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I know it’s a crime to admit this.  Diana Campbell is a nobody; her books are out-of-print and graced with frivolous covers.  The books are not Regency historicals, but just slender little Regencies, the kind that aren’t even printed anymore.  How can Diana Campbell be my favorite, when I have Mary Balogh’s sparkling novels, Carla Kelly’s deeply emotional tales, my own former critique partner Jessica Benson’s delicious stories?  Well, partly because I discovered Diana Campbell first.  If this book cover looks tattered, it’s because I’ve read A Marriage of Inconvenience about eight times.  But it’s also because she creates the scenario that I like most to read:  a novel in which the reader waits, and waits, and waits for the two people to discover that’s they’re in love.

Diana Campbell understands the art of flirtation, of desire, of inticement.  Make no mistake: these are Regencies, and they don’t go explicitly past the bedroom door.  But she’s a master of sexual tension.  She realizes that the sexiest conversations are one in which men and women’s wit plays off each other.  Take this early argument between Lord Sheridan and Marietta (soon to be engaged in a marriage-of-convenience). 

“I suspect that love is the insidious invention of poets and novelists,” says he.  ”I certainly have not experienced any such distressing emotion during my five and thirty years.”

“Do you solicit congratulation or commiseration, milord?”

Marietta and Christopher snipe and fight and quarrel all the way through The Marriage of Inconvenience,.  Their original sparring builds the tension between them (and the reader) until you are simply longing for them to remember that they’re married, that the bedroom door is right over there, that they’re really in love with each other…

And when they finally do fall into each other’s arms, it’s enormously satisfying—not because there’s lots of descriptions of writhing limbs (these are Regencies) but because they keep talking. 

“If you were in a delicate condition, Marietta, nothing could give me great pleasure.  Permit me to rephrase tht.  Nothing could give me more happiness. I do believe there is another activity which might afford great pleasure.”

“Chistopher!” she chided.  But she was no longer discomfited:  it was right that he should want her, that she should ache with this deep, sweet longing.

I learned an enormous amount from Diana Campbell’s books—about how sexy clever conversation can be, about how delicious it is for the reader to long and long for the two characters to discover each other.  And this book blog is going up rather late because I found myself reading the book (nine times!) rather than describing it.

The Webster’s Dictionary definition of shame:
1 : a painful emotion caused by consciousness of guilt, shortcoming, or impropriety
2 : a condition of humiliating disgrace or disrepute : IGNOMINY .

As it happens, I’m not blogging on being arrested, a shame to which I have not (yet) been subjected.  But at some point yesterday I realized that I was suffering little arrows of shame repeatedly.  The occasion that brought this bitterly to mind?  I took my children to a museum and then we wandered into a restaurant that turned out to be very, very nice (the kind where a waitress seems to have nothing to do but stand by your table, refill your glass, and smile in a long-suffering type of way).  I won’t go into what inspired shame.  It makes me turn pink and my blood pressure goes up.

But I started thinking about it.  My experience of shame has changed its focus over the years, but it doesn’t seem to go away.  Here’s a few things that used to shame me that don’t even make me blink anymore:

1) buying a box of tampons when a very cute teenage boy is bagging groceries (though I might not enjoy buying Depends, if those lie in my future)
2) having the bottom of my bikini fall off in the pool (I don’t wear bikinis, so this is not a problem)
3) buying romances in front of intellectuals (I’m a crusader now)
4) breaking into uncontrollable giggles during sex (no need to elaborate)
5) having my bra straps show (they’re designed to show, besides no one cares)

The cruel thing is that although I’m tougher and older and smarter...I still find myself ashamed.  A lot.  Some of it is self-inflicted.  For example, like most working moms, I tend to shop frantically, ahead of time, for holidays if I happen to find myself alone and in a cash-accepting environment.  So a couple of weeks ago I madly bought a lot of chocolate eggs, rabbits and the like.  Along with 12 marshmellow easter eggs covered with chocolate.  Oh no, I thought, looking at them. I can’t buy this: it’s too many and the children will get sick.  But then the brilliant thought occurred to me that I could eat a few myself (they’re my favorite!), thus throwing myself into the path of junk food to save my children.

Fine.

Every day around 4 I got into the habit of sneaking into my own closet, grabbing a marshmellow egg and sneaking back out again. 

Anyone want to guess how many eggs are left?

Oh the SHAME!

How about the rest of you?  What no longer shames you...and what’s shamed you most recently?

Every once in a while, I hear a reader ask, “Do you pay attention to reader reviews?”

No. Not just no — hell, no.

Is it because my ego is so big I think my prose is perfect? Is it because I imagine every word I write is gold?

Of course not. (You other Squawkers, just shut up. This isn’t your day to blog, and no one’s interested in your opinion, anyway.)

But a quick glance at Amazon shows that I have five star reviews for every book I’ve written. I’ve also got one star reviews for every book I’ve written. The opinions completely differ on almost every circumstance. A lot of the bad reviews start with something like, “I love Christina Dodd’s other novels, but this one sucks …” and a lot of the five star reviews start, “After the last awful Christina Dodd novel, I almost didn’t give her another chance …”

Listen to the reader reviews? Which ones?

For instance, for THE PRINCE KIDNAPS A BRIDE:

Review #1 — “The heroine was strong and feisty.”
Review #2 — “The heroine is just plain silly.”

For A WELL PLEASURED LADY:

Review #1 — “The first sexual encounter can only be viewed as rape.”
Review #2 — “Also, with the “forced seduction” it was definitely not rape.”

For CANDLE IN THE WINDOW (my first book):

“Being a fan, I had never read Dodd’s earlier work. Turns out, I wasn’t missing anything.”

For TONGUE IN CHIC (my 32nd book):

“I really love Christina Dodd, but this was just horrible. … Don’t waste seven dollars on this horrible book. Look to Dodd’s earlier work.”

My point? An author, while trying not to write the same book over and over again, is guaranteed to bore/horrify/delight her readers because all readers have different tastes. And viva la difference!

Just below, I put up a survey that asks the question What is wrong with romance novels today? I’ve stuck up every circumstance I could think of, but I know there’s no way I could fill in all the blanks. So think about what makes you toss a book against the wall, come back and do the survey, and tell us what works/doesn’t work for you, and why. Because I (and the other Squawkers and the publishers who lurk here) may not listen to random reader reviews, but we’re fascinated by articulate opinions put forth by the Squawkers — women (mostly) with very different tastes who are fans of six very different authors.

And my personal request — don’t give the politically correct answer. Tell me how you feel in your gut and in your heart. Because that’s what a good romance tale is — a story that makes you twitch and groan, talk back to the pages, and go to bed and dream of a great sex, high adventure and one hot man who wants you and you alone. To hell with politically correct. Let’s talk raw, untamed emotion!
Christina’s website

Don the tiara, J. R. and a huge congratulations from all the Squawkers!

UPDATE!! J. R. has to share the tiara! Our own Lisa Kleypas is #20 on the New York Times for SUGAR DADDY!!! Whoo-hoo, Lisa!

(Honest, I can’t decide if those two will pass the tiara back and forth nicely or have a celebrity smack-down. Very intrigued to see!)

Okay, I know that Butch’s LOVER REVEALED is out just now, but Vishous is the Brother on my mind.  Why?  Because I’ve written fourteen books over the past six years or so and V has been, hands down, the WORST writing experience I’ve ever had.  I think he’s a GREAT book.  But the process was just grueling.

And YET, even with the pain V put me through (and let’s face it, he hurt me so good), I think he’s off the chain hot.  Here’s the top ten reasons why I think Vishous is fabulous:

10.  The Eyes Have It- I love those diamond white irises with the navy blue rims.  And the tats on that temple?  Makes me swoon.

9.  Black Wax- I think the V fans out there know EXACTLY what I’m talking about here.  Feel me?

8.  The Hand- come on, like you can’t adore a male who could incinerate a house for you.  Takes the pressure off starting grills, bonfires and flares.  Plus, excellent night light.

7.  Crazy IT Skills- with him around, you’d never have to worry about your hard drive crashing, your identity being stolen, your internet sacking out or your wires getting crossed.  Plus if you ever decided you wanted to hack into something?  He could do it and make you breakfast at the same time.

6.  His Music- but then I love rap and hip hop, too.

5.  Sixteen Languages- which means you could go pretty much anywhere in the world with him and order what you wanted for dinner.  Plus maybe he’d feed the entree to you.  Or the dessert.  Or even better- you know, I’m going to stop right here.

4.  His Magic Dagger- okay, okay, that sounds rude.  But he’s a stone cold lesser killer and I dig that.

3.  Black Wax- had to bring that one up again.  Because once just isn’t enough.

2.  The Butch Connection- I think Butch and V are hot together.  And the fact that V found Butch in those woods and rescued him?  And now heals him after he does his special biz with the lessers?  *sigh*

And the number one reason?

The way Vishous falls in love with Dr. Jane Whitcomb.  Of course, you’re going to have to read LOVER UNBOUND to find out the precise details.  But let’s jut say, V as a bonded male?  Hottest thing around.

Anyone else into Vishous?

KITTY: Yeah! That’s right, Squawker Losers. This here’s a picture of me and my pal, J.R. WARD catching a little girl time on the beach. After we trolled for beach bikers, I loosened her up with a little herbal “tea” and we got chatty. The following is taken verbatim from the taped conversation. Brockway added the sound effect descriptions and, I might add, took a little creative license.

Kitty: Okay, I’m gonna be honest here, first impression of J.R. Ward? Disappointingly elegant. J.R., babe, the whole vampire loving Brotherhood of the Black Dagger thing misled me into thinking you’d be a girl with tats. Prison tats. Like mine. So, how’d a nice girl like you develop this fiendishly dense, 3-D vampire world? Did you wake up one morning and say, “Today, I create worlds?” And while you’re at it, pour me another cup of that herbal goodness, too.

J.R. WARD: Actually, I was struck by lightening and decided to go with the madness.  And you know what the added bene was?  I now glow in the dark- without having my butt plugged into the wall.  Very handy attribute especially during tornado season.  I mean, previously I was SOL if I didn’t have an extension cord or if the electricity was out.

(unpleasant snorting sounds)

KITTY: J.R. you’re suppose to drink the tea, not snort it. Atta girl. Did you build the Black Dagger world slowly or did you pre-plan the rules before Book One? And how the hell do you keep everything straight? Have you paneled your office in dry erase board?

J.R. WARD: I keep it straight because my brain is like a filing cabinet.  I think it’s the lawyer in me.  And my office is paneled in… well, hell, a whole lot of nothing.  I need a decorator.

KITTY: You got these six enormous, powerful stud muffins with teeth. Do you own a Hog?

J.R. WARD: Yes.  I keep it in my basement and feed it chunks of mailmen and meter readers- oh, wait, did you mean motorcycle?  Ah… strike that last response.  Yeah, I don’t know anything about hogs.  Or mailmen.  (unpleasant slurping sounds) Um… meter what? And you’re right, tea goes down easier this way.

KITTY: Forget it. I digress. You started with DARK LOVER, then went to LOVER ETERNAL, then LOVER AWAKENED, and now you’re at LOVER REVEALED. Vamps are dying, but more are being exposed, if you know what I mean. How many more Black Dagger books will be forthcoming?

J.R. WARD: Originally there were just going to be ten, but now the series is open ended.  Because let’s face it- writing about male vampires with tats and leathers is the best job on the planet.  Well, except maybe being Hugh Jackman’s tailor.  Now there’s an inseam I’d like to meas- damn, what did you put in this tea?  It tastes a little funny and I have this mad urge to gum flap.

KITTY: Nuthin’! You, ah, don’t have a urine test scheduled this week, do you? (J.R. Ward’s response at this point is unintelligable) Good. So, wanta reveal a few juicy clues? Come on, honey. Liz promised me a bottle of tequila for every exclusive I dug, I mean I charmed out of you. Be sweet. Reveal.

J.R. WARD: Reveal?  Um… I don’t really know you that well but here.  (flapping sound like she’s ripping open a raincoat) Hey!  You don’t have run screaming from the room!  Look, you wanna buy a watch?  How about a knock-off handbag?  Two for one and I promise you I’m wearing a bikini under all this black market stuff.

KITTY: I’m screaming because Eloisa gave me one of those Gucci bags for Christmas! She said it was from Florence! That cheap (expletive deleted) !  Stay on focus, Kitty...Your books make with the details and, well, the testosterone. One disaster falls on another. Reading you is sort of like watching CSI Las Vegas. Or Snake Pliskin. You a fan of either? What do you read/watch/do for inspiration and ideas?

J.R.WARD: I’m inspired by- what?  Oh, yeah, sure.  I’d like some tea.  What were we talking about?  You don’t remember either?  Well, what do you know, we both suffer from the neurological disorder CRS.  Go fig. 

KITTY: Yeah. Fine. Don’t Bogart that teapot. Hand it over. Come on! That’s better. Now, before you were J.R. Ward, you wrote straight romance and still do. What’s with that? You have a really strong work ethic, a huge mortage or, as Medeiros suggests, the creative process is enhanced by the, er, double-dipping. Okay, she didn’t say ‘double-dipping,’ but she was starting to wax eloquent and I fell asleep. You get my drift, though, right?

J.R.WARD: Double… er… dip?  OMG I feel so dirty.  I knew I was going to like you. (unpleasant sounds of mutant species recognizing one of their own kind followed by a low five and a knuckle pound)

And I’d have to go with the work ethic response.  I hate down time and if I’m not writing I get twitchy.  Which is not pretty.  And makes strangers think I belong in a mental ward… or working as a model for bobble head dolls or as a paint mixer or a Fribble machine… or ...

KITTY: You’re twitching.

J.R.WARD: More tea please?  That (expletive deleted) is very calming.

KITTY: (sound of crockery clattering) Crap! I spilled. (sigh) How are writing the two different? Either one more fun than the other?

J.R.WARD: No, they’re both good.  I mean, how do you pick between Twister and Monopoly?  Both are equally fun when played naked- what?  I’m just keeping it real!  Oh, come on like you’ve never taken a ride on the Reading RR in your skivvies?  And everyone likes to land on green.  Admit it.  You’ve done it and LOVED IT.

(unpleasant sounds of Kitty giggling) KITTY: Ohhh. Lookee here, Xtina (aka the Troll) has just texted me with the following question: “How tall are you and can I have some?” You know when I met Christina she was at least three inches taller but time and gravity…

J.R. WARD: Yeah, I’m a long/tall, all right.  Kind of like a good gin & tonic.  Well, except I don’t sweat in the heat. (Background sounds as if Kitty is saying “Well, not too much.” ) And I don’t make your ankles swell.  Hey, that happens if you drink too many T&Ts in the summer!  (T= Tanqueray of course.  And I’m not speaking from personal experience with the ankles.  Not.  At.  All.)

KITTY: Sure. I believe you. I know you were involved in hospital administration and are a lawyer. Aren’t they like as dry as ...well, doctors? I mean, did you develop your rich interior life a means of coping with the fact that you had to deal with health care all day?

J.R.WARD: Are you kidding me?  Doctors are hot.  They’re real life heroes.  (Kitty snorts)Plus they have clean hands which is always a plus.

KITTY: Okay, time for the fun part of the interview, where we get up close and personal.

J.R.WARD: Wait, you asking about my hog wasn’t personal? 

KITTY: Finish your tea. If you were a U.S. coin which one would you be?

J.R. WARD: Um… I’d have to say a silver dollar.  Why?  Because then I wouldn’t have to worry about getting fed into a vending machine, dryer or old fashion phone.  I have a fear of cramped dark places. 

KITTY: Hell Boy or Dr. Strange?

J.R. WARD: Hell Boy.  Defo.  Can’t beat a big guy with sawed-off horns in his forehead.  You’d always have a place to hang your Red Sox hat.  Plus he was kind of f-ugly so you’d want something in front of his mug.

KITTY: Eat in or take out?

J.R. WARD: Neither.  My art sustains me- (unpleasant sound of coughing) I feel a little dizzy.  But in a good way.  Can I have more of that tea?

KITTY: Later. Ski Vermont or Aspen?

J.R. WARD: Are you insane?  Wait, you think I’m going to plug myself into a pair of two-by-four filets, drag myself up the icy puss of a mountain, and swish-diggity down the thing until I yard sale in front of a bunch of hot men dressed in front-zipper Gortex pants- while breaking a leg?  Look, there’s a reason that sport has a term called a “Fall line” and it’s not because people keep have it easy keeping their snowsuits on the vertical.  BLEH. 

The question should be Ibiza or St. Tropez?  Answer: Ibiza.  With a certain friend of mine.  Two words:  Sling-shot.  Viewing.  Or is sling shot two words?  (giggling. Impossible to tell if it’s Kitty or J.R. Ward as both are equally unpleasant) Wheeeeee I like this tea… hit me again there, your Earl Grayness.  Or is that Greyness?

KITTY: Yup. I got another thermos right here. I think we’re done here. Stupid Squawkers should be happy with this. If they’re not they can get (expletive deleted) themselves.  Thanks, J.R.  Hey. Wanta see my “Beavis and Butthead” tattoo?

J.R. WARD: For God’s sakes woman!  Who told you that’s Beavis and Butthead??  Looks like two pigs fighting under a blanket.  And I mean that in the nicest, most supportive way.  Here, take this towel and um… yeah, wrap that (expletive deleted) back up, girl.  There you go.  God, this tea’s made me sleepy.  I feel like I need to just put my head down for a minute.  I’m really tir- ZZZZ z ZZzzzzzZZZZZZ *snort* ZZZzz