Funny Girl Melodie

Rowena Through the Wall, edition 2 FREE today only!

2012-02-23T08:22:00.004-08:00

Rowena Through the Wall, edition 2 is FREE today on Amazon.com!

Currently sitting at #2 fantasy/futuristic and #90 on the top 100 Amazon.com bestseller list

Download your free copy today!

Click here: Amazon.com

Here are reader favorites:

"She's stuck in a medieval world without a single change card!"

"Jack Sparrow meets Stephanie Plum!"

"The Princess Bride....with Sex!"

Thanks to all my readers in North America and Europe

ROWENA THROUGH THE WALL, Edition 2, Released today!

2012-02-20T07:58:00.000-08:00

I have a wonderful publisher.
When the reviews came in for my comic time travel novel Rowena Through the Wall, they were everything I could have wanted (oh, the relief!) However, a common theme started to appear: readers wanted a happy ending at the end of the first book of the series.

My publisher listened. So today, Rowena Through the Wall, Edition 2, has been released on Amazon. This expanded edition adds a fantastic and fun ending to this episode of Land's End. The paperback will be out in March.
http://www.amazon.com/Rowena-Through-Wall-Expanded-ebook/dp/B007B4Q868/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1329752352&sr=1-1

Amazon.com: Rowena Through the Wall: Expanded Edition eBook: Melodie Campbell: Kindle Store

www.amazon.com

Amazon.com: Rowena Through the Wall: Expanded Edition eBook: Melodie Campbell: Kindle Store

Burglars Beware! This place is rigged...(reprinted with permission)

2012-02-14T20:50:00.001-08:00

Somebodytried to sell me a home security device the other day. Apparently, this device is rigged so that itwould alert me when someone was breaking into the house. This amazed me, in that – if I am home – Iusually know when someone is breaking into my house. Rather than announce his presence (“A Burglar, Madam”) it wouldseem to me a lot more useful if someone would invent something that would bopthe intruder over the head.

ButI don’t need fancy home security systems because there is no possible way aburglar could get past my secret weapon. It’s cheap and it’s foolproof. It’s so fiendish, I expect it will soon be outlawed at the next GenevaConvention. Let me put if this way: ifthe Spanish Inquisition had known about it, everyone would have confessed to everything.

Towit:

LOCATION: Madrid, 15-something-or-other, in a dampdungeon (not even a three-star)

“Stubborn,eh? Still won’t confess? Okay, Cardinal Fang – bring the secretweapon!”

“Notthe <gulp> not the…”

“Yes!<fiendish giggle> Get the little pieces of LEGO!”

“ARGH! No, please! No! I confess!”

Itworks like this: You step on the ittybitty piece of Lego, whereupon it pierces your bare foot, sending searingneedles of agony all the way up to your brain. This in turn causes all of your bones to suddenly melt and turn you intoa pain-filled gibbering mass of Jello on the floor.

Idon’t know if you have ever walked barefoot across a minefield of individualLego bits, but believe me, General Schwartzkoff missed out on a goodweapon. Marbles have a similar effectbut those little plastic Lego corners kinda put the icing on the proverbialcupcake. Methinks the Lego people havemissed a terrific marketing opportunity here. In fact, right after this column is done, I’m going into business. “Killer Lego” should be on the shelves byChristmas, ready to be scattered on floors everywhere.

Actually,if you really want to keep burglars away, it’s simple. Throw a few ride-um toys on the front lawnof your home – preferable boy ones. Then everyone will know you have kids, so there couldn’t possibly beanything of value left inside…

No Forwarding Address... (reprinted with permission)

2012-01-27T17:34:00.000-08:00

The best advice I can give about moving is: DON’T. Barring that…there is no good advice aboutmoving.

Unfortunately, moving house is like going to thedentist. Not only is the ordealpainful, but you get to spend huge amounts of money for the privilege.

If it turns out you absolutely positively have to move, thebest thing to do is pile all of your stuff on the front lawn, and set fire toit. Because even if you spendgargantuan amounts of money on Professional Movers, and enormous amounts oftime packing everything neatly into clearly marked boxes, when you finally doget to your new location, you won’t be able to find ANYTHING.

I know all about this. I’m still looking for a pair of matching antique mirrors that werelost on a move from Vancouver to Toronto in ’78.

Mysterious things seem to happen to household effects intransit. They transmogrify. Little pixies remove labels and affix newones.

Another thing: no matter how carefully you looked over thehouse you’re about to move into, it won’t be the same house you bought. The address may be the same, but between thetime you signed the deal and the time you took possession, all sorts of changeswill have taken place.

For instance, the dishwasher won’t work. Nor will the stove. There’s an unwritten rule that everyhousehold appliance you’ve shrewdly bargained into the offer of purchase willautomatically self-destruct the moment you sign the offer.

Ditto the washer, dryer, and the toilets. It’s some sort of symbolic goodbye ritual tothe last owners. Your only consolationwill be that simultaneously, waaaaay back in your old neighbourhood, the peoplewho bought your house will be discovering similar kamikaze activity among yourold appliances.

On a final note, you can try to move kids, but it’s notrecommended. Chances are they’re quiteattached to the old neighbourhood and won’t be happy anywhere else. Best to leave them with a kind neighbouruntil the move is over. With any luck,they won’t be able to locate you after.

WANTED: One Fairy Godmother (reprinted with permission)

2012-01-19T07:03:00.000-08:00

One thing the Catholic Church really has going for it is avast army of Guardian Angels. These arewonderful beings whose sole purpose is to guide you through life, and preventyou from making really embarrassing mistakes…those everyday kind of mistakessuch as hopping a last minute flight to Argentina with Raoul instead of bakingmore cookies for the school fundraiser, like you promised.

But for those of us who weren’t born Catholic, what we needis a Fairy Godmother. Not the oldfashioned kind who dresses in 1950s prom dresses and goes around changingvegetables into vehicles. Nope – I wantsomeone on my side: a modern, down-to-earth Fairy Godmother, who will answerall those pesky questions that everyone else always sidelines.

In fact, I can visualize my personal Fairy Godmother. She would be about 65 years old (but wouldonly admit to 49) with a petrified blond hairdo and a Brooklyn accent. Her orange lipstick would be a little toothick, and she’d carry one of those bombproof organizer handbags. Of course, she’d be full of wonderfullyuseful advice, like exactly how far up are you supposed to shave yourlegs?

“The problem with you girls today is you don’t wear properfoundation garments. Go without abra? You’re going to be KICKING them ina few years…”

Instead of going for tea at the Arcadian Room, she’d drag meoff for salad and Singapore Slings at the Four Season’s.

“Nothing wrong with a little nip now and then, dearie. Puts colour in your cheeks. Don’t you read Cosmo?” And while we’re munching and slurping(“Drinking girl’s diet – gotta watch those hips”) she’d give me nonstop adviceabout how to get along in life.

“Forget Good Housekeeping – the way to a man’s heart is nottuna casseroles. But here’s how to makea really good martini...”

“Face it, dearie. After the age of 40, what every girl really needs is a goodesthetician…”

“You’ve never been to Paris? That’s it – we’re going in March. I know this little place on the Rue la Fontaine that serves thebest coquille…”

So I’d like to be here writing my column next month, butchances are I’ll be in Paris with my Fairy Godmother.

Of course, I recognize a Fairy Godmother isn’t foreveryone. Perhaps the guys would preferto have a Fairy Godfather…or then again, perhaps they wouldn’t…

Imajin Books Anniversary Sale Jan 15-18!

2012-01-15T06:48:00.000-08:00

"Rowena Through the Wall" is 99 cents, for four days only!
Amazon and Smashwords

Click on this link for AMAZON

Imagine Books is having an anniversary sale, and all ebooks are on for 99 cents!

Let's Play Doctor! (reprinted with permission)

2012-01-11T05:25:00.000-08:00

When I was a young kid, I had vague dreams of becoming adoctor. This is because I consideredmyself an expert in the field, having watched every Marcus Welby MD episodeever televised and also having read numerous “Cherry Ames – Nurse” romancenovels.

Of course, I didn’t become a doctor – I became a humourwriter, which is close to the same thing, except the pay is worse. However, I do consider myself quiteknowledgeable about the medical profession, because I spend a great deal oftime in doctors’ offices these days. This comes from having two germ-prone kids with an aversion to attendingschool between the months of September and June.

Anyway, because I am somewhat of an expert in this field, Ithought I’d give readers the benefit of my medical insight. (If you are a doctor or nurse, stop readingNOW.)

What to do if you’re sick:

If you are quite sick, take two aspirins, plenty of fluids (some say water, but Glenlivet works better) and sleep it off.

If you are really REALLY sick, i.e. as in high fever, convulsing, hallucinating, vomiting sick, drive yourself to the nearest doctor’s office in heavy traffic, and sit in the waiting room for two hours. Your body might not feel better, but there is a certain satisfaction in throwing up on the doctor’s carpet as he tip-toes past you with his golf clubs.

If in fact you do get to see the doctor, be forewarned. Doctors speak a special language. Here’s a primer:

If the doctor says: “hmmm,” it means he’s not reallyinterested in your pathetic little problem, as his investment dealer justphoned with news that the stock market is falling.

If your doctor mutters” “ehhhh,” it means “go home.” But it’s tricky. It could mean “go home” as in “go home and stop botheringme.” Or it could mean “get outta here beforeyou infect everyone else with this highly contagious disease!” So as I said,it’s tricky.

If he exclaims “Ah ha!” it means “we discussed thisparticularly disgusting ailment in medical school, but I never in my whole lifeexpected to see it in real practice!”

If he yells: “Hey Ralph! Call Linda and Maria – get a loadof this-“ it’s time to get out of there real fast and see about using themedical strategy noted above, namely Glenlivet in copious quantities. You may still feel sick after this, but atleast you’ll know why.

Morticia's Massage Parlour and Advice Academy Presents Frightfully Useless Holiday Advice!

2011-12-31T11:38:00.000-08:00

She's Back! Just in time for the New Year...

Dear Morticia,

Do you get into the Spirit of Christmas?

Signed, Curious

Dear Cur,

I’m not interest in the Spirit of Christmas and I’ve toldhim that a hundred times! (Honestly…it’s these office Christmas parties. Everyone gets embalmed.)

Dear Morticia,

For Christmas, may I interest you in private flyinglessons? Free of charge, my dear…

Signed, Ace Pilot

Dear Ace,

No thanks. I’m notmuch on school. A ghost tried to teachme how to walk through walls once…he had to go through it again and again…

Dear Morticia,

Can I interest you in custom-designed fruit baskets for yourdearest friends.

Signed, The Custom Grocer

Dear Cus,

No thanks. I gave aChristmas food basket to Thing last year and it bombed horribly. He just didn’t have the stomach for it.

Dear Morticia,

I’m quitting smoking starting Jan. 1. Are you making any New Years resolutionsthis year?

Signed Sincere

Dear Sin,

Yup. As soon as thevulture dinner is over, I’m becoming a vegetarian. (At least when you carve a pumpkin, it doesn’t try to eat youback.)

Dear Morticia,

I was a good girl all year, and all Santa brought me was alarge frog. Frankly, I feelcheated.

Signed, Princess

Dear Princess

Honey, I don’t blame you, so be sure to follow my advice: Bevery bad next year and Santa may bring you a Prince. (And if you don’t get the Prince, at least you will have had a smashing good time all year!)

Morticia will return to these pages unless someone pays off her creator big time.

'The Night Before Christmas' - Morticia's Version

2011-12-21T07:14:00.000-08:00

(reprinted with permission)

T’was the night before Christmas

Just right for a fling

Not a creature was stirring

Not even dear Thing

The relatives were hung

By the chimney with care

And spiderwebs shimmered

Like wreathes in the air.

When all of a sudden

There was such a clatter

I rose from my coffin

To check out the matter

T’was the big guy himself

And in situ quite dire

Missed his step in the flue

Landed square in the fire.

He cursed and he blustered

And rolled on the rug

I shook my head, scolding

“Don’t you be such a mug,”

“Santa,” I said

“If you want to get hot

Step away from the fire

And come see what I’ve got!”

His eyes were like saucers

He straightened up quick

Then he yelled to an elf

“Hold my sack for a bit”

And I’m happy to say

Though his belly may jiggle

The rest of him functions

With nary a wiggle.

A few hours later,

The clock ticked away

But ole Santa, the rascal

Seemed inclined to stay.

“Darling,” I said

“While I hate to remind

The children are waiting

You’re right out of time!”

“Oh damn,” he exclaimed

Tripping over his suit

“Get the reindeer all ready!

Where’n hell is my boot?”

He dashed to the graveyard

In a manner most hardy

To find reindeer engaged

In a whale of a party.

“Yo, Dasher! Yo,Dancer,

Stop it, Prancer and Vixen!

Who’s on her? OhDonner…

Where’s Cupid and Blitzen?

Get off her you bugger,

Mind the top of that wall.

Oh, dammit all! Dammit all!

Dammit to hell!”

He had them reharnessed

As quick as a wink

Then he mounted and muttered

“Could I use a drink!”

And I heard him proclaim

As he rose out of sight,

“Merry Christmas – Hey doll!

Be back later tonight!”

Christmas Newsletters Unmasked - what REALLY went down last year!

2011-12-14T10:58:00.000-08:00

One thing I hate even more than the current gang of thievesin Ottawa is the annual Christmas Newsletter brag sheet. You know the type…when people who couldn’t bebothered to pick up a phone all year long suddenly feel you can’t possiblysurvive another day without knowing their intimate business.

Have you ever noticed that nothing BAD ever happens to thesepeople? Where is the heartbreakingstuff? The flunked tests? WHERE ARE ALL THE STUPID FINANCIALDECISIONS?

Luckily, I’m learning to read between the lines. Here is my version of what really happened:

Hello to all our dear friends! Here it is, Christmas time once more, and I still haven’t gottenaround to spring cleaning again. Ohwell – good thing nobody ever comes here. They wouldn’t be able to get around the empty cases of brew in the fronthall.

I’m happy to report that things are back to normal after Tedbroke his leg trying to resist arrest. It was all a silly mistake; he never would have smashed into the cruiserif they’d had their lights on. Luckilythey have terrific medical facilities in the Don Jail, and Ted is on the mend.

And just when you thought it couldn’t happen, young Wallyflunked grade 10 for the third time. The Principal seems to think this is a record, which just goes to showthat Wally can be outstanding when he puts his mind to it.

You may have heard that we’ve added a son-in-law to thefamily. We also have a new grandchild,who arrived about the same time. Thebirth was easier than the wedding, and luckily the father of the bride missedboth, as he was otherwise detained <see above>.

Dear Grandpa is just a spry as ever. He totters around town waving to all thegirls and showing them his new trench coat. He’s really proud of the plaid lining, too.

Aren’t families wonderful. And as for me…well you may have heard about Ted’s last foray into thestock market before he lost his job. They took the house, but I still have the dog, and frankly, except for alittle touch of pneumonia, we do fine on Queen Street.

Well, that’s it for now. How was your year?

Hold the Fur, Santa! (reprinted with permission)

2011-12-08T06:43:00.001-08:00

Time for the annual pilgrimage to Santa’s Workshop with theChristmas wish list. I prepare thetroops for major action.

‘Who wants to go see Santa tonight?”

Number one daughter turns several shades of scarlet.

“Oh no. No way. Remember last year? I nearly died of embarrassment.”

I admit we did cause a bit of a fiasco. Even Santa was surprised when I plopped downon his lap.

“Hi Santa. Hope youdon’t mind me bringing a list – whoops, there goes the end – but I’ve beensaving up these past few years."

“What can I do for you, Darlin’? (He’s such a charmer.)

“Well, for starters, I’d like to hear the occasional‘please’ and ‘thank you’. You know,like: “Thank you for making this terrific meal, Mom!” instead of “Oh no, nothomemade Linguini alla Romana AGAIN?”

“Sounds fair.”

“Wish number two: I’d like, just once, to wake up to a housethat didn’t look like someone picked it up and shook it.”

“That’s a might big wish,” said Santa.

“Well, how ‘bout if you make it so I can get to the frontdoor without kicking my way through the shoes?”

“That’s what you’d like for Christmas?” He was dubious.

“You want to get your milk and cookies?”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“And another thing.” (I was on a roll.) “No Lego for the kids this year, please.”

“Don’t they want it?”

“Sure they want it. I don’t want another thousandspieces to pick up around the house. Consider it a personal favour.”

“Gladly. Have youbeen good this year?”

“Better than you. Watch those hands, Santa.”

“Sorry. Any stockingstuffers?”

“Lots. How ‘bout thefollowing: a clean floor for more than one day; a doorbell that works; a bathby myself; the kids to sleep in past seven just one Sunday; to find the fivemissing socks the dryer ate; complete laundry service; all meals planned,prepared and cleaned up by someone else; and lots of time to do nothing bymyself. Oh – one last thing: a diaperthat changes itself.”

He was impressed. “That’sa good one.”

“Thank you. I’m anexpert.”

Santa looked puzzled. “Most girls your age ask me for diamond rings and fur coats.”

“Skip the fur. Iwant a maid.”

Later in the car:

“Sorry to tell you this, Mom, but there is no Santa Claus.”

My eldest daughter is a cynic. But it takes more than that to bring me down.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Who do you think stuffed your Christmas stockings all these years? And what about Rudolf? Where did those carrots go to on ChristmasEve?”

Kids today. They don’tbelieve in anything. “Why, you probablydon’t even believe in the Easter Bunny,” I accused.

“You’re right. I don’t.”

“Careful, kiddo. Hemight decide not to come.”

A cynic, but not stupid. “Oh, well in that case…”

“I thought you’d see it my way.”

She’s BACK! Morticia’s Massage Parlor and Advice Academy gets ready for Christmas!

2011-11-30T05:51:00.001-08:00

Dear Morticia,

Call me a stick in the mud, but I don’t like Christmas. Every year our house gets filled with allthose strange sounds and smells.

Signed Hum Bug

Dear Bug,

They’re called relatives.

Dear Morticia,

Help! All theseChristmas chores need to be done and I’m exhausted. What can I do? The babywas sick again and kept me up all night.

Signed Tired

Dear Tired,

Sorry honey, but you married him.

Dear Morticia,

I’m a rather well-heeled gent dating a younger lady. Is it crude to give money for Christmas?

Signed Loaded

Dear Loaded,

Of course not! Ilike my men the cruder the better.

Dear Morticia,

I love the old Christmas traditions. Do you still hang stockings by thefireplace?

Signed Sweet Sue

Dear Sue,

Frankly, I hadn’t thought of it. But really, it wouldn’t be a whole lot of fun. They’re already dead, aren’t they?

Morticia will return before Christmas unless Santa promisesto be really crude.

Guy Alert: What NOT to Buy Your Gal for Christmas!

2011-11-23T05:25:00.001-08:00

Pet Frogs and Other Gifts (reprinted with permission)

My first gift from a male was a pet frog. Jimmy was five, and the frog was his mostprized possession. Unfortunately, whenthe hopping box was thrust in my face, I screamed, and threw it back. Jimmy was not impressed.

Men have given me pet frogs all my life. Gifts they would like to receive andthus gleefully assume I would want. AndI am not alone. Last year, one femalefriend of mine reported receiving a set of mag racing wheels for the familycar. Another opened a big pink boxcontaining – I kid you not – a filing cabinet.

This year, men, it’s time to shape up! No more socket wrenches for your lady(unless she asks for them). So what doyou buy? Here’s what you don’t:

No kitchen appliances. By this I mean, washers, dryers, dishwashers, toasters, can-openers, ormeat-slicers. These are gifts for ahouse, not a sweetheart. The same is nottrue of men and tools. Men playwith tools, so that makes it okay. ButI defy anyone to play with an electric can opener.

Don’t believe me? Ever heard a couple of men discussing the merits of a brand newmotorized saw?

Ed (proudly): “Radial arm. Craftsman Cabinetmaker’s.”

George (whistling): “Power?”

Ed (caressing): “1.5hp high-torque 3450 rpm direct drive induction-run.”

George (scrutinizing): “Blade?”

Ed (triumphant): “20-tooth carbide-tipped.”

George (drooling): “Wow.”

Women don’t behave in this manner. You don’t see women standing around a vacuum cleaner, remarking:

Betty: “Just look atthese stats! 120 volts, draws 8 ampswith powerhead, 6.6 amps without, triple prong plug, replacement hose, andseventeen thousand attachments.”

Marge: “Gee, I wishmy George would buy me a vacuum cleaner like that for Christmas. Mind only sucks dirt.”

No, women are much more likely to say:

Betty: “Ed bought mea vacuum cleaner for Christmas.”

Marge: “Ed has thesoul and finesse of a long-dead lake trout.”

Which is to say, he stinks.

NIghthawk Radio interviews Rowena Revel, star of 'Rowena Through the Wall'!

2011-11-21T05:58:00.001-08:00

Nighthawk Radio tracked down Rowena Revel on one of her brief trips back to Arizona, 2011. Read what it's like to have a foot in two worlds, and still manage to keep your wacky sense of humor...

Click here
http://nighthawktalk.blogspot.com/2011/11/from-rowena-through-wall.html

Guest Author Chris Redding, and a riveting excerpt from her new novel, Blonde Demolition!

2011-11-16T05:17:00.001-08:00

A bomb.

One with a timer and wires and allthe parts necessary to blow up the beer trailer and all in its vicinity.Including all of her fellow firefighters at the Coleville Volunteer FireCompany.

Mallory Sage had seen too manybombs in her former life with Homeland Security. Her heart raced and angerstreaked through her.

"Jesse, get out," she saidto her chief..

She wouldn't lose him. Not now. Notthis way. She would not have her lover blown up.

Jesse Moran licked his lips andmoved in her direction. He stopped and backed away from her as if he couldn'tmake the decision to leave.

"Get out of here, Mal."

Even in the face of a bomb, he waswilling to protect her. Her heart sank. She might never be able to return thatloyalty.

She clenched and unclenched herfists, her breath coming out in pants. "Not without you, Jesse. Mark, call911. Tell them we need the bomb squad," she said, still looking at thechief.

When Jesse reached her, she yankedhim out. He had one hundred pounds on her. She had surprise on her side. "Getme some wire cutters."

Jesse looked at her as though shehad three heads.

"Do it."

He shook his head. "No, youdon't know what you're doing. You'll blow up."

She made eye contact with one ofthe bystanders. "Get me wire cutters and clear everyone out of here.Someone make sure no workers are on the fairgrounds."

The last thing the struggling firecompany needed was to lose this fair. It was their sole method of raisingneeded funds. No jerk with a penchant for bombs would do that to them. Not tothe guys who missed dinners and family events to put out fires.

Back cover text for Blonde Demolition

You just can't hide from the past...

Mallory Sage lives in asmall, idyllic town where nothing ever happens. Just the kind of life she has alwayswanted. No one, not even her fellow volunteer firefighters, knows about her pastlife as an agent for Homeland Security.

Former partner and lover, TreyMcCrane, comes back into Mallory's life. He believes they made a great teamonce, and that they can do so again. Besides, they don't have much choice. PaulStanley, a twisted killer and theirold nemesis, is back.

Framed for a bombing anddrawn together by necessity, Mallory and Trey go on the run and must learn totrust each other again―if they hope to survive. But Mallory has been hidinganother secret, one that could destroy their relationship. And time is runningout.

Meet Guest Author Kate Hill

2011-11-09T19:15:00.000-08:00

ROMANCE WITH A SMILE

Though romance isn’tnecessarily funny, humor usually has its place in romantic stories.

Some romances are based onhumorous situations. Not that these stories don’t have their serious moments,but the humor interwoven in them makes them feel-good reads that provide anescape from reality.

At times books are so seriousthat a character or event is used for comic relief. When you just need tobriefly step back from an intense plot, some characters bring a smile to yourface.

While I enjoy reading allkinds of romance including comedy, in my books, with the exception of thesatirical GreatSword’s Woman, I tend to have moments of humor interspersed withhorror, action or drama. Though I usually find comedy difficult to write andtruly admire authors who have mastered the art of creating romantic comedies,some characters have such outrageous personalities that they can’t be writtenwithout humor.

Two characters I feel veryclose to and who were easy to write, partly because of their sense of humor,are Vincent Dilorenzo and Sir Lock. I received a lot of mixed feedback aboutVincent. People either loved him or hated him. They either got his humor orthey didn’t. Both types of comments were nice to see because he stood outenough to provoke a reaction either one way or the other. Vincent was so muchfun to write because he used humor as a shield. He preferred playing thebuffoon to confronting the shame and guilt of his past. Sir Lock also usedhumor as a coping mechanism. Both guys could be wild, crazy, and obnoxious.They drove other characters nuts, but they were liberating to write, mostlybecause they weren’t trying to impress anyone and didn’t care about appearances.The usually went out of their way not to conform.

Some of my favorite romanticcomedies are Vampire Vintage by Ashlyn Chase and the Shelby’s Angels series byStephanie Burke. If I’m in a bad mood, these stories can help get me out of it.

How do you feel about humorin romance books? Do you have any favorite romantic comedies or humorouscharacters that always make you smile?

About Kate

What do trips around theworld, endless nights of breathtaking sex, and a muscular, 6-foot 3-inch,brown-haired, blue-eyed significant other have to do with Kate Hill? Absolutelynothing, but she can dream, can't she? In reality Kate is a vegetarian NewEnglander who loves writing romantic fantasies.

When she's not working onher books, Kate enjoys reading, working out, and researching vampires andViking history. You can visit heronline at http://www.kate-hill.com

Rejection Slips and Other Ciphers

2011-11-04T05:59:00.000-07:00

Ever wonder if there is a hierarchy of rejection slips?
I'm an expert.

This week, my humour column is a guest post on this U.S. blogsite. Please visit me there for:

Rejection Slips and Other Ciphers!

The Ultimate Weapon - Bad Guys Take Note

2011-10-28T16:08:00.000-07:00

Reprinted with permission

Recently, I’ve taken a lot of flack regarding the size andtonnage of my handbag. Not surprisingly,most of the flack has come from the other sex – that one that can’t find thebutter in the fridge and has yet to come to grips with the purpose of a dirtyclothes hamper.

Personally, I adhere to the “Purse as Weapon” school offashion, mace being illegal in this country. Which is why I carry a large envelope shoulder bag. Very large. Imagine the Roseanne Barr of purses. One swing from the shoulder can knock arunaway truck back 30 paces. In fact,I’ve been known to clear entire subway cars in rush hour.

But the most effective use of a purse I’ve ever seen is thisstory from back in my bank manager days…

One day, a young man with a gun tried to force his way tothe front of our lineup to make his demands known to the teller. Unfortunately, he chose to do this on theday the Old Age Pension cheques arrived in the mail, and worse, the person hechose to cut in front of was old Mrs. Pereira. Now, Mrs. Pereira may have been only four and a half feet tall, andprobably weighed only 90 pounds, but so did her purse. And being somewhat shortsighted, she mayhave failed to see the gun, but she certainly did not miss the sudden appearanceof a very rude long-haired youth stealing her place in the line.

Being old school, she did not call for help; instead, shecommenced whapping him over the head with a particularly lethal black patenthandbag with heavy brass corners, while kicking him smartly about theshins. The hapless bank robber was lastseen howling and limping from the branch, followed by a verbal stream ofindignant Portuguese.

Which only goes to show that one should always walk softlyand carry a big purse.

MORE REALLY BAD ADVICE FROM MORTICIA...

2011-10-19T07:52:00.000-07:00

Morticia's Massage Parlour and Advice Academy

Just in time for Halloween…

Try Morticia’srelaxing noose therapy (patent pending)

We’ll have youdead calm in minutes…

Dear Morticia,

I am a novice writer attempting my first novel. Can you give me any advice?

Signed, Stephen Kingsley

Dear Steve,

To be honest, I’m not much of a fiction writer. I have a lot of plots, but sadly, mycharacters are lifeless.

Dear Morticia,

Are you personally acquainted with any spirits?

Signed, Tele Pathic

Dear Tel,

Well, I’ve gotten to know Jack Daniels quite well over theyears. I’m also acquainted with JohnnyWalker (…deadly for long spells, frankly).

Dear Morticia,

Whatever shall I do? My eighty year old father has just been arrested for exposing himself –do you think they can make it stick?

Signed, Aghast in Agincourt

Dear Ag,

Couldn’t say for sure. I once knew a ghost who was caught flashing, but they couldn’t pinanything on him.

Dear Morticia,

I’m a firm believer in the Occult and participate regularlyin seances. Are you a medium?

Signd, Spirtually Inclined

Dear Inc,

Nope, I’m a large. Especially where it counts, hon.

Dear Morticia,

Do you actually get all this ridiculous mail, or do you makeit up yourself?

Signed Sceptic

Dear Scep,

Of course I don’t make it up! I have a ghostwriter.

Unless you all go out and buy my book, expect moreGraveyard humour next week

Age Gracefully? No Way! (reprinted with permission)

2011-10-13T13:58:00.000-07:00

I celebrated a birthday recently. I didn’t celebrate it very well, mind you. I don’t celebrate anything well anymore. I don’t know how to, primarily because the only time I stay up past midnight is with sick kids.

This was not your run of the mill, once a year, sort of birthday. No, it was more your “SOB! Not me! I can’t have lived this long and still not paid off my charge cards” kind of torture.

The thing is, nobody needs birthday parties in order to feel older. Our Drivers License photos do it perfectly well on their own. Besides, you know you’re getting older because the cops keep getting younger and younger. Soon they’ll be putting little cub scouts in uniforms and sending them out with toy guns to man the speed traps.

Getting older is particularly discouraging when you realize what other people have accomplished by the age of 40. Attila the Hun had conquered most of Europe before he was old enough to vote. Cleopatra had vamped the entire Mediterranean coastline while tossing Caesar Salad on the side, and Beethoven managed to write all sort of world class symphonies and go deaf by the time he was my age. Actually, he was dead by the time he was my age.

The worst thing about growing older is not the weight you gain, but the dreams you lose. For instance, I’m having trouble coming to terms with the fact that I will never be a major Vogue model. For one thing, we older broads can’t walk in high heels anymore without toppling over sideways. Something to do with the weight distribution further up. For another, we can’t see five inches ahead without our glasses. So unless Vogue wants a model crawling along the catwalk on her hands and knees, modeling is out.

No question, this birthday signals in new stage in life: when your furniture is much too nice to have another baby.

On the bright side, one of the minor irritants of aging is you tend to forget things. This has certain advantages. I forgot to phone my inlaws last week. I haven’t weighed myself in weeks. Any day now, I might forget I am married… oops, I forgot: this is a family column.

Meet....Author Stephen Brayton

2011-10-07T07:33:00.001-07:00

I am pleased to invite Stephen Brayton to these pages, with this delightfully original post from his heroine.

Dear Mom,

I’m sitting here in my office on a Friday afternoon waiting for my next client who’s a half hour late. So, I thought I’d write out a quick letter since I’ve been very busy lately and we haven’t spoken for a few days.

By now you’ve heard I’ve been published. No, I didn’t write the book; a man named Stephen L. Brayton is the author. My secretary, Darren, gave Mr. Brayton the information about one of my cases. The book, entitled “Beta”, was released by Echelon Press on October 1.

Do you remember the time I was hired to find eight year old Cindy McGee? She had been kidnapped by a child pornography ring. I followed a trail around Des Moines and discovered that she had been transported down to Oskaloosa in south central Iowa, then onto the Quad Cities. Surely you remember Lawrence Cameron, the handsome detective I met when I stayed with Grandma in Moline.

He became my partner for the day as we searched the metropolitan area for places Cindy might have been hidden. I ended up fighting the ringleader back in Des Moines. You and dad visited me in the hospital while I recovered from injuries incurred during that final violent conflict.

As a result of the publication of this book, I expect I’ll be hearing from many more goofy clients. However, they won’t be too much of a change from who I deal with now. Except for rarities like Cindy McGee, my cases usually stray to the nuttier side of life.

On the other hand, my taekwondo school is doing very well. Since the resolution of the case, I’ve signed up many new students. They all want to learn self defense and martial arts from the ‘famous’ Fourth Degree Black Belt.

I know you and Dad will want to read the book and because of the subject matter, don’t let the neighbor kids see it. Even though I hope many of my taekwondo friends will buy the book, it is not for children. Don’t worry, though, Mr. Brayton does a fine job of weaving some of my more humorous moments during the case in with the horror Cindy suffered. The graphic details are very well handled.

Since “Beta” can be purchased at Omnilit.com, Amazon, and Barnes & Noble as an eBook, I have nothing to autograph. However, I understand the author will send you and dad a personal message to your Kindle, Nook, or your computer if requested at Kindlegraph.com.

I understand Mr. Brayton also has another book, entitled “Night Shadows.” If you would like to know more about him, please visit his website at www.stephenbrayton.com. Darren and I have also read his blog at www.stephenlbrayton.blogspot.com as well as his book reviews at www.braytonsbookbuzz.blogspot.com.

Apparently, Darren has also given Mr. Brayton the details of the case I worked on before “Beta”. I thought you’d like to know Mom, you’re featured in one particular scene. Stephen is working on this sequel, the sequel to “Night Shadows” as well as a few other projects.

Well, I’d better now, mom. Darren just poked his head in the door to tell me my appointment has arrived. He has this snarky smile on his face which tells me it’s another lulu. Call me when you and Dad have a free weekend and I’ll see if I can get down for a visit. Until then, I hope you enjoy the book. Please tell your friends.

Love,

Mallory Petersen

IMAJIN THAT! The Official Book Launch for the Girls of Imajin

2011-10-05T05:44:00.000-07:00

Okay, so it's not a calendar....yet. (but we're working on it)

What do a western, fantasy and mystery have in common?
Imajin Books, Crime Writers of Canada, authors who are practically neighbours

3 BOOKS, 3 AUTHORS, 1 OFFICIAL BOOK LAUNCH
(and yes - it's in a pub!)

Melodie Campbell - Rowena Through the Wall
Alison Bruce - Under a Texas Star
Gloria Ferris - Cheat the Hangman

Mark your calendars...
Saturday November 5, 2-4 pm
The Woolwich Arrow
176 WoolwichSt.
Guelph
www.woolwicharrow.ca

IMAJIN THAT!

More Completely Useless Advice from Morticia (with apologies to sane people everywhere)

2011-09-28T08:34:00.000-07:00

MORTICIA'S MASSAGE PARLOUR AND ADVICE ACADEMY
(reprinted with permission)

Read the National Expirer

…for the best in Graveyard Journalism

Dear Morticia,

I’m a motion picture producer from Hollywood and I’m really impressed by your profile. Have you ever considered acting for a living?

Signed Steamy B. Demille

Dear Steamy,

While I’m dying to make your acquaintance, I’m a little uneasy about earning a living. (What would I do with it?)

Dear Morticia,

I’ve just found out that the guy I’ve been dating is a real snake. What should I do?

Signed, Livid

Dear Livid,

Belt him. (Act fast: this relationship is bound to be constricting.)

Dear Morticia,

I just got an invitation to a ritzy wedding, and wouldn’t you know, I’m supposed to bring an escort. What should I do? I’m between men right now.

Signed, Forlorn

Dear For,

Bring both. (I never mind being between men, honey.)

Dear Morticia,

I am a born again Christian and now have a totally different perception of the afterlife. I urge you to give up your misguided ways and find the true meaning of life.

Signed, Second Chance

Dear Second,

No thanks. I wanted to be born again, but Mom said No.

Confidential to Won’t Leave Me Alone in Wellington: I know it’s hard, but you just gotta be firm, honey. I had the same problem with a very nice ghost once. Finally, I had to tell him I just couldn’t see him.

Morticia will be back, unless someone pays her author a thousand bucks.

ROAD WARRIOR! reprinted with permission

2011-09-15T13:02:00.000-07:00

This post was my single most popular humour column/stand-up routine (with appropriate gestures) back in the days when I wrote under Funny Girl.

(With apologies to gorillas.)

Who needs a telephone booth? My guy can step into any car and become: ROAD WARRIOR!

There must be a primitive instinct that overcomes a male each time he gets behind the wheel of a car, and which also makes him forget that he actually got beyond the evolutionary stage of the giant African gorilla.

Because every day, millions of men the world over climb into their twenty-first century chariots of steel to hear a voice from the heavens proclaim, “Gentlemen, start your engines!” At which point all lads who possess a scrap of testosterone drop into first, stomp on the gas and lay a trail of smoking rubber in an attempt to beat the other blokes away from the lights.

I can remember traveling in my guy’s car down Gerrard street one day, when a red Camaro, which was traveling about two miles an hour faster than we were, pulled up beside us and tried to pass. Whereupon, the man I promised to love and honour until death do us part – or at least until the next tax year – stepped on the gas and roared up the street doing a wheelie, in case, of course, the Camaro might just DARE to cut in front.

The driver of the red Camaro, not wishing to appear shortchanged on his giant gorilla genes, immediately dashed up alongside, and proceeded to make extremely rude hand gestures while shifting gears and controlling a skid, all at the same time.

The two cars jerked their way down Gerrard, both drivers screaming at each other through closed windows, until my own true love slammed on the brakes, effectively blocking two lanes of traffic and the entire Jarvis Street intersection. He then got out of the car.

Now the occupants of the Camaro were the sort of people one would expect to see driving a red Camaro down Gerrard: guys with names like Carlos and Guido, whose idea of a fun Saturday night is counting the notches on their machine guns. And if I hadn’t started screaming and fainting in the manner of Fay Wray with King Kong (another gorilla) we would probably all still be there; my guy standing out in the middle of the intersection flailing his arms, ready to “teach them a lesson.”

What was he going to do? Kick their tires?

Of course, we females don’t participate in ridiculous behavior like this. We’re far too busy shopping for things we don’t need.

Back by popular demand (Thanks, Alison!) MORTICIA’S MASSAGE PARLOUR AND ADVICE ACADEMY

2011-09-07T18:00:00.000-07:00

Reprinted with Permission

NOTICE: THIS COLUMN CONTAINS NO SEX OR VIOLENCE. Please read it anyway.

Dear Morticia;

I’ve been courting you for ten years. In that time, I’ve taken you out for countless dinners and bought you lots of expensive gifts. I think it’s time you told me how you really feel.

Signed: Losing Hope

Dear Loser;

I feel fine, thanks.

Dear Morticia;

My wife just ran away with the milkman. I’m lost and confused – help me, Morticia. This is a matter of LIFE OR DEATH!

Signed, Wreck

Dear Wreck;

Don’t panic – of course I’ll help. The simplest way to tell is this: if you’re breathing, it’s life. If you’re not, it’s death. (honestly, some people…)

Dear Morticia;

Can you believe it? I just bought one of those cardboard sunscreens for my car windshield, and it came with the instructions, “Do Not Drive With Shield In Place”. Who writes these things??

Signed Baffled in Burlington

Dear Baff;

I don’t know but I did see a sign in a jewelry shop recently: “Ears Pierced While You Wait” (The alternative just boggles the imagination.)

Dear Morticia;

My birthday was on Saturday night, and you didn’t come!

Signed, Sorely Disappointed

Dear Sorely;

Wow! I was disappointed too, but HOW DID YOU KNOW THAT?

Confidential to Car-lover in Caledonia:

You have a valid complaint, and now is the time to assert yourself. NO woman should have to do that in the front seat of a car! Get in the back…

Morticia will return when the author is sick of her other personality.

A Guy and his Stuff

2011-09-03T08:42:00.000-07:00

Something went very wrong in my life several years ago: I married a hoarder.

Our basement is a serious hazard. Experienced tracking dogs could get lost in there. Entire families have been known to disappear down the stairs without a trace, only to reappear days later with enough furnishings to equip a three-bedroom townhouse.

I think there should be a law that prevents hoarders from setting up house with purgers, and in fact, I would suggest the following revision to the standard wedding vows: “Do you promise to love, honour and refrain from filling the basement with 22 years worth of junk…”

Now lest you think I ruthlessly discard priceless family heirlooms, let me give you an abridged – VERY abridged - list of the contents of our basement:

A complete set of Road and Track magazines dating back to 1978, augmented by Car and Driver, Hot Rod, and Popular Mechanics;

The left mirror from a 1969 bronze Firebird (nothing else, just the mirror; the rest of the car died in 1977);

Sections of an electric slot car racing track dating back to 1960;

Nine defunct cameras;

Unknown fabric objects that might at one time have passed for clothing;

Assorted pieces of wood, wire and metal tubing;

Various and sundry car parts, fan belts, mats and cigarette lighters from Triumph Spitfires, Lotus Europas, Pontiac TransAms, all of which are no longer made, no longer running, and no longer owned, but the parts “might come in handy some day.”

I suggested a garage sale once. This went over with the kind of enthusiasm that might be associated with a mass accident on the Gardiner Expressway. Conversation went something like this:

Wife: “We need to have a garage sale.”

Husband (aghast): “What are you talking about? We don’t have anything to sell!”

Wife: “What about those ‘Welcome to the Slag Pits of Ontario' TV tables over there?”

Husband (clutching said items to chest): “You gotta be kidding! They don’t make ‘em like this anymore!”

As for the last twenty years, I only have myself to blame. Love is blind. Instead of gazing into his eyes, I should have looked in his room

Do you live with a hoarder? Please comment to tell us the treasures you have in your basement…

The Worst of 'Morticia's Massage Parlour and Advice Academy'

2011-08-26T11:11:00.000-07:00

You asked for it - now live with it! More from Morticia (reprinted with permission)

Get in shape with BODIES BY MORTICIA
...Select yours today!

Dear Morticia;
My wife can't go a day without playing bingo. What's your impression of a woman like that?
Signed Fed Up

Dear Fed;
Sorry, I don't do impressions. This is an advice column.

Dear Morticia;
My husband works shifts and comes home so tired he can barely carry on a conversation. How can I keep him from falling asleep on me?
Signed, Frustrated

Dear Frust;
Push him off. Next...

Dear Morticia;
Are you busy this weekend? Party at my house - I finally got rid of my parents!
Signed, Home Alone

Dear Home;
That's nice. Did you manage to make it look like an accident?

Dear Morticia;
My mother and I read your advice column every month and we are appalled by the ridiculous advice you give. In fact, we can't believe you actually get paid to produce this kind of trashy garbage on a regular basis.
Signed Disgusted in Durham

Dear Gus;
Wait a sec...you mean they're supposed to pay ME?

Morticia will return to these pages if somebody doesn't kill her off first.

Rowena Through the Wall in no. 2 spot on Amazon.ca Bestseller List!!

2011-08-23T13:41:00.000-07:00

Today, Rowena Through the Wall took the no. 2 spot on the Amazon.ca top 100 Bestseller list (fantasy, futuristic & ghosts), behind Karen Marie Moning! Many thanks to all the people who made this possible.

I can't joke at a time like this. More funny stuff later.

More from Morticia's Massage Parlour and Advice Academy

2011-08-17T13:26:00.000-07:00

Many thanks to those demented people who asked for more of Morticia. (reprinted with Permission)

Brought to you by: MORTICIA & CO., Distributors of Aftermarket Body Parts.

Dear Morticia;
My husband was married once before. When he passes on, would it be appropriate to bury him beside his first wife?
Signed Planning Ahead

Dear Head;
Only if she's dead first.

Dear Morticia;
I keep asking my boss for a raise, but he keeps saying no. As a last resort, I'm thinking of offering him my body. Think it will work?
Signed Blondie in Bowmanville

Dear Blondie;
Gee, I don't know. Chances are he has a perfectly good body of his own.

Dear Morticia;
My boyfriend and I won a hundred thousand dollars in a lottery. I want to buy a house and he wants to buy a 427 AC Cobra four speed. What should we do?
Signed Homeless

Dear Less;
Recent reports suggest that it is very difficult if not impossible to prepare a proper meal on a 427 engine block. On the other hand, most houses built today can't travel at more than 2 miles per hours. Tell you what. Forward the winnings to my address and I'll do a test run for ya.

Dear Morticia;
What is the quickest way to a woman's heart?
No Don Juan

Dear No Don;
Zippered sweaters, although wrap-around blouses run a close second.