Playing All The Angles by Nicole Lane @OmnificPub @lanelese


the outside lane:

Thank you, Reading Renee, for hosting PLAYING ALL THE ANGLES today! I really appreciate you.

Originally posted on Reading Renee:

 
 
TITLE: PLAYING ALL THE ANGELS
AUTHOR: NICOLE LANE
RELEASE DATE: JUNE 10, 2014

Dominic Phillips is an enjoyable distraction from fashion designer Eve D’Amico’s loneliness, but there’s never been anything more between them than hot sex. Since he desires no commitment from her either, it’s pretty much the perfect arrangement…except for the fact that he’s dating her sister Isabelle.
Eve’s grown used to being seen as the promiscuous black sheep of her family ever since an unplanned pregnancy at age fourteen, and Isabelle is the only one in the D’Amico clan who doesn’t treat her like a second class citizen. Eve doesn’t exactly revel in the idea of hurting her sister if the truth ever comes out.
Just when she starts hitting it off with the sexy new neighbor next door, her world is turned upside-down when Dominic reveals his plans to marry Isabelle. As if things weren’t…

View original 170 more words

Closer and Closer


The release of PLAYING ALL THE ANGLES is creeping closer.  I have bookmarks and magnets for book signing giveaways, and I played with making shrinky-dink charms of the book cover, yesterday (adorable! But not cost effective–I’ll use them as special giveaways.)  Finally, I gave up and asked the B&N contact if I could just bring cookies.  I’ll be taking cookies.  Now, to find heart shaped cookies.  And to order my book cover cake.

And finish these licensing exams. That’s priority uno.

1.  Finish exams (and pass them)
2.  Get PAtA released and celebrated
3.  Get MISS MAYHEM to betas
4.  Start production on RLB’s first ever illustrated storybook
5.  Get  MISS MAYHEM to editor
6.  Get MISS MAYHEM to publisher

That’s the priority list, not including all the little things required of everything else, and all secondary to Thor.

I have an ironic “kittens” 2 year planner, and I’ve just realized the man watching me write in it, does not think it is ironic.  I may have just found the proverbial garlic to the vampire!  Kitten Dayplanner=Crazy Woman 

Actually, Kitten Dayplanner=Frugal Woman who shops at the Dollar Tree.  My other choices were cheesy sunset photos, or muscle cars.  These aren’t even cute kittens.  They are100% Dollar Tree kittens. Just run of the mill, hey, we found this guy hanging around the dumpster behind the building juvenille cats.  I think all these “kittens” are at least 6 months old.  (I am cute baby animal ageist.)

Like a Room Without a Roof


I can’t be the only one who wants to follow up that line from “Happy” by singing “troof” instead of “truth.” 

Feedback for the romance novel is trickling in, and it is good.  This makes me happy.  Other things that make me happy:

Summer is almost here!

My dog.

Learning new things.

Getting paid to learn new things.

Monsters, Inc

Coffee

Blueberry Red Bull

Too Faced lipstick in Cougar

Being told I look 10 years younger than I am

Cosmetics by e.l.f., but especially their purple illuminating primer (see above)

Fridays

Being able to say, “my publicist”

My bluetooth keyboard

Kate Spade bags

Kate Spade period

Getting 98 out of 110 questions right

Stuff

A lot of stuff

Pharrell

Vivaldi

Arcadia’s album, So Red the Rose

Santagold and Amanda Blank

Glitter nail polish

Books on my phone

Music on my phone

Vector drawing apps on my phone

My Boston Book Festival bookbag

Dancing

Redkin’s All Soft line of hair care products

Listen to the Squawking Chicken, by Elaine Lui

Thunderstorms

Having a great hair day and a great skin day on the same day–and having somewhere to be seen

My buddies  (family included in that)

The Inconvenience Store


Every time I walk into a convenience store for morning coffee, usually while I am filling up my gas tank, I have to make a decision.  Am I going to smile at the people in the store, whereupon at least one man will take this as an invitation and hit on me, or am I going to walk in with Resting Bitchface, leave my sunglasses on, and have at least one man tell me to smile so that I will be worthy of his hitting on me.  There is a third choice, and that’s to smile only at the women, children, and guy behind the register, but that seems rude.  That is rude.  So is Resting Bitchface, and I’m a smiler by nature, so…

I go to the McDonald’s drive-thru for coffee, even though it would be more convenient to just walk into the Qwickee Mart, or whatever.  At the McDonald’s drive-thru no one is going to appraise my backside, murmur about what they’d like to do to it, or try to brush up against me when I bend over to get one of those amazing cheese and berry pastries from the bottom shelf.  Do you realize that men bend over, but women crouch?  Isn’t it funny that my mother specifically taught me how to lower myself to the ground so that strange men would not stop and stare at my rear end?  I should be able to bend over to get that pastry because one of these days my knee is going to give out when I crouch down, and then someone is going to have to haul me off the floor.  I guess that’s another choice I make:  Excrutiating knee pain, or let Joe Jerkoff get a good look at what my gluts look like when stretched out.

The sad thing is that I never really thought about it much until recently.  It was just what I did.  I don’t want to be hit on because I don’t want to have to deflect unwanted advances because there is always the threat of so much vitriol even when I am as polite, pleasant, and sweet as possible.  I do all I can to avoid looking–I was going to say available, but I wear a wedding ring, so my availability is right there in your face.  Don’t get me started on the times it’s happened with my child right beside me.  No, I do all I can to avoid being visible.  I treat convenience store strangers like they are all ravenous bugblatter beasts of Traal.  

I never thought about being afraid of the backlash from my, “No, thank you.”  It was just part of life.  He tells me I have a pretty smile.  I say thank you.  He tells me he’d like to have my head in his lap.  I say no thank you.  He tells me I’m an ugly bitch and he didn’t want me anyway–like I was the rude one!  That’s just life, right?  Well, that’s potential life in a convenience store.  And it is so pervasive to my daily grind that I don’t even bother telling anyone anymore.  Every time someone licks his lips at me, or dry humps the air in my general direction, or tries to rub my backside while he’s holding the door for me to walk in ahead of him I just pack it down and file it away.  It’s expected.  It’s old hat.  It’s old news.  It happens.  No one cares.

No one cares.

Because the stranger didn’t really hurt me, or anything.  He could have, sure, but he didn’t.  He was just rude, or lewd.  That’s just bad manners.  It doesn’t hurt anything.

It doesn’t hurt anything.

It just makes me clench up my colon like I’m trying to turn coal into diamonds every time I stop to fill up for gas, and the man on the other side of the tank starts trying to catch my eye.  That’s all.  That doesn’t really hurt.

Tonight, a little girl I’ve known since she was just a wee speck shared how, now that she is a grown woman, men are making her hate her job because they are being rude and lewd, and I started thinking about convenience stores.  I started thinking about how angry I would be to see someone putting two fingers up to his lips and thrusting his tongue through them at her.  

I started thinking about how I hunch my shoulders over to hide my breasts, how I leave my sunglasses on to avoid eye contact, how I rush quickly and dodge, bob and weave down aisles to avoid strange men, and how every convenience store visit means stress for me because I don’t want to be rude, because I love being friendly, because I’m worried that I’ll hurt someone’s feelings, because I don’t want to be cold to a nice person on the off chance that he’s a troll, because I’m supposed to be flattered, because I’m supposed to take a joke, because I’m supposed to be above that, because I’m supposed to take the high road and just ignore the jerk, because I’m supposed to be responsible for making sure the man advancing on me walks away feeling good about himself.  And I became very angry.

And sad.  Because I don’t know how to fix it.  All I can do is try to raise something better than the most recent waste of flesh who flicked his tongue at me while I tried to pick a creamer for my coffee.

And keep going to the drive thru.