My backyard, such as it is, isn’t really so much a yard as it is the cleared-out space before the Wall o’Woods that stretches back over most of our property. Other fine features of the Wall o’Woods include the Dead Thing (that’s still there, stripped of everything but loose fur and bone–even the hide is gone), Little Crick, Big Crick, and Bigger Crick (and yes, I pronounce them that way), and a numerous amount of flora and fauna common to the American Midwest, like coyote, deer, and skunks. One new addition is something I didn’t expect to see, even out here in The Sticks.

Friday morning, Mr. Xandra’s enjoying a peaceful day off playing Evil Genius when he emerges from the Bat Cave (aka his study) and stage-whispers orders for everyone to beat feet to the Treehouse (aka the toy room). Usually a directive like this means there’s something interesting to be seen out the windows, and sure enough out under the trees at the edge of the Wall o’Woods, where the runoff ditch makes a respectable little stream on a wet day (and a swamp when we’ve got a damp stretch), there’s this giant…thing out there. Pecking at the straw over top of the grass seed we’ve finally had laid after three months of waiting for it to warm up.

“It’s a turkey!” Mr. Xandra whispers, as if the fowl in question could hear us all the way down there from the top of the house and from behind closed windows. Hell, it probably could. We spent several minutes, watching the turkey’s stately progress along the edge of the straw bed, where I’m sure it was making a nice snack out of my Kentucky Bluegrass/Zanzibar Fescue mix. I ran for the digital camera, moving cautiously because the study was also in the bird’s view. I had just enough time to snap off one picture before the bird, like its Jurassic-villain ancestors of yore, continued its ghostly, measured march into the trees and disappeared from view.

What impressed me was the hugeness of the thing. I mean, I’ve seen frozen turkeys at the store–bought ‘em, thawed ‘em, stuffed and cooked ‘em. Hell, I even bowled a halfway respectable game with them my freshman year in college. But seeing them with feathers and “on the hoof” so to speak, brings home that the turkey is one big motherfarkin’ bird. Probably could have looked one of my kids in the eye.

So after a call to the grandparents and two excitedy kids yelling, “Turkey! Turkey! Turkey, Nanna! Turkey, Pap!” for two whole minutes while my bewildered mother went temporarily deaf from telephonic interference, the first thing she said was, “So, I guess Thanksgiving’s going to be at your house this year.”

This week, last year, my first full-length erotic romance, Alien Communion, was released from Liquid Silver Books.

The reception for Alien Communion surprised me. I was honestly pleased to receive very good reviews for it, and solid sales (which indicate people were interested in reading it). It still makes me smile to have the reality brought home that people are actually –gasp– interested in reading one of my stories.

I’ve always been one of those “writer’s writers” - I write because I love the structure and framework of story, of rooting around in the thesaurus to find just the right word, and of the thrill of stringing a story through from start to the high of typing the words “The End.” And for those special times when the characters take over and I’m just the stenographer (and not all my stories are like that, so I value very preciously the ones that are).

That I can share the products of my love affair with prose is an honor and a privilege. If you have read my stories, thank you. If you’ve just found your way here through a link or a whim and are reading these words here, thank you, too. You’re part of the world that allows me to live my dream. If you’ve reviewed one of my stories, I also thank you, deeply and from the bottom of my heart. No matter how you felt about the book or story, the fact that you took the time to share your opinion is a gift I value.

HAPPY “BIRTHDAY” XANDRA

You’re probably also aware, if you’ve been reading this blog, that ‘Xandra Gregory’ is a nom de pixel. Xandra is actually around three years old this week. When I submitted Alien Communion, I knew I couldn’t publish it under my own name for several reasons, the most pragmatic of which is that my name’s just not that sexy. So I “exoticised” some family middle names by running them by my critique partner. Xandra Gregory is the result.

Among my non-writer friends who know who I am and what I write, at least two of them have asked if I have a different “persona” as Xandra. The answer to that is both yes and no. If you know me, you know that in person, I’m a lot more goofy than the image of an erotic romance writer whose first name begins with an X. Writing is my job (and I love my job), and when I’m Xandra, I’m “at work” so to speak. So when I’m Xandra, I’m a bit more…professional. So far that means I haven’t embarrassed myself in public. Here’s to hoping that streak continues. Other than that…I’m pretty much a WYSIWYG person, and I’m a lousy actress. The real me is hard to suppress for very long. I toyed with the idea of trying to cultivate the whole glamorous “erotica writer” persona–I remember reading something in my teens about Barbara Cartland lounging on a divan in a glamour gown and dictating her novels. Because primarily, I think it’d be kickass-cool to have a divan. Glamour gowns inevitably require pantyhose, and don’t respond well to small, often-sticky hands constantly touching. Plus, my life goes too fast for me to sit down during the day, much less lounge. But I wouldn’t make it five minutes without blowing it, so Internets, you get the real me, a little more polite, when you find Xandra.

Pseudonyms have their practical uses, too. I love making those sweeping ‘X’s at booksignings, and I’m comforted in knowing that folks aren’t walking around with bookmarks or CD cases that have the same name I sign my checks with.

They say on the Internets, you can be anybody. But sooner or later, you can’t help being who you are. Xandra and I, we’re pretty tight. So the least I can do for the old girl is give her a birthday wish. She and I, we’re a lot alike, except she has better manners. And flatter abs. Yeah, definitely flatter abs.