(the following entries can be found on the first page)
Deb Meister’s Desperate Hunger
Rachel Potter’s Irish Eyes
Kyla Arden’s A Waltz at Almacks!
Marianne Stillings’ Love’s Savage Gamble
Heidi Lyn’s’ Love at First Blight
(the following entries can be found on the second page)
Kathryn Lewison’s The Missing Item
Blythe Barnhill’s The Humanitarian Hero
Marianne Stillings’ Parody in Death
Marcelle McCoy’s Lord Leonard’s Folly (Scene I)
(the following entries can be found on the third page)
Anne Marble’s Lady Jane and the Elusive Tome
Andrea Geist’s The Introduction
Marcelle McCoy’s Heavens Baby!
Doozie MacFloozie’s Kitty’s Illegitimate Baby Cowboy Twins, One With Amnesia
Violet Rupcich’s Honey and Muffins
Andrea Geist’s Brothers: The Cowboy
(the following entries can be found on the fourth page)
Susan Brewster’s Olovia OR The Woman who Loved Men who Loved a Woman who Loved Men
Nancy Lepano’s Murder in Mississippi
Anna C. Bowling’s Too Stupid to Live
Victoria McManus’ Pure Love
(the following entries can be found on this page)
Lady Pen’s Dear Romance Readers & Writers
Purple Prose as written by Lady Pen:
Dear Romance Readers & Writers
My name is Lady Penelope. When I was seventeen I married a wonderful man. I wasn’t really in love with him, it was an arranged marriage, but while he was a bit older, he was nice and the things that he taught me in the bedroom! I was shocked I tell you, shocked! (But boy were they ever fun. )
Unfortunately, my dear Herold died after only three years of marriage. Surprisingly, he left me a great fortune. Knowing that I wasn’t an idiot, he gave me as much control as the courts would allow. Which means I’m independent! Do you realize how rare that is here? Ladies, women are chained to their fathers then they’re chained to their husbands. I’ve discovered that widowhood is grand. But after a year of mourning I’ve become a bit in need of some bedroom fun.
That brings me to my current problem, and why I’ve decided to write to ya’all. (You don’t mind this perfect Regency woman using you, do you? I just think it’s the cutest expression, and while no one uses it here, I’m sure that somewhere, someplace it’ll become vogue.)
Anyway, it has come to my attention that I’m not really living in Regency London but merely exist betwixt the pages of a romance novel. I’m only going to say this once ladies, let me out!!!!!!!!
You see, I don’t want to remarry. Really. I mean, dear Herold was fine and all, but I’m independent! I’m happy and I’m free and I don’t have to answer to anyone. It’s fabulous. It’s marvelous. But, let’s get to basics here, ladies. I want sex.
Never, in a million, trillion years did I imagine that now that I’m free, no longer a virgin, have a comfortable independence, that I would not be allowed to engage in all those exciting, lewd acts with some of the gorgeous men of the ton who never looked at me when I was marriage bait. Yes, dear Herold was fine, but he wasn’t the most virile specimen of manhood if you get my drift, and while we had a fabulous time in the boudoir, my friends talk. And while it might shock you all, I’ve heard stories of some of these men, and I wanna try. Pretty please, with sugar on top?
But, no, that’s what my mistress keeps telling me. Every time I ogle one of these men (and get ogled in return, thank you very much. I am somewhat of a beauty, if I do say so myself.) she slaps me. Figuratively speaking of course. I’m not allowed to have these thoughts. I have to remain chaste and have no interest in sex or else a majority of women will consider me loose and have no interest in reading my story. Agggghhhhhhh!!!!!!!!
And to make things even worse, she’s going to make me suffer for another three years. Ladies, I’ll die I tell you, really. Orgasms are great fun. Haven’t you heard? Really they are. And I didn’t love Herold. I mean, he was my husband, I was fond of him, but this is Regency England, we don’t marry for love, we marry for money and heirs. Ya’all seem to know that intellectually, but I don’t think you really get it.
I mean, my mistress told me she was being nice to me because she let me enjoy sex with Herold. She said that ya’all would have preferred it if I had had to think of England. I didn’t really understand what she meant by that, I mean I live in England and it’s a nice enough place, but if I have to fantasize during sex I can think of a lot of other more interesting things then England. Honestly. (Then my mistress smacked me because I was doing it to her again and she really hated that) Suffice it to say, you guys are mean and cruel and I really don’t want to play for you anymore.
Because I saw what else my mistress was writing when my back was turned. Here she was, tying me with the chastity belt. Keeping me on this horrid, country estate because I’m not supposed to have enjoyed London. Are you crazy? I want to visit my tenants instead of going to parties? Yeah, right. (Unbeknowst to my mistress I’ve been throwing out lures to some of the cute stable lads but they’re all pretty scared of her so none of them are biting. Sigh. )
To continue, I’m stuck here, not getting anything other then a backache and guess what the guy she’s pairing me with is doing. Just guess. You’ll never, not in a million, trillion years, guess what he’s doing right this very minute. He’s having sex! That’s right, you heard it from me first ladies. He’s rolling around, having loads and loads of fun with his mistress and I’m here alone with my eccentric family of fifteen including several pigs and a donkey.
And what’s more, this jackass has been doing this very thing for years. I’ve heard from people that it’s all that he likes to do. It’s his favorite pastime. Well, la di da da da. Isn’t that special. When I asked my mistress about this, I was sure she’d tell me that I was mistaken. I mean, surely ya’all don’t think it’s okay for him to do this, while I can’t? I mean, It’s not fair!!!!!!!!!!!!!
She tried to explain it to me, but frankly, I wasn’t listening too hard. I was trying to figure out how I could possibly get out of her book and into one by Emma Holly. You see, I’ve been asking around, and I was told that my best bet for sex, if I didn’t want to be tortured and kidnapped, was to get betwixt the pages of her books. But,you see, I discovered that there’s a huge line for this. I mean massive. I saw debutantes up the wazoo and even some women wearing jeans and suits from what I was told is the future.
They all explained to me that I’m not alone. That really, I was better off then them, because at least I’d had sex and enjoyed it. Many of them had been raped and were supposed to be massively afraid of the act, the one in the suit said that her mistress told her she just didn’t have time. (Yeah right.) All the debutantes said that it wasn’t the fact that they were virgins that appalled them, but they too had witnessed their future spouses having sex with other women in their novel and they didn’t want to share the spotlight. (They were eventually informed that Emma might be a bit much for them and were instructed to head over to the Mary Jo Putney or Jo Beverley lines.)
So, anyway, as things stand, I’ll make it into an Emma Holly book by 2015. I’m very much afraid however, that my author will find me before then. Please, ladies, for my sanity, can’t you relent a bit?