THE OUTLANDER CHERRY NIPPLE CLUB

 **WELCOME!**

I have founded the ‘Outlander Cherry Nipple Club™’ in honor of our beloved author, Diana Gabaldon, and her brilliant series of novels based in many regions…namely the highlands of Scotland, various areas of Europe and the nether regions of any woman who reads the books.

The name of this club is derived from the titillating terminology used to describe the quality of Claire Beauchamp Fraser’s dessert-like nipples. Eroticism and food imagery...a match made in heaven. Indeed, after reading these books, I cannot walk past the maraschinos in an ice-cream parlor without wanting to breast feed the nearest male (and I'm not even lactating).

I believe that good books are like good meals: tasty and satisfying. They can be hollow and full of empty calories, but, as in the Outlander series, they can be delicious and good for you…offering you helpings in every basic food group and helping to keep you healthy:

First, Outlander books give you MEAT and NUTS : meaty romance that it. Manly men in kilts and one in particular, named Jamie Fraser, who makes every woman who reads about him want to move to Scotland and dye their husband’s hair red. *The nuts I refer to come in various forms and sizes and I mean minor characters like Angus and Rupert, not the ones YOU are thinking! You wee naughty thing you!

Then there is the BREAD and PASTA allowances: Okay. I admit, I am stumped with the bread metaphor but the story is based on Time Travel, going from the FUTURE to the PASTa. That’s all you are getting from me here. Move on.

OILS are mainly represented in the VIRGIN section of the story (virgin oil, get it? C'mon...cut me some slack, eh?) the most important one being Jamie in Book One.  Inexperienced men are usually a dull affair indeed and best avoided like malfunctioning vibrators or warm beer, but our innocent Scotsman has put the ACHING in teaching and the SIZE in fantasize.

The MILK group is covered here and there with all the babes and cows about, and especially with Jenny's BoobJuice In'a Cup scene (in the show), but not as arousing as others because, well, in my case, as a mother of twins, the memory of nursing two at a time still makes me feels like a linebacker carrying two footballs in for a touchdown. But heaving jugs may turn others on so I will not judge.

VEGETABLES are easily covered with the plethora of rolling green hills and verdure landscapes written so richly that you can smell the lovingly tended gardens and rich meals cooked in the kitchens of Lallybroch, but not once is a vegetable used in an erotic manner and that, is a missed opportunity indeed. One might suggest to Diana that cucumbers are not just for salads anymore. So I have heard. *suggested side reading below:

Then comes our main food group and the reason for this club FRUITS:

I vow to make it my life’s work to find every mention of these sexy and oh-so enviable hard, round, ripe and imminently suckable cherry nipples in all of the Outlander books (a  few, 3, are seen in my meme above, top of page). Very few fruits have given me so much o̶r̶g̶a̶s̶m̶i̶c̶ organic visualizations, including bananas, and I will be forever in Diana’s debt (as will The CPoA Cherry Pickers of America) for stamping this image so firmly in my mind’s eye and making them the Sexy Fruit of the Century and so deserving of a club of their own.
**NOTE TO SELF: NEVER, EVER GOOGLE 'SEXY CHERRIES' AGAIN. *yikes*

If I have missed any section of the food guide I beg your pardon, but I am a writer, not a dietician.

This, my friends, is why I am not addicted to chocolate, but to the Outlander Series. The books are my McFull Meal Deal. **and if you have a ‘Pocket Jamie', then it even comes with a toy.
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**shout out to the Outlander Series forum on Face Book! Biggest. Best.Group.Ever. Come join us...we have contests too!

OLYMPIC GOLD: Coffee, Popcorn and Pajama Bottoms

CANADA vs SWEDEN FOR OLYMPIC GOLD 2014 in SOCHI

My new small town won my heart today. Well...actually, this morning...at 4:00 a.m. to be precise.

Hope BC, Canada. Wee town 2 hours from Vancouver. Not much happens after 10:00 p.m. and they roll the streets up at 11:00.

But on Feb 23 2014 the word went out: the local theater was opening its doors at 3:30 a.m. and game time was at 4:00. I wondered if anyone would show so early, but my 14 yr old daughter Katharina and I thought we'd brave it nonetheless. We are night owls. We could do a 2 man wave if (I mean WHEN) we scored.

 But rounding the cold winter corner, the streets were jammed with cars and over 250 people, some from a half hour away, packed the lovely wee pink, black and decidedly nostalgic movie house. My chest almost burst with patriotic pride!

I have never, in my 50+ years, been to a theater for anything other than a movie, so this was a treat for me on many levels, but sharing it with my daughter, who was never into hockey all that much, was the biggest bonus of all. What a way to introduce the game; giant screen and the world's best players...and popcorn!

Hot coffee, muffins and concession food. And hockey. Hard combo to beat.

So it was, that the largest collection of people with bed hair and morning breath I had ever witnessed, shared the amazing Men's Olympic Gold Medal Game with me and my awestruck daughter (who was mostly impressed with being allowed to eat Sour Peach Candy and drink caffeinated coffee for breakfast, to be honest).

Here is the Youtube clip of our gang * Katja and I are the dark blurred pair on the left (for a brief second at the 0:20 minute mark). Canada Wins Gold-Reaction at Hope Cinema

The ONLY down side to this day was wondering why this didn't happen for the Canadian Women's Gold Medal Game? They won first and gave our guys inspiration and competition for excellence...they deserved a crowded hall of crusty-eyed admirers too...

 YAY CANADA! We are...*head falls on table and snoring begins*

GAME OF THRONES: Are you a Coinie?

I wrote this piece on January 2 2014 for my comrades on a great Face Book page called GAME OF THRONES FORUM *spoilers welcomed It is a Game of Thrones fan page where we all discuss/enlighten/argue/fight/share ideas and opinions about the HBO mega-hit. Beware...there be spoilers aplenty!

This was my attempt to put us in fun, identifiable groups:

**

For the NEWBIES (and Oldies to): *this is an personal opinion-post for those who wish to suckle at the teat of my Gandalf-like wisdom:

There are 3 types of Game of Thrones fans. They each have their own way of handling the ever-increasing deviations from the book that HBO are creating. I hope this list helps you face the oft times confusing posts on the forum that talk about various characters and events that may have only been in the books, only in the show or only in the time/expense conscious minds of D&D (David Benioff and D. B. Weiss)…and I hope it shows you that you are not alone.

1) Die Hard Book Fans (let’s call them Bookies): These loyalists loathe the increasing liberties D&D are taking with GRRM’s books and in consideration to the possibility that GRRM won’t keep up with the HBO series, vow not to watch the future shows that deal with unpublished sequels, even if it means years of waiting. *THEY HAVE THE PATIENCE OF A SAINT AND, OBVIOUSLY, A LIFE OUTSIDE THIS FORUM. HOW SAD.

2) Die Hard TV Fans (let’s call them HBOers): They either have read the books and could care less if HBO stays true to the word, or they refuse to read the books and are quite happy to just watch the show as is. Bring it on HBO. *THEY ARE IN IT FOR THE SEX SCENES. AND THE IMP. HOW SAD.

3) Coin Collectors (let’s call them Coinies): This fan base loves the books and the shows…not necessarily equally, but enough to have separated the books from the show and have decided to view them as two separate entities: two different sides of the same coin. They will enjoy the show with all its deviations, changes and character-blending and consider them the same way a fan of alternate-ending books /movies does…with a keen curiosity on how things will turn out on that side of the coin, but still eagerly awaiting the books to see how the real story plays out and ends on the true side of the coin. *THEY ARE BISEXUAL, BIPOLAR, BIODEGRADABLE AND RIDE BI-CYCLES. HOW SAD.

I am sure there are hybrids of this list but in general, these groups all play and suffer well together on this forum. Feel free to label yourself as you please.

I am a Coinie. Which are you?

PRAISEWORDY DAY

Yes, I know, the word is ‘praiseworthy’, but hey…words are what I do. One perk of writing is being able to make up words and languages. Ask J.R.R Tolkien*.

*Looking at the massively famous/popular/prolific JRRTolkien and GRRMartin, I am considering changing my name to DRRSevier-Fries. The RR has got to be some sort of demonic, sell-your-soul-to-the-devil symbol, which, by the way, I am totally open to…

To receive fame and fortune was never a goal of my wanting to be a writer. Fame would be cool for a while but from what I can see of celebrity, well, I think I’ll pass. As far as fortune goes, the truth is, I was married to a wealthy man and had more security and cash than one should hope for in a lifetime, and I was miserable. I had a stalemate, not a soulmate.

At present, I am a busy quill pusher who supplements my writing career by running (with my fine, imported soulmate) a wee family oriented motel in the bowl of a rim of mountains called Hope, BC Canada and although we live simply and have a steady but decidedly average income, I could not be happier. (*well, not unless Sean Bean came to town dressed as Boromir and wanted me to test every mattress in the place with him…but that might not happen.) 

But as happy as I am, I am over-the-moon happier today because of one incident. It reinforced the one thing I have discovered that I DO want to get out of my writing: Praise. I received a smidgeon of unexpected praise today and it blew me away. Far too much, obviously, but it was a rush nonetheless:

An innocuous little blurb from a stranger on a Face Book group made my day. My week. My month. 

I got a 5 star rating for my book once that sent me reeling too, but somehow, this praise was even more validating. Go figure. Maybe I am just an insecure storyteller who appeals to 2 or 3 people.

Well then…so be it. But those 2 or 3 people are now in my Will.

Newspaper Virgin: How I Kept My Hyphen Intact

My last AUTHOR MINGLE article was all about faces and the ones we offer the public via our work (profile pics, avatars, dust jacket portraits, etc…). I crooned about how I would only use my most flattering images regardless of how illogically youthful or outdated they were. My image was mine own!

Little did I know that I would soon be scrounging through every drawer in the house looking for an ‘original’ picture of myself for my first newspaper interview.

The irony was so thick I could almost taste metal. None of my good old standby photos (read: de-wrinkled) of myself would suffice because they were scanned. The paper needed an original file for optimum clarity in their article. I was trapped. 

But that happened after the interview. The beginning was far worse. Or should I say, the pre-beginning was worse. The reporter was to call at 1:00 p.m. my time and by 12:30, I was pacing up and down the room in front of the phone, wondering what questions were going to be asked and what the hell the names of my main characters were.  I had written and self-pubbed three books. Why the hell did I have to write three? What were they about again? My mind was beyond blank and verging on implosion.

And then The Big One hit: should I spell my name with or without a hyphen? Which looked less complicated…more memorable…attractive? Which looked less feminist…or did I want it more Gloria Steinemesque?

Thus begun my virginal foray into the world of newspaper interviews. 

The phone interview with a reporter from my hometown newspaper turned out to be a valuable exercise in self-awareness: I was aware of my much-too-loud laugh, my raspy voice that sounded like I was born smoking a cigar, my inability to string four words together without adding the ever-so-eloquent ‘ummm’ and my propensity to think faster than my lips would move. Oh, and I became keenly aware that when being recorded on tape, I get the inexplicable urge to belt out a Tarzan/Carole Burnett-like jungle call and/or giggle uncontrollably like Betty Boop on laughing gas.

The clock proved that the interview took 20 minutes, but it felt like 2. What had I said? Did I just ruin my career and put a giant cork in my bottle of opportunity? I vaguely remember saying the words Hitler, mother and church. Did that mean I said my mother met Hitler at church? 

I moaned my way to the bathroom and sat on the edge of the tub with my head in my hands, trying to decide if I should drown myself in it, but I knew there was a part of me that still yearned to see, at least once, an article in the newspaper about my books. Even if I couldn’t recall their titles. *I think I said one was called Twilight and another one Harry Potter something-or-other…

I then recalled every important detail I forgot to mention and turned on the water. 

In the end though, I didn’t do a swan-dive with a half twist into my bathtub and I didn’t actually embarrass myself too badly in the article. I took five million selfies and tried not to look like my great-grandfather after one-too-many potato-distilled vodkas, and my sister Rhonda helped choose the least ridiculous of the lot and I sent it in, hoping it would be stamp-sized and airbrushed.

It was neither. The photo took up 2/3 of the page and my black Leno streak in my silver hair looked like I was wearing Pepe Le Pew on my head. But it was done. I had survived and apparently, I was still a ‘Sevier-Fries’.

So, despite being scared and nervous, my first time wasn’t as painful as I feared, my hyphen remained intact and I could still claim my name as untouched.

What more could a girl ask for?

**Here is the article, although you may have to subscribe to The Dauphin Herald to view the following link…sorry!

 

Link to the most charming lil' newspaper in Manitoba: Dauphin Herald article

CONDOM INSURANCE

This email exchange had me laughing out loud and I needed to share. I have hidden the insurance lady's name for her protection. Not that she could get fired from her job, but from an influx of requests for this very select insurance...

CONDOM INSURANCE

THIS IS AN EMAIL I GOT AFTER ASKING FOR AN INSURANCE QUOTE FOR MY APARTMENT LAST WEEK:

From: ---------
To: denisesf5@hotmail.com
Subject: RE: Insurance quote
Date: Tue, 13 Aug 2013 18:08:18 +0000
Hi Denise,
Sorry about that, I understand that your premium would have been less before with your condom policy. This is a “tenants package” which do tend to be more that an “owned” property policy.
Thanks!
__________________________________
MY REPLY:
Hi -----,

Hmmm...I have never heard of a 'condom' policy before...but I imagine it offers good protection against unwanted tenants in small places.

Cheers...and thanks for the giggle of the day!
Denise
___________________________________

THE RESPONSE:
OMG, Im sorry, Condominium.

*I wonder, as a mother of 5, if I should have written "My old condom policy is full of holes..." ?

Facing Reality: Choosing An Author Cover Picture

There are myriad reasons why writers write: to purge their souls and rid themselves of inner demons; to offer the world insight and hope; to give themselves and others the gift of another world made from the uniqueness of their personal fantasies; to simply be creative and tell a good story.

My reasons for writing are twofold and not in the aforementioned list. They are: 

 

     1)  Sean Bean. Yes, my ultimate goal is to write a bestseller that gets made into a movie starring Sean Bean.  I will consult on set. Closely.

     2)  To have my picture on a book. 

But not just any picture. 

Many believe that in facing the reality of publishing , we should show our real face.  I disagree. Writers usually deal in altered realities, so why not alter one more?

The task of taking a new profile picture for one’s website or author’s page, or choosing the one best suited to grace the back cover of one’s book is a gargantuan undertaking. For some. I am willing to concede that there may be an author or two out there who could care less about what his or her cover picture looks like, but they either model on the side or make The Elephant Man look suave and debonair so it doesn’t really matter.

I like putting my best face forward. Even if I don’t have it any more. 

It seems every time I have to choose a new head shot to download, I get younger.  My Amazon Author’s page picture was taken in my late 40’s. My Twitter profile shot was taken in my mid-30’s and I was in the last year of my 20’s in my current Author Mingle picture. If you ever see a published book with the picture of a fetus on the back cover, that’ll be me.

This has not been intentional. Well, not at first. The first time I had to send in a profile picture that would introduce me to the world, I chose one that was relatively new and wasn’t clear enough to count my wrinkles.  Vanity thy name is Denise.

The next one had to be different, for whatever reason, so I chose one even younger, but not from ego, but, honestly, from a lack of choice. I am the family photographer and am rarely alone in any pictures. The few that are around belong on the cover of The National Enquirer alongside sightings of aliens and Elvis at Dunkin’ Donuts, so I decided to be kind to the collective eyes of the reading public and offer them a Vintage Me that had only one chin, most of my own teeth and Sex In The City hair. 

And really…who would care? The fact is, any form of you, whether it be present day or Teen Heartthrob from the 60’s, it is still you. It is the face you want your readers to meet alongside that particular book. 

The way I figure it, my visual identity is mine to give or hide, play with or re-arrange as I see fit.  A picture of me is a piece of my real self that I will offer the public at my own pace, and, to be frank, when I get one that people won’t mistake for Gandalf with a perm.  

Maybe finding my current face will become a game, like Where’s Waldo (minus the hat), or a mystery like the elusive Great Garbo (minus the glamor) or the reclusive Howard Hughes (minus the Spruce Goose and the billions).

I make one promise though: should I ever get published in hardcover, I will send in a recent picture. It may even be one of me.