Shannon Stacey
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.


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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Temporary reversion to old look

The new blue look is eating the first paragraph of posted comments for some bizarre reason, so here we are. White. Blech.

Yahoo Messenger also hates me and my computer. Nothing like getting the blue screen of death in the middle of a conversation.

And I’m setting aside htmlese for contractese this afternoon. So we’re stuck with white for now.

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