When Denise Rossetti was a little girl, she had an aunt who would tell her the most wonderful fairy stories - all her own creation. Denise grew up, as little girls do, but the love of stories has never left her. She loves happy endings, heart-pounding adventure and the eventual triumph of good over evil. All hail the guys in the white hats, she says - unless the ones wearing black are more...um... interesting?
Denise lives in a comfortable, messy old house in the Australian suburbs and keeps busy writing erotic romance for Ellora's Cave. She tends to wave her hands around a lot, which can be unfortunate if the tale she's telling happens to have explosions in it!
Christmas is such a family time, isn't it? With everything that implies, all the joy and sadness, all the laughter and angst. When we were first married, we didn't bother with a tree—not until the year I fell pregnant. Then we got one! Plastic of course, I couldn't cope with drooping branches when the temperatures are in the nineties! (Not very housewiferly, I'm afraid. If that's a word.)
Every year, I've wrangled the kids into a photo opportunity in front of that plastic Christmas tree. The sequence starts with a little bub rolling around on the rug all mixed up with the presents. It continues this year with two beautiful young people, both their heads higher than the angel on the top. Let's face it, they're taller than me, let alone the poor tree! My babies…
I'm getting all sentimental and soppy, but I reckon it goes with the Christmas territory. I've been sitting here remembering the laughter and the love. Every family has its Christmas stories. We all sit around the table and play "remember when?" It's part of the glue that keeps families together.
There was the year my mother used a can of black cherries on the pavlova. That's a yummy Australian desert – frothy egg white meringue gooey stuff and sugar and fruit on top. (You can tell I'm an eater, not a cook.) The whole thing went blue, BRIGHT blue. I can still see my Mum and my sister leaning on the fridge literally crying with laughter. We ate it, of course. *grin*
Then there was the time my sister gave my stepdad (who's a terrible hoarder) a pretty little box labelled "Pieces Of String Too Short To Be Of Use". You should have seen his face!
On one never to be forgotten occasion, my mother drank a whole glass of sparkling burgundy, very quickly. Nothing remarkable in that, it was a hot day. But my Mum is a little lady and she rarely touches alcohol. After about five minutes, she said, very quietly, "I feel a little tired. I'll just…go and…lie down…for a bit." Whereupon she wandered away and wasn't seen again for four hours.
I'd love to hear your funniest Christmas story. A free download of Gift of the Goddess if you can make me laugh out loud. Two prizes of a full colour oversized postcard of Mr Gorgeous (aka the cover of Gift of the Goddess) for snickers and giggles. He's hot, hot HOT! (And on my website—go see!)
Oh yes! And a postcard to the first nice person who posts a pavlova recipe for our overseas readers. A cook I ain't. But my husband is. *evil grin*
And BTW, because humour relaxes me, I write a free serial about a girl called Alice for my newsletter readers. But I post chapters on my website too. It's funny, but it IS naughty!
Right. Um. I think that's all. Shut up, Denise.