Chocolate Kisses

Our guest today is Chrystle Fiedler, the author of DEATH DROPS: A NATURAL REMEDIES MYSTERY (Gallery Books/Simon & Schuster), the non-fiction title THE COMPLETE IDIOT'S GUIDE TO NATURAL REMEDIES and THE COUNTRY ALMANAC OF HOME REMEDIES. Chrystle has also written about natural remedies for many national publications including Better Homes and Gardens, Natural Health, Vegetarian Times and Remedy.

I love kisses, especially dark chocolate ones! Not only does dark chocolate taste good, it’s good for your health. In my writing I focus on natural remedies (and in my new mystery DEATH DROPS: A NATURAL REMEDIES MYSTERY) so this is something that I find interesting. Dark chocolate is one of the best natural cures around. That’s because dark chocolate is loaded with flavonoids, a kind of antioxidant, that protect the body from free radicals which can cause many chronic conditions such as heart disease. Dark chocolate is an effective natural remedy because it: 

1. Reduces blood pressure by dilating blood vessels.
2. Lowers cholesterol
3. Slashes the risk of diabetes (by cutting sugar use and stopping insulin spikes)
4. Inhibits the clumping of blood platelets reducing the risk of blood clots and strokes.
5. Stimulates endorphin production, which makes you feel good
6. Contains  serotonin which acts as a mild anti-depressant
7. Has theobromine and caffeine which is stimulating and helps you focus
8. Activates certain enzymes which help prevent cancer
9. Tastes yummy!

 

The key with chocolate that is good for you is not to overdo. Just eating an ounce or two several times a week is enough to reap dark chocolate’s benefits.  You’ll find more natural cures like chocolate to improve health in my book DEATH DROPS: A NATURAL REMEDIES MYSTERY (Gallery Books/Simon and Schuster) which will be published on February 21st 2012. Please visit www.chrystlefiedler.com and www.killerhobbies.blogspot.com where I blog on Saturdays!

To have a chance at winning an autographed copy of DEATH DROPS: A NATURAL REMEDIES MYSTERY and a bag of Hershey’s Dark Chocolate Kisses, leave a comment below!

Romantic Destinations (Good for Some Kissing)

Since I've been stuck at home this past year due to circumstances beyond my control, I've only been able to visit romantic foreign destinations in my mind. Here are a few photos I took of some of my favorite romantic spots in the past. I plan on returning on my round-the-world trip, as well as making new discoveries.

Prague

With its medieval architecture, romantic cafes, and overall atmosphere, Prague is one romantic city. Unfortunately, the only time I've been there, I was on my own. So yes, now it's on my list of places to drag the unsuspecting husband.

Venice

Venice is a bit too crowded for my taste, but with views like this, it's possible to find moments where you can forget about the crowds. 

The ruins of Dunnottar Castle

If a crowded city isn't to your liking, remote castle ruins might do the trick. Maybe it's just me, but I find ruined castles much more romantic than standing ones. Art and tapestries are interesting, but crumbling stone ruins are even better for the imagination -- and also for finding a secluded spot away from the crowds.

An alley behind the Magic Box. 

 Oh wait -- maybe that's just for Buffy and Spike. 

--Gigi

Martha's Guide To Ass Kissing

Ass kissing: the quest for gain via flattery.

Everyone says they don't kiss ass, but then why do so many people complain about useless ass kissers? Either we're all liars or we're delusional egoists. Either way, it doesn't bode well.

Look, I'm not going to judge. Sometimes you need something. Sometimes the key to that something is guarded by another person who doesn't know you and isn't inclined to give a shit about you. Sometimes a million other people also want this same thing. Sometimes you need an edge.

Ass kissing doesn't have to be unpleasant for the giver or the receiver. Just follow these simple rules:

1.Be Genuine

Very few people are all bad. Even the douchiest of douches has a redeeming quality. Find it. Focus on it. Why resort to false and fake flattery when there could be something real to connect over?

2.Be Strategic

If you hear too much of the same thing, it becomes white noise. I'm sure that super hot guy gets to hear about how hot he is all the damn time. Find a new angle to hit. Or be more specific than everyone else - say something unexpected.

3. Be Sparing

A natural extension of the former suggestion. Don't overdo it. Say what you want to say, allow for one comeback, then walk away. When you hear something nice about yourself, there's this natural inclination to want to hear more of it so deny your target the continued flattery and they'll be putty in your hand.

4. Be Focused

By focused, I mean on the other person. Some people ass kiss by talking about themselves and how awesome they are and what they can do. Guess what. Ass kissing isn't about you. Studies have shown (read: I think I may have read in Cosmo years ago) that people think more positively about people who make them feel smart and funny than they do about people who are themselves smart and funny.

5. Be Natural

Ass kissing should roll off your tongue like declarations of love for Timothy Olyphant. So don't bother with stuff that doesn't come naturally to you. For example, I could never compliment a person's car. Because I don't give a shit about cars. Does your car have wheels? Good for you. You're not getting a medal for anything more.

Now go forth and practice. Everything takes practice. Even ass-kissing. And don't give me some line about how you're not an ass-kisser, because you're only saying that so I can go, "Oh, wow, that's so great, you're so amazing" which means you're asking for ass-kissing and if anything is worse than an ass-kisser is the person who needs their ass kissed.

And yes, I kiss my mother with this mouth.

Le Baiser and Happy Valentine's Day!

Happy Valentine's Day to all our Pens Pals!!

In my college years I was very lucky to be able to spend a summer in France and studying at the University of Dijon. It was a memorable trip for many reasons, but one of the most thrilling aspects of going to France (besides the food and wine) was the art.

As I've mentioned before, I'm a frustrated artist. I love the nuances of color, and shadow, and light that play in paintings. I was especially drawn to the Impressionist paintings and was happy to spend an afternoon at the Louvre in the presence of famous canvases. I was in awe. And then I went to Rodin's museum. I knew about The Thinker, his oh-so-famous statue, but beyond that I wasn't well-versed in Rodin's work.
The sculptures are displayed throughout the house and gardens of the Musee Rodin and it is beautiful. If you are ever in Paris, I highly recommend taking the time to visit.  

At the museum I was introduced to Le Baiser (aka The Kiss).

Le Baiser

by Auguste Rodin

Romance writers tend to be a little starry-eyed, a little romantic, and a little susceptible to passion in its various forms. This intimate glimpse of a couple kissing tripped all my romance buttons. Hope you enjoy!

As a Valentine's treat, my latest release, BETRAYALS, is available at Amazon for FREE today and tomorrow.

Happy Valentine's Day!! 

Lisa 

First Words, First Kiss?

In a sense, the opening of a novel is a come-hither kiss of greeting to a reader. We expect different greetings from different types of books. My latest, Eve of All Hallows, is a historical fantasy novella, and the opening, as one might expect, evokes a time long past and a world more magical than our own. It’s about a secret druid queen who must teach and test a brash young Anglo-Saxon king who seeks a boon only she can grant. I hope you like it.

EVE OF ALL HALLOWS
L.G.C. Smith

Samhain, 594 AD, in an Eastern Vale of Gwynedd
At midnight following the last sunset of the old year and before the first sunrise of the new, the walls betwixt this world and the next shuddered, slipped, and fell. Gwyn was there to catch them, seeking tasks and truths, as her mother had once done, and all her grandmothers before them. Samhain it was, so alone Gwyn sat upon a hawthorn stump, gazing into the flames beneath her cauldron, awaiting any who might come to share her fire and a cup of warming broth.

Many came and told their tales. Gwyn listened carefully to each one so she might commit their words to memory. There were other nights the Visitors came to her, but none so important as on this night of summer’s turn to winter. She welcomed all who appeared, be they kindly fat old women, children lost in the woods, hunting wolves, madmen, goblins, half-formed wights, or shadowy spirits. She heard their tales, or simply kept them company if they did not speak. Samhain was hers, and none were turned away no matter how gruesome their appearance or the tales they brought.

When the eastern darkness shrank before the faintest graying breath of dawn, Gwyn blinked and, finding herself alone, rose to stir her soup and ladle a dipperful into her cup. It was almost to her lips, the steam warming her nose with woodsy herbs and the good meaty scent of her oldest hen, when a gentle cough stopped her.

Beside her stood a small, wizened being. An old man, perhaps, but she thought not. He put her in mind of a barrow wight who’d borrowed a woolen cloak and cap from some unsuspecting traveler. His pale, bland features peeked in and out beneath the shadows of his cap, the shape roughly a man’s, but lacking human details. No eyebrows. The nose but barely there. A smooth, unsmiling mouth.

“Sit, my lord, if you would share my fire and cup. You are most welcome.” She offered him her soup, noting how the cup glided from her hands without a touch. She gestured to one of the stumps beside her, and seated herself when he did.

“Thank you, Lady.” He sipped the broth. “Ah. A kind and fertile land you have here. This was a happy hen.” He sipped again. “The parsley greened upon fat roots. The onion swelled thick and sweet in the sheltering earth. The water carried joy out of the mountains. The salt sings with the hale heart of ancient seas.”

When he was finished, he set the earthenware cup upon the ground. The sky was moving on toward dawn, and he would soon leave, Gwyn knew, but she did not hurry him. Daylight would not harm him.

“I sought you from my home in the north, Lady, for I have news of one who will come to you before this year ends and the next follows on its wings. He is like a bright storm one moment and a dark flood the next. We have watched him since he was a babe, my kin and I, and he is now a man grown. King he has become in the Old Green Hills. Yet his path is not clear. He wavers between the dark and light. He needs a tempering hand, Lady. One such as yours. To guide him. He doesn’t know how deeply he can scar the land. He cares not. He cares for his people, but not the land that makes them and gives them life. There is . . . concern.”

“What would you have me do?” Gwyn asked. She had seen this soul when scrying. Felt him in the cold east wind. Seen his hands drip blood in visions.

“Teach him to respect the Mother.”

Gwyn was silent whilst she sent her spirit searching for this young king. When she found him, she sighed. “He will not listen. He harkens only to his own will.”

Eve of All Hallows is available from Amazon, Barnes & Noble and other on-line booksellers.

If you’d like to enter the drawing to win a free copy, please leave a comment. The winner will be announced Saturday, February 18, 2012.

Kissy Face

--Adrienne Miller

I don't think this is going to come as a surprise to anyone, but I'm a big fan of kisses. I'm a romantic. I write stories packed full of kisses and all the things that kissing--good kissing--leads to. These things are my bread and butter.  I loves them.

But I also understand them.

But what's to understand about kissing, you ask. Aren't they instinctual? Well, riddle me this Batman, if kisses are so simple why have over 35 million people watched this video.



Thirty five million. Seriously.

Ok, so the good people at Howcast have 10 steps for better kissing. I haven't got any steps. Just theories. A handful of theories crafted over a lifetime of watching movies and reading novels, so I there's no doubting my sources.

Theory #1:  Truly great kisses come from emotions other than lust. Lonliness. Pain. Fear. They all need an outlet, and sometimes there's no better outlet than a kiss. 







Theory #2: Of course, plain ol' lust is good too.






Theory #3: Sometimes kisses should look like they hurt, cause ya know, sometimes love hurts.





Theory #4: Unless it doesn't.




So there they are, all of my advanced theories on kissing. Nothing to do now but sit back and wait for all those offers for honorary doctorates to start rolling in.

French Kiss

--by Juliet

Below is a actual conversation between me and a French friend:

Me (while munching on French fries): Why are these called French fries?

Him (shrugging in a Gallic fashion): They are fried potatoes, pommes frites, nothing especially French about them.

Me: How about French vanilla?

Him: Another shrug.

Me: French kissing?

Him: Ah! Now we are getting somewhere interesting. Baiser avec la langue is the only way for lovers to kiss, no? This, my country will take credit for: c'est le bise amoureux.

Me: I don't understand. You're saying your people invented this form of kissing? In Wikipedia it says the French used to call it baiser florentin, or Florentine kissing.

Him (snorting and saying many fast words in French while throwing up his hands in exasperation): This is ridiculous. Italians. They are always taking credit for the most wonderful inventions of the French.

Me: So you're saying that French kissing is truly French in origin?

Him: I don't really understand the question. What I would like to know is this: what in the world is 'American cheese'? Is it actually...cheese?

Excellent question. Probably we should all stick to kissing. It's healthier.

Rachael's First Kiss

I was a big reader as a child (surprise!). I couldn't get my hands on enough books, and I read way above my level, in terms of age. So by the time I was eight or so, I was scouring the library shelves for books that were about more than princesses. I read books like Coffee, Tea, or Me when I was ten, and I had no idea what they were talking about half the time. But I could tell when it was sex-related, and I read and reread every passage, scouring each for meaning, as if by concentrating I could figure out what "the rabbit didn't die" meant.

There weren't as many young adult books then, but I remember loving every one that I read. My favorite, Madeleine L'Engle, taught me that nerds could be cool, and even nerds got kissed at fourteen by boys who were smart and almost as cute as she.

So I waited. Eleven, twelve, thirteen. I was terrible at talking to boys. They frightened me. Coming from a family of three daughters, I knew nothing about their culture. I didn't understand their language or their actions, or even their clothes.

Worse, I didn't understand the girls who did. Ellen Riggins could flip her feathered hair and say, "Do you like my friendship pins, Danny?" and Danny Thiess would kick her jellie shoe and laugh as he ran by. This, somehow, was what she was looking for, because by the end of the day, he'd be wearing her friendship pin on his stonewashed jean jacket, and I'd still be trying to figure out where the heck you bought those little beads.

But it was going to get better. I knew it was. I waited to meet him. The cute, smart boy who was going to listen (incredibly) to the shy, quiet girl and see past her thick lenses (shades of Meg Murry) and know that she was the one for him. There were a couple of smart boys in class, but only one who gave me any kind of run for my money. And I wished I could like him. But Sean was the uber-geek, the very Platonic ideal of a nerd. His voice squeaked. His braces shone. He said weird things that weren't funny, and he took it personally when I beat him on the tests.*

My biggest fear? That I would be sweet sixteen and never been kissed. Sixteen Candles came out when I was twelve. John Hughes nailed every one of my fears and brought it out in technicolor. Many people remember that movie fondly, but for me, it played like a horror movie.

Then I was fourteen. No kiss. Then fifteen. Virgin lips. Then sixteen, and desperate.

I went to a church camp, because all kids lose themselves in sex, drugs, rock'n'roll, or religion, and I'd chosen religion. There, I met [oh my god, I just forgot his name. Let's call him Dirk because it was something like that]. Dirk was six foot six, weighed about a hundred and twenty, but he was surfer cute, which to me was godlike.

And he liked me. We held hands at camp. After the week-long camp was done, he wrote to me and invited me to visit him in Bakersfield. My mother, god bless her, put me on the Greyhound bus and sent me that way because she had total trust in me that I wasn't going to get in any trouble. Which I didn't. I was so good it hurt.

However, on one of the two nights I spent in his house (sleeping on the couch in the family room, surrounded by people the size of giants), we sat on the floor cross-legged (it was the only way we could be eye-to-eye). We made the most painful of small-talk. Then he said goodnight and leaned forward.

His lips touched mine.

Instead of thinking of how it felt (cold, wet), I did a victory lap in my brain. I would NOT turn seventeen, unkissed (a fate worse than death, as far as my romantic heart was concerned). It didn't last long, and there was no tongue. It was chaste and sweet.

And even though it was the last kiss I'd get for a year or more, it was enough. I wasn't a total pariah. I'd been kissed.

*Sean kissed me once, just after high school. It was awful. And then he had the gall to send me a letter (these were still the days of letters!) from college saying he'd had some experience, and I wasn't very good at kissing, and I should probably work on it. I think somewhere he's still probably unable to talk to women and mad about it, whereas I got very good at kissing, well, everyone.