Silk & Shadows

Having recently been in summertime Florida, my definition of hot has changed.

Hot romance brings ideas of energetic romping to some. But by another definition of hot, I envision lounging on beaches with somethingtinis, palm trees rustling in that oven-baked breeze. Bring on the lifeguards and minions with sun tanning oil—all that heat would make for a more passive love scene, something languid and sleepy. For the livelier games, I’ll wait like a basking lioness until the sun goes down and the ambient temperature cools to the point where movement seems like a possibility. Where the hot love scene means sand between your toes, give me the midnight beaches.

In another definition, hot might be a matter of taste. One could have spicy romance in a Southwestern style, bent over bowls of chilli in a land of red tablecloths and Spanish rhythms. That’s where the burn on the tongue works lower and lower, heating everything until your whole body is aflame. There’s a lot of excitement in every spoonful, and one has to be cautious of those hot peppers. Heart burn can have many meanings, too.

Romance for the writer invokes all those meanings and more. Sight and sound—his voice, her body—are important, but touch, smell and taste give the most powerful opportunities to set the scene. When the lights go down, it’s our primitive perceptions that rule, and it’s those that have to be somehow translated to the page. Unless an author can find the right balance of sensory description, the fire in the blood and the sooty firefighter who comes to fan those flames are colorless backdrop. Without the word play that charges the senses of the reader, romance scenes are mechanical at best.

Not as easy as it sounds. There’s purple prose in every author, and here is where it wants to leak out. Fits of giggles are not the desired result.

Unless of course, you’re trying to write about a hellhound and a vampire. Then everything gets a bit strange and you end up with something like the excerpt below. This is a draft from FROSTBOUND, the book I’m working on. Disclaimer: What makes it to the printed page might be quite different:

“Are you saying I’m a liar?”

Lore looked unimpressed. “You’re on the run. I found you with a bloody corpse. You use a knife with considerable skill. You’re something more than you’re saying.”

He turned and opened a drawer in a tall dresser. From where she was chained, Talia couldn’t see what was in the drawer, but heard the scrape of metal on wood. When Lore turned back, he had another set of silver handcuffs in his hand.

Talia scrambled backward, squeezing herself into the corner where the bed met the wall. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Extra insurance.”

She jerked at the chain with frustration. “Damn you, leave me alone!”

“It was your choice, me or the police.”

Lore reached over her, his big body stretching easily over the wide mattress. Talia shrunk against the pillows as his face came too close to hers. She could smell that burnt chemical scent on his clothes again, as if he’d been at an industrial fire. Beneath it was the musky scent of man–except it wasn’t. It was richer. Darker. Hellhound. The hair on her neck ruffled. Must be the demon blood, because Mrs. McCready’s cockapoo never smelled that good.

But there was no way she was letting him chain her other hand. His face drew close to hers, a mixture of caution and determination in his dark eyes. She flexed her fingers, calculating the angle between Lore’s nose and the heel of her hand. With enough force, the right blow could knock him out. The squishy mattress would cost her momentum, but she was willing to give it—him—a shot.

Damn! He anticipated her move, his hand rising to block her, so at the last second she changed angles and went for his holster. Lore solved the problem by dropping on top of her, pinning her under his weight. Suddenly her nose was buried in his hair, her breasts crushed under his broad, strong chest.

“Get off me!” she hissed into his ear. His neck was right there, pulse pounding like forbidden candy. She’d heard some vamps liked demon blood.

Talia felt the strength in his body as he moved, the stretch and pull of muscle under cloth. She tensed, wanting the freedom to fight but only meeting a solid wall of hellhound wherever she moved. Lore grabbed her right wrist. Nuts! She cried out, the sound plaintive.

He stopped moving and simply held her there, their faces a breath apart. His eyes were so dark, there was almost no distinction between the iris and pupil.

“Are you going to be good?” he growled.

Talia squeezed her eyes shut. “Please don’t cuff my other hand. You don’t need to. I can’t break free.”
Her voice cracked, finally giving way to the terror of the situation. She was too young a vampire to break the silver cuffs, and not nearly as strong as a hellhound. She might as well have still been human.
Helplessness brought back bad, bad memories.

“Do you promise to be good?” This time the question was gentler.

She nodded, hating herself for her eagerness. “Yes. Yes, of course.”

She was lying. He had to know that. It was the first duty of a prisoner to escape—even if she had no idea in the world how she was going to do it.

He rose up on hands and knees. Talia was trapped beneath him, caged by his limbs. The feel of his warm hands still clung to her skin. His touch had been businesslike. Appropriate, if chaining up a woman ever could be described that way—yet now there was something in his expression as he stared down at her, he second set of cuffs still dangling from his hand. Something other.

The look pinned her like a stake.

She resisted the urge to curl into a ball, an instinctive urge to cover her vulnerable parts. He was looking at her as if he’d just decided she might be good to eat—in more ways than one. Worse, she wanted to respond.

Talia swallowed hard, putting all her defiance into her eyes. Refusing to cave.

“Bad dog!”
 

Hot love scenes is a great topic. Problem is, in my January release, Surrender to Darkness, the love scenes get a little dangerous.

The reason? My hero is a berserker who falls victim to an uncontrollable inner rage when the stakes are high. Normally, that means when he’s facing overwhelming odds in a battle. But when he meets demon hunter Kiyoko Ashida, something odd happens:

Out of the corner of his eye, Murdoch noted the arrival of two robust youths, both wearing black robes similar to those worn by the placid, tea-drinking elder. Japanese bouncers. A small bubble of heat rose in Murdoch’s chest, a mild response to possible danger.

“In any case,” Watanabe adding, guiding Miss Ashida toward the door with his hand on her elbow, “we won’t be continuing the conversation. We’re departing.”

“Not until I get my five minutes.”

Watanabe frowned. “Don’t make this more difficult that it needs to be. These men—” he pointed to the two standing just behind Murdoch “—are here to ensure Ashida-san and I depart without incident.”

“If they touch me,” Murdoch said softly, “they risk their lives.”

“Threats are unnecessary,” Watanabe responded.

“It wasn’t a threat, it was a warning.” Murdoch didn’t have time to explain. He again tried to connect with Kiyoko Ashida, facing her squarely. “Five minutes. That’s all I ask.”

She didn’t respond. She just kept walking.

The two men at his back stepped closer, clearly intending to prevent Murdoch from interfering with her exit, and the warmth in his chest burst into a small fire. Only two men, so the blaze was containable. For now.
But there was no way Murdoch could allow Kiyoko to leave without a chance to discuss the collection of relics she’d recently inherited from her father. If the weapon he sought was among them, it could save the world a whole lot of grief.

As she passed by, he put out a hand, intending to snag her sleeve.

But her reflexes were excellent. She yanked her arm away before he could reach his objective, and in the process, her fingers grazed lightly along his.

Murdoch’s eyes rolled back in his head.

A wave of hot, liquid pleasure raced up his arm and splashed into his chest, nearly taking him to his knees. He swam in it—his blood pounding, his breath short, his senses alive. The fiercest desire he’d felt in his entire seven hundred year existence licked across every inch of his skin, thrilled every nerve ending, and sent every drop of blood rushing to his groin. The urge to sink into Kiyoko Ashida’s warm embrace was so keen and unrelenting that goose bumps sprang to his skin and saliva pooled in his mouth. He wanted her as he had never wanted any woman before. It was both utterly blissful and horribly terrifying.

Terrifying, because his berserker rejoiced at the sudden lack of restraint. It rose up in a red tide of fury, filled every empty thought, and swallowed him whole.

Good thing Murdoch is comfortable with danger. Because he knows what he wants…

She hung her katana on a wall mount. “So, you would agree that situational awareness is as important as the physical actions you take?”

“Aye.”

“Well, meditation is about expanding your awareness. The objective is not, as you stated, to withdraw from the world. It’s actually the opposite. To experience reality and understand your place in it.” Crossing to a cushion, she sat. “Understanding your relationship with the world around you will give you greater control over yourself.” She looked up. “You are interested in achieving greater control, are you not? Sit.”

Actually, at that precise moment, he was only interested in the expanse of pale skin her gaping gee revealed. His motivation for taking a seat opposite her was merely to get a better view of it. But sit he did.

“What now? Do I close my eyes?” he grumbled.

“No, zazen requires open eyes. But first, we need to assume a proper meditation posture.”

“Don’t expect me to bend like a pretzel. I’m seven hundred years old.”

She chuckled. “You look remarkably good for a man of your age. Proper posture requires your knees to be flush with the cushion. Can you do a half lotus, like this?”

She tucked her left heel against her buttocks and lifted her right heel into her lap. It made his knees ache just to watch her.

“No,” he said.

“Then kneel.” Rolling back, she grabbed a short, tilted stool from the corner of the room. “And sit on this.”

Carefully avoiding her fingers, he accepted the seat. “This is a lot of effort to go to just to think.”

“We will be doing this several times a day, so get used to it,” she replied. “Once you have mastered zazen, we will attempt to touch again.”

He grinned. “Is that your way of confessing you can’t get enough of me?”

Her expression remained neutral. No smile.

“Come on, admit it,” he continued, egged on. “You felt exactly what I felt when we touched, and you’ll do anything to feel it again.”

She blinked.

“The hot rush of blood through your veins, the heavy pound of your heart against your chest, the edgy, almost-unbearable need. You remember what it was like, don’t you?”

“Not really.”

“Liar.”

“My goal is to reach the point where touching you engenders no reaction whatsoever,” she responded flatly.

“No reaction whatsoever?”

“None.” Her gaze dropped. “Are you ready to begin?”

“No.” He knelt and leaned back on the stool. It was remarkably comfortable, even for his war-torn knees. “Why do you care what happens when we touch? Once you give me the Veil, we’ve no need to see each other again.”

Her lips thinned briefly. “The emotions that besiege me when we touch run contrary to my desire for inner tranquility and enlightenment, so I seek to tame them.”

He studied her for a moment. “I rather like the way you make me feel. If it weren’t for that small problem with my berserker, I’d pounce on you this very moment. I’d offer you no reprieve until you screamed your pleasure to the heavens and finished with a huge smile on your face. There’s more than one way to find tranquility.”

Her eyes lifted to meet his, and she flushed crimson. “Do you always say what’s on your mind?”

“Aye. It saves time.”

Aren’t you a bit curious how these two work things out?

Currently working on: Wrestling Book 4 to the ground
Mood: Mouth full of dirt

On my morning alley walks with Monster Girl, the grass has gone to seed and the air smells like cider from all the fallen apples. The shadows are getting so long.  But the heat isn’t over yet because here at Silk And Shadows we’re sneaking in a week of hot love scenes.

And speaking of hot, y’all are now seeing the first posting of VOWED IN SHADOWS, Book 3 of the Marked Souls.  Here’s Jonah, the hero, in all his blond bad boy glory, with the sweltering city behind him (it’s August in Chicago, after all) and a demon storm on the horizon:

Maybe it’s just the humidity making me swoon.

We’ve met Jonah briefly in SEDUCED BY SHADOWS and FORGED OF SHADOWS. This righteous missionary man lost his wife when he was possessed, and he can’t imagine ever loving again.  So when the repentant demon within him sets him on the path of rampant unbound etheric energies that leads him straight to the Naughty Nymphette — dancing tonight at the Shimmy Shack! — he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that he will never, ever, in an eternity fall in love as Archer and Liam did before him.

But he is a man of strong convictions, and he’ll do whatever it takes to make sure the Chicago league of immortal demon-possessed warriors bring this newest fighter to their side. And by “do whatever it takes,” I include doing her…

*                                  *                                  *

From VOWED IN SHADOWS:

Jonah sat and crossed his arms. He needed her demon ascendant before he made his move. She wouldn’t believe his story otherwise. “Dance for me, Nymphette.”

Physical stress triggered the demon’s rise. Dangerous, but necessary since the newly possessed needed to find a way to balance the demon within them. Males traditionally drank and fought their way through the other-realm emanations coursing through their bodies. He’d been told it worked differently with the females. Just as well, since his balance was shot.

“Call me Nim.” Her voice turned husky, not with the demon, just a generic come-on. She swayed closer. “Nymphette is such a mouthful. And maybe you want me to save my mouth for… other things, right, Cap’n?”

“Don’t call me captain.”

Read the rest of this entry »

STATUS: Breaking from writing for dinner, a la grill
MOOD: Content

I live in Texas, and where it gets very, very hot, so my recipe is cool and involves very little prep! I make it often, and take it to bbqs and always get a lot of requests for the recipe.

BLACK BEAN SALSA
1 can of black beans, rinsed
1 can of whole kernel corn, drained
1 can of Rotel tomatoes with green chilies (Original), slightly drained
1 medium red onion, chopped
1/2 tsp garlic powder
2-3 good squirts of fresh lemon

Mix all ingredients, and chill for several hours.

Or don’t. It’s still good if served immediately.

Serve with tortilla chips.

Enjoy! I’m going to go enjoy, and frost my red velvet cake.

My parents had one of those two-hot-dog hibachi grills. I’m not sure what it was good for, since it was cast iron and unsuitable for backpacking. I think it might have held half a dozen charcoal briquettes if you stacked them carefully. A burger would have overwhelmed it.

In later life, I attempted back yard grilling, but al fresco dining always resulted in el freezo. I seem to go for windswept properties designed to suck the heat out of food and/or blow dinner into the next yard. Happy crows, sulky me. Consequently, most of my satisfactory outdoor experiences have happened at other peoples’ parties.

One of my university friends had genius parents who could cook absolutely anything in tin foil. There I learned the joys of barbecue baked potatoes smothered in cheese, onions, bacon, and chilli if you had it. As a starving student, one of those babies could keep me quoting Swinburne for a week (three days if it was Milton involved—there’s got to be a 2:1 ratio of energy burn for Paradise Lost).

Other times, once we all got so busy that potluck became the norm and no one admitted to eating dessert anymore, I appointed myself salad girl. It was an easy role to uphold and dietarily correct.

Bean salad is a classic, but can be kind of boring. This recipe definitely is not and makes a good meal:

Cook 2 cups of fresh beans (green and/or yellow) chopped into 1 inch lengths
Add:
- 2 cans (drained) of mixed beans (kidney, white, pinto, etc.)
- 1 bunch freshly chopped parsley
- ½ mild onion, minced
- 1 cup mixed Italian olives (spicy is good)
Mix:
- ¾ cup olive oil
- 1/3 cup red wine vinegar
- 1 tablespoon crushed garlic
- ¼ cup lemon juice
- Handful of fresh chopped herbs (basil, oregano, and marjoram are all possibilities)
- Salt and lots of pepper

Pour marinade over beans and chill overnight.

And (not so dietarily correct) this is the best berry ice cream you’ll ever eat:

Crush 1 quart of hulled strawberries or raspberries. Add 1 cup of sugar and stand for an hour.
Dissolve a package of gelatin in 6 tablespoons of boiling water. Stir into berries. Add the juice of one lemon and cool until nearly set. Fold in two cups of whipped cream and pour the mixture into a wet mold (or just a pan if you don’t wish to get fancy). Chill for 12 hours if you wish to unmold it. Or, if you’re impatient, freeze for a couple of hours.

To me, summer just isn’t summer without a burger on the BBQ grill. I’m not much of a cook, so my food leans heavily on the talents of other people. Case in point: my burger recipe uses packaged onion soup mix.

- 1 pound of lean ground beef
- ½ cup of sour cream
- ¼ cup of bread crumbs
- ½ packet of dry onion soup mix
- Pepper to taste

Mix all ingredients in a bowl about an hour before cooking to allow the soup mix to soften and the flavors to blend. Form into patties and grill until cooked. Top with cheese and other fixings as desired, and serve inside a warm hamburger bun.

Jessa’s salad would be a delightful addition to your burger, or you could try this:

- 1 English cucumber, peeled, sliced, and quartered
- 30 grape tomatoes, halved
- Small block of feta cheese, diced
- ½ cup of olive oil
- ¼ cup of lemon juice
- 1 clove of garlic, pressed or chopped very fine
- ¼ teaspoon of salt

Mix cucumber, tomatoes, and feta in a medium sized bowl. In a second small bowl whisk together olive oil, lemon juice, garlic, and salt. Pour liquid mixture over the vegetables and toss.

I can make these recipes all year round, but they never taste as good as they do in the summer. Maybe it’s the fresh local ingredients, or maybe it’s the hot sun and iced tea. Anyone have a theory?

Currently working on: Freaking out
Mood: Freaking out (Hey, it’s good to be consistent)

So I’m writing this Sunday night (due to the fact that I like to wait until the last minute; it’s not procrastination when I call it “time-lock inspiration”) and earlier today I tweeted: “2 parties last night and still home by midnight. We’re not getting older, we’re partying more efficiently.”

My oh-so-supportive twit friends laughed heartily.

And it’s true.  Oh, not just that I’m getting older.  That seems inevitable, more or less.  Worse, I’M GROWING UP!

How sad!  I actually ORDERED A SALAD for myself when I was at the last writers conference.  At home, XY always forces me to eat a salad because “it’s good for me.”  So I usually reserve vacation for an excuse not to eat salad.  But this time, I voluntarily ordered a salad.  And ate it.  And kinda liked it.

If that isn’t a symptom of growing up…

So appropriately enough this week our topic is BBQ cooking.  I went through my Cake Mix Doctors Cookbook, my box mix brownie recipes, my 8 lb. bucket o’ cookie dough options… and decided to share XY’s salad recipe.

Am I hanging my head in shame or because I suddenly fell into an age-induced nap?  Oh well, it’s a tasty salad and always gets rave reviews at BBQs.

Jessa’s XY’s “It’s Good For You” Salad

(This will feed about six people if mixed all at once. XY preps this amount but keeps the ingredients separate and mixes just enough each night for fresh salad. Yes, I know this isn’t a picture of a salad, but it’s a picture of XY and Christmas lights and the moon, which — if you squint — bears a not insignificant resemblance to the salad, honestly.)

Lettuce prep: Get a small/medium head of romaine, or equal that amount of romaine, red leaf, spinach, some arugula, or other fun greenery.

Clean the lettuce thusly (this technique will preserve the greens for a week or more if you keep it all for yourself):

1. Fill the sink with cold water and a cup of salt.  (Weird, I know.) Swish all the leaves through the water.  Pick out wilted and excessively bruised leaves.  (This is usually my job; I am not allowed to play with the knives.)

2. Empty the sink. Refill with fresh cold water.  Continue to pick out the bad leaves.

3. Empty the sink. Refill with fresh cold water and ice cubes.  Let the lettuce chill for about five minutes.

4. Drain the leaves and put them in a salad spinner.  This is crucial. Patting dry could bruise the leaves and hasten spoilage.  Plus, the salad spinner is one of the coolest technologies to come out of the space program, so use it and think of Mars.

Go through the garden. Or your local farmers market. Or the organic section at your local grocery.  Pick the good stuff, pretty stuff, or fun stuff.  But definitely get:

Scallions, one bunch
One cucumber
One carrot
Half-head of red cabbage

Also fun:
One tomato
Red pepper
Chick peas (garbanzo beans) — I don’t even like beans and these are good
Pine nuts
Edible flowers especially nasturtium — and they look nice in the garden

Extra extras:
Cheese
Olives

Chopping time:
Thin slice the lettuce and about quarter of the half cabbage into small strips, like confetti.  For lazy home salads, you can chop it however you want; but for public consumption, the confetti cut looks pretty

Finely chop the scallions. Peel and grate the carrot. Partly peel the cucumber (some of the dark green skin adds color), scoop out the seeds, slice and quarter.

Halve and slice the tomato. Dice the red pepper. Drain and pat dry the chick peas. Roast the pine nuts. (Good heavens, there are a lot of verbs in this salad.  I swear, it’s worth the work for a party, or will feed you all week.)  Shred the flowers.

Pre-party storage:
Refrigerate the lettuce separately.  The other ingredients can be grouped into sealed containers for convenience to take to the party or store in your fridge for assembly at each night’s dinner.

Dressing:
This is a “it’s good for me” salad as well as a tastes good salad, so XY does an oil and vinegar dressing.  The ratio is as follows:

1 part vinegar to 3 parts oil
XY estimates 1 second of oil poured (from a spout, not from the open bottle) for each person.  So a 6-person salad gets 6 seconds of oil (extra virgin olive oil) and 2 splashes of vinegar (red wine, balsamic, etc.).

1 pinch of salt per 2 seconds of oil
So a 6-person salad gets 3 pinches of salt

Fresh ground pepper to taste
XY is adamant the pepper must be fresh ground.  And he says don’t be shy with the pepper.

Assembly:
When the burgers are almost ready to come off the BBQ, put the lettuce in a big bowl.  Toss in the scallions and handfuls of the cabbage, carrot and cucumber until it looks pretty.  Throw in the chick peas and red pepper for visual appeal. Pour the dressing, salt and pepper, and toss well — very well to incorporate the oil and vinegar and dissolve the salt.

Decorate:
All the extras — the sliced tomato, pine nuts, cheese, olives, flower petals, etc. — can be sprinkled on top.

Yes, this is the salad that made me like salads.  Huh.  Now that I think about it, go eat cookie dough.

Do you have a favorite salad ingredient, a must-have dressing, or is lettuce merely for rabbits in your book?

Like most people who are fond of books, I have a terrifying TBR pile. Once a year I go through with a bulldozer and decree that if a volume has no home on a shelf, it goes to our local charity booksale. I feel good about myself for a few days, and then new books start creeping in, settling quietly on tabletops and neat stacks on the floor. In a month or two, I’m back where I started. Oh well, as addictions go at least it’s legal.

What’s on the pile for summer?

Vamps, weres, cyborgs - what’s not to like?

A diet book that actually makes sense. Bottom line: eat organic

This is an oldie but goodie. I’ve not read the League series before, but it’s proving addictive!

And of course, some research materials.

Stay tuned, I’ll be thinning out my stash of goodies from the RWA Conference in the weeks to come! See Jessa’s post for this week’s treasure…

My TBR pile is less of a pile and more of an ocean. It occupies one corner of my bedroom and is roughly four books wide, three books long and sixteen books tall. I know many of you have bigger TBRs, but mine makes me sad. There are so many good books that I haven’t read. And many of them are written by friends.

Sigh.

And it just keeps getting bigger. My problem is that I don’t read while I’m writing. This is because I am weak. If I allow myself to sit in a chair and bury myself in a book, I won’t have the willpower to put that book down and work on my own manuscript. I’m a slow writer, so reading when I’m on deadline inevitably leads to disaster.

Thus, I tend to read in binges between deadlines, which is what I’m doing this summer. I’m reading. A lot. But I’ve got miles to go before I’m caught up.

Who am I kidding? I’ve accepted that I’ll never be caught up—I make a trip to the bookstore at least once a month and always come home with at least one new addition, often three or four. My brother also gives me books that he’s enjoyed. And I order more books online.

I wonder if my TBR would be bigger or smaller if I had an e-reader. On one hand, a purse-sized device loaded with multiple books would allow me to read whenever I had a chance–while waiting in lines, for example. On the other, downloading new books would be addictively easy.

Anyone out there have any experience with an e-reader? Did it help you make a dent in your TBR, or only lead to a longer list of books you haven’t read?

Currently working on: Book 4 — Argh, writing faster!
Mood: Speedy

One of the best/worst parts of the Romance Writers of American annual conference is all the books.  Look, you know how it is.  There’s a book.  It needs a home.  I have a bookshelf.  What else was I supposed to do?

So I came home with a lotta books.  Have I read them all?  Not quite yet.  But I’m working on it.  And much like a nutty squirrel, I feel warm and fuzzy knowing I have a winter’s stash of reading material. 

Not that I’ll stop getting new books, of course.  You understand.

All this book reading requires a technique.  It’s not enough to just stuff my cheeks with them, bury them, and then forget where I put them.  There’s good stuff inside, after all.

So here’s  how I conquer my TBR pile:

1. Amass the books in one place.
XY doesn’t understand why I have to have ALL my books out.  Well, it’s because if I don’t see them all, I don’t know how far I have to go.  Plus, looking at them makes me happy.

2. Read the opening pages of a bunch of them.
I usually grab a handful — four to six titles — and read the first chapter or so, usually while I’m sitting on the floor in front of my bookshelf.

3. Choose a winner. Or two.
Inevitably, one or two titles grab my interest at the moment.  At another moment, maybe one of other books would have appealed more.  It’s fine; they’ll wait for me.

4. Settle on the couch until spring.
Oh I wish!  But I do spend a lot of time reading.  It’s a hazard of the writer’s job.  If only I got hazard pay!

How do you choose from your TBR pile?  Is it random?  Does something spark your interest and make you reach out? Or are you one of those weird people who only buys one book at a time?

Leave a comment any time this week and you’ll have a chance to win one of the titles in the pile above.

I suppose that’s another method for whittling down my TBR pile…
5. Give books away to friends.
Hey, not only does that free up space on my shelves for the next book (or two) I can tell myself I’m helping an author spread the words.