Congrats to Sherry and Sherrinda, winners of The Big Picture, book three in the Katie Parker series. Ladies, email me (jen at jennybjones dot com) your home addies, and I’ll get those books out to you.

My website has had some updates from the fabulous team at PulsePoint Design, and the prologue to Just Between You and Me is up. I thought I’d post it here as well.

Here’s a quick blurb of the story:

Just Between You and Me: Prologue

To some women, fear is a man walking out the front door and never coming back. To others, it’s looking at that black dress in the back of your closet and knowing–without a divine miracle or the return of the corset–you’ll never be a size six again.

For me, in this moment right now, it’s a Parisian river calm enough to lull a baby to sleep. And yet my palms are so slick with sweat, I can hardly maintain my grip on the boat rail. My heart beats violently in my chest and I haven’t heard a word that’s been said in the last hour.

“Here we go. Step off nice and easy.” Pierre, our guide, assists the captain by leaping onto the dock and tying the small vessel in place.

The crew of Passport to the World climbs out one by one. I go last, waiting for the black spots to subside as I stand and fight with gravity’s pull on my wobbly knees.

“You did great, Maggie.” Carley, my friend and producer, pats me on the back as I focus on everything but the water. Unlike the rest of my coworkers, she’s the only one who doesn’t ignore the fact that I turn into a psychotic mess anytime I have to shoot a location involving water. Sometimes I can get an intern or another cinematographer to cover for me, but I have to pick those battles. And hte lazy Seine is not worth calling in a sub.

“You need therapy,” Carley says.

“I need a chocolate eclair.”

She shields her eyes from the noonday sun and hands me a Dasani from her bag. “Let’s get some more footage at that cafe by the Champs-Elysees. I’m considering coming to Paris for my honeymoon. What do you think?”

My job as cinematographer for the travel show can be glamorous as the Eiffel Tower at sunset or as unattractive as a night in a leaky hut in Cambodia. Last year we became the number one show on Travel TV, picked up a few awards, and got moved to a killer time slot. I should be on top of the world–thrilled with life. But somehow lately I’m not.

My pocket buzzes, and I reach in and pull out my phone. My dad. Calling again. And two messages from John, my boyfriend. Are men born with a guidebook on how to be a nuisance? I could travel to the ends of the earth and some man would find me and expect some big sacrifice from me. Like a text. Or a date. Or a returned call. But I’m a busy person! I have things to do. Cities of the world to film. A week-old People magazine to read. And a candy bar in my bag that has been calling my name for the past two hours.

Getting out of the rented sedan, I stretch my arms, then reach for my camera.

“I want to talk to the cafe owner,” Carley says. “Will you translate again?”

“Sure.” We walk across the busy street and into the quaint restaurant. “Where’s the owner?” I ask a waiter in French, reminding him who we are and why we’re here.

He jerks his  head toward the back. “He’s taking a cigarette break.” The slim man stares at his full tables, his brows furrowing as someone shouts a drink order.

“If it’s okay, I’ll get him” I shoo the waiter away. “Don’t worry about us.”

I weave through the diners and back into the bustling kitchen, throwing up a hand in greeting to the staff. “Bonjour!” My eyes land on a partially opened back door, and I slip through it, blinking at the sun.

Beside me a Dumpster rumbles, and I gasp as I see two little legs sticking out, wiggling with the effort of digging.

“Hey,” I say automatically, then call out a greeting in French. “Salut!” I walk up to the Dumpster and tug on a dirty shoe.

A head pops up, and I’m face-to-face with a small boy, his cheeks smudged with grime, fear making his eyes round as dessert plates. He flings from the trash like a gymnast, his feet landing on the ground.

I hold out a hand. “Attends!” Wait!

Without a backward glance, he takes off in a  spring, running as fast as his little legs will carry him, dropping food behind like crumbs on a trail.

I sling my camera over my shoulder and race to the edge of the building, my lens trained on the slender blur. “Wait, please!” I shout to him in two different languages but he just keeps moving.

“Beggars.”

I whirl around and find the restaurant owner behind me. “Did you know him?”

He gestures toward the direction the boy ran. “What is there to know of one such as him? He is a thief and a pubic nuisance.”

My heart twists in my chest. “But he’s so young. So thin.” I step back toward the restaurant. “Obviously he was hungry.”

The owner laughs, his belly making his shirt dance. “I have a business to run. I cannot feed every stray dog that shows up here.”

My breath catches with the insult, but I bite my tongue, knowing Carley would throw me out like a stale croissant if I made him mad and ruined her interview. “Does he live nearby?”

“Who cares?” He slams the lid down on his Dumpster and flings open the cafe door. He steps back inside, leaving an odor of cigarettes.

Who cares? Sometimes I ask myself that very same question. Could I have helped that little boy if he hadn’t run away?

For a moment I stand there, the yellow sun beating down on my own red head. Who am I to help anyone anyway? I’m a girl with a camera and a suitcase. Nothing much more to give.

Because I’ve seen the world.

But sometimes I wonder. . . has it ever seen me?

*********

Stay tuned and we’ll post chapter one soon. Next week…more book giveaways!
Have a great weekend!

JEN

9 comments

Happy Monday! In a few weeks I won’t be able to say happy Monday without bursting into tears. It’s almost time to go back to s-c-h-o-o-l. Oh, summer…we’re so good together. Why must we part ways?

I’m giving away two copies of The Big Picture this week. This is the last book in the Katie Parker Production series and is up for YA Book of the Year by the American Christian Fiction Writers. The question I get the MOST in reader emails is if there will be a fourth Katie book to wrap some things up. The short answer is no. The complicated answer would be never say never. But for now…let’s say no. But Katie and Mad Maxine live happily ever after, whatever that means for you. I always giggle over the pro-Charlie emails and the pro-Tate emails. Anyway, if you would like to get in the running for a copy of The Big Picture, you must fill in the blank for this statement:
__________________ never fails to make me laugh.

You can’t pick me or one of my books. That would be total suckuppage. Not that I don’t respect that sort of thing. But maybe a movie, a person you know, a book, a commercial, or a word. For example the word “duty” always makes me smile, if not laugh. It takes me right back to a Friends episode.  Janet Evanovich makes me laugh. As does Dave Barry. And my friend Sheila. Nacho Libre never fails to make me laugh. I find something new to laugh about every time. Ninth graders make me laugh. People falling or running into things on TV or movies makes me laugh. Oh, the list is too long. But you get the idea.

Something that did not make me laugh was the book Time Travelers Wife. Have you read it? Actually, I must confess, I only read about 1/3 of it because I got bored (and apparently I am a freak exception because I think the entire world loved this book). The movie preview looks good.

Having your man randomly disappear on you would be SO annoying.
You’d be all like, “Take out the trash, would you?”
And he’d be, “Uh-oh. Gee, I’d love to but…”
“No, do NOT start that crap again.”
“Yeah, sorry. Gotta go. See you next year. Don’t forget the recyclables.”

How lame would that be? I remember a lonnng time ago, Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston, his then wife, bought the rights to The Time Travelers Wife. I wonder what became of that. Did they still have it when they divorced? Who got it? I hope Team Aniston did. I hope the movie does well because Eric Bana needs something to his resume besides “I Hulk out real good.”

Can you believe it’s been ten years since we first saw Star Wars: Episode I? (Actually I didn’t see it, but again, the rest of the world liked it.)  Check out little Anakin Skywalker. He’s grown up.

Okay, so let’s finish up my fascinating and intellectually inspiring trip pics, shall we? Here’s a good one.

Girls, if you must show skin between your pants and shirt, maybe just make sure you’re not wearing your grandma’s underwear? They do NOT match the chained gloves.

We went through a few castles, and not a single one had a much-needed escalator. Or a drawbridge. Could’ve at least had draw bridges. Anyway, people were really REALLY skinny back in the day. Here’s why.

Because they had to be in order to get from one floor to the other. Seriously these stairwells are steep and for tiny feet and nonwhiners and people who are no more than six inches across. Like dwarfs and two-year-olds. The doorways were often short as well because apparently people back in the day were short. It was like I found my homeland.

See the woman in the white coat and white hair? Okay, the guy on her left is NOT George Bush. But he sure looked like him. I took like a million pics of him because he kept moving and the lighting was so bad. A woman next to me finally offered to move and let me get closer. I was like, “Oh, thank you. But I like to stalk my strangers from afar. It’s the polite thing to do.”

We went to a dinner in the Bunratty Castle in Ireland on our last night. It was really good. Their costumes were mostly good.

Check out those…pants. I don’t know what you call that getup. But I do know what you call the shoes. Sketchers.

This advertisement got my attention at the airport in Ireland.

Let’s get a closeup…

The Irish on the whole are pretty health conscious people. On candy bars, for example, which um, I saw a lot of, there is a big fat number on the front that tells you what percentage of fat/calories that is for your daily intake. I figured it was off due to that whole metric system thing, so I just ignored it. The warning labels on cigarettes were subtle little things as well.

Wow. Smoke these and die!!!! When we got back home, I heard Obama signed a bill to have these same warning labels on our cigs. That’s so Irish of him. (Dear President Obama, I have kept pretty quiet in terms of voicing any negativity about you and your administration. But if you put those fat percentage labels on our candy bars, I will turn into a Medusa of negativity. And in further retaliation, if I see your lookalike in a foreign country, I will never take your picture. Never.)

On our way to see the Highlands in Scotland, we stopped at this little cafe out in the middle of nowhere. I was surprised how CUTE it was. Made me want to go home and paint.

And then I looked up. And saw what all the cafes back home were missing.

Disco Ball!

This ancient catapult thingie got me to thinking about my classroom discipline.

For some reason the airline wouldn’t let me carry it on.

On our bus ride through the Highlands, my friend Kim and I lucked into sitting behind these two lovebirds.

Blondie kissed her boyfriend’s cheek every three minutes. Without fail. Ever.
Drove. Me. Nuts.
And gag noises did not deter them. I think his cheek was bleeding at the end of the tour. I did not offer a Band-Aid.

I can’t remember where I was when I took this photo–I think in a museum. But apparently there is a food and hygiene scheme of some sort in Scotland.

I would like to know what this scheme is. Should food care about its hygiene? These things I do not know.

Here’s a McDonald’s in Edinburgh, Scotland. Isn’t it fancy? (Ashley of Thomas Nelson, that’s for you)

When I saw this though, I wanted to make a citizen’s Food and Hygiene Scheme arrest.

Would you like crack with your fries?

If I had to look at it, I thought you should too. I won’t even tell you the nifty way we got that picture, but we are smooth criminals by now at getting what I call “People Who Should Not Be Allowed in Public” shots.

This McDonald’s did have great bathrooms though. Check out this huge flush button!

You can totally flush with your head! Very handy for those of you who don’t like to touch the flusher with your hands.

In Ireland, we were driving around and in need of a bathroom stop. My friend yells, “There’s a bathroom! Look at that huge sign!”

We laughed about that all week.

Back in Scotland, we took two different bus tours. On the last one, we went to see Loch Lomond, Loch Ness, and a famous castle that wasn’t open, but they’d still take your money and let you walk in to find out all you can see is the courtyard. (In the driving rain. Three drowned girls. Three TICKED girls. Much chocolate was eaten THAT night.) Anyway, we were on a small bus for this day, and the driver was CRAZY. Did 20 mph over the speed limit on curves that were just a series of u-turns. And yes, I watched the speedometer like a neurotic grandmother. So the driver began the tour by warning us the path was curvy, and we might want to put on these magnetic “motion sickness” bracelets. My friends and I all get a little queasy on bad car rides, but nothing serious. So of course I was NOT gonna wear that dorky magical thing on my wrist.  Okay, so fast forward a few hours.

This is my friend Leslie video taping me in the front seat. Where I had to move. So I would stop sweating. And my eyes would stop watering. And I could put on one of those stupid magnetic bracelets. And I could roll down the window. So I wouldn’t barf.

Before I moved, Leslie looked across the row and asked, “How are you feeling?”
I smiled. “A little puke-alicious.” I was mostly kidding.
Ten minutes later, I was not kidding. But I was determined to not cause a scene. I do NOT get car sick!
Leslie said she knew we were in trouble when I took off my jacket. Because it was like winter in Scotland. And I’m never NOT cold.
But I’ve also never been on a bus where the driver wanted to punish us all for England’s sins and drive like a demented freak until I was ready to swear my allegiance to Rob Roy and sing “Scotland the Brave” if she would JUST STOP.

Anyway, Leslie made the driver stop, and I just moved up front. Totally embarrassing. But I was too busy sweating through my clothes and finding the pulse point on my wrist to notice much.

Finally, I leave you with this picture. These type of sinks are everywhere in Ireland.

And every SINGLE time I saw one, I thought it said, “American Skanks.”

Have a great week. Don’t forget to answer the question of the week. I’ll draw two winners Thursday night and announce Friday.
JEN

20 comments

Wow, thanks so much for all your comments about the book covers. Very, very helpful. It’s like the pigs vs. the cows around here. You guys could totally have your own musical. (“When you’re a Jet, you’re a Jet all the way. From your first cigarette, to your last dyin’ day!”)

Thanks for all the poison ivy weirdo bug bite well wishes. I think of you every time I inspect my various rashes.

I thought I’d continue showing you my lovely scenic pictures of my trip to Ireland and Scotland. Prepare yourself for the awe inspiring grandeur.

As mentioned, we visited quite a few museums. This one was at one of my favorite stops, Clonmacnoise.  I don’t remember who this guy was supposed to be.

“I’m Igor. I can’t find my Chi this morning!”

“Please, Igor. Grab my hand. I’ll fix your hair for you…”

Clonmacnoise is THE place to see Celtic crosses and was just beautiful. This is on my desktop right now.

This one is genuinely pretty I think.

We were in Galway, Ireland on our last few nights in that country. The rainbow was much more pronounced, but I couldn’t’ get it. Isn’t Ireland beautiful?

This one is almost as pretty as a rainbow.

This was such a novelty to me. You can find these motion sensor trash cans in Super Mac’s, the Irish version of a McDonald’s. Not only do they sense you standing near and open up so you don’t have to touch the nasty trash can (which is always full, and then you have to touch the bin AND the trash!), but it tells you to have a good day and thanks you for your patronage. Frankly, I do not get thanked enough for eating fries and cheeseburgers, and I found this uplifting to say the least.

This is one of those “only funny to people with brain malfunction” things. This was the Dasani of Ireland.

Vulvic is everywhere. And it’s so close to other words, that it became the butt of many jokes for us. In fact, we pretty much worked the word “vulvic” into any conversation possible.

Small cars rule anywhere BUT America.

I saw it and immediately thought, “If I ever have to pick a moon rover, this is gonna be it.” My brother and I used to play this Atari game called Moon Patrol, and this car totally would’ve been on there.
We drove through Ireland for the four days we were there. And when I say “we,” I mean my two friends, as I was not allowed to get behind the wheel. My perfect driving skills make them jealous, and they retaliated by sticking me in the back seat. But that’s okay because it took me most of the trip to get acclimated to the time change (plus it is light as day in the evenings, so NO SLEEPING= GREAT combination! Also equals me passing out in car every time the key was put in the ignition). One of our goals was to see some sheep in the road. (We are women of simple tastes and basic agricultural wants…)

We saw plenty. Of course we stopped and talked to them. But they weren’t really having it.

“We’re outta here. We don’t want to talk about economic policy and Lady GaGa.”

We also saw a lot of these things. Baby bubbles.

Has baby bubble wrap made it to America yet? It made me hyperventilate just looking at it. I wanted to unzip every one I saw. I guess it’s so rainy in Ireland and Scotland though, if you’re gonna be out, you need something. (I actually have no idea. I just made that up. I’m just determined there is a logical reason for putting your infant in the human equivalent of a Glad-Lock.)

There are many reasons I could live in Ireland, but this is a big one.

Ice cream! There are ice cream “signs” everywhere. I love that! Just like a national symbol for hospital, deer crossing, or train tracks, Ireland has a nationally recognized beacon of my favorite frozen dairy product. And these cones are everywhere. They must really like their ice cream there. Just another reason the Irish are good folk.

We stayed in four different bed and breakfasts between the two countries. Here is our room in Galway. Very 80s country, but we still liked it a lot.

The woman who ran this place was so nice, a great cook, and full of stories. I could’ve listened to her for hours. She had seen a lot in her 35 years of running a B&B.  But do you know the true mark of a great bed and breakfast?

Toilet paper cozies!!!

When my friend almost blew up my hand in the woman’s house, I was afraid we were gonna be just another tale.

See, we were having adapter problems. Our plug-ins don’t fit in Ireland or pretty much anywhere else. So you need an adapter kit. And Leslie told me to try plugging in my hair dryer without one piece. Which piece, you ask? Oh, the piece that stops the fire from coming out of the socket, shocking your body, going BAM!, making your hand all black, making you say something you shouldn’t, making your friend ask if your arm was still attached, and making you both laugh so hard you nearly pee your pants because you’re so grateful you didn’t burn down a nice lady’s house or get a limb blown off.

In Doolan, my favorite Irish town, we had a little time to kill, so we went to a cave and saw the world’s largest  stalagtite open to the public.

I can’t remember how tall it was. I think 23 feet.We walked down about 200 feet below ground level. We get to the bottom, and this guy from Egypt says, “I gotta go. Where are the bathrooms?” Um…you know those stairs we’ve been walking down for the last 15 minutes? Start walking.

We had to wear hard hats down in the cave. I’ve seen enough scary movies to be totally okay with that. Could’ve caved in. Could’ve had giant worms.

It goes without saying that I was disappointed we didn’t have headlights on our hats.

This is my friend Leslie right before she told me to watch my head.

“For what?” I ran right into something. “Oh. You mean for that.”

Not that you can see it here, but in some places, the clocks were set military time.

This really messed with my head. Not only do you think it’s seven a.m. all night because the sun never sleeps here, but when you’re still up in the wee hours of the morning, you have to do MATH!  Twelve plus three…

That’s all my trip pics for this week. But don’t worry, there are more where those came from.  Switching gears, did anyone watch So You Think You Can Dance this week? Mary’s voice…there are no words. Ellen was funny, but she was on there why? And I can’t believe who got sent home this week. But most importantly, what did you think of Katie Holmes song and dance? Why did she lip-sync? She didn’t move enough to require that. I LOVED the Zombie dance. That was awesome. (If someone finds a YouTube clip, let me know!)

Have a fabulous weekend. We just learned The Big Picture is a finalist in the ACFW Book of the Year contest for YA, so I’ll be giving away copies of the last installment in the Katie Parker series next week. See you then!

JEN

7 comments

First of all, I want to announce the winners of Who Made You a Princess? They are…Razorback Micah (which is nice, especially since I ripped off material from her blog), Colene, patron saint of stray cats, and Nicole P, super cool blog reader. Ladies, send me your home addy to jen at jennybjones dot com. You will get your books from the publisher, so you won’t be grandmothers before they arrive. Congrats!!!!

So in the continuing saga of the book cover for I’m So Sure, book no. 2 in A Charmed Life series, the great folks at T-Nel really took your opinions to heart and created a third option for your consideration. We would love for you to weigh in on which is your fave once again. Any info you can provide–what you like about your choice, what you don’t like about the ones that you didn’t choose, etc. will all be so very helpful.

Just to review, here is the cover for the book already out, So Not Happening.

Also here is the back cover of the book, just in case you don’t have it memorized yet.

First, her family is chosen for a reality TV show, then she’s forced to get a part-time job at a feminine hygiene plant. Bella tries to press STOP before she totally loses her cool.

Bella Kirkwood is finally situated in her new hometown, but she’s not ready for the whirlwind of randomness that takes place next. When her stepdad enters a new wrestling reality show, Bella is pulled along for the ride as her life goes on display for all the world to see. When the cameras roll, Bella must solve a prom-queen mystery, deal with her returning ex-boyfriend, and keep her cool as she works alongside the hot but irritating newspaper editor Luke Sullivan.

Who needs TV when you’re living the charmed life?

Option A: The newest cover idea

Option B: The cow has come home

Option C: The pig takes the crown?

Okay, I must go take a steroid or an antibiotic or throw myself in front of rush hour traffic. Whichever comes first. Two weekends ago, my friend Leslie and I went and picked wild blackberries. You KNOW Murphy’s Law is gonna kick you in the knickers when the day starts off like this:
Friend: “I don’t know what poison ivy looks like. Do you?”
Me: “Nope.”
And then I hear the score from I Know What You Did Last Summer in my head and KNOW we are somehow, some way doomed. And sure enough, we were. The poison ivy showed up a week later. (How is that even possible? Poison ivy is one of those things that would survive a nuclear holocaust, isn’t it? I guess roaches need something to keep them company.)  And on top of that, I guess I got bit by something and had a weird allergic reaction resulting in funky skin, hives, more itching (cuz the poison ivy wasn’t NEARLY enough), and a pressing, yet impossible desire not to wear pants given its location. (Waistline. JUST the waistline)

It all started going south last week when I noticed these two small fang marks on my hip. Not cool fang marks like I had met up with Edward Cullen. More like it appeared I had been bitten by something smaller–like a vampire’s poodle. So when my little bite was nothing more than a few marks, a couple of nice people instructed me to go to the doctor pronto. It could be a black widow. It could be a brown recluse. It could be MRSA (Google THAT and just try not freaking out), it could be staph (Ditto on Googling. Ditto on the freaking).  And people told me about untreated side effects like rotting flesh, fever, fainting, amputation (my personal favorite, who DOESN’T like a good amputation story?), and dementia. And I meant to go to the doctor. I did. But I had things I had to get done, and the flesh and brain rot were gonna have to wait.

So fast forward a few more days, and things were worse, but just in the hivey sense (isn’t this FASCINATING?). I was happy to report I still had my mental wherewithal and the leg below my jacked up hip gave no signs of requiring amputation. I finally made an appointment and got in to the dr’s office in a few hours. I think this was Monday. I’m not sure because when your life has diminished to nothing but rash stories, it all becomes a blur. Anyway, so I don’t get a doctor. I get a physicians assistant. And a sick one, on top of that, who didn’t know that you’re supposed to cough into your elbow, and it’s no longer acceptable to cough into your hands, especially when those hands are next going to land on my plagued skin. But I digress. . . I show her the fang marks. And she’s like “Hmmmm…I guess a bug bit you.” I said something sweet in response when in my head, I’m like, ” I waited forty-five minutes for THIS?”  And then I ask if it could be a spider. She tells me she doesn’t know. I say, “But there are fang marks.” To which she replies….”Uh huh.” And then we talk a bit more about it–allergic reaction, I can keep the leg, blah, blah. And then I show her my arm and say, “Is this poison ivy?” She looks. “Probably. Yeah. I guess. Maybe.” Maybe? Lady, I pulled pictures up on the internet within seconds of Googling, and it could not be any more obvious. I smile and say something friendly AGAIN, but I’m thinking, “What the CRAP? Are you insane?” And then she offers me a shot in the behind, and I want to say, “For WHAT? You don’t even know!” I refuse the shot because parts of me already hurt, and there is no sense in offending my butt too.
And I leave.
Mad.
Frustrated.
Itchy.
And thinking, “You know, if you were a kinder person, you would have told the woman about a cool website we call WebMD. . .”

Anyway, thanks for listening to my heartbreaking rash story. The word rash has always made me giggle, but…I’m not laughing now. What WOULD make me happy is if you would give the book covers some thought and tell us what you think. And details are good. We like details.

See you Friday. If I make it.

Jen

21 comments

We interrupt this blog to tell you that I had a little tango with poison ivy and a biting mystery bug. Scratching, avoiding scratching, and beholding all the other joys of a rash are pretty much consuming my time, but I’ll be back Wednesday with the book winners and if you’re really lucky, pictures of my plague.

Just kidding–no poison ivy pics. Seriously, please come back Wed. I wouldn’t be THAT gross.

Okay, yeah, I would, but I’m not! I swear you’re safe.

See you Wednesday!

JEN

10 comments