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Archive for January 6th, 2014

Happy new year!  I’m romantic comedy author Lucy Woodhull, and I’m here to promo my latest book, THE DIMPLE STRIKES BACK (sequel to THE DIMPLE OF DOOM).  This series is about an art thief with a seriously dangerous dimple, and the secretary-turned-actress who falls for him.  And when I say “falls,” I mean that, bruises and all.

Dimple 1 and 2 covers

Here’s a blurb for the series:

The Samantha Lytton series by Lucy Woodhull

Obviously, the solution to a failed acting career and depressing dating desert is to take up with a dimpled art thief, get chased by thugs, lie to the police and almost die.

That’s not what Samantha Lytton thought would happen when she kissed the guy who said he was an accountant at the office Christmas party.  But in her defense — it was an amazing freaking kiss.  The kind of lip-lock that frustrates you in the wee hours.

Turns out, thinking with your nether regions can lead to poor decisions.  Or perhaps…fantastic ones.  Samantha and her burglar travel from Los Angeles to Vegas to Paris to London on adventures that bring Samantha’s wildest dreams of stardom to fruition.  After spending years falling on her face, she learns to fight for herself and her heart’s desire.  You can’t choose who to love, but you can try to keep his cute butt out of jail and in your bed.

No matter where in the world you go, or how many hot movie stars you kiss (um, professionally), you never forget your first criminal.  Hopefully, only criminal.  Although bad boys with dangerous dimples are nothing but trouble, a relationship can still work as long as the goons don’t get you.  And if they do, well, at least an actress is good at improvisation.

* * *

When January rolls around, we all consider what we want to accomplish in the fresh and sparkly new year.  Most of the time, these to-do lists are very, super serious, and filled with deep thoughts about being a better person, or getting a promotion at work.  But I think that more mundane goals are also good to have, just in case that vice president title doesn’t come to pass.  Hey, at least you can say that you accomplished something.

If the heroine of my Dimple book series, Samantha Lytton, were to make a resolution, it might be to never hump an art thief.  Or, you know, to hump an art thief, because even if he’s ruining your life, at least there’s humping!  She would also resolve to eat more Pizza Rolls, which is something that everyone should do.

Here are mine…

Lucy’s Less-Than-Lofty Life Goals for 2014:

1. Do the dishes less frequently.

1A.  Teach the cat to do dishes.  Or convince husband that scrubbing pots is way more fun than it is.

2. Try one of those fancy nail polish jobbies that look like Degas painted your fingers.  Figure out a way to not have it chip in 5.6 seconds.

2A.  Do not drip nail polish on the floor.

2B.  If nail polish ends up on floor, buy attractive rug.

3. Cuss in traffic less, unless the piece of $#!+ really deserves it.
4. Get a mammogram (important for everyone!)
5. Do not apologize for eating any food ever.  It’s a waste of time, breath, and you deserve some cake, dammit, especially if you’ve stopped yelling at idiot drivers.  Basically, you’re Mother Theresa now, and deserve a milkshake.
6. Read more smut.
7. Stop and dance to Beyoncé no matter when/where you are.
8. Stop wearing bras that itch and pinch.  Boobs deserve better.
9. Invest in more caftans, as befitting a fancy author of smut.

9A.  Caftans should be bejeweled, duh.

9B.  Or at least gold lamé.

10  Say hello to every kitty and puppy you pass.  Naming them is optional, but recommended.
11. Have more patience, because you never know what someone else is going through or dealing with in their own life.

Okay, I snuck a serious one in there at the end, but number ten is something I try to remind myself of a lot.  The person frowning at you in the CVS could be having the worst day of their lives, so taking a deep breath and being nice can sometimes make a huge difference to someone.

I wish you and yours a wondrous year in 2014!  To hopefully start that off, leave a comment below with one of your non-groundbreaking new year’s resolutions, and you’ll be entered to win digital copies of both of my Dimple books!  Woot!

 

Lucy — Website Goodreads Twitter Blog Facebook

 

Book One:  THE DIMPLE OF DOOM — Available in print and digital from:  Totally Bound, Amazon, AllRomance.com, B&N, Sony / Excerpt here.

Book Two: THE DIMPLE STRIKES BACK — Available in digital (print coming March, 2014) from: Totally Bound, Amazon, AllRomance.com / Excerpt here.

 

Excerpt from THE DIMPLE STRIKES BACK:

Chapter One
You Can’t Spell “Happiness” Without “Pain”

No one would suppose, looking at me, little Samantha Lytton, that I am a sophisticated movie maven with an illicit thief for a lover. But that hypothetical lookie-loo would be wrong, and not just because I’m shorter than the average actress and/or gangster’s moll.

Outside the oval window beside me, clouds floated by on the vicious air currently bouncing my airplane to and fro. And taking my cocktail with it. “Shit!” I hissed. I swiped at my lap and accidentally splashed the puddle of vodka I’d dribbled there onto my seatmate’s sleeve. The businessey dude frowned at me and patted the offending liquid with a napkin.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I hate flying. But I love vodka! And talking when I’m nervous!” A too-long peal of laughter floated out of me from parts unknown. I took a deep breath and fought for calm. “Okay, I’m done now.” I beamed him the smile that Entertainment Weekly called ‘charming and dorky’.

I’d like it noted that they totally put ‘charming’ first.

My fellow first-classer didn’t seem impressed by me. No matter-I was suspended over the ocean, high on Xanax and whatever booze I’d managed to get into my mouth, on the way to London to shoot my very first starring role in a film. A bona-fide film-film-not one of those budget shoots where the catering is a Happy Meal thrown at you after filming illegally in an alley while you wear Goodwill clothing all night.

In the last year, People magazine had called me ‘Clara Bow 2.0′, and declared me the only entertaining part of my first movie I Cried Lavender Tears in Paris. Well, except for the bit when Justin Bieber exploded.

After that, I’d won a small but memorable scene in a Judd Apatow flick, a sidekick part in a Tina Fey movie and a recurring arc on a TV show soon cancelled for being too clever for anyone to watch. I was an underground darling in that I was a funny actress who looked like an average woman-with better-than-average teeth. I’d accepted any project offered to me, and as they began coming out, I got noticed by the Powers That Be.

The Powers That Be are a group of male studio executives who base an actress’ worth on a calculation that goes something like…

 

fuckability + sexiness * (hilarity + popularity on Twitter2) + (blonde * 10)

 

I score highly enough in the tits and hilarity departments-even though I am no longer blonde, but redheaded-that they have taken a massive risk on me with this new movie. Not for the first time, I clutched my stomach, terrified that I’d outpaced my abilities. In a few days, I’d begin shooting What Could Go Wrong?, a heist spoof about a down-on-their-luck couple who rob the British Museum with a group of misfits.

Now, Sam would tell you that he was instrumental in getting me this movie. He’s my illicit thief lover and yes, I had indeed learned about skulking and running and lying and truly superior oral sex from him. And about how you can drown in hazel eyes whether they’re mossiest green or deepest brown.

He also taught me that the dimple is the most savage of facial features, causing everyday ladies ‘brain paralysis’ so they throw off the shackles of their boring, secretarial lives and embrace an existence on the lam from cops and robbers alike. He’d used me to steal a Picasso. I’d turned the ensuing notoriety into the acting career I’d always dreamed of.

“Yup.” I slashed the air with my vodka cup. The dude beside me ducked and cowered. “Life is good,” I told him with a pat on the arm. “Sometimes storm clouds assemble and piss rain all over your head, but other times-ouch!”

My other seatmate had woken up. Captain Taco’s claw still clutched my ankle, his mournful feline cry echoing throughout the elite cabin. I tapped at his paw until he released me, then I pulled his carrier out from below the seat. My human friend muttered, threw down his Wall Street Journal-a paper one! Perhaps he was from the past-and stalked to another part of the airplane.

I stuck my head above the seat, periscope-style, to search for flight attendants. The coast was clear. I released Taco from his prison and took his bundle of feline black fluff into my arms. He actually did comfort me, the little bastard. He was an ex-pet of Sam’s, and it had taken some time for us to form a solid relationship, but we had finally meshed. I loved Taco to bits and cuddled him at every turn. He agreed not to murder me in my sleep as long as I fed him. I cradled him, belly up, while he gave me a glare of wild condescension.

The last year had been surreal, going from depressed secretary comforting herself with roller skating and Pizza Rolls-often together-to respected working actress. I considered pinching myself to make sure life was real, but Taco took care of that with a bite to my hand. I hissed and sucked on the already flaming pink wound.

“Ma’am, I’m afraid you cannot have an unrestrained animal out during flight.”

I smiled at the polite, frowning flight attendant whose pasty skin reminded me I’d soon be on an island where clouds battled the sun and often won. She offered to help me put Taco away, but I did it myself. No reason for the innocent to be mauled by eleven pounds of adorable rage. I’d given him kitty sedatives, but he didn’t seem to enjoy them the way I did.

The lady hung around, a smile creeping into the corner of her mouth. She leaned forward. “I’m a big fan, Ms Williams. Love your new hair color.”

Le sigh. “I’m not Michelle Williams. I get that a lot, though.”

“Wait-are you the lady from the Tina Fey movie? What was it… The World’s Worst Wedding? You are! You’re so funny!”

She got me on the second try-I couldn’t have stopped the grin that split my face if I’d tried. “Hi. Thanks. Hi.”

“Meeeewwwwrrrrr,” said Taco. My resume left him unimpressed thus far.

She put one knee on the empty seat beside me. “I’m sorry, it’s just in case the cat gets free, you know? I don’t want her to get hurt.”

Taco hissed and swiped. I jerked my leg to safety. “Captain Taco is a he. He’s sexist, that’s why he thinks being called a girl is demeaning.”

The flight attendant laughed. “Can I get you some champagne? Perhaps a magazine?”

I held up the now-slightly-soggy-from-vodka script in my lap. Very professional. “I should probably keep studying this. Although champagne would definitely help.”

She sucked in a breath and gawked to read the title page. “Is that the Daniel Zhang movie? Oh, my goodness, he is so unbelievably hot.”

“I know! They’re gonna pay me to kiss him!”

“Jammy devil!” She giggled more and whipped off to get me bubbly I didn’t really need.

I didn’t know what a jammy devil was, but I generally approved of both jam and devils. “Am I bovvered?” I asked no one.

“Hhhhhhhssssssss,” replied Taco.

“Oh, you’re always taking the piss.” I settled back, my glittering bubbly in hand. You’re going to be brilliant, I told myself. And you’ll have a killer British accent any minute now.

* * *

 

 

 

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