Explode any cigars, lately?
I decided to write about the exploding cigars in my books. Not that cigars don’t blow up in life, but when it’s not fiction, it’s just not funny, and these days we need more laughter than ever. My writing is all about fun, laughter, joy, and leaving you with the hope that life will hand you more of the same.
In comedy, exploding cigars are a must. Each scene has to have at least one unexpected explosion, but the more the merrier. Every explosion moves the story humorously forward. In The Kitchen Witch, most of the exploding cigars were the meals my cooking show hostess heroine, Melody Seabright, prepared. And yes, food did actually explode—one time taking the oven door with it. Even the love scenes in my books contain exploding cigars, because, hey, if you can’t laugh while having sex, when can you?
Each of my witchy comedies is more paranormal than the last, by the way. Truth to tell, The Kitchen Witch, was barely paranormal, except in the minds of Melody’s witch-suspecting neighbors, her witchy cooking show, and her witty cooking spells.
I upped the paranormal stakes in My Favorite Witch. Kira, a self-professed witch, kept her magic wand nearby, and well, when the hero first laid eyes on her, he thought she was casting a shrinking spell on her cheating ex’s “cigar”. The explosions in that story varied, from a new hockey playing hunk of a boss on medical leave from the NHL—Kira hates jocks—a murder of crows who fall in love with her and creep the beejeebers out of her, getting locked in a hidden staircase with the hunk, and a snow-bound overnight with a mischievous pee wee hockey team on the very night the witch and jock are determined to score some goals together.
The Scot, the Witch, and the Wardrobe included a century old spell on an exploding cigar of an inheritance—a carousel unicorn—that caused Salem witch in denial, Vickie Cartwright, to dream about the man who was dreaming about her in Scotland. When he arrives on her doorstep, cigars explode all over the place. Their mutual dreams turn erotic with recognition, Vickie’s unknown triplet half sisters arrive, and Rory’s claim to the unicorn, are all unexpected explosions, and when you think there couldn’t be a trick cigar left to blow. Bam. There it is.
In Sex and the Psychic Witch, my newest and most paranormal comedy, Harmony Cartwright (one of Vickie’s half sisters) gets a psychic call to a castle. The minute she walks in, things seem to quiet down, because Harmony brings peace, but after King hires her, all bets are off. An angry ghost explodes cigars at every turn: toy soldiers shoot real bayonets; Harmony and King fall into an underground cavern with no way up the slippery slope; the past explodes in King’s face. Harmony reads his fantasies and acts them out . . . which scares the beejeebers out of him. More cigars explode in the love scenes in this book than in any other. Oh, and there are more of them, too.
I love exploding cigars. So . . . tell me about the humorous cigars that have blown up in your face. And don’t spare a thought to our blushes if they happened in the sack.
Annette Blair is the National Bestselling author of Sex and the Psychic Witch, first in her Triplet Witch Trilogy, an August paranormal romantic comedy available now. She’s offering three autographed copies of The Scot, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, the book in which the triplets are introduced, to be raffled among those who respond. You must be registered here at Cigars to win. Please visit Annette’s website to read excerpts and stories of her stories.