Shannon Stacey
Holding my breath…

Maybe it’ll work. Maybe it won’t. *deep breath*

(I’m not thinking about the customizing yet, folks.)

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I give up

Doing this web stuff is like death, I do believe. I’ve been through all the stages–helplessness, anger, confusion, denial, and now I’m sobbing hopelessly.

Methinks I need some sleep. I know I’m missing something very, very obvious here.

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Neglecting the blog

I’ve been a bit neglectful, yes–both blogging and blog-reading. But I’m trying to install WordPress on my brandy new host thingy. I think, after 4 hours, I’ve done that.

YAY.

Now if I could only figure out how to make index.html my freakin home page, I might get somewhere.

I’m about 30 seconds from chucking the whole shebang out the window. (Except for the desk. It’s heavy.)

Why do I have in my head exactly what I want, but I can’t make it happen on the monitor? WHY WHY WHY!!!!

Oh, yeah. I have no computer skills. I’m very tempted to go unbury my Smith-Corona and bang out a chapter.

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Blah blah and still blah

A: The symptoms of too much html.

Q: What are aggravation and pain?

Since 7 this morning I worked on customizing this blog, pasting the new stuff into the notepad periodically and saving. Well…one wrong cut & paste & publish move and BAM! All gone.

And since I hope to have a website up soon, and I’m planning to use a WordPress blog for the front page, it seems like an exercise in futility. So for now…blah blah and still blah.

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Defining romance ad nauseum…

If you’re reading this, you probably already know that RWA is working on the ‘definition of romance’ again.

So what’s my definition of a romance? Everything that comes between Once upon a time and They lived happily ever after.

If you can pull the romantic conflicts out of the story and still have a book, it’s not a romance. If you take Roarke out of the In Death series, you still have a detective series starring Eve Dallas. Not a romance. And what’s with this Mainstream with Romantic Elements stuff? In Death is not a Mainstream with Romantic Elements. It’s a futuristic detective series with a heavier-than-usual focus on the detective’s home and love lives.

RDI, Bombshell, NEXT, etc–some are romances, some are not. I enjoy some of them, and some I don’t. I’m an HEA Junkie, which these days is starting to hurt the TBR pile.

A romance, no matter what else happens in the book, is the story of two people falling in love. I don’t care if they’re a Greek tycoon and his hired nanny. I don’t care if their mutual sexual tastes run to black latex and a third pary. I don’t care if they meet at church and pray before dinner. I don’t even care if they both have a penis. A romance is the story of this couple overcoming whatever obstacles are thrown in their way and falling in love. Everything else is stage dressing.

If, when I read the last line of a book, I can sigh and say, “And they lived happily ever after,” it’s a romance.

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