Tattle & Wrye - June 2010

FROM THE DESK OF

DONA PENZA TATTLE, ESQ. AND ASSOCIATE WRYE BALDERDASH

Wrye is startled by the flying wedding bouquet aimed at him as Tattle, dressed in bridesmaid Pepto-Bismol pink, says, "Catch. June, perfect day for a wedding...perfect month to celebrate Champagne Books romances."

Nabbing the flowers from the air as if it's a football, he sneezes as if allergic to daisies. "The wedding is today? But we have a Love of Literature Leap schedule."

"Don't forget the rings, m'best man," she advices before adding. "Always time for a good leap."

"So true," he agrees. After fetching a timer, he takes Tattle's arm and off they go into a new and sizzling romance.

"Oh, how lovely," Tattle says, indicating the country backdrop for the contemporary romance STONE HOUSE FARM by Rhobin L. Courtright. "What a shame that Amanda Blanchard might lose it all, the last of her inheritance, especially since she wants to raise her daughter, Kari, on the centennial family farm."

Wrye, who had landed a little too close to horse dung, takes a hopping step backward. "She is hoping she won't have to sell her father's prize Morgan horses to forestall the tax man. Having a good job helps, but it's not enough."

"Enter stage hunka-hunka, Wade Preston, her high school sweetheart and land developer. He wants her land, threatens foreclosure. She's determined to keep what is hers, and is willing to part with the foal of her pregnant mare to ensure the taxes will be paid. Sparks fly and although both would deny it openly, those embers are all about passions denied."

Tattle does a Mae West impersonation, eyeballs rolling, hips woo-wooing and hair fluffing. "Me thinks all they need is a little alone time."

"Me thinks they are going to get that and mucho more!" Wrye proclaims as he dives into a new chapter.

"Think Wade shot! Snow storm knocking out electricity and phone! Think dire trouble."

Tattle joins her literary bud and scans pages. "Oh no! The storm has isolated them. Will she save Wade's life? Will the shooter be back? Is her daughter safe?”

"Ding...ding...ding.... Time's up. Leap!" They do!

Next stop on the romance celebration finds the duet in a contemporary suspense, THE SOLDIER'S GIRL by Romona Hilliger.

Tattle accidently on purposes loses her bridesmaid's hat, a throwback to wide brims and southern belles that has no business in this story set in Northern Australia. She nods taking in the plot, "Lookie...lookie, three school friends’ lives collide in a triangle of desperation, guilt, love, manipulation, and maybe...hopefully... hanky-panky?"

Wrye does a tsk-tsk with his finger and places the picture hat back on top of Tattle's Dolly Parton like hair-do. "Naughty lady," he scolds.

"Oooh, how does one resist that smoldering, sexy eye-candy, Bryce, a man who gave up a world of love and substance to work with underprivileged indigenous children. Talk about a hero."

Wrye practices the bunny-hop and dances his way through words. "A hero without love, so sad, for he had even given up the woman of his heart, Kate." He offers a salute, heels clicking. "True sacrifice."

"Then there is Frank, the war hero, he wants Kate, he can't have Kate, so he schemes for Kate. With his mind twisted by war and his heart aching, he does whatever it takes to make her his own. Conflict...conflict... conflict!"

"And just who does Kate want?"

"Bryce...but, ah, Frank can be persistent. It is all enough to snap those bonds formed as children." Tattle looks beseechingly at Wrye. "I must know what happens."

"Too late! Time for another romantic literary date."

"We're not in Kansas 2010 anymore," announces Wrye as they find themselves in the historical romance, FLOWER OF PASSION by Rose Lerma.

"Indeed we are not," confirms Tattle, and then begins to giggle. "Oh my, this book looks like fun." She points to Aster Hampton, looking gorgeous and confident but only for a few sentences. She collides right into Adam McCallister and seemingly a predestined date with a mud puddle.

"Poor dear, this isn't the way Aster wanted her debut home to be. She had every intention of allowing her new poise to overcome her nickname, Aster Disaster. Then this lout had to walk into her path."

"For a lout, he's a hottie even covered in mud. Yummy!" Tattle winces as Aster pops him in the eye with her fist. "Hmmm, he's taken that well. Hmmm, hmmm, he is actually intrigued. Goody for him."

"He is also a man on a mission to find a wife, one that he's attracted to, one that he is compatible with, and one he doesn't love."

"What! No love, is the man insane?"

"Thinks love turns a man gutless," says Wrye as he checks his pocket, to make certain he has not lost the wedding rings, and then flips through the pages. "Ah, this is truly a fun book that yanks at sentimentality, inflames senses, brings out the flaws and endearments of not just love but of family."

Noting Wrye has the look of someone getting ready to settle down for a good read, she drags him back into a leap, singing, "Getting you to the church on time."

Hope you enjoyed. Next month we'll enjoy fireworks and CHASING...CHASING...CHASING by our good friends Angelica Hart and Zi, DRAGON'S ANGEL by Donica Covey and THE LAST LEGACY by Jenna Leigh.

Have fun in the sun!

Dona Penza Rutabaga Tattle, Esq. and Associate Wrye Balderdash of Blather City, Wannachat

Created and written by Angelica Hart and Zi

KILLER DOLLS

SNAKE DANCE

CHASING...CHASING...CHASING July 2010 Champagne Books angelicahartandzi.com
Tattle and Wrye can also be found at www.myspace.com/champagnebooks

Tattle & Wrye - April 2010

FROM THE DESK OF

DONA PENZA TATTLE, ESQ.

AND

ASSOCIATE WRYE BALDERDASH

Greetings,

Tattle practically floats into the office, dressed in a full yellow skirt, white ruffled blouse, an enormous frilly, flower strewn Easter hat and yellow bowling shoes. "In my Easter bonnet," she sings, ending with, "...Grandest lady in the Easter Parade.  I adore April."  Nine bees and one fly buzz her bonnet.

"On April first I'm always tired after the long March to it."  Dressed just as dapper, including a top hat, tails, ascot and diamond tie-pin, Wrye questions with a grin, "We're off to a parade?  A parade with rabbits in the heat of the day.  Would that give us hot cross bunnies?"

"No, we're off on our Love of Literature Leap."  She holds out an Easter basket filled with books.  "All our favorites!"

Out of Wrye's top hat, as if a magician's, a hare pops two lengthy lopped ears.  He extends his crooked elbow, hands her a fancy colored egg and they leap, letting anyone who notices that on the seat of his pants is a bunny tail.



Wrye picks a book, flips it like a coin, and the two leap into FLAWLESS by Kimber Chin, a romantic suspense.

"Oh my, he looks familiar," Tattle says, spying a dangerous but handsome man, fanning the spontaneous flash of heat.  "My, he swelters!  Killer looks...hubba, hubba...the man has reformed."  She waggles her tushie.

"Hadn't noticed.  Ah, yes, yes, Tavos Santos, he was introduced in Kimber's best seller INVISIBLE.  Tavos is a known killer."  He bites the butt off a chocolate bunny and the ears of another, turns them to face each other, and as if two puppets he speaks for them, one saying, "My, my, my butt hurts."  The other bobs.  "Huh?"  Wrye puts the rabbits back in his pocket and as if his play had never happened, turned to Tattle.  "He's a killer."

"I can see that my April showers...hunks."

"As for being a reformed killer, Grace Williams, however, thinks differently, for upon meeting him, she believes he has been sent to...da...da...da...daaaa!"  Runs a finger across his throat, making the appropriate slitting sound.  "You would think she’d flee in fear, bunny hop away!  But obviously smitten, she kisses him instead.  It was one of the things on her list.  List!  Am I on her list?  How do I get on the list?"

Tattle points to the paragraph about the list, "Ah, yes, one of the many things she'd like to do before she dies, kiss the scarred stranger sent to..."  Tattle emulates Wrye's gesture.  "Risky is she?  You sure you want to be on that list?"

"Tavos wasn't there to do Grace harm, so it is said, but to protect her from her psychotic father, or was he? The father was recently released from prison...plot twist...and at the behest of a mysterious green-eyed woman, head of the relocation service Grace had contacted, Tavos had been solicited."

"Does green-eyed foreshadow jealousy?"  Flips over a few more pages.  "I know not, but she decides to take a stand against her father, and Tavos decides to help."  And the plot coagulates.

"By kidnapping her?"  Wrye looks incredulous.  Pulls cell phone out, it attached to a pigeon and enters 911, pigeon giggles, but Tattle persuades him to return the techno-bird back to his pocket.

"To keep her safe.  After all, Grace can be stubborn."  By now she realizes his Easter suit was that of a magician's.

"As her father, for he comes after her, but not before they...."  Wrye whispers into Tattle's ear, and wiggles brows.

Cooing, she again emulates his response.  "If this book got any hotter, it would smoke!"  Picks Wrye's pocket and uses a flapping pigeon to fan herself.

"Yup, smokin' with sensuality, suspense, and intrigue, a down-right page turner.  Weooo, away we go, hot, hot, hot!"

"Question is, just who will survive.  Was that shots I heard?"

"Let's leap so as not to give any more away!"

She returns the pigeon and grabs the chocolate bunny, noshes as they leap.




Their next hippity-hop leap takes them to FLAHERTY'S CROSSING by Kaylin McFarren, a woman's contemporary, where Tattle instantly blots at tear wet lashes.  "So sad...so very sad."

"We've entered the scene where Kate Flaherty's estranged father is dying," he whispers reverently, pulling a pocket handkerchief, he hands it to Tattle.  She takes it and unreels seventeen more attached to it.  Tattle shrugs a so-sorry.

They both stand at a respectful distance, and hear the father's bedside confession about his part in Kate's mother's death."  Has he foredoomed himself?  The plum of possibility sweetens.  "Do you have a dictionary in your bloomers?"  Wrye looks at Tattle's butt for big book protrusion, "You seem to be a smarty pants."

"Ouch!" Tattle says, "Add this on top of her marriage falling apart.  Her husband Drew mentioned something about separation!  Sword of Damocles moment!"  She looks at the bunny she is eating and wonders if her butt is huge-ing. Shrugs her shoulders and bites off a leg.

"Not good...not good at all."  Wrye leans over, fingering the book pages, to peer further into the story, tickling Tattle with his bunny ears.  "There is no lull in the suspense tonight, da da, on her way home, da da, there is, da da, a detour, da daaaaaa!"

Not realizing her lips are chocolate smeared, she garbles and drivels, "Read further along, it's not all bad, it gives her a chance to talk to a stranger, to think through some of her emotions about her marriage and herself, before she ends up fleeing for her life, searching for faith and forgiveness."  Using the wad of hankies, she towels her mess then tries to return the mass into his top pocket, leaving a uni-boob.

"Deer!"

"Huh?"  Tattle shakes her head.  "Oh, yes, she is a sweet dear, emotionally suppressed perhaps, artists can sometimes have greater depths of feelings."

"No, I meant...."  He points a few pages back, "There is a deer in the road and she is motoring straight for it."

Both read swiftly.  "Watch out!"   Reads more.  "She swerved!"

"She can't see anything but darkness!"  Reads further, "Oh no!"

"She's going to...."  Wrye holds a finger to Tattle's lips.  "Time to go."

"But...but...but!"  She is dragged into the vortex of literature.




"It's foggy in here," Tattle says, blowing at the white mist as they appear in HEATED DREAMS by Julie Grissom, an erotic fantasy/paranormal time-travel. (Carnal Passions Publication)  She egg-spected (Easter humor) the fog to be chilled but it was more steamy, thus foretelling.

"A dream," Wrye responds just before his jaw drops, eyes bulge, pulse races, and the bunny ears erect.

Tattle follows the direction of his glance, puts a hand to her chest oh so lady-like and grins oh so salaciously.  "Oh my, what are they doing?  Mmmm...oooohhh...ahhhhh!"  Was it lust?  Were they...?

The GQ of gentleman, Wrye covers Tattle's eyes, she peering through the gaps in his fingers, as he big-bunny-knows-better drags her to another page, "This is a private dream, wow it is, Tattle, m'gal."  At this point, he notes in his Blackberry the page number.

A door chimes as they arrive in Roxy's bookstore, which seems normal enough, but the air sizzles and sparks!  Foreshadow?  Maybe.  Foredoom?  Could be.  Foreplay?  Hopefully.

"That was Roxy's dream," Tattle says, as she notes in her Blackberry the afore page.  "And he..." points to the mega desirous male who had just entered, "...was in it.  She looks shocked.  Why?  Whereas, he looks likes his boots belong under my bed!"

"She is shocked.  Boots!!  She has only met Brett Sperry in her spicy dreams."  Wrye wonders if Dreamscape technology is available. Bites into a peanut butter egg, likes it, forgets about the dream.  Peanut butter tints the ponder of his knowledge of Roxy, "She had a disastrous unfulfilled marriage, drat, and thinks she is flawed, poor kitten, can't...errr..."  Flashes red face.

"What?"  Tattle asks, watching Wrye's strange expression, remembers Roxy's dilemma and goes, "Oh...the big O?"  She turns red faced.

Nods with the support of another bite, composure returns, "Brett takes an interest..."  Wrye straightens his ascot, in a manly act strokes his rabbit ears.  "In her...or...."  The red returns.  "He's from the 45th century, and is magical.  I guess they've matured and deal with that stuff."

Tattle tilts her head to check Brett out from behind.  "I'll say!  Magical!  He could make my randy disappear."  Catches herself and says, "What is he doing here?"  Starts searching for the pigeon again, flapping needed.

"His mission is to find a missing runaway VIP from his century and bring him back. The plot hardens in so many ways."  Wrye is so egg-centric. (Easter humor)  "But he can read Roxy's thoughts and finds them simultaneously stimulating and distracting...simultaneously...I'll repeat, simultaneously, 'nuff said!"

"Does he find the VIP?  Does she find her Oh YES, YES, YES!?  Just what does the future hold for these two who ignite passion across time?  Do you have any more peanut butter eggs?"

"Read and find out."  The bunny married the chicken and was the first rabbit to lay an egg was Wrye's final Easter thought.

With a hop and leap, they appear back in the office.



What a hoppin' good time!  Next month we'll spring forth with enthusiasm into TAKES A CHANCE by Eve Langlais coming June 2010, BOLT ACTION by Victoria Roder, and THE ENTRANCEMENT by Carolina Montague.
Happy Easter!

Dona Penza Rutabaga Tattle, Esq.
and Associate Wrye Balderdash
of Blather City, Wannachat

Tattle & Wrye - March 2010

FROM THE DESK OF

DONA PENZA TATTLE, ESQ.

AND

ASSOCIATE WRYE BALDERDASH

Greetings,

Dressed in flamboyant green with butter cream colored trim, Tattle looks like a nutty Irish lass with tweaked wild hair, however, she believes herself and her basket of Irish potato candy, is quite fetching.  She jigs!

Wearing the traditional hat, curl-toed boots and green of the shamrock, Wrye grins, "Top of the Mornin' to ye.  What is a nuahcerpel?"  He jigs!

Tattle returns, "And the rest of the day to yerself.  What is a nuahcerpel?"  She re-jigs!

"Dressed in green, tiniest man ever seen, catch me is told, if ye wants me gold.  Iss' a Leprechaun, backwards.  Do you like my outfit?" he turns backwards, peering over his shoulder. "Snack for our Love of Literature Leap?"  Reaches into the basket and takes a fistful of the edible treats, "Cream cheese, coconut, sham rock me happy."  He re-jigs!

"As many as ye can fit in ye pocket, m'Leprechaun-bud."   

With a pre-leaping joint jig, they're off.

Upon landing in Carol McPhee's Romantic Suspense, A STRUCTURED AFFAIR, Wrye sings a few notes of O' Danny Boooy and stops short, realizing he's in the midst of a downpour.  Tattle hands him a newspaper, and he quickly covers his head.  "Lucky?  As finding a horseshoe in a field of clover, which means some horse is barefoot."

Ignoring his puffery, she points to the paper and says, "Read it," as she escorts him out of the deluge and into a mansion.

First shakes like a dog, flipping off water.  "HEIRESS FALLS TO HER DEATH," Wrye reads aloud, mutters for a bit, "Blarney!" and then, "Ah, Detective Sloane Jamieson himself suspects murder, and that Stephen Morgan, the husband, could be the killer."  Mystery looms?

"'tis for certain he suspects," agrees Tattle, she neatly folds the paper and places it in her apron pocket, planning on recycling for 'tis the season to be green.  "Stephen is a quiet, reticent artist, who is aware of Sloane's mistrust.  A hunky hunk of misunderstanding.  He is also cognizant of the rumors that he only married Emily, the victim, because she had been pregnant.  Exquisite drama!  Now, presently, their child, Stephanie, is seven years old, and in fragile health.  Could there be a larger parental pain?"  A ball of a tear forms in her left eye.

Balancing on his shillelagh, he passes an eyelet hanky.  "With not enough evidence to convict....  Struggle!   Sloane uses the department's psychologist, Catherine Malloy as an undercover agent.  She the love interest? How intriguing to watch her infiltrate the family as Stephanie's governess." 

Sensing a candy moment, she pickpockets Wrye, letting the sweet melt in her mouth, she further explains, "Needing a distraction from her troubled past....  This is good candy!"  She high-fives herself then continues, "Catherine follows orders only to find she has stepped right into it."  And it is that it that is the melodrama of the story.

"There is something very wrong in the Morgan household, and a part of that wrongness quickly becomes the mutual and growing attraction between Catherine and Stephen.  Starry-eyed and mushy?"  Using his shillelagh, he fences with the philodendron.   Houseplant wins.  "She knows he hadn't killed Emily, she knows he loves his daughter, she also knows their futures are doomed if she doesn't uncover the real murderer."  Mystery multiplied by tension.

Tattle thumbs cyber pages to get to the end, Wrye restrains her by holding out an Irish potato candy, which she follows right into the leap zone.  They leave a wake of clover.

Tattle lands in a wheelchair, brake is off, she goes spinning down an incline, hits a rock and tumbles off.  "Whew!" she expels, as she returns the chair to where she found it, brake set.  "Now that's a ride."

"And for those who like romantic suspense rides, they must read MORTAL COIL by Julie Eberhart Painter." 

Being playful, Tattle notes, "St. Patrick drove all of the snakes out of Ireland because he could not afford the bus fare."  Tattle hops over a few characters, ignores the opening paragraph anticipating and plops directly into the plot.  "Murder!" Pauses, "Bless their souls," and then more forcefully, "Conflict!  Danger!  Love!"

"More!  More!  More!"  Wrye begins to juggle four blarney stones.  "Aye, m'lass, two murders, both of them in Ellen Lange's nursing home."  At this point, the Sherlockean in him draws his notebook and he starts collecting clues.

Tattle narrows her gaze and plucks a rubber knife out from the welt of her thigh highs, believing she now looks dangerous, but the word Disney steals that possibility.  "I see, Special Investigator Bill Watts, the same Bill Watts that gives moi the hots, oops, can't go there, had been called in to investigate.  That man steals my breath."  She hyperventilates, gains composure and continues, "These murders are the same as others, known as the Ponytail Crimes."  Tattle disentangles her ponytail holder envisioning safe haven.   

Wrye is courtly enough not to tell her she looks odd with a floppy knife and her hair the pride of punk.  Instead he informs, "As the investigation proceeds, Ellen's daughter, Patti, good Irish name, takes a liking to Bill and vice-versa.  A contest of good guy vs. momma knows best.  At first, Ellen, a widow, wants to protect  Patti with no intrusions from the once divorced Bill.  I bet she likes him.  Trysty potential?  However, as the investigation progresses, Ellen's defenses fall, way to go Bill, and she becomes enamored, way to go Ellen, which delights her young daughter, yea everybody."

Tattle mistakes her own discarded ponytail holder for a rat, previously displaced glasses on forehead, and using moves that would pride Rambo, she plummets it with her rubber blade and continues breathlessly, "Yet, unsolved murders remain a foil to happiness, for suddenly Ellen is gone and in the hands of a vengeful murderer who wants Patti!"  Yowlza! 

"Are you Patti-whacked?"  Wrye gives her the side-eye stare.

"No blarney kissin' for me."

"Well, what happens?  This is so great, I gotta know."

"Read and see!" 

They leap.

Wrye finds himself eye to eye with a rolling tumbleweed, home of Jane Toombs's historical romance, ONCE AN OUTCAST, part of the Orphan Train Series.  He shouts oxymoronically, "Yeehaw, spread out a bunch!"  He shoves at the tumbleweed.  He jumps up as if the weed was about to attack him and looks around at the camp site.  In the not so far distance a train whistles, low and soulfully.  "Gorgeous," he says in a half whisper, dressed with awe as he absorbs the night sky.

"She is, isn't she," agrees Tattle, speaking of the lovely half-gypsy Jehenna Scovia.  Tattle dances as if tapping an air tambourine, flipping skirt in a taunting manner.

Knowing he meant the stars, he chose to agree, "Ah, the lass herself, that she is indeed.  Unbeknownst to the father, the poor thing was thrown onto the orphan train by a man employed by her father."  Creep!

Pain grips Tattle, thinking of being so forsaken.  "But for Jehenna that was freedom, no more abuse, no more neglect, no more being trapped in a room with her stepmother playing the hymn, "Drink To Me Only With Thine Eyes."  The pain turns to a rip of anger, knowing that the young are meant to be adored.

"Over time, freedom proves to be a hard course for such a young gal, and that freedom could be short, for Jehenna's father hires Nathan Cole to find her."  Angst bubbles with thoughts of returning to a tormented home.  Was this father well intended?  Confused?

"After a while, Nathan does find her.  But she continually manages to escape him."

"Cat and mouse?"

"Seems so.  But why?"

"And each time they meet, something hot and sizzling transpires.  Is that why?  Both are aware they cannot surrender to passion.  Torment!  It would complicate the complicated.  For she was his job, his duty.  And she didn't want to go home."  What were they to do?

"Finally, Nathan offers a solution.  To leave with him, not to go back to her father, but just to be with him.  The nobility of the man seems apparent, or does it?"

"So many had lied to her before, dare she trust him?  Tears claw at my sensibilities."

"Will she?"

Tattle responds with.  "I smell ham and cabbage burnnnning!  Left it on the stove," and off they leap.

Hope you enjoyed!  Next month we'll be bunny hopping from FLAWLESS by Kimber Chin, to FLAHERTY'S CROSSING by Kaylin McFarren, to HEATED DREAMS by Julie Grissom, our first Love of Literature Leap from Carnal Passions.   

 

Happy St. Patrick's Day to all who turn green! 

Dona Penza Rutabaga Tattle, Esq.

and Associate Wrye Balderdash

of Blather City, Wannachat

Created and written by

Angelica Hart and Zi

KILLER DOLLS ~ September 2009

SNAKE DANCE ~ February 2010

CHASING GRAVITAS (working title) ~ July 2010

Champagne Books

angelicahartandzi.com

Tattle and Wrye can also be found at www.myspace.com/champagnebooks

Tattle & Wrye - February 2010

FROM THE DESK OF

DONA PENZA TATTLE, ESQ.

AND

ASSOCIATE WRYE BALDERDASH

Greetings,

Dressed in an old-fashioned rose patterned dress with a sprig of violets sticking up out of her hair, laced high top leather high heels double bowed, Tattle waltzes into the office singing, “Love is in the air everywhere I look around…” 

Wrye stares with the triple O-look, eyes and mouth.  “Roses are red.  Violets are blue.  Voice lessons m'friend. Tattle's tone is askew.”

“Au contraire, m’Travelbud.  I am simply celebrating our book tour within the month of Valentines highlighted by romance.”

“Roses are red.  Violets are blue.  Love of Literature Leap.  Then let us do the do.”  Elbow out, arm proffered.  Tattle takes it and off they leap!

Tattle smiles an ooohhh ahhh smile as she looks up at a castle.  “How utterly beautiful, which is the perfect background for the paranormal romance THIS TIME YOU ARE MINE by SUZANNAH SAFI."

“Roses are red.  Violets are blue.  A time journey love story.  Written just for you,” Wrye offers, thinking himself in the Valentine zone as he looks upon the characters who are in a yummy embrace.  “Ah, now that is quite a quixotic kiss!  Color me red for passion!”  Those words are quickly followed by ut oh as he watches Mac tear himself free from Miranda Blair, looking devastated.  “Roses are red.  Violets are blue.  Captivating drama.  Mac plans an adieu.”

“Aye, a dilemma indeed.  They are instantly drawn to each other, however, Miranda writes about mystifying deaths and plans on writing a book about the death of a child, Marcas Wardlaw.  Morass?  Entanglement?  The investigation triggers visions, ooooh, which brings her to Wardlaw Castle in Scotland and Mac, the Wardlaw’s nephew.  The plot moistens.  Mac doesn’t want this book written.  Contention!  And he might just do anything to keep that from happening.  What, what, what?  And he has secrets!" 

The wind whistles, "Weoooooo."  Is there haunt in the air?

“Roses are red.  Violets are blue.  Mystery abounds.  Mac has visions, too!”  Wrye tips his top hat, it rolls off his head, along his arm and into his hand, and with a tadaaa offers his revelation, having checked pages ahead, “Reincarnation!  Mac and Miranda are Rose and Duncan who loved, lost each other centuries earlier, and are now revisiting that love.  Tears follow!”

“Aye!  Only the loss ended with Rose being buried alive. I remember Poe's taphophobia, the fear in The Fall of the House of Usher.  Duncan vowed revenge.  Good for him!”  Tattle places a sprig of violets in Wrye’s lapel before adding.  “Well, in the present, Mac and Miranda begin to fall in love, amidst much sizzle and spark.  But all is not roses and violets, go figure, Mac’s uncle tries to destroy them for money.  Creep!  And I’m not going to spoil just what goes on with Mac’s parents.”

“Roses are red.  Violets are blue.  Spill your secret.  Telling me is poo-poo?”

“Aye, aye, m’Poet a' large.”  She gives him a friendly push.  “Leap!”

 

“In space, no one can hear you scream," announces Tattle, foreshadowing where they landed.  “We're in K. M. TOLAN'S science fiction ROGUE DANCER.”

 

“Roses are red.  Violets are blue.  BLADE DANCER came first.  This is book two.”

 

“Ah, yes, Mikial Haran is back, a savior of her people, previously chosen to defend them from potential human encroachment that did not happen.  Heroine in waiting?  Mikial discovers Suria has undermined her. Does this foredoom?  Suria continues to discredit Mikial, hence the rising belief she’s not the savior might get her arrested.  This smacks of treachery!  To make things complicated, to avoid civil war, she places herself under the shield of the most powerful of the Qurl Holdings, the Holding of Kinset.  However, to tangle the woes, she is accused of murder and flees Kinset.  Oh, what a muddled web has been woven.”

 

“Roses are red.  Violets are blue.  Trouble is brewing.  Whatcha to do?”  Wrye skims a chapter or two.  “Listen to this, while trying to recoup, she has a vision.  Prophecy?  The mental mirage is that of a spaceship arriving in the desert at the ruins of an ancient civil war."  Reads and then sing-songs, "Roses are red.  Violets are blue.  She gathers together,,,an unlikely crew.”  

 

“So true, m’Blooming friend, and she plans on using the White Spear, a gruesome ancient weapon to destroy the trespasser.  Only all is not what it appears.  Da da da daaaaaaaaaaaaa!”

 

“Roses are red.  Violets are blue.  Tattle do you see?  A bit of romance, too?”

 

“Naughty?  Risky?  Steamy?  True?  Plus so much more.  This fast-paced story takes us from fierce combat to ruins to cascading waterfalls, spanning emotions, testing friendships, and the understanding that a repeat of history foretells a disastrous future.  Quell the beat of my now aerobic heart.” 

 

“Roses are red.  Violets are blue.  This sounds so good.  Give us another clue.”

 

“No more for you, Wrye m’Scribe.  One more book awaits for leaping sake!”

 

 

“Ah, this geography is quite familiar, don’t ya think?”  Tattle crouches, fear encroaching her demeanor.

 

Looking at the pages and the fabulous cover, he croons, “Roses are red.  Violets are blue.  Quite talented authors...for certain these two.” 

 

“Being such dear close friends we are a bit biased, but it does allow us to know all about the sci-fi/fantasy romance SNAKE DANCE by ANGELICA HART AND ZI."  Preening with pride.  "Romance will boil on the planet Starling where a complex race of three sects live in an authoritarian system.  Elitists of a beastly nature, the Kin, control the stunning and exotic females with the Kiss of Surrender.  Vanquished to the outlands, statuesque males of the Asp line are hunted and killed by the vile Kin.”  She pulls four or five reeds, places them in her headband to camouflage herself from the Kin.

 

Realizing he's only armed with a box of chocolates, Wrye wonders does he push his thumb in or bite to see which is which.  “Roses are red.  Violets are blue.  Two enemies will be courting...the same rare ingénue."  He bites.  Finds a nougat.  Rejects the flavor and puts half back.

"The feel of a unique milieu tints this world in which the status quo has gone unchallenged until the birth of wRen.  She of extraordinary allure has been blessed by healing song and the rare ability to fly.  The Kin, Mong, claimed the rights to her innocence.  wRen refuses to accept the dictates of an enslaved society despite that Mong is of exalted status."  Hunched behind Wrye, Tattle slips her hand into the chocolate box.  (Comfort food).

“Roses are red.  Violets are blue.   Enter stage left.  Give VeIper his cue."  Wrye notices Tattle's hand, hopes she grabs the half nougat.  "Of the Asp clan, he was built as a mighty man, brawn seductive, his attitude the harbinger of revolution.”

Thinking of VeIper and acting dreamy, though it may have been the chocolate, she says, “Bewitchment is in the air.  VeIper will be instantly drawn to wRen.  Lucky!  And she to him, braving the lethal legends of the Asp.  Dangerous bravery!  While he, fully awed by her, seeks to free his species from ethnic cleansing.”  She reaches for another chocolate.

 

“Roses are red.  Violets are blue.  wRen and VeIper’s...love is taboo.”  He thumbs the bottom of the heart shaped box to rap out a beat along with his da da da daaaaa.  “Roses are red.  Violets are blue.  Look out for Mong.  And his brother, Mont, too.  They have vowed to destroy those of VeIper’s kind, and have fully enslaved feral women called wohen in a cave of atrocities.”  Wrye's face grows cold with anger.

“VeIper’s attempt to rescue them, brings him to death’s abyss.  His slim chance of survival resides in wRen’s promise to surrender to Mong willingly.  At the same time, the lives of every Kin, Asp and wohen rest in the forthcoming measures taken by wRen and VeIper and wrapped in this are their stolen sensual moments.”

“Roses are red.  Violets are blue.  Peril's blood claws...are poised for the two.”  Wrye's right hand balls in a fist as if he's prepared to fight.

“What will they do?”

“Roses are red.  Violets are blue.  Our leap is ending. We’re not gonna tell you!”

“In other words…our dear friends…READ!”

And off they leapt back to the office, Tattle leaving a trail of petals and reeds behind her, chasing the box of chocolates.

 

Hope you enjoyed!  Next month an Irish toast to A STRUCTURED AFFAIR by CAROL MCPHEE, ONCE AN OUTCAST by JANE TOOMBS, and MORTAL COIL by JULIE EBERHART PAINTER. 

Happy Valentine’s Day to all! 

Dona Penza Rutabaga Tattle, Esq.

and Associate Wrye Balderdash

of Blather City, Wannachat

Created and written by

Angelica Hart and Zi

KILLER DOLLS ~ September 2009

SNAKE DANCE ~ February 2010

CHASING GRAVITAS (working title) ~ July 2010

Champagne Books

angelicahartandzi.com

Tattle & Wrye - January 2010

Greetings,

FROM THE DESK OF DONA PENZA TATTLE, ESQ. AND ASSOCIATE WRYE BALDERDASH

Dressed to the eights just shy of the nines, Tattle and Wrye practice dancing so they'd be ready for the Love of Literature Leap Gossip Gala's New Year's Eve Party. Wrye is in full white duck tails and top hat, including candy cane, while Tattle has a flowing sequin-topped ballroom gown that Ginger Rogers would envy, which Wrye wonders but did not say, why would she need ballroom?

"You're looking spiffy, my friend. May I have this leap?" Wrye invites.

"You're pretty keen yourself, I'd be delighted."

"m'Tattle, what's the difference between a dancer and a duck?" He spins her, dips, does not drop, and recovers. "A dancer is quick on beautiful legs while a duck is quack on beautiful legs."

"You think I have beautiful legs?" She becomes wide-eyed looking at her own pins. "You quack me up!"

"Let's make like a ballerina and ballerino and leap outta here!"

The duet's jump turns into a swirling dance step, but when they land they have to dodge an old WWI plane, which Wrye does easily by imploring an enrosque, a twist. He mouths, JANE TOOMB'S Historical Fiction, WWI Thriller, NIGHTINGALE MAN. "Did you Chubby Checker out my move?"

Tattle halts the dance, and ogles a WWI pilot, an eleven on the Hunkie meter scale. "Ooooh la la, he's the cat's meow... puurrrfect!"

"We must be in France," Wrye wonders as he practices heel tapping. Cummerbund too tight, he contemplates trying out for next year's Christmas Gala's Sugar Plump Fairy.
"Luke "Lucky" Ray, an American pilot, had been recruited by the British Secret Service from the French Air Force in order to rescue Nurse Edith Cavell. Adventure is afoot!" At which Tattle lifts her foot and wags it.

He notices she is wearing high-heeled combat boots, realizing it is apt for where they are at. "Ah, so we are in Germany!"

"Close but no parachute. Splat pending! We're in German-occupied Belgium, where Edith has been imprisoned as a spy." Tattle spins, watching her dress balloon not by a petard. "The perfect plan goes awry, and his group of agents are forced to split up. Plot twist! Danger looms! Lions and tigers and bears, oh my!"

Wrye tangos Tattle a couple of chapters ahead. "Ut oh, he has been captured by the Boche!" They both look at each other with ut oh faces, poising one finger over their mouths. "Shhh," one says.

They wrong turn, cheeks smack, tango tragedy! "Dooooooomed to be bumped off, shot! Where! Someone double-crossed him, was it a stool pigeon, and he doesn't know if it is his comrades, the spy-master back in England, or the beeeauuuutiful English gal he's falling in love with. A confluence of conflict! Biggie bad!"

"Lucky just might not be so lucky. Eh eh eh! Vampire dance." He grins showing a dental appliance left over from Halloween. "A fang tango!"

"Not so lucky when lovely Kezia proves to be more dangerous than the spy game. Double O no-no!" Tattle flings herself away in a dramatic movement but ends up on her derrière rather than in the graceful pose she wanted and this is punctuated with, "Buttt... read on."
Wrye does several ball taps, and offers his hand, "Shall we cramp roll our way through the book and see what happens?"

"If we are going to sound like horses, let's just do an equestrian leap to our next book stop."

"Dance breakfast?" "I hop!"

"It's dark," declared Tattle, shuffle-tapping nothing, she not recognizing they were in dead air where no one could hear you scream.

"Ut oh." He quantum leap dips her unceremoniously and then they re-lunge. "Sorrrrry, miscalculated, we landed outside the space ship rather than in it." He brushes off star dust.

"Oh, then we must be in the science fiction story HEROES DIE YOUNG by T. M. HUNTER." Rises from the dip and grins, "Warning... Will Robinson, we have a cutie alert.    That Aston West is just to die for." She naughty Mae West poses, hands on hip, shamelessly flaunting the décolleté of her dress.

Handing her his polka-dot pocket square to towel off, he says, "Well, I don't swing that way. I'm a frogman!" and does a quick Lindy Hop... hop... hop.

"Why don't you come up sometime and see me?" Mae Westing her hair, "That hero can come unannounced to my door anytime."

"They do say heroes often die young, and Aston, an ex-military turned transport pilot, is considered one despite his motto to never get involved." Self-absorbed, Wrye clops as if a Holland Clog dancer and declares, "I'm a heifer... I love the moosic!"

They waltz through the derelict Rullusian space fighter that Aston West had stumbled upon. Tattle leads, Wrye hums, I Could Have Danced All Night. "Aston is also a space pirate, arrr, and when he found this ship obviously still smoking from battle, Smokey Bear warning, he was all ready to help himself to the horde of illegal weapons. Who wouldn't?" Tattle pauses, checking out the ship. "This place gives me the heebie-jeebies."

"Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine. Not the sort of joint I'd like to hang out in, but I doubt Aston wants to stay considering it's about to be attacked. At least according to Jeanie, his sexy ship's computer. Technophobe? Maybe not!" He Bogarts, "Here's looking at you, kid."

Tattle floats her nose, mimicking Viennese Waltzers then indicates with her head toward an attractive armed female stowaway. "Someone's noooot happy about Aston. Pisssssssy Pissafert! I do think she wants to shoot him. Mallard!"

"Got the duck reference. Who is she?"

"Don't know. But Aston ends up having to help her. Plot device ping-pong! And later, he has to choose between saving himself or helping those in need.... Da da da daaaaaaaaaaaa!"

"Will he?" "Gotta read to find out. Let's scram!" Wrye accepts her bidding, more the laggard slowpoke, wanting to know more!

Tattle and Wrye appear in a herd of Mustangs. "Spread out!" Tattle declares.

Wrye remembering the strain on his cummerbund wonders if she is referencing him, and he contemplating that spread out is redundant.

"Spread out!" she repeats, using a tinny voice often found in a talkie. "We must be in PATRICIA BATES' Historical Western LOVE THY NEIGHBOR, and there's Rylee Parys, feisty, brave and adorable. Why that could be me! She's a mini me!" Pinkie- fingers the corner of her mouth.

"Rylee is forced to pit-n-pendulum herself against neighbors, Poe Rylee, neighbors who take exception to the fact that a woman, sexists' alert, controls the water rights. H20 to go! Not that she denies any of them water. Thought about it many times, I bet. They just don't like seeing a woman as the big cheese. So mousy of them!" Being rodentia influenced, Wrye bunny hops. "Put your right foot forward, put your left foot out, do the Bunny Hop, Hop, hop, hop!"

"Enter stagecoach left, Ex-cavalry officer, Tom Duncan, a guy a gal could carry a torch for any day, night, double outing or inning. Tee hee. A torch so hot that it would raise the ambient temperature of Sweden three degrees."

Quoting Fred Astaire, Wrye noting her pending panty shield problem says, "Would it be rude of me to inquire if there is any insanity in your family?"

Ignoring him Tattle continues, "Having just returned home from the Civil War, Tommy comes marching home again, hurray, hurray, the last thing he wants is to get involved in is a range war. Appliances are dangerous when hurled great distances. Plus, he wants to help work it out for Rylee. Hero? Beau? Do we know?"

"Does he do the politicians' dance? A quick side-step?"

"Rylee pulls a gun on him. Misguuuided! Yet he gets to her, she gets to him, love's a brewing, I knew they would, but Rylee is no pushover and resists. Is she running from him until she catches him? Meanwhile, his brother Darrell and Uncle Richard keep making trouble. Complication rumba!"

"Horsefeathers!" Wrye exclaims. "This has to make Rylee and Tom's encounters full of sexual frustrations mingled with anger and angst. What fun is that? A two-step from hell."
"No prairie patties, m' hoofer bud." "They'll never find their romantic destiny, or will they?" "We'll know only after we read."

Hope you enjoyed! Next month our hearts belong to SNAKE DANCE by our very, very close friends ANGELICA HART AND ZI, THIS TIME YOU ARE MINE by SUZANNAH SAFI, AND K. M. TOLAN'S ROGUE DANCER.

Have a healthy, wonderful, blessed Happy New Year!

Dona Penza Rutabaga Tattle, Esq. and Associate Wrye Balderdash of Blather City, Wannachat

Created and written by Angelica Hart and Zi KILLER DOLLS ~ September 2009

SNAKE DANCE ~ February 2010 CHASING GRAVITAS (working title) ~ July 2010

Champagne Books

angelicahartandzi.com

Tattle and Wrye can also be found at www.myspace.com/champagnebooks

Tattle & Wrye - December 2009

FROM THE DESK OF

DONA PENZA TATTLE, ESQ.

AND

ASSOCIATE WRYE BALDERDASH

 

Greetings,

"T'was the night before the Christmas break, when on top of a ladder, Wrye could be found stirring, wobbling, and tottering, making Tattle sadder.  The extra large stockings were not to be hung off the desk, she declared, but by the chimney, where ole Saint Nick would find them securely there.  Wrye having visions of characters all snug in a wonderful book, conceded and pointed to the sugar plum stories perched in a nearby nook.  With Tattle in her candy cane striped 'kerchief, and Wrye in his fur lined cap, they had just settled their brains for a Love of Literature Leap with a zap."

As Tattle recites her version of a famous poem, hands primly cupped within each other, a halo upon her head and angel wings fluttering from behind, Wrye looks at her over the rim of half glasses that resemble those worn by Santa.  "You're right, let's leap.  You're an angel?"

"A kind angel with an angelic heart."  She not to Wrye but to the world in general.  "The wings are better to leap with m'Claus."

"Aye, call me Pseudo-Clause.  The Christmas Critiquer," he said, doing the moon-walk he leaps backwards, calling, "Oh... Oh...  Oh!"

Tattle lands on a pair of knitting needles, pointed upward and yelps, Wrye winces and says, "That’s gotta hurt.  Christmas tree!"  Wrye notices her confusion and clarifies, "Christmas trees are like bad knitters, they both drop their needles."

"What a pain in the.... oops!  Jolly ole Saint Obvious," she returns, first removing the knitting  appliance, and then taking in the milieu of the Kingsley Nursing Home, within the pages of JULIE EBERHART PAINTER'S MORTAL COIL, a romantic comedy.  "Poor dears," she says, checking out the worried expressions on the aged.  "There's been two murders and Detective Bill Watts has been called in to investigate what has been dubbed the Ponytail Perp."  She rose, flitted her wings, lifted one leg creating a figure four, and spins as if on a music box. 

"I hear,” said Nipper to the Gramophone, obscure RCA reference intended, he finds himself also investigating and intrrrigueeeed by Ellen Lange, most would, the lovely lady who runs the home.  One thing led to the next, which led to the next, which, welll, ends up with him falling in love, yup, tries to date her, commmplllicaations, happy to even have her ten-year-old daughter, Patti, along."

Tattle accompanies Wrye's long oratory with background music provided by her Ozark Jaw Harp.  Why?  Angels need a harp.

The sound reminds him of On Top of Ole Smokey and in Pseudo-Clause persona, he reacts, "Ho... Ho... Ho... down?" 

Ignoring the query, she continues, "Ah, but Ellen becomes overprotective and decides there is no place in her wee family for the once divorced Bill.  Was that fair?  Meanwhile, Patti goes missing, ouch, which forces Ellen to turn to Bill.  Was it fate?  Was it destiny?  Was it Memorex?" 

Wrye fingers his faux beard, loosening part of it and the mustache droops as if a faulty fake eyelash, flopping as he speaks.  "Look there, read... Ah ha!  The lost child incident turns out to be nada, alright!"  The two high five, she misses and smacks the top of his head.  Undaunted he adds, "But our boy Bill has the hero glow, as do I most days, and precious Patti ends up liking him, sweeeetnesss, starts seeing him as a father-figure.  I feel tears on the horizon..."

Tattle checks out her cherry tart red lipstick in a shiny Christmas ball.  "And Ellen's wintery attitude melts, she starts to like Bill, too.  Only..."

"I knnnoooow.  The murderer is still out there.  Eeeeh!"

"And Ellen is abducted."  Tattle using her mouth harp tries to da da da daaaaa to make it sound dangerous. 

"More... more... more..."

"Nope... leap time, m' PC Père Noel."

"Watch out for the..."  Tattle observes Wrye as he skids directly into a Scotch Pine tree blazing with Christmas lights.  "Oh, I see you found it." 

"It's male."

"Don't go there."

"Balls!"  He dusts pine needles off his red and white fur trimmed jacket, twitches his nose as if magic is about to happen and declares, "It's beginning to feel a lot like Christmas, and here we are right in the middle of  ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS by CINDY K. GREEN, a romantic contemporary Christmas story."

"Yes, yes, and there is Kathryn Graham, a writer at Redburn Weekly who has been assigned, along with the exuberant and jovial Nick Pringle, to work a story about the toy drive for the local orphanage.  Do you see that Mister Woof Woof?" 

"Dog?"  His face slapped with righteous indignation.

"Yes, Santa Paws."

"And Shaggy Dog humor lives in you." He bows and wows.  "I remember now, Nick's enthusiasm for Christmas annoys Kathryn, ho ho ho ho, while Kathryn's hatred for the beloved holiday baffles Nick."

"I see connnflicccct,' she says as she begins to juggle three Christmas balls.

"You emasculated my tree."

She giggles, "And where do snowmen go to dance?"  She waits, then answers, "Snow Balls."

"Speaking of which, I see snow!" Wrye announces and scoops up enough of the white fluff to form a snowball. Throws it to her and now she is juggling four.  "And Nick begins a campaign to win Kathryn over.  Will he? Should he?  Ho ho ho.  I'm not talking just about her attitude toward the noel event.  And in the Christmas alphabet there is no L."

Tattle's brow lifts in that you-wouldn't-dare gesture as Wrye begins to wind up like a major league pitcher with a second snowball.  "Nick has been falling in love with the woman since they first met.  Is this knotty or nice?  Nick decides to become Kathryn's Secret Santa, how sweet, having gifts delivered daily, and lo and behold, Kathryn's attitude begins to slowly change.  Success?"  She puts her juggling to rest.  "Onnnly, she seems to be falling for the Secret Santa, Cyrano de Bergerac moment, and distancing herself from Nick, irony slaps, leaving Nick jealous of himself...  Connnfuuusing."

"Ut oh, said the gardener, trouble is a Hoe-Hoe-Hoe-ing about." 

Tattles evades the pun.  "Even a shared kiss between her and Nick, lovey dovey, doesn't seem to turn her away from the ever so perfect Secret Santa.  Dag!  I'm rootin' for Nick.  Now, he believes he'll never be anything more than a friend, incoming... duck... sadness invasion, and even at that, a distant friend.  Tissue alert!  Meanwhile, da da da daaaaa, Nina not Pina or Santa Maria Phillips seems ever so interested in Nick.  Cat fight?  And Nick considers that it might be time to accept reality.  Heartbreak!  Yet can he?  Will Kathryn's heart ever open to Christmas?  And will she find out the truth about her own feelings toward Nick too late?"

Smacks Wrye's hand as he attempts to read ahead.  "Tsk... tsk... we'll read later, m'Saint Nick."

The duo land softly in the midst of NOELLA'S GIFT by DONICA COVEY and the mystical wonder of a romantic contemporary Christmas story.   "It is so cozy here," announces Tattle as she takes in the homey warmth of Holly Harper's home." 

Wrye musing, as if burning his candle at both ends, elucidates, "Which burns longer, a red candle or a green?"

"Neither!  Candles always burn shorter."  Tattle does the finale tap dance that one might see in a Vaudeville act.  "But where are Holly Harper's Christmas decorations?"

"Hates Christmas," informs Wrye yet ever the optimist rummages about for sugar cookies.  "However, once she finds a raggedly dressed Noella on her doorstep, a little lost six-year-old girl, her feelings slowly begin to change.  Readers will be on a collision course for planet Warm Your Cockles."

"Oh, who is that yummy man?"  Tattle does that hip waddle that suggests more naughty than nice, tilting her now tarnished halo.

"A police detective, Jaxon Cole.  Look out, Tattle, mood grenade.  He found out that Noella's parents had died, but neither he nor Holly seem to get anything more out of the child, only a growing sense of sadness.  Yes, I'm crying, and yes, I am PC."

"Holly decides to keep the girl at least through the holidays, good for her, while they try to figure things out.  In the meantime, a freak snowstorm traps the three of them in Holly's home, of course it does, why not?  And that's when, ironically, the thawing begins.  He he ho ho ha ha.  The bitter detective and the woeful Holly see things through the child's eyes, yet as Jaxon grows close to Holly, she suddenly turns as frosty as the weather."

"An old snowman is... what?  Waaattter.  Will this hot hunk and frigid female co-exist without getting wet?  Will they ever find the Christmas spirit?  Hope so.  I like them!  Will they ever know the love Noella seems so determined to spark within each of them for the other?  YIT (Yenta in training).  And will Noella ever receive the gift of her heart?"  Tattle dabbles at her eyes.  This is sooo... sooo..."

Wrye pats her shoulder.  "There... there... Hot chocolate time, I feel your angelica heart."

Back in their office, the two merrily exchange their Christmas gifts.  Can you guess what?  Well, Champagne Books, of course.  

Hope you enjoyed!  Next month we'll be warming up to the characters from T. M. HUNTER'S HEROES DIE YOUNG, JANE TOOMB'S NIGHTINGALE MAN and LOVE THY NEIGHBOR by PATRICIA BATES.

Merry Christmas to all and to all a good holiday,

Dona Penza Rutabaga Tattle, Esq.

and Associate Wrye Balderdash

of Blather City, Wannachat

Created and written by

Angelica Hart and Zi

KILLER DOLLS ~ September 2009

SNAKE DANCE ~ February 2010

CHASING GRAVITAS (working title) ~ July 2010

Champagne Books

angelicahartandzi.com