There is a certain tension that comes with driving on a road carved into the edge of a steep, rocky mountain.
The trek begins, on Pacific Coast Highway, A.K.A. Hwy 1.
My big Hollywood day.
A picnic on the beach, and more pitching practice.
A day in which I throw myself on the pitch-coaching mercies of Harry and Susan Squires.
Where I get intimate with Capt’n Handsome.
Once upon a time, a man named Clark and his romance author wife Lisa took a walk down an alley in their neighborhood, and over a rotting fence they saw a sad little speedster lurking in the bushes.
I’ve written every sex scene from a seductive bout of hand-holding to a Roman orgy, and along the way I’ve learned a lot about how to do it. Here are my three secrets to writing erotica.
What would YOU do with 23 mannequin hands?
Heading for home, through a ghost town, an art museum in the middle of nowhere, and the Cascades.
In which I rant about citrus presses, and the shape of my head.
William Shatner, the oddities of family ties, and more talk about red hair.
Old hat-new hat, Back to the Future, and some chocolate port.
In which we steal a Model T hood from a judge. (Almost, sort of.)
Wishes made on silver ribbons, 107 degrees, a spotty dog, and a trove of treasures both automotive and sartorial.
