The Case of the Wicked Tattooed Author by Fiona McGier

WICKED WEDNESDAY

You are in for a treat, Readers. My guest, Fiona McGier, had me laughing three sentences into her post. Enjoy this delightfully Wicked Wednesday read.

Wicked Wednesday. What does that mean to me? I've been told I'm a wicked woman because I've got a lot of tattoos--12, to be exact--counting the ones that got worked on twice as 2 each. I've been getting ink done since the late 70's, when the only females who got them were hookers and Cher (then married to Gregg Allman, a multi-inked man, who sang to her, "I'm no angel.") Mom ran into the bathroom and swore in Polish for a while when I first showed it to her. Dad said, "Oh great! Now when we find your decapitated corpse in the gutter, we'll be able to identify you." Sigh. I was an English major taking honors classes to become a high school teacher. I don't know how that translates to dead in a gutter, but you know the way parents can be. My husband got his first of two, on his 40th birthday. I threw him a huge surprise party. When his mom saw it, she turned to me, saying, "This is all your fault, right?" I pretended to wipe at a tear in my eye, and hugged her, thanking her. When she asked what I was doing, I explained, "Do you know how long it's been since any woman told me I was bad for her son? You make me feel young again!" Everyone, including her, laughed.  Now that our 4 kids are adults, only the 2nd one has 2 tattoos himself. He got his first one when still in college (carrying on the family tradition!) I went with him and he went to my guy, so I got a small one in solidarity with him--a real mom/boy bonding thing. LOL! But my oldest son asked me after my last one, "Are you done mutilating yourself yet, Mom?" Some people just don't understand. Some think they're wicked. I think they're a fun way to show the world what is important to me--which is my family. 

I also love dark chocolate with a fervor I usually reserve for sex. So when I discovered Diana's Banana Bites, which are slices of banana coated in luscious dark chocolate, then frozen, I realized my dreams had come true! No longer do I have to feel wicked guilty about eating a dessert. Bananas supply needed potassium, right? So they're good for me. YUM!

In my latest book, Learning to Love, Elena needs to escape from the hell her life has become, on the dying planet Earth. Single young, hopefully fertile females are not allowed to board the starliners that travel between planets. But she saves money in cash-chits, and offers bribes, including to the young man who books her passage on the starliner. She offers him a variation of sex that as an unmarried man, would be illegal if they were to be discovered--in the prologue! But the first chapter details how the passengers are put into suspended animation for the 10 years of travel they'll be doing, to get to Mesa Verde, one of the first planets to be colonized years ago. And from then on, Elena is a model of decency, hoping that no one could follow her, so she'll be safe. So was she wicked? Or was she just doing whatever she had to do? That's the way I look at it. And if eating the native plants from her new home planet will turn her skin green? She doesn't care--it's a small price to pay for safety and sanity.

Blurb: 

Elena, an English teacher, ran away from her life on the dying planet Earth, to accept a job on Mesa Verde. Dakota, in her first class, knew she was the woman for him. She rebuffs him because she has a secret. Can Dakota convince her to accept his love? And can he help her stay on the planet when an earther with a grudge pursues her?:

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