Rats and fleas! Today’s the last day for me to blog, and I’m going to miss you. By the way, please excuse all the typo errors on yesterday’s post. I was so brain-tired last night when Gil called me to dinner that I posted without being careful.

You know what I’ve been doing all day? Income tax. That’s right, I’ve been slumped over the kitchen table going over all our tax information, a calculator in one hand and a yellow marker in the other. My eyes are blurry and itchy from rubbing them after petting the dogs (and doing a bit of sniffling). Smart, huh? I know I’m allergic to them and still I cuddle them like they were thousand dollar bills.

Bet the money wouldn’t make my eyes swell and itch, though. Huh! Can you picture me, with only a couple books out, even having thousand dollar bills to look at? Much less snuffle?

Gosh, Bonnie, are you my twin? I thought I was the only one who looked in the mirror and said, “Who the hell are you?” *snort!* Poor Gil. I dress in the closet, and when I take a shower, I shut the door. He thinks I’m shy. I’m really trying to spare him the shock of seeing what time has done to my, er, body. Bet you thought I was going to say boobies, didn’t you? Really, I’m afraid if he saw me bare-arsed in full daylight, he’d keel over.

As to your questions, the only book I’m promoting now is Midnight’s Bride, due out in October. I had so much fun writing it, snickering and cackling like a fool. Gil would come into the office and ask me what the heck I was making all the noise about. He knew I was writing about a man who became a berserker when he lost his cool. What could be funny about that? That’s when he decided I’d officially lost my mind. By the way, I do talk to my characters.

Now Bonnie, if I knew the secrets of success, I wouldn’t be here struggling with my taxes and worrying about how I was going to get enough sales for Midnight’s Bride to impress my agent and Kensington.

I’ve really given up impressing anyone, by the way. What you see is what you get. I can’t be the woman in my fairytale profile. I can’t bastardize my writing to please a trend that’ll be gone by the time the book’s published. I can’t be an erotic writer with all sex and a light plot. I don’t want to write contemporary. *sigh*

And by the way, I can’t do the hard Soduko puzzles either. I’ll post a tiny section about that tomorrow and hope to sneak it by Karenne.

Gil’s fixing rib eye steaks tonight, so I’m salivating. Don’t you wish you were here?

• About the Author
• Posts in the Past

Sophia Johnson

Hi there. I’m Sophia Johnson, and Coffee Time Romance asked that I tell you a little about myself. Ha! That should take about thirty seconds. I can do that.

I’m at the prime of my life. I have long, curly brown hair that makes Katherine Zeta Jones look like a scraggly hen. Below slightly arched brows, my eyes are deep brown with long, thick lashed lids. My nose is small above full lips, and there’s a mischievous dimple in my right cheek.

Oh yes, and I’m very tall and slender with perfect breasts and legs that are insured for a million dollars.

Eh? Did I hear you snort? Smart girl. You didn’t fall for that. Yep. I was lying through my teeth.

Now that’s what I can tell the truth about.

I lie. A lot.

My passion for telling whoppers started in 1999, and I’ve been doing it ever since. That’s the year I joined the Romance Writers of America and found out I could lie and get paid for it.

My husband and I live with our two little dogs in north-central Florida. We enjoy a very quiet life in the Rainbow Springs area. Our long-coat Chihuahua Jamie is our guard dog…he’ll bite anyone’s ankle. He’s not partial. He nips friends as well as strangers. But Konner is our Papillon who wriggles himself silly until Jamie finishes making enemies of our friends, then he soothes them with doggie kisses-to-go.

It’s really important to have a terrorist dog like Jamie. He keeps everyone away. That gives me time to sit here at my keyboard and pretend I’m a tall, beautiful medieval woman who can bring a fabulously sexy, virile Scot warrior to his knees.

Now who could ask for a better life than that? I can be beautiful, courageous and sexy for months on end, and when I’m done playing, I’m always assured of a happily ever after.

Take care,

Sophia

www.sophiajohnson.net

• A flighty brain is better than none at all, right?
• Making Love