Considering how much I gush about Betsey Johnson fashion, it might suggest that my entire wardrobe is composed of her designs. Not true. I only have a few. Most of my clothing actually comes from Target. This is partially because her stuff is really expensive...

...and it's also because I don't like about 75% of her stuff.

I realize how shocking that's going to be to some of you, but it's the truth. 25% of her collection? I love it. I think it's gorgeous and wish I could afford to own it all. The charmeuse. The blingy shoes. Awesome. But yep, the rest of her designs often make me wonder if she's smoking something. And today, I actually got the confirmation I needed to back that claim up:



Huh.

The shock of this postcard showing up in my mailbox has abated a little. It actually came from a very sweet salesgirl thanking me for my last purchase. But man...I'm not sure what to make of this picture. I've analyzed it for a while, trying to unleash its inner meanings. Honestly, the smoking something theory may indeed be the only explanation.

Discuss amongst yourselves.

Something unprecedented has happened. Okay, not unprecedented. It happened once before. That time was in 2005, when the first title I suggested for a book got accepted by an editor with no challenge. The book? Succubus Blues. That phenomenon has never happened again. Every other book since then, in all my series, has had a title change.

Until now.

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the name of the fourth Georgina Kincaid book: Succubus Heat. I suggested it, and my editor thought it was great! First try. This is pretty exciting, as you might imagine, and reaffirms my feelings of ownership over my books and--

Wait.

Some of you may have noticed that I've never mentioned a fourth succubus book. In fact, my website only lists three of them. Well, that's about to change. Ready?

I just sold three more [unwritten] books in the Georgina series to Kensington Books! That brings us to a total of six in her series, and I'm pretty excited about this. I love all of my novels, but Georgina's series--my first one published--is always going to be my baby. It's a dizzying thing to think how much I went through to get Succubus Blues published a few years ago. Now, I've fulfilled my original contract and started another. Ah, children. They grow up so fast. This means we'll have Georgina stories through the next couple years, and I couldn't be happier.

I also have to say: I couldn't have this new contract if not for the support of Georgina fans and readers! You wanted her, and we've got her. Books are no good in a vacuum, and I'm so lucky to have all of you reading what I write. Thanks so much for giving me the chance to keep telling her story.

And everyone knows that a new contract calls for a new Betsey dress. Either that, or a Barack Obama donation:

Hey, guys! Remember these?


Yes, it's the pair of Betsey Johnson shoes that caused so much chaos a few months ago when I needed to get the heel fixed. Well, despite all that, I'm sad to say these shoes have been doing little more than sit in their box at the bottom of my closet. I've simply had nowhere to wear them. Luckily(?), that's all about to change, as I will be attending a fancy schmancy holiday party this Friday.

Now, I've lauded these shoes not only for their adorableness but also for their comfort. I've never really been able to walk in high heels and was pleasantly surprised at how good they felt when I first tried them on. It turns out, however, that it's pretty easy for shoes to be comfortable when you're standing in front of a dressing room mirror and walking within a three-foot radius.

This weekend, I took them out for a field test. In doing so, I discovered a few interesting things. One is that I still can't really walk in high heels. The second is that even prissy shoes need to be broken in. What felt comfortable standing in front of a mirror hurt like hell while traipsing through downtown Ballard. And while 3" heels make my calves look good, I'm pretty sure any and all sexiness is negated by how awkward and ungainly I am while walking in them. Ankles aren't so cute when broken, methinks.

So, now the pressure's on. I tried to wear them around the condo today and only managed to further agitate the blisters from yesterday. I'm not sure if continued "practice" this week is going to help or hinder. I don't think the blisters will go away and/or turn into manly calluses by the weekend, and the thing about that cute clear strap is that it can't hide anything. So, I have aesthetics to worry about. And then, yanno, there's that whole causing irreperable damage to my feet thing since they're already quite mad that I've started jogging again. Asphalt = pain.

But while I don't want to end up on crutches or anything, I also don't want to show up at that party in inferior shoes. So, I think my battle plan is to just keep walking around this week enough to get my balance and not look completely clumsy. Then, I'll just power through the party, consequences and bleeding feet be damned. Hopefully the rhinestones' glitter will blind people before they can notice my wounds.

Anyone else thinking this is a narwhal conspiracy?

Today I returned to the shoe shop to pick up my shoes, and here's the conversation that ensued with Shoe Lady and me.

SL: I couldn't replace the caps. I just ended up tightening them because the shoe's made in this really weird [random shoe industry info that means nothing to me] way.
Me: Oh, ok.
SL: Did you buy them locally?
Me: No. They're from San Francisco.
SL: Too bad. I would have returned them.
She flips one shoe over and points to the price sticker I left on the bottom.
SL: Did you really pay that much for them?
Me: Yeah, afraid so.
SL: Girl.
Me: They're designer shoes!
SL: The next time you buy designer shoes, get them in leather. How will you ever repair these? They're plastic.
Me: Those are great shoes.
Old Lady Who Just Entered Store: Those are great shoes.

Damn straight.

Despite growing up watching G.I. Joe and Voltron, I've steadily gotten away from tomboy-ishness over the years--with one exception.

High heels.

I can't walk in them. It's embarrassing, particularly since at 5'2", a few more inches wouldn't really hurt. I will forever be haunted by the fuchsia and purple sequined stilettos that *perfectly* matched my prom dress senior year. But when I tried them on...no. I couldn't stand in them without falling over, and at that point, I realized I would have to add high heels to the list of footwear that doesn't work for me--along with skis and rollerskates.

But on the infamous shopping trip that spawned my new love of Betsey Johnson fashion, I also discovered the world's most amazing shoes. They were gorgeous. They had 4.5" heels. And I could walk in them. Don't ask how this is possible. Maybe it's Betsey magic. Maybe I just grew up. Regardless, they were awesome, and a couple weeks ago, I decided to get them. Only, I must have tried on a different size in the store because the ones I ordered off the website were too small. Worse, the website was now out of the correct size. Worst of all, when I drove up to Seattle to go to the actual store, they no longer carried them in my color.

Desperate, I put out another plea to my friends in large cities, and my friend David found and shipped me a pair from San Francisco. Only, when I got them, I discovered the cap on the heel of one was loose. Knowing trying to do a San Francisco return was courting trouble, I simply went to a shoe repair store to get it fixed. There, the surly shoe lady and I had the following conversation:

SL: For $5 I can tighten the cap. For $6.50, I can just replace them on both shoes.
Me: Oh. Ok. Probably you should just replace them then, yeah?
SL: Yeah. They won't taper like these, though.
Me: Ok. Will...will they feel the same?
SL: What?
Me: Like when I walk on them, will they feel the same? Will I balance the same?
[Pause, then laughter.]
SL: Girl, haven't you ever had heels replaced before?
Me: I've hardly ever walked in heels before!
SL: [still laughing] Yes, they'll feel the same.
Me: Ok. I just wanted to make sure. These are the only heels I've ever been able to walk in. I don't want to fall and break my ankle.
SL: [STILL laughing] Well, if you do, it won't be our fault.

Sigh. 4.5" heels had better be worth all this grief.

So, tonight I went to Hugo House in Capitol Hill to hear Charles DeLint speak. I guess he's some author who writes mythic and urban fantasy. I also hear he's kind of famous.

Regardless, there was only one copy of my favorite book by him, Medicine Road, for sale. I saw it on the sales table, then turned away to ponder the dilemma of wanting to buy coffee but having no cash. That was when a most kind gentleman jumped in to spring for my caffeine, saying he was "privileged to buy coffee for a beautiful woman." I was embarrassed at my lack of funds (who doesn't carry $1.50 in cash?), but I could hardly refuse such chivalry and flattery. Thanks, Gary! Unfortunately, when I turned back around, the one copy of Medicine Road had been bought! Oh, caffeine! When will I break free of you and your evil tricks?

In the meantime, I have a few pics:



Charles' new book is Little (Grrl) Lost, but he read a different story tonight. Fun fact: Charles is Canadian and adorable. I nearly passed out every time he pronounced 'about' as 'a-boot.'


Charles is also a musician. He and his wife MaryAnn perform songs together, and that actually made up the bulk of tonight's event. It was great.


Cherie Priest does NOT want her picture taken. Whatever, Cherie. Charles might have given you an awesome cover quote, but that doesn't mean you can escape my blog...

In other news, look what arrived in the mail for me today! That's right, the holy grail Betsey Johnson dress. I thought I was content with the other dress, but then Krystn found this one I'd been longing for--in Texas of all places! After many phone calls, here it is--and Krystn will be rewarded. I know it looks plain in the picture, but you gotta believe me when I say it looks stellar on.

Finally, go to Caitlin Kittredge's blog and leave her a birthday message. My UK-traveling housemate is 23 today. She makes me feel all of my 30 years, but then, I did get carded at the movie theater the other day. R-rating, baby: "Under 17 requires accompanying parent or adult guardian."

BOO-YA!

So, I was supposed to be on a plane back to Seattle tonight, but more family stuff has kept me here an extra couple days. I'll now be going home on Wednesday morning--just in time for Caitlin to be going to the UK. Her flight takes off within ten minutes of mine arriving. We're going to be a cat feeding relay team.

The stress here today was a 6.5 on the 1-10 scale, instead of the 12 that it was this weekend. I had to do some Very Bad Things for the Greater Good, the repurcussions of which are TBD. On the happy side, I did discover something quite nice about my family: not eating around here is a sin.

I've been semi-queasy for most of this trip and had no appetite at all today. The only thing that sounded good for lunch was a milkshake made out of cake batter ice cream--from Frosty Boy, of course. It rocked. But I wasn't hungry for the rest of the day. My brother and sister-in-law offered me some of their delicious Italian dinner (the garlic smelled lovely), but I declined. Then, I stopped by my parents'. Upon learning I hadn't had dinner, they offered generous portions of mac n' cheese and vegetables. I still declined. I then went to my aunt's house to drop off something, and by then, it was almost 9pm. This being quite shocking, I was offered pork chops and mashed potatos many times. I'm sure they would have been great, but I still said no. She offered popcorn, and I also refused. Finally, she cracked me and my lack of appetite with the oldest trick in the book: milk and cookies. They were homemade. And delicious.

This is how my family rolls. It's a Southern hospitality thing. They always cook more than they need for this very reason--in case someone stops by. It's instinctual. Not feeding guests is unfathomable. If someone comes over, you offer them a chair, a drink, and food. My Granny was a huge advocate of this, and you always knew you could get something good when you came over and were hungry. And if you weren't hungry, you'd best get hungry because she wouldn't let you leave without feeding you. I still dream about her chicken and dumplings--but she never taught any of us the recipe.

Those are my culinary adventures today, and so I--wait a minute. Why, hello. What's this? This, my friends, is Betsey Johnson Dress #2, as hunted down by my awesome friend Heidi in Seattle. It's pretty ironic that one of the coveted dresses was in my own backyard. Since I'm out of town, Heidi was good enough to go pick it up, and the sales gal was quite thrilled to hear about how I hadn't been able to get the dress out of my head since I tried it on in June in Las Vegas. Apparently this is a common phenomenon in their store.

Now you can see why I wondered about white shoes--wait'll I show you the ones I have in mind. The dress was even on sale too, but I don't think my pocketbook can afford any others (but...oh...that navy blue one). Many thanks to my shopping scouts. :)

And yeah, Kat...I know it looks like a nightgown, but that look is going to sell lots of succubus books at my signings. Fact.