Jaye Wells

Feeling Optimistic

Ahhhh. The hot bite of summer is diminishing. A soft breeze sweeps over me as I write this from my cafe table outside Starbucks. What is it about the promise of fall that makes me feel so optimistic? Or perhaps it is the prospect of Kelley’s wedding next weekend–a whole weekend away from the responsibilities of being a parent made complete with an open bar.

To commemorate the upcoming celebration I composed a short haiku.

Marriage Haiku
You’re perfect for me
Even when you make me mad
Cause make-up sex rocks

It tastes like burning

So the scientific results are in on my “How Did Jaye Get the Shiner” poll. All four of my regular readers voted that the puma should be the story of choice. Thanks for your feedback. I’ll try it out today.

Speaking of today, Spawn and I are doing something fun. We’re going to a tour of the Plano Fire Dept. I know it will be fun for Spawn. Of course after basically growing up in fire stations there’s probably not much new for me to learn. Hmmm. What will I do the whole time? I tell you what I won’t be doing. I definitely will not be ogling the men or thinking about all the poles everywhere. No sireee.

A fireman’s haiku :
Whip out your fire hose
There is a fire in my pants
Four alarm, baby

Stupid Women and Alter Egos

Is it me or does anyone else find it a little offensive that Jessica Simpson is creating a line of lcothing for full figured women? Just a thought for the day.

Now onto the writing update. Apparently there is a very warped section of my brain that is fascinated with vampires. Every story idea I come up with involves some sort of vampiric character. Emily said that this makes me a freak. Perhaps. I don’t know who is going to be more uncomfortable. Me when I meet my legions of eventual fans, who will show up to signings in capes and full Goth regalia. Or my fans, who will feel betrayed that a preppy stay at home mom is responsible for creating the worlds they wish really existed. Ah well. Guess I just need to stop worrying about it and sell an actual book so we can see how that one pans out. Maybe I’ll have to create my alter ego–Mistress Morganna–the apease my fans. In the meantime, if you see a deal on a cape let me know.


I am getting to the point in my life where firsts are not coming as often as they used to. I can drink legally, I’m married, and I have a kid. Those are pretty much the big three first after the age of 20. So imagine my surprise to wake up this morning to another first: first black eye.

Before you freak out, let me explain. Last night, my son was walking between me and a coffee table when he knocked a drink over. Me, with my supernatural reflexes, shot forward hoping to catch the bottle before it spilled all over the floor. But instead of catching it, my face whacked straight into my son’s head, which apparently is made of granite. Spawn didn’t even flinch, but I was left feeling like I broke my brow bone. A small knot quickly formed, but it wasn’t until I woke up this morning that I saw the tell-tale purple streaks. Most men would probably snort and say, “That’s not a shiner, that’s a mouse.” Well you know what guys, on a woman this type of injury screams “Battered Wife.” So you can call it whatever you like, but I am going to be the one walking around all day explaining to people that my husband didn’t slap me around for talking back.

What really gets me though is that I didn’t get the injury in an interesting way. So I decided I would come up with a few stories and you could all vote on which I should use when people ask. Ready?

Reasons Jaye is Sporting a Shiner
1. Some bitch came up to my man in the biker bar we frequent. I had to teach that slut a lesson after she put her hand on his arm. NO ONE touches my man! Got it? Anyway, I drop kicked her. But as I walked away she yelled “Your Harley’s on fire.” When I turned to make sure my baby hawg was okay, the crazy bitch sucker punched me. Luckily, I have a high pain tolerance, so’s I was able to pick her up and throw her into a group of Hell’s Angels that sat in the corner. Larry, the head of that chapter of the Angels, is an old friend. I hated throwing such a skank at them, but Larry had my back and took care of taking out the trash. I don’t know which makes me more mad: that she approached my man right in front of me or that had the balls to talk about my ride. Whore.

2.So I was minding my own business reading a book on a park bench, right? When all of the sudden, a wild puma jumped out of the bushes and attacked me. Luckily I am agile, so I managed to wedge the book into the beast’s wide, angry mouth before it could sink it’s teeth into me. I wasn’t fast enough to keep one of its paws from swiping me in the eye. I was this close to losing the damn thing, but a quick blink saved me from needing one of those Sammy Davis Jr. Numbers. Now I was mad, so I whipped around and pulled its paws behind its back. The cat yowled like a baby. I grabbed some nearby ivy and tied that puma up like a calf at the rodeo. Take that stupid puma!

3.I was this cose to winning the race in my cigarette speed boat. Going a bone rattling 200 miles an hour, I felt confident that the competition was sucking my wake. Then all of a sudden, a rogue wave caused the boat to fly–spinning through the air. Luckily it landed in a tree, cause impact with the shore would have caused the damned thing to explode on impact. So anyway I am in this tree waiting for the rescue team to get me out when out of no where a monkey swings down from the branch above. The damned thing was going ape shit, pardon the pun. Unfortunately I had taken off my helmet and was still strapped into my seat when the crazy, red-assed thing punched me right in the eye! “What’s your problem monkey?!” I shouted at it, but it just hooted and then spit in my face. Okay, now I was mad. I grabbed my helmet and threw it at the hairy little fucker. Whap! He fell back and landed in a nest of banana peels. Looking around, I realized that my boat had landed in the monkey’s nest. I guess I couldn’t blame my primate foe for taking off on me. Before I knew it the rescue crew came and got me down. My boat was pretty much totaled, but hey that’s the price you pay for adrenaline. As I turned to head to the ambulance to get checked out, I glanced up into the tree again. My eyes met those of the monkey, now awake again. His right eye was swelling rapidly. I reached up and felt my own throbbing eye. Then my nemesis made a hooting noise and saluted me. I nodded. We were even. I knew then that we would both wear out black eyes as badges of honor–me and my friend the monkey.

Okay, so which is it? Please vote in the comments section.

Lovin’ is in the air

Suzanne asked for a Love Scene Haiku. An excellent suggestion. I liked it so much I wrote several. There’s something for everyone.

Moist, eager places
Await love’s final reward
Oh shit, no condom!

Relax and enjoy
As I take you to heaven
What’s your name again?

I’m a naughty girl
Perhaps I need a spanking–
Or a tongue lashing

Put on the eye patch
Are you wearing the peg leg?
Swab my decks, pirate!

Enjoy your Friday!

Writing the Critical Love Scene

Today’s Post is a lesson on writing. Writing love scenes. Please don’t close the window just because I have only written one love scene in my life. I wrote it yesterday. But it’s a really good scene so I figure I am an expert. I let my husband read it last night, and it liked it so much I got The Look for the rest of the evening. So without further ado, here is Jaye’s “How Not to Write A Love Scene” primer.
1. Unless you’re writing an historical novel, avoid all references to things being “lusty” or “heaving.” Instead, try, “aroused” or “panting”.
2. Don’t just jump right into the deed. Remember, this is women’s fiction, not porn. What’s the difference? A plot, foreplay, and emotional elements.
3. Don’t forget the all important condom. I got all the way through my scene before I realized that my heroine probably is now knocked up due to my lack of thought. I had to apologize to her and rush back to plant a condom in the scene. Besides, I want my readers to know that Sydney is a smart woman. Smart women don’t have sex with men they’ve only known a week without demanding protection.
4. Don’t forget the dialogue. Please refer to point no. 2, this isn’t porn. The scene’s purpose is to explore the emotional and intimate growth between the couple. That’s hard to do if all you hear are grunts, groans, and slapping sounds. I am not talking about dirty talk either. Sure, you can throw a couple of good zingers in there for spice, but have them joke with each other or check in with each other every now and then.
5. Don’t make it an anatomy lesson. We all know the parts involved. When you start with the “He put tab A into slot 1,” you lose people. Also, don’t use the scientific names for everything. On the other hand, don’t use ridiculous euphemisms either. Example: fleshy folds, moist flower, honey pot. Ick.
6. Remember your audience. Most of mainstream America doesn’t want to read about money shots, anything dealing with the rear end, or anything that buzzes. If you want to include those things, write erotica. Those writers make more money anyway.
7. Don’t overuse words. Some examples of these include: caress, moist, thrust, member, lick, cleft, etc. Remember that variety is the spice of writing (and sex).
Now, get out there and get writing. You can send you scenes to my email address for…uh…review. Yes, review.

Preschool Rocks

Hip hip hooray! Preschool started today. Now I can begin my Starbucks writing ritual again. In fact, I am currently sitting on the patio of Starbucks with a grande coffee and a cigarette. Life is good. In a few mnutes I’ll open my file for chapter eight. It’s amazing hwo two hours working here usually nts huge advances in my story. I guess I fee l more writerly here. At home there are a miullion distractions. But here, here I am an anaonymous lady with a laptop soaking in the nicotine and the caffeine and turning them into fiction.

Not much going on today. I am reading about New Orleans and kicking myself. Obviously I feel horrible for everyone along the Gulf Coast. But I have been talking about taking a trip to New Orleans for years and never did it. Now who knows how the city will fare after beingu nder 20 feet of water. Guess it just goes to show not to put things off. Oh yeah and it also proves that levees suck. I’ll tell you one thing:They’re going to need to wash the entire city in Lysol. One word: Coffins. Eek!

Spawn starts school again tomorrow. Yippee! Now I will have three mornings a week to do nothing but write. I need to have the book done by mid- to late October. Anyone want to volunteer to cook and clean for my family while I try to complete 3 chapters a week? No? Traitors.

Random Topic of the Day: Fighting Wrong
It recently came ot my attention that at a certain bachelorette party, which shall not be named except to call the bride Shelly, a crime against an innocent occured. I knew that a penis cake was involved, and hey, who doesn’t love penis cake? But then I discovered that the perp despoiled a beloved cartoon character cake pan to create the naughty confection. Yes, that’s right, Dora the Explorer is no longer an innocent Latina girl solving problems with the help of her monkey, Boots. Now she will be forced to leave her childhood behind and become a crack ho in L.A. with Boots, the sex monkey. Of course she’ll take her backpack with her. No longer will backpack provide necessary supplies for exploring, like sticky tape, flash lights, or rope. Instead backpack will be overflowing with her crack pipe, the king dong dildo, and her trusty cat o’ nine tails. Is nothing sacred? Next thing you know you’ll be using the 101 dalmations cake in the form of a woman, with the Winnie the Pooh behind her doing the nasty or in front of her receiving oral pleasure.
Note how the people who took this picture strategically covered Pooh’s special place with a piece of paper. Sure he looks innocent and happy wth his big tummy and festive balloon, but behind closed doors he’s a stone cold sex fiend.
Are you happy now? Spawn wants to play Dora Candy Land. No haiku for you perverts today!

Gun Toting Hubby and Jude Law

Random Topic: Guns
You may be aware that my family is…colorful. We’re a little bit country, a little bit rock ‘n roll, and a lot of crazy. Last Sunday we went out to my aunt Loraine’s house. She and her family live in Decatur, north of Denton. They live on a farm-ish type property complete with two goats, several dogs and a horse. I am not trying to mock my aunt cause her place is pretty cool and her wing of the family is probably most sane. However, while I didn’t question this while we were there, I had a thought this morning: Is it odd that my family felt the urge to shoot skeet during a three-year-old’s birthday party? I mean, a piñata? Sure. Pin the tail on the donkey? Bring it. Firearms? Hmmm. In addition to the incongruity of this activity at a child’s party, is that fact that my own hubby got out there to shoot–and he was good. How have I lived with a man for 6 years without knowing he could shoot a shotgun accurately? Just goes to show, we seek out what we know. Which is why in my efforts to escape my earthy roots, I married a man who has slaughtered a pig and can shoot a javelina at 50 paces. Sigh. Good thing he’s well-hung.

Haiku for Jude Law
Shame on you Jude Law
Screwing the help; I think you…
Are hot anyway