Liz Crowe - Romance for Real Life

A funny thing happened to me this morning kids. I woke to find an email in my inbox from my intrepid and beloved Tri-Destiny publisher with full print files for all three Stewart Realty books. I got the requisite chill reading down through the reviews, the title page, the dedications and then, because it was the first file I opened, I started reading Sweat Equity (book 2 in the series and the one that ruffled the most feathers and got the most rave reviews including a Gold Star from Just Erotic Romance Reviews).


Yep, I read that sucker cover to cover, without my usual eye towards "oh hell there's repetition" or "damn that sentence sucked" or even "wow, I can't believe I got away with that."


No. I enjoyed it.  


It got me all hot 'n bothered about my uber-hero Jack Gordon. Which in turn made me wanna see the living breathing epitome of him (only with a Brit accent): one Super Model Fitness Perfection in a Suit or Out of One--DAVID GANDY.


I trolled around the inter webs admiring his physical perfection. Found some cute youtube interviews and features and what not. (here is the thing: he cannot act. But who cares?!) And stumbled into a realm of celebrity-hood I kind of never thought about: Male Supermodels.  


Mr. Gandy it seems is in a category all his own by now since he gets all the major clothing and men's fragrance jobs including the kick ass Banana Republic one this spring. 
And you know this one...hell it was 50 feet high in Times Square. Don't get more supermodel than that I'd say. 


He blogs for Vogue talking about fitness (as you would, since your job is looking perfect) and his car obsession (oh god I just had an orgasm, sorry).



He is a serial monogamist and just broke up with singer Mollie something or another who cares earlier this year that means he's single.


After beginning modeling in 2002 winning some kind of discover the next big thing contest in the UK Davey-boy is #6 of "icon guys" on models.com and #7 of "money guys" on the same site, which by the way has given me reason to believe that trends are going in a different direction for male models as the current "trending" top 10 all look like 15 year old dudes who have never seen the inside of a gym. Not my taste. 


So This guy...IS my Jack Gordon. He has the look, the body, the attitude (if you listen to his interviews.) 
Oh, and he is from Billericay, Essex. I LIVED IN BILLERICAY ESSEX from 2002-2004...about the time he was leaving his job delivering cars for car magazines to become this hottest Effing man thing on two legs as far as I am concerned.


Now, this is an ongoing series. That means I cannot Gandy-obsess every week. But I am creating a Gandy-Scale of perfection and will feature another delicious slice of man pie from the models.com "icons" list every Saturday. He gets ranked against My Boy David. We shall meet some new lovely man-meat each week, and you can decide for yourselves how he stacks up.
I leave you with a little video that, if you are like me, will watch over and over until the other people in your house yell STOP PLAYING THAT SONG ALREADY!!!
It won't embed. Just Click This Link. Trust me.
Oh and follow the poor dear and his tales of living large in London: http://www.vogue.co.uk/blogs/david-gandy
cheers (wipes drool)






Liz
ok, one more:

It's time for a little medical research:
WebMD Says:

Greetings.


Forgive my weekend absence but the beer world had my full attention between 2 major "fests" and a fund raiser and 3 nights of live music in my Tap Room.


Just a quickie update, hopefully with humor and without provoking any anger. Speaking of that (humor) I would point this out...






Now that's out of the way.


I am under a hard and fast print deadline working my way through Essence of Time, the Stewart Realty Not Realtors book 4. Print deadlines are that (hard and fast) and I have so far approved 2 of the 3 first book covers and they rock it.  Working in this business can be brutal on many levels. Between rejection, fellow author sabotage, editing that results in lightbulb moments requiring major rewrites (more on this later) and reviews you really gotta be tough. But the fact of the matter is it takes a village (read: "team") to put a book together. The writing of the thing is only a part. A big part, yes, but even if you self publish you no doubt have relied on some kind of team to get you through the cover art, upload, virtual tour, reviewing process.  


I am loving my teams so far at all my publishers but the gang at Tri Destiny has gone above and beyond, getting my hot new covers, working hard to get those covers ready in time to meet that above mentioned hard and fast deadline, arranging book tours, and what not but most especially the Team Leader, one Jessica Warth. This person took a chance on a series that got roundly rejected across the board and now is nearing 700 total downloads for the month of May.  She is a tough editor at times, cheerleader/muse/kick Liz in the ass past herself team captain and great friend. Cheers to my team! 


As for that lightbulb, I had one, as predicted on a walk with the poodle muses in which the current iteration of Lust of Tap, my first Ellora's Cave acceptance will become an even stronger story. It means a re-write/revise beyond what many would consider viable. But to me, the fact that the story is flowing from my late night fingers like water from a faucet is a Clear Indication that all the "blue lines" (it's easier on the eyes than red, thank you Microsoft Word) of the original edit may have stopped me cold at first but gave me the opportunity to make a good book a great one.  I value the opportunity. Means that the story of Helena, Dustin and Erik will be a tad longer seeing light of day but it will be worth the wait.


Bloodlines are making up a part of that tale. For many families they still matter, including the fictional Prufrock one in the (non fictional) Grand Rapids, Michigan. I've beefed up the motivation for young, only-child Dustin to continue to rebel against his overbearing mother and successful but somewhat weak-kneed father. The Prufrocks have been in the prepared food business for three generations (think: GFS---that company with the trucks delivering bags of nacho chips, and huge jugs of ketchup to restaurants all over the nation daily). Dustin fell in love with beer brewing, dropped out of college in Ann Arbor and enrolled in the (slightly fictional) Munich Brewing Institute. His father bankrolled the tuition, he had to pay his living expenses for three years. His mother disapproved (but as Dustin says, "name something she doesn't) but he completed the degree and came back, used part of his now liquid trust fund to open a brewery. 


By the time we meet him, Prufrock Brewing is the 3rd largest in the state, thanks to his business and hiring savvy, producing and selling nearly 40,000 barrels of beer a year and about to open a new "brew pub" at a different location to expand their reach to a downtown crowd.  He's stressed, but happy. And engaged to a woman that comes with his challenging mother's seal of approval. Her pedigree, as heir to the Masterson family chain of successful restaurants, is impeccable. And Dustin is desperately trying to get out of the deal he cut with his mother...one wherein he marries "well" and she leaves him alone with his "project" no longer haranguing him to take over for his father as head of the larger company.  Of course, meeting the sexy, sassy, and utterly "unsuitable" Helena Turner on a beer-selling day does (or doesn't depending on your perspective) help his dilemma.


The whole bloodlines thing makes a difference based on some research I've done. But anymore it does appear to be a factor of environment. Children of wealthy families go to private schools, vacation with families of a similar wealth level and in general tend to associate with kids who would meet bloodline requirements. However, in this story, it's a big part of Dustin's need to both placate and rebel, to accept his role as head of a giant company vs. live his dream. And it nearly destroys him.


Thanks for listening. 
Make it a productive week.


Liz 

A potential lawsuit, apparently.

One of my (must more famous) and beloved romance writer colleagues, whose given name (i.e. NOT a pen name) is Adele DuBois, has been informed she can no longer "be" Adele.  As a blogging member of the Romance Books R Us group I was issued a cease and desist order relative to her (being Adele.)

I had a few things to say about this, as you might imagine. Link to that here. 

Turns out a blogger with the Washington Post had a bit to say as well (and yours truly is referenced given my own funky little run in with my very own professional organization earlier in the week.)

The link to that post is here.

The story may seem ludicrous (trademarking mere words like Realt** or names like Ade**) but true.

Check it out here.

I own a brewery too, as you may or may not know.  I realize how much time and effort and money I have put in to build that brand and if someone popped off with a "Wolverine beer" knock off or whatever just to cash in on what I have done, you bet your butt they'd get slapped with a C&D so fast they'd have to run down the road to catch it.  But this? Not the same thing at all...
make it a good day!
Liz
p.s. I did breastfeed my kids until they were about 9 months to a year.  Maintain your sense of humor on this blog. It is a requirement.

There comes a time in life of a parent when you panic.

Not the raw, naive crawling panic when you bring the first born, totally fragile infant home and have zero idea what you're doing no matter how many books on attachment parenting you've read.

Nor the half-goofy, half-terrified moment when the baby takes her first step.

And not even the half second before you shut the door and wave your 16-year old good bye the second they get their driver's license.

No.

A real panic is when your child is playing a sport, goes down and doesn't get up. Or, if you are not the parent privy to that moment, the one where you answer the phone and hear the voice of your child's other parent a little breathy, a little more nervous than you like to hear telling you the child is injured and he is the way to the emergency room. There are broken bones involved. Surgery. General anesthetic. And a lot of pain.


In a world of "attachment parenting" and kids who breastfeed until they're old enough to ask you for a cigarette afterward, I am a little old school.  While my kids were definitely not "seen and not heard" they were in bed early, out of my way, and fairly self sufficient at a young age.  Some of it is a function of living overseas for so long. They were forced into cultures that also asked a lot of their kids at a young age, not by necessity but by tradition. I'll be the first to admit my kids could uncork a wine bottle and mix a decent g&t at an obscenely young age.

However, once we got back to the US after nearly a decade overseas the kids were sorely unprepared for the helicoptering required of us. And hence, our kids may seem a little unsupervised but I think they are pretty cool. And our house has become a gathering place of sorts for various girlfriends and boyfriends eager to engage in brisk political banter or the relative merits of the House Baratheon vs. Stark.

But, back to the issues at hand. Two bones have been broken thanks to a rogue kick of a soccer ball by a fellow teammate hitting square at the wrist, one a fairly nasty "unclean" break in the growth plate. So we have a surgical appointment tomorrow, the 5'3" 120 pound athletic "baby" is going under to get some pins set in the dirty break. The kid played for over five minutes after this hit, surprising her coach, and every doctor that has seen her in the last 2 days, but not her father and not me. She is one tough cookie.

But I dread the moment I have to look over the hospital bed the second they send us out to wait. Truly. Although I'm not about to breast feed her no matter how guilty those super moms make me feel.

*note: all those kids breastfeeding until they're 10 or whatever....all boys*

Thanks for listening.
Liz