"Bomb Pop" is re-released by Noble Romance. Join me at nobleauthors.blogspot.com

Once upon a time, there was a contemporary erotic romance called "Bomb Pop." Released on the 4th of July, 2009, this plucky little e-book garnered some sweet reviews before the publisher went out of business. It disappeared from Amazon's Kindle store.

Now it's back. Noble Romance re-released "Bomb Pop" at midnight. Join me at the NR Author's Blog January 31, 2011. I'll be popping in and out all day to blog, answer your questions, etc.

Bomb Pop (n): 1. A classic American frozen treat, a fruit-flavored popsicle in the red, white and blue of the American flag. 2. The story of Gretchen Malone, a second-grade teacher who normally keeps her wits about her, especially when it comes to workplace romances. That is, until hunky kindergarten teacher Thom Reno brings up a long-buried memory from summers past and a repressed schoolgirl crush along with it.

"What happens when you get a teacher who equates men to a 'bomb pop?' A short story so steamy you will have to fan yourself when you’re finished. 'Bomb Pop' is a great read! This is the first story I have read by Ms. O’Riordan but it won’t be my last. She is definitely an author to keep an eye out for." ~Stephanie Wilson (Manic Readers)

"If you're looking for a quick read that’s sweeter than candy and hotter than an August summer day, then 'Bomb Pop' by Erin O’Riordan is for you. Filled with sugary sweet metaphors that combine sex, popsicles and ice cream sundaes, this story will leave you craving a meltingly hot round of sweaty sex followed something icy cold and syrupy sweet to cool you off." ~Roxanne Rhoads (OystersAndChocolate.com)

"Well written, agreeable to read, inventive by times … and most important of all: erotic. I can only congratulate the author for her taste and sensitivity in writing and style." ~Lena Vanelslander (Facebook)

UPDATE (January 2015): Find "Bomb Pop" at my Etsy shop, Writer's Brain Has Wings. 

https://www.etsy.com/listing/208588716/bomb-pop-short-story-e-book

'Joy in a Box' by Sally Hanan, Inspirational Flash Fiction

Texas author Sally Hanan is originally from Dublin. Perhaps that's why the soul-searching slices of life in her flash fiction collection Joy in a Box (2009, Smashwords, also available for Kindle) might remind you of a miniaturized Dubliners.

The stories range from bitter to sweet. A few are based on Bible stories or true events. Most are canny observations of how Christians do, should or shouldn't act. Yes, this Christian author pokes gentle fun at misplaced zeal. She turns the same lovingly, teasingly critical eye on us authors in "Writers Forum: Translation 101." Deep down, we all think we're William Shakespeare, don't we?

What Hanan does exceedingly well is focus on relationships. Some of my favorites include "Roses Are Red," in which a widower must find a way to express his true feelings for the second love of his life. In "In the Orange-Sherbet Light," a middle-aged woman expresses gratitude to the aunt who adopted her many years before. Perhaps the best is "I Can Smell Him," a story of love and loyalty in which a married woman is tempted by an office romance.

There's also a touch of humor, as in "That Stalker Thing." Anyone who's ever had a celebrity crush should be able to relate to the hapless cocktail waitress's experience. Any author/edit whose other website is devoted to the fashion uses of duct tape [sorry, it's defunct now] must have a sense of humor.

Because it can be read in small chunks, this book is perfect for inspirational book clubs composed of busy members. If you loved Oliver Frances' book Heart and Souls, you'll also love this book.

Journal of Rosa and Bella - A Post Apocalyptic Life - Part 2

August - September 2012

Me and Bella - just us two left in this dying world; ever silent, beautiful, baby Bella - staring at me all the time – accusingly. She was sent to drive me mad, I tell you. There is never any input from her sky blue eyes. Though the sky blue of which I speak is not the sky of today, her gaze is more dirty, pond water, blue these days. Her toothless grin never points at me, anymore. Though, she only had a couple of teeth to lose, at her age. Mine have mostly gone now, too. No man will ever fall for this dried up walking corpse, but I still apply pink lipstick.

There may also be others, I remind myself; other scavengers like me, but invisible to me, hiding somewhere. They wouldn’t want me in their gang though – it’s like school all over again. Ah school – I so loathed it, but I'd go back to it in a heart-beat.

Perhaps everyone melted away. I know we liquefy – I see it all over the place. I see myself dissolve like a Madame Tussaud's wax statue, under a UV lamp. I smell it too, the rotting flesh all over the world – the ubiquitous and now, familiar stench. I don’t scratch it off, it falls off when I undress, or bathe. So, I don’t do those activities anymore.

At least the pain is less evident, where the first few layers of skin have gone. That’s a blessed relief for us both.

Yes, there is almost certainly, no one else left.

What was I saying? My memory!

Oh yes: Itching! God, that’s the worst; all day and night. I itch almost to the point of numbness. Bella is very good and so much better than I - at coping. She has a secret. She used to cry often - like babies do, but for weeks now (or is it longer – time is difficult to hold onto, now) she barely makes a sound. And she never, ever scratches? I don’t even know if she itches like I do, but if she does, she has learned to block it out.

My clever girl, with her secrets.

September or October 2012

I found a gun. And one bullet.

The question now – at least for me – is whether to abandon Bella to her own devises when I taste the sweet nectar of the bullet, or to kill her too. It’s for the best. It’s a no-win situation; either way I do wrong – I know that. I could smother her – or drown her – or break her tiny neck. But could I? How do you actually kill your own child?

But is leaving her survival to chance alone, a much more disturbing cruelty? God knows? Ah, God - he has forsaken us.

I’d love to talk to Bella again – to hear her little mumbles. She’s so silent, so private.

She is quite slow when it comes to speech. She was beginning to say the odd word before the world went mad – before the bombs. But, over the last eight or nine months, she just stopped. I don't recall the day it happened - it just did.

She just sits around in her pram all day. I put her to bed every night and put her in her pram every day, and she’s happy as Larry (who ever Larry is, I doubt he’s really happy anymore). Bella never complains, even with all this misery around her. I was lucky to have her, I know. Some babies are a pain.

She’s changed so much. Her blue eyes – how they used to sparkle – no more. Her blonde curls have fallen to the floor; her pink skin has grown ashen - peeling off like gift wrap tissue. Sometimes I even imagine she is dead, but I ignore such thoughts. They’re just the craziness sent to haunt me. I wouldn’t allow her to die after all – I’m a good Mom. Its craziness.

Where was I? Yes - I’m decided then, just because I am crazy and hopeless, just because I see only years of pain and loneliness ahead of us, it doesn’t mean my tiny three year old daughter feels the same way – she must live on - alone if needs be. She’s adapted so much better than I had. They say the young do though, don’t they?

Plus, I only have one bullet.

I’ve tried to talk to her about it, but she’s no great conversationalist. I rarely get her attention these days. She barely even blinks at me, she certainly doesn't want to make life and death decisions.

But I have to. I’m only twenty one, myself. She should share in this decision, surely?

Poor Bella, you will not attend school, work towards a career, travel to far off lands, or marry a Truelove. Neither will I. Hell, it’s doubtful she’ll even reproduce as the fall out is ultimately going to affect fertility – isn’t it? I’ve not had a period since...?

November I think – 2012.

The bullet – The gun.

Her eyes are blank. They don’t see me anymore. I can’t put her down to sleep – I can’t lay her down. It’s all so final then.

Wake up - Dearest Bella.

November or December 2012

To whoever reads this, to whomever finds me and my sweet Bella, please be kind to us – we’d love a shared grave.

And good luck to you, in this awful place we leave behind.

shah wharton (c) 2010

Journal of Rosa and Bella - A Post Apocalyptic Life - Part 1

I have to take a moment to thank Cathy Stucker and BloggerLinkUp. BLU has been responsible for linking me up with my incredible guest bloggers Shaman Elder Maggie, Kate George and Danica Davidson this month. Today I'm lucky to have a tale contributed by poet/short story writer Shah Wharton. She's originally from the West Midlands, UK, and now lives in Dubai.

Journal of Rosa and Bella - A Post Apocalyptic Life - A Short Story by Shah Wharton

21st June 2012

I never knew how precious life was until six months ago, today. The Americans, the Iranians, the British – and then the world, all went mad. We were dying you see. Along with the planet. But no one wanted to stop it. Instead this.

The scientists had said it for years, and the Mayans forecast it correctly, to the day – The end of the world as we know it. There was a song too, I believe?

In times gone by, I would pray for a lotto win, or for a job offer, or a great exam result. More than once - I’m ashamed to say, I wasted prayer-time on winning the reverence of this or that man; “Please Lord, let him call me.” Lately, I look out to the ruddy sky line and pray for the living to stop fighting and reunite; not solely for us, you understand – but for all mankind who are left to walk around our fried planet. I doubt there are many.

How did it get to this – Jesus, what a nightmare? It’s so damn stupid. I sit here wondering why I used my vote on such a mad man. He took us to war and then to a full scale nuclear holocaust. My baby will inherit nothing but cancer and solitude.

28th June 2012

I believe there have to be others. Before long, madness would be the only alternative companion; well, apart from baby, Bella.

Indeed, since the wars and the bombs and Earth’s revolt; along with losing my family, friends, neighbours, weight and hair, I’ve also begun to lose my marbles, it seems. I talk to myself all the time now; though I think I did that a little before dooms-day. But now I see colours which dance on my breath, and nightmares pop up like hallucinations during wakefulness. This could be the pollution, the radiation - of course. However, at least twice I thought I saw people, who turned out to be a bin or a tree, and I have begun to feel increasingly suicidal.

I push such thoughts away – obviously. I kiss my Bella, holding her tight beneath the great big ruddy/blue sky. It’s beautifully odd.

We wait. We wait for survivors to find and liberate us from the fearful confines of our house.

July 10th 2012

I do realise that being suicidal might appear to be a contradiction, after reading my original statement about life appreciation, but not so. I do love life. Life itself isn’t the problem. I loved the life I had before the planetary demise, which I mournfully took for granted: The mom who would understandably lament each man I brought home; the dad who barely noticed me around his dinner table, yet felt such disappointment at my illegitimate pregnancy; and the menial job I originally took to pay off student debts, whilst awaiting a more worthy career opportunity. I remained there for over three years. I had Bella to look after.

Yes – I miss my old unappreciated life. I miss my old unappreciated family and friends.

Now life is too close to death. And therein lies the temptation. In fact, death and dust and radiation are all there is.

There were many looters in the mayhem of the aftermath. No doubt many of them have died since. Others must have moved away, leaving us behind. I should have trusted mankind a little more back then. We could have been with other people now, if I had. Instead, I took my Bella and hid - like a coward. I haven’t seen a single soul in over two months now, and the food supplies are running out fast. A stray Collie looked appetising yesterday. Would I eat it – probably not? I certainly couldn’t bring myself to feed it to Bella. I’d fear it might be infected – if it killed me, so be it. But not her. I doubt we’d be able to chew it anyway. Soft gums?

Bella has rice, mostly, though she left most of it again today. She has a shrinking appetite and bored taste buds.

August 2nd 2012

I thought I saw a policeman chatting with Bella on Wednesday. I put her outside in the garden, whilst I read a book I’d found on next doors, bedside table: ‘Great Expectations,’ no less! I rushed over to her, to save her or to meet a friendly man – whichever it would turn out to be. She’d laughed at something he said, and I wanted to hear the joke too. Instead of sharing, she hid him from me. When I challenged her about it, she said nothing and her expression gave little away. Poker-face. I hate that. I took her indoors immediately. She will earn her next treat. Bad Bella.

August 19th 2012

Suicidal ideas go round my head on a loop now. I spend hours away from home walking and talking things over with myself. I can't trust Bella. I tried to find food in the few shops still standing, which are filled with rotting corpses and little else. I got more rice.

I considered that if the normal social order was restored today, I might be sectioned and swiftly diagnosed with a multitude of disorders, and diseases. “She is a clear danger to herself, and society!”

There is no one to secure me. Poor Bella has only me – her crazy mother. Why should that have made me laugh? It did.

To be continued...

The Care and Feeding of a Mystery Novel by Guest Blogger Kate George

Award winning writer, Kate George, is the author of Moonlighting in Vermont and California Schemin’ (due out March 1, 2011). She lives in Vermont with Dogs, kids, and currently, snow. You can reach her at www.kategeorge.com. Her books are available at www.mainlymurderpress.com, amazon.com or can be ordered from any bookstore.

Pagan Spirits is proud to have Kate George here with a special guest post, "The Care and Feeding of a Mystery Novel."

This probably won’t come as a surprise to my regular readers, but I’m not a plotter. I made a stab at plotting for Moonlighting in Vermont, because I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to figure out how to get from point A to point B without some kind of outline. But I couldn’t stick with it. Half the fun of writing is seeing what will happen next. That’s also the hell of writing, but we’ll ignore that for the time being.

I love the discovery process. I’ll be typing along and something will appear on the page and I’ll think, Oh, that’s what happens! Then there are the times I’m driving down the road thinking about my characters, and what’s happened so far, and a crucial scene will occur to me. Sometimes whole blocks of dialog will come to me. Or I’ll get a glimpse into a character’s motivation. It’s kind of like magic.

That’s unless I write myself into a corner. It happens. In fact it happened recently. I went somewhere and when I got there I realized it wasn’t where I wanted to be. Another story maybe, but not the one I was currently working on. Maybe that can happen to writers who meticulously plot as well, but I’m guessing it’s not often. Come to think of it, I don’t write myself into a corner that often, but I hate it when I do. Now I’m going to have to toss at least a chapter.

Remember I said the surprise of what happens next wasn’t just the fun of writing but also the hell? I hate tossing work, I really do. But not as much as I hate trying to make a scene work that clearly doesn’t.

So how do you go about writing a mystery if you aren’t plotting the whole thing out? Well often I know a few key points. Maybe I’ll start with who died and who my protagonist is. If it’s romantic suspense then the hero will probably figure into my initial idea. But then sometimes the guy I thought was the hero turns out not to be. It’s someone else altogether. So I start with what I think I know.

I tend not to set things up ahead of time but jump right into where the action is. The unearthing of the body or in the case of California Schemin’ the un-skying of the body. Yes I said un-sky-ing. The body falls out of the sky. Sort of. Anyway, you know what I mean. I start where the action is and let it carry me along, and before I know it I’ve written an entire mystery. How fun is that?

Author/Translator Danica Davidson is in the house!

https://amzn.to/4deNd6K

Like many writers, I can’t imagine not writing. I’ve been a storyteller since a young age and have had dreams of being a professional writer for almost as long. A few years ago I started out as a freelancer.

I’ve also worked in the translation process, adapting Japanese books into English. I adapted the Japanese graphic novels Millennium Prime Minister and its sequel, Millennium Prime Minister 2, into English. You can see some samples here:

http://www.danicadavidson.com/English_Adaptation.php

You can also read about my process in adapting them at the VM Freelance Writers Connection:

http://www.thewmfreelanceconnection.com/2010/11/guest-post-finding-my-niche-translating.html

For about a year now I've had my own website. In it, I have links to articles, samples of my Japanese adaptation, and some descriptions of my novels. Please check it out!

To date, I’ve managed to sell a few hundred articles. To see the kinds of articles I've written, there are links to about 200 of them here:

http://www.danicadavidson.com/Published_Articles.html

Recently I was featured on the site Guide to Literary Agents where I wrote a guest column about what I’ve learned in my writing career. I hope what I wrote is helpful to writers wherever they are on their path.

Still, my favorite thing to do is write novels, and I’m actively seeking publication for a YA novel. I have a page on my novels here, though I admit I don't say too much, because I like to be careful:

http://www.danicadavidson.com/Novels.html

I was also recently interviewed by the literary magazine Writing It Real, where I talk in detail about my writing:

http://www.writingitreal.com/cgi-bin/get_article.pl?ID=566

I'm also trying (sometimes more or less successfully) to link my published work on my Twitter page. More followers are always welcome -- thank you!

~Danica Davidson~

Erin's Note: Pagan Spirits thanks you for stopping by, Danica! Good luck with your YA novel! Updated in 2024 to remove defunct links and add a link to Danica's more recent work. 

Shaman Elder Maggie: Give Yourself Everything You Need to Be Absolutely Joyous

Shaman Elder Maggie Wahls stopped by Pagan Spirits to share some excerpts from her book The Shaman Speaks: How to Use the Power of Shamanism to Heal Your Life Now.

Excerpt #1, From the Introduction: This book is not about Shamanism but about how you can live in your own power, as taught by a traditional Shaman. Over the years, thousands of people have asked Shaman Elder Maggie the hard questions of life. In an effort to bring you the truth as Shamans all over the world recognize it, she presents here some of the questions that her students have asked her over the years and her poignant, loving words of shamanic truth for them and for you.

These questions are from your neighbors, your friends; questions that we all ask at one time or another during the course of this adventure called life. It is an extremely rare privilege to be able to sit in the presence of a traditional Shaman and find answers for those issues that most concern you. Usually, one would have to travel thousands of miles and trek into remote areas to find just such an indigenous Shaman.

We are truly blessed to have Shaman Elder Maggie in our presence today as she has been given the mission to bring the knowledge of the traditional Shaman into the modern day world. This book is her gift to you. This book is will enable you to sit at the feet of a traditional indigenous Shaman, one who is a master, a mystic and a visionary, to ask your pressing questions and receive those answers which are unlikely to be found in any other way.

These questions were chosen from thousands of others as they most represent the knowledge and skills that anyone can use to bring happiness, love and prosperity into their lives. The exercises and visualizations are taken from her course called Shaman Apprenticeship 101. More information about her courses can be found on her website at www.shamanelder.com

It is with love and concern as a healer that this book has been written. Its motive is to give you knowledge and truth as the Shaman knows the truth. Shamanism is not some mystical, magical power given only to a few. It is in knowing the truths and living them that anyone can claim their power and become free. To the extent that you do this, the power of Shamanism can be yours. It is what you do that defines you.

Excerpt #2: “What does personal power have to do with Shamanism?” Everything. Who do you give your power to? You give it to a doctor when you go for treatment. You give it to your spouse when you do something for him or her that you would not necessarily do otherwise. You give it to your children when you do things for them that you might not normally do. You give it away when you give in to someone else's wishes, desires or demands; when you allow someone else to control you in any way. When you say, “Feed me, heal me, and support me” in any way emotionally, mentally or physically, you are giving your power away.

Some people find it easier to give their power away than to own their power. It may feel easier to say, “Feed me, heal me, and support me!” than to do it yourself. And so we have codependency and unhappy relationships. The truth is, no one can feed you, heal you or support you in the manner that you can for yourself. Why? Because no one loves you as much as you love yourself. And that is the way it should be. Jesus says that all the commandments boil down to this: “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.” This is the greatest and first commandment. And a second is like it: “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.”- Matthew 22:34-40.

You are actually supposed to love yourself at least as much as you love others. But we don't love ourselves very much, do we?! In fact, we love everybody else far more than we love ourselves. And because we don't love ourselves very much, we let other people take over where we should be in control. We feed the needs and desires of other people and put our own on the back burner. And after a while we start to resent those people we are feeding because we are starving and we think that it is their fault. But it is not their fault.

Everyone is out there trying to get the best for themselves. Your kids are looking out for themselves. Your husband/wife is trying to get what he/she needs. Your parents are trying to get what they need. And instead of you trying to get what you need, you are out there giving everybody else what they need, what they ask for, and what they desire. Guess what? They will get what they need whether you are the giver or not. The point here is… who is getting you what you want?

Now, if I am completely washed up here and you are one of those people using others to get what you desire, well the same thing applies. Only you can give you what you need. If you need healing, you will find the very best and easiest way to get healing right inside you. If you need love, the greatest and freest love is right inside you. If you need support, you can support yourself. If you need food, you know how to work for it. When you understand that loving yourself and caring for yourself is the only responsibility demanded of you, your life suddenly, becomes a joy to live! You are not responsible for Mom, Dad, Grown up Children, Hubby or Wife. You are only responsible for you! It’s so much easier! And then you can start to really love yourself, to be kind to yourself, and to care for your needs, your desires, and your wishes. Believe me, no one else can really do it for you. They can try and you can ask but no one can do it like you can.

And don't worry about Hubby/Wife and Grown Up Junior. They will continue to take care of themselves. They may beg or plead with you because you turned off your “easy-access faucet”. And they will respond by either turning on their own ever-present Source for themselves, or they will find someone else they can drain, deplete or “leech off”. They don't need to “leech off” you. It is not good for them anyway. They need to learn to love themselves, too.

You know, this life is short. I would hate to see you leave without learning that you can love yourself and give yourself everything you need to be happy and absolutely joyous. Wouldn't you like to try it once before you go? Isn't that perhaps the lesson you are here to learn, the thing that you came here to experience? Isn’t the lesson to love yourself unconditionally, completely and absolutely, knowing that you are fully capable of caring for yourself in every way with abundance, prosperity and joy? You can start today. Stop fulfilling everyone else's demands and make a list of what you need. Start fulfilling that list. No one else will really do it for you. But you know yourself better than anyone else on this planet. You know what you need and how to give it to yourself. Start today. Are
you willing to do this?

And once you have your own happiness, security, and abundance under control, then you can love others as you love yourself.

Two Quick Notes From Shaman Maggie: Have you booked your visit to see Shaman Maggie in 2011 yet? Just the blessings alone are going to change your life! Here are some retreats she offers. Don't miss this opportunity! http://www.shamanelder.com/liveapprenticeship.html

The latest book by Shaman Elder Maggie. 20% off cover price, FREE shipping at http://shamanspeaks.com. Get yours today !

'Divine Matches' is New From eXcessica Publishing!

Perhaps How I Met Your Mother's Barney Stinson said it best: "No one is hotter than God." It's the ultimate fantasy: a close encounter with a divine being, whose body is perfection, without any human flaws and with incredible power.

Greek, Roman and Norse gods and goddesses make an appearance in this anthology edited by Selena Kitt. Kitt, JM Snyder, JE Taylor, Dakota Trace, Ava Jones, Cherry Lee and others contribute to this e-book; a print version is coming soon, and will be available on Amazon.

Official book blurb: "From Greek to Roman to Norse and everything in between, you will be transported to faraway lands and immersed in the stories of mythical beings and sexy gods and goddesses in this fourteen story eXcessica anthology."

My contribution is "Black Bear Skin." An excerpt:

The last thing he remembered was the sweet hospitality of the woman on the little evergreen island. The way she bathed him. Her touch. Her kiss. The dewy, perfumed smell of her skin. Her final, loving gesture, draping the warm bear skin over his shoulders.

He awoke to something more wonderful than he’d ever prayed for. He lay across a warm bed. The mattress was stuffed with sweet-smelling fresh straw. His injured hand lay under his head. When Bergren pulled it out, he looked at the hand. He smiled, amazed to see that the hand was restored. He wiggled his five fingers.

This must be a dream, Bergren thought. I am dreaming of being in the woman’s cabin, as I lie in the snow.

As if in answer, a female voice giggled. No, it was a chorus of female voices, as pleasant as music. Bergren sat up.

He saw them now. They were tall, taller than men. Their chalk-white skin was flawless. Their golden hair fell down their backs in meticulous braids, not a hair out of its place. Their eyes were blue as jewels. The three women, who must surely have been sisters, were beautiful beyond words.

He saw that one of them carried a sword. Another held a bridle in her hand. At the other end of it stood a horse, larger than any horse Bergren had ever seen. A horse with shining wings of white and silver feathers.

Ah, so this was a dream. He lay in the snow dreaming of the Valkyries, the maidens who carry the souls of dead warriors from the battlefield.

Unless, Bergren thought, the evergreen island was all a dream. Perhaps I lost more than my fingers on the battlefield. Perhaps I am dead after all.

If this was death, he didn’t mind it at all. He was whole and warm, and the warrior-maidens were so lovely.

***

Look for Divine Matches from eXcessica Publishing.

Window Into the Mind of An Erotica Author

I had a most bizarre and rambling dream last night, parts of which were quite sexy. Some of its influences are easy to spot. For example, when I dreamt I was a young woman, walking down the street with a gaggle of hip friends including Courtney Love, that's because I just finished reading Girl Boy Girl: How I Became JT Leroy. Courtney Love was a JT Leroy fan, as were Carrie Fisher, Gus Van Sant, and other people way cooler than me.

So anyway, I'm walking down a dusty street with my crew and I stop at a little art boutique. On a spinning metal rack out from there is a painting so beautiful I know I have to have it, no matter what the cost. I don't have any money, so I decide on the spot I'm going to turn a trick to get it. (Remember, JT Leroy was purported to be a street hustler.) Fortunately, the shop owner and I are alone. He looks like Adam Levine. I get him in his back-room office and make my proposal, which he gladly accepts on the condition that he be allowed to not wear a condom. I readily agree, secretly thinking that I'm a bit nasty because I prefer the exchange of bodily fluids to the neatness of condoms. I walk away with my treasure.

The appearance of art in my dream is entirely the fault of JD Busch.

Later, the boutique owner reappears at my house, where I've already hung the painting in the attic. There is a lot of wood in this house: the rafters from the attic, the wooden railing of the stairs. He is either drunk or high, swaying where he stands and asking me questions that don't make any sense. He wants to know if we've had sex, and if so, if I raped him. I don't know how to answer. I feel guilty now.

But I know I shouldn't be feeling guilty, because I'm really just remembering an earlier incident which wasn't my fault. I'd been camping in the woods with Robert Pattinson (I'm obviously dreaming this because of writing another article about Twilight on Sunday). Inside our tent, he'd tried to grope me, though I managed to get him to stop. We ended up swimming in the lake, though, and he drowned.

When the boutique owner reappeared later, he was making out with Adam Lambert. (I did hear "Whataya Want From Me" on the radio yesterday.) The guy-on-guy action can be explained by my having received the cover art for Evernight Publishing's Indecent Encounters anthology yesterday.

My menage story "Post Op" is appearing in there, and the cover features a brunette female smooshed between two hot guys, one of whom has a sexy tribal tattoo. I don't know if La Lambert has ink, but Adam Levine does, despite his Yiddish ethnicity. One might equate the forbidden-ness of tattooed Jews with the impropriety of unprotected sex and prostitution. That's what this dream is about, I suppose: the eroticism of the forbidden. So now you have a little window into how my mind works.