I have a new fascination. And though I’m sure after seeing the lovely men of this blog, you’re going to think you know why I am so fascinated. But you’d be wrong. Well, mostly wrong.

I watched another rugby game this weekend. Last week, I watched France beat Ireland. Who’d a thunk there were large, hunky Frenchmen? Really, I never guessed. But these guys were burly. This weekend, I watched Ireland bounce back to beat England. It was close, but Ireland totally outplayed them.

So, anyone find a new fascination lately? Fell in love with those Norwegian Curling pants maybe?

*A TRY in rugby is the same as a touchdown in American football. Only it’s worth less points. And is much tougher to get.

You ever have that feeling that you might have bitten off more than you could chew? I know, it’s a well-known saying, but I think it can also be used to illustrate the writer’s dilemma.

I’m creating worlds, as I’ve mentioned before…(blogs are by definition supposed to be about personal experience, right? I worry sometimes that I’m being a big egocentric, always writing ‘me’ blogs…)

OK, for the sake or being different, let me talk about some other writer. Some other…unknown writer. She starts a story…tra la, la, la, la. Things are going along swimmingly. Great story, fun characters, nice plot… La, la, la. La. L…a.

Ooops. Ran out of plot at 65,000 words. Uh, this is supposed to be a big book. Hmmm. Well, this isn’t so much too big a bite as not really enough to satisfy. (What do they call that on the Food Network or Bravo’s Top Chef? Some French word that is supposed to mean one bite. Scar a bouche? (A prize for whoever knows this word!) Or for those of us uncultured…a snack.)

The market is tough for a manuscript this…uh, short. (Unless the eventual folderol known as the Harlequin Mess ever gets straightened out. Harrumph.)

OK. So, this writer says to herself, “Chance…” Uh, I mean, “Self! You need to do something to fatten this puppy up. It’s a good story, it’s a fun story. The characters are cool. Let’s get going!”

Self re-opens the document and begins to work on her 65k. Decides that isn’t really the ending…it was too quick. Too easy. She throws in more angst, more drama, another killing, kidnapping, oooh! Yeah, I’ll add a bigger villain! I mean, she adds a bigger villain! An über villain! Not just a threat to the heroine, but a threat to the WORLD!

On a roll! Really moving now! Yes! Toss in this plot line, this secondary couple! This… Wow. This has gotten a bit…large. From a snack to a buffet table.

Now, I like a buffet. I mean, she likes a buffet. And the market is better for a more fully developed manuscript. What market there is at present.

The rewrite begins, because this buffet needs a theme, a sense of organization. The entrees need to be near the end of the line, the deserts at the end, the salad at the beginning… (And I’m off on another metaphor! Damn!)

The gist of this blog is about starting projects that grow out of control. (Like this blog.) I do watch those cooking shows and time and again, it’s the chef that starts out too complicated that gets booted off. Or, as the picture illustrates, you start off thinking you can tackle this and then…wow, that is a big ship! And we’re small pirates.

I feel this way in general about writing at least once a month. That I’ve started something that is way too big for me. Then I get over that. But the Work In Progress will loom up with a similar theme… I’ve started something that is way too big for me. I get over that. Editing? I’ve started something…

You get the picture.

Everyone has these feelings. Every time we start an endeavor that seems overwhelming in the attention it needs. I’ve been guilty, many times in my life, of starting something with the best of intentions and then sucking at the follow through. Sometimes it works out anyway, despite my own unique way of running-away. (My house, for example…it’s still going up in value, even in this market… I live ½ from the Monterey Bay. I could let the walls fall down and it’s still going to be worth moolah.) (No, I’m not letting the walls fall in, but the paint is bad, the outside is two-toned, the yard is a jungle (and not in a pretty way…) … we redid the kitchen, never cook…. Blah, blah, blah.) Best of intentions, rotten follow through. (If I did the follow thru, the value would really climb! Whoop!)

Other endeavors I’ve managed to run away from? Making jewelry. I liked forging, soldering, sawing, filing… Casting. What was it I didn’t follow through with? Well, I really sucked at polishing. And pretty much sucked at marketing. But the big downfall was polishing. The buffing, the compounds, the patience to make something shiny instead of just…sorta shiny. Me? Sucked. Me? Don’t make jewelry anymore.

Singing. I like to sing. I have a good voice. I took classes when I moved away from my beloved, afore-mentioned, voice instructor. But…no follow-through. Didn’t look for someone who would like a voice to go with that guitar, that piano, that mandolin. Didn’t reach out, find venues for open mics…look for people who might need a voice to go with that… Uh huh. Me. Rotten follow through. I sing in the car now, that’s about it.

Now, I’m writing, and working so blessedly hard at not sucking with follow through. I’m learning how to polish a MS. I’m learning how to talk to editors/agents…write those awkward letters… “Remember me? You requested a partial from… Have you had a chance…”

Sigh. I think I suck at it, but I’m doing it. I sent some stuff out way too early…but I’m not going to just pull it. I love A Caribbean Spell, and I’ll push it until I find someone willing to work with me on making it sparkly. (Thanks fer the feeback, Q!) And I work to make it better periodically. And I work very hard at making sure the next manuscript I put out there is closer to perfect.

I constantly fight the feelin’ that I have bitten off more than I can chew. That I have a tiger by a tail. That this ship has too much sail… (I love metaphors!)

So, your turn! You feel often like you’ve over-reached yourself? Do you see a pattern in your life of being a bit…overly ambitious? True or not? (Because in truth, we are all brilliant and sparkle like the stars we are.) You know where your weaknesses lie? Am I so over the map I’ve lost you? (That’s OK, I get lost, too.) You ever read something where you can tell the author really overdid it with that buffet? You juggling too many chainsaws? (Can I fit in another metaphor?)

The undead monkey screeches, swipes his grubby paws through the icing on the cake, and darts off. Chance keeps the drinks coming, and keeps all the pirates loaded.

Cap’n Hellie stumbles up to the front, and Sin helps her stand on a whiskey barrel. “Attention crew! No one, and I mean no one, was supposed to know!”

Hal leans over to Marn: “How much has she had to drink?”

Marn: “Not that much. What’s Chancey putting in these drinks?”

Cap’n Hellie totters on the Whiskey barrel, but regains her footing with the help of one of the cabin boys. “Thank you, dear. If you stick around, I’ll thank you properly.”

The cabin boy pinched her butt as he walked away.

Ter raised her glass: ‘Now this is turning into a party!”

“Noooo!” Cap’n wailed. “No one was supposed to know!”

Sin and Chance, at the bar, looked at each other and burst out laughing. “Right, secrets on a pirate ship. Does she think she’s commanding a crew who actually listens to her?”

“Apparently not!” Hellie sat down on the barrel to avoid to avoid tottering again and re-adjusted her birthday tiara.  “I thought I’d fooled you all last week with saying I was taking time off for no special reason.”

Ter refilled her glass and whispered to Sin, “Right, like that was going to actually work.”

“But the point,” Marn said, “Is that now we get to have a party! Where’d the cake go?”

“I think the monkey ate it,” Hal said.

Santa came rushing up from the galley, J hot on her heels. “I saved the cake! I saved the cake!”

J held up the undead monkey by his scrawny neck. “And I caught the little bastard.” Icing coated his face while he squeaked away.

“Okay!” Hal said. “Now it’s a freakin party!”

Happy birthday to Hellie! Who wants to party with us today? Chance, what are you putting in those drinks? Santa, this cake is delicious!  Who put these decorations–they’re awesome! So Hellie, what did you decide to do with your time off? Johnny’s at the bar. He seems sad waiting for you. He has a very special birthday present to give you!

(Sorry, no musical influences for the week. I’m not Sin. She’s off playing somewhere other than the ship, and I graciously took over for the day. Sorry. No angst. No music. No murder. Or thoughts of murder. Live with it.)

            2^nd Chance

On with the blog!

We were all newbies once. We all took the first step to a conference or a convention or an RWA meeting or a classroom at one time…stepped into that room and wondered if the big neon sign above us, shouting out TOTAL IGNORANT BOOB was working.

Admit it, we all have these signs.

I know how terrified I was at my first event. The Romantic Times Booklovers Conference in Pittsburgh, April of 2008. I was lucky. I’d signed up for the Aspiring Author workshop and one thing Judi McCoy does brilliantly is set up a bulletin board for everyone to join who takes her class. Months in advance.

So, we all had a chance to babble about our nerves, to address the questions about what we needed to bring to class a bazillion times, how to format our writing… OMG! What if we do it wrong???? We’ll be cast into no-more-chances hell and never see daylight again! Nooooooo!

Yeah, total chaos and lots of diving into the chocolate bins. Would have been much worse without the BB. As it was, because of that BB, I arrived to meet Jane in person. We’d already found common ground on the BB and started a friendship apart from that link.

Last year, Judi asked Jane and me (should that be Jane and I? These grammar things confuse me sometimes…) Anyway, she asked us to join her newbie board as a pair of experienced students who could help her, and them.(I’ve come to the conclusion this gives Judi more time to write and helps her save patience for the convention. Smart woman!)

We agreed. And we had a blast. Made friends with most of them, several we are still corresponding with. And several I lured to the Revenge. (Hi! Sabrina!) We were told by many of them how our joking back and forth set them at ease and made them look forward to not only everything they’d learn, but how much fun they’d have. And they weren’t worried about arriving at the con feeling terribly alone.

Jane and I both felt this was our opportunity to give back to the community. And to help out with making sure the newbies don’t feel as scared as we did, despite knowing each other when we arrived in Pittsburgh. (I mean, what if we’d really disliked each other on site? What then? It could have happened that way!)

We’re doing it again this year, another crop of newbies to encourage and work with. And Jane e-mails me, “Were we this freaked out?”

And I e-mail her back, “Yes! Of course we were!”

How quickly we forget! Granted, what freaked me out didn’t freak Jane out. And vice versa. But yes, we both freaked about different things.

In Orlando, it was fascinating to see how certain newbies prepared for the conference. Sabrina had a color coded notebook of all the panels, when, who…she was über organized! Willie had a pack to haul away books and I think she ended up with around 200 in that pack. (Not all freebies.) Kathy and Darelle, a niece and aunt, put together the most amazing costumes for the fairy ball! Damn, I wanted to steal that crackle glass globe atop her staff!

We’re looking forward to what this next group will surprise us with. Last year, we had goody bags for them, a total surprise for Judi, who cried at seeing her newest book included in the bags. A surprise Jane’s husband sprang for.

(The dog that inspired Judi to create her new dogwalker series passed away right before the first book made it to the bookstores. Bryan, Jane’s DH, is a big softie and wanted to contribute something to make Judi feel better. This box of books arrives at Jane’s house from an unknown benefactor and we didn’t know until months after the conference that they came from Bryan. Now, that’s romantic!)

We filled the bags with some snacks, chocolate, small notepads, pencils, snacks, pens, bookmarks I made printed with the most basic of the acronyms that had confused me in the beginning…just fun stuff. Oh, and buttons. And info about the Revenge!

And several of the newbies had visited Disneyworld before the con. Brought me a pirate flag pin and Jane got a TinkerBell mug. Sweet girls!

Even though Jane and I aren’t published, or agented, we feel it’s important to do what we can with what we know to help out the how ever we can. Jane, the insane one, is going to volunteer at the con this year. I might tag along, but nothing official. I hate being scheduled at these things…

So, you remember what it was like to be so brand new you didn’t know what HEA meant? (I do.) How did you feel the first time you walked into a conference, did it feel to you like everyone knew everything while you knew nothing? (I did!) Have you been to a conference yet? Worried, at all? (I admit, I still worry.) How do you give back or plan to give back to the writing community?

by J Perry Stone

I’ve been noticing, lately, a wide-spread habit of chronic over-doing. Weddings where the brides walk down the aisle to such bombastic, over-the-top music, the trumpets fairly blast them into the carpet runner. Movies where the special effects are so exaggerated, the audience is technologically tortured. I call these movies “nap time” by the way.

Even a week ago, after writing my grandfather’s obituary, the part-time editor of the village newspaper called wanting to “beef it up” by adding the names of his parents (!), the spouses of his four children, as well as the names of his six grandchildren and their six children. The poor readers! Ever read the catalogues in Homer’s Iliad? Snooze-fest.

As Americans we tend to over-do. So much so, it’s a part of our stereotype. We think if a little is good, surely a truckload is better. As a garlic-loving cook, as well as a woman with a big mouth, I’m certainly the worst offender. As a writer, probably more so, but as a reader? I’m getting weary.

Are we losing the substance of our stories in an assault of bells and whistles? Why am I closing books only to feel as though I’ve been trapped in a Chuck E Cheese during a power-surge?

I point to a couple trends.

First exaggeration: sex. Now I’m no prude and get pretty frustrated if my romance novel doesn’t provide me with at least one satisfying consummation scene. Two, even better. That said–for God’s sake publishing world!–five sex scenes in a 350 page book does not spicy sensuality make. I’ve said it before but when I read about the poor heroine getting jack-hammered over and over again, all I can think is, “How did they treat urinary tract infections in Regency England?” It isn’t the number of times the hero’s tool makes an appearance, but the emotional roil that gives a story its spice. If you don’t agree, dear writer, then I shall have to inform you that your hero’s tool bored me to tears. And frankly, as a romance writer, a boring penis is a first-degree offense.

Second exaggeration: Ego writing. Ever read a story where you were painfully aware of the author indulging herself in her own clever wit? Nothing irks me more. I can feel you, Ms. Author, inserting yourself in the story, but I don’t want you making a cameo in my escape. The story isn’t about you. It’s about the characters.

Maybe I’m just being pissy, but is a little restraint, subtlety and taste to know when less is more asking too much?

Consider this post your permission to bitch about it. What has been over-done for you lately?

(Note: my fashion journalist sister says over-doing is only acceptable when it comes to jewelry. Here I quite agree.)

I’ve been spending a lot of time lately, thinking of things to do with my time off on Thursday and Friday. I took time off with no particular vacation hot spot in mind; just wanted to be free to do Hellion Happy Things. Incidentally refining the list of Hellion Happy Things has been quite entertaining for several evenings, as I prioritize what I really want to do.

Most of the list involves girl stuff. Hair cut, eyebrow grooming, hair dying, and a pedicure. And some wine drinking. Just basic: “I want to loll around all day, pretending I’m a New Jersey housewife.” Minus the tanning. (And no vajazzling, so don’t bother asking.) If you saw me right now, you’d realize why all these activities made my list. Spring is coming, by God. And before Spring gets here, I need to make a half effort to actually not frighten strangers with what I look like now. It’s bad. Kathy Bates from Misery bad.

My hair style’s grown out; my eyebrows are crazy; my toenails look boring; and I’ve got a general malaise where Winter is concerned that I’m hoping some laughter with girlfriends and a bottle of wine will cure. The problems are plain and obvious and they’re things I can fix. Or more honestly, my checkbook can fix.

Then as I was making my list, I had a mini-epiphany: when you leave things alone for three months, it’s a lot easier to see what needs to be fixed.

Consider a finished manuscript. Once I finished my first manuscript, all I saw were articles constantly harping to leave your manuscript alone for at least 6 weeks (better three months) before you do revisions. But no one ever wants to do that, do they? No. They want to do it now. They want to polish and polish and then send it out in the world (which of course I did) for everyone to love it.  And which of course nobody did. At the time, I was dejected by this global rejection, but now I can see the point.

I realize now a lot of our efforts to polish and polish newly finished manuscripts is like sending Joan Rivers New Jersey Housewives out to find husbands when they’ve spent the last month in a spa. They’re too tanned, too false, too plucked, and too alike. There is nothing natural anymore because they spent all their time looking in one of those mirrors that magnifies your pores by ten times. They fix the molehills instead of the mountains. They lose their inner sparkle. They’re husks of their real selves.

I beg you: learn from Joan Rivers. Don’t start cutting right away! Let your natural beauty rest and shine for a while, then carefully and prudently correct where correction is needed. And don’t overpluck. Do not turn your manuscript into a husk of its former glory because you can’t step away long enough to look at it objectively.

I realize a lot of us like to write cleanly, edit as we go—and I’m not trying to change that. That works for a lot of writers; and if it works, don’t tinker with it. (Bull Durham: don’t fuck with a winning streak. I get that.) But once you’ve written your first clean draft; once you’ve finally gotten to the end—let the damned thing sit the Winter in a drawer before you run it through its final polish. It’s a lot easier to see the obvious when you do.

Have you ever overplucked one of your manuscripts? How do you keep yourself from editing too soon? How do you feel about eyebrows? What things do you like to do to get ready for Spring and chase away the blues of a long Winter? And if you had a day off to do whatever you wanted, what would you do? (You don’t get extra brownie points if you virtuously say: “I’d write all day.” I won’t believe you.)
P.S. SPECIAL SHOUT OUT TO WACKIE JACKIE, WHO IS CELEBRATING HER BIRTHDAY TODAY! DRINK UP A CELEBRATORY DRINK FOR MY DEAR FRIEND, JACK!

If you’ve seen anything about the Olympics, the men in this blog should look quite familiar. Cute as they may be, the fact they’re sporting some fancy new bling doesn’t hurt matters at all.

 And I missed it. So, in honor of me first blog…back on January 23^rd, 2009…

What I Have Gained From My Year on the Revenge

1) I thought it would be fun. And it is fun! I’ve learned so much from my fellow bloggers, from our guests and from those who visit and babble along with us. Yes. The mysteries of glittery hoohas, the allure of a bedazller… And actually useful stuff. I’m still not finished with my picking away at the question of genre and what it all MEANS! I think that is my eternal quest, much like that of the Holy Grail.

But my mind delights in skipping and dancing along the way to figuring something out. Anything, for the most part.

For example…

Earlier this week I sat across the kitchen table with my 70-something Mother, discussing the origins of cuss words and  how I found it interesting how the varied ways words used to describe genitalia somehow became insults. I find topics like this fascinating. Not totally sure what Mom thought, though she did chuckle once or twice.

Any day is a good day when I can make Mom chuckle.

So, the delightful back and forth of this blog suits me quite well. And if the discussions sometimes turn into not much more than I-like-this-so-there…well, it’s still interesting. Then I sit back and contemplate why that was the answer!

Yes, Hel. I contemplate not just my navel, but all navels! I am an equal opportunity navel contemplator.

The blog stimulates my mind. Thank you! I hope it stimulates yours.

2) I thought the blog would help me build a platform to use when I get published. I still think it will work that way. I do a lot of wandering around examining writing trends, and one is about the entire idea of an author platform. I see several panels at RT on platform building, on web presence, on how to use the technology available to build an audience, even if you aren’t pubbed yet…and about branding. Not sure yet what that one is all about, but I look forward to exploring it.

I’ve spoken before about putting together a video book pitch and posting it on YouTube. I’m working on the script and hope to have it up before RT. Because I think it will be fun, not because I think it will work to get me an offer. I’m even going to dress up in all my pirate finery! Stand with the Pacific at my back, look distant and all romantic. Hee, hee.

It has to be fun or I’m not going to do it. (Though I can’t make that work with synopsis writing, blast.)

As for the idea of branding… I wonder if it’s about things like Christie Craig and her hats… I suspect it isn’t. But I was recently working on business cards to take to RT and put together a card that I felt spoke of how I see myself. More than a pirate, but writer who fully embraces the anarchy of piratatude in how I write, what I write, etc.

I chose a motto of sorts… Sailing the Seas of Adventure. And I claimed the genre of fantasy. (But I’m not through contemplating it or discussing it! Fair warning to all!)

I came to all of this through my time on the Revenge. The identity I found here is my writer identity. And I love it!

Thank you!

3) Friends. I’ve found friends. Terrio, who reads the stuff I send her and comes back with such intensely common sense she stuns me sometimes. (I keep asking her to marry me. She keeps putting me off, sly girl!) Sin, who is my musical guru and sends me music to inspire my muse. Hellion, who writes brilliant blogs on how to navigate the waters of a very complex writing sea. Halleigh, who is so academically brilliant it’s scary. And her research! Damn! Marnee – the master juggler. Writing, motherhood…a real inspiration. J. Perry, Santa, Lisa…all ladies that follow their dream, forging their own path.

Sometimes it’s slow, sometimes it’s hard, but we all work our sails the best we can. And Melissa, Julie, Quantum, Sabrina and all those who come along for the ride… I adore you all, even if I don’t list your name!

My world is so much larger for stowing away on the Revenge and wheedling my way into a one day a week chance to pontificate from the bar stool.

Thank you all!

And here’s a rum toast to you all! Scotch for you, Q!

To the Romance Writers Revenge! Long may she sail!

What do you find draws you back to the Revenge? You have anything particular you found here that assist you in finding your heart’s ideal? Any mottos spring brilliantly to mind? Any thoughts on whether a blog assists a non-pubbed author as much as a pubbed writer? Wanna wish me a belated happy anniversary?

I started my new story a few weeks ago after fighting off the muse as long as I could.  I’m nervous about it though and not just because there’s not a hint of paranormal about it.  That definitely isn’t helping, of course.  How will I solve problems between characters if they can’t even use magic or ESP?

No, I’m worried because my heroine, in a straight Regency, comes to realize that she likes being sexually liberated.  She was a courtesan for years, even begins the story as a courtesan, and when she’s able to get out of that profession, she realizes she’s not able to play at being proper now.  She’s worked hard to make herself financial stable.  She doesn’t feel like playing a role for society.  In fact, she ends up seducing the hero, who’s much more concerned about how society views him than she is.

So, ultimately, my heroine is the rogue and my hero is the prim maiden (without the virginity thing).

And in true romance fashion, my maiden softens my rogue and my rogue brings out the recklessness in my maiden.  Their genders are just reversed.

But honestly, I’m nervous of how it’s going to play out.  I’m messing with conventions that are pretty firmly entrenched and, like all times when messing with convention, it has the possibility to backfire in my face.  Crafting my characters has been interesting, challenging.  A lot of fun.  But will it work out?  Dunno yet.

Have you ever messed with a major romance convention?  Did it work out or not so much?  What authors do a good job of turning convention on their ears?  And how do you even feel about the fact that there are conventions at all?

Hells and I met up for our monthly writing meeting the second Saturday of the month like usual. Goals had been set (and almost met!), agendas planned, food made and topics ready; and I brought a guest. None other than the GPS. Through the years, the GPS and I have been the closest of friends and the fiercest of allies, yet both of us struggle to portray that type of character on paper. Hells was gracious enough to allow the GPS aboard again to bring you the topic of friends and what you would and wouldn’t do for them.

***

The Grand Pixy Sita here again bringing you the latest news from Booty magazine. I’ve got the hottest scoop on the new rage, Vajazzling. Some of you may remember the bedazzler. If you owned or operated a bedazzler, you will be more familiar with this new fad. If you’re not, maybe you can remember the phase where everyone was covering things with rhinestones. It was all about the bling; cell phones, cameras, PDAs, etc. Well, this fad is the beautiful and sparkling combination of both.

The world of the vajayjay has never looked brighter. I am headed out to investigate this brave new world and see what kind of people are really into this new taboo. Are there shops like body piercing? Is this a strictly DIY project? Is it a closet, I’m only going to trust my best friend, project?

It didn’t take much research to determine this was a DIY project. DIY with a close personal friend. (Though the tattoo artist seemed game, I didn’t feel I could trust him. Call me paranoid.) So I decided to ask my friends. They’re game, right? They’d take a bullet for me. What’s a little hot box blinging amongst friends?

As luck would have it, I happened to be flying past the RWR and was able to drop by and see my good friends Hells and Sin. A couple bottles of rum, and I’d have more material than I would ever need for my article. Jazzling Amongst Friends—I could see the title now. While I hoped they would have some insight for my article, I secretly hoped one of them had been in the closet and now had a sparkling hooha they were willing to show off like a sequined purse.

“So, Sin, have you heard of Vajazzling?”

“Have you been drinking and flying again?”

“You know, Sin,” Hells piped up, “We were blogging about it last week. In the comments. You know… the sparkles… down… well… there… you know… it.”

“So, Hells, you know about it, eh?  Have you secretly had it upgraded lately?” I was simply drooling in anticipation. A break in the story! Pixy dust was flying everywhere as my sweet little wings were buzzing in the air.

“NO. Are you kidding Sita? Why on earth would I have that done? Can you imagine the conversation of explaining where I’d want the rhinestones put? Apparently I’m the only person on this ship who refers to my special place as an it. No, thank you.”

Who knew the Captain was such a sharer?

“Well… if you ever wanted to really make your special place special—“ how I kept from laughing I don’t know—“I just so happen to have some adhesive and some beautiful blue jewels. We could have fun.”

Hells gave me a Look. “So I could have a matching blue box to go with my boyfriend’s blue….”

Sin leapt into the fray, clearly concerned for my safety. Hells was looking like someone who’d pull the wings off flies, let alone mouthy pixies. “Hells, I told you Sita would do it if you asked. She is such a freak like that.” Okay, maybe she didn’t love me that much. She had a hateful smile on her face.

Still, if she was reckless enough to step in front of the Captain, she’d surely be up for a little harmless redecorating. What was this really but a sparkly version of a bikini wax? If you could have a bikini wax done without blinking an eye, what was the big deal about gluing on crystals?

“You know, Sin, I’m not always that predictable. I’m actually trying to get out of the smut business and work for a real publication like the Treasure Chest. Unfortunately I’m having some trouble with my real investigative writing. Apparently my editors and my agent feel like I’m only suited to be the star reporter for Booty magazine. It’s not like I’ve done anything that wild. It’s not like I’ve uploaded my own video to Argtube or anything. No one has any official record of me doing anything raunchy to me or anyone else. Especially not that hot little thing I was stalking a while back. Come on, you guys have to help me. I really need a story—a human interest story about the power of friendships—to break my way in… Right after we vajazzle Hells.” I batted my eyelashes. “You know, for the sake of friendship.”

Sin and I both had a devilish look on our faces, but Hells merely drew her sword and gave the Look again. “Don’t even think about it. We’re not that good of friends.” Then she left. Poor crabby Captain. She could use some bling for her box. Then she could stop calling it an it.

“You know, Sita, if you come anywhere near me with those jewels of yours, I’ll kill you.”

“Don’t worry, Sin, we aren’t that good of friends.”

So my fellow pirates, help a fellow Pixie out: how do you write believable friendships? The kind of friendships that last and are true, the kind where you’d walk through hell and back, or in this case, let someone vajazzle you?