Posts Tagged ‘Betsy taylor’

MaryJanice Davidson’s Top Five What The *!@#? Moments from the Undead Series

Undead and Done

Ah, MaryJanice Davidson, how we love your books, your humour, your Betsy and Sink Lair, your love of shoes . . . Christine Feehan had it right when she called you, ‘Wicked fun.’ The Undead series, which comes to a close with Undead and Done (see what she did there), has made us laugh, fall in love, laugh some more and go: ‘What!?!?!?!!!!!’. And for the big closing number, plus #WelcomeToMyWorld, MaryJanice is sharing the moments when the Undead crew blew even her out of the water. Warning, if you’re new to the series, there are a couple spoilers here, plus read all the way to the bottom to discover our special deal.

 

What, just five? I could have done thirty of these. Literally thirty, I try to put at least two in every book, and this last book is #15, Undead and Done, and 15 x 2 = 30, so when you pick up one of my books, you get a lot of laughs and also math. But in the interest of time, and spoilers, here are my top five. Also: spoilers! (Seriously, spoilers. Do not cry to me about spoilers after you read an article whose entire purpose is to discuss spoilers. I will lose it. LOSE IT.)

  • Elizabeth “Betsy” Taylor wakes up dead. Yep, things got busy quickly in the very first book, chapter one, page one: a recently fired administrative assistant wakes up as the queen of the vampires. She was different pretty much immediately, and not just because she loved shoes and hated tact: she wasn’t bitten and turned, she was run over (by a Pontiac Aztec) and woke up in the funeral home. And wasn’t happy about it – besides the obvious, she was wearing someone else’s knock-off shoes and terrible make-up (fair-skinned blondes can’t pull off orange blush). Things went downhill from there.

 

  • Sinclair is the Book of the Dead. Eric Sinclair, king of the vampires, is devoted to Betsy and though it was love at first sight for him, it took his bride a while longer to come around. (That whole “you tricked me into marrying you, asshat!” thing, doncha know.) And the Book of the Dead is this terrible book accurately professing the future of vampires in general and Betsy in particular. Not only can Betsy not get rid of the thing (she pitched it into the Mississippi River; UPS brought it back), she goes temporarily insane if she reads it too long (like DVR instructions) and it’s made of human skin, written in blood. We find out when Betsy ends up in the future that not only is Horrible Future Betsy running the world 500 years from now, she’s the author of The Book, and it’s written on Eric Sinclair’s skin. And speaking of time travel . . .

 

  • Betsy accidentally changes the timeline. Our girl wasn’t having any of that “turning my husband into a creepy gross book sometime between the present and five centuries from now” nonsense and somehow (even she’s vague on the details) changed the timeline so it wouldn’t happen. When she got back to her present, her previously unhappily single best friend was living with a cop and joyfully pregnant with twins, and Christian Louboutin never existed in this timeline. Paradise on the one hand, agony on the other. And speaking of agony . . .

 

  • Betsy kills the devil. So, there’s that. Also, Betsy’s sister is the Anti-Christ. Ooh, and her roommate Marc was an evil vampire in the future, but a suicidal zombie in the new-and-improved timeline present. It was a whole thing. Several things, in fact. And speaking of several things . . .

 

  • Betsy becomes the new devil (or as her name tag proclaims her, “Hello, my name is Satan 2.0“), and the Mall of America is the new Hell. Because when you’re out of work, sometimes you have to take someone else’s job, I guess?

 

These five things all took place between books 1 and 14, so you know what that means: that despite all the above insanity, there’s still more to come in the final book, Undead and DoneWhat? You didn’t think I’d save some of the best stuff for last?

Undead and Done is out now:

Kindle: http://amzn.to/2eDgHi9

Kobo: http://bit.ly/2dCKKnC

iBooks: http://apple.co/2f8zLro

Google Play: http://bit.ly/2eBlxgC

 

Plus, did you know that we’ve also published MaryJanice’s new series Danger, Sweetheart, as well as her Fred the Mermaid series and that the first book in that series, Sleeping with the Fishes is just £1.99 in the UK for the week?

Kindle: http://amzn.to/2f00RS8

iBooks: http://apple.co/2eJH8B0

Kobo: http://bit.ly/2f04bN3

Google Play: http://bit.ly/2enA1DP

 

 

MaryJanice Davidson is a proud Cumberbimbo!

 I AM A PROUD CUMBERBIMBO

by

MaryJanice Davidson, ‘Proud Cumberbimbo’

***

I love England.  Great Britain, I mean.  Um, that place on the other side of the ocean that isn’t America.  No, not Australia.  (Though I think Australia’s terrific, too.)  I love it for reasons any sane, right-thinking individual loves it:  the Tudors (the actual family, not the Showtime show), high tea, low tea, universal health care, crisps, chips, the currency, the accents, their tolerance of Americans, Benedict Cumberbatch.

Yeah.  Benedict Cumberbatch.  Or, as we say in Minnesota, oofta.  Because the man is the sexiest weird-looking guy since Matt Smith.  (Mr. Smith has a box for a head.  I’m sorry.  You know it’s true.)

Come on.  You’ve noticed.  My sweet, sweet Benedict is not conventionally attractive.  He’s not conventionally anything.  Google “Benedict Cumberbatch” and “otter” and then tell me I’m wrong.  (“You’re wrong.”  “Shut up.”)

From the top of his thick, dyed dark hair (under which, he’s a natural redhead!  Zow!) to the bottom of his size whatever feet (who cares?  I’ve never been into feet.  I’m not sure he has feet), and everything in between, he’s weirdly hot.

And that neck.  At casual glance, it looks about twenty inches long.  (I’m a freakish six feet tall myself, and I write about vampires.  So I think about necks and legs.  And Benedict is 45% neck and 55% legs.)

And the voice.  Sweet Mother of God, the voice.  It’s been described as a jaguar trapped in a cello.  If anything, that’s underselling it.  Like Americans aren’t a sucker for a posh accent anyway?  (We are.  We’re accent whores.  It’s disgusting.  We’re disgusting.)  I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again:  oofta.  Gotta love a guy who plays a dragon, and they barely have to fiddle with his actual voice to make him sound like a sexy, smoky dragon.

Which reminds me, he even makes smoking look hot.  And it’s not!  Health issues aside, the smell and the nicotine stains aside, the tiny burns all over various outfits aside, my dad smoked for thirty-some years.  No one grows up watching their dad smoke and thinks, “Day-amn!  That is hot!”  But Benedict pulls it off.

And the talent.  All of the above would be terrific on its own, but the guy has severe acting chops.  He’s like Gary Oldman; he sort of disappears into his roles.  He’s been Van Gogh and a dragon and a genetically manipulated warlord and Sherlock Holmes and Stephen Hawking and Frankenstein and Hamlet.  It’s a good thing I’ve got a crush on the man, or I’d probably want to kill him.  It’s pretty unfair; he’s the whole package.  The whole smoking long-legged talented deep-voiced redheaded package.

Even when he’s playing a complete douchelord (see:  Atonement, Star Trek) you can’t take your eyes off him.  Proof of my devotion:  I was into him waaay before the world suddenly decided he was delicious.  BBC’s Sherlock did it for me.  (Oh, man, did Sherlock do it for me.  Also I might obsessively read Sherlock fan fic.  Don’t judge.)  I essentially went from, “So many channels and nothing on, maybe I’ll bake something inst—oh my God who is that?”

After gorging on Sherlock’s first two seasons, and brownies, I started tracking down his body.  Of work, I mean, his body of work.  (Awesome thing #232 about being a writer: this counts as research.  It counts as work, even!)  Atonement, Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, Amazing Grace, etc., a lovely list of “work”, all laid out nice and neat thanks to the good people at Wikipedia.

Then, the most wonderful news of my life (after “It’s a girl!” in 1995 and “It’s a boy!” in 1999, and “The bakery’s going to be open on Sundays now!” in 2011), my man Cumberbatch was going to be in Star Trek: Into Darkness.  And he was glorious, as I knew he would be.  The bulk!  The brain!  The lone tear tracking down a sculpted cheek as he talked about losing his people!  The bulk!  The trash-talking of Spock!  Listen:  I’ve been a Trekkie for decades.  My husband and I used to call in sick so we could see the earliest show whenever a new movie was out, that’s the measure of our geekiness, but if there were any characters besides Khan in Into Darkness, I didn’t notice.  (There was a captain, I guess, and that woman from The Losers, and the guy from Sean of the Dead, maybe?  Who cares.)

All this to say, I’m crushing on a man I’ve never met.  So much so that I dedicated my latest book, Undead and Unwary, to the magnificent son of a bitch.  (My husband is a very understanding man, to wit:  “Hey, if you think you can get him, go for it.  Maybe come back in time for our son’s graduation?”)  Why?  Because I have the best job in the world:  writing stories about fantastic things happening to ordinary people.  Because I’m lucky enough to have readers all over the world, and am determined to share with them the joys and sorrows of being a Cumberbimbo.  And because whenever a settled forty-something wife and mother feel like a teenager again, it’s worth noting, not least because reminders that unexpected thrills lurk are never a bad thing.

 

Undead and Unwary is out now on Entice! Benedict Cumberbatch is out now somewhere in the world! GO FIND BOTH!