Welcome, my darlings. Today I’m very lucky to be joined by the beautifully quirky Jennifer Stevenson, author of the new series, Coed Demon Sluts
Twenty-five or more years ago, I was born under a cabbage leaf into a family of nature worshippers. They were low-key about it. No robes, no chanting, no burnt offerings. My family joined the Sierra Club, the Save-The-Dunes movement, and the Prairie Path movement long before it was fashionable to be green. My grandma taught my brother and me how to identify poison ivy and what woodland berries were or weren’t good to eat. My grandfather told me what to do when a critter that might be rabid comes near. My mom made jelly out of wild grapes, black raspberries, and crab apples, using chokecherries to make them gel. We kids blackened our hands hammering open the walnuts for her homemade conserve. My brother was the rockhound; I was the bird nut.
Now I live in the city with conveniences like sushi and live theatre. But I haven’t forgotten birds, or wild grapes, and I don’t try to pet the coons and possums that raid my garbage cans.
My neighbors worry about school quality, McMansions going up everywhere, rising real estate taxes. I pay attention to how many pairs of nesting crows I can spot–more and more every year since the great West Nile plague of 2001, thank goodness. I worry about emerald ash borers, and my heart pinches whenever I see a big fresh stump. I plant crocus and aconite and scylla and snowdrops in my lawn because winter is too darned long.
I think the bare trees, especially big ones like cottonwoods and elms, look like the nervous system inside our brains. What if trees are the earth’s brains? As buds start greening up the tips of all those big bare trees, I imagine the thoughts nature is having with all that quickening leaf. Sap running faster. I feel the heartbeat of the world.
- NEW RELEASE -
Coed Demon Sluts
Amanda's story came out very different from the first three books.
Amanda is a more laid-back person than anxious, conformist Beth, raging drama queen Jee, or teenager-under-fire Melitta.
Early in Amanda's book, the recruiter for hell tells Cricket, the co-star of the book, that Amanda "needs help leaving the nest." But what nest? Cricket is the happiest, kindest, nosiest, most manipulative Jewish grandma who ever turned into a coed demon slut and undertook to bring a silent Army brat out of her shell.
Things I had to learn for Amanda's story:
- The names and dress codes of the nine circles of hell
- How basketball is played, and how a bunch of succubi can screw that up
- When the "don't ask, don't tell" rule started in the US military and when it stopped
- Carryout menus for five well-known Chicago restaurants
- How to grow and harvest marijuana
- Yiddish for "testicles" (it's "beystim")
Amanda's story didn't crash through my head like the first three did. She snuck past me. Cricket is sneaky, but Amanda is slow and steady, like a glacier melting, and she gets there with grace, glory, and a fair amount of dog hair.
Buy Link - iTunes
Cricket is ninety-eight, married and widowed three times, with countless grand- and great-grandkids, and her bucket list is a mile long. Her loved ones want to keep her in a cushy retirement community where nothing bad can happen to her. But Cricket’s not ready to settle into bingo and daytime TV. She still longs for adventure. Delilah’s offer to Cricket: they can walk out that door together, and she never has to come back.
Amanda has worked for hell, a.k.a. the Regional Office, for a decade. She doesn’t eat for days, doesn’t slept for weeks, hasn’t been back to her empty condo in years. In spite of the sexism and the total absence of intramural sports, Amanda is grateful to be numb in Regional Office, until she learns that a succubus team is opening in Chicago. Should she join up, get away from all the chauvinist demon pigs, brave the dangers of field work, and maybe get to organize a women’s softball team?
This odd couple shares a room at the Lair. They set the Regional Office on its ear with history’s first coed demon basketball tournament.
Aren't you tired of doing everything right? Wouldn't you like a second chance to go back and do it wrong? WHAT WOULD YOU DO OVER WRONG IF YOU COULD?
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