Earlier today:

Me: Jenny, I need you to eat more vegetables.

Jenny: *blink blink* Tsk.

Me: Jennifer Autumn, are you listening?

Jenny: Ye-es. Vegetables. Yes. YES! Gotta love the veg.

….and then…after supper…I find this….

Now, I’m not sure whether I should be glad she’s eating lots of carrots (a marked improvement), irritated by the twelve-year-old sass (OH, DEAR CROM, SO much sass), or worried that my tits are sometimes NOT calm, as the note clearly indicates that this may be the case. And what do my agitated motherly tits DO, exactly? Do they scold somehow without my knowing? Am I gesturing with them chidingly and no one has told me? Maybe I don’t want to know.

Before I get angry letters about my parenting skills or lack thereof, yes she’s grounded. But yes, I laughed. Hard.

Three hours later….

Me: *shaking my head in amazement, posting to FB* Calm my tits? Seriously, kid? Ba hahahaha….

(Editor’s note: AJ Aalto ate her veggies today…if by “veggies” you mean the tomato juice in my Bloody Mary…)

So, mmmnnyeah, “paranormal physics”… No, I did not misspell psychics. I meant physics. You know, science of energy and matter etc. Today, I was at the north end of the Welland Canal’s Lock One with my favourite cop discussing a (fictional, don’t freak out) crime scene, walking him through the movements of the characters pre-crime, and having him explain how the investigation might play out. It was a brief meeting, compared to our usual, as it was eight million degrees below zero and therefore hard to talk, what with our faces frozen. Did you know that ink freezes in your pen? Makes note-taking a futile endeavour. I solidified my plan to have Britney die (for fakesies! I’m not killing anyone) at the spot I had scouted earlier. The first time I went down there, it was warm and calm and dark, a summer night. Today, even though it was nine in the morning, it was grey and chilly. Grim. Though the lake was choppy, the canal was ominously still, like it knew I was there. (SEE? That’s what horror writers–and mental cases–tend to believe. It’s called magical thinking.) There was a horrible noise, a scree-whine-ting, coming out of the shipyard, wind through the masts and rigging of sailboats. I did not like it. It sounded like slippery demon teeth chewing on the souls of the damned, and made my shoulders scrinch up; I have a damned soul and don’t want it chewed-on, thank you very much.

<So, anyways, this is where Britney dies. Sorry, Brit! It’s gonna suck.>

I was having trouble imagining certain paranormal elements of the story in this scene, specifically the play of physics and the ghost and the body… and by “body”, I mean of course “corpse” (FYI, you may assume I always mean corpse.). I wondered aloud if “paranormal physics” was a thing I could Google, at which point my grounded-in-reality cop buddy did one of those combination eyebrow-twitch-plus-tiny-smirk things that he thinks I don’t notice, which mean he’s humouring me and biting his tongue. One of these days, he’s gonna let that mask of politeness slip off and give me an OMG-AJ-your-ridiculousness-hurts-my-brain forehead scrunch. I will enjoy that. *chuckle*

Once home and warm, I did Google “paranormal physics” on the off chance I might learn something. Now, don’t get me wrong. I AM a super-serious scientist. I have a for-realsies degree–a Bachelor of Science, Biology–to prove it. Four years at university, bitches. So, no, I don’t believe that there are actually rules of physics that apply to–HOLY SHIT, there are physics dudes who specialize in the paranormal. Well, slap my ass and call me Kitten. This is going to be an enormous help.

<like this was an enormous help to Hatchet Hank. Totally made that up, no such guy>

Before tackling the actual pen-to-paper on book three, I now have some new avenues of research to persue. Nobel-prize-winning physicist Brian Josephson of Cambridge university said: “Max Planck’s original attempts a hundred years ago to explain the precise amount of energy radiated by hot bodies began a process of capturing in mathematical form a mysterious, elusive world containing ‘spooky interactions at a distance’, real enough however to lead to inventions such as the laser and transistor. Quantum theory is now being fruitfully combined with theories of information and computation. These developments may lead to an explanation of processes still not understood within conventional science such as telepathy, an area where Britain is at the forefront of research.” This sounds like a gentleman worth looking up before I embark on the third book, which plays with ghosts, psychics, and a poltergeist-like haunting.

Also: good news! Some (or one?) of the locks have been drained, which means it’s possible the pondage is drained, which in turn means it’s time for more research around the submerged cemetery, which will now be…unsubmerged? Desubmerged? Supramerged? Those aren’t words. Risen? Gee, that’s not a scary word to apply to two-hundred-year-old bones at all. Eeek. Anyways, by “research” I don’t mean “snooping.”

Me: I’m not going to look for bones.

Cop: Yes you are.

Me: I’m totally going to look for bones.

Did I mention my inability to lie to law enforcement? Heh. *snort-laugh*

As for the second book, Death Rejoices continues to give me trouble, but I am confident that I can wrestle it into submission fairly quickly, now that I can more clearly see the ending the way it should have been written the first time. Did that make sense? Probably not. Again, I will say: I really need to learn how to outline properly.

(Editor’s note: AJ Aalto is a very tired, very cold, very hungry little writerghoulie who could use some hot tea and a whole box of Oreo cookies. Anyone seen my combat butler?)

#5. I’m pretty sure–nope, scratch that, I’m positive–that the apocalypse has begun. I haven’t heard what form the apocalypse has taken (meteors, aliens, Satan, zombies, pandemic flu, robots, clowns, Satanic flu-ridden robot zombie clowns from outer space) but the fact remains that if I go outside, there’s a real possibility that I’ll be swarmed by Something. Also: it’s possible The Something will be sneezing. Today, I just can’t take that chance.

<according to Marvel, the apocalypse will involve heavily armoured men, and fireproof women in tiny scraps of clothing.>

4. The sun. It burns! It burns! It–what? *squints, blinks rapidly* Oh, hey, look. I’m not so much on fire as I am, uh, un-burning. But I’m out of sunblock, and even though it’s winter now, you know …UV rays and such … still there! Still beaming down on me. I’m a pasty-faced Nordic girl, I’ve got almost no ability to withstand the sun’s abuse. I better stay in.

<Wouldja get a load of that? That’s called “filament eruption”. “Eruption” is never good–*rethinks* okay, only ever good in one situation>

#3. My dog told me not to. I’m sorry, did you hear my dog say something different? Is my dog giving you advice to the contrary? If my dog is telling you to go outside, maybe you ought to be concerned that you’re accepting guidance from someone else’s pet and not from your own, hunh? Yeah, something to think about, there.

2. My wedding vows.  Now, I can’t remember the whole ceremony, but there is a slim possibility I might’ve made those vows with a straight face (though I distinctly remember crossing my fingers under my bouquet). I think there may have been something tricksy in there about, I dunno, not treating mankind like an all-nude, all-you-can-eat buffet? Well, hey, if I go outside, there’s NO WAY I can be certain I’m not gonna hump somethin’: men, women, particularly attractive lawn furniture… I mean, how am I supposed to foretell whether or not I’ll be sexed-up at any given moment? Am I PSYCHIC? Am I wearing magic Sex-Be-Gone pants? Are far as I know, those aren’t even a thing, and if they are, they’re probably not flattering at all.

<What bullshittery is Steven Tyler rockin’? I do believe it’s Sex-Be-Gone pants!>

But the top of the Top 5 list, the most important, very best reason as to why I simply cannot go outside today is:

#1. The caffeine is on the INSIDE. Until I install an out-of-doors Caffeine Machine (if that isn’t already a brand of tea/coffee/espresso brewer, it should be), my beloved beverage is inside, a grand total of *pauses typing, places laptop on the coffee table, paces to kettle, counting* nine (9) steps away from me. “But, AJ,” you say, perhaps lamenting my blockheadedness, “you can carry said beverages out into the winter wonderland with you.” …To that, I say poo. Yes, that’ s my grand argument: poo. Because I never promised to be right, logical, or mature. Life’s too short to drink cold tea. You can quote me on that, loves.

(editor’s note: Today, AJ Aalto is super-lazy, which is like regular-lazy only she’s wearing a cape made from a terrycloth towel and a clothespin.)

(AJ’s note: Brrr! It’s mid-December and cold-ish here in Southern Ontario, soooo I’m gonna get cozy & warm with this blankey, continue madly scribbling the grand adventures of our favourite spaz detective, Marnie Baranuik, and drink copious amounts of Earl Grey tea. However, I’ve brought in a sexy, sassy, smokin’ guest blogger to amuse you and keep things hot-hot-HOT for us. It’s my pleasure to introduce you to author Cara Michaels, discussing threesomes & moresomes, and her new book, Their First Noelle.) 

Three’s Company… In Our Minds, Anyway

Oh, how I love fiction and fantasy. We bipedal types are reasonably creative, occasionally clever, and pretty much always horny. At least, that’s what I take away from the popularity of a certain trilogy of books which shall not be named, and the prevalence of skin-filled, just-this-side-of-porn TV and books everywhere I turn. In these dreamy, wondrous realms a threesome looks something like this:

 And let’s be honest – Okay, I’ll be honest – if these fellas wanted to, I wouldn’t kick them out of bed.

 Like plenty of people out there, I’ve had my moments of curiosity regarding multiple partners. I’ve even had a moment or two of reality, which is not nearly as sexy.

There were no furries or wizards, but… yeah. Awkward sums it up well.

 But lusting after multiple amours is hardly new. In known history, Queen Elizabeth I is suspected to have engaged in sexually charged play with Catherine Parr (her stepmother!) and Parr’s fourth husband, Thomas Seymour.

 Remember that whole ‘awkward’  thing?

Yep. The threesome (or more) can get just plain awkward. Whether you’re outted for fantasizing (like so), embarrassed (or proud) to cross it off your bucket list…

Or still wondering where all those hands and feet go when you all come together…

 The situation can get pretty hairy. And I don’t mean in the ‘somebody forgot to shave’ sort of way. Fortunately, we still have fiction and fantasy to make it oh-so-good:

 Blurb: Elf Noelle Duncan thought life among the humans would be a nice change of pace after two hundred years in Santa’s workshop. Instead, retirement is lonely and the prospect of spending her remaining centuries among humans doesn’t hold much appeal. With Christmas approaching, she wants just one night to feel alive and loved.

Kristian Winters and Nicholas Haversham are partners in business and love. They’d like nothing more than to find a woman to share their love, but they’ve yet to find one open not only to two lovers, but a pair with unusual appetites. Noelle is the only woman they want, and Nick isn’t about to let Christmas go by without making their wishes known.

Excerpt:

“This is your last chance to walk out the door, Noelle,” Kris said, his voice rough. “Now you have an idea what we want.”

“Stay the night,” Nick said, “and we’ll give you all the pleasure you can take.”

“On our terms,” Kris added.

“You’ll…hold me down?” Her entire body tingled at the thought.

“Tie you down,” Nick said.

“Tie me down?” Her breath caught. She’d never imagined being bound for her lover. Being bound for two? Heat flooded her breasts, arrowed down to her thighs and the moist heat between them.

“And up. Over. Around. How flexible are you?”

She laughed, clamping a hand over her mouth. A look back at Nick showed his hazel eyes dancing with mischief and hope. Kristian’s dark chocolate gaze gave nothing away now. He’d played his cards, as the human saying went, and let Nick tease her.

“There’s more,” Nick promised. “So much more.”

Nick trapped her hands once again, this time in just one of his own. He spun her against him. She sucked in a breath as her breasts collided with his harder chest. He scooped her hair into one hand, tugging until her head dropped back for his kiss. Struggling against his hold provoked a devilish grin from him and his grip tightened just to the edge of pain. He took her open mouth like a conqueror.

(About Cara: Cara Michaels is a dreamer of legendary proportions (just ask her about the alien pirate spaceship invasion). Her imagination is her playground and nothing is quite so much fun for her as building new characters and new worlds with at least an edge of the fantastic. She’s writing whenever the opportunity presents itself and can typically be found tinkering with half a dozen projects. Occasionally all at once.

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Their-First-Noelle-Romance-ebook/dp/B00ANFO3XM

Evernight: http://www.evernightpublishing.com/their-first-noelle-by-cara-michaels/

Connect with Cara: Website | Facebook | Twitter | Tumblr | G+)