(Just kidding. We here at Literary Chicks luuurrrrrrrve librarians, especially the ones who read our books and recommend them to their patrons. Love. You. Guys. Laugh all you want. But the site is, and this is not the fault of librarians at all, still pretty weird, you gotta admit.)

Okay, where was I? Oh, yes. Weird search results. I have to say, though, I'm pleasantly surprised - so far, no naked girls. This is a massive surprise, as you can search on nuns doing charity work, and guaranteed there's a girl named Charity peeling off a nun's habit on the net somewhere. I am pleasantly surprised, and yet... I am still only on the first page of results. I'm sure there's a naked chick named Zen out there finding herself (shut up, Bob) somewhere.

And, crap, now that I used the phrase "naked chick" all those idiots will be clicking here. To this day, you know what the search is that brings the most people to Literary Chicks? There once was a lady from Nantucket. Is it really just teenagers on the internet? Really?

So, more MP3 player ads, more crazy librarians, etcetera, etcetera, then finally, I stumbled across this, which seems to be a Q&A with some zen master. I'll just quote a small bit here for you.

If you open your mouth, that's a mistake. Close your mouth! Put it all down means more than just saying "put it all down," okay? If you completely put it all down then there is no "I-my-me." Many people have I-my-me mind. I-my-me comes from where? From desire mind. When desire mind appears then I-my-me mind appears. I-my-me makes all of our suffering.

Um. Possibly it's been translated from a language in which it made, I don't know. Sense. Maybe. But I've read it five times and still... I got nothing. I got no zen. All I really have is a yoga mat and a deadline. So, I'm just gonna work with those and if anyone here understands what the hell the Zen Master is talking about, feel free to elucidate.

Hmmm. I have to say, I'm really thinking about that MP3 player, though...

This very loosely-themed blog was brought to you by Flirting month here on Literary Chicks! Lani contributed the essay "My Firth Love" for Flirting With Pride and Prejudice, available in stores now from BenBella Books, to which Alesia and Michelle also contributed. For more information on how you can win a copy, click here!

Posted by Lani at 9:00 AM | Comments (2)

October 4, 2005

Flirting with... Jennifer O'Connell!

When I first started thinking about the topic of flirting, I have to admit, turning my charms upon unsuspecting men wasn't the first thing that came to mind. I didn't recall my youth spent chatting up cute boys in painter's pants and AC/DC t-shirts, or standing by the lockers batting my luscious eyelashes (painted blue, of course, thanks to Estee Lauder's foray into colored mascara in the 80's). There were no memories of sweet giggles, or even coy glances across cafeterias filled with the scent of Bonnie Bell Lip Smackers and soggy pizza (on Fridays, of course). Instead of all the people I've flirted with, I thought about the things I've flirted with - different careers, moving to new places, attempting new things.

What quickly became apparent to me was how easy it used to be to flirt, to dabble, to approach things playfully. As children we flirt with things all the time. The idea of being a lion tamer one day and a movie star the next isn't looked down upon, it's expected. As we get older, we flirt with the options we have - art school or Ivy League college, small New England campus or the University of Hawaii (who didn't, at least for a moment, think it would be cool to wear a bikini top to class?). Even in college we flirt, with majors, classes, the idea of who we are or who we want to be.

The summer before my senior year of college I studied for the GRE, figuring I'd go straight to graduate school. Once school started I began researching all the advertising agencies in Los Angeles and even set up appointments to meet with them over Christmas break. By April I'd applied to attend a publishing program at Radcliffe so I could become an editor. And, after acceptance to and completion of the program, I moved to Arizona to pursue a non-publishing job in marketing.

In the course of a year I'd flirted with the variety of paths my life could take and the different cities those paths would lead me to. Nobody thought I was crazy for thinking about all the possibilities, for considering a million different options. Of course, I did end up pumping frozen yogurt at the Cultured Cow for a few months when the marketing job didn't pan out. But even if my first job was a bust, I did learn how to blend a perfect chocolate-Oreo milkshake, a skill that will serve me well and provide a fallback career if this writing thing doesn't work out.

But while flirting is acceptable when you're young, it becomes downright unacceptable with each passing year. Adults who flirt with the idea of changing careers are confused, if not downright irresponsible. People who consider buying sports cars past a certain age must be having a mid-life crisis. The idea of picking up your family to move somewhere new for a change of scenery, well, that's just crazy. All of a sudden, people who dabble are unfocused, and people who muse about making a change are unrealistic dreamers.

But that's the thing about flirting. It's not about the doing, it's about the option of doing. When we flirt with people, there's no harm, nobody expects you to marry a cute guy just because you flirted with him while standing in line for a taco. Flirting is harmless, it's fun, and it's human.
Because flirting is about possibility, it's about stretching our imagination and taking it for a walk, even if, in the end, we end up back where we started.

So I continue to flirt, with thoughts of running the Boston marathon even though I've never gone further than a 5k, and the possibility that I will end up in Oprah's audience for her Favorite Things show. I still flirt with the idea that I'll be a US senator, that I'll be president of my alma mater, or that I will learn to sail a gorgeous sapphire blue sail boat around the Caribbean. I will remain a serial flirter, and that's okay with me. I know that even if none of those flirtings work out I can always rely on my ability to making a mean chocolate-Orea milkshake. And flirt with the idea of using vanilla ice cream, even if I never do.

Jennifer O'Connell contributed the essay "A Little Friendly Advice" for Flirting With Pride and Prejudice, available in stores now from BenBella Books!

Posted by Lani at 6:00 AM | Comments (2)

October 3, 2005

Flirting with... Beth Kendrick!

It’s sad but true: I’m flirting-impaired. I’m shy, self-effacing and prone to telling long, boring stories about “cute” things my dogs have done recently. (Yes, I’m one of THOSE people.) If flirting were driving, I’d be putting around in a rusty 1973 Gremlin. Some of my friends, however, would be flooring it in their cherry red Ferraris. So without further ado, I give you:

FLIRTING WITH THE MASTERS

MADISON: I met Madison in college, when one of my boyfriends (“the Wank Biscuit”) started hitting on her and offered to buy her a shot of tequila while I was sitting right there on the barstool next to him. Madison wasn’t even flirting with him, she was just sitting around, looking the way she always looks, which is kind of like Jennifer Garner. I ended breaking up with Lord Wank-a-doo and making friends with Madison, who to this day feigns fascination with my boring dog stories.

When I called her and asked her for her flirting advice, she said: “When a guy starts talking to you, insult him with a big smile and a coy look in your eye. Be mean. Then they don’t know how to respond and presto, you’re in charge.”

Me: “Insult them? Really? That’s your story and you’re sticking to it?”

Madison: “Totally. Men love it. Talk some smack, hit them with a dazzling smile, and their brain turns to mush.”

Me: “You’re in desperate need of psychiatric intervention.”

Madison: “Maybe, but so are all these guys for liking it. Anyway, what else is going on with you? How are the dogs?”

I can vouch for the efficacy of her advice, because I have seen her in action and she has men tripping over themselves to be next in line for the Simon Cowell treatment. Maybe you have to look like Jennifer Garner to pull it off. Or maybe you just have to live in Los Angeles.

ELLIE: Ellie was my roommate for three years, and she is one of those women who can throw on a vintage Star Wars T-shirt from the 70’s, a pair of black leather pants, a fake fur leopard raincoat and eyeglasses that she doesn’t actually need and look like she’s ready to have tea with the Queen. She flirts with everybody—men, women, kittens—and they all adore her. When I first asked her for her best flirting tips, she denied having any. (LIE!) When pressed, she offered up the following:

“Find a really lame, funny excuse to initiate physical contact—challenge the guy to an arm wrestling match or just, you know, jump into the tub with him when he’s taking a bath. If you’re out with a guy and you think he might want to kiss you but you’re not totally sure, lift up your shirt and flash him some belly. Works every time.”

She would also like to add that when in doubt, you should put on a costume, as these tend to lower social inhibitions. She suggests Wonder Woman.

CORINNE: Corinne and I went to Paris together and we were pretty scared because we had heard rumors about Parisians treating Americans roughly the same way Madison treats her men. But once we got to France, everything was copacetic. No one gave us a problem; in fact, men bent over backwards to assist us in our quests to find the Eiffel Tower and the Musee d’Orsay. This is because Corinne is a veritable Ambassador of Flirting. If you yourself are planning a trip overseas, I recommend that you take her along. She’s built like a bouncy blonde cheerleader but her appeal goes beyond that. She’s bubbly, she’s happy, she actually likes talking to strangers. Can you imagine?!?

On our last night in Paris, we decided to check out the French discotheque scene but we’d been sort of hungover when we packed for the trip, so our wardrobe options were severely limited. Corinne ended up in a velvet cocktail dress, sparkly silver barrettes, and clunky black combat boots. As we sauntered in to that nightclub and every head turned to check out the cute Americaine, she gave me the mother of all flirting tips. This one has stayed with me and served me well throughout the years:

“If you’re walking right, no one’s gonna notice your shoes.”

So there you have it: be mean, break out the bulletproof bracelets and golden lasso, and walk like you mean it. Oh, and buy the Pride and Prejudice anthology, because I’m pretty sure that’s what I was supposed to be talking about in this blog entry. Oops.

BIO: Beth Kendrick is better at writing than she at flirting. Swear to God. Go read My Favorite Mistake, Exes and Ohs and the upcoming Fashionably Late and see if you don’t agree. Beth contributed the essay "Does This Petticoat Make Me Look Fat?" for Flirting With Pride and Prejudice, available in stores now from BenBella Books!

Posted by Lani at 6:00 AM | Comments (1)

October 1, 2005

Welcome to October!

From Lani, burning the midnight oil...

First, on behalf of all the Literary Chicks, I'd like to say THANK YOU Megan Crane for being a wonderful guest literary chick, and congratulations to the winners of her signed books! Winners, please stop back and tell us how you liked them!

Also, everyone be sure to be here on Monday when the first of our guests for October, Beth Kendrick, steps up with a great guest blog on Flirting! Then stick with us for the rest of the month to get great essays by Jennifer O'Connell, Joyce Millman, Laura Resnick, Shanna Swendson, Jill Winters, and Teresa Medeiros!

And speaking of Flirting...

Here are the rules for entering to win one of 10 copies of Flirting with Pride and Prejudice, the new anthology to which Alesia, Michelle and I are all contributors! But if you absolutely can't wait for the giveaway, Flirting with P&P is available on Amazon, at Barnes and Noble.com, and in most major booksellers! It's a terrific anthology, edited by the sublime Jennifer Crusie, and published by BenBella Books, a fantastic publisher with an incredible line of pop culture books called SmartPop Books. Definitely worth checking out...

Okay. The rules.

How To Enter: Send an email to giveaway@literarychicks.com with "Flirting" as the subject line. Make sure it's a reliable e-mail, because this is how we're going to contact you if you win.

One entry per person.

Relatives of any Literary Chick, guest or otherwise, are not eligible.

If you're under 18, get a parent's permission.

All entries received between today and Saturday, October 29th at midnight the sender's time will be eligible.

Winners will be chosen at random.

Winners will be announced On Monday, October 31st.

Sorry the rules were so boring this time. Next time, I promise to shake it up. But I've got about five deadlines hanging over my head, and I gots to go! But it'll be a great promotion - be sure to join us for all of October!

Posted by Lani at 2:25 PM | Comments (1)