Magick and Lipstick Blog

 Janet Elizabeth Jones

Please Welcome my guest Blogger for today, my good friend, multi-published, talented author Janet Elizabeth Jones. Author with Harlequin. Janet will talking on time management, and giving away a signed copy of her paperback novel Incubus, if you leave a comment in the comment box below. And contact Janet through one of her many websites.

Thank you, Julie, for having me over today :D

I'm here to confess something. It's my dreadful secret: I am clock and calendar challenged. Time-challenged. I'm sure I'm short of time. Isn't everyone? But worse than that, I tend not to notice whether I'm short of time or not, because to me, time feels like a sprawling, never-ending "now" to me.

It's often called absentmindedness, but I think this might be a misnomer. It seems to me that if time is relative, then the observance of it--or lack of observance--is too. The word "absentminded" suggests that a time-challenged person's mind is somewhere besides "here". As in, "WHERE is your mind?!" I think it's more precise to say the time-challenged person's mind is always here--the here and now, the present moment--so much so, in fact, that their mind cannot be elsewhere, least of all the future.

Time managements skills, the ability to prioritize--these concepts are not strangers to me, but I can't exactly call them happy guests in the oasis of work, coffee and chocolate that I call "my day". (There's a bit more work than coffee, and more coffee than chocolate.) I have been told it's a matter of focusing too intensely, rather than what one might suspect, that I'm waffling around with my head in the clouds. (Which sounds lovely to me, by the way. Doesn't it sound nice to you? Just to blow around in the sky all day with nothing to worry about but dodging 747s.)

It seems to be something all time-challenged people share, this extreme focus that eclipses everything but what their thoughts are nibbling on. I like to think it implies a higher level of thinking skills, and when added to my shy, geeky nature (I have the language barrier to prove it), that it makes me look really smart. But the truth is, if you ask me what time it is, I'll look at my watch and tell you, but it will mean absolutely nothing to me other than a description of what Mickey Mouse's big hand and little hand are pointing at.

To be kind to time-challenged folk everywhere, we could consider an underlying force at work here: the acknowledgment that time is an artificial contrivance, sometimes a convenience and at other times a curse. And to thank you for reading this far, I'll resist the urge to spew about the uncertain future of humankind in the pressure-cooker society we live in where "The Best Never Rest" (makes a fitting epitaph) and "Time is Money" (then why aren't we all millionaires?) and "Spend your Time Wisely" (one person's wisdom is another person's root canal) and "Save Time" (but where do I put it once I do?) and "Kill Some Time" (for those of us with pacifist leanings, this is not a happy thought). I'm sure you can think of many more adages we're fond of using when we want to justify our existence in precise sixty-second segments.

So, to hit the topic on the head (finally)--where does this leave the writer who is time-challenged? Reading is a leisure activity, you lucky readers; writing is a solitary, addictive, sweat-your-guts out adventure that's all about time and timing. Plot is a linear phenomenon that begins, proceeds through events whose graph would resemble a Mohawk hairstyle, and comes to an end, after which one imagines the rest of the "happily ever after" that follows. It is all about time.

This really comes home to a writer when it's time to do book promotion--which is why I'm blogging about it today. It's all about "platform". We need to crow, strategize, tweet, poke, bounce, bomb, dig, follow, swallow, share, bare and all the other cyber-duties of social networking. So, here I am, thanks to Julie, to tell you about my Harlequin Nocturne entitled Incubus, a story about two people who measure time in heartbeats. (And you thought you'd get through this philosophical diatribe without a plug for my book? Muahaahaahaa.)

Meical, a vampire-turned-incubus, wants to enjoy a single sunrise before he dies; Caroline, a psychologist and empath, wants one more day in her momentary haven in the Poconos before facing the man who is hunting her.

How much time does it take for you to realize the chance of a lifetime is standing right in front of you? The chance of a lifetime, in the nick of time, when you're standing at death's door. In that moment of realization, it becomes clear to you that the only one who can save you is this person you met only hours ago, a person you're sure you've known for a lifetime or more. This person, this one fragile heart out of millions, has somehow done the impossible, the thing you never believed could ever be: this person loves you. You. The secret you. The sleepless, hunted you. The ragged, shadowy, angry, frightened you. All of you and only you.

And you have sixty seconds to reach for each other before you lose it all.

If you'd like to read Incubus, check out the buy-me links below, or email me and I'll send you a free autographed paperback. (I swear on my Mickey Mouse watch that I won't be evil and share your snail mail address with anyone, or enroll you in a year's supply of spam sandwiches, or do anything with it except send it straight into the shredder.)

And thank you again, Julie :)

Janet

Romance for the Night Raven: www.janetejones.com

The Night Raven Muse: http://thenightravenmuse.blogspot.com/

The Night Raven Enclave: http://yhoo.it/TheNightRavenEnclave

Meical's Facebook page: http://on.fb.me/Meical

Meical's email: MeicalGrabian[at]gmail[dot]com

Incubus is available for purchase at fine cyber-hangouts like these:

eHarlequin.com: http://bit.ly/vZAVSu

Amazon.com: http://amzn.to/hZMRj3

BN.com: http://bit.ly/fwY4je

"...a world to escape to..." Siren's Best Book Stone, Sirens Book Reviews

"...a unique, sexy plot." RT Book Reviews

"...beautifully told." Ecataromance

"Enjoy this tale well -- I know I did." CoffeeTime Romance Reviews

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link to cover pic: http://www.janetejones.com/images/Incubus_Cover_200.jpg

link to Meical's pic: http://www.janetejones.com/images/MeicalGrabian_headshot.png

INCUBUS by Janet Elizabeth Jones

Harlequin Nocturne (Jan 2011)

Tagline:

How do you overcome the mistrust of an empath running for her life?

One night at a time.

Blurb:

            Having struck a deadly bargain with the ancient vampire known as the Alchemist, Meical Grabian submits to the Alchemist's experimentation and allows himself to be transformed from vampire to incubus. In return, Meical gains the one thing he has longed for in his dark existence: the chance to feel the sun on his face. As an incubus, he will be impervious to sunlight--the downside is that he won't survive the transformation for more than a few hours, unless he gets a quick dose of human passion to sustain him.

            When the Alchemist provides him with his first prey, it all seems simple. Right on cue, psychologist Caroline Bengal rescues Meical from a snowy field in the Poconos and takes him into the warmth of her cabin. But in spite of his desperation and mercenary hunger, Meical finds himself beguiled by her inner beauty and empathic abilities and drawn to Caroline as he has never felt drawn to a human before. When he finds out another kind of monster is stalking her, one just as cunning and dangerous as any vampire, he realizes he wants to protect her for as long as he has left to live, even if it means hiding his true nature from her by creating the world of her dreams--a world where he can heal and strengthen her with his love.

Excerpt:

            She went to the wardrobe. It was empty. "I seemed not to have dreamed up any clothing for myself. That's not fair. You're wearing clothes."

            "I like what you're wearing."

            She turned slowly from the wardrobe and leveled her gaze on him. "I don't usually dream for two, okay? I don't know why I'm...dreaming like this..."

            He looked down at himself as though he hadn't heard her. "You seem to have cast me in the role of a--"

            "Rogue," she gulped.

            He smiled. "That's a quaint word for it."

            Great. That was all she needed. Meical the Gothic Villain-Hero. What was she doing to herself?

            "Well, let's see how far my imagination has gotten carried away this time."

            With a sigh of exasperation, Caroline marched to the door of the chamber. It opened of its own accord before she reached for the latch. That had never happened in her dreams before.

            Beyond was a larger room, with a fireplace that took up one whole wall and a fire that burned so high and bright that it could have been consuming a small hut.

            She had never dreamed about this large chamber before. Maybe if she kept pushing the confines of her imagination, she'd wake herself up. Lucid dreams were like that. Once you were aware that you were dreaming, you could change the dream.

            She took one or two tentative steps into the big room. Looking over her shoulder, she found Meical following close behind, with his hands behind his back and a smile on his face.

            There. There was that knowing look in his eyes again.

            The big chamber was warm and bright and beautiful, with more tapestries and rugs and bits of armor on the walls. The swords gleamed in the firelight.

            "Sweet," she murmured.

            "Lots of toys."

            She followed his gaze to the swords. "You like those, huh?"

            "Apparently you do, too, or they wouldn't be here." He looked down at her and smiled. "A girl after my own heart."

            He pushed past her to stride across the room, took a rapier off the wall, and tested its weight in his hand. "Lovely."

            He was so beautiful. Caroline's face flushed hot again. She wished he really was here, rather than being a tease from her subconscious. She chuckled, and he glanced her way.

            "Do I look that ridiculous?" he asked, grinning.

            She shook her head. "No, you look phenomenal. Like you belong here."

            He quirked a brow at her. "REALLY? I look like I belong in your dreams?"

            "Uhmmm...here in this..." She waved a hand around at the room. "...this kind of...whatever."

            "Ah. Well, whatever you've cut me out to be while I'm here, Caroline, I like it."

            He sliced the air with the sword a couple of times, and then settled into what looked like some kind of drill or exercise, a series of movements that seemed way too authentic for anything she could come up with in a dream. She must have stored a lot more info from her reading than she realized, because he looked like he knew what he was doing.

            Caroline leaned against the wall and watched him. When was the last time Meical Grabian had had any fun? She had an impish urge to indulge his enjoyment of this place. Why shouldn't she?

            An idea formed in her mind. It was pure nonsense, but who cared? It wasn't like any of this was real.

            Caroline turned and eyed the row of swords above her head. She reached for one that looked like Meical's. The instant her hand closed over the hilt, it felt right and real and familiar to her.

            "Cool," she murmured. "I can do this. Amazing."

            She eyed her golden-haired opponent, who was making a show of himself on the other side of the room, hitched up the folds of her voluminous nightie and approached him.

            "If you want to play, Meical, let's do it right."

            She amazed herself by giving him a perfect salute. She raised her blade to her nose and snapped it down with a flick that made a satisfying whooshing sound.

            Meical's eyes widened for a second, and then he emitted a low, dastardly, thrilling laugh. "You're on. What shall we play for?"

            Caroline followed him into the center of the room where they had more room. "Just to win, I guess."

            He shook his head. "Come on, we have to have a bet."

            She watched him shove his hand in the pocket of his breeches, wiggle his fingers around, and dig out a leather lace. He looked at it and smiled. "Accommodating of you."

            "Yes, well, the human mind is a remarkable thing. What's it for?"

            He winked at her, set his sword aside on a nearby table, and used the tether to tie his hair back in a ponytail. Plucking up his weapon, he started toward her with a gleam in his eye.

            Caroline lifted a hand to hold him off. "Wait. How will we know who wins?"

            He laughed again, with relish convincing enough to give her a chill. "I suspect we'll know when the moment comes."

            "Whoa. I don't want to hurt you."

            Meical turned his head aside and coughed loudly. When he looked at her again, his eyes were twinkling with laughter. "I don't think that's possible, is it? I mean, if all this is merely a dream, what's the worst thing that can happen? If you feel pain, won't you just wake up?"

            It was funny that Meical thought the worst thing that could happen was that she would wake up.

            But of course, that was just her putting words in his mouth. All of this was her doing, all of it her, talking to...herself? To her fears? It was all symbolic of larger issues, and she was actually about to battle something inside her on a psychological level, and whatever it represented, she had put it in the guise of Meical and turned the whole thing into some kind of enticing competition between the two of them.

            Why swords?

            Well, she could have a field day with that one, but Meical was getting impatient, as if he didn't have time to waste while she sorted out her psychological wherewithal.

            "All right," she said, "if I win, I want..."

            It came to her as though someone whispered it in her ear. What she wanted was Meical. In her life. For real.

            These dreams were just her unconscious mind's attempt to invent a safe place for her to admit this to herself. They gave her a buffer zone where she could feel it was okay to really, really want this man, regardless of what she'd been through and what she might face in the future.

            Not that it could happen.

            "Do you know what you want, Caroline?" he asked her.

            He was as serious as death, suddenly. His gaze probed hers until she had to look at the floor, his booted feet, his exquisite legs.

            "Yes, I know. But..."

            "It's only a dream," he murmured. "It's all right to want anything here. Isn't it?"

            Caroline raised her blade and struck an en garde position. "Maybe I'll keep it a secret until I win."

            He gave a half-bow and then assumed a deadly pose of his own, as if he'd run her through if she gave him half a chance.

            Thrilling.

            "You haven't said what you want, if you win," she said. "Not that you will, because that would mean you were in charge of this dream, and since that's impossible--"

            "You, Caroline. I want you."

            Good grief, he was terrifying. Her voice came out in a squeak. "That's kind of redundant, don't you think? You had me in the last dream."

            He smiled like a satyr. "No, dearheart, you had me."

 Thank you for joining me here today Janet!