Sex and Coffee at Bob Evans

~ by Vonnie Davis

Bob Evans, a restaurant chain that serves breakfast all day, along with other fare, is one of our favorite places to eat. One reason is their free Wi-Fi. Another is the coffee. And, of course, the service and food is always excellent. We go two or three times a week, arriving around ten in the morning and staying until three. I write. Calvin reads our morning newspaper and his iPad.

On our way there, he'll often ask me what I plan on writing and we'll discuss it. So when I told Calvin today was sex scene writing day, he kissed my hand and told me I'd get through it just like I had with every other one I'd written.

Calvin knows how I dislike penning sex scenes. How I've balked at past editors demanding more sex, earlier in the book and with explicit language. Honestly, if I could get away with writing sex in a humorous way, I would.

Yesterday, the greeter took us to our booth and chatted for a few minutes. We're known by name there, after all. Our waitress came by to say hello and did we want our usual coffees? Calvin responded with, "Yes, and please keep my wife's cup filled today. She's writing an up-against-the-wall sex scene."

I slid down on my side of the booth, trying to look as small as I felt.

The waitress, her face as red as Bob Evan's roof, opened and closed her mouth with only a squeak eking out before nodding and all but running away.

"Why would you tell her that?"

"What? That you're writing a sex scene? It's sex, angel, everyone does it." He shook his newspaper as if he'd just proclaimed something profound. The waitress appeared with our cups and Calvin looked at her. "Did I offend you with my remark earlier? I didn't mean to. After all, everyone has sex. Right?"

She waved her hand in front of her face. "Oh lawd, another hot flash!" She bustled off.

Word must have spread.

Every waitress, one of the cooks, AND the manager came by with a pot of coffee to top off my cup, each one standing behind my shoulder. I knew what they were doing. So in a "rare" display of cheekiness (oh dear, was that a bad pun?), I kept tapping away on my laptop, writing my sex scene as they nonchalantly read snippets of it. The manager tapped my shoulder and said Calvin and I could stay as long as we wanted. Uh-huh. Before I knew it, I had the dreaded scene written. In fact, I moved them onto the shower where they did the wild fandango again. By then I'd had so much coffee, I had the shakes.

I took an online workshop through RWA a couple years ago about writing sensual scenes. The presenter talked about setting the scene to write sex. How did we do it? Some participants wrote they donned sexy lingerie. Others lit candles and played sexy music. Some drank wine by candlelight, dressed in sexy things and listening to slow, sultry tunes. Me? I go to Bob Evans and drink coffee.

What's your method?

READ MORE ABOUT VONNIE DAVIS at www.vonniedavis.com

*** Pre-order book two of her Black Eagle Ops series, HERS TO HEAL, releasing on the 22nd. https://amzn.com/B01CBM44Q0

A FACEBOOK BOOK RELEASE PARTY AND YOU'RE ALL INVITED! Nov. 22nd...6 pm to 10:30 pm (Eastern time) Guest authors, prizes, girl talk, man candy (be prepared!), and my well-known exercise routine. Whoot!!! The link for the party is:

https://www.facebook.com/events/1811336955821473/...

Memories of 9/11 Terrorist Attack Fallout

By Vonnie Davis

Most of us recall where we were when we heard of the attacks on American soil. I was working at what was then Citibank--now Citi--in Hagerstown, Maryland. This particular Citibank was a large three-building campus that never, ever closed. It was open every minute of every day, all year long. On the opposite side of the massive parking lot was a child-care center the size of an elementary school for employee's children. Each building had two restaurants.

Over a total of 25,000 employees kept the credit card, calling center, investment, and mortgage departments open. I worked as a technical writer in the mortgage department, writing closing documents to conform with changes in tax and legalities applicable to the banking industry.

Whispers spread quickly over the cubicles to turn to CNN news online. We all watched in horror, knowing that some of Citibank employees were in those buildings. Before long, our departmental supervisor called us into our meeting room. With a shaky voice, he told us about the attacks. He was visibly shaken. His sister, also a Citibank employee, was one of the missing and he couldn't reach her.

Then, if things weren't bad enough, he informed us the corporation feared we were next in the terrorists' path. "So, stay alert and keep on working." Well, if that doesn't inspire the will to work, I don't know what does.

We all marched back to our stations, the talk heavy between us. I sat at my computer, wondering WHY?  Why would the terrorists come for us? We were cubicle workers in little Podunk Hagerstown.

The next day, we were called in for another meeting. We were told why our campus was in "supposed" danger. Al Qaida and Bin Laden had money invested in Citibank and their assets were frozen.

A couple days later, someone opening mail had white powder fall out over her. Everyone went into a panic. Agents were soon in the facility. We were given new orders. Wear latex gloves while working and use special soap in the restrooms. The next morning, we came to work to find everyone wearing plastic aprons. New ones were handed to us. We worked like that for weeks, encased in latex and plastic and running on fumes of fear. At night, we watched the news of the happenings at ground zero in disbelief.

We were Americans. This couldn't be happening to us. . . but it was. It did and so many innocents died or have suffered the loss of loved ones.

Unfortunately, the terror remains here and in other countries. Different groups. Different names. Same sick agendas. Like ISIS, for instance. Featured in my Black Eagle Ops Series, ISIS is the enemy. Book two releases on November 23rd and is eligible for pre-order.

In this powerful, sensual romance from the author of Her Survivor, a broken woman meets a shattered warrior—and discovers a passion strong enough to heal each other’s deepest wounds.

Navy SEAL Reece Browning sacrificed body and soul in the line of duty. He survived torture at the hands of America’s enemies, but lost his career and his voice in the process. Traumatized and desperate to get his PTSD under control, Reece escapes to Eagle Ridge Ranch. Under the big Texas sky, he finds peace, a renewed sense of purpose—and a woman who makes him feel like a man again. Her smile lights up his dark days, and her caress helps him forget the night terrors.

Ex-Marine Gina Wilson also bears painful scars: emotional wounds inflicted by men she once trusted with her life. She has fought hard to overcome her demons and build a good life for her daughter, and Reece is too intense, too damaged, too raw to let into her heart. Yet she’s drawn irresistibly to his steely gaze and heated embrace. No one else understands what it’s like to suffer in silence. And when Gina’s daughter is threatened, it’s Reece who risks everything to save the day.

Pre-Order at: https://amzn.com/B01CBM44Q0

For more information about Vonnie Davis, visit her website at www.vonniedavis.com

The Day I Felt Like Mic Jagger by Vonnie Davis

I'd been writing toward the magic words of THE END on book two of my "Black Eagle Ops" series. According to my bullet list, this past weekend should have been the completion of HERS TO HEAL. I could feel the sigh of relief building. Calvin had promised me a celebratory meal out. I was more than ready for free time. Mental rejuvenation time.

After all, I'd been writing this book from ten am until eight or nine pm seven days a week for three months. I was more than ready for a break.

The hero's proposal had been offered and accepted. Then a couple hours later, the hero tells the heroine about his new job. I figured she'd be happy. But was she? No-o-o-o-o! In fact, she inhaled a heated breath of air and hurled--hurled, mind you--orders for him to refuse the job. "No!" I screamed at the computer screen. "If you say that, he'll walk out." And, of course, she said it and was shocked when the door slammed in her face.

I glanced at my bullet list taped next to me. I had three scenes to write. I did not have time for this foolishness. I stalked to the kitchen and poured another cup of coffee to wash down headache medicine. And Mic Jagger came on the oldies radio station I play on low.

I was drowned, I was washed up and left for dead
I fell down, to my feet and I saw they bled
Yeah, sure and I frowned at the crumbs of a crust of bread, sure
Yeah, I was crowned with a spike right through my head
But it's all right now, in fact it's a gas
But it's all right
I'm Jumpin' Jack Flash, it's a gas, gas, gas
(** Lyrics by Mic Jagger and Keith Richards)

So, is HERS TO HEAL finished? Well, no...not quite. I get a shot in my retina at 11:30 today. Between the shot and 5 different types of eye drops, my vision will be done for the rest of the day.

Tomorrow. I'm hoping tomorrow will be the magic day. Then not only will I sing Mic's song, but with a banana in my hand like a microphone, I'm strutting and prancing through my kitchen singing...

 

Well, it was Wednesday when the sun shone upon my head. Yeah.

And I finally put that dratted book to bed. Yeah.

So, it's all right, now, now that it's done.

'Cause I'm a Romance Writer,
Where, where, where is my choc-OH-lat? 

Vonnie Davis writes contemporary and contemporary paranormal romance all with a splash of suspense and a dollop of humor. She likens herself to a freshly baked croissant: Warm, crusty, wrinkled, a tad flaky and best served with strong coffee. Visit her on www.vonniedavis.com  

When a Writer Has Nothing to Say by Vonnie Davis

I'm writing this on Super Tuesday. So politics are on my mind. I don't appreciate others shoving their political views down my throat. In like manner, I'm not shoving mine down anyone else's. We're all smart enough to make up our own minds.  'Nuff said there.

My cover for Her Survivor is finally up on Amazon. It's book one of my "Black Eagle Ops" series and releases in July. I was so tickled to see my hero make his splash on the empty listing, it took me a few seconds to realize there was another coverless listing. For book two--Hers to Heal. The one I'm still writing! Panic set in and my fingers have been furiously kissing the keyboard ever since. I wrote slightly over 2000 words today. Maybe I'll get a few hundred more written before bedtime. I thought of part of a scene while I was supposed to be taking my pre-dinner nap. Yes, this old bird has reverted to some behaviors from childhood, like naptimes.
But I don't want to talk about the "A" word.

As soon as I finish this post, I'm critiquing ten pages for an author friend who has a novella she wants to submit. I think I edit more than critique. I worry the overall theme is a little dark, but I'm not in the mood to talk about that either.

What would I like to talk about? Weddings! My oldest granddaughter's wedding is June eleventh, two weeks after she graduates from college with a double major in Psychology and Criminal Justice. Odd, really. It was just a few years ago I helped deliver Eleni. The doctor was running late and little Eleni Elizabeth--five weeks premature--couldn't wait to get here to boss her two big brothers around. The nurse ordered me to put on a pair of latex gloves and I did. What an experience! My Sugar Dumplin' weighed in at five pounds. An hour later, I stood at the nursery window watching the pediatrician and nurses hovering over Eleni's incubator. Not that I'm nosy, mind you, but I slipped in to hear what was going on with my grandbaby. She wasn't breathing right and they were discussing whether to airlift her to a larger hospital. "I'll be riding along," I said nonchalantly. The pediatrician whipped around and asked me who I was. "I'm the grandma. I go where she goes." I pointed to the incubator while the nervy doctor pointed to the nursery door. I stared; she glared. The nurses suited me up and allowed me to touch Eleni and talk to her. Before long her breathing regulated. I took credit, of course, much to the irked doctor's annoyance. I sent Sugar Dumplin' a check for her wedding gown and veil. All I asked was that she not tell me one thing about it, so I can't even talk about that. Sigh. See, I want to be blown away when I see her ready to walk down the aisle (Investment tip: Buy stock in Puffs tissues!).

My grandson, Ryan, qualified for States in wrestling. The tournament is this coming weekend. He's on my mind, too. Ryan is a goal-setter. At the end of every summer vacation, he sets goals for the coming school year. This year, they were to get all A's, be admitted to MIT, and win a medal at States. He's an over-achiever, yet a gentle kid with a quirky sense of humor. I wouldn't want to say he was raised to be a wrestler, but here he is shortly before his second birthday pinning Wile E. Coyote. Last year he got a B in Honors English and called me, heartbroken. I told him I was glad. He paused. "Why?" I told him I was glad he'd missed his anticipated A and had to face he wasn't perfect. "We're all human, Ry-man (okay, so I'm a nickname freak, it's a sickness, I tell you). We don't always reach the goals we set. The secret is to never give up, to keep trying." His one and only B didn't hurt his admission to MIT. All I wish for him this coming weekend is that he win at least one match. Okay, maybe two, but I won't talk about that. Grandmas can be SO boring.

 

Next time I blog, I hope I have something to say. Follow me on Twitter on @VonnieWrites. Tell me, what do you have to say today. It has to be more interesting than my rambling.