It's six weeks late, but wanna come to my wedding?

It's official.

I'm one of those lame-ass bloggers who posts consistently for awhile (every weekday for 2+ years!), then cuts back to a couple posts a week, then sorta vanishes from the universe (2 months since my last post).

I notice I mentioned the number "two" three times in that last sentence, which I swear wasn't deliberate. But now that I see it, I can say that probably had a bit to do with my absence from the blogosphere. While Gweneth Paltrow was consciously uncoupling, my gentleman friend and I were consciously coupling.

Very consciously.

When two people who make a living with words decide to tie the knot, everything from the vows to the wording of the ceremony requires careful consideration.

Then you forget all the words anyway, because you're too busy chopping onions for the reception feast and hauling cedar planter boxes filled with the wedding flowers you decided to grow yourself.

In any case, our perfectly imperfect wedding was wonderful and sweet and everything we ever wanted. Since I wasn't able to invite most of you, I offer you the next best thing. If you've got 18 minutes to kill, grab a glass of champagne and sit back to watch our wedding video:


In case you're wondering, we really did kick things off with "Eye of the Tiger" preceding the ceremony. Also, that song playing when we walk down the aisle? That's my gentleman friend performing his twist on Ben Folds' "The Luckiest."

For those who hate watching videos (*raises hand*) or those who don't have 18 minutes to spare, I'll at least throw you a bone (*snicker*) with a transcript of the vows.

While we decided to write our own and did some of our initial research and brainstorming together, we opted not to share our vows with each other until the ceremony. We were surprised by how well they fit together, which seems like a good sign, don't you think?

Tawna's Vows:
Craig: I pledge to be your loving friend, paddleboarding partner, dog-walking companion, kitchen cohort, naked alarm clock, wine tasting co-pilot, and wife. I vow to always hold you in the highest regard to be a source of empathy, laughter, hot meals, and other hot stuff. I will lend you strength for your dreams, cherish your unique quirks and talents, and always remember that love means saying “I feel differently” instead of “you’re wrong.”

Cedar and Violet: I promise to continue to love you as my own family as I officially become your dad’s wife and a member of your elite parenting team. I pledge to take you out to skip rocks and squish mud between our bare toes, to float the river in the middle of a workday (though maybe not during a lightning storm this time). I vow to continue introducing you to weird foods for Fear Factor Friday, to occasionally embarrass you with boob jokes, and to do my best to make you smile at least as often as you do that for me.

Craig, I vow to never stop encouraging us to try new and strange things. I’ll spend every day of my life appreciating you for your contagious humor, your spontaneous serenades, your beautiful hands, your beautiful mind, and your beautiful heart. I will support you through the good stuff and the not-so-good stuff, through my incessant chatter in the mornings and through your need to watch cat videos on YouTube at 3 a.m. I pledge to treat you with caring, compassion, and respect, even when you curse my undisciplined dog or give me stinkeye over my neurotic need to plan and fret about every insignificant detail of our lives together (including this wedding).

Most of all, I promise to love you always. Let’s grow old disgracefully together.

Gentleman Friend's Vows:
Tawna, I take you to be nothing other than yourself, loving you for who you are and for what you add to my life and to the world at large. I choose you as my wife, in spite of your bad driving, your chronic worrying, and your incessant chatter first thing in the morning while I’m still trying to figure out who the hell you are. I offer my imperfect self to you, relying on my strengths and my love to support you and all your dreams, to respect your unique quirks and talents (and there are many), and to listen when you need to be heard… unless I’m cognitively incapable. I’ll even ask you on occasion, “Is there more?” I believe in you and I trust what our future will bring us.

I promise to remain a loving and supportive father to Cedar and Violet and your loving and supportive partner in parenthood, so we may foster a home that is compassionate to all its occupants—human, cat, dog, or pets-yet-to-be-acquired—a home full of unconditional love and jokes that make us nearly pee ourselves and/or blush. You are an outstanding role model for the kids.

I pledge to love you tirelessly through the perfect times and the lame-ass times, and through all the changes we’ll encounter, forever giving thanks that we found each other. I promise to be a source of empathy and to care for you always, even when you wake me at 6 a.m. asking for help plotting out a sex scene in one of your books. I vow to sing songs for you, wash the dishes, reach things on high shelves, and touch you with these hands.

Most of all, I promise to love you, always. I am proud to have you as my wife. I am the luckiest. Let’s grow old disgracefully together.

I could go on and on about the symbolism in our rings, or the adorable toast my 8-year-old stepdaughter surprised me with, but how about we just move on to one more piece of business?

You might have to click that to make it show up in a readable size, but yes, that's an announcement from Publisher's Marketplace about a new book deal. That's the other thing that's been keeping me kinda busy these last couple months, and will continue to do so as I scramble to make my November deadline.

So that's what's new with me. What's new in your life? Please share in the comments! And pass that champagne, will ya?

Sorry I haven't been around much, but I swear I have a good excuse

Guess what's happening in 9 days?

Win an awesome necklace and free pubic lice

Last week I told you how I accidentally wrote myself into my new book, Fiancée for Hire.

I figure I've already earned myself some loony bin points for that, so I may as well go all out and start wearing articles of my heroine's clothing. This lacy thong is surprisingly comfortable.

Those of you who've read Fiancée for Hire in the last week know Kelli wears a special necklace bearing a paw print charm and a pearl that belonged to her grandmother. It looks sorta like this:

I just tried to take a picture of myself wearing it and ended up with a series of cleavage shots not suitable for sharing on a blog. Also, note to self: put on a bra to write blog posts.

Anyway, Kelli loves her necklace and so do I. We love it so much that we want to give one away to a reader. Here's how you enter to win:

1. Post in the comments here or email me at tawnafenske at yahoo dot com telling me you purchased Fiancée for Hire. You get one entry for that. I won't make you prove it, but I'm pretty sure the universe will strike you with a raging case of pubic lice if you lie to an author about buying her book.
2. Leave an honest review of the book on Amazon or Barnes and Noble. You get another entry for doing this. Again, tell me in the comments or send me an email about it. Did I mention the pubic lice?
3. Are you on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, Instagram, or some other social media platform that's too cool for me to know about it? Take to the interwebz and give a shout-out for the book. You get one entry for doing that, but we'll make it two if you include a buy link so lazy people don't have to work too hard to find the book.

Tally up all your entries and tell me about it in the comments or an email. I'll draw a winner on Monday, August 4.

Oh, and if you really want the necklace but don't feel like jumping through all those hoops, the amazing LuLish Design created a handy page where you can just buy the damn thing for $25 with free shipping. Here's a link.

And here's a non-cleavage shot I finally managed to take after putting on a bra and a shirt and holding the camera out instead of shooting straight down at my flesh dumplings. Never let it be said I won't go the extra mile for you guys.

Reason #7806 I probably need therapy

Today is release day for my new book, Fiancée for Hire. It's only 99-cents all week, and can I confess something to you about it? 

I desperately, urgently want this to be my first book to hit the USA Today or New York Times bestseller list.  I've never publicly said that about any of my books for fear of jinxing myself, but I figure I'm turning 40 in a few weeks and this is my chance to put my ultimate birthday fantasy out there in the universe.

So why this book?

Here's where I have to make another confession:

Several months ago, I sent an early draft of Fiancée for Hire to my agent so she could review it before I sent it along to my editor. Amid her notes about assorted typos and character issues was the following paragraph:
 

So during the Williams Sonoma registry discussion (hilarious, btw), all of a sudden it hit me why I love this so much and love Kelli – she's totally you!!!! I feel like I'm usually good at spotting lines etc. where I hear my clients speaking in their own voice instead of the character. Certain phrases or whatever that they use. And of course this scene felt so you. But then I realized Kelli is totally you!!! All of it!! With the animals and the sex jokes etc. She just feels the most like you of any character I think you've ever written. To me at least. In a good way. :)

The moment I read that paragraph, I pushed back in my chair and sat blinking at the computer screen, too dumbfounded to do anything else. Holy shit. She's right. I wrote myself into my own damn book.

Is there a special kind of therapy for that?

Dr. Emily, my real life veterinarian (who
bears a striking physical resemblance to Kelli).

Obviously, I'm not suggesting I'm a short feisty, curly-haired veterinarian (though for the record, Kelli's physical appearance is the same as my veterinarian in real life). To the best of my knowledge, neither my vet nor I had a sad childhood growing up in foster care. 

I'm also not suggesting my perfect love match is a stoic former Marine with control issues (though for the record, I'll admit there are echos of my gentleman friend in Mac's bedroom talk – sorry, honey). 

But you know how you talk about characters having a certain "voice?" Yeah. Kelli's is mine. Or mine is hers, I'm not actually sure.

Did I mention the therapy thing?

Just to give you some examples, here's a classic Kelli monologue from the opening scene in Fiancée for Hire when Kelli gets tired of being polite to a customer trying to hit on her at her veterinary office.

Kelli jerked back, cherubic smile faltering. “I may look like a Cabbage Patch doll, but you should know I have a pump-action shotgun, a black belt in karate, and a vibrator that doubles as a jackhammer,” she replied, her voice still soft and bright. “If you’re not out of my office in ten seconds, I will demonstrate all three on you, starting from the bottom of the list and working my way up.”

Here's another excerpt of a conversation between Kelli and Mac's sister, Sheri (Kelli's best friend):

“My brother has spent his whole life making himself an emotional iceberg so his feelings don’t get in the way of his ability to protect people," Sheri said. "It’s kind of an art form with him.”

“Beats the hell out of papier-mâché,” Kelli replied, shifting a little in her lounge chair as she filed that insight away in her mental Rolodex. “Anyway, things are going well. Great, I mean. Really great. Mac is amazing.”

God, she sounded like an idiot. On the other end of the line, Sheri was quiet.

“You’re not falling in love with him, right?” she asked. “I mean, you’ve always had a thing for my brother, but I thought it was just lust, and—”

“Don’t worry,” she said, licking her lips and infusing her voice with her normal, lighthearted  perkiness. “I only do lust. Not love. That’s why I’m here, right?”

“Right.” Sheri didn’t sound convinced, but she was a good enough friend to let it drop. “Mac called last night. He sounded a little rattled. You must’ve done something to shake up his image of you as sweet, demure, and wholesome?”

Kelli laughed. “I jerked him off in his closet, then let him finger me in a restaurant.”

“That’ll do it. All that within the first forty-eight hours?”

“All that in a two-hour span. I’m nothing if not efficient.”

So there's a little taste of Kelli, which I suppose means I'm giving you a taste of me. Is this getting creepy for anyone else? I probably need to end this post now.

Well, after making one last plea – Fiancée for Hire is only 99-cents all week, and that link right there will take you to where you can buy it for your Kindle, Nook, iPad, or any other eReader on the planet. If you've already bought it for yourself, it makes a lovely (and cheap!) gift.

I promise to use a portion of the royalties for therapy.

Judging others for what's in their mouths and hands

It happened again last week. I wrapped my lips in a tight "o" around the slender shaft, sliding it back along my tongue as I gently began to suck.

Then a colleague walked through the door.

"You really shouldn't drink so much soda," he said, pointing a finger my McDonald's cup. "You've got a giant Coke in your hand every time I come here. That stuff'll kill you."

I took one last slurp from my straw and set down the cup. "How nice of you to be concerned with what goes in my mouth."

He blanched and stammered while I sat there deciding whether to explain what I'm about to explain to you.

Take a look at the cup. Notice anything special about it?

Check out the ad for the Olympics. No, the 2014 games aren't still going on in Sochi, and no, my local McDonald's isn't cycling through beverageware that's four months old. I've been using that cup for ice water since February because I like the size and shape of it. The base fits nicely in my hand, the straw is handy for sipping as I work, and it holds a lot of water so I don't need to interrupt my workday for refills (only for frequent pee breaks, which probably defeats the purpose).

So yes, I visit McDonald's infrequently enough that I'm still packing around a four-month-old cup. Also for the record, the cup originally held unsweetened iced tea, not soda. I don't actually drink soda.

But why did I feel an urge to explain any of that to anyone? Do I really care if someone judges me based on my beverage choices?

Part of me wants to roll my eyes and raise my plastic cup, sniffing with disdain as I inform you that it's none of your business if I drink Coke or vodka or motor oil during my workday, nor is it anyone's business what vessel I swill from as I do it.

But then I have to admit what I do every two months when a board meeting rolls around and it's time for the marketing team to give presentations to our board of directors. I leave the McDonald's cup in my office. I grab a plain glass from the cupboard in the break room and I sit there in my ironed blouse and grownup pencil skirt using professional words like "return on investment" and "user engagement" instead of "sweater potatoes" and "meat popsicle," and I sip from my perfectly neutral glass of ice water.

Why do I do that? Why do any of us do that, whether we're hiding a fast food cup or the cover of a smutty novel?

I think about this a lot as an author of risqué romantic comedies. Countless times I've been hired to to teach workshops on social media for authors or brought in as part of a panel of authors reading excerpts at reader events. After the speaking part is done and authors have been herded back to our book-selling stations, someone will approach my table with a sheepish look.

"I don't think I could be seen carrying around a book with a shirtless man on the cover," the reader will whisper, nodding at my books as though I've stashed packets of crack inside each. "I really liked your talk, though, and your books sound hilarious."

These are often the same people laughing their asses off as I read excerpts from the Newlywed Game scene in Making Waves or the diaper drama scene in Marine for Hire. But the thought of actually purchasing my book or being spotted with it in public? Well, that's going a little too far.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not bitter about the lost sales. I know plenty of these folks go home and buy a book online for their eReaders, hiding it like a Penthouse magazine tucked inside Better Homes and Gardens. I also recognize that my books aren't for everyone, and I don't expect every member of the public to line up at my front door to buy one (though that would be really freakin' cool, wouldn't it?)

I guess when it comes down to it, I wish more of us cared less what other people think about our choices in beverages, books, cars, homes, hairstyles, and sex toys. I wish I cared less, honestly. Maybe that's something I ought to work on.

What are your thoughts on the way we judge each other for lifestyle choices or reading materials? Please share!

And please excuse me for a moment while I refill my McDonald's cup. The board meeting's over, right?