“Tonight’s December thirty-first,
Something is about to burst.
The clock is crouching, dark and small,
Like a time bomb in the hall.
Hark, it’s midnight, children dear.
Duck! Here comes another year!” ―Ogden Nash
Do you know the legend of “Stingy Jack?” It’s a good one…People have been making jack-o’-lanterns at Halloween for centuries. The practice originated from an Irish myth about a man nicknamed “Stingy Jack.” According to the story, Stingy Jack invited the Devil to have a drink with him. True to his name, Stingy Jack didn’t want to pay for his drink, so he convinced the Devil to turn himself into a coin that Jack could use to buy their drinks. Once the Devil did so, Jack decided to keep the money and put it into his pocket next to a silver cross, which prevented the Devil from changing back into his original form. Jack eventually freed the Devil, under the condition that he would not bother Jack for one year and that, should Jack die, he would not claim his soul. The next year, Jack again tricked the Devil into climbing into a tree to pick a piece of fruit. While he was up in the tree, Jack carved a sign of the cross into the tree’s bark so that the Devil could not come down until the Devil promised Jack not to bother him for ten more years.Soon after, Jack died. As the legend goes, God would not allow such an unsavory figure into heaven. The Devil, upset by the trick Jack had played on him and keeping his word not to claim his soul, would not allow Jack into hell. He sent Jack off into the dark night with only a burning coal to light his way. Jack put the coal into a carved-out turnip and has been roaming the Earth with ever since. The Irish began to refer to this ghostly figure as “Jack of the Lantern,” and then, simply “Jack O’Lantern.”In Ireland and Scotland, people began to make their own versions of Jack’s lanterns by carving scary faces into turnips or potatoes and placing them into windows or near doors to frighten away Stingy Jack and other wandering evil spirits. In England, large beets are used. Immigrants from these countries brought the jack o’lantern tradition with them when they came to the United States. They soon found that pumpkins, a fruit native to America, make perfect jack-o’-lanterns.Happy Halloween!
from Joe Photo at http://webshots.com
Title: Scandal: A Regency Historical Romance
Genre: Historical Romance
Author: Carolyn Jewel
Publisher: Carolyn Jewel, 2012
Sexy Rating: 5
Description from Amazon.com:
The earl of Banallt is a reformed rake determined to win the heart of the only woman he’s ever loved. Two years after the death of her husband, Sophie Mercer Evans still has no use for Banallt. It’s true she knows him better than anyone, and that’s why she’ll never forgive him his past and the mortal insult he dealt her. And yet, when her life is falling apart, it’s Banallt who stands by her.
This was a book that I got for free because of a Kindle promotion. It just goes to show that wonderful things can be had for free. I had never before read anything by Carolyn Jewel but you better believe that I’m going to read her entire back list and everything she publishes in the future. This is true romance, exquisitely written, splendidly entertaining with sizzling sexual tension. Here is a taste of her enthralling prose:
“She heard them coming; she left off trailing her fingers in the water and straightened though not before he caught a glimpse of the pale nape of her neck. Just that flash of bare skin, and Banallt couldn’t breathe. Still seated on the fountain’s edge, she turned toward the drive and looked first at her brother and then, at last, at him. She did not smile. Nor, he thought, was she unaffected. Nothing at all had changed.”
“He put his bare hand over hers. The warmth of his palm startled her. “I had to come here,” he said. “No one else would do. No one else will ever do.”
Because you should start the New Year off with a truly sumptuous read please hurry to get this fabulous book. Free on Kindle and Nook.
(previously published on this blog on July 14,2011)
If you have read any romance novels at all then you have come across some laughable “purple prose”. Awhile back someone sent me this list of what I’m assuming are made-up romance novel quotes. The list remains one of my all time favorites. Here’s hoping your sense of humor is as sick as mine:
His body was hard — not hard like Milosevic, the Serbian strongman, but hard like the marble on your shower floor, when you fall and bang your knee.
Her shoulders heaved like the tiny sobs of Snuggles the cat being run through with a roasting spit.
Her embrace made his manhood swell like week-old roadkill on hot asphalt in the Georgia sun.
Her petticoats dropped to the ground, rustling like a cockroach in a sugar bowl.
As she kissed her way down his manly chest, he felt his Amalgamated Crane Company stock increasing in value.
Beatrice was on him like a piranha on a corn dog.
…then he kissed her, like a butterfly kisses the windshield of a Porsche on the Autobahn.
Her breasts heaved like a stormy ocean, and her pointed nipples were like hypodermics washed up on the shore.
With his broad shoulders and slim waist, he was a yield sign — yet she could NOT!
He tore open her blouse like a Publisher’s Clearing House letter in which he, and some guy named Steven Bouber from Stockton, California, were potential finalists for the ten million dollar prize.
His manhood stood at full attention, stiff and stony like the vice president.
Sleekly malevolent, driven by a violent hunger, Donovan glided through the chum-filled waters of the singles bar, oblivious to the remora of Annabelle’s adoring gaze.
Like the wind, she ran, her breasts lurching like a motor boat over a wake, and then, as fluid as a fine imported transmission, she whipped out her man-organ and pissed away his dreams.
Her sun-glazed back formed a golden arch as he moved his face toward her happy meal.
With each breath, her chest heaved like a bulimic after Thanksgiving dinner.
He Beatty-ed her shamelessly, making her squeal like Ned and hallucinate like Warren.
He awoke my slumbering womanhood with his double tall loin latte. “Starbuck!” I cried.
His chest was her pillow, and oh, did she drool.
Claire felt swept away by this dark stranger, a helpless dust bunny in the roaring cacophony of his gas-powered leaf blower.
(Deet is on vacation until December 3rd and will run some older posts that were well received)