Hi to everyone! I’m working hard, trying to promote my brand new book, HIGH ANXIETY, but I wanted to come up for air and set something straight: I am NOT dead.

I discovered, quite by accident, that there are at least three other women bearing my name. (And, here, I thought I was special.) I hope I have my information right, but it seems one of them is 115 years old, the other one just died at 85, and the last one is po’d at some man and spewing bad language all over the place. Of course, it’s difficult to talk about men without using bad language, am I right?

I hope I don’t live to be 115. For me that would mean adult diapers, gumming food, and wearing my bra around my waist because I don’t think breasts were created to live 115 years.  As for my butt; we’ll, I shudder to think of it because I’ve seen my butt at 55. It happened by accident — I sure as hell wouldn’t have done it on purpose — as I was getting in the shower and happen to glance over my shoulder at the huge wall mirror. The only person who has a bigger butt than me is my aunt on my mother’s side of the family, and she’s not doing well. If she dies that means I’m going to have the biggest butt in the family.

I’m not even sure I want to live to see 85. By then, what’s left of my mind will have been long gone. My kids will hire a caretaker for me named Cruella or Attila. Medicare and social security will be nonexistent, and I’ll have to eat cheap dog food as opposed to healthier ones like Pedigree or Science Diet.

As for the woman spewing curse words over some man; well, that could have easily been me.

I want Michelle Obama’s arms!

Hey, I know you guys have noticed that our new First Lady has awesome arms, but what I want to know is how she got them. I hate flabby underarms, but mine are headed in that direction. I used to do aerobics religiously. I even used weights. I’m thinking of starting back.

Notice I said I’m “thinking” about it. I don’t want to rush into anything. Anyway, I’d love to know what exercise is good for underarm flab. Also, is there anything to be done about inner thigh flab? I’m not just talking about muscles that need tightening; I’m talking about the added flesh that makes thighs unattractive.

 If anybody out there knows the secret to getting rid of this flab, please let me know!

Okay, so I’ve turned in my new book. My publisher didn’t like the previous title so I came up with a new one, HIGH ANXIETY, which aptly describes my life these past few months.

My book tour stole precious writing time – I was so late getting the book in! – but I’ll have to say it was worth it because I met the nicest people. The booksellers went out of their way to accommodate me and I came face-to-face with readers who had been following me since I started my career writing category romance some 20+ years ago.

On a sad note, I met and talked at length with an 80-something year-old-woman who was incredibly depressed because her eyes were giving her so many problems that she couldn’t do what she loved best: read. She was hoping her new eye glasses would rectify the problem, but think how hard it would be to go through life unable to read a book, even in large print! I know books on tape are very popular, but when I climb into bed at night I still want to reach over and pick up a book. It’s a simple pleasure. And who doesn’t need them at this point in time?

Anyway, everybody keep your fingers crossed that my editor and other powers-that-be love my new book.

(Charlotte Hughes would like to welcome guest blogger Joe Konrath. He has a very popular blog about writing, he authors mysteries with a female cop featured, Joe has a horror book on the way, and as you will see from this post, he has a lively sense of humor)

I’m Joe Konrath, guest blogging for Charlotte. If you’re one of my three fans, you know I write a mystery series about a female cop named Jacqueline “Jack” Daniels. All the books are named after drinks—Whiskey Sour, Bloody Mary, Rusty Nail, Dirty Martini, Fuzzy Navel, and Cherry Bomb, which comes out this July.

They’re funny, but also have some scary parts in them.

Over the years, I’ve gotten many letters from readers asking if I could do a book that was all scary, without any of the humorous bits.

I gave it a try. The result was AFRAID, which I wrote under the name Jack Kilborn. It comes out at the end of March, and it’s scary. In fact, I tried to make it the scariest book ever written. If you think you’re brave enough, I encourage you to give it a try. You can read the first section at www.JackKilborn.com. You can also check out my funny books there.

Which brings me to why I’m here.

I’m currently on a blog tour, promoting AFRAID. Every day in March, I’m  appearing on someone else’s blog, flogging my horror novel.

By now I’m pretty tired of talking about horror. So I’m going to take a goofy side trip.

Twitter.com is a social networking site where you post a sentence or two, to share with your friends.

A sentence or two is the perfect length for me to write a dumb joke.

So rather than yak yak yak about how scary AFRAID is and why everyone needs to buy ten copies, I’m going to share some of my Twitter posts instead.

If they amuse you, you should go buy ten copies of AFRAID.

I realized I’m not fat; just too short for my body weight. So instead of going on a diet, I’m committing myself to growing 17 inches taller.

My beeper plays Led Zeppelin riffs when I get a call. It’s my Jimmy Pager.

I’m now on a vegan diet. So far this month I’ve eaten two vegans.

I want to be a poseur, but I’m really not sincere or authentic, so I just act like one and hope I’m accepted by other poseurs.

I never let sleeping dogs lie. Dogs should have to tell the truth.

A nice thing about winter is no mosquitos. That is, until they learn to start wearing parkas. Then winter will reeeeally suck.

They should make a video game that’s a video game simulator, for when you don’t want to play a real video game.

I went bowling with my son. A ball rolls better.

The waiter thought I was nuts when I asked for A1 sauce. I hate snobs like that. I should be able to pour whatever I want on my apple pie.

Spanking can cause deep psychological scars in children. So you should wait until they’re asleep, then blame it on bad dreams.

I pinch pennies so tight Lincoln’s face is on my thumb.

She told me the necklace was too tight and when she finally got it on it made her eyes bug out. I decided not to tell her it was a bracelet.

A word to the wise: insisting your profession is “a human sundial” when you get arrested for indecent exposure does not amuse the judge.

She called them “butter cookies” but they were really just whole sticks of butter with sugar sprinkled on top. I ate three.

I hate Quitters Anonymous meetings, but I just keep going for some reason.

When there’s something really chewy in the apple pie, but you can’t really identify it, I really hope it isn’t cartilage.

Beer–it’s good for what ales you.

Indeed, the pen is mightier than the sword. But only the rocket pen, which fires a surface to air missile filled with tiny swords.

I’m going to get a full body tattoo. It will be a picture of someone thinner and more attractive.

I just bought one of those new Morse code cell phones. It’s totally .- .– . … — — . ..–.
   
I wrote a book about menopause, but it is hard to understand because it doesn’t have any periods.    

I don’t care if it is another dare, I’ll never shave with a rusty bottle cap and witch hazel ever again.

I invented the world’s smallest cell phone. But I can’t seem to find it.

Are hearing aids becoming more expensive? I haven’t heard anything about it.   

Catching a tiger by the toe gets easier with practice, my friend Stumpy told me.

I was addicted to nicotine gum, chewing three packs a day. So in order to ween myself off, I started smoking.

Grandma said the secret ingredient in her cookies was love. But I spied on her while she was baking. It was really boogers.

I’m hoping for the day humans learn to breathe underwater, but I’m not holding my breath.

My foot was injured at the mattress factory, and now I’ve got a spring in my step.
   
The crytographer called in sick, because caught a code. Yeah, I groaned too when I thought of it.

Twenty-five percent of people surveyed claim to understand percentages. The other eighty percent do not.

I think the candy companies should make a candy that can be not only be eaten, but also snorted. Also, it should have cocaine in it.

Pets enrich our lives, with many essential vitamins and minerals.

I’m writing a book about elderly dinosaurs. It’s called Geriassic Park. The T-Rex hero breaks a hip, and his children never call.

I had a pair of Velcro underwear, but they got ripped off.

I bet when Hormel Foods sends out emails they get blocked a lot.

I just found out I’m allergic to myself. Now I can’t take me anywhere.

When you’re going through ice-cream cone withdrawal, do you get the shakes?   

I rewrite all of my stories until I get to the fourth draft. After that, I switch to bottles.

When I saw her, my breath caught and my heart skipped a beat. But I realized later it was really a myocardial infarction.

The best revenge is living a long, fulfilling life. That and burning down their house while they’re trapped inside.

I just saw my first Bollywood movie. It had a caste of thousands.   

Whenever I go fishing, I’m reminded of an old girlfriend. Her name was Annette. She also had a sister, named Smallmouth Bass.

The things that come out of the mouths of babes. Like this toaster. How’d he fit that whole thing in there?

Roget had waaaay too much free time.   

If I had a ten dollars for every car accident I’ve ever been in, I still couldn’t pay my insurance.

I hated him, but he said I couldn’t judge him unless I walked a mile in his shoes. So I beat him up and took his shoes.

I’ve written a book about Viagra. It’s a pop-up book. It was a hard book to write.

I’m not afraid of genetically altered or irradiated fruit, except for that giant pear who followed me home and beat me up and stole my TV.

It’s not really “stealing” if you plan to return everything you stole some day, perhaps after you die.

He said it was CPR, but I was only sleeping. Also, I don’t think CPR uses tongue.

When you’re a professional eater, a lunch break is just more work.

It’s always darkest just before the vampires attack.

As I turned my head and coughed I thought, “How lucky I am to have found a doctor who gives free exams in back alleys.”

I bought some Dutch cheese, and it was really Gouda.

Today I have spontaneity practice, followed by my Procrastinator’s Anonymous meeting, which I’m going to blow off.

I’m stating a new club called “Everyone Is Excluded.” I’d invite you, but I’m not invited either.

A child’s laughter is more precious than gold. I keep telling the pawn shop guy that, but he still won’t buy my son.

I’m reducing my beer consumption to one glass a day. Anyone know where I can find a 200 ounce glass?

I wrote a book about potty training. It was a number two bestseller.

Time is relative. That’s why I call him “Uncle Time.”

I’m writing a novel about a dwarf. Does that make it a short story?

With some lube I can fit my whole hand up my nose.

Maybe there wouldn’t be so many poor people in the world if they all had a bunch of money.

Having twelve fingers would be awesome. Except when it came time to buy gloves…

If all that wasn’t enough, there are plenty more at www.twitter.com/jakonrath.

Now go buy all of my books. Or even better, swipe them from your local library so they have to get replacement copies. It’s win-win.

And thanks Charlotte for putting up with me.

I just have to tell everyone — Barbie turned 50 years old today. Can you believe that _itch still fits in the clothes she wore at 20?

I am back from two weeks of book signings — during which time I was forced to wear makeup and pantyhose — and I’d like to thank those who showed up. One reader brought me home made candy so many thanks to PJ for that! Now get this: We left Alpharetta, Georgia, bound for Lithonia, Georgia, on Sunday, March 1st and hit a snow storm! Actually, it was a blizzard! I’m not exaggerating! I always said if I wore makeup and pantyhose hell would freeze over so I’m sort of thinking I had something to do with that snow storm.

Although I’ll have to go to a couple of signings at the end of the month, I am SO GLAD to be home. I missed my pets, even the dachshund with the flatulence problem. He is sprawled across my feet as I sit here and type this. Every time he farts I spray him with Lysol. I’m not sure it’s good for his fur, but it keeps me from barfing on my keyboard.

So now I have two weeks to finish my book. There is also a box of unopened chocolate in the house, left over from boxes I purchased for bookstore sellers. I hope all of you will keep me in your thoughts and prayers as I try to stay out of it.

Big warm hug to everyone!

            I did not fully appreciate the sacrifice firefighters and their families made on a daily basis until 9/11. It was a stunning revelation. Not only did we lose 343 of these brave men and women, hundreds of firefighters still suffer the aftermath in the way of respiratory illnesses.

            As an author, I knew I would one day write a book where a firefighter played a major role. It was just a matter of when. I read several books by veteran firefighter, Dennis Smith, my favorite being, “Report From Engine Co. 82.”

            I spoke at length with the wife of a firefighter who discussed some of the fears shared by spouses. Most of us take for granted that our loved ones will return home at the end of the day. That is not always the case with firefighters. I can’t help but wonder why we don’t have bumper stickers that say, “Have You Hugged a Firefighter Today?”

            When I decided to write a comedy/suspense series about a female psychologist and her crazy family, friends, and patients, I already knew her husband would be a firefighter. In my wacky plot situations, he is the grounded one.

            The first book of the series, WHAT LOOKS LIKE CRAZY, introduces Jay Rush, a fireman in Atlanta. While I touch on some of the dangers his company faces on a normal day, I don’t think I will ever be able to do these men and women justice. I can’t relate – I doubt many people can – what it’s like to race into a burning building while everyone else is running out. I can’t imagine putting my life on the line to save another, but saving people is what firefighters do. Racing into the belly of an inferno gives a whole new meaning to “Serve and Protect.”

            But this is a fact of life for those who choose this career. There are many heroes. I highly recommend Dennis Smith’s books for those who want to know what firefighting is truly like.

            To celebrate the second book of my series, NUTCASE, due in bookstores Feb. 24^th, my publisher and I have donated hundreds of copies of WHAT LOOKS LIKE CRAZY to firefighters and/or their spouses. NUTCASE is dedicated to these same people. It is such an embarrassingly small way to say thank you and bring attention to their sacrifice and bravery.

            On Feb. 24, I will begin a southeast book signing tour where I hope to meet a number of firefighters or family members. Please check my website: www.readcharlottehughes.com for dates. More than ever, I would love to shake your hand or give you a big hug. And say thank you.

5 Book Review- Nutcase by Camellia, of Longandshortreviews. Here are some snippets: “A bevy of interesting characters, many of them emotionally challenged,”  “irreverent, and politically incorrect at times with characters saying things that many of us think but would never say aloud.”… “funny and heartwarming…NUTCASE is good therapy – prescribed for reading to relieve stress.”

To see the full review go to this page:

 http://longandshortreviews.blogspot.com/2009/01/nutcase-by-charlotte-hughes.html 

Okay, so I’m a little late with my resolutions, but I wanted to have time to think them over carefully. So here they are! 

1. I will no longer bring chocolate into the house and ask someone to hide it from me because I end up blowing a whole day trying to find it once they leave.

2. I’m going to start bingeing on bean sprouts. 

3. I will not buy cakes, pies, or donuts for unexpected guests because I never have guests. I don’t  even have friends. Hell, I don’t even know the names of my neighbors, and I’ve lived in the same house for six years. They don’t knock on my door and ask for favors like they do the others on my street. Probably because I have a sign on my door that says, “Please don’t ring doorbell.” 

 4. I will no longer fake orgasms so I don’t hurt the other person’s feelings. In fact, I may buy pepper spray because if I don’t have an orgasm somebody is going to pay.

 5. I’m going to stop trying to think of ways to break up CNN’s Dr.Sanjay Gupta’s marriage in hopes he’ll want me. 

6. I’m going to stop wearing my expensive underwear if I don’t have “plans” for the evening. 

7. I’m going to buy that gadget from Walter Drake that vibrates and promises to ease muscle pain because I think it really has other uses.

8. I’m not going to put up with my Dachshund’s flatulence problems any longer. I’m going to ask the vet to show me, once and for all, how to express his anal glands. Maybe. Also, to pay him back for waking me too early in the morning? I’m going to wake him up every time he takes a nap. 

9. I’m not going to answer the phone when my mother calls me at 6:00 AM in the morning. I’m going to wait until she calls again at 6:30 and tell her I just got home after a late night. Also, I’m going to run my errands after dark when, according to my mother, all the serial killers are on the prowl. 

10. I’ll start a wild rumor about myself so I’ll sound exciting.

Charlotte’s Home Page  –  Return to the Blog Homepage

Okay, this might be a gross topic, but I’m curious. With all the air travel going on at Christmas, I read a recent online article written by a staff member at City News in Toronto, listing the biggest complaints by passengers. A new survey from TripAdvisor claims that travelers biggest gripes are kids who misbehave during the flights and body odor of those sitting next to them. There are other complaints, of course, but as the article states, “Bad body odor was cited by 54 percent of passengers as being their personal pet plane peeve – especially when they’re stuck beside an offender for hours at a time.” I’ve been told that people can’t smell body odor on themselves. I find that hard to believe. If I’ve been working in my yard, I can pretty much tell if I need a shower.   So why cant people can’t tell if they have BO and why are some people more prone to it? 

But the million dollar question is: Should you tell someone if they have it?

            Okay, it’s January 3^rd, and I still haven’t taken my tree down. I don’t WANT to take it down because it’s the most beautiful tree in the world. Okay, maybe the White House has a prettier tree, but mine would probably come in a close second.

I put up my tree after Thanksgiving, but, really, who has time to enjoy a Christmas tree when there are gifts to buy and wrap, and when the family is trying to decide where to congregate at Christmas? It isn’t until after the New Year has come and gone that we actually take a deep breath and say, “Whew!”

So here I am. The presents have been exchanged, the guests are gone. Finally, I’m able to sip my morning coffee quietly in front of a roaring fire and gaze at my beautiful tree. I can relax and enjoy the memories of this recent holiday season and those long past. At night I can pile fat marshmallows in a cup of hot chocolate, sit on my overstuffed sofa wrapped in a thick throw, and enjoy it all over again.

The thing about Christmas trees, all bright and shiny, is they lift our spirits and warm our hearts. At least for me. I feel more hopeful about the future. And, here’s the cool thing: I am able to make memories of those moments I spend alone, just me and my Christmas tree. The world’s concerns slip away for a while, and the hard edges of fret and worry grow soft and fuzzy. For just a small moment in time, my little space in the world experiences peace on earth.