readanebookweek

SHRILUGH – FREE! THE DARKENING – $2!

readanebookweekIt’s READ AN EBOOK WEEK!

And I’m super-psyched to be taking part.

Today through the 8th of March, both of my books will be on sale at Smashwords! Shrilugh will be FREE (yes, I said FREE), and The Darkening will be discounted to $2.00!

Have you ever downloaded books from Smashwords before? If not, you should. They have a vast library, and ALL their ebooks are ready to go in EVERY SINGLE EREADER FORMAT OUT THERE. It’s fabulous. And once you’ve purchased the book, you can download it in any format you like, as many times as you like. For instance, I have books both on my Kindle app on my computer, and also on my Nook. It’s fabulous. (Have I mentioned yet that it’s fabulous? Because it totally is.)

So don’t be afraid to buy from Smashwords just because it’s not Amazon or Barnes & Noble or iTunes (all of which, BTW, partner with Smashwords)! They’re a great resource for finding eBooks, and they are definitely a good friend to indie-pubs like myself.

Okay. Now that you’re totally sold on Smashwords and my books, here’s how to take advantage:

Follow the links below to get to the Smashwords pages for Shrilugh and The Darkening. Take note of the coupon code listed there. Click ‘Add to cart’. Enter coupon code. Click on ‘checkout’. Voila! You now own your book. Scroll down to see the different formats, and pick the one(s) that’s right for you.

Link to get Shrilugh for FREE!

Link to get The Darkening for only TWO BUCKS!

What are you still doing here? Go get your copies of Shrilugh and The Darkening. And if you already own copies, this is a FANTASTIC time to give some away as gifts. Remember – Shrilugh is FREE! Talk about easy gift-giving! Not that you need it, but you totally have my permission to gift to anybody and everybody you know, willy-nilly.

*grin*

I hope your Sunday is particularly fabulous.

Big, Giant, Mega-love,

Mynniesue

MYNDI’S RERUNS: How the Invention of the Dishwasher Makes Up for the Invention of Pantyhose

We’re slightly less than two weeks out from the release of The Darkening, and I’m SWAMPED! So, sweet readers, I’m pulling an old post out of the closet, blowing the dust off, and giving it a second go. Enjoy!

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There are some things that bring balance to the universe.  A wrinkled, toothless great-grandparent holding an smooth-skinned but equally toothless grandchild.  Thanksgiving gluttony (one of my absolute favorites) followed by grueling New Year’s resolutions.  Elaine from Seinfeld dancing at a party and Mikhail Baryshnikov dancing in Giselle.  Some of these ying-to-yang scenarios are altogether pleasant – who doesn’t love seeing generations of families love one another?  Some of them are comical (personally, I find Elaine and Baryshnikov equally entertaining, though in different ways).  But sometimes, balance is achieved only through the age-old dilemma that has plagued us since the dawn of man:

Good vs. Evil.

If you’re a woman, and heck, in some cases, if you’re a man, there is a better chance than not that you’ve experienced pure evil in your life.

I’m talking about…(dum, dum, dummmm)…Pantyhose.

Pantyhose aren’t simply a harbinger of evil.  They are evil.  It’s true.  All the red flags are there to warn us:

*Tiny packaging.  I mean, come on.  How can something that can literally fit into an Easter egg actually be expected to comfortably fit over half my body?

*Unnatural colors.  Remember Data from Star Trek? They chose the color ‘natural’ based on his skin tone.  The Oompa Loompa’s from Charlie and the Chocolate factory? Yeah, that’s ‘tan’. Oh, and don’t forget the weird, off-black color.  They got that from the Uruk-hai in Tolkien’s novels.  Not exactly flattering.

*Words like ‘Extra Support’ and ‘Queen’.  These seem like good, positive words, right?  They’re not.  They’re well-crafted lies from the Evil One (aka, Pantyhose).  Extra Support means “Squeeze your fat behind in these and I’ll remind you all day how imperfect you are.”  Queen was a term Pantyhose used to describe size when I was younger.  Sounds nice, right?  It’s not.  Instead of meaning a woman or thing regarded as excellent or outstanding of its kind (straight from the dictionary, thank you), what Pantyhose really means is, “You ate two dozen donuts yesterday and now I’m mocking you.”  Pantyhose is that ‘friend’ who says nice things to you, but the meaning is something different.  Way, way different.

Don’t get me wrong.  I still succumb to the lure of hosiery from time to time.  It happens.  Spanx has an undeniable siren song – I think many of you would agree.  After a few kids, the lure of a smooth mid-section is…intoxicating.  But I’m not here to discuss whether we should or shouldn’t wear them – I’m here to discuss how the evil they’ve forced the world to put on one ridiculously constricting and fragile (don’t get me started about runs!) leg at a time has been evened out.

Let me introduce you, my friends, to the DISHWASHER.

How many of us grew up washing dishes by hand?  How many of us, even now, find ourselves at this chore after dinner?  I’ve been there, through the bulk of my childhood, and most of my adult life.  Some homes we’ve lived in have had dishwashers, others haven’t.  The last five years were spent in a house sans dishwasher (and abnormally low countertops, which meant washing dishes was a major pain in the…).

We recently moved – into a house with a bright, shiny new dishwasher.  And I was reminded how lovely a contraption it is.

My dishwasher delivers on his promises.  He washes my dishes.  He dries my dishes.  He sterilizes our sippy cups.  He doesn’t balk at pots and pans, and he handles my wine glasses with white gloves.  There is no false flattery here – he doesn’t tell me what I want to hear, and then snigger behind my back.  No, folks.  The Dishwasher is a class act (much like my dryer, Mr. Rochester).

If Pantyhose are Pure Evil, then Dishwashers are our Knights in Shining Armor.  Sure, the two foes may fight on different battlefields, but I’m convinced a victory in the kitchen can overcome a ruined day from a run in those off-black stockings.  A clean kitchen in half the time at night can make up for the oncoming morning where you must wrestle yourself into a pair of unyielding and mocking Spanx in the name of fashion.

Tell me your thoughts!  Who out there is with me?  Or do you belong to Team Pantyhose and are itching to put me in my place like a size-too-small-girdle-strength-support-top-incarnation-of-evil?  :)  I open myself up to any and all comments!

Big grins,

Myn

Myndi’s Re-Runs: Silly Soapbox: Popsicles

Sometimes, nothing beats a good re-run. Especially if you’re a writer facing a deadline that’s coming atchya like a freaking freight train. So allow me, my friends, to introduce (drum-roll, please)

MYNDI’S RE-RUNS.

Old posts, classic content, good enough to read! And now, without further ado, I present,

SILLY SOAPBOX: POPSICLES

(Originally posted in October, 2011)

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Nummy, NummyPopsicles.  I love ‘em.  For so many reasons.  So sit your butt down while I wax poetic about the virtues of the rainbow colored family of frozen treats.

#1: They’re dangerous.  You don’t think so?  Listen to this:  They’re cold.  So cold, that if you eat them too quickly, you run the risk of freezing your brain plumb off.  PLUMB OFF, people.  I swear I’ve had this nearly happen to me multiple times, and while in the moment it’s terrifying, after it’s over…whew!  What a rush.  The danger factor is definitely a perk, especially for those of us who wish we were into extreme sports, but aren’t.  I never feel quite as dangerous as I do when there’s a popsicle in my hand.

#2: Adding to the danger factor is this little fact:  They melt.  You have to eat them quickly (running the risk of destroying brain matter), and if you don’t, they melt.  All over your hands, your clothes.  Leaving you sticky and stained.  You walk a fine line while eating popsicles.  Too fast, dead brain.  Too slow, permanently stained garments.  Sure, your hands will wash, but facts are facts: Red Cherry and Blueberry flavored popsicles stain forever.  Some people think that souls are the only thing that are eternal.  I say souls, and popsicle stains.

#3: Danger isn’t the only thing that makes popsicles so attractive.  They’re sweet, but not in a heavy, ice-creamy way.  Don’t get me wrong.  I love ice-cream.  I do.  But sometimes you just don’t want a creamy, sugary concoction resting in your gut.  Sometimes you want an artificially flavored, high-fructose corn-syrup sweetened watery-frozen concoction instead.  *raises hand and jumps up and down a little*  I do!  I do!

#4: The thing that sets popsicles aside from the standard ice-cream cone is this:  The jokes.  The popsicle takes the cake for this fact alone.  Because the popsicle is a giver.  It doesn’t simply satisfy our child-like pallets, or our need to live dangerously.  No, the popsicle wants to invest in our minds by asking us questions.  Questions we have to wait to get the answers to until our tasty treat is gone.  Questions that not only make us think, but make us laugh.  Oh, dearest reader.  This is the sign of a true friend.

Take a couple of these gems, straight from the sticks that I collected today (there is a small chance this post was brought on by a four-month old fetus demanding popsicles, and the sticks might be the evidence) as examples:

Why did the baseball fan give the house a pair of sneakers?  Because he wanted to see a home run. *ba-dum-bum*

What do you call a pony that surfs?  A seahorse. *giggle, snort*

What did Mr. and Mrs. Steak name their son?  Chuck.  *snicker*

And so, my friendlies, let us all revel in the wonder that is the popsicle.  I wish you all happy weekends with dye-stained tongues, non-frozen brains, and new jokes to share with your friends.