Erotic Romance Interviews and Stories - Long and Short Reviews

INTERVIEW: NAOMI BELLINA

2012-02-01T04:00:00.002-05:00

Long and Short Reviews is pleased to welcome Naomi Bellina, whose latest book Seducing the Stone is now available. It's a fun story about a fairy, a human, and assorted other creatures. Raya, the fairy, wants a powerful sapphire to take back to her planet and Max needs to keep it on Earth for a private showing. The two have adventures and romance, and there is a surprise ending that Naomi thinks readers will really enjoy. It's a blend of sci-fi, fantasy, action/adventure, and urban fantasy.

Naomi spent most of her growing-up years in St. Louis, Missouri and told me, "I love the fall, the hills, the colors of the trees, the smell of the woods and fires burning. I love hiking trails under tall trees, looking over the river, breathing the fresh air. Awww, now I'm getting all homesick. Oh wait, it's winter. No, I love living in Florida in winter."

She told me that she loves coming up with an exciting plot. Soon after the story starts whirling around in her head, the perfect characters pop up and introduce themselves.

"How do you come up with the titles to your books?" I wondered.

"Lots of whiskey and late nights. No, I'm kidding! That's something else I love to think up, the titles. I keep running words that I want to use over in my mind until something leaps out. I'll even start with A and run through Z on a word I really want to use to make it work. Then, at about 2:00 AM…"

Naomi told me that one of her favorite authors is Janet Evanovich.

"I love her mix of action, romance and humor," she explained. "I try to write with her style of pacing because I think that's so fun to read. She makes it look easy. It's not!"

It's this mix that sets Naomi's work apart from other erotic romance authors. It's her goal for her characters to not only have an adventure, but have fun as well.

"This doesn't mean things don't get dark and scary now and then, but in general, my books are exciting, fun and action-packed," she said.

"What is your work schedule like when you are writing?" I wondered.

"It's very odd. I work my day job by appointment and have same-day and last minute calls as well as cancellations, so I'm never quite sure what my schedule will be. I keep my laptop in my car and make sure to keep the files I'm working on saved on a flash drive so I can use whatever spare time I have to scribble away."

I asked her what she liked to do when she wasn't writing and she said, "Sleep! No kidding, I love to sleep. One of the funniest things I read recently said 'Damn right I'm good in bed; I could sleep all day.' That's me! When I'm terribly wealthy, I'm going to see just how much I can actually sleep before I get bored with it."

"Have you ever eaten a crayon?" I asked.

"Rats, who told? Oh come on, who can resist those beautiful colors, the tantalizing names, the delicious aroma of wax?"

Naomi told me that she doesn’t watch much regular TV, just Netflix and movies. She did start watching Once Upon a Time and was amazed at how frequent and long the commercial breaks were.

"Not to mention booorrrring," she said. "Most of them. There are a few cute, creative commercials. I'm enjoying Being Human on Netflix, but have to wait until my honey notds off because he doesn't like that series."

"What's your favorite meal?" I wondered.

"Believe it or not, I love vegetables. Give me a really good salad bar and I'm in heaven. My honey's mother likes an expensive restaurant, and I think the food is overpriced and underwhelming, so I get the salad bar. Man, is it good! They have caviar, anchovies, and a really fresh, diverse selection of veggies. I could eat that several days a week."

In high school, Naomi was really quiet and only had a few friends. She joined the track team for awhile, but for the most part she hung out with herself.

"I think that's why I like to read so much!" she said. "I've never been a pack animal which works well for me now, since I don't mind going to events by myself. It's nice to have my honey or a girlfriend along, but if I want to do something, I just do it and don't wait for anyone."

She belongs to several groups that work on preventing animal cruelty. It's one issue that really gets her blood boiling.

"There's just no reason to ever, ever hurt an animal," she told me.

"What would we find under your bed?" I asked.

"Dust bunnies. No, by now they are dust werebunnies! Gigantic things. When my cat comes out from under the bed I have to dust him off, poor guy. I actually have a few of those nifty under bed storage boxes. They work great! We don't have basements here, so I have to use every nook and cranny for storage."

Finally, I asked, "What advice would you give a new writer just starting out?"

"Get all set up in advance, so when your book comes out, you're ready to go. Get a website, an email, a blog, and set up ways to track what you've sent. Get organized. Do a lot of research on how to promote books, because you will be doing a lot of that!"

About the Author: Naomi lives in beautiful sunny Florida with the love of her life and a magical black cat. She writes for various fiction and non-fiction markets, but finds she is drawn to erotic romance because her characters insist on canoodling, and sometimes even falling madly in love. So she lets them. Occasionally, however, they go to dark and strange places. She lets them do this also. Most of her stories will surprise readers with unexpected twists and turns, because isn't that what makes life exciting?

Her interests include dancing, hula-hooping, drumming, and creating healthy meals. She takes the opportunity to play, have fun, and indulge in the pursuit of passion whenever possible. She hopes you enjoy her stories and would love to hear from you at naomibellina(at)live(dot)com. Visit her website at www.NaomiBellina.com

INTERVIEW: BOBBI BRATTZ

2012-01-31T04:00:00.004-05:00

Long and Short Reviews is pleased to welcome Bobbi Brattz whose latest book Costa Rican Heat was released in October.

Bobbi's from southern Ontario, Canada, and she says about her home, "Living in the country surrounded by forest makes my writing flow well. The town near where we live is small enough that if we have more than three cars at a four-way stop, it's considered a traffic jam. I love the seclusion."

Bobbi Brattz is actually her pen name—Bobbi from her middle name Roberta. Her last name, Brattz, she said, "Comes from just being a Brat."

I asked Bobbi what she considered the difference between erotic romance, erotica, and pornography.

"Chemistry is what counts!" she explained. "Porn is plain sex with no emotional involvement. Erotica has to do with kinky sex toys and the Kama Sutra, yet still no emotional involvement. Erotic romance is a love between two or more people where there are no holds barred in the bedroom or any location where sex occurs (my favorite scene is in the kitchen on the island with delectable dessert foods including whipped cream! Yummm.) Chemistry, emotions and a willing to please each other on an even basis is important as well. It's no one-night-stand where you never see each other again but a future of love and joy."

I asked her to tell us about Costa Rican Heat.

"Costa Rican Heat was a ball of fun to write. Heroine Jada McKenzie meets her internet pal for the first time, is swept off her feet, and whisked away to Costa Rica, she has no idea she will be the dessert on the menu for two men. Her greatest experience with sex is from watching adult videos.

"Tait Bennett and Constable Mike Turner surprise Jada when they arrive at Tait's home in the hills and soon show her what amazing sex in a menage a trois is all about. It takes a while to convince her because she does her best to escape them pulling all kinds of antics to get away.

"When she falls for them both, she must decide if she wants to stay with them forever more or go back to her humdrum life in Toronto."

Bobbi has another book that Siren Bookstrand has picked up which will release later this year: Hawaiian Triple Heat, part of the Dr. Love Shark series.

"It's volcanic, it's so hot!" she assured me. "Stranded in Hawaii, Rae Hooper finds more excitement that she expects when the infamous Doctor Love Shark helps her out. After suffering for years in a bad marriage, she becomes a sex therapy model in a menage a trois with the doctor and his best friend and her entire life turns upside down.

"Rae must decide if she will forgive and forget being lied to and stay with, or live as a recluse after her sexual encounter goes viral!"

The second book in the series she's planned is called The second one I have planned is called 'The Kegelmeister'.

"Just wait until you get to read about the naughtiness between three reporters at Dr. Love Shark's resort when they try to unearth his sex secrets," she said.

When Bobbi gets an idea for a plot, such as in Costa Rican Heat, she writes out the basics, such as woman bored with her life meets her internet man on a date and is swept away to a tropical island where she finds she's the dessert and two men are the main meal in a ménage a trios. Once that's set, she creates her characters by completing character lists including who they are, what they look like, what their careers are, their biggest challenges, and who the people in their lives are.

"I spend a lot of time doing this so that the characters are in my mind when I bring them to life and tug at your heart strings," she explained. "Everyone loves a bad boy alpha male and a determined alpha female batting heads. The second male is the peacekeeper who usually has a wacky sense of humor to lighten the plot and give you a chuckle."

When Bobbi hits a snag and suffers from writer's block, she takes a step back and work on another WIP (work in progress). She has several of them running around in her head and admits she either has to write them down or lose sleep over them.

"When I do get insomnia, I find that's the best time to write. My mind is clear, there are no distractions, and the peace of the night helps me to focus on the story," she said. "Another trick to overcoming writer's block is to start reading the story from the beginning and edit. This helps to make sure the plot is in order, the characters are showing the correct traits to make them fascinating, and also a great tool to find the tiny errors we tend to make such as spelling and grammar."

Not surprisingly, a good sturdy plot is number one on her list of important details of good writing, she said, with "lots of twists and turns where the heroine or hero have to make near impossible choices, a devious villain or problem to overcome, and lots of yummy nooky-nooky. In the end, the characters should be happy, satiated, and ready for more..."

I asked Bobbi to describe her writing space.

"Have laptop, will travel! I write whenever the urge strikes. My characters take on a life of their own in my mind whether I'm at the doctor's office, sitting at home, sleeping, or anywhere else, believe it or not. If I don't have access to my laptop, I write in point form on my ever-present notepad. Thankfully, no one can read my mind!" she said with a laugh.

"What would you say is your most interesting writing quirk?" I asked.

"I tend to laugh out loud when I have a funny scene going or even cry during the sad parts. My moods are attached to the characters. When I start squirming in my chair, I know for a fact that the scene is perfectly delicious!"

Finally, I asked, "What is your most embarrassing moment?"

"I lived with my roommate when I was eighteen years old. When I got back from my date at a local bar, I jumped in the shower thinking no one was home. The apartment was completely dark and quiet so I opened the bathroom door with all my jewels visible and froze in place when I heard a male voice chuckle and say, 'Hello kitty.' I had to stay in the bathroom for a long time before I got the courage to lift my chin and walk to my room as though no one was there. It was a brave thing to do as I was rather shy back then."

Find the Bobbi online at:

www.Facebook.com/BobbiBrattz

www.BobbiBrattz.com

INTERVIEW: KOKO BROWN

2012-01-10T04:00:00.001-05:00

Long and Short Reviews is pleased to welcome Koko Brown. She has recently published her first self-published title, Player's Ultimatum, this past Thankgsiving. It's landed on All Romance eBooks Top Ten Bestseller List and also made Amazon's Top 100 Kindle List for both erotica and multicultural.

"I’m pretty shocked at the book’s performance since it was initially written four years ago for one of Harlequin’s novel contests," she admitted. "Of course it was way too hot for them, since I really didn’t change any of the love scenes. I also didn’t change the plot which revolves around a woman posing as her gay best friend’s fiancé until he can ink a lucrative football contract with a professional soccer team in Italy."

She is also working on three contracted manuscripts for Ellora's Cave and one for Loose-Id, all sequels to the paranormal romances, Charmed and Forever, I Do, she has published with each publisher.

Koko started writing in 2002, but then took a four year hiatus after the death of her mother.

"I just didn’t feel inspired to write," she explained. "However, I found myself in a new home and town and of course bored out of my mind. So, I picked up my first erotic romance, fell in love with the genre, decided to pen my own and the rest is history."

Koko doesn't have an actual work schedule for her writing, since she still works full-time and doesn't see herself leaving her day job because she loves it.

"I work in tourism so I travel for free all the time and it’s a pretty easy gig so I’m not going anywhere. Therefore, my writing is worked around my day job and my other interests. However, I do have a daily writing goal of 1k words minimum a day."

Because she likes to travel, she tends to visit the cities/countries where her books are based.

"I started this trend when I penned my first and still unpublished novel, Heart of Harlem. I’d been there often as a child, but I made a special trip just to research the area and discover nuances I’d never paid attention to in the past. And it really helped. In my opinion there’s just so much Wikipedia, Map Quest or a Convention and Bureaus website can do for you."

" What are the biggest public misconceptions about erotic romance?" I asked her.

"I think the biggest misconception is that erotic romance doesn’t have any romance or a plot. I would like to think that my books feature a good dose of both. My sex scenes are never integral to the storyline, they only enhance it. And if you were to take them out I think that the story would still be enjoyable."

Kate Hill and Jet Mykles are on her list of favorite erotic authors for the same reason; their sex scenes are hot, but they are secondary to the storyline.

"They both have this great ability to transport the reader to other places," she told me.

One of the most important parts of good writing, for Koko, is good character development.

"If your readers can’t connect with your characters, they’ll either put your book down or forget your book as soon as they're finished," she explained. "Great characters can live on in readers forever and they’ll return to the book time and time again."

When she's writing her own books, an idea is usually sparked first, then she sits down and figures out the plot first, then the characters.

"The plot comes to me fairly easily. I can plot a book from beginning to end in about ten or twenty minutes," she confessed. "If I’m stuck sometimes I will call a critique partner or a fellow author and we’ll have a brainstorm session. Of course, I already have a pretty good idea what I’m going to go with already; I just like to hear other people’s opinion of my plot before I get my elbows dirty. Even though coming up with a plot isn’t that hard for me, does it mean the plot will stay that way during the writing process? Never. I’m a plotter at the beginning of all of my stories, and then I switch gears and become a punster and allow my characters to take over."

"What is the most surprising thing you discovered while writing your books?" I asked. "How many have you written and which is your favorite?"

"The most surprising thing about writing a book is that I finish them," she said. "I have so much going, it's just a task to sit down to write. I’ve written only nine full manuscripts with eight of them actually seeing the light of day. My favorite book would have to be my first novel, Charmed. It’s a vampire romance I wrote in two weeks, while on leave from my former job as a high school American Literature teacher. Player’s Ultimatum is a close second because the hero, Japanese Brazilian soccer player, Paulo Saito, is so arrogant, but devilishly sexy. If you read my reader reviews on Amazon, you’ll see most of them have his name in the title."

On a more personal note, Koko shared with me that as an adult she's not had any embarrassing moment and is very comfortable in her own skin.

"For example, I recently posed for a cover shoot for Ellora’s Cave. Even though there were quite a few people in the room and the male models were deliciously nude and I’m in a state of undress, it felt like another day at the office."

Finally, I asked Koko, "What are the best and worst pieces of writing advice you ever received?"

" I think the best advice would be from Debbie Macomber. She said that in order to get everything we need to get done in life we should set goals and not just long term ones but daily goals as well. I’ve applied this to my writing and I’ve accomplished quite a bit ever since. The worst advice I’d ever received was from the judge of a writing contest I’d entered for a young adult interracial romance I’d penned. Of course, I disregarded everything she said because she wasn’t my market considering one of her comments came off as racist."

Find the author online at www.KokoBrown.net, www.facebook.com/authorkokobrown, or www.kokobrown.spreadshirt.com, a t-shirt shop inspired by her novel Nerds Are Freaks Too)

INTERVIEW: CARLA ANGELA

2012-01-06T04:00:00.001-05:00

Long and Short Reviews is pleased to welcome Carla Angela, whose debut novel Full Exposure is out from Siren-Bookstrand. I asked her to tell us a little bit about her book.

Full Exposure surrounds photographer Lake Silva and her new business venture—taking professional online dating photos. Slick, appealing, and sizzling hot...with Lake behind the camera lens! What Lake doesn’t count on is meeting one male client who stirs up more than just business sense in her.

Carla has wanted to write novels since she was five, but it wasn't considered a typical career path at her school.

"So even though I was whipping out 100-handwritten-page novels as a teen, I never sent them anywhere, and instead went down the more predictable route in writing as a print journalist," she said. "One day though, I hope to bid adieu to the journalism work forever and just focus solely on fiction. That’s the dream!"

Carla didn't start out to write erotic romance, but she's always liked romance and glamour, so it just made sense to her and was a natural progression.

"I’m in a romance writers group and an older woman was talking about how they used to write erotic fiction for fun in their youth, and I thought, ‘Why not give it a go? It’s been around since time began.’ I haven’t looked back since!" she explained.

She also has a chick-lit manuscript. I asked her about the differences.

"I guess the difference with chick-lit and romance is that there are the relationships with other characters in chick-lit that need to be considered, such as, the protagonist’s siblings, parents, friends and colleagues," she said. "Erotic romance is much simpler in that it’s all about the hero and heroine, or two heroes and heroine if it’s a ménage a trois! Erotic romance distils things down to the scenes most people are actually flying through the pages to actually get to."

"What are the biggest public misconceptions about erotica?" I asked her.

"That it’s just porn. Unlike porn though, which often doesn’t require much of a plot (or a good musical backdrop for that matter), characters in erotic fiction must have depth, must grow and must have a real connection with the object of their affection – beyond just sex."

Carla always carries a little notebook with her in her purse, and everyday things will make her pull it out to make notes: from overheard conversations on a bus to an interview she reads in a magazine. Anything can serve as inspiration to her.

"Watch out if you’re a family member or friend of mine as chances are your life events may in some way inspire what happens between my pages!" she warned. "I also love researching subjects online and physically going to places if I can, such as a beekeeper’s place if I’m writing about bees! If I’m writing about exotic locales, it’s always fun to have travelled to them too, of course."

"What does your family think of your writing?" I asked. "Do they read it?"

"My family are used to my crazy creativity! However, I won’t be showing my parents my erotic fiction anytime soon – or my siblings. It’s like an actor having their folks sit in with them at a movie screening during a sex scene. There are just some lines you don’t want to cross with your family. My tamer stuff though, sure."

She told me that the most embarrassing sex scene she's ever written was probably her first one.

"It takes a while to get your head around where all the particular body parts go and what to call them too, so they still sound sexy," she explained. "First one over though, you get over yourself and you’re on your way!"

If she could entertain a character from a book, she wouldn't mind hanging out with Hunter Dex from Full Exposure.

"He has ocean-blue eyes, a tanned, muscular body, plenty of cheek, and a fat wallet to boot. I can imagine things getting pretty saucy at his palatial pad," she said, adding, "Just don’t tell my husband!"

"If you could be anyone you wanted, who would it be?" I wondered.

"A famous novelist, like Sophie Kinsella, because then all I’d have to worry about career-wise is writing books – and I’d even have sold movie rights on a tome. Living the dream!"

On a personal note, if Carla had to pierce a body part, she would choose her bellybutton, even though she has, as she put it, "one of those squeamish bellybuttons that feels funny if you touch it." She still thinks it would look sexy—especially if it were a silver butterfly pendant against tanned skin.

Her favorite foods run to the salty side, because instead of a sweet tooth, Angela has a savory tooth. Some of her favourites are antipasto-type fare, like salami and olives, and she puts lots of lemon and chili on everything. For things a little more healthy, she chooses avocado and mango.

On the other hand, she can't eat any cut of meat that's not the norm, such as kidneys, brains, tongues, and tripe.

"I wouldn’t want to go on Survivor and be dared to eat such stuff," she admitted. "I can guarantee I’d puke."

"What is your most embarrassing moment?" I asked her.

"A bad hairstyle choice in the 90s when I did Princess Leia-style hair buns and added real flowers at school. It didn’t go down so well with my class mates and there was much jeering. I’ve had a much safer ‘do since!"

Finally, I asked Carla, "If you could give a new writer one piece of advice, what would it be?"

"It’s an oldie, but a goodie – keep writing and reading. Expand what you read by joining a book club. Read outside your genre and try new authors as it will make you a better-rounded writer. And write, write, write! Don’t wait for the muse to strike ‘cause it never will – just turn up at the page, even if the laundry pile is growing and the carpets need vacuuming. There will always be some excuse. Personally, I’ve found your first book won’t likely be The One (though some authors, of course, have had overnight success). Many say you can often strike it lucky by about the third manuscript in getting it published. I really believe you need to hone your writing skills and get better at polishing your manuscript within an inch of its life, before you put your material out there to the world. After all, your earlier work may come back to bite you later on – and have you cringing!"

About the Author:

By day, Carla Angela is a freelance journalist in Australia and, in the inky night, an erotic fiction writer. When she’s not tapping away on her keyboard, she loves shopping, socialising, renovating, and listening to music—from 90s R&B to retro 80s. Watching telemovies and obsessing over her star sign are also guilty pleasures. More on Carla Angela can be found at http://www.bookstrand.com/carla-angela or www.CarlaAngela.com. She writes exclusively for Siren-BookStrand. Full Exposure is her first tome.

INTERVIEW: AJ Jarrett

2012-01-02T04:00:00.001-05:00

Long and Short Reviews is pleased to welcome AJ Jarrett, whose debut novel Fate's Second Chance, was released in October by Silver Publishing.

She had never really thought about writing beyond essays she had to do in school; however, she has always loved reading. In fact, she reads more than she watches television.

"Its quite ridiculous at times," she admitted. "In January 2010 I made the decision that I was going to try writing. The ramblings in my mind seemed entertaining enough to me; I thought maybe someone else may enjoy them as well."

I asked AJ how she distinguished between erotica, erotic romance, and pornography.

"That’s tricky; in all honestly everyone’s opinion varies on what the difference is. For me erotic romance is the building of a story with intriguing characters that develop into a loving relationship. Erotica is the actual sex scene the describing of the sexual encounter, not a lot of feelings are spoken, just actions. Pornography is just people having sex. No emotions or strong story line just the sex act. Now this is just my opinion because all three serve a purpose and people should decide for themselves."

She told me that there are many authors who write excellent erotic fiction, but a few she enjoys are Stephani Hecht, Anne Brooke, T.A Chase, G.A. Hauser, J.L Langley, D.J. Manly, R.J Scott, and Gale Stanley.

"As you can see, I could go on forever on the authors I think write excellent erotic fiction," she said."Their ability to paint a picture and pull the reader in is amazing."

If she has to pick one favorite, though, she told me it would be Stormy Glenn.

"Her stories are always so well written and her characters are well developed," she said. "I actually become invested in her characters and feel the same emotions right along with them as they experience hardships and happiness. Her Blaeclaeh Brothers series is one of my absolute favorites.

Good erotic fiction all comes down to character development and the conflict, she believes.

"Without having characters people can relate to, or root for, your audience will lose interest," she explained. "If they can’t come to care for the characters, what is the point in reading about them or if they have sex or not? An entertaining conflict is a major must have. When I read I like to be drawn in and lose myself in the story and I try to accomplish that with my own work."

AJ does most of her research online. She also gets information and inspiration from her own reading.

"That is what is so great about writing in the world of today," she told me. "Everything you need to know can be found in just one click."

" What does your family think of your writing?" I asked. "Do they read it?"

"My family is very supportive but they do not read my work. It doesn’t bother me they are allowed to have their preference on what they read. I haven’t had any negative feedback from my family they just say they are proud of me and think it’s really great that I’m doing what I love. Personally I couldn’t ask for a more supportive family."

AJ admitted to me, with a laugh, that all the sex scenes she writes are embarrassing to her.

"Seriously, though, I’m really shy when I write a sex scene. Because as the author you have to dig deep and describe the physical and the emotional aspects of the act. Even though these characters are people I’ve created out of my own mind it still puts me on an intimate level with talking and describing their love lives. Plotting and writing of these characters is a process and in my mind they become as real as anybody else I’d meet on the street, so when I’m writing a love scene I feel like a fly on their wall invading their special moment. Makes me blush."

On a more personal note, I asked AJ, "If you had to pierce a body part, what would you pierce and why?"

"I would pierce my nipples. And the why is because that is what my husband wants me to get done next. Hell, I’m a woman. Any time the chance to get jewelry comes up, I’m all for it."

"What about piercing makes it sexy?"

"It all depends who the piercing is on if it’s sexy or not," she explained. "Like my husband-- I would so not be turned on by him getting anything pierced. He’s too straight-laced, and it wouldn’t fit his character. A sexy thing about body piercing is that it can add to your sex play and arousal. Win win for everyone."

For eating off another person's tummy (or any other body part for that matter) she chooses "hot fudge and hot fudge. Chocolate makes everything better."

I asked her to share with us her most embarrassing moment.

"My most embarrassing moment would have to be when I was in high school. I was a cheerleader and we would wear our uniforms on game days. I went to English class and when I sat down my skirt got caught on the back of my chair. So through the whole class my ass was exposed. Granted I was wearing the little cover-ups that go over your underwear but still for a teenage girl so embarrassing."

AJ's favorite food is, hands down, ice cream. It doesn't matter what the temperature is outside, she loves her ice cream, especially mint chip. She's also a fan of Pepsi as opposed to Coke, saying that she finds Coke more bitter than Pepsi. She's a self-proclaimed "soda snob," saying, "When I can't get a Pepsi, I whine about it."

Her favorite letter is "T."

"I’m going to get all mushy here but that is the beginning letter to my husband’s name and our four children’s names," she explained. "They're my biggest supporters and fans. I even have the letter T tattooed on the back of my neck."

If she's not writing, you can find her reading and, when she's not reading, she's normally cleaning house.

"Being the mother of four children keeps me busy," she admitted. "My husband is very helpful so the house work is split evenly except the dreaded bathrooms. I feel like I spend half my life cleaning the bathrooms. Glamorous I know."

Finally, I asked, " If you could give a new writer one piece of advice, what would it be?"

"Not to give up. As an author you can’t let rejections or bad reviews determine your fate. Rejections are going to happen at one time or another; that’s just the nature of the business. You are your biggest fan. If you think you can, then you will succeed."

About the Author:AJ Jarrett currently lives in the Midwest with her husband and four children. A lover of M/M romances she has started writing her own stories for others to enjoy. She is currently published through Silver Publishing and her first release, Fate’s Second Chance, is the first in the Twist of Fates series. When she is not chasing around her kids she can be found sitting on the couch with her trusted laptop giving life to the voices in her head.

Keep up with AJ on herblog

Interview with Laura Kaye

2011-12-17T04:00:00.001-05:00

Whipped Cream is pleased to welcome Laura Kaye, whose newest erotic romance, Just Gotta Say, was released the end of September. She also has a new book scheduled to come out in February from Harlequin Nocturne Craving, In the Service of the King.

Laura has been a writer her entire life. She's a historian by training and says, "Writing is the language of history."

She's published two books and lots of articles in her field.

As far as fiction, however, even though she avidly wrote fiction as a teenager, she didn't rediscover her passion for stories until a few years ago.

"Weird but true story: I had a minor head injury on July 4, 2008, went through several weeks of severe migraine-type headaches, but once I started feeling better in August, I was overcome with the desire to write," she explained. "I began plotting out one story, got about 20 pages written, when the story for Forever Freed slammed into my head fully formed and demanded my attention. I had the first draft of that novel, 50,000 words longer than the published version (which stands at 95K) before November. And the ideas, along with the compulsion to write, have been nonstop ever since."

Laura told me there is definitely a difference between erotica, erotic romance, and pornography.

"Erotic romance, which I write, must combine prominent romantic emotional connection with the erotic elements," she explained. "Erotic romance is primarily romantic storytelling where the sex and eroticism are central to the plot. In erotica, the sex and eroticism are the primarily focus and romantic elements aren’t required. Erotica tells a story but doesn’t require a happy ending or even a happy-for-now ending. I would argue most erotica is written to arouse women, while most pornography is written or filmed to arouse men. (It’s interesting, for example, that Ellora’s Cave is coming out with a special Erotica for Men line, which illustrates my point.) I would argue that most pornography cares little about relationships or storytelling, which is why the filmed versions usually lack dialogue and the written versions often do little to develop characters. So, while all three have as a fundamental purpose arousing the reader or viewer, they’re quite different in terms of emotional components and storytelling function."

If Laura is not aroused by what she's writing, she assumes readers won't be either.

"I think writing erotic is one of those times when, as the writer, you have to feel it; you have to believe in it in order to convey with full force to the reader. Key to truly feeling it is writing what arouses you—and that means putting yourself out there a good bit. Of course, readers will never know if what you’re writing is the result of 'academic research' or actual experience, but I think emotional honesty on the part of the writer is key to selling erotic storytelling."

She approaches research for her books in a couple of different ways. She first thinks it's important to read in the genres you write in, admitting that she's learned a lot from other writers about how to approach storytelling and characterization. She's not much of a plotter, so unless the story she's writing requires world building that has to be thought out ahead of time, she tends to stop and do the research whenever she comes to something in the manuscript she needs to know. She also reads a lot of erotic romance and erotica.

"I also read and watch some porn," she said, "totally for research purposes, y’all, seriously—right, you DO believe me, don’t you???—and find it enhances my ability to visualize and choreograph sex scenes as I’m writing them."

"Is there a boundary between porn and erotic romance that you personally would never cross?" I wondered.

"This is a really interesting question. If it’s asking about specific acts, the answer is no. I’m a very open-minded person and, as long as it’s consensual, there’s not much I would rule out as a boundary I’d refuse to cross. I think just about anything or any type of coupling can be made erotic and arousing if done right," she said. "However, I’m not really interested in writing straight porn that lacks emotional connection, characterization, and plot. And, to tangent just a bit, I think erotic or erotic romance writers do ourselves a disservice if we personally characterize this type of writing as porn or 'smut' or 'lemons' because, as I said before, there is a truly substantive difference."

Laura didn't necessarily start out to write erotica; she set out to write engaging stories about compelling characters—who just happen to have a lot of hot sex.

She laughed and said, "I don’t see myself primarily as an erotic writer, though what I write is erotic, even if it’s listed as paranormal romance or contemporary romance. Only my ménage a quatres story Just Gotta Say, which has been released by Decadent Publishing, was intentionally an erotic romance from conception."

"If you could entertain a character from a book," I asked, "who would it be and what would the evening be like?"

"I’m gonna stick with erotic and romance here in choosing…and my guest for the evening would be Zsadist from J.R. Ward’s Black Dagger Brotherhood series. I am totally in love with this tortured, bad ass, bad boy, leathered, inked, scarred vampire warrior. Phew! With Zsadist, who knows what the evening would be like? I’d imagine a bit awkward at first, since he’s not the most social adept guy, and even a little dangerous, since he’s got something of an anger-management problem, but I’d be hoping and praying the night would end along the lines of the twenty-four-hour needing session he had with Bella. (Oh, right, in my little fantasy session, she doesn’t exist…!) If you don’t know what I’m talking about, you need to go check out Lover Awakened. Nuff said."

Finally, I asked, "What advice do you give authors wanting to write erotica?"

"First, read widely in the genre. Second, write what arouses you and what you know, at least to start. Third, figure out what your stance on word usage is—erotic romance and erotica generally avoid the squicky euphemisms we all love to make fun of! Fourth, never feel you have to write about a practice or fetish that turns you off, because likely you won’t sell it to the reader if you do. Fifth, know that there are readers for every erotic act or fetish, so there’s an audience for whatever it is that DOES turn you on."

You can keep up with Laura on her blog, http://laurakayeauthor.blogspot.com

Friday Spotlight: Changeling Press

2011-12-16T04:00:00.002-05:00

A Very Changeling Christmas -- Ghosts of Christmas Past!

We hope you’ve enjoyed our Very Changeling Christmas treats -- here are a few of my favorites from Christmas Past:

Hot Toddy: Vampire Christmas by Angela Knight

Amelia wakes up with a bow around her neck -- bound and naked under a vampire's Christmas tree!

12 Nights of Christmas: Batteries Not Included by Lexxie Couper

When a sex-bot goes in search of the ultimate orgasm the city isn’t safe. Because if she experiences a multiple orgasm she will detonate –- and take a large chunk of the city with her. Only one person can stop her, and Dr. Black’s computer isn’t playing ball. At all.

Christmas is a time for miracles. Just hope that Santa’s on his way.

Stocking Stuffers: Christmas Cookie by Elizabeth Jewell

Everybody has their Christmas traditions -- even vampires. Every year, Brandt brings Glynna a boy toy for her entertainment. This year it’s Erik, a hot little morsel of a man who just might let Brandt play, too.

Christmas Cookies: Yule Wolf by Kate Hill

The last of his kind, Fenris has spent centuries on the outskirts of modern society -- a werewolf alone and longing for companionship. Finding a wounded mortal in his lair is a temptation he cannot resist, but the man is near death. Saving him means they will be bound forever.

Gingersnaps: Canine Cop by B.J. McCall

Tas Rivers is working undercover as a canine cop to capture the culprits killing rare, endangered white wolves. Tas can handle the job, but living with her sexy human partner is getting to be more than she can endure.

Holiday Howlz: Her Feral Pack by Ruth D. Kerce

Ever since Janie Merlot mated with two shapeshifting wolves, she hasn't been the same.

Sugarplum: Bitsy's Christmas Demon by Cynthia Sax

Sex with a Christmas fairy tops this powerful demon's wish list.

White Hot Christmas And all our Christmas Stories now available at http://changelingpress.com/catalog.php?upt=book&ufilter=theme&uid=12

Thursday Spotlight: Changeling Press

2011-12-15T04:00:00.000-05:00

Changeling’s White Hot Christmas / Free Books for a Year contest --
Week 3 releases TODAY!

White Hot Christmas Week 3:

White Hot Christmas: Santa's Claws by Stephanie Burke
Urban Fantasy, Christmas, Elves, Dragons & Magical Creatures

Santa's making a list, checking it twice, and keeping all the other holidays in check. But when an upstart Valentine's Day out for revenge infects one of Santa's precious Think Tank Elves with a true soul mate, the claws come out. Now he's going to see to it that his Elf and the naughty human to whom he's bound have a very Merry Khristmas... or else.

Santa's going to ensure his Elf and the human he's bound to have a Merry Khristmas... or else.

White Hot Christmas: Christmas Stalkings by Cassidy McKay
Urban Fantasy, Christmas, Elves, Dragons & Magical Creatures

What's a Christmas Elf to do when he wants to sex up the North Pole a bit? Make adult toys, of course!

When Henry's Elven magic goes awry, Santa's workshop will never be the same!

White Hot Christmas: Emmy's Wish by Ayla Ruse
Urban Fantasy, Christmas, Elves, Dragons & Magical Creatures

Dear Santa,

Every year you tell all the Workshop Elves to write down one wish they'd like you to grant, as their Christmas present. Every year you bring amazement and joy to all us little Elves. In fact, this is one of the perks I've loved about being a Workshop Elf.

During the past couple of years, though, it seems that something's happened to disrupt our communications. I've not received my wish yet. I don't know if my request isn't getting to you, or if my wish is unclear, but this is the third year I'm making the same request:

Santa, I want a BIG, real live man as my present. The first year I left the time open-ended. Last year I asked to have him a month. This year, because having him around for a long time seems to be an issue, I'm willing to negotiate to have him only one day -- preferably Christmas Day.

Thanks, Santa. And if my wish can't be granted this year, I'll drop by sometime, because you're going to have to spell it out for me why this wish isn't working.

Your ever faithful worker ~ Emmy.

P.S. In case you aren't sure what I mean, I want a BIG male with BIG, um, male parts. Bigger than our local Workshop Elves, at least.

White Hot Christmas: Stripping Christmas by Zenobia Renquist
Urban Fantasy, Interracial/MultiCultural, Magic, Christmas, Elves, Dragons & Magical Creatures

Alex thought she was going to a job. Instead she ends up marrying the heir to the title of Santa Claus. The vows have been said and cannot be taken back, even if Alex isn't the ideal bride Kris was hoping for to re-energize the powers of the House of Kringle. But Alex is about to teach him that being a little naughty -- or a lot -- can go a long way.

Alex is firmly on the naughty list, and she wants Santa to join her.

All 12 White Hot Christmas now available at http://www.changelingpress.com/catalog.php?upt=book&ufilter=series&sid=347

Wednesday Spotlight: Changeling Press

2011-12-14T04:00:00.000-05:00

Changeling’s White Hot Christmas / Free Books for a Year contest is here!
White Hot Christmas Week 2:

White Hot Christmas: Holiday Paws by Selena Illyria
Paranormal, Interracial/MultiCultural, Werewolves, BBW, Christmas

One sexy young werewolf is intent on giving his mate a special holiday surprise.

After dealing with the flu and missing her flight to spend the holidays with her family, Nessa thought she'd be alone for Christmas. When her mate Ben shows up at her door with the intention of giving her a holiday she won't soon forget, she knows this Christmas will definitely be the best yet.

White Hot Christmas: Santa's Treat by Camille Anthony
Paranormal, Interracial/MultiCultural, Shapeshifters, Christmas

Santa's been a little disenchanted with his job lately. Mrs. Claus ran off with Rudolph, who kept putting his nose where it didn't belong -- all Santa's reindeer are shifters. What? You didn't think he’d keep a herd of fat lazy deer around all year, eating their heads off, when he only needed them one night a year?

Anyway, the Mrs. ran off with Santa's ex-best friend, so he's been alone for a while now. So you can see why the idea of a special treat got his juices running. He thinks Plum's giving him a treat, but he read the note wrong. Plum's been a very good girl, and he's supposed to give her a special treat. But that's OK, because the special treat Plum wants this year is Santa!

White Hot Christmas: Stranded by S. (Sean) Michael
Guilty Pleasures (Contemporary), BDSM, Ménage, Bisexual and More, Christmas

Stranded in Vegas was not how Gretchen had planned to spend her Christmas, but that's exactly what's happened to her and hubby Russ. Just when she thinks it couldn't get worse, a stranger trips over their luggage and sends its contents flying. It turns out their stranger, Dave, is in Vegas for the holiday and he has a suite he's willing to share.

Can this threesome turn a Christmas disaster into a Christmas delight?

White Hot Christmas: The Other Klaus by Dawn Montgomery
Paranormal, Magic, Christmas

Luke Klaus has a problem. Christmas will be canceled if he can't get Destiny, Texas, back on the Holiday Cheer Map. A Christmas wish is all that stands between him and a perfect record. His target is packed with killer curves and a heart of gold that's been broken one too many times. Lucky for Luke, mixing a little business with pleasure might be just what the holiday doctor ordered.

Noella Davis is tired. Too many years as Destiny's cheer coordinator has left her drained and disillusioned. Is it a coincidence that brings her face-to-face with her old crush, or does the man in black leather have his own agenda? Either way, she'll have her cake and eat it too even if she has to tie him to the bed. Maybe her Christmas wishes will come true...

This really is a case for The Other Klaus.

Available now at http://www.changelingpress.com/catalog.php?upt=book&ufilter=series&sid=347

Tuesday Spotlight: Changeling Press

2011-12-13T04:00:00.000-05:00

Changeling’s White Hot Christmas / Free Books for a Year contest is here!
White Hot Christmas Week 1:

White Hot Christmas: Holiday Moon by B.J. McCall
Erotic Romance, Paranormal, Werewolves, Christmas, Men and Women in Uniform

When these two come together the rules of engagement no longer apply.

Operation Holiday Moon sends Sgt. Sezri Adar and her werewolf team deep into enemy territory. Wounded, Sezri orders her wolves to leave her behind. On her own, she must avoid capture and make it to the secondary pickup point.

Being the only human on the team has presented special challenges for Major Calix Klatt, especially when his second-in-command is the sexiest female he's ever encountered. She's brave and beautiful, but a relationship with Sezri would destroy any cred he's built with the werewolves.

When Sezri is MIA, Calix's duty is to wait out the holiday and hopes she survives. But the heart doesn't always listen to the head and putting his career on the line is the least of his fears.

White Hot Christmas: Clothing Optional by Cynthia Sax
Urban Fantasy, Christmas, Elves, Dragons & Magical Creatures

Every Christmas, an ancient demon stalks and murders fairies. Until this killer is apprehended, each fairy is assigned a demon protector. Otho volunteers to protect Prism, the most uptight fairy on the face of the planet.

Or so he thinks...

When Otho arrives at Prism's house three hours early and spots his blue-haired fairy streaking down the street completely nude, he realizes his perfect fairy is only perfect for him.

Unfortunately, he is not the only demon with eyes on her bare buttocks.

'Tis the season for running naked in the snow!

White Hot Christmas: Her Feral Destiny by Ruth D. Kerce
Paranormal, Ménage, Werewolves, Christmas

Seduced by wolves -- twice! -- Janie can't forget Sawyer, Dall, and Cavan. During the Christmas holiday, she returns to Minnesota to finally solve the mystery behind the sexy wolf-men.

Sawyer, Dall, and Cavan are thrilled to see Janie again and give her an erotic welcome-back like only they can. But now, they must protect her from the danger she's put herself in by returning.

Sex, a government cover-up, and a fate nobody imagines awaits them all. Janie doesn't fear the future though, for she's found her place in the pack and will never leave again.

White Hot Christmas: Wrapped Around by Megan Slayer
Paranormal, BDSM, Magic, Christmas, M/M

Christmas is the time to celebrate -- with candy, shiny paper, and lots of white-hot sex.

Luc loves his role fronting the band Glow. He loves the adoration of the fans, the energy in the crowd… but it's Christmas. No one likes a Christmas alone.

Taygan's free spirit resists taming -- except when it comes to Luc. Luc's one hundred percent human. Taygan is all air elemental. He needs his space and freedom, but he'll do whatever it takes to make Luc happy, including giving up his space and freedom to make Luc's holiday one he'll never forget -- complete with the real Santa, peppermint candy, and lots of hot sex.

Available now at http://www.changelingpress.com/catalog.php?upt=book&ufilter=series&sid=347

Monday Spotlight: Changeling Press

2011-12-12T04:00:00.001-05:00

You’ve probably seen the promo -- “Win Free Books For A Year -- Our A Very Changeling 8th Annual Christmas Contest just got bigger and better than ever!”
So why do we run a Christmas give-away? We started our very first Christmas, looking for a way to give something back. Yes, we could have done chocolate or teas or even day spas, but it seemed like our readers would love what we love -- Christmas stories! We asked authors to come up with a Christmas short story for a series we called Hot Toddies. Many of these stories became part of our first paperback anthology, A Changeling For All Seasons, which is now available in our ebook collection, as well.

Since that first Christmas in 2004, we’ve kept up with the tradition, offering a dozen (some times a bakers’ dozen!) Christmas stories every year and a chance to win free books for a year. Each year has a theme -- Hot Toddies, 12 Nights of Christmas, Stocking Stuffers, Christmas Cookies, Gingersnaps, Holiday Howlz, and Sugarplums, as well as this year’s White Hot Christmas. You can see all the Christmases past and present (OK, BAD pun!) at ChangelingPress.com under Christmas!

Last year we introduced a new twist, thanks to Tony, our Web Guru. Winners may now pick whatever books they wish each month, rather than being limited to the new releases. For 2011 the choices seem to have been pretty evenly split, between the new releases and our collections. This year there are more prizes than ever.

White Hot Christmas Is Here!

Win Free Books For A Year -- Our A Very Changeling 8th Annual Christmas Contest just got bigger and better than ever!

Eight readers will win Free Books For A Year:

One book a month (Four winners, 12 books each)
Two books a month (Two winners, 24 books each)
Two books a week (Two winners, 104 books each!)
Plus -- 12 Chances to Win Changeling Gift Certificates!

Our Twelve Days of Christmas winners will receive Changeling Gift Certificates for $5, $10, and $25 -- one random winner for each White Hot Christmas title on release day!

The best part -- all you have to do to enter is buy any White Hot Christmas title at www.ChangelingPress.com during the month of December! Buy any White Hot Christmas story and you're automatically entered to win. Every purchase of a White Hot Christmas story counts as a contest entry.

Interview with Natasha Blackthorne

2011-12-10T04:00:00.001-05:00

Whipped Cream is pleased to welcome Natasha Blackthorne, whose latest book Grey's Lady, Book One in the Carte Blanche series is available from Total-e-Bound. The sequel, White Lace and Promises, is scheduled to be published on December 26.

Grey's Lady is an erotic fairy tale set in Philadelphia in 1812—a very different Cinderella story.

Seeking sexual excitement and conquest, poor but beautiful Beth seduces wealthy merchant prince Grey Sexton, only to find herself the pursued as he seeks to own her body and soul.

Flouting the moral standards of Jeffersonian America, temptress Beth McConnell lets no man touch her heart. Her motto is love them once and leave them burning.

But when she boldly seduces Grey Sexton, a self-controlled merchant prince from New York, she finds herself too fascinated by his ice-over-fire nature to stay away. His possessive determination to own her, body and soul, threatens to expose her secret erotic life to public shame.

But Beth will only surrender her love to a man she can trust. And Grey's materialistic approach to relationships leaves her little reason to believe he can ever give her what she truly needs.

For these two cynical yet lonely people, can deep sexual intimacy work a miracle and lead to the opening of their hearts?
I, also, asked her to tell us a little bit about the sequel.

Beth and Grey’s passionate battle of wills continues...

New York Merchant Prince Grey Sexton loves the audacious, spirited young temptress who seduced him in a Philadelphia bookseller’s and made passionate love to him in his carriage. Her fiery nature broke through his cold self-protection. But in a time of war and trade disruption, he cannot allow himself to be distracted. He vows to put business above all else in his life, including his bride.

Shocked and hurt by Grey's distance, Beth wonders whether he truly returns the burning love she feels for him. Beth demands that Grey prove he can truly change once and for all or else she will not start a family with him. But will the dark, sensual secrets she yet keeps repel this arrogant, self-controlled gentleman she has married?
When Natasha first learned to write in school, she had the urge to put her daydreams down in words and pictures in a little spiral notebook—stories about cat people and such.

"This did not go over well with the adults around me at the time so I started out having complex daydreams in my head that continued for weeks and months and then years," she said. "Then as an adult I would write to record the stories because I had to; I just had this drive that I had to. I had to do it or go insane. But I really didn’t see it going anywhere. It was just for me, my private world. And one day it was no longer enough to just write for myself. I was driven by something inside myself to write something that I could present for publication. It wasn’t a choice or a decision; it was something I just had to do."

It was at this point Natasha learned she had a lot to learn about the whole art and craft of writing.

"I applied myself to its study and at that point I can say I became a Writer with a capital W," she explained. "I am very grateful also to my critique partners. They were so patient with me and taught me so much. In the spring of this year I began to feel that the time had come to submit something and so I made my first submissions: Grey’s Lady and Waltz of Seduction."

"How do you do your research for your books?" I wondered.

"I read voraciously, not just erotic romance but everything. I used to go to the library in college intending to get some real work done and end up wandering around the bookshelves reading and letting my mind attend to whatever interested it the most that day. I adore reading social history, especially history of relations between the sexes and same-sex relations. Usually I get my better ideas when I am wandering around the world of books just for fun rather than when I am purposely looking for information. I also read books and articles specifically about sex and sexual practices but this is also something I have always done for enjoyment. I love studying people and their relationships with each other whether it is through history, sociology or psychology."

Pornography centers on physical sensation while erotica is more sensual and emotional—sometimes even poetic, Natasha told me. Erotic romance, on the other hand, focuses on a developed story line with love scenes rich in physical sensation, emotions, and ends with a HEA or a HFN.

"I strive to convey deep emotions and sensuality and to be true to what those particular characters feel and think and do in that specific moment," she said, about writing her own work.

"What are the biggest public misconceptions about erotica?" I wondered.

"That it is nothing but the most extreme sex told in the most salacious way. That is simply porn but for women. And the worse one of all is that it is easy to write and anyone who applies even half an effort can do it."

Sexual things don't easily embarrass Natasha, and she told me she's never written anything that embarrassed her—unless it was badly written.

"As long as no one gets hurt and everyone is old enough and has given their consent I don’t think sex is something to be ashamed of," she explained. "So if a sexual scene of mine embarrassed me it must be because I have rendered it badly. In that case I would work on it until I wasn’t embarrassed any longer."

Finally, I asked Natasha what advice she would give to writers who wanted to write erotica.

"Read as much of what is out there as you can, the good, the bad and the in-between. Analyze what you read," she said. "Work with critique partners and study all you can about writing craft but always respect your own processes."

You can keep up with Natasha on her blog, http://natashablackthorne.blogspot.com.

Friday: Interview with Kaenar Langford

2011-12-09T04:00:00.002-05:00

This is part of a series looking back at the first five interviews we did on Whipped Cream. This interview originally appeared on our site on July 8, 2008.

Whipped Cream is pleased to welcome Kaenar Langford. Kaenar was born in Ireland, but now makes her home in rural Ontario. Living in the country, though, doesn’t stop her from travelling the world in her mind and books. She told me that her family has gotten used to seeing the back of her head as she sits at the computer, transported to wherever the story takes her. I asked her what her family thought about her choice of genres. “My immediate family—my husband and two sons—know exactly what I write and are very proud of me. My parents and sister thing I write romance novels,” she said. “Well, I do—sort of. They’re delighted with my success, not sure about the romance genre and would never understand my need to write erotica. I solve the problem by not telling them.”

Her friends and colleagues are, though, she said, “secretly delighted” with her new adventure into writing erotic romance. I asked her what she has found some of the biggest public misconceptions about erotica to be.

“Two things really annoy me about how people view erotica,” she said. “I get so peeved when people complain that erotica is just sex without a plot. No storyline. They obviously haven’t read many of the stories that are out there, or they would know differently. Erotic stories are just as intricately crafted and planned as any other genre of the literature. Most erotic novels have well developed plots and strong characters, and to suit the preference of most readers, a happy ending.

“The other thing that drives me nuts is when people tell me that ‘those stories’ are written according to a predetermined formula the publisher has given them. I don’t know about other publishers but Ellora’s Cave and Total-E-Bound, the two I write for, have no magic formula that their authors follow. Each story is painstakingly handcrafted according to the particular writer’s style. It certainly would be easier to just plug in some sort of predesigned format, but that’s not how it happens.”

Kaenar told me when she started writing her book, she thought she was writing a nice contemporary novel with some naughty scenes. “Something totally different appeared on my computer screen,” she shared with me. “I’m not quite sure how that happened.”

I asked her how her writing career evolved. “I attended a workshop on ‘How to Write a Romance Novel.’ About twenty minutes before the end of class, the instructor read us some introductory paragraphs to a few romance novels and asked us to write one. I was floored. No way could I do that,” she said. “I put my pen to paper and began to write. With the presenter’s encouragement, I went home and saved the paragraph on my computer so I wouldn’t lose it. I wrote and wrote for five months, spending every spare minute on the manuscript. I submitted it to three publishers and got back three nice rejections. I then sent it to Ellora’s Cave and, after taking three weeks to make suggested changes, I resubmitted and was offered a contract.

“That original paragraph from the workshop still stands at the beginning of the book, exactly as I first penned it. I was delighted to see it on the Ellora’s Cave blog, Redlines and Deadlines, March 27. My editor had submitted it for the blog entitled “That first line of a submission that hooked one of our editors so hard s/he requested the full and then contracted the book. It was number four on the list.”

I asked her to share that first line with us. From Lucifer’s Angel: He had that look about him—those worn jeans, the white t-shirt stretched across his wide chest, the black boots, the leather jacket.

Kaenar didn’t start another book until Lucifer’s Angel had been accepted by Ellora’s Cave. “I guess I wanted to see if the book was good enough to get published,” she said, “and the contract from them was the go-ahead to get back to writing. I found the second acceptance to be almost more meaningful, in that it seemed to justify the title of ‘author’ and the acceptance of the first book.”

Some other facts you may or may not know about Kaenar: her favorite food is pizza. “I could eat it every day,” she told me. “Thin crust, lots of cheese and vegetarian toppings. Pesto, olives, spinach, feta cheese. Food of the gods.”

She also prefers Coke over Pepsi, even though she doesn’t drink either very often and is not sure if she could tell them apart in a blind taste-test.

She has one incident from her life that, if it hasn’t made it into one of her books yet, should. I’ll let her tell you about it.

“Years ago, I was with a group of exchange students as a teacher chaperone. We were spending the day at a friend’s cottage—another teacher. Everybody was swimming and waterskiing and having a great time. I wanted to get out of the water so my friend grabbed my hands and started to draw me up into his boat. Unfortunately, the bathing suit I was wearing tied around the neck, so as he pulled me up, the force of the water rolled the top of my bathing suit down. Since he was holding my hands to haul me in, there was nothing I could do. When I landed in the boat, my suit had peeled its way down to my waist. Luckily the kids were all busy and didn’t notice, but my friend and I just killed ourselves laughing. I’m sure my blush went from forehead to crotch. It was really embarrassing.”

Finally, I asked Kaenar what one piece of advice she would give to new writers. “Don’t give up,” she said. “If you submit and it comes back, get someone else to read and critique the manuscript for you. Not a family member—they’ll love it no matter what. Keep writing, read what’s popular or what you like and try to figure out what puts that book there for you or for other readers. Go to workshops and conferences. Spending the money helps you get in touch with other writers or publishers.”

You can read more about Kaenar and her works at her website, http://www.kaenar.com

Thursday: Interview with Amelia June

2011-12-08T04:00:00.002-05:00

This is part of a series looking back at the first five interviews we did on Whipped Cream. This interview originally appeared on our site on July 1, 2008.

Whipped Cream is excited to welcome Amelia June, author of steamy erotic stories and novels who never uses words like “flower” or “manhood.” Her first story, “The Scary Ghost,” was self-published when she was five and she’s never looked back.

She finds herself outnumbered in the desert southwest, though, where she lives with seven—yes, seven—male creatures including two children, one husband, and an array of critters. She’s a self-confessed eavesdropper, fiber-aholic (but not the whole wheat kind; the yarn kind), and she gets weekly pedicures from her husband.

I asked her, as an erotic fiction author, what some of her favorites are. “I’m a big fan of erotica that is more than sex scenes strung together with a loose part,” she said. “I'm a huge Megan Hart fan. Lauren Dane's Witch's Knot series is a wonderful one as well. I also absolutely love Jacqueline Carey's books, and while you can't call them ‘erotic fiction,’ they are some of the most sensual, well written books I've ever experienced. And they're super hot, too.”

Amelia told me she had wanted to write erotic stories since high school. “I didn’t set out to write romance,” she said. “As it is, my stories skirt the boundary between romance and other genres--science fiction, or fantasy, or thriller, etc. But I discovered that I really enjoy a love story (or two, hee hee). So I guess I came to erotic romance backwards--I came from the erotica side of things.”

We discussed the difference between porn and erotic romance and Amelia made the point, “Stories written to turn someone on are just that, and I don't think erotic romance is all that different.” Personally, she doesn’t have a problem with porn. “The reason I enjoy writing erotic romance,” she told me, “is that I can take erotic scenes and add them to a greater context of story. I know many romance readers have expectations of their stories--the HEA and various other conventions of the genre that make the story enjoyable to them. But for me, the difference between written "porn" and erotic romance is pretty slim when you get right down to it. What I try to do is incorporate the sexuality in a larger context, so that fans of erotica and fans of romance both get what they're looking for.”

I asked Amelia how her writing path evolved. “I would say my path is still evolving, probably always will,” she replied. “But how I got from there to here is summed up in one word—NaNoWriMo. Is that a word?” Her first novel, Triple X, was written during National Novel Writing Month in 2005 and was an Eppie 2008 finalist. She told me, “I wanted to write a menage story, because I loved reading them and I find them uber hot. I also wanted to write about a subject that was important to me. I never really considered pursuing epublishing until I read a few epublished novels and thought maybe I would have a market for my work after all. I love epublishing, I love the freedom it gives me to explore concepts and ideas that traditional publishing might not be open to at this time. Plus, my writing skills have been honed and shaped since then as well, each story I write gets better in terms of skill.” She added, laughing, “I mean, I hope so anyway.”

Amelia has had many books published so I asked her what advice she would give to new authors. “In the immortal words of Dory the fish,” she said, “Just keep swimming. Writing is a hard, hard process and that is before you even attempt publication. So just keep going.”

Just for fun, I asked her, “If you had to pierce a body part, what would you pierce and why?” She answered, “Apart from the three ear holes and nose piercing I already have? Probably my eyebrow, because I really think that is a hot piercing. I love it on pretty much every face type. Piercing is a very painful, if brief, process, but I discovered that the endorphine rush you get from the experience is quite erotic (and I'm not much of a pain person, usually!). As for the look of piercings, I think a pierced-up person gives an air of ‘off the beaten path’ that is hot. Plus, you know they can take a lot of pain.” Imagine an evil laugh here. :-)

And, she shared with me that her dad can tie a cherry stem with her tongue. Then she said, “Ew. Why do I know that?”

You can see more about her books and her fiberholicism on her blog. She told me she learned to crochet as a stress reliever and “I became completely hooked.” She also added, “I absolutely love the patterns that are out there these days--knitting and crocheting are not just for nanas anymore (until I am one, anyhow). Knitting is something I'm still learning, but hand me a hook and some yarn and I'm happy for hours. You can see some of my projects on my blog, because I like to torture readers with my other hobbies as well as my excerpts and general rambling!”

You can read more about Amelia and her works at her website, http://www.ameliajune.net

Wednesday: Interview with Elizabeth Amber

2011-12-07T04:00:00.001-05:00

This is part of a series looking back at the first five interviews we did on Whipped Cream. This interview originally appeared on our site on June 24, 2008.

Whipped Cream is very excited to have Elizabeth Amber with us. Elizabeth is an art historian and museum junkie and her studies of urns, frescoes, and other Greco-Roman artifacts embellished with satyrs celebrating the annual grape harvest inspired her series, The Lords of Satyr.

Discussing the difference between erotica, erotic romance, and pornography, Elizabeth told me, “Each form is valid and will always find readers. Pornography typically focuses more on titillation than on story structure or characters’ emotions.” She sees the scale (from cool to hot) like this: sweet romance, romance, erotic romance, erotica, porn. She also admits she likes them all, plus many subgenres.

She said, “I think it’s great that authors are able to mix and mingle genres these days. My Lords of Satyr series in erotic historical paranormal romance. Five years ago, I don’t think I could’ve sold a mixed bag like that.”

Elizabeth also told me that she likes erotic romance with good characterization and plot and great sexual tension. Some authors she enjoys are “Lora Leigh, Elizabeth Hoyt, Lisa Valdez, Megan Hart, Jaid Black, Kate Douglas, Kresley Cole, J Ward, Shayla Black, Gena Showalter, and many more!” She feels it’s important, though, for an erotic author to read outside the genre as well. “I read a lot of nonfiction and many other subgenres of romance,” she told me.

It’s important to realize that erotic romance isn’t just sex though, she told me. “All the other elements of good storytelling must be there as well: good characterization, plot, voice, pacing, and a healthy dose of sexual tension. My Kensington editor told me she pulled my first novel out of the slush because she responded to my voice.”

The main thing to remember if a writer wants to write erotica, though, is to write what she herself feels intriguing. “If you go with your instincts,” Elizabeth said, “you’ll write something real, and readers will likely respond. As in actual sex, if you’re faking it, your partner (the reader) will know.”

She also cautioned about worrying about what other people (including your mom) will think of you when they read your work. “If you go down that road, you’ll self-censor your way to blandness,” she told me.

Elizabeth admits there are a lot of gray areas when you’re writing sex, but she doesn’t find out-and-out cruelty in a book sexy. She said, though, “I think that almost any topic can make a great, sexy book, if the author cares about it and takes the time to make the characters and situations believable and dramatic.

“In my second novel, Raine The Lords of Satyr, the heroine is a hermaphrodite, something I hadn’t seen another erotic author write about. After I read about how hermaphrodites were treated in the 1800s, I immediately got a story idea I was driven to write. In the 1800s, some of these individuals earned their livings by traveling to medical establishments where they were questioned and examined. I immediately imagined a character like that as sympathetic and I wanted my hermaphrodite heroine to accept herself and to find a lover who accepted her as well.

“That’s the great part about being a writer. You can create happy endings for deserving characters. (And spectacularly awful endings for evil characters.)”

For fun, I asked Elizabeth a few personal questions. When I asked her to share with us her most embarrassing moment, her response was, “Ack! You want me to tell you that?” And in true author fashion, she left a lot of the details up to the readers’ imaginations when she said, “Okay, it had to do with first grade--me all decked out in my spiffy Brownie uniform at school, and having to pee, but being too shy to ask permission. That’s all I’m saying.”

Her favorite food is chocolate in a heart-shaped box, with cookies being a close second. “What do I eat more often than either of those?” she asked. “Salad.” Joined no doubt by a Diet Pepsi, because she informed me she can definitely taste the difference between Pepsi and Coke. “I have a friend who’s a Coke-aholic,” she said, hastening to add, “(the drink, not the powder). Her perception is that all the restaurants and machines offer Pepsi, not Coke. I see it just the opposite.”

She also shared with me a couple of interesting habits she has. “I saw an Oprah show once about weird habits,” she told me. “Two of the weird habits her audience members had were habits I have: 1) I obsessively arrange my money in my wallet from small denominations to large. 2) If I pass someone I think will be stinky, I hold my breath until they’re gone.

“I had never really thought about the fact that I do these things until I heard others on Oprah say they do them. Now, I occasionally ask friends if they do these things. Some think it’s crazy and others are like, yeah, I do it, too.”

Finally, I wanted to know who would play her in a movie if Hollywood ever did the story of her life. “I’m a Sex and the City fan,” she said. “I like to think I’m Carrie, but I think Miranda would play me. I work too hard and too much, and I don’t always get the guy.”

You can read more about Elizabeth and her works at her website, http://www.elizabethamber.com

Tuesday: Interview with Mary Winter

2011-12-06T04:00:00.002-05:00

This is part of a series looking back at the first five interviews we did on Whipped Cream. This interview originally appeared on our site on June 17, 2008.

Whipped Cream is excited to welcome Mary Winter, author of the upcoming Good Medicine.

Mary commutes between her dream home near the Mark Twain National Forest in Missouri and her residence in Iowa. She lives with a menagerie of animals including an opinionated horse and a cat who was a dog in past life. When not writing spicy tales of erotic romance, she enjoys writing science fiction and fantasy, spending time with her horse, and enjoying the outdoors. Lucky for her, her partner (hero) shares these same passions, and usually both of them can be found in their respective dens writing.

I asked Mary how she distinguished between erotica, erotic romance, and pornography. “Having written all three,” she said, “I can say that per-word porn pays far better than erotica. Seriously, erotic romance, obviously has the romance at the heart of the story. Erotica is a sexuality explicit story that still, at its heart, is written because it’s a good story. It just may not be a romance, or the romance may not be the main focus. Porn is just sex. There may be the loose structure of a plot holding it together, but you’re writing it and reading it for the sex.”

When she’s writing her own fiction, she knows it’s good if it arouses her and if she has an emotional connection with the characters. She wants to know she can imagine herself in the hero or heroine’s place. She told me, “If there isn’t that connection, then something isn’t right.”

When she’s researching her books, she told me that sometimes she’ll ask her partner or friends who might be of a different orientation than she is. If her research is fact finding and world-building, she’s more apt to look it up online. But she did tell me “Sometimes I’ll say ‘hey, want to try this?’”

Her partner doesn’t mind her writing erotic romance, but I asked her about the rest of her family. “My mom thinks it’s wonderful that I’m living my dream, and she reads all of my work (in print),” Mary said. “My grandma tried to read it, but confessed it was a bit too much for her, but she is very supportive as well. The rest of my family is very happy for me too and some of them do read my work.”

Mary started out writing romance. “I just happened to fall into the erotic romance sub-genre,” she said, then added, with a laugh, “which amuses my mom greatly, considering that I had started reading Silhouette Desires when I was twelve, and I was a bookwormish, geeky teen and young adult.”

I asked Mary if there was a line between porn and erotic romance she wouldn’t cross. She told me she’s written both. As a matter of fact, her first paying sale of erotic fiction was a story she wrote for Men’s magazine. It was a m/m story, but she doesn’t remember the name of it any longer. “Now, I probably won’t write porn,” she said, “because my muse is moving in different directions and I’m doing just fine with my erotic romance, but I think I have to take each project on a case-by-case basis.”

I also asked Mary about piercings. Did she have any and what about them was sexy. “I have pierced ears. I’ve always said if I lost weight I’d pierce my belly-button just to show it off,” she said. “I think it signifies that you have the self-confidence to do what you want and walk to the beat of your own drummer. Plus, a little sparkle in certain places never hurts.”

Finally, I asked Mary who would play her if Hollywood ever made a story about her life. She said, “Hopefully someone with the grace and beauty of Kiera Knightly and built more like Queen Latifah.”

You can read more about Mary and her works at her website.

Monday: Interview with Michelle Cary

2011-12-05T04:00:00.002-05:00

This is part of a series looking back at the first five interviews we did on Whipped Cream. This interview originally appeared on our site on June 10, 2008.

Whipped Cream is very excited to welcome Michelle Cary to the inaugural issue of this newest segment of The Long and the Short of It.

Michelle was actually raised in small town Illinois, but now lives in New Jersey with her, as she puts it, “extremely supportive albeit somewhat neglected husband” and their two children. She told me that her husband has only recently read any of her work. “He’s never been a reader,” she said, “and I’ve never pushed the topic, but he did tell me he thought it was very good.” As a matter of fact, he can be credited with the start of her writing career. “I was watching an episode of the ‘Deadliest Catch’ one night and had a story idea,” she told me. “It wouldn’t go away and my husband suggested I write it down. 75k later and I had a novel. It was horrible, but it was the start of everything I do today.”

She told me she had quit her job when her young daughter developed kidney problems. Then, when she was in preschool and the older child was in school, Michelle found she had a lot of extra time on her hands. She decided to try her hand at creating fictional worlds through words and it gave her an entirely new perspective on the world. She’s all about the HEA, and every day gives her new ways to create the perfect happily ever after.

Her fellow author and critique partner Amanda Young got Michelle involved in Samhain’s Midsummer Night’s Steam series, even though Michelle had started writing straight contemporary romance. “Before I knew it,” she said, “I had an erotic romance published.”

Along with her erotic romance, she writes romantic suspense. “It’s challenging,” she told me, “in the fact that I have to make the story suspenseful without giving away the ‘who did it’ too soon.”

She’s trying to hold her uncles off reading any of her work until the romantic suspense gets published. She told me, “[They] enjoy teasing me about [writing erotic romance], but I know they’re all extremely proud of my accomplishments. They want to read my work, but being from the ‘Bible belt’ I feel a little odd about them reading my erotic stuff.”

I asked Michelle what she did when she wasn’t writing. “I’d love to say something really creative here, but honesty prevails,” she said. “Usually, if I’m not writing, or promoting, I’m doing house work. With two kids and a husband to take care of there’s always laundry or dishes or a couple dozen other chores that need to be done around the house.” And, I have it on good authority, she makes a mean chocolate chip cookie. In fact, that’s her favorite food. She admits, though, to not being such a great brownie baker. Actually, she said, “I can’t bake a brownie to save my life.” Her least favorite food? “Sushi,” she told me. “My husband loves it, but I just can’t bring myself to put raw fish in my mouth.”

One of my favorite questions to ask people is if they can tell the difference between Pepsi and Coke. Michelle’s response—“ Absolutely. Pepsi is sweet where Coke has that kick you in the ass bite.”

Michelle has one piece of advice for new writers just starting out. “Don’t let your ego get in the way,” she said. “There are lots of great writers out there willing to give good advice to newbies. Don’t be too proud to listen to what they have to say.”

You can read more about Michelle and her works at http://www.michellecary.com

Author Interview with Madison J. Edwards

2011-12-03T04:00:00.001-05:00

Whipped Cream is pleased to welcome Madison J. Edwards, whose latest book According to Plan is available from Turquoise Morning Press.

According to Plan didn't actually start out to be an erotic book, however. The first draft was called "Shelby's Legacy." The plot revolved around a trapped Scottish laird who'd been cursed into a mirror and was waiting to be released by Shelby (a whole generational curse thing). Madison introduced the character of Tank as a diversion, because (in her original plan), Shelby was supposed to ultimately end up with Liam.

"As soon as Tank was brought into the story, he told me almost immediately Shelby was his, and Liam could go suck rocks," she explained. "In fact, I was writing a brief vignette with Shelby in the shower and before I could stop him Tank slipped in, and – well – the rest is history. Poor Liam, he got tossed pretty quick, although an editor at Wild Rose Press told me he deserves his own story, he was such a saucy character. After that, I found my niche was erotic writing. I’ve tried to write a sweetheart romance, take it to the bedroom door and no further, but I keep peeking in through the keyhole, and of course I have to write what I see..."

I asked her how she distinguished between erotica, erotic romance, and pornography.

"The line at times may be fine, but to me erotica is heavy on the physical, sexual relationship. At times the story may be drive by sex alone and the sex scenes, which are graphic, no euphemisms for body parts and functions. Nothing is left to your imagination.

"Erotic romance is first and foremost a romance and the main characters have a strong physical relationship. The sexual scenes can be graphic, but romance drives the story.

"Pornography is straight sex. Usually little or no plot as those who want to watch, read, or look at pornography don’t care if there is a story."

Erotic authors Madison enjoy are Lila DiPasqua, Delilah Devlin, and Cherise Sinclair. Lila was the first author who showed her how the man in the story feels.

"As a woman I can only guess what ‘he’ thinks, but Lila has the uncanny ability to get inside the man’s head, and it was like a light bulb went on for me," Madison told me. "Delilah has the best character driven stories with a whole lot of naughty written in them. Even though her characters seem over the top, they are believable. You feel like you’re a fly on the wall, watching everything unfold in front of you. Cherise Sinclair, without a doubt, writes the most riveting stories centered around the BDSM scene but without the ‘ick’ factor. Her characters are natural, and once again, you feel like they could be your next door neighbour."

"Is there a boundary between porn and erotic romance you would never cross?" I wondered.

"Yes, although sometimes the boundary becomes a fuzzy line. For example, I would never write about forced sex, gang bang scenes, but in a story I’m working on right now, the heroine was a sex slave at a remote compound for two years before escaping. I’m trying to write these two years in a tasteful way (?), in order for the reader to know why she reacts the way she does. It’s difficult, as you have to ask yourself, how far do you take it. She was unwilling, and forced, but it made her who she is later in the story.

"I couldn’t write about one night stands, as that is something I would never do, nor would I entertain the thought. And that’s my personal thing. If it floats your boat, then go ahead. Now, I may write about a young girl who got rip roaring drunk, wakes up in a bed in Las Vegas, and finds herself married ... oh wait!... I am."

"What food do you consider best for eating off another person?" I asked.

"Honey and candy sparkles come to mind... and in my book, According to Plan, Tank eats whipped cream off several areas of Shelby’s body, starting with her nipples and moves south in a leisurely fashion.

"I toyed with one of my heroines laid out on the dining table, covered in lettuce because the hero stated he wanted to eat healthy. Then Sex in the City 2 came out, the one where Samantha laid out a sushi spread *wink, wink*. I knew right then no one would believe I had the idea first."

"What is your favorite food?" I continued.

"Homemade potato salad, with egg. Yum. Now I’m hungry – thanks."

"Least favorite?"

"The list is long and varied, but head cheese comes to mind. Cow’s tongue, pig hooves, Haggis (ugh) and liver. Thanks. I’m not hungry anymore."

Madison's favorite letter? "Scarlet??" she said, then added, "Seriously, the letter S. All curvy and saucy, and looks great as a monogram."

I also asked her about her strangest habit, and she admitted she had one, but she doesn't want to lose it because it drives her husband "crackers." She jiggles her legs under the table.

He had to travel a lot with his job, so when Madison's not writing, she tries to spend as much time as possible with him. They have the family over for dinners and love going to friends to play cards. When he's away, and she's not writing, she can normally be found on the social networking web.

Finally, I asked Madison, "What advice do you give authors wanting to write erotica?"

"First and foremost – have no fear. If his cock is throbbing, then that’s what you write. If you can’t, then erotica is NOT for you.

"Second – crawl inside your character’s skin. Become them and show your readers what they’re thinking, feeling, desiring. We want to smell the sweat, feel her skin prickle into gooseflesh as the feather light touch of his hand follows the curve of her breast.

"Third – be prepared for some people who won’t know how to act around you anymore. I have a co-worker who turns a dull red whenever he’s around me. He actually fidgets, and beats a hasty retreat as soon as politely possible."

You can keep up with Madison on her blog, http://madisonedwards.blogspot.com

Friday Spotlight: Scarlett Valentine

2011-12-02T04:00:00.000-05:00

Inspired by Archaeology

I can’t believe it! My last day is here so soon. And just when I was getting used to the place. I hope you’ve enjoyed visiting with me as much as I’ve enjoyed chatting with you. Keep sending me photos. I love seeing your projects and your own interpretations of my recipe.

For my final piece today, I’d like to talk to you about archaeology. I sometimes think in another life I would have liked to have been an archaeologist. But that’s the great thing about being a writer. This week I can be medieval lady living in a big stone tower, and next week I can dig up the tower looking for artifacts from the medieval lady who once lived there. But what the average reader doesn’t know, and most writers don’t realize, is that if it weren’t for archaeology we couldn’t have the understanding of the past that enables us to appreciate historical novels.

Almost daily I read articles about something newly discovered somewhere in the world. Just when you think every inch of the planet has been excavated, explored and trodden upon, a lowly digger in a bog somewhere in the Irish midlands uncovers a book touted as the Irish Dead Sea Scrolls. Now called the Faddan Mor Psalter, radiocarbon dating estimates the psalter was written sometime in 800 AD on sheets of velum {animal skins}. A couple years into preservation and investigation, scientists discovered Egyptian papyrus in the folds of the leather cover! That leads to the question of how Egyptian papyrus got into an Irish religious book.

Irish bogs have also given up human remains dating back millennia. Bogs are incredible at preservation, as with the psalter. Bog bodies are no different. Facial features, hair, nails and garments are usually still very distinguishable and offer us a glimpse into that person’s life and of the times.

Clonycavan Man was discovered in an Irish bog too. Evidence suggests he was placed there as part of a ritual about 2300 years ago. Radiocarbon dating suggests he was about twenty years of age, and he was probably killing in the summer months, a time when crops were harvested. Tests on his hair show his diet at the time was vegetarian, which is was typical back then as meat was consumed mainly in winter months.

Feature-wise, he had a fine beard and wore a Mohawk hair style which had been treated with a resin made of oil and pine resin to make the hair stand up, possibly to make him look taller. Incredibly, in those times hair resin had only been seen around Northern Spain in the Galicia region {Spain’s Celtic region}. This simple hair ‘gel’ gives rise to the notion that Ireland traded within Europe well before Romans had any influence. This also indicates that the man was probably fairly wealthy, as he could afford imported hair products.

Most recently one of the most unusual finds in all Irish archaeology was discovered in a forgotten graveyard in the north Irish midlands. This is a typical religious graveyard where people were buried by loved ones in an east-west fashion. Gravesites are all parallel to one another and there’s nothing remarkable about the place other than the site contains an estimated 3000 burials. Yes, 3000! And a graveyard of this size, used from approximately 700-1400 AD, to disappear so thoroughly is also unusual. More so were two graves excavated just this past September—two had stones wedged in their mouths!

Similar remains have been found in burial sites in other parts of Europe, rumors running rampant about zombies and vampires, and that the stones were wedged in their mouths to prevent the person from chewing their way out of their coffins or shrouds, or depriving them of feeding on subterranean creatures to keep them alive until they could dig their way to the surface and find humans to feed upon. Ireland has a long and interesting past. It’s a country where spirits, fairies and Leprechauns are part of the culture, fantastical as they are. But there really hasn’t been a history of vampirism until recently when old stories have been unearthed, so to speak, and now these unusual burials. It makes one wonder if such stories are what really gave Bram Stoker his inspiration for Dracula.

It’s not only bogs and burial grounds being excavated. Thanks to modern road works, ancient settlements and long lost castles have been unearthed, the artifacts of which give us a glimpse into the past—

A settlement at Wood Quay in Dublin City dates back to Viking times and is the largest ever discovered in Ireland. This excavation lasted nearly ten years and resulted in thousands of finds, each telling us how the people lived back then, what they ate and how they dressed. Postholes indicate where homes were and how large. Paths and roads indicated routes in and out of the settlement. And the most important were middens, or refuse heaps, which revealed items people of the time deemed unwanted—food scraps, broken household items, bones, etc.

Carrickmines Castle was the largest medieval settlement of those surrounding Dublin City. It formed part of the perimeter of a region known as The Pale, an area completely under English government. The term ‘pale’ comes from the Latin ‘palus’ meaning a stake to support a fence or indicate a perimeter or boundary. This gave us the term ‘beyond the pale,’ meaning anything outside the boundary. Within the Pale were laws and government. Beyond the Pale was unrest and lawlessness. Carrickmines Castle was eventually destroyed in the 17th century and buried by Mother Nature. Its location forgotten until road works unearthed it.

And let’s not forget the famous Shinrone Gown which was also unearthed in an Irish bog. It dates back to the 17th century and is the best preserved garment every discovered. Until its discovery, we could only rely on paintings from the past to see how people dressed so long ago. And those paintings were generally all of wealthy merchants and their families, not of the poor or peasant classes.

And hoards of goods are still being found around the country—

In County Waterford few years ago, a hoard of coins and gold were discovered in a cave estimated around 800 years old.

During street works in Cork City, small medieval cottages were discovered, and inside one of them a small jar filled with dirt. It was set aside until it was knocked over and out spilled handfuls of coins. Makes me wonder what happened to make a person leave their home and forget so much money. I can understand hiding it in a cave and hoping to return for it later. Loads of hoards of money and gold have been found in bogs, too. But to leave a jar in a wall niche and walk away?

It’s the past that draws us to reading and writing stories set in historical times. And the more our tastes develop and mature, we demand stories be as accurate as possible. We don’t have to get into an excavation site alongside archaeologist though because the internet gives us a fly on the wall view of just about anything we care to research.

There’s no denying the upsurge in the demand for historicals. Just look at TV programming these days with series such as The Tudors, The Borgias and to some degree Game of Thrones. And we’re seeing an upsurge in historical novels, too—Elizabeth Chadwick, Bernard Cornwell, Edward Rutherford, Sharon Kay Penman, Phillippa Gregory, etc.

I could go on, and probably would if I thought I could get away with it. My point here is that without archaeology, we wouldn’t have an appreciation of the past. Because of archaeology, every historical book we read and every historical show we watch puts history in the palms of our hands and it allows us to participate in history rather than just speculate. And for me, every interesting tidbit I read lights a creative fire in my head and inspires me to write.

I hope you’ve enjoyed my ramblings on archaeology . . . and the rest of it over the week. I’ve really enjoyed spending this time with you and hope I’ve given you a peak into the life of a writer when she’s away from the keyboard.

I’ll leave you with this, as the holidays are upon us. Have a wonderful season. Knit some. Eat some. Explore some. And read lots!

~ Scarlett
“What’s a little bondage between friends?”
www.Scarlett-Valentine.com
Available now – Awakening, book one of The ABCs of S-E-X: Love by the Letter series

Thursday Spotlight: Scarlett Valentine

2011-12-01T04:00:00.000-05:00

Ghost of a Story

{Note: Today’s post is a little longer because there’s lots of information and photos. No recipes or patterns, but hopefully something to add to your ‘must see’ list if you decide to visit Ireland.}

Wow! This week is just whizzing by. I’m glad you’re here beside me. I’ll need the company today because I’m going to talk about castles, castle hunting . . . and ghosts!

Specifically, I’m going to talk about Irish castles because I live in Ireland and have been to a lot of them. I’m lazy by nature, but if you show me a castle on a map then tell me there’s no car access, I’ll walk to it . . . and probably get there before you! I especially love the abandoned ruins. I like the ones turned into tourist attractions and overpriced hotels, but the ruins are like stepping back in time. There are no modern conveniences like lighting, plumbing and heating. Heck, most don’t even have a roof, windows or doors! But armed with a flashlight and a camera, I’ll poke around for hours.

Ireland is not just noted for castles, but also for her haunted castles—such as D’Aubin’s Castle in Carrickfergus in Northern Ireland. It was built in the 13th century by a Norman knight called Reginald D’Aubin. This small keep practically beside Carrickfergus Castle, which was actually a military barracks. A tunnel was constructed in subsequent years, which allowed people to go between the keep and the barracks in inclement weather. The keep remained in the D’Aubin family for centuries and eventually the old Norman name was Anglicized as Dobbin.

By the 17th century, the keep was owned by Hugh Dobbin and his wife Elizabeth, who was also known as Maud. Hugh was the commander at the barracks and would often be away on campaign. Loneliness got the better of Elizabeth and she fell in love with a knight from the barracks known as Buttoncap. Elizabeth used the tunnel while her husband was away to see her lover who could not leave his post. One day Hugh returned early from campaign hoping to surprise his wife. He was the one surprised! Discovering her infidelity, he killed both Elizabeth and Buttoncap!

Today, Elizabeth’s ghost haunts the hotel in her search for her lover. She only shows herself to men, often waking them at night by stroking their cheeks lovingly. Buttoncap haunts the barracks, sometimes being seen on the battlements searching across the road to the keep for Elizabeth. Modern street-works discovered the previously lost tunnel during pipe-laying, but it has now been recorded on Ordnance Survey maps.

Dobbins castle was renovated and turned into a small hotel in 1946. The original medieval kitchen can still be seen today in the lobby of the hotel, and in the back where the restaurant is now was once the walled garden. Architectural features are retained in the walls. Here’s the URL for the hotel if you ever make it to Ireland and want to stay in a haunted castle— http://www.dobbinsinnhotel.co.uk/location.html

Okay, Dobbins is not a ruin, but you have to admit, it’s pretty cool.

How about Charles Fort near Kinsale in South Cork? Charles Fort was built in the 1670s on designs created by King Charles II. A similar fort was constructed years earlier on the opposite side of the harbor entrance and called James’ Fort, named after King James I. These forts were built to protect Kinsale Harbour from French and Spanish fleets—Kinsale having suffered tremendously in 1601 when region was assaulted by the Spanish during the Siege of Kinsale.

What’s remarkable about Charles Fort is its star shape, the walls of which measure six meters in thickness—approximately twenty feet!

As a military barracks, the fort has some interesting history, but nothing more interesting than the tale of the White Lady.

Wilful {a popular name in the 17th century} Warrender was the daughter of the governor. Motherless, she was raised by her over-protective father, and when he was stationed at Charles Fort, he brought Wilful with him. At 17, Wilful fell in love with an officer named Sir Trevor Ashurt {tell me that’s not a name straight out of a Regency novel!}. Her father approved of her choice of husband and threw them a lavish wedding and reception in the fort, no expense spared.

At twilight, before turning in for the evening, the newlyweds took a stroll along the ramparts looking out to sea and the sunset over the ocean. True to her name, Wilful saw some flowers growing in the grass outside the fort at the foundations and wanted them. A nearby sentry offered to get them for her, but the groom would need to stand in for him and guard his post. The men exchanged jackets and hats and the sentry left to fetch the flowers. So that Wilful didn’t have to suffer the chilly evening air, Sir Trevor sent her back to their quarters to wait for him. The sentry took his time and Sir Trevor fell asleep at his post.

Some time later, the commander, making his last rounds before turning in, spotted the sleeping sentry. When it appeared the sentry ignored the commander's summons, the commander promptly drew his pistol and shot the sentry dead.

It’s unclear who told Wilful of her husband’s death, but it’s said she ran from her quarters in her white night dress to her husband’s side and was so distraught that her father had killed him, she flung herself over the battlements. Stricken with uncontrollable grief, the commander took his own life later that night.

The commander and Sir Trevor seem to have peace in their deaths, but Wilful has been seen many times at the fort, still in her white night dress. They say she was Wilful in life and remains willful in death as, while the fort still operated as a barracks, she has been blamed for many accidents—a barracks doctor was pushed down a flight of stairs, ranking officers have been harried, and on more than one occasion, children of officer’s wives who lived within the barrack’s walls have had mishaps . . . all claiming they saw a lady in a white dress either before or just after their accidents. One tale says she tried to take the life of a small boy while he slept, perhaps to have the child she was never able to, as when she died she was still a virgin.

Wilful is now simply known as the White Lady, and her legend lives on in Kinsale today, She is still occasionally spotted standing at the ramparts where she and her husband once stood watching the sunset on their wedding night.

White Lady Of Kinsale from LB Frames on Vimeo.

There are several similar tales of love gone wrong and the spirits of lovers left behind, searching each other out for all eternity. But how about something a little darker?

Leap Castle is today Ireland’s most haunted castle. Its name in Irish is Leim ui Bhanain, which translates to Leap of the O’Bannon’s. The O’Bannon’s were the secondary chieftains under the O’Carroll clan. As the legend goes, two brothers contested the chieftainship of the O’Bannon clan. To settle the argument, they had to display a feat of strength and bravery; they both agreed jumping off the rocky promontory where they wanted to build their castle was a good idea! The survivor had the right to be clan chief and build his castle. Thus began a bloody and tumultuous history at Leap Castle, which, by the way, is pronounced Lep.

Another interesting piece of history says the site had been used by Druids for initiation ceremonies centuries before the castle was built. Perhaps this is where the O’Bannon brothers got their idea!

Around 1900, the Darby’s occupied Leap Castle. Mildred Darby was a practitioner of the arts, shall we say, holding séances and reciting incantations. Around that time, two things happened. The first was the discovery of an oubliette—a dungeon or ‘place of forgetting.’ At the bottom of the oubliette were the skeletal remains of several people. So many in fact, that it took three cartloads to haul away the bones—about 150 bodies!

Around this same time, a spirit known as The Elemental made his presence known. Some think it was the discovery of the bodies, others say it was Mildred’s meddling in things she knew nothing about. Whatever it was, for decades this spirit has been seen regularly {in the shape of a decomposing corpse} walking the halls, right up the castle’s destruction in 1922 during the Irish War for Independence. The castle remained ruins until 1974 when it was bought and restored, and the Elemental became active again. Ghost Hunters, Jason and Grant, came over recently with their crew and had experiences of their own. Admittedly skeptics, they were suitably freaked out. That says something, doesn’t it?

Well, there’s a taste of haunted Irish castles. Every castle has a ghost and a tale to tell. If only there was enough time to explore them all firsthand!

If you want to read about other castles in Ireland, I’ve published some travel articles that include Irish castles. You can find them online at www.all-ireland.com. Just click on attractions.

I hope you enjoyed this peak into some of Ireland’s most haunted castles. On a similar theme, tomorrow I’ll be talking about another of my passions—archaeology! But this one has a twist, one I’m sure the lover in you all will appreciate!

~ Scarlett
“What’s a little bondage between friends?”
www.Scarlett-Valentine.com
Available now – Awakening, book one of The ABCs of S-E-X: Love by the Letter series

Wednesday Spotlight: Scarlett Valentine

2011-11-30T04:00:00.000-05:00

A Garden of Inspiration

Happy Hump Day! And thanks for joining me again. By now you should have a warm neck and have your senses stimulated. I hope it’s all good in your house today!

If you liked my recipe yesterday, maybe you want to grow some vegetables of your own to cook, but maybe you don’t have a lot of room in your garden. Why not grow them in your house? Really! My office is at the front of the house and has a big window that gets a decent amount of sun. I say ‘decent’ because it rains a lot here! But it still gets a lot of light which is what vegetables need.

We’ve been in our current house two years now. Last year I thought it would be fun to try tomatoes again. I’d tried them years ago, but they never did well. Not enough light. Water wasn’t the problem, as the pot was on my kitchen sill just behind the sink. But my office gets a lot of sun, which tomatoes love. A friend grows them in her enclosed front porch in grow bags so I thought why not in a proper pot of dirt?

So I got a pot, filled it with dirt and put in a couple seedlings. They went all kinds of crazy, but I didn’t get a lot of tomatoes out of them. Head in hand, I talked to my friend, Chris, who’s a gardener extraordinaire, and learned a few things for next time.

Next time was this year. I grabbed the same pot filled it with fresh dirt and put in a couple seedlings. This year for fun, I thought I’d try yellow tomatoes—Golden Sunrises. How’s that for inspiring? Just the name reminds me of the old bodice ripper romances with the hero holding onto the heroine with the heaving bosom against a . . . well . . . golden sunrise. I also planted a Roma tomato because they’re one of the most flavorful tomatoes to cook with.

As it turns out, the lessons I learned from last year, and the great and friendly advice, came in handy. My vines this year have been wildly producing loads of little yellow fruits. {yes, tomatoes are fruits, folks!}

And here it is, the end of November, and the plant is still a triffid.

What lessons did I learn? Pretty simple, actually. Pinch the suckers—they grow between the leaf and stem. Water—a lot. Fertilize—regularly.

I also learned that tomatoes require fertilization, which is where bees come in. But being indoors, how was I going to make this happen? Easy! I got a little {and clean} paint brush and went around dabbing all the flowers. Kinda tedious, but necessary. And with all the fruit that came on in subsequent weeks, the fruits of my labor resulted in . . . well . . . fruit. The odd part is the Golden Sunrise pretty much took over. I only got two . . . count ‘em . . . two Romas. But how cool was it to see them growing in an irregular red shape against the round yellow ones?! And they were tasty. I used them and a bunch of the yellow ones in the recipe from yesterday.

So what do I do with all my homegrown tomatoes? Loads of things—Frittata, Quiche, Salsa, my aforementioned simmered veg, and my husband likes them in his sandwiches and salad. Hmm . . . maybe I should be thinking Fried Green Tomatoes some day.

How about a recipe for homemade salsa?

2 medium ripe tomatoes, deseeded, skinned and rough chopped
1 small red onion, finely diced
1 medium garlic clove, finely diced
1/2 small jalapeno pepper, deseeded and finely diced {can use Ortega roasted chilies, about 1 tbsp or to taste}
cilantro, a small bunch, finely chop the leafy parts, discard the stems
splash lime juice
salt and pepper to taste

Add all of your ingredients to a bowl as you cut them. Mix well with a spoon, adding a small splash of lime juice. Grab your favorite tortilla chip to taste for flavor, adding salt and pepper to taste, or more lime, cilantro or chilies. Salsa is subjective, so just add whatever extra flavors you want until it's perfect for you.

This recipe is very easy to double or even quadruple if you’re feeling hungry or having friends around. It goes great as an accompaniment to a frittata or quiche, on pretty much anything Mexican, and if you have any ripe avocados, add the salsa to the mashed avocado for a FABulous guacamole.

Good lord! I’m craving Mexican food now. LOL

So you may be asking, how does gardening inspire my work? Gardening, like any hobby, is relaxing and therapeutic. Maybe it’s the communing with nature thing—I enjoy getting my hands in the soil and imagining how a medieval healer would have grown her herbs and kept her garden. Maybe it’s sometimes I grow the food I eat and I wonder how the taste of foods have changed over the centuries. And maybe it’s that all my plants fill the office with fresh oxygen—really, there are a lot of plants in my office!

Whatever it is, I find having plants around me makes me happy. And a happy writer is a prolific writer.

Thanks for hanging out with me again today. We’re getting to be great pals, aren’t we?

Drop me a note in comments and let me know if you grow produce in your house, and if so, what is it and how did you cook with it? Do you have a recipe you’d like to share?

I’m sure I don’t have to mention there are prizes this week! So come back again tomorrow. I’ll be talking about yet another of my passions—Castle hunting!

~ Scarlett
“What’s a little bondage between friends?”
www.Scarlett-Valentine.com
Available now – Awakening, book one of The ABCs of S-E-X: Love by the Letter series

Tuesday Spotlight: Scarlett Valentine

2011-11-29T04:00:00.000-05:00

Cooking Up A Storm

Hey! Welcome back. I hope you enjoyed the pattern yesterday. Did anyone cast-on? If so, email me a picture and some details. What kind of yarn did you use? Who’s the scarf for? Comments? Photos! Remember, there could be a spot prize in it for you.
Not into knitting? Maybe today’s topic is more up your cutting board. Today I’m talking about one of my other passions—cooking.

When did I first realize I liked to cook? Probably the instant I realized I liked to eat and if I wanted to keep eating I needed to learn to cook! Vicious circle.

One of my first memories of ‘cooking’ was when I was five, maybe six. Mom would make these great pecan cinnamon rolls very early in the morning. She’d set them out to rise then spend a couple hours helping Dad pack up the van for a camping trip. We were always ready to go just about the time the rolls had risen properly for baking. Mom would wrap them in thick layers of tinfoil and give them to dad who would then wire them to the engine block. True story! I swear it. {crossing heart} The heat from the motor cooked the rolls while we drove. We’d have milk chilling in the cooler, and when we got about an hour out of town, we’d pull over at a rest spot. Mom would get out the paper plates and plastic forks and Dad would get out the oven mitts and wire cutters. Then we’d sit down to homemade, freshly cooked, gooey pecan cinnamon rolls and cold milk. Oh man, those were the days! I’m drooling just thinking about those rolls. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t get a little tug on my heart with nostalgia.

Through my formative years, I remember all kinds of foods I loved. Today, those same foods bring back the same nostalgia those pecan cinnamon rolls do—chocolate chip cookies, taco feasts, pumpkin pies . . . even going fishing with my dad, bringing home our catch, preparing the fish and serving it up for dinner. Yes, I’ve gutted my fair share of fish. Not for the squeamish, but it was real ‘farm to fork’ eating. Really, the way it should be.

When I made the big step to get my own place, suddenly gone were Mom’s fabulous dinners and Dad’s barbeque. I had to learn to cook! I can’t begin to list the different dishes I’ve made or tried to recreate from Mom’s repertoire {really, who can match Mom’s cooking?}, but with time and practice, I’ve actually created a couple things that have become my own signature dishes. One of which I’ll share with you. Get your bib on. I’ll wait!

First let me say, on their own, I’m not keen about any of these ingredients. Some I tolerate. Generally speaking, they wouldn’t be first on my grocery list for a stand-alone dish. Some of you may think the same thing when you read the recipe. But if you trust me on nothing else, try this dish. I bet if you don’t love it, you’ll at least like it a whole lot. So here it is—

Simmered Vegetables with Poached Chicken and Potato Skin Croutons

Ingredients

Olive oil
2 big onions {I like white, but yellow are more flavorful}
2 yellow bell peppers
2 zucchini {or courgettes if you’re in the EU}
1 small eggplant {or aubergine if you’re in the EU}
2-3 big cloves garlic
2 Tbsp dried mixed herbs
2 chicken stock cubes {I prefer Knorr’s stock pots/gelatin based stock}
2 tsp sweet smoked paprika
1 can of chopped tomatoes {or about a half pound of prepared fresh, deseeded tomatoes}
4 boneless, skinless chicken breasts
4 large prebaked Russet potato skins, or other large potato with a thick skin

Get out a big pan with a lid and let’s get cooking!

Going down the ingredients list, put the pan on medium-high heat to warm and drizzle in some olive oil. You can be generous because it’s good for you, just don’t put too much that you end up shallow frying your vegetables.

While your pan is heating, rough chop the onions and peppers and toss them into the pan. Give them a little stir to coat them in oil so they cook evenly. While those are sautéing, rough chop the zucchini and eggplant then toss them in the pan too, mixing well.

Rough chop your fresh garlic. Add more if you like garlic, less if you don’t, but garlic is good for you too, so whack it in. Then add in the chopped tomatoes, mixed herbs, stock pots/cubes and paprika, mixing well.

While the pan is coming up to simmer, chop the chicken breasts into big chunks and scatter on top of the veg. Press them down into the veg so their surrounded but not totally covered. Cover the pan and turn down the heat so it simmers slowly. Give it about 45 minutes to an hour on low. Check occasionally to be sure enough liquid is developing from the vegetables as they cook down.

About 15 minutes before you’re ready to serve up, prepare your potato skins.
Pour some olive oil into another pan, enough to shallow fry them. Alternatively, if you’re bold and have a deep fat fryer, use that.

The potato skins should be from prebaked and gutted potatoes. Chop the skins into big chunks roughly the size of the veg when you chopped them.

Fry the skins until they’re crispy. Cook in batches to ensure crispiness. As you pull them out of the oil, drain them on paper towels. Use a little sea salt to flavor, or a mix of salt and paprika.

Dish up the veg and chicken, and top with your potato skin croutons.

Eat with a big spoon!

Note: This is a dish you can prepare ahead of time, perhaps a day, and reheat. I like to make a huge batch and portion out two servings per container {one for myself and one for himself} and freeze. When I want to use one, I either defrost it in a pan on low heat until it simmers, or put it in the microwave. In the time it takes to do either, you can make the croutons.

So, how does cooking inspire my writing? Well, food can be very sensual. It awakens all of your senses—flavors on your taste buds, scents fill your nostrils, the color contrast in the pan can entice, the texture of the meat and veg in your mouth and its warmth is so comforting, and you just can’t help but groan with pleasure as the flavors envelop you.

Some believe certain fruits and vegetables have aphrodisiac qualities. For example, zucchinis, and to a degree eggplant, are phallus shaped. Tomatoes are known as ‘love apples’ and contain high doses of lycopene which is a known libido-enhancer.
Peppers, including bell peppers, onions and garlic turn up the body’s heat, sending blood to ALL the organs. And chicken is a great source of protein and releases nutrients slowly into the body, meaning you can go . . . all . . . night!

So what’s not to love about this dish? Have a bowl and crank up your libido!

I hope you enjoy this recipe. I’d love to hear comments back from readers. Let me know if you tried it and liked it {or didn’t}, and any additions or substitutions you might make if you make it again.

Thanks again for hanging out with me today. Remember there will be prizes this week {a spot prize and a grand prize at the end}, so join me tomorrow when I’ll be chatting about another one of my passions—Gardening. Get on your gloves and find a sunny room in your house, as I bring outdoor gardening inside!

~ Scarlett
“What’s a little bondage between friends?”
www.Scarlett-Valentine.com
Available now – Awakening, book one of The ABCs of S-E-X: Love by the Letter series

Monday Spotlight: Scarlett Valentine

2011-11-28T04:00:00.000-05:00

Knitting Up A Story

Thanks for asking me to visit Whipped Cream Reviews this week. I’ve been looking forward to this. And thanks for asking me to talk about some of my hobbies and interests.

As some know, I just came off a two week virtual blog tour. I had an amazing time, met some great people and doled out a few prizes. {stay tuned, as I will be giving out more this week!} As book tours go, every day is filled with discussions about the book: setting, characters, history, why I chose the genre, etc. Readers got to learn a little about me as an author, too.

This week, I’d like to talk about me again, but a little more informally—Scarlett Valentine away from the computer and what she does when she’s not writing, plotting or otherwise being abused by her muse. Also how my hobbies inspire my writing.

One of my favorite past times is knitting. Really, I’ve been crafting since I was very young. My father bought me a French knitter when I was about seven—you know the one that looks like a doll with pins in her head and a hole down the middle, yarn is wrapped around the pins and you use a hook to overlap the yarn, creating a cord. I could make cords for days on that thing. Mom taught me macramé, needlepoint and sew. She also taught me to read early, but that’s another story.

It wasn’t until my great-aunt Tropha came to stay with us for a while that I learned pattern making, knitting and crochet. I would sit for hours with my aunt, listening to her tales of ‘comin west’ in a wagon and living in soddies while her fingers flew over her work.

Aunt Tropha was one of the strongest women I knew. She was born in 1891 and those stories about the wagon and the sod houses were true. A woman was born strong in those times or they never would have survived harsh conditions and wagon trains. Tropha was the youngest of a large brood, each of whom had their daily chores. Even her sister who was named Princess! One of the stories Aunt Tropha told took place when she was three. Her chore was to set the table at each meal with the cutlery. Well, being three and rambunctious I probably don’t have to tell you how she lost an eye. You can just take it that she did. But that never stopped her from doing anything she wanted, including needlework. She once told me, ‘It saves me from having to close one eye to thread a needle!’ She was spunky like that!

I loved writing from the time I was young, and Aunt Tropha’s stories inspired me. I’ve yet to write that kind of story, but her tales are always in the back of my mind. And now, as then, I still find myself remembering her stories while I’m doing needlework. Because it’s also so relaxing, I find doing needlework is one of the best times for story-plotting.

I haven’t crocheted much in recent years, but I did pick up knitting again. I knit for a couple hours at night in front of the tellie. After typing most of the day, one would expect I’d have tired fingers. They’re anything but. I fidget, want to nibble on snacks or pick my nails if I don’t have something in my hands. Needlework satisfies me.

One of the things that has come about since getting back into needlecraft is my love of unusual yarns. I love hand-spun and hand-dyed yarns; unusual fibers like silk, bamboo, milk, corn silk, and exotics like buffalo! As a result, my yarn stash has threatened to get out of control. Currently, it’s contained in an antique wardrobe, but the doors have trouble staying closed! Just two weeks ago I added to that overflowing stash when I attended the annual Knitting and Stitching Show in Dublin! I go every year with a girlfriend and stay for hours drooling over everything and coming home with more than I can really afford. I’m terrible! I still have yarn from the last two shows in my stash I haven’t used yet. I just can’t help myself. I’m a yarn junkie and need a YA {Yarnaholics Anonymous} program to get clean!

With that in mind, I thought I’d share a pattern with you. It’s a Moss Stitch Scarf. It’s quick and very easy to do, and moss stitch creates a reversible garment. And with Ho Ho Day in just four weeks, there’s no time like the present for . . . presents!

Any size yarn will do. I like an Aran weight/double knitting yarn that uses 4-5mm/6-8US size needles. You can use any type of yarn too—wool, acrylic, silk, cotton, bamboo, etc. Just be sure it’s soft because it goes around the neck.

Using a solid color yarn will show up the moss stitch pattern very well. Using a self-striping yarn gives the scarf more dimension, as you can see by my scarf, shown here by my reluctant model, Poppy. My scarf here was made with Noro Silk Garden which is a silk wool blend and self-striping. I used three 50 gram balls {about 6 ounces}.

For casting on, I like the two-needle method for scarves, but feel free to use your own preferred cast on method. For two-needle: Make a slipknot and place on a needle. With the second needle, insert into the loop on the left needle knitwise {as if you are going to knit the stitch}, pull the loop through and place onto the left needle. Add loops by now inserting needle between the loops, yarn over, pull the loop through and place on the left needle. It’s the same technique for knitting, but instead of keeping the stitch on the right needle, it’s placed on the left. Two-needle cast-on makes a neater edge for the finished project.

So let’s get started—

Cast-on 20 stitches. This should give you a scarf of about 5 inches in width. Add sets of 2 stitches for a wider scarf . . . 22, 24, 26, 28, 30, etc.

Row 1—Knit 1 {K1}, Purl 1 {P1} to the end. You will end with a purl stitch. Turn the work.

Row 2—P1, K1 to the end.

Note: Use the same type of stitch as on the opposite side of the work. If the stitch was knitted on the first row, knit it on the back. If you purl on the back of a knit stitch, you will create a rib stitch, which is not what you want.

Repeat rows 1 and 2 until the desired length of the scarf, usually around 4 feet, but you can knit longer if you have yarn leftover {leave enough for the cast-off} or if you like really long scarves.

End on right side row, where you would begin with a knit stitch.

Cast-off in pattern—

K1, P1, slip K stitch over P stitch.
*K1, slip P over K stitch.
P1, slip K over P stitch.*
Repeat * to * to end.

When you have one stitch left, take it off the needle, pull one loop through the stitch to lock the stitch, then snip the yarn with about a 4 inch tail, pull through to knot the stitch.

Weave in ends.

Voila. One moss stitch scarf.

I hope you enjoy this pattern. Let me know if you make this scarf, or something else with moss stitch. I’d love to see pictures of your finished garment.

Thanks for hanging out with me today. Remember there will be prizes this week {a spot prize and a grand prize at the end}, so join me tomorrow when I’ll be chatting about another one of my passions—Cooking. Get your taste buds, and your kitchen, ready for a great recipe!

~ Scarlett
“What’s a little bondage between friends?”
www.Scarlett-Valentine.com
Available now – Awakening, book one of The ABCs of S-E-X: Love by the Letter series

Author Interview with Carolyn Rosewood

2011-11-26T04:00:00.001-05:00

Whipped Cream is pleased to welcome Carolyn Rosewood, whose latest release is Playing for Keeps, book 3 of the Seduced by a Demon series from Evernight Publishing.

Carolyn's been writing stories since she could print, admitting, "I was the geeky kid in middle and high school, carrying a notebook filled with stories."

When she would get bored in class, she'd write, and her English teachers loved her because she was one of the few who didn't groan when a writing assignment was handed out. She didn't major in English in college nor did she get serious about writing until about twelve years ago, but she always wrote.

"The stories would start writing themselves in my head, from the most common objects or pictures." She told me. "I’ve been reading romance since I was 19, and I wrote my first romance manuscript about twelve years ago. It was a mess, filled with every newbie mistake imaginable. I didn’t even have a computer! I wrote it on an electronic Smith Corona typewriter. I wasn’t an RWA member, and I had no idea how to query agents. Two years ago we had a devastating tornado in the town where I now live, and I realized first-hand how everything can change in an instant. I also realized if I was going to pursue my dream of being a published romance writer, I’d better get my butt in gear and get serious about it. I joined RWA and our local Nashville chapter, the Music City Romance Writers. I learned my craft, asked a million questions, and began to write for publication, not just for fun."

Carolyn writes both erotic and non-erotic romance, and I asked her which was more challenging.

"My sexy romantic suspense, Haunted Heart, wouldn’t be considered erotic by most. The heat level is three but the sex scenes are toned down as compared to The Last Soul and Hunted. I don't really find one or the other more challenging. A story is still a story. The challenge is in making it believable, and in coming up with enough conflict to sustain the story without throwing in random obstacles that seem to come out of nowhere. I hate it when I read that in a story. Makes me want to throw my Kindle across the room."

The difference, in her mind, between erotica, erotic romance, and porn is simple.

"Erotica focuses primarily on the sexual relationship as opposed to the romantic one. There still needs to be a story – plot and conflict – but the MCs are together for a sexual relationship. Erotic romance focuses on the relationship. It’s a developing love story, like all traditional romances, where the sex scenes are more frequent, more graphic and descriptive, or a combination of both. In both erotica and erotic romance the author still needs to show the emotional connection. Pornography does not an emotional connection. Porn is just straight sex, like reading it from a how-to manual. There doesn’t need to be a relationship between the participants other than a physical one, and there doesn’t need to be a story behind the sex."

Story is the main distinguishing mark when it comes to a good erotic story, she told me.

"Characters need conflict that can’t be overcome with a nice sit down and chat; they need goals that are believable and meaningful; and their actions need to spring from the motivation to achieve those goals. Even the sex scenes need a reason to be there. When I was writing the first draft of Hunted, Book 2 of my Seduced By A Demon series, I made the mistake of putting a sex scene in a place where the hero and heroine should have been more concerned about saving the heroine’s friends from the villain. The timing was all wrong. Sex simply for the sake of sex will pull a reader out of the story. Think of it this way. If you got a call that a loved one was in the hospital, just as you and your lover were about to make love, most people would postpone the lovemaking and rush to the hospital. That same common sense needs to be in every story I write."

Among the authors that Carolyn believe write excellent erotic fiction are Stacey Espino, Xondra Day and Anna Karaleigh.

"Not only do they write well, but there’s an instant emotional connection to the characters in their books," she explained. "I care about what happens to them and I understand their motivation. Their characters’ actions and words make sense, and the sex scenes are HOT and believable."

"What are the biggest public misconceptions about erotica?" I wondered.

"That it’s porn for women. No, it’s not porn. We read erotic romance for the same reason we read any romance. We enjoy the journey of two people falling in love. Spicy sex scenes don’t make it porn. Lack of emotion and sex for the sake of sex, even when it makes no sense to the story at the time, makes it porn."

The amount and kind of research Carolyn does depends on what she's writing. For the first book in her Seduced by a Demon series, The Last Soul, she researched theories and fiction on succubae, because she'd never written one in a story before. Because it was set in Los Angeles, she also researched the city's buildings, neighborhoods, and cultural events.

"For Hunted, I did some quick research on the Inglewood Park Cemetery, because that’s where the showdown between the hero, heroine and the villain takes place. In Playing for Keeps, the third book in the series, I made up a town in Ohio, but researched Chicago in the mid-nineteenth century because that’s where the heroine, Teresa, lived when she was still alive."

"Is there a boundary between porn and erotic romance that you personally would never cross?" I asked.

"I have sexual inhibitions just like anyone, and my stories reflect them. I can’t write something that isn’t authentic for me. If it doesn’t personally turn me on, I can’t write it. It feels forced and unnatural to me. I place my characters in sexual situations that I’ve either experienced myself, or that I fantasize about. And then of course I turn up the heat! But I can’t write certain things simply because I don’t find them erotic myself."

Some personal things you might not know about Carolyn:

~ she's a chocoholic. Also, she loves anything dipped in batter and fried.

~ she doesn't mind trying new foods—as long as it's not still moving.

~ she can "absolutely" tell the difference between Coke and Pepsi, saying "They have very distinct tastes. Coke is sharper, edgier. Pepsi has an underlying sweet taste to it, even in diet."

~ her favorite letter is S—"I love the sibilance of its sound, and I like the shape. It’s easy to print and it’s really cool when stylized and dressed up."

~ her strangest habit is biting the inside of her left cheek (never her right) when she's nervous.

~ she plays the cello (although she admits that "play" is a relative term.)

Finally, I asked. "If you could give a new writer one piece of advice, what would it be?"

"Learn to take constructive criticism. That’s the biggest obstacle I see in aspiring and new writers, and even some well-established ones. They can’t handle it when someone says, 'try doing this instead' or 'you might want to consider doing this.' We all love our work but it’s extremely difficult to look at it objectively. If you ask a writer or industry professional for help, and you’re lucky enough to get it, don’t get defensive and bitch to your friends about what they said. You not only shoot yourself in the foot, but you block any learning about how to improve your writing. Even best selling authors have critique partners, belong to critique groups, and have editors. None of us is above learning how to improve a manuscript. There’s no law that says you have to take anyone's suggestions and apply them, but at least consider the possibility they might have something useful to offer you."

You can keep up with Carolyn on her website, http://www.carolynrosewood.com/ .

Friday Spotlight: Cassandra Carr

2011-11-25T04:00:00.000-05:00

Five ways to show authors some love on Amazon
By Cassandra Carr

You guys love authors, right? After all, we’re the lovely (demented) people who bring you your favorite books. It’s possible you’ve heard all this before, but it bears repeating: there are a ton of things you, as a reader, can do to support your favorite authors. To make it easy for you, I’ve created a handy-dandy list, using Amazon as an example!

1. View our book. Amazon, silly people that they are, uses a complicated algorithm to determine where in the search results our books land. The more our books are viewed, the higher it will be placed on the list.

2. “Like” our book. Somewhere right near the top in the area close to the price, is a “like” button. Any book with ten or more “likes” is considered popular and is bumped up in the search rankings.

3. Agree with the book’s tags. Down below the information about the book is an area with tags, such as “romance”, “firefighter”, “western”, etc. The more people who agree with these tags (again, I’ve heard the magic number is ten), the higher the book climbs in the search order. Now, here’s something that’s important. Don’t click on “agree with all tags”. It almost never works. Instead, click on each tag individually to agree with it.

4. Leave a review. You don’t have to buy the book on Amazon (or Barnes & Noble, etc) to leave a review there. It doesn’t have to be long – most of the reviews I give are three to five sentences. Be short and sweet – tell other readers what you loved about the book and encourage them to try it out for themselves.

5. Go to the author’s profile on and “like” that too. It’s not only important for the books to be popular, but the author, too. Once again, the magic number seems to be ten. Don’t ask me why…

So now that you know some ways to show your love, can you think of any I missed?

Thursday Spotlight: Cassandra Carr

2011-11-24T04:00:00.001-05:00

The worst writing mistake I ever made
By Cassandra Carr

Every writer makes mistakes, especially when they’re first starting out. What was my worst mistake? Writing a heroine I didn’t like. I had an interesting concept, which I won’t go into here, but let’s just say the heroine really should’ve been a strong woman, considering her occupation. But was she strong? Not the way I wrote her at first.

In fact, she was a weak, whiny little complainer. A woe-is-me’er. And I can’t stand people like that!

So why did I write her that way?

Because I thought that’s how you had to write a character in conflict, and that couldn’t be farther from the truth. Characters in conflict can be incredibly strong people, like the hero in my upcoming book, Caught. Jack is a college professor who also happens to be a rough, edgy Dominant. There’s nothing weak about him, and yet he’s incredibly conflicted.

I bet you’re wondering if I fixed her, aren’t you? Well, I did. But I still haven’t sold that book. It was my first novel, and it’s riddled with other problems, many of which I could probably fix if I had the time or inclination. I don’t have either at the moment, so it languishes on the shelf. Maybe I’ll go back to it someday, or maybe I won’t. But I do know one thing – I’ll never write another sniveling heroine!

What are some of your pet peeves about heroines in romance novels?

Wednesday Spotlight: Cassandra Carr

2011-11-23T04:00:00.000-05:00

Quirky Secondary Characters – yes or no?
By Cassandra Carr

I’m seeing more and more quirky secondary characters these days. And not just in books – they’re all over TV and movies too. So what do we think of quirky secondary characters? Not sure who I mean? I’m going to date myself here, but I’ll give you some examples from TV: Cliff from Cheers, or Rose from The Golden Girls. Both are quirky secondary characters. More modern examples are Howard from The Big Bang Theory and Sam from Burn Notice.

Do quirky characters make stories more interesting? Or do they distract from what you really want to see, which (I assume) is the main characters fighting their way through the world.

I don’t tend to use quirky characters. My stories are very much centered on my hero(es) and heroine, and their battle to overcome the various obstacles to achieve happiness. Sure, there are secondary characters, but most would be classified as “window characters” – characters who are in the story purely to give the main characters someone other than the other main characters to talk to. My secondary characters are best friends, co-workers, all the different things you might expect a quirky character to be, but they’re straight shooters. They keep the main characters focused on their objective and they help the main characters figure out what to do.

Am I missing the boat here? Should I make my secondary characters more quirky?

Tuesday Spotlight: Cassandra Carr

2011-11-22T04:00:00.000-05:00

The novels on my nightstand (or in my Nook, as the case may be)
By Cassandra Carr

I read romance almost exclusively. Yes, I’m sure I should be reading other genres, if only to see what writers in other genres do – what their voices are like, how they handle plot points, etc. But my time is both valuable and limited, so I read what I like best: romance.

Within romance, I read very little paranormal. Just not my thing. Ditto for sci-fi/fantasy. I also don’t read inspirational romance. There’s nothing wrong with inspy, and I’ve read some interesting inspy-type books in the past, but it’s not my first (or second or third) choice.

You’re probably asking yourself – what the heck DOES she read? Contemporary, western, historical, and erotic romance, for the most part. My favorite authors include Jennifer Crusie (or Jenny Crusie, as we call her in the biz, lol), Lisa Kleypas, Deidre Martin, Rachel Gibson, Lauren Dane, Maya Banks, Jaci Burton, and Eloisa James. I was surprised when browsing through the bookstore at the airport the other day to see that Lisa Kleypas had released a book I didn’t know about. How did that happen?!?

Yes, I obsessively track my favorite authors, just like you do. Every writer I know does. After all, at the end of the day, we’re all readers too.

What novels are on your nightstand?

Monday Spotlight: Cassandra Carr

2011-11-21T04:00:00.000-05:00

The FBI probably wants to talk to me…
By Cassandra Carr

Most of the writers I know do the majority of their research online. And as we know, Google is like Big Brother – it’s watching us. It’s also recording every Internet search we do through their engine. If you didn’t know that, there’s your wakeup call. How do they use that data? Lots of ways, but one of them is for law enforcement officials.

Now, I’m not saying that myself or any of the other writers I know are doing anything wrong when we do research online, but can you imagine the dossier that’s got to be building for us? Mine says I’ve searched for steel BDSM collars, Gatling guns, nylon rope, and a whole lot more. You’d think I was planning some sort of invasion, but nope, I’m just doing research for my various books.

And can you imagine what it’s like to be a horror author? Or one that writes murder mysteries? They search for stuff like “how to get blood out of carpet” and “types of hunting knives”. *shudder* But hey, there’s a bright spot to all this – the FBI probably just thinks I’m a pervert. That’s okay with me.

What would your Internet searches reveal about you?

Author Interview with Ella Jade

2011-11-19T04:00:00.001-05:00

Whipped Cream is pleased to welcome Ella Jade, who has a brand new release that just came out yesterday. I asked her to tell us a little bit about it.

Successful businessman Alec Carter realizes his life is less than fulfilled when he meets beautiful Princeton University senior Clara Whittaker at a local coffee shop. Alec experiments in the BDSM lifestyle but doesn't consider himself hardcore until he crosses paths with the obviously submissive Clara. The more time Alec spends with young Clara, the more his dominant tendencies push to the surface. She could be what has been missing.

After her grandmother's death, Clara ends up a guest in Alec's home until she can finish school. She quickly learns she's a natural submissive and decides she wants to explore this new side of herself with the man of house. Alec shows her a life she never knew existed as they enter into a world of role playing, fantasy, and desire. Alec may be the Master, but Clara holds the key to his heart.

As the semester comes to an end, so does their arrangement. If Alec doesn't admit his true feelings for Clara, she could walk out of his life forever. But, Alec isn’t sure which she craves more . . . his dominance . . . or his love.
She also has some exciting news to share. Her last release Be My Everything is an Amazon best-seller, holding in the Top 100 List for Erotica for the last three weeks.

Ella told me she'd always been a writer—even as a child, she had a notebook and pen in hand all the time and now she's an adult, her laptop is never far away.

"I had all these ideas but I didn’t know what to do with them," she explained. "About two years ago, I stumbled onto a fan fiction website and read all of these really great stories. It wasn't long before I decided to try it. I found much success and picked up a pretty big following spinning alternate tales of a popular vampire series. That experience gave me the experience to begin submitting my original stories to publishers. And, here I am, sharing it with all of you."

She's always been a love story and HEA writer and with her experience in the fan-fic world also came her experience in erotica.

"The very first time I tried it, the response was insane and that fueled my fire. I had no idea I was any good at it until people starting contacting me and telling me how hot my stories were and how happy their husbands were they were reading my stuff. I'm credited for spicing up a few marriages," she said. "It wasn't something I set out to do, but with each sex scene I wrote, I learned a little more about how to go about it. Those scenes are still not my favorite things to write and I usually save them for when I'm finished with the rest of the chapter. I'll go back in and insert (no pun intended) the sex. When I read back the final product I can see how the heat enhances the story. It’s still a learning process for me, but I get a little better each time I write one."

One important thing for Ella, there needs to be a strong emotional connection between the characters—she wants to show why they are drawn to one another.

"I don't always want it to be about the physical attraction," she told me. "It's important for them to have chemistry, sexual tension and have the potential to fall in love and live happily ever after. For me it isn't about one sex scene after the other. I'm big with realistic dialogue and creating characters that will stay with the reader long after they're finished the story."

She feels that a lot of people who don't read erotica quickly dismiss it as porn.

"There are lots of stories out there that showcase sex for the sake of sex," she agreed, "but most well written stories have a plot and good characters. Yes, there is sex and lots of it, but if it moves the plot I don’t necessarily classify it as porn."

"How do you do your research for your books?" I wondered.

"I read a lot. I've also been known to Google everything! I'm drawn to sexy, strong, well educated men when I read, so I research many different professions and Ivy League Schools. Several of my stories are set in towns that have good universities.

"My friends think all the sex scenes in my books are from activities that are actually going on in my bedroom. Trust me, I don't that have that much time! Reading many genres of erotic fiction helps get my creative juices flowing.

"The dialogue is what moves my plot in most cases, so there isn't much research I can do with that. I just run the scenes in my head and read back the conversations to make sure they sound realistic."

"What does your family think of your writing?" I asked.

"Most of my family can't believe this is what I write," she said with a laugh. "They don’t expect it from me. A few of them have read my YA Romance Jocelyn's Choice and were surprised at how detailed the sex scenes were. I told them if they thought that was steamy then they probably should skip the next few which include BDSM and M/M. I can appreciate erotic fiction isn't for everyone, so I don't push my work on them. There are plenty of readers out there who want to read what authors like me have to say. To them I say, Thank You!"

On a more personal note, I asked her, "If you had to pierce a body part, what would you pierce and why?" I was also curious what she found sexy about body piercing.

"I'm more into tattoos than body piercings, but if I had to pierce something it would probably be my bellybutton. I've always thought that was sexy, but never really felt I had a toned enough stomach for it. There's always next summer!

"Now on a guy, I like when he has an eyebrow piercing and if he's really hot, I like to see a nipple ring. I've read a few erotic books where the lucky heroine gets to bite the hero's nipple ring. Yum!"

Ella's favorite food is anything Mexican, but especially cheese and onion enchiladas. She's not big on fish, however. She'll eat shrimp or crab meat, but that's about it as far as seafood goes. Her eleven-year-old son, on the other hand, loves fish of all kinds and orders it every time they go out.

"I don't know where he gets it!" she said.

She's also a Coke girl through and through, and she's been known to refuse to eat at certain restaurants because they don't serve the 'real thing.'

Finally, I asked her, "If someone were to play you in a movie, what actor would it be and why?"

"I'm thinking Catherine Zeta Jones. She's beautiful, sophisticated and a great actress. Plus, I'd love for her to play me and speak with her really cool British accent. Yeah, I want a British accent!"

You can keep up with Ella on her blog, http://ellajadeauthor.blogspot.com.

Friday Spotlight: Riptide Publishing

2011-11-18T04:00:00.002-05:00

In addition to being entered into the weekly spotlight contest, all commenters on today's post will be entered into a drawing for winner's choice of Infected: Prey or Making Contact.

You may or may not know who I am, so to help us get acquainted, I thought I’d catalog a day in the life of procrastinating writer Andrea Speed. Now keep in mind this only takes place in the hours I’m supposed to be writing. I’ve saved you all from the agony of my day job and my personal life (ha ha - what is that).

12 - Finally get on computer

12 - 1:30 - Emails. Read all the emails, sift through them, wonder how I get so many emails when I’m not that popular, question why I’m signed up to so many groups, refuse to answer any emails until I’ve written a bit.

1:30 - 2 - Respond to emails.

2-3 - Check out a couple of blogs I like to hit. But just skim. No time to read! Must write.

3 - Cat jumps up on lap. Well, maybe I can read for just a little while longer …

3:15 - Check up on my social network pages … AUGH! Time vampires! You’re all damn time vampires! Why do I even have so many pages?! I won’t spend any time on you! Be gone, monsters!

4:30 - Finally escape social network pages.

4:30 - 4:45 - Write a bit.

4:45 - 5 - Real life interrupts.

5 - I will not check my email again!

5:15 - Stop with email, write a bit.

5:30 - 5:45 - Phone call!

5:45 - 6 - Write a bit.

6 - Offline.

Get back online about 11:30.

11:30 - to 12:30 - Email.

12:30 - 1:30 - Damn you Twitter! Damn you!

1:30 - to 3:00 or so - Write, download podcasts from iTunes.

So that’s a typical writing day for me. It’s amazing I ever get anything done, just like it’s amazing that Riptide Publishing would take a chance on me.

Perhaps this is why I can identify with Josh of my Josh of the Damned series so much. He can often find other things to do besides his job, although he does work the late shift, and has to deal with stoners and zombies alike. What’s my excuse?

Wish Riptide Publishing good luck with me. They’re going to need it.

Here's an excerpt from my short, Pretty Monsters:

The first time the hell vortex opened in the Quick-Mart parking lot, Josh very seriously considered quitting his job. But all that came out of it was a lizard guy, and all it did was amble inside, buy a bag of chips, and leave. All the monsters, while ugly, seemed nicer than his late-night human customers, and Mr. Kwon offered him hazard pay, so he stayed on.

Besides, it wasn’t all bad on the night shift. For instance, right now he was looking forward to the return of Hot Guy.

Of course it was a super hot night, still eighty degrees around midnight, and the air conditioner had to pick now to die. Josh peeled off his polyester work smock and put his nametag on his t-shirt, hoping Mr. Kwon wouldn’t suddenly show up and demand he put it back on. It breathed like a trash bag.

His latest customer was an obviously stoned guy buying a wheelbarrow full of snacks. Not only were his eyes glassy and red, but he reeked of pot smoke, making Josh wonder if he’d spilled the bong water. Pot Guy left and someone else came in. Josh leaned over the checkout counter, hopeful, but it wasn’t Hot Guy, just a lizard guy.

“Guy” in a generic, gender free sense of the word, of course, because Josh had no idea how to tell if they were male or female. Maybe they didn’t even have genders. He didn’t know how to ask without being a rude bastard, and there was a chance he wouldn’t understand the answer anyway.

The lizard guys were all tall, and this one was no exception, at least six foot five and so broad across the shoulders it could barely fit in the aisle. They had all your basic equipment—two arms, two legs, a recognizable face—but their mouths were huge, they had no nose, and their scaled skin ranged in color from moss green to primer gray. This one was a kind of greenish-gray, like his roommate that time he got food poisoning.

Like all lizard guys, this one had a weird gait because its feet were huge, with six long toes that almost looked like fingers . . . which was extra weird because their hands were always small and had just four stubby fingers. They looked like they’d been put together by a five year old with a bad sense of proportion.

They also made such a racket you could hear them all the way from the back room. It reminded him of his first Craigslist roommate, Barry, who couldn’t do anything, even open the damn curtains, without making several decibels of needless noise. For the brief time they’d shared a place, Josh had been convinced Barry was hiding a megaphone to fart into just for effect.

Thwak-thwak-thwak echoed in the shop as Lizard Guy waddle-stomped down the aisle, making a beeline for the Fritos display. It grabbed two bags and turned back, waddle-stomping to the register.

Pretty Monsters is available at Riptide. You can purchase it by clicking the cover.

The sequel, Peek-A-Boo, is now available for pre-order: http://www.riptidepublishing.com/titles/peek-boo-josh-damned-2

Find me online here:
Email address: aspeed2@gmail.com
Website: http://andreaspeed.com/
Blog: http://andreaspeed.com/
Twitter: http://twitter.com/#!/aspeed
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Andrea-Speed/161826617217710

Thursday Spotlight: Riptide Publishing

2011-11-17T04:00:00.001-05:00

Blacker Than Black is my pending December release from Riptide and my debut solo project. I co-authored with Aleksandr Voinov, an August release from Carina Press titled Dark Edge of Honor. Before that, I dabbled a little bit in slash fanfic and could be found perpetually writing and editing my original fiction. And Nanoing like a person possessed. And reading. I don’t find time to do much of the latter anymore. Not nearly as often as I’d like, at least. My TBR pile keeps growing, with no end in sight.

When I’m asked to label my stories within a specific genre, I run into difficulties. There are aspects of many. And then there are the stories that blatantly defy labels beyond the most general. Well, it’s fiction. Speculative fiction. And, um… I’m not a big fan of labels, but I understand the need for them, in defining a story. A reader needs to know what to expect on the pages between the cover art and the blurb on the back.

I don’t consider myself a romance author. The romances in my stories rarely have first chair when it comes to plot arcs. They develop organically, from the interactions of two characters through the course of the story. I don’t make an attempt to downplay the romantic aspect or emotional involvement, but neither do I highlight it. As a theme, it’s a minor one.

One of the prevalent themes of the stories I write is, quite simply, The Unexpected. I don’t mean anvils falling out of the sky like a Wyle E. Coyote cartoon, but the sort of plot twists that resemble unmarked hairpin turns on the Autobahn. Please secure the lap bar firmly against your hips, and keep your arms and legs inside the vehicle at all times…

I revel in writing situations that force my characters to make tough choices where neither option can be clearly pointed out as the ‘correct’ one. I won’t hesitate to strip them of everything, down to the core of their being, and stand them naked before their enemies. Preferably in a corner, so they have to fight their way out, or surrounded on all sides so that even their back is unprotected from attack. That’s the only way to truly show, I think, the hard indestructible core of a strong character. Not everyone will like or sympathize with them; some might want to smack them around, instead. If a reader has to pause and question which warring faction is antagonist and which is protagonist… then I’ve succeeded. If the reader cannot find the answer to the question, I’ve done it in spectacular fashion.

Despite this, not all my stories are dark and gritty. Dark Edge of Honor was written that way deliberately – Blacker Than Black is quite the opposite. Though still indelibly twisted, the aspect and execution are entirely different. Much of it has a humorous side, thanks to the POV character and the first-person perspective. Black is definitely not a depressive pessimist, quite often highlighting the humor in situations intended to be somber or serious.

Black’s story began about four or five years ago, during NaNoWriNo. My original goal had been to write a short story for an anthology call titled “The Red Light District.” (Black still laughs every time I mention that.) The first chapter was designed as a standalone, but I kept writing until I hit 50k on it. The next year, I continued on during Nano, and ended up with a rough draft. It was actually that version of the story, which an established author offered to beta for me, that resulted in DEoH even happening. Aleksandr Voinov fell in love with Black and, on the merits of that first draft, asked to jump in on the war romance.

The heavy editing that transformed the storyline of Blacker Than Black into what it is now took place early in 2011, during lag in DEoH’s editing schedule. When Riptide began formally approaching authors for their First Wave, they offered to contract me for it. I expect it will be the first of many stories that find a home at Riptide.

Here's the blurb from Blacker than Black:

Apparently, my twin and I are two of York’s most notorious criminals. We’ve been Nightwalkers in the blue-light district since the vamps took over the world. Don’t know how many years it’s been. Long enough that a stream of fellow ’walkers have come and gone. Most don’t last long selling their chi. End up face-down in the gutter, or worse.

For us, one night and one sale change everything.

Monsieur Garthelle is the first john to hunt me down. He calls me a chi thief in one breath and offers absolution—servitude—in the next. Maybe I’m a sucker, but I like living and breathing. Strange that such a powerful vamp would show leniency to a mere human. And something’s not right with the chi I took from him. It won’t go away.

Neither will he, and he’s forcing us to spy on his peers. Then a vamp turns up dead, and we go from playing eyes and ears to investigating a murder. This isn’t what I signed up for. All I ever wanted was to sell a little chi, maybe steal some in return. I should’ve kept my damn hands to myself.

This is my story. Look through my eyes.

Blacker than Black will be released on December 12, but is available for pre-order by clicking on the cover above.

Rhianon Etzweiler spent her formative years seeped in military culture, and many of her writing inspirations bear that mark – with a definitive twist. Her main genres are science fiction and fantasy, but she enjoys spicing things up with a speculative mixture that sometimes defies an easy label. Next to Elizabeth Moon and Meredith Ann Pierce, she still counts Jane’s Defense and Popular Science among her influences. “I used to read these articles about cutting edge technology and science, and wonder what impact it would have on society and culture. How it would change us.”

Her biggest failing is the inability to write a "short" story – they may begin that way, but they rarely stay small. “It’s like asking someone to tell you about their life,” Rhi says of her muses. “Like any real person, once you get them talking, it’s unlikely they’ll shut up any time soon.”

Where to find Rhianon:
Website: http://www.rhianonetzweiler.com
Blog: http://rhianonetzweiler.blogspot.com
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/rhianon.etzweiler
Twitter: http://twitter.com/#!/musefodder

Wednesday Spotlight: Riptide Publishing

2011-11-16T04:00:00.001-05:00

What genre do you write mostly and what appeals to you most about your genre?

I write m/m and menage contemporaries, fantasy, paranormals, AU and BDSM, with a heavy leaning toward BDSM at the moment because...Whoa. Writing BDSM is so way beyond cool. Why? OMG, the head space is just amazing, the push-pull dynamic between a Dom and a sub (and inside a sub in response to his Dom). Then again, the subs I write tend to struggle with their submission, desiring to submit but at the same time fearing it. It's such a delicious contrast, those conflicting emotions. Plus, I adore exploring the extra journey my heroes can take in a BDSM story -- their individual journey and the romantic journey they make together, but also the journey their kink relationship takes them on. I love it, just love it.

Where do you get the names for your characters?

Any- and everywhere. Connor's name came from a guy I'm only casually acquainted with in real life. He's nothing like my Connor, not at all, but the name stuck in my head and wouldn't jar loose until my Connor took form.

Tell us about your latest releases?

Collared is a m/m D/s AU available November 28th from Riptide. Connor Witt is a successful and ambitious IT manager for an investment firm with a new lover and his life exactly where he wants it when authorities announce a biological disaster -- genetically engineered crops have mutated and propagated in the wild, producing a biological shift that alters brain chemistry. While everyone else is becoming bigger and badder, though, Connor's an anomaly. His center of aggression has been suppressed. As the world becomes increasingly dangerous to him, he is forced to choose a master to protect and nurture him. When security consultant Emmett makes his move, Connor's boss collars him to protect him. One man offers safety, but the other is the safer bet. Who will Connor choose?

My first BDSM title, a paranormal (shifter) novel called I, Omega also released at Loose Id on September 6th. Gabriel is an experienced sub who is bitten by a shifter Dom and forever changed. He lives on the streets as a vagrant to evade the new master who both terrifies and enthralls him until his master finds him and carries Gabriel back to pack territory where Gabriel

What are you working on next?

In the Red is a m/m D/s mystery for Loose Id

What do you enjoy reading the most?

Erotic romance, of course, primarily m/m, but also menage and a bit of poly. Quite a bit of BDSM. I'm totally in love with dub-con/capture type stories and only wish there were more of them.

What are you reading now?

Sudden Sea: The Great Hurricane of 1938 by R.A. Scotti. Just finished re-reading Jet Mykles Heaven Sent series, for my fic fix. ;-p

Who are your favorite authors?

Oh, Lord, so many. Josh Lanyon, K.A. Mitchell, L.B. Gregg are faves for non-kink. For kink, I'm a total fangirl of Kim Dare, but J.C. Owens, Thom Lane and Jamie Craig have written some awesome repeat reads, too.

What would you advise an aspiring author?
Be stubborn. Learn your craft, don't quit and it will happen.

Is there anything you'd like to tell your readers?

For your Netflix viewing pleasure, Megashark vs. Giant Octopus is the bestest, most cheesiest SciFi original movie, EVAH. Pheremone-driven sea creatures? Awesome. Two thumbs way up.

How can readers connect with you?

If you would like to catch up with Kari, caffeinate yourself and head on over to http://www.KariGregg.com
Friend Kari on Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/Kari.M.Gregg
Follow Kari on Twitter: http://twitter.com/#!/karigregg

Kari Gregg lives in the mountains of Wild and Wonderful West Virginia with her Wonderful husband and three very Wild children. Once Kari discovered the fabulous play land of erotic romances at RWA’s National Conference in 2009, the die was cast. Finally! A market for the smoking hot stories she loves!

When Kari’s not writing, she enjoys reading, coffee, zombie flicks, coffee, naked mud-wrestling (not really), and . . . coffee!

Tuesday Spotlight: Riptide Publishing

2011-11-15T04:00:00.004-05:00

In addition to being entered into the weekly spotlight contest, all commenters on today's post will be entered into a drawing for the First Wave Winner’s Choice: Pick any one backlist book from Rachel Haimowitz, Aleksandr Voinov, L.A. Witt, Brita Addams, or Cat Grant (“Frontlist” books, i.e. Riptide releases and newest non-Riptide release, are excluded, as are the Courtland Chronicles).

Visions and Revisions: A Writer Gets Schooled

When I was in college, I had a lot of pretty typical college-kid writing foibles. I thought critical feedback spoiled my vision, I thought imitating Jack Kerouac was cool, and I thought I was going to be above petty little things like "genre." (For the record, I still think imitating Jack Kerouac is cool, but I know better than to do it in public.)

My sophomore year of college, I had the gall to trot that business out in a workshop writing class, where I listened to the other students explain the difficulties they'd had with my stories. I gave them very grave little nods when they debated the physics of my fight scenes, and I manfully restrained my rolling eyes when they collapsed into a writhing mass of folklore over my four-page zombie story. I wanted to be on my best behavior, because it was a class and not a pro wrestling arena, but frankly I fantasized about thwapping the lot of them upside the head with a folding chair. They didn't get my vision—and I was maybe nineteen years old, so of course I had a vision.

"Do you realize that you've written a romance?" the professor asked me, while we were workshopping my story about a pair of queer college kids hunting ghosts and finding each other. "I think this is the first romance we've had in this class." I cocked my head at that like an excessively obtuse Jack Russell terrier, because of course it wasn't a romance. I wrote it; I didn't write romance; thus, it wasn't a romance. QED, or some other Latin abbreviation. Clearly the woman was delusional.

In short, my first creative writing class kicked my ass.

You have to understand, it was kind of a delayed ass-kicking. An ass-kicking deferred, if you will. I got out of that class with my asshole notions of my own superiority still intact, still pretty damn sure I didn't write romance and didn't need critique and couldn't get better if I tried. I didn't actually realize how thoroughly I'd been schooled until I started teaching writing, when I got a chance to rip kids' papers and stories apart the way my teacher had ripped mine apart. I got the same asshole responses from my kids that I gave my teacher, all "This is good the way it is" and "That's just my style" and "Stop trying to box me into your stupid little categories." The pupil has become the master, and the master wondered what the fuck the pupil had been thinking.

Over the years since that class, I've come to understand what I was missing when I walked into the classroom—and part of it was humility, sure, but the bigger part was self-awareness. I went in thinking that writing was this sort of magical process where the author would go into a semi-conscious, energy-drink-fueled trance and then THE WORD would appear. Any failures in my fiction couldn't be failures on my part; they were obviously failures of the magic.

I wrote a lot faster in those days, channeling pure inspiration onto the page, but I had only a little control and not even a smidgeon of self-awareness. If I couldn't watch myself writing and see why I made each choice, then I couldn't see those choices as choices that I could un-choose at will.

Just because I wasn't aware, though, doesn't mean I wasn't watching. Some part of me—the real, writerly part—had its eyes open as I glugged cans of Amp and had WWF-related workshop fantasies. When I finally pulled my head out of my ass and got ready to be an active agent in the creative process, that open-eyed part of me unfolded my choices for me and showed me where and how I could intervene.

No, of course that zombie story didn't work; it was structured all wrong. No, the kind of gun my character was using was really fucking heavy; I should've used a lighter, more maneuverable one. Yes, that ghost-hunter story was totally a romance. Thus, I was the kind of person who wrote romances. QED.

I could revise. I could rewrite the fabric of the universe and transform dreck into gold. I could make the magic happen.

That long-delayed boot to the ass finally connected.

The dog watch shaded into the first watch, and at the eighth bell, Edouard Montreuil put aside his pen and rose from his bunk. He locked his letter carefully in his sea chest, then buttoned his shirt collar up against his throat. A useless gesture, he knew—it’d be undone for him within the first moments—but he took pride in small signs of resistance.

The other men on first watch went to their stations at the observation deck or the con, and the night crew of engineers went aft to spell the men in the engine room. Edouard walked with them, as he always did, and they ignored him, as they always did. They, too, had their reasons for serving on the Flèche; better not to ask what debts a fellow crewman was repaying beneath the waves.

They’d been submerged for three days now, and the air was thick and hot and stale. The engine room hummed faintly. Behind their tight steel cages, the electric lights gleamed white and steady.

An assistant engineer on dog watch gave Edouard a worried look, and he raised his chin at the pity in it. “Go to your bunk, Valancourt,” he said. If he didn’t have the rank to enforce the order, neither did Valancourt have the will to stay. The crew knew why he passed through the engine room to the captain’s cabin night after night. If they didn’t, it was only willful ignorance.

He ducked his head and slid through the aft portal sideways, like a long-limbed crab. Stork, Ruiz had called him back in la Légion, when they’d all been looking for new names. All long legs. For a moment, Edouard stood in the narrow passage between the officers’ quarters and the engine room, remembering the way the sun had beat down on his brow in Algeria and the way Ruiz had laughed. He passed the alcove where the officers bunked, and rapped on the door of the captain’s cabin.

“Come in,” said a voice from inside—inside the cabin, or inside his own head, he’d never been able to say. It made his ears ache; it made his blood heat and his heart thrum in time with the engines until he thought his skin would burst.

He turned the handle and swung the door open, then shut it behind him. Closed away the light of the engine room, and closed himself into the darkness.

“Sir,” he said, and swallowed against the constriction of his collar. “Reporting for duty.”

“Good,” said the captain, and a limb like a wet cable fell cool and slick upon Edouard’s wrist. His lips found Edouard’s throat, sharp teeth catching there as he undid those carefully-closed shirt buttons.

A second mouth brushed over Edouard’s ribs, tongue wet with a viscous fluid that chilled his skin. A third latched at his hip, needle-teeth scraping, seizing. “Very good,” said the captain, against his throat and chest and hip, as his boneless fingers wrapped slowly over Edouard’s cock and coaxed it hard. Edouard’s skin crawled, but he willed himself still.

Two of those hungry mouths smiled, and the third whispered, “Then let us begin.”

My dear Farid Ruiz,

I cannot say how many times I have begun this letter and failed to send it. At first I thought I would charm you in French, but I have nothing charming to say, so I beseech you plainly in this formal Spanish: Come to Tarifa with all speed. My letters may be read, so I will say only that it is an urgent matter requiring your utmost discretion.

I will be waiting for you in a restaurant known as El Pobrecito, and there I shall remain at six o’clock every night until I am forced to depart.

Yours sincerely,
Edouard Montreuil.
Tarifa, Spain
3 July, 1926.

A flash of lightning illuminated Edouard’s cup, casting a stark shadow along the curve of the rim. He brought it to his lips, sipping only sparingly at the coffee. They made it black here, and bitter; Edouard had never much cared for coffee, but they hadn’t any tea, and he needed his head clear.

Beside him, the wind dashed braids of rain against the windowpane. He tilted his chair back, letting it rest on the rearmost legs as he raised his arms in a stretch. He glanced out the window as he cracked his neck from one side to the other, but the rain was too thick for him to make out the far side of the street. Come on, Ruiz, he thought, as though it would bring the man running with the lightning at his back. Come out of the rain.

He would have counted the seconds before the thunder came, but the peal rolled in on the lightning’s heels and rattled the glasses behind the bar. In the relative dimness after the flash, he finished his coffee and frowned at the dregs.

“More coffee?” asked the young serving woman, and he raised his cup for her to fill anew. She spoke Spanish with an accent he couldn’t place; it wasn’t Castilian or Catalan, and it certainly wasn’t from the former colonies. He ought to have found it unremarkable, in a port city like Tarifa, but his hackles were already up—and she must have seen that he was giving her a hawkish look, because as she poured his coffee, she said, “If I can help you with anything . . .”

“I’ve been trying to place your charming accent,” said Edouard, and his own native French colored every consonant. “You’re a long way from home, I suspect.”

“Asturias,” she said. Her eyes crinkled a little at the question; she looked so delighted to have been asked he felt his suspicions evaporate. “I followed my husband from there when he was called to serve. He’s a lieutenant—”

The door crashed against the wall and sent the hatstand spinning, and the serving-woman startled at the clamor—she canted the coffee pot up too quickly, spilling a long line of tepid coffee across Edouard’s sleeve. The storm swept across the threshold, and with it, a man in a black Mackintosh coat. He drew off his hat, shaking his head like a long-haired pup and scattering drops of water over the nearest patrons. “Where’s Montreuil?” he demanded. “Edouard Montreuil, where is he? I’m here to meet with him.”

Edouard rolled his eyes up toward the ceiling. He hasn’t changed a bit. “Farid Ruiz,” he said with a rather fixed smile. “When I tell you that I’ve an urgent matter requiring your utmost discretion—”

“I nearly didn’t get your letter,” said Ruiz, his wet boots squeaking on the polished wood as he crossed from the doorway. “If it had come even a day later, I’d have been on the next flight for the Canary Islands, and then you’d have been drinking alone—and so much for your urgent matter! So much for your utmost discretion! Buy me a glass of good beer, Montreuil; I’m soaked to the skin.” He dropped into the seat across from Edouard’s, propping up his elbows on the table. He was indeed soaked to the skin, and the rain slicking his black Mackintosh had already begun to puddle beneath his chair. The Asturian serving woman smothered a laugh with her hand and brought him a cup and saucer, but he only gave her a tragic look when she began to fill it with coffee.

“Not a drop of beer?” he asked, and he fluttered his long, dark lashes at her. “Not a drop of rum? It’s not proper coffee without a drop of rum in it.”

“Not a drop,” said Edouard firmly. “We’ve business to discuss, and we’ll drink once we’ve concluded it.”

“Then on to your business, you old stork.” Ruiz downed the coffee in a long gulp, grimacing at the bitterness. “There, I’ve fortified myself. I assume it’s something to do with la Légion, if you wrote me about it?”

“Something like that,” replied Edouard, voice lowered—he didn’t particularly expect Ruiz to take the hint, but at least his own half of the conversation might be quiet. “Do you remember Algeria?”

“I’ll never forget Algeria. Mosquitoes everywhere, skirmishes with the locals, damn Belaire with his Carthagum delendum esta.”

“Carthago delenda est,” Edouard corrected absently. “And you remember what you did, when your colonel took that little Algerian boy and—”

Ruiz’s hand tightened on the coffee cup until the delicate handle cracked free. A shard of porcelain must have scored his skin, because a drop of blood fell to the saucer. “That bastard,” said Ruiz, and now his voice was as soft as Edouard might have wished. “He deserved what he got.”

“And la Légion went on functioning just as it should. No snags in the business; no pauses for the damn courts-martial to decide whether he’d disqualified himself for duty; the men decided the sentence and carried it out. Everyone was happy with it.”

“As happy as you can be, when you’ve killed one of your own,” said Ruiz. Behind him, the serving woman was turning up the gas lamps against the oncoming darkness; the occasional flash from the window was blue and sharp with sea-lightning.

Pobrecito, indeed. Too poor to have been electrified.

Ruiz sucked the blood from his thumb, then rested his chin on his fist. “If you dragged me here to bring up the worst parts of my service, I’m putting my hat back on and going to find a drink.”

“I’ve dragged you here,” said Edouard, “because my captain is a monster, and we go to sea as soon as we’ve a full crew.”

Ruiz tilted his head at that, his dark brows going up. He had strong features, only very faintly Spaniard—Edouard imagined he was the scion of conversos and morenos, simmering for generations under the Spanish thumb. Small wonder Fernando Ruiz had changed his name and joined la Légion. And small wonder he’d put a gun to his colonel’s head and blown him away.

Edouard’s hands were shaking. If he were to put his cup down on the saucer, the rattle would give him away.

“By the time we reach port in Tartous,” said Edouard, “I want him floating belly-up the Mediterranean. I want the crew to come out of it thanking me for killing him.”

“And following your orders? That’s what you’re after, yeah?”

“I don’t like your tone, Ruiz.” He took a long drink of coffee, giving himself time to calm his nerves, then set the cup very deliberately down. “I can live with another man’s command. If he’s a good man.”

“You don’t get many of those,” said Ruiz, bracing his chin on his hand. “I thought I could kill all of the bastards, and then the good men would rise to the top. But all I got were more bastards.” He raised his empty cup, and that toast said, To the revolution that never was.

Edouard raised his cup in answer, letting it click against Ruiz’s before tossing back the last of his coffee.

Outside, lightning cut across the street. Three seconds later, thunder rolled in behind it. “Promise me,” said Ruiz. “Promise me you have good reason to want your captain dead.”

A dozen clinging mouths, a long limb like a rope, wrapping around his throat and squeezing until he saw stars . . .

For a moment, Edouard’s throat closed. He couldn’t bring himself to meet Ruiz’s eyes. “If I thought there was any other way to do this, I’d have done it,” he said, still thick-tongued and aching. “If I thought for a second I could just kill him myself, or even walk away—”

“You can’t walk away from a monster,” agreed Ruiz.

“You can’t. Because he’ll find you.”

Ruiz brought his hand up to gnaw lightly at his thumbnail, but he said nothing. His breathing was even, his gaze clear and steady.

“Will you help me?” Edouard asked, and he hated how small and weak he sounded. “I’ll be happy to repay you—”

“I’ll help you because you need helping. Now, buy me a fucking beer, stork. If I’m to turn mutineer, I’m going to need a damn good drink.”

Peter's debut book, First Watch, is available at Riptide Publishing.

Peter Hansen is a teacher, writer, and former spelling bee champion who lives a stone's throw from the Erie Canal. He got his start in publishing with his college newspaper, where he was forced to write "I will not rake the muck" one hundred times on the chalkboard before they let him write editorials. With that gritty, real-world experience under his belt, he promptly turned to science fiction and fantasy. He spends his days teaching young writers about the pathetic fallacy, his evenings mainlining iced tea, and his nights building a time machine in his basement.

Where to find Peter:
Website: http://peterhansenfiction.weebly.com
Twitter: https://twitter.com/#!/P_HansenWrites
Email: peter.hansen.writes@gmail.com

Monday Spotlight: Riptide Publishing

2011-11-14T04:00:00.001-05:00

In addition to being entered into the weekly spotlight contest, all commenters on today's post will be entered into a drawing for the winner's choice of Shift Happens, Gym Dandy, or Tart & Soul.

Interview with Storm Grant

Who are your latest crushes (celebrity, book character, or otherwise)?

I’ve been re-watching an 80s vampire show called Forever Knight, and I do find Det. Nick Knight sexy. I like Atticus in Kevin Hearne’s Iron Druid Chronicles. But I think I’m actually between crushes at the moment. My last huge crush was Dr. Rodney MacKay on Stargate: Atlantis. (I’m all about the characters, rarely the actors.)

Do you ever keep those people in your mind when writing your own works?

You’d think that would be true since I cut my teeth writing fanfic, and indeed, many authors use celebrities or TV characters as a basis for their own. But I prefer to come up with my own people. Within a very few paragraphs, my characters become real people to me. I wish I could hang out with Dolly and Oz or Adrian and Tom.

If you could pick anyone in the world to be the cover model(s) on your latest release, who would it be?

Funny, but a bunch of writer friends and I were talking about that over dinner yesterday. In Few Are Chosen, my POV character is a 19-year-old boy who is tall, with blonde hair long enough to be tied back. I was trying to figure out who, among today’s young actors, would fit that description, and came up blank. Any suggestions?

The love interest, Shadow, is also 19, black, with dark skin tones, knife-sharp cheekbones, soft, generous lips, and a medium-length, natural afro.

I’d love some suggestions.

With humorous books, they often create art covers rather than using photographs. I know I can stand in the sci-fi and fantasy section of any bookstore and pull out the funny books just by the spines. I actually commissioned an artist I found on the Deviant Art site to do my cover for Gym Dandy. We’re three years in and I’m still not sick of it.

What’s your favorite hobby outside of writing?

Dogs. I have two rescued dogs who are the center of my universe. There’s an amazing chain of old-growth forested parkland running through Toronto and I’m there with my dogs every morning before 7:00, winter or summer. It’s good for all of us.

What would constitute your own personal happily ever after?

I’m pretty much living it. My husband and I are childless by choice, but active with our many nieces and nephews. We have a nice house in a nice neighborhood of Toronto. I’m writing full time, and I have two groups of wonderful friends, the first I met over a dozen years ago through fandom, and the second I met three years ago through the RWA (Romance Writers of America). I have an active online life, and a satisfying offline one, as well.

Although we aren’t wealthy by any stretch of the imagination, we are comfortable. And I’ve found a wonderful, cheap place in Mexico to spend a month each winter. San Miguel de Allende is a writer’s paradise, and my husband loves it too. He spent so much time out cruising the town while I wrote, that he became known around town as “Walking Guy.” “Hey, look. There’s Walking Guy!” or “I know you. You’re Walking Guy.”

Do you own an e-reader?

The gals I worked with gifted me with a Kobo as a retirement gift. I wouldn’t have bought one, but it is very handy. Even though I read fanfic on the computer for years and years, I still prefer longer works in hard copy. If anything happened to it, I would probably replace it with an iPad rather than another dedicated e-reader.

Are you a book hoarder?

Not really. If I read a book, I add it to my Excel spreadsheet and then decide, “will I ever look at this again, either for research or for pleasure?” If the answer is yes, I add it to the bookshelves. If the answer is no, out it goes to someone else who might enjoy it.

What’s the one question you wish people would ask you when you tell them you’re a writer?

“Tell me about your work.”

Maybe it’s just me, but a lot of people only ask you a question as a segue to talking about themselves. Author Fran Lebowitz once said, “The opposite of talking isn't listening. The opposite of talking is waiting.”

How would you answer it?

I find the people who are genuinely interested in my work are usually older and more literary. So I tell them I write urban fantasy. Of course they don’t know what that is so I clarify by saying, “You know, like with vampires. Or Harry Potter.” Then I lose them.

If you were doomed to spend the rest of your life on an island with only one book, one person, one food (coconuts and fish aside), and one object from the modern world (computer, deodorant, vibrator, etc.), what would they be?

One object: Computer with internet access.
One book: Good Omens by Sir Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman.
One food: Thai Green Curry. Yum!
One person… hmmm. Someone trained in the art of surviving on a desert island.

Do you have a favorite character out of all the ones you’ve written

Captain Thomas Ferrell from Shift Happens. The guy is so straight-laced and then he ends up working with an entire agency comprised of supernatural beings, and then discovering that he’s a supernatural being himself! He spends have the book stuck in the form of a giant jaguar, with his humanity slipping away.

Here’s the blurb about my uptight Captain: Captain Thomas Ferrell hates the supernatural. But when the Army kicks him out for weird behavior, he signs on with paranormal investigators Borderless Observers Org. Three missions in, Tom’s learned BOO does a lot more than observe. And that their paranormal investigators really are paranormal investigators. Sent to stop a drug operation in the Amazon basin, he’s unwillingly shapeshifted into a huge black jaguar. He believes he must regain his humanity before he can complete his mission. Is he wrong?

Why is he your favorite?

Because he’s fearless and sexy and willing to risk his life to help others, and absolutely nothing like me.

Where are your favorite online hangouts? What are your daily must-stop blogs and websites?

I have a LiveJournal filter that includes all my favorite blogs and I read it every single day. It includes people I know through real life, other m/m writers, agents and editors, and of course, I Can Haz Cheeseburger.

I don’t Facebook much and haven’t really checked out Google+ yet. I do go on Twitter fairly often, but I’m a blogger at heart.

Speaking of online hangouts, where are yours? Where can your readers find you?

Author Name: Gina Grant w/a Storm Grant
Email address: storm.grant@gmail.com
Website: www.StormGrant.com
Blog: http://storm-grant.livejournal.com/
Twitter: @stormgrant
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/stormgrant

Here's an excerpt from Sucks & Blows, my new release from Riptide Publishing:

Cary was just about to jerk off again when the electronic door chime squawked the first few bars of “Another One Bites the Dust.”

He rushed out to the reception area. “Hello. Welcome to Drewel’s Dentistry!” He hoped he didn’t sound too anxious. And that his residual hard-on wasn’t tenting his racy black dental smock.

That the visitor was tall and handsome, with a muscular build and chiseled cheekbones, did little to dampen Cary’s arousal.

“I . . . I thaw your brothure.” The man held out Cary’s carefully crafted (but badly printed) flyer:

Grand Opening!
Drewel’s Family Dental Clinic
~ Vampires Our Specialty ~

“You do vampireth?”

“Absolutely.” Cary grinned. He’d included the vampire reference to show he was the dentist with a sense of humor. And also to attract the Twilight age group, which was ripe for expensive orthodontia.

“Hurths.” The man pointed to his upper lip, red and swollen on either side of his sexy little cupid’s bow.

“I can help you with your dental breakdown, Mr. . . .”

“Tharpe. Pierthe Tharpe.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Sharpe. May I call you Pierce?”

“Thure.” Pierce held out his hand.

“Call me Cary, then.” Cary grasped the outstretched hand, surprised at how cold and shaky Pierce felt. This guy was in bad shape. He looked like death—if death were really cute, that is.

Withdrawing his hand, Pierce shoved it deep into his jeans pocket, maybe to hide the trembling. “I haven’t eaten in dayths. Hurths too much.”

“Okay then. You’re in luck. I was about to close, but I can squeeze you in. Let’s get you in the chair right away.” He led Pierce through the pristine reception area, which, he hoped, would one day have an actual receptionist. “Climb aboard.” He gestured at the shiny new-and-not-yet-paid-for dental chair.

Pierce clambered into the chair and lay back. Cary took a moment to look at him—professionally, of course. He’d been so excited at getting his first actual patient he hadn’t really checked Pierce out.

Sprawled in a chair was a good look for the guy. He had a terrific body, nicely showcased by a tight black T-shirt and faded jeans. His lips were reddish and swollen and brought to mind other things that made a guy’s lips red and swollen—but in a good way rather than an inflamed-gums way. Short dark hair contrasted nicely with blue eyes that were a little bloodshot. And staring back at Cary.

Click the cover to buy Sucks & Blows.

Claiming the Huntress by Elyzabeth M. VaLey

2011-11-12T04:00:00.003-05:00

Faye aimed the bow at the snarling grey wolf. She narrowed her eyes and drew back the string. The beast did not move. His face was placid as it regarded her with impossible blue eyes. They bore into her, almost as if he were seeking to tell her something. Her eyes began to water and she blinked. Before she could react, the animal was upon her.

She cried out as she fell to the ground, the bow and arrow skidding away from her grasp. She grappled with the large animal, aiming to reach the dagger in her boot, but he was too quick. He pinned her to the ground, his giant paws on her shoulders and his muzzle inches from hers. Faye shut her eyes, awaiting the bite that would take her to the other world, but it did not come.

She waited. Nothing happened, so she chanced a glance. The animal was studying her features. He took in a deep breath and his pupils dilated. His mouth opened to reveal a wolfish grin. Faye swallowed. Certainly, there was something wrong with this beast but she refused to stay and find out. Once again, she struggled to remove him from her but the animal lay atop her, his heavy weight holding her down. He watched her with what she could swear was amusement. The beast lowered his snout to her neck.

She held her breath, waiting for the animal to strike once and for all. The wolf opened its maw, the last rays of the setting sun making the saliva on his large teeth glisten. She screamed as the sharp canines pierced through her throat.

*******

Faye opened her eyes to a sky riddled with thousands of stars and a full moon. She turned her head and a stab of pain pierced her neck. She raised a trembling hand to her throat and gingerly touched the place where the wolf had bitten her but felt nothing more than a bit of dry blood and discomfort. For some strange reason that escaped her comprehension the animal had not bitten to kill but simply to injure.

She wasn’t one to stay and ponder about fate’s hand. She stood and stretched, removing the stiffness from her joints. Faye looked around her, searching for her misplaced bow and arrow. A sudden movement through the trees caught her attention and she froze.

The animal came into view and her chest tightened. The wolf was back. She knew she should run but something prompted her to wait. The animal trotted towards her, stopping barely a few feet away.

Neither of them moved for a few minutes. Then, the light of the moon bathed the large beast. She could have sworn he winked at her, but the action barely registered in her mind as the animal began to change before her eyes.

Where a wolf had been sitting mere seconds before, now sat a naked man. Faye stared in awe. The man was vaguely familiar. He had a thick prominent jaw, a straight nose and the blue eyes of the beast. His black hair fell well below his shoulders, trailing over the broad planes of his chest. Faye stood rooted to the spot as the man rose, the corded muscles in his arms and thighs flexing at the movement.

"If I had known you were so close I would have claimed you long ago."

A shiver raced down Faye's back as she perceived a familiar lilt in the man’s deep and husky voice.

"Do you not recognize me, Faye?"

She shook her head. The man laughed.

"It is true that we have not seen each other for years but when we were children I counted you among my closest friends, even if you were a girl."

Faye's eyes widened as she recognized the quip of her old childhood friend, a young boy that had disappeared on her fifteenth birthday.

"Gerule?" She said in a barely audible whisper. The man smiled warmly.

"'Tis me.”

"How can it be?" She struggled to understand, searching in the depths of his eyes for an answer.

"It just is, Faye. You will understand soon."

Faye stared at him, her mind reeling. Gerule approached her and she took a step back.

"Don't fear me, Faye." He reached out with his hand and tenderly caressed her face. Unbidden tears began to stream down her cheeks. Gerule gathered her into his arms, comforting her. He tilted her head and his lips landed over hers, warm and gentle, the tip of his tongue beckoning her to open for him. She sighed into his mouth and his tongue wound inside to entwine with hers.

Gerule brought her closer and she realized with a start that he was nude, his cock hardening against her clothed body. He caressed her back, his hands slowly sliding down to her ass, cupping it. Her body responded to the touch, hot liquid pooling between her nether folds.

Her passion inflamed, Faye aided Gerule as he removed her clothes. Gerule pulled her against him, his large calloused hand stroking the swollen flesh between her legs.

Faye ground against him. She moaned loudly when one of his fingers entered her sodden pussy and inflamed her heat even further. Gerule easily picked her up and she wound her legs around him, desperately searching for his manhood to fill her. Another finger intruded her swollen cunt and she cried out in delight.

"Please," she asked, arching her back.

Gerule's hard cock rested between them and she wrapped her hand around its wide girth. Another digit entered her and she tightened her grip.

"I want this inside me"

Gerule chucked cheerfully.

"Already you order me like a true female alpha."

She glanced at him uncomprehending, but she was far beyond caring. Her body craved for his touch, her pussy throbbing with want.

Gerule laid her down on the forest floor and nudged her legs open with his knee. He rubbed the thick purple head of his shaft against her gaping lips. Faye lifted her hips and with a determined push he was past the inner lips of her spread cunt and deep into her slick wetness. Gerule pulled back, easily sliding back to the mouth of her sopping canal before driving back inside.

"Tell me how it feels, Faye."

Faye opened her eyes. Gerule observed her intently, his blue eyes piercing into her very soul. "It feels so good, Gerule. Like --" She cried out as she felt the cockhead of his manhood meet her cervix.

"Like?" He prompted, slowly pulling back out.

"Like you belong inside me, like this is my connection to life. There is nothing more to life than this moment with you." She lifted her hips and locked her ankles over his firm bottom, forcing him to drive into her.

Gerule lifted her almost to a sitting position. He captured her lips in a scorching kiss. She nibbled on his lower lip and his excitement increased, his thrusts becoming faster and rougher. He nuzzled her neck before grazing the indentation of her throat with his teeth. A thousand little needles danced across her skin and landed on her clit at the contact.

“Gerule!”

As she cried out her orgasm the man turned wolf bit her neck. She let her head fall onto his chest, listening to his rapid heartbeat. She knew at that moment that something had changed. She glanced up at the moon’s round face and she knew that she was stronger, faster, and not entirely human.

She glanced into Gerule’s eyes. His gaze bore down on her, waiting. Everything became clear to her: His transformation on the night of her birthday, his escape, his fear, and his loneliness as night after night he searched for the perfect companion with which to worship the moon. She lifted her head and captured his lips. She was his mate. She had always been. With his cock still buried inside her to the hilt, she flipped him over onto his back with a joyous cry. Leaning onto his chest, she began to rock her hips and lift her body so that only the head of his cock remained inside her. Gerule laughed merrily. He grabbed one of her breasts and squeezed lightly. He caressed her jaw and lifted his head, pulling her down at the same time for a kiss.

“I love you, Faye. You set out to hunt me and instead I captured you. You are now wolf and my mate in this life and beyond.”

Fuelled by her love and her new nature, she ground her hips faster and harder, her clit bumping against the hard ridge of Gerule’s pubic bone. She cried out, lifting her head to the moon. Gerule's seed spurted deep inside her and his cry echoed hers. Faye collapsed on his chest and he hugged her to him.

"I love you, Gerule. Have no fear for no longer will you howl to the moon in solitude."

About the author: Appearances are deceiving. By day usually shy and quiet; another face in the crowd. By night Elyzabeth’s calm demeanor transforms. Words flow from her fingers giving life to elaborate fantasies of love and desire. Visit her realm at www.InADreamBeyond.blogspot.com

Author Interview with W. Lynn Chantale

2011-11-12T04:00:00.001-05:00

Whipped Cream is pleased to welcome W. Lynn Chantale, whose latest book, Seducing His Wife, is now available. I asked her to tell us a little bit about it.

Haunted by nightmares, Sheridan Sinclair just wants to get through one night without reliving the terrible accident that led to her miscarriage. And she longs for the arms of the man who betrayed her. Matthew Sinclair has always loved his wife, but when she refuses to speak to him after her accident, he's left to wonder what went wrong. When a stolen kiss ignites their forgotten passion, he'll use their love as a means to get her home and in his bed again. Will a husband’s plan of seduction be enough to heal a wife’s broken heart?
She also has a story, "Mistletoe Mamba", in the upcoming anthology Still Moments Christmas Anthology which will be released next month.

Some of the authors Lynn thinks write excellent fiction include Emma Lai, Desiree Holt, Avril Ashton, Rue Allyn and Allure Van Sanz, to name a few, with her favorite being Emma Lai and her favorite erotic book being Tempting Terms.

Most of her research is done on the Internet.

"Sometimes it’s a real hardship reading and chatting online," she said with a wink. "Thankfully, the hubby enjoys the fruit of my research and doesn’t mind practicing."

She did use How to Write Erotic Fiction and admitted, "While it gave great advice, there's nothing like having a critique partner who can read over your work and give advice. I don't know what I would do without either one of mine."

" Did you always set out to write erotica or did it evolve from something else?" I asked.

"No, I didn’t set out to write erotica, but I was desperate to make a sale. So I picked up a book on how to write erotic romance, asked an erotic author to take a look and the rest as they say is history. It sounds funny now, because my first sale was what I would call a contemporary romance, but my publisher considers it to be an erotic contemporary."

She finds non-erotic romance challenging to write, in that she has to reign in her thoughts for the love scenes.

"Don’t get me wrong," she said, "it is nice to take a break from the explicitness, but it’s still a challenge."

Her family is proud of her and very supportive, but she does do her best to keep her writing away from her teens.

"I have one who will tell me in a heartbeat that the titles are freaky," she told me. "As for reading, both of my parents and my sister have read my work. I’m still waiting to find out what my brother thinks."

"What is the most embarrassing sex scene you’ve ever written?" I wondered.

"I would say all of them," she said with a smilte. "But getting the first time my heroine performs fellatio just right for Breaking Delia’s Rules took some doing and several odd looks from the hubby when I questioned him."

I wondered what the evening would be like, and who she would choose, if she could spend the evening with a fictional character.

"Hmm, interesting question. I’m flipping through all the characters I’ve ever met," she said. "I’d probably stay away from J.B. Fletcher, Hercule Poirot and Miss Marple, because people tend to end up dead around them. I think I would have to say Archie Goodwin, from Rex Stout’s Nero Wolfe series. As far as the evening is concerned, just to sit over a meal and be able to talk with him about his cases, how he came to meet Nero and why he decided to remain as his assistant would be enough for me. I bet you thought I was going to say something else, hmm?"

" If you could be anyone you wanted, who would it be?" I asked.

"The truth? I would still be me. I’ve had people tell me they would trade places with my life in a heartbeat. Admirable, but they don’t know what I went through to get to each point in my life. To exchange a different set of circumstances and experiences for say Oprah’s, no thanks. The money would be great, but no thanks."

Some things you might not know about Lynn:

~ her ears are pierced and that's the extent of piercings she wants to have. "I like shiny sparklies on my ears. I don’t find piercing alone to be sexy, but rather the total package," she explained.

~she's been known to indulge a banana split with nuts, she told me with a wink, when I asked what food she considered best for eating off another's tummy.

~her most embarrassing moment? Standing in front of a class room explaining the correct procedure for sterilizing rubber utensils and only saying rubbers.

~her favorite food is Sloppy Joes, with a slice of American cheese. "I can eat Sloppy Joes every day if given the chance," she told me. "Oh and not the stuff out the can either. This is the homemade lick-your-fingers and cover-your-fries-in goodness."

~ she could not bring herself to eat chitlins, however.

~she can tell the difference between Coke and Pepsi, saying, "Pepsi is sweeter, with lots of fizz, while Coke tends to be more citrusy and have more of a kick."

~her strangest habit is feeling her way around her environment.

"When you are not writing, what can you usually be found doing?" I asked.

"I can be found playing bass guitar in the garage, video games, reading, baking chocolate chip cookies or brownies or hanging out with my hubby and kids."

Finally, I asked, "What advice do you give authors wanting to write erotica? "

"I have to take a page from Nike and say Just do it!"

You can keep up with Lynn on her blog, http://wlynnchantale-decadentdecisions.blogspot.com .

Friday Spotlight: Riptide Publishing

2011-11-11T04:00:00.004-05:00

In addition to being entered into the weekly spotlight contest, all commenters on today's post will be entered into a drawing for the winner's choice of Allegro Vivace, Sonata Appassionata, The First Real Thing (Icon Men #1), Appearing Nightly (Icon Men #2), A Fool for You (Icon Men #3), or Entangled Trio.

Once a Marine's a book I've been wanting to write for a couple of years, but I couldn't figure out a way to make it work until Don't Ask, Don't Tell was repealed in December 2010.

I have to give the awesome Rachel Maddow a bit of the credit for this book's birth. Her series of interviews with gay American military servicemen and women facing expulsion under DADT sank its hooks in me and refused to let go. One particular interviewee, discharged Army Captain Jonathan Hopkins, confessed that he hadn't had a personal relationship for his entire nine-year military career. When I heard that, my muse went right to work. Hopkins became the spiritual inspiration for my Marine hero, Cole Hammond.

Since I've never been in the military, I had to do a lot of research to make the details authentic. I read all of Steven Zeeland's books interviewing gay Marines, soldiers & sailors, as well as Rich Merritt's memoir Secrets of a Gay Marine Porn Star and Joseph Steffan's Annapolis memoir, Honor Bound. It was a lot of work - the most I've ever done for one of my books - but it was also very rewarding. It gave me the utmost respect for our men and women in uniform, and made me cognizant of all the sacrifices they make in order to serve and protect our country.

Here's an excerpt from Once a Marine:

Chapter 1
November, 2009

The second he walked into the diner, I nearly dropped the stack of plates I was carrying. Six foot three at least, with long, long legs encased in jeans worn almost white across the front of his well-muscled thighs. Dripping wet from the freezing November downpour, he unzipped his rain jacket and pushed back the hood. Oh, holy Christ. Lush lips, strong chin, cheekbones that could slice through a rare steak. Nordic-god blond hair in a military buzz cut that instantly made the crotch of my jeans tight. Good thing I had my apron on. I pushed my glasses up the bridge of my nose and kept staring.

I wasn’t the only one. Terry’s hand froze momentarily over the cash register as our new arrival gave her a quick nod, grabbed the sports section from the front counter, and headed for the nearest empty table. He didn’t seem to notice us both gaping at him, or maybe he just didn’t care. Drop-dead gorgeous guys like him were probably used to it.

“That’s what I call a tall, cool drink of water.” Terry handed her customer his change and shut the register with a bump of her ample hip. “And lucky you—he just sat down in your section. Unless you want to take your break now?” She flashed me a toothy grin.

“Nice try,” I fired back with a wink. I put my armload of dirty dishes in a tub under the counter and grabbed a mug and a pot of coffee before making a beeline back to Mr. Tall-and-Hunky’s table. The shitty weather had scared away most of the usual Sunday morning crowd, so for once I didn’t get waylaid refilling cups.

Tall-and-Hunky glanced up as I approached. He looked about thirty, with nice eyes—pale blue, but not the least bit icy. Smiling, I gestured toward him with the mug. “Hi, I’m Marc. Would you like some coffee?” He nodded. “Did you want some juice this morning as well, or maybe some water?”

“Coffee’s fine, thanks.” For a second I could’ve sworn I detected the soft lilt of a southern accent. And now I definitely recognized the haircut—shaved nearly bare on the back and sides, flat on top. The traditional “high and tight” cut worn by most Marines. Sweet, seedy memories of falling to my knees in the back room of an adult bookstore in Oceanside raced through my brain as I watched him stir raw sugar into his coffee and take his first tentative sip.

Then those big blue eyes locked on mine, jolting me back to the present. “Um, do you need a couple more minutes to make up your mind?”

He snagged a menu and gave it a quick once-over, the side with “Blue Windmill Café” printed on it flipped toward me. “I’ll have two eggs over easy with hash browns and a side of bacon.”

There it was, and no doubt this time—that unmistakable slow-as-honey Carolina drawl. Just like Rob, I realized with a pang, tugging my pad and pen from my apron to scribble down his order. “What kind of toast?”

“You got biscuits?” he asked shyly, one corner of his mouth quirking up.

“Afraid not. How about an English muffin?”

“That’ll do. Thanks.” He took another sip of his coffee and turned his attention back to the sports section.

“Looked like you were having a nice conversation,” Terry commented archly as I came back around the counter and stuck my order in the queue for Fernando. The smell of burnt toast and bacon grease floated forth from the kitchen, punctuated by the clatter of Fernando’s teenage son Pedro none-too-gently loading dirty dishes into the washer. “Did you notice him checking out your butt?”

“Yeah, right.” Six months ago, she might’ve had me going. Terry loved yanking my chain. Good-natured yanking, but still.

“For once I’m not kidding. He looked right at those cute little buns of yours when you turned around.”

I tossed a nonchalant glance in Military Guy’s direction. He had his phone out now, and was punching at its tiny keyboard with mad double-thumb action. It looked like a toy nestled in his huge, long-fingered hands. Oh, dear God. If there was one thing I went crazy for, it was a guy with nice hands.

“Just my luck.” Terry shook her head, brunette ponytail swinging to and fro. “All the hot ones play for your team.”

“I think the jury’s still out on that.”

“Why don’t we put it to the test?” She snapped up a coffee pot from a burner. “Let’s see if he needs a warm-up.”

Of course, crotchety old Mr. Faber had to choose that moment to hobble up to the register to pay his bill. I rang him up while trying to peer over his shoulder to see what Terry was doing.

She could flirt with the best of them, I’d give her that. Hand resting seductively on her cocked hip, she gave Military Guy a big smile and batted her lashes. He smiled back, his gaze lingering on her impressive bust line. Didn’t mean anything one way or the other—hell, I stared at Terry’s tits too, mostly because they seemed to defy gravity. They exchanged words, but I couldn’t hear what either of them said. Finally, she topped off his mug and sashayed back to the counter.

“His mama raised him right,” she announced with a rapturous sigh. “Such lovely manners. He actually called me ma’am!”

I snickered. “Probably because you remind him of his mom.”

“Watch it, buster. I’m only thirty-five.”

According to Fernando, Terry’d just celebrated the sixth anniversary of her thirty-fifth birthday. But since I didn’t want to get kicked in the shin, I figured I’d better not mention it. Besides, my order was up.

I stacked both plates along my left arm like a seasoned greasy-spoon pro, grabbed a bottle of ketchup, and motored back to Military Guy’s table. He folded his paper and sat back, giving me room to set everything down. The plate with the bacon and eggs nearly slipped from my hand when he shrugged out of his slicker. He was wearing a plain black t-shirt underneath. A really tight plain black t-shirt stretched over every hard, smooth muscle in his chest and shoulders, showing off a spectacular set of guns. It was all I could do to keep from drooling.

“A-anything else I can get you?” Coffee? Tea? Me?

“This’ll do for now, thanks.” His right sleeve hiked up when he reached for his fork, revealing a small tattoo of a bulldog with “USMC” emblazoned under it. Growing up in San Diego, I’d seen my fair share of Marine Corps tats. Most of them looked garish and trashy, but this one was actually kind of cute. So was this guy a real Marine, or just a wannabe?

One way to find out. “We don’t get too many devil dogs in this neighborhood. You here to protect Berkeley from the scourge of all us bleeding-heart liberals?”

His smile immediately faded. “I think I’m a little late for that. Besides, I’m not on active duty.”

Ouch. Now I wished I’d kept my mouth shut. “Well, let me know if you need anything else, okay?”

“Will do.”

Before long, the rain slowed to a trickle and business started to pick up. Within half an hour, the place was packed, and Terry and I were running our butts off. Pedro even had to come out front to help bus tables and ring up customers. I got so busy I didn’t notice when Military Guy got up to leave. The next time I looked over at his table, he was gone.

Royally bummed, I went to clear off his dirty dishes—and there was his phone, under the discarded sports section he’d been reading. It was one of those pocket-sized prepaid models. People left them here all the time. They were so cheap he’d probably rather buy another one than retrace his steps to find it. Oh well. I’d toss it in the lost and found anyway.

He’d left a generous tip: five bucks on a breakfast that cost less than ten. A kind gesture, especially since I’d forgotten to come back and check on him. Not only damn cute, but a gentleman to boot—and with my luck, probably straight as a steel ruler. Best to put him out of my mind right now. I shoved the phone in my pocket, added his dirty plates to my ever-growing stack, and toted it all back to the front counter.

The sun started poking through the remaining cloud cover by the time I got off shift at three. I headed down the block toward the bus stop, zipping up my jacket against the lingering chill. Typical Bay Area weather—cold, wet, and gloomy from now until March. The air tasted good, though, scrubbed fresh and clean by the rain.
Bus service ran slow on Sundays, so I ducked inside the shelter to wait, burying my hands in my jeans pockets. My fingers closed over something small and plastic. Shit, the Marine’s phone! A twinge of guilt plucked at me as I yanked it from my pocket and flicked it on. What was the harm in finding out his name? It wasn’t like I was planning to stalk him. One quick look, then I’d put the damn thing in the lost and found tomorrow.

Cole Hammond. A good, strong name with a touch of country twang. It suited him. His address was right below. It was only about three blocks north. Huh. Wonder why I’d never seen him in the diner before today?

Ten minutes crawled by, and still no sign of the bus. Fuck it—I might as well walk. Except my apartment lay south while my legs insisted on carrying me in the opposite direction, toward Cole Hammond’s place.

It was your usual depressing gray concrete apartment building on Channing, within easy walking distance of the UC Berkeley campus. I’d lived in one of the residence halls not far from here during my undergrad days. So was this Cole guy a student? He looked a little old to be getting his bachelor’s, but grad school was a possibility. Maybe he was studying for an advanced science or engineering degree on the government’s dime. He certainly seemed better-spoken than the average grunt. Of course, if Uncle Sam was forking out the money to send him here, he was probably an officer.

I found his name on the complex’s directory, then started to waver big-time. This was nuts. What the fuck was I thinking? I should just drop the phone in his mailbox and get out of here before one of the other residents saw me loitering and called the cops. Except it wouldn’t fit in the mailbox—the slats weren’t wide enough. And if I left it on the table in the foyer, it’d end up getting stolen.

I could bring it up to his apartment. Leave it outside his door, knock, then take off before anybody saw me. Like leaving a bag of burning dog shit on someone’s stoop at Halloween, only slightly more considerate. Might as well do it and get it over with. I’d already come this far.

His apartment was on the third floor. I decided to take the stairs instead of the elevator. The place was a labyrinth of hallways, but finally I found the right one. As I rounded the corner, I saw someone else approaching from the other end of the corridor.

Oh, God, it was him!

He was carrying a Whole Foods bag in one arm, a six-pack of beer tucked under the other. Fat Tire, from the look of it. Funny, but I would’ve pegged him as a Bud or Michelob man. Those big blue eyes of his widened the moment he recognized me, and he stopped dead right in the middle of the hallway.

I held up his phone and forced a shaky smile. Didn’t want him thinking I’d shown up to mug him, though the mere idea of that was pretty fucking hilarious. He could probably flatten me with a flick of his pinkie. “You forgot something.”

“Holy shit.” Shoulders relaxing, he set down his groceries and started checking his pockets. Guess he just wanted to make sure. “I didn’t even know it was missing. Thanks, man. I appreciate you goin’ out of your way.”

The drawl was back, even stronger this time. “It was the least I could do after that nice tip you left me.”

“No problem. I waited tables every summer during high school. It’s a tough job.” He jerked his chin toward his apartment. “I was gonna crack open a cold one and watch the game. Wanna join me?”

Nothing like Southern hospitality. I smiled and said, “Sure, why not?” then followed him inside.

It was a one-bedroom unit overlooking a tiny green patch of courtyard and another apartment building across the way. Cramped living room just big enough for a couch, a coffee table, and a small flat-screen TV. Galley-style kitchen. A short hallway on the right-hand side of the living room led—presumably—to the bedroom and bathroom.

The place looked like an army of maids had just swept through, except for a laptop computer sitting open on the coffee table, surrounded by several books and piles of papers. One thick volume had “Contract Law” stamped on its spine in bold silver type.

“Law school, huh? You enrolled at Boalt Hall?”

He looked up from putting his groceries away and nodded. “Yup. Just started this term.”

“How do you like it?”

“It’s okay. A lot harder than I expected, though.” He snagged a couple bottles, twisted them open and brought them over. At his nod, we both sat down, the couch springs creaking under our weight. A little lumpy, but not too uncomfortable for something he’d probably bought at a thrift store. Scooping up the remote, he flicked on the TV. It was on a commercial, so he muted the sound.

“So you’ve been in town since, what?” I asked. “Last August? And today’s the first time you dropped by the diner?”

“I meant to stop in before. I pass the place every day when I’m out running. I don’t have a whole lot of money to spend on restaurants, but today I decided to treat myself and celebrate a belated birthday.”

“Well, happy birthday!” I leaned over to clink bottles, but he put up a hand to stop me. “You don’t want to drink to it?”

“It’s not mine. It’s the USMC’s. Or it was, last week. November 10th.”

Oh, yeah. Rob and all his buddies used to make such a big deal out of it, going around slapping each other on the back and wishing each other happy birthday as if every damn Marine on the planet had been born on the same day.

“You’re not on active duty anymore, but you still celebrate?”

“Just upholding tradition,” he replied with a shrug, then flicked the TV’s sound back on.

Football wasn’t my favorite sport. I didn’t even recognize which teams were playing. After a few minutes, my attention started to wander. I glanced around the room, struck by the starkness of its bare white walls. No diplomas, no citations, no photographs. No reminders of home or family. Seemed a bit odd.

We’d finished our beers by the time the next commercial came on, so he got up to get us a second round.

“Don’t you get bored with nothing to look at except that little garden outside your window?” I asked.

He chuckled. “I don’t have time to get bored. School keeps me hoppin’. ’Sides, I’d rather look at four empty walls than miles and miles of fuckin’ sand.”

“You were in Iraq?”

“Yup. Five tours.” Mouth tightening, he handed me a fresh bottle and sat back down.

Holy shit. I should’ve dropped the subject, but curiosity got the better of me. “In Baghdad?”

“And Fallujah. Both times.”

For a long moment, all I could do was stare. This guy had survived two of the ugliest and most brutal battles of the entire war. Despite my left-leaning politics, I couldn’t help but admire him. “Looks like you made it through in one piece.”

“Relatively speaking.” Up went that cute little quirk of his lips again, then he turned his attention back to the game.

We downed our beer more quickly this time. By the time I reached the bottom of my bottle, I had a sweet buzz going. Cole got back up at the next commercial to fetch us another round. I was about to tell him I’d had enough, but his blue gaze locked on mine as he handed it to me, and the words dried up in my throat.

This time he sat down closer to me—close enough to touch—slumping down and stretching his arm along the back of the couch. I went stiff for a second or two, but then leaned my head back until it rested against his forearm. His toned, well-muscled forearm, dusted with soft, pale hair that felt like silk against the nape of my neck. He glanced over, giving me a quick smile.

What the fuck? Was he sending me signals, or just trying to hang out and relax? He already had my heart racing, but still, I didn’t want to presume. If not for the good sense to know when to turn tail and run, I’d have gotten my lights punched out more than once making moves on guys who claimed to be straight. But Cole hadn’t claimed anything; I’d simply made an assumption. A possibly erroneous assumption. Even so, was it worth the risk to find out?

Another long sip of beer, and my left hand made the decision for me. My breath froze in my lungs as I cupped Cole’s knee and gave it a gentle squeeze. I shut my eyes, half-expecting him to haul off and slug me, or at least push me away, but instead I felt his calloused fingers stroke my cheek, the pad of his thumb worry at my lower lip.

“You got a pretty mouth,” he whispered, beer and arousal lowering his tone to a raspy growl. “Why don’t you use it?”

No way to misinterpret that. I set my beer down, dropped to my knees between his splayed legs and looked up at him, making sure he really meant it. The hot glow in his eyes and the way his breath quickened, the tip of his tongue darting out to wet his lips, told me all I needed to know.

His cock stood straight up under his fly, a hard ridge practically bursting through the zipper. I eased it down gently, surprised to discover blue and white checkered boxers underneath. Every other Marine I’d been with had either worn briefs or tighty-whities. Time spun back, and I could practically feel the sticky floor of a video booth beneath my knees, that first grunt’s big, sweaty paw gripping my neck as he shoved his dick down my throat. Dizzy from the memory and the scent of Cole’s pre-cum, I let my eyes drift closed and leaned forward to suck the tip of his cock between my lips.

God, he tasted good. Salty and bitter, a perfect, luscious mouthful. Almost too big for me to handle, which I should’ve expected—guys his height were usually hung like mules. So I opened wide, sliding down until he hit the back of my throat, then relaxed, breathed deep through my nose, and swallowed.

Cole gasped, digging his hands into the cushions, gave a couple of jerky thrusts and came.

I kept sucking him until he finished, not wanting to miss a single drop. At last I pulled off gently, tucked him back into his boxers and zipped him up. “Short and sweet,” I said with a smile, wiping the corners of my mouth, “but I guess I should take it as a compliment, huh?”

“Um, yeah.” He sat up straight, face bright pink, raking a hand through his hair. His fingers trembled as he scooped up the remote and turned off the TV, even though the game wasn’t over yet. “I’ve got some studying to do, so . . .”

I gaped at him, wondering if I needed to clean the wax out of my ears. “So you’re kicking me out?”

“Look, time just got away from me. I got a shitload of reading I need to catch up on—”

His lips kept moving, but I stopped listening. I’d heard this song before. Now that he’d gotten off, he wanted me gone. I hadn’t thought he was that kind of a guy, but of course he was. They all were. Even after the hell Rob and Tony had put me through, here I was, falling for a hot haircut and a nice set of muscles all over again. How could I be such a fucking idiot?

“Yeah, right,” I snapped, finally cutting him off. “Don’t worry, I get it. I’m going.” I got up, grabbed my jacket, and practically sprinted for the door, half-hoping Cole would come after me.

He didn’t.

I’d no sooner stepped from the building’s foyer when it started raining again. I yanked up the hood of my jacket, shoved my hands in my pockets, and headed south, toward my place. Maybe a long walk would help me cool off and feel slightly less cheap and humiliated, but somehow I doubted it.

Once a Marine can be purchased by clicking on the cover.

You can contact Cat in any number of places:
Email address: bittermint2007@gmail.com
Website: http://www.catgrant.com
Blog: http://catgrant.blogspot.com/
Twitter: CatGrant2009
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Cat-Grant/123354784391947

Thursday Spotlight: Riptide Publishing

2011-11-10T04:00:00.001-05:00

In addition to being entered into the weekly spotlight contest, all commenters on today's post will be entered into a drawing for a copy of Hot Head.

Building the HardCell Universe

Grown Men grew out of a photograph posted in May on the (inestimable) goodreads M/M group. Something about this image just prodded my Muse and I knew from the get-go that some deep science-fictioning needed to take place. For one thing the tropical setting felt slightly artificial and otherworldly for some reason and I also wanted to justify the insane disparity between their sizes.

The minute I knew the story was set in the future, I started poking at the edges of the world. How could a giant live and love in a world that accepted him as he was? What kind of world would allow that kind of extreme physical enhancement (and threat)? And how would two men so obviously different wind up together butt naked in a tropical paradise?

I didn’t even know if the story would work, and Riptide Publishing hadn’t even appeared on my radar yet. But I felt like there was an edgy romanticism to these mismatched men and I decided to just jump in because my Muse kept nudging me. The beach setting indicated something primal to me: a raw untested landscape. And the ruggedness of the men indicated pretty grueling gruntwork and a lot of time spent baking their formidable physiques in relentless UV. Tropical setting. Genetic design. Hard labor. The job came almost instantly: terraforming... the process of modifying an existing world to support human lives and industries.

These two studs were building a planet from scratch. Cool.

Okay… so who can afford a planet? Well, obviously the necessary technology and resources indicated a lot of money and political clout, but these fellas seemed pretty working class. So they had to be employees of some kind, hired to terraform for a big company with unfathomable influence and domination. Obviously no company earns enough to buy several star systems without being fairly slick and ruthless. These men’s contracts had to be with a massive conglomerate integrated vertically, with divisions covering everything from baby formula to smart weapons to digital coffins.

And so the HardCell Corporation was born.

Of course in this universe I discovered, if a corporation can own a star system then corporations have finally, overtly, literally replaced governments at every level (not that such a thing could EVER happen). HardCell would need workers for the nitty-gritty, so why not raise employees from birth and offer corporate citizenship only to those who work diligently. And if these employees lived at the whim and mercy of companies, humanity’s “softer” inventions would have been replaced by corporate offerings: art and mythology replaced by “adver-tainment,” homes by “Habitats,” and loving marriages by sex resorts and purpose-grown clones. Employees don’t die, instead they are “retired” by corporate assassins when their productivity drops. In the HardCell Universe, humanity has become cells in a vast interstellar corporate organism… Gah! Sort of depressing, but with lots of room for hopeful, sexy struggle.

Little by little, I followed the HardCell logic outward to build the world for this story. A massive company with billions of employees would need serious food production, maybe that’s why they need to terraform planets, to produce the basics: food, clothing, shelter… A massive corporation would give its lowliest employees the bare minimum in terms of supplies and comforts. The tools and housing would be slick but Spartan, because the employee would be the one doing the work. Who would agree to come live (and slave) on the galactic outskirts willingly? Obviously someone desperate who wants to become a citizen with stock options, elevating themselves from being a mere grunt to rise in the corporate ranks if possible. Someone willing to gamble and sacrifice, big time.

So Grown Men takes place on an agricultural planetoid that’s been designed to generate simple high-volume food for HardCell employees across the Galaxy.
Of course, I immediately got interested in WHAT that food would be. If I ran a giant galactic corporation and needed to feed people, what would the products be? I figured fast food will never go away, and will only get more primitive and guttural… flavored mush that you can suck out of plastic packaging. HardCell would definitely sell shiny, MSG-soaked goo to anyone willing to buy it. Who needs a kitchen or utensils or teeth?! And so “mealpaks” sprang fully formed as the bastard spawn of our fast-food nation. :) But mealpaks would be a treat… too expensive for the average worker.

Likewise, I needed to know what my two heroes would grow in outer space on their island. It needed to be high-protein, high-yield, and highly portable. With an artificially fertile tropical setting, I added the idea of crop terraces borrowed from the Inca. Soybeans and lentils seemed like a no-brainer. Soybeans gave me the idea for SoyShimi because HardCell would want to “package” and brand the crop for consumers. And because lentils are slow, I crossbred it with kudzu, aggressively speedy and a food source in itself. And branded plants would keep HardCell in control of profits. I added mangos because they’re a tropical superfood, very hardy, and easy to ship.

To pollinate and tend the crops, I had this idea about intelligent bees, but I wanted them to be nocturnal (to maximize the growth cycle). I spliced bees and moths (which also gave me a fun “behemoth” pun for my giant) who answered to a mechanical queen that controlled the farm’s crop terraces. The oceans became freshwater (to simplify irrigation) and because I needed an amped growth cycle I decided on a planetoid with twin-suns.

So then, I went through the catalog of planetary objects likely to sustain earth-like life forms and zeroed in on candidates with two suns. I scrolled through hundreds of star maps and tried to find a star system that wasn’t on the far side of the galaxy (because HardCell couldn’t have expanded that far even within a thousand years from now). Little by little I zeroed in on several stars in Andromeda (because of their proximity to our sun AND because I love the myth of Andromeda. Likewise, my gut told me that the myth of Andromeda and the sea monster would be good in a story featuring eels and a possibly murderous giant. And finally I found the solar system HardCell had redesigned: HD10307… and invented planetoid HD10307-E.

Thinking in terms of corporate efficiency, I wanted there to be some kind of meat or ranching going on. Cows and sheep are incredibly inefficient and ecologically unsound. I thought of goats (because I love goats), but they don’t produce enough meat and milk. Since the photo suggested a tropical beach setting, the ocean would be the most productive “paddock,” but fishing seemed too equipment-intensive and low volume. No corporation would pay a man to fish enough to feed a galaxy. Basically I wanted a tasty aquatic animal that could grow to vast dimensions and also underscore the alien-ness of the planetoid. Ding ding ding. EELS! What are weirder or more alien than eels? And their meat is delicious and sturdy. Real eels can grow to nine feet easily, but in the HardCell Universe, biodesign opened up all kinds of possibilities. I made my eels conger hybrids that grew up to twelve feet and made them herd-friendly so they could live in an aquatic corral.

Now my unlikely lovers had a job: on an alien planet somewhere in Andromeda, they farmed and ranched eels, crating and shipping the harvest for profits. By meeting their quotas, they work towards corporate citizenship and the HardCell stock options that will make them more than low-paid employees.

Two strong men struggling for a better life and forced to trust each other. Yay! From that point the love story exploded out of me onto the page. Each of my men met their match and much more….

When the story opens, HardCell has marooned my main character (Runt) in the middle of nowhere. Scrappy and starving, Runt has survived alone for eighteen months because his assigned clone-wife died on entry. Farming is backbreaking work on earth, but farming in isolation on an alien island would be unbelievably lonely and grim. What better situation to kickstart an unlikely romance? Of course, another person does arrive, but not the replacement clone-bride … instead Runt meets Ox, a genetically modified giant nearly eight feet tall and wrapped in enhanced sinew, who most likely has arrived to retire him forcibly and steal his farmstead. Paranoia? Check. Dystopian sexiness? Yuh-huh. Room for some very startling love scenes? You’d better believe it. Grown Men charts the journey these guys take together, both in their harsh environment and with their own distrust and hope.

Rachel (Haimowitz) snapped up Grown Men immediately, grooving on the complex world and tone. Amazing. I love that this story is one of the first books being released in Riptide’s First Wave, partially because I think Riptide is such a wonderful fit for the story and also because I feel like Rachel and Aleks have every intention of making me push the envelope with subsequent “transmissions” from the HardCell universe.

Of course, the world continued to bloom organically around the characters; HardCell and its branches became so crammed with cool situations that I already want to know what happens next. SO many options for other dramatic characters trying to fight the corporate hegemony! So many futuristic redemption stories I’m dying to tell! And so much sci-fi romance out the ying-yang because nothing makes Love more delicious than struggling against impossible odds. *cue ominous futuristic chord* Can anyone bring down HardCell and save humanity from itself?

And all that grew out of looking at a picture and building the HardCell Universe one idea at a time.

About the Author Damon Suede grew up out-n-proud deep in the anus of right-wing America, and escaped as soon as it was legal. Though new to M/M, Damon has been writing for print, stage, and screen for two decades. He’s won some awards, but counts his blessings more often: his amazing friends, his demented family, his beautiful husband, his loyal fans, and his silly, stern, seductive Muse who keeps whispering in his ear, year after year. Get in touch with him at DamonSuede.com.

Wednesday Spotlight: Riptide Publishing

2011-11-09T04:00:00.002-05:00

In addition to being entered into the weekly spotlight contest, all commenters on today's post will be entered into a drawing for the winner's choice of Pull, At Day’s End, Beneath Me, Rite of Passage, Behind Blue Eyes, Tough Guy, Best Unspoken, Coin Operated Boy, Trey #3, The Secret Ingredient, or The Zagzagel Diaries.
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Freckle Fetish

Everybody has them, fetishes. Many don't speak of them; some are in denial that they have them. But the truth is there are certain things in each of our lives that we get off on that would raise a few brows or garner a chuckle or two should our friends find them out. Things that turn one person on may not turn on another, in fact, they may seem unhealthy or even disgusting to some. But c'mon, who doesn't like freckles?

Freckles play a huge part in my first title with Riptide Publishing called Divinity. Vampire/night security guard Martin Hayes can't seem to stop thinking about them or the man who's covered with them, the new night janitor, Dylan Mesmer.

Now, before you jump in and proclaim, "Of course, we like freckles! They're cute." while you're thinking of Jensen Ackles. I'm not speaking of cuteness or the smattering of freckles across the cheeks of an adorable face.

I'm talking full, blown-out freckles so numerous they cover every inch of a man's skin—everywhere. Yeah. Those kind of freckles.

I've known men who have them and hate them, and I've known men who wear them with pride. But until I wrote about them and used them as a prop in my short vampire tale Divinity, I have to admit, freckles were a total turn-off for me.

I once had a boyfriend who was covered in freckles; so heavily was the coverage and his skin so populated with the things, I believe that was on my list of reasons why never to see him again. Of course, I was fifteen, but still, considering not too many guys in my town had red hair or freckles or took European cruises, complete with 3-day stays at nudist islands, and then seeing all those freckles splattered across his chest and arms and legs, and even his ass, I think really scared me at the time…

In writing Divinity though, I wanted my vampire Martin (the main character) to have an attraction to something so strongly that it lasted for centuries and was near unforgettable. Well, when my mind heard "unforgettable," the first thing I thought of was those freckles that had traumatized me as a teen.

And after writing about them and how Martin adored them on Dylan (and Dylan's ass), well, I'm looking forward to the next carrot-top I meet who's kind or brave enough to show me his freckles.

Bryl R. Tyne is a wrangler by nature and a writer by choice, published with Riptide Publishing, Noble Romance Publishing, Ravenous Romance, Dreamspinner Press, STARbooks Press, Untreed Reads Publishing, Changeling Press, and Amber Quill Press. Check out Bryl's bi-monthly column: My Way Find out more about the author at: bryltyne.com

Tuesday Spotlight: Riptide Publishing

2011-11-08T04:00:00.003-05:00

In addition to being entered into the weekly spotlight contest, all commenters on today's post will be entered into a drawing for the winner's choice of one of Brita's backlist books.

The story behind Romeo Club
Brita Addams

When Aleks Voinov invited me to submit something to Riptide, I struggled for several days until the idea of the Romeo Club came to mind. I wanted it to be contemporary and have humorous vibe, and the character of Aaron was born.

I imagined Aaron as the star of the show. He's in the very first scene of Surprises and I believe readers will enjoy Aaron's appearance in every story. As the collection progresses, I think we see that Aaron isn't exactly as he appears.

Each Romeo Club story has a new main character, with Aaron and Blake, the owner of the club, making appearances in varying degrees. At this point, I don't believe any of the characters will carry over into other stories, but I could change my mind as I go forward with them.

I also write them in first person, usually from the main character's point of view, but that isn't a hard and fast rule. For instance, the third installment is from Blake's point of view and necessarily so.

Each story delves into a different sexual fantasy or kink. The client enters the club for their own reason, with their own set of needs and desires. Since Romeo Club is primarily a dating service, only those who catch Aaron's very astute eye are invited to meet Blake and indulge in all the other things the club has to offer.

There will be twelve to fifteen shorts in this collection and I truly look forward to bringing more stories to light. The stories are unapologetic erotica, I make no bones about that. They are a quick read, about six thousand words each – something for lunchtime or bedtime reading. I'll leave you with an excerpt from Romeo Club #1: Surprises.

How often do you like to fuck?

Not “have intercourse” or “make love,” but “fuck,” written out right on the application. Damn! I hadn’t expected such personal questions, but after a few moments of thought, “No limit” seemed as good an answer as any.

“What is your favorite position?” Oh, the possibilities.

“Bent over a sofa, chair, table?” All of the above, giving or receiving.

“On all fours on a bed or the floor?” Right you are.

“Standing against the wall?” Definitely has merit.

“Do you suck cock regularly, or do you prefer to be sucked? Do you swallow?” I should have seen that one coming.

“Dildo preference—glass or flexible?” I’d never thought about it, but the question gave me ideas.

“Butt plugs?” Damn, did other people use those things? I squirmed, thinking a smaller one might have been in order for this excursion.

A whole section entitled “Probing Your Fantasies.”

“Are you into cowboys, pirates, millionaires, policemen, doctors? Kidnap, rape, ménage? Explain your desires in detail.”

I took the expeditious route and wrote, “Yes to all the above.” Why limit my options?

“Are you willing to put yourself in our hands?”

Now, that was a loaded question. The devil in me wanted to write, “Hell, yeah,” while the commodities trader wrote a more dignified, “Yes.”

Only one section left: “The Usual Stuff,” mercifully mundane after an hour’s worth of divulging everything there was to know about my sex life, real or imagined. Name, address, phone number.

Then, bam, “Do you consider yourself handsome?”

Now, what’s a guy supposed to do with that? It’s one of those damned if you do, damned if you don’t questions. If I said “Fuck yeah,” I’d come off as arrogant. If I said “No,” I’d sound like someone desperate enough to live in his mother’s basement. But then, I was filling out an application for a freaking dating service. Wasn’t that desperate by definition? Oh, hell, just leave it blank.

I checked over the tome to make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything, lest a fantasy be left undiscovered. My libido had kicked up several notches this past hour and the black and white photos on the walls did nothing to tame it. Damn, if this was a sample of what Romeo’s offered, I was glad I’d taken the afternoon off.

The adorable blond behind the desk looked up and smiled when I stood. Good Lord Almighty, they didn’t grow guys like that back in Kansas.

Blondie came around the desk, his slim hips working overtime. His body was built to my personal specifications. The fact he’d wrapped it in skin-tight jeans and a royal blue shirt was the cherry on top of the cake. Oh, my unruly cock, be still, boy.

I glanced at the black engraved desk plate: Aaron. He checked over my application with pursed lips and an exaggerated hand to the hip “Have you answered every question? It’s very important that you answer all of them.”

Hmm, what was he, the damn question police? “I believe I did, yes.”

“We’ll just have a peek, shall we?”

He grasped the clipboard with both hands and studied it, save for an occasional smirk or eyebrow waggle in my direction.

“Ooh,” he said with a giggle. Though curious, I was too chicken to ask what part he’d read.

He flipped through the last couple of pages, then settled a hand over the first page. “You have unique tastes,” he said. The sparkle in his eyes was unmistakable. “I believe Blake would be interested in talking to you. If you’ll come this way, I’ll take you to him.”

Brita Addams was born in Upstate New York in a small farm town. However, she's lived in the sultry south for many years. She shares her home with her husband and real life hero, their youngest daughter, a fat cat named Stormee, and Fiona, a puppy who doubles often as her muse.

Her love of history is one of the constants in her life, so historical romance is a nice fit. Brita incorporates archaic English when she writes, or as close as she can come, which reviewers have said adds flavor to her stories.

Her contemporaries allow her to incorporate modern language and pop culture to her stories, as well as throw in a bit of humor.

You can view her entire backlist at www.britaaddams.com

You can purchase Romeo Club #1: Surprises at Riptide Publishing by clicking the book cover.

The second installment, Rubbed the Right Way is available for pre-order: http://www.riptidepublishing.com/titles/rubbed-right-way-romeo-club-2

Email address: britaaddams@gmail.com
Website: http://www.britaaddams.com
Blog: http://www.britaaddams.com
Twitter: @britaaddams
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/britaaddams

Monday Spotlight: Riptide Publishing

2011-11-07T04:00:00.001-05:00

In addition to being entered into the weekly spotlight contest, all commenters on today's post will be entered into a drawing for the winner's choice of one of Aleksandr's backlist (excluding Counterpunch).

Aleksandr Voinov

A Whipped Cream welcome to Aleksandr Voinov, from Riptide Publishing.

First of all where are you from?
Originally Germany, living in the UK.

What do you like to read?
Good stories. I’m pretty choosy and demanding, but open-minded about genres. Right now, I’m mostly reading books my friends write, submissions for Riptide, and non-fiction.

What do you love about being an author?
Being anybody and anything I want. Also, I keep meeting amazing people.

Where do you get your inspiration?
Nono, the question is: Where does your inspiration get you? It happens. Inspiration is like a switch flicked in your brain. That easy, and that complicated.

What fascinates you most about writing m/m?
I haven’t really considered writing anything else. It’s not special, it just is.

What does your family think of you writing erotica?
Who cares? I don’t have to justify anything to anybody, and since I live in a foreign country and only need to interact as much as I want with my blood relations, they basically don’t get a say in the matter. It’s not like any of them are readers.

What would you tell a reader reluctant to read erotica?
If you don’t like it, don’t do it. There are perfectly nice books out there without sex.

Have you ever tested out one of your sex scenes on your significant other?
No, I’d probably laugh too hard.

Is there any topic you find taboo?
Just the usual – pedophilia, bestiality, rape written in a sexy way. I also really don’t like sexist writing, and there’s a lot of that out there.

What role do you think toys play in sex?
Any their owners want.

What do you think of role play?
Been there, done it, still have the dice and character sheets.

What do you think of orgies?
Lots of pronouns to keep track of – definitely not easy to write.

What’s the spiciest thing you can think of right now?
Carlos, my chili plant down in the kitchen. He’s been growing DOZENS of chilis.

What do you find the most challenging about being a writer?
The fear and getting stuck, lack of confidence, just fear to ruin a story. A writer’s demons are all in his or her own head.

What genre(s) do you write and why?
I’ve done historical, cyberpunk, techno-thriller, thriller, fantasy, epic fantasy, military fantasy, contemporary, paranormal, horror, and probably a couple others I can’t remember right now. Why? Because it’s fun and I follow the story wherever it goes.

What's the one thing you wished you had known about the publishing world before you got into the biz?
Yes – more about contracts, for example the ROFR clause (Right of First Refusal – which forces you to submit a story to a publisher if they’ve signed a related story or if they’ve signed you at all). How to calculate royalties. That some people will try to bend you over and use your ignorance about contract terms against you to make a quick buck.

Are you a plotter or panster?
Both. I tend to have an idea where the whole thing is going, but I make most stuff up on the fly.

What’s the one thing readers can always count on when they pick up a book written by you?
That people are complicated, morally ambiguous, that they fight for what they want, and that sometimes, they make very hard decisions. I like to put my characters through the wringer.

If you could be any mythical/fantasy creature what would you be and why?
I’d love to be a Thunderbird.

What do you think is sexy?
Confidence.

Here an excerpt from my newest release, Dark Soul.

The most annoying thing about all this was nobody knew when the old badger was going to kick the bucket. But to make the wait comfortable, at least, Stefano had secured a nice leather chair near the fireplace, Vince covering his flank.

He didn’t expect hostility. If he had, he wouldn’t have shown up; he wasn’t that brave. But he still liked having Vince at his side. This way he had at least one ally in the room. The others were fleeting alliances or all-out rivals for the business soon to be up for grabs.

Luigi Ferretti, the old badger’s right-hand man, stepped into the room and walked toward Rossi, an east coast boss. They exchanged a few whispered words, then Rossi put his wine glass down, straightened his suit like a boy being called to the principal’s office, and followed the consigliere.

Stefano was too low on the food chain to receive the call so soon. First the dying man’s old comrades, then the young Turks. No doubt the big pieces of the old man’s empire would be taken by the time his turn came. But even if there were only scraps left, he couldn’t afford not to be here. He had to circle with the other sharks.
His cell phone buzzed. Just short; a text message. He fished it from his pocket and cast a glance at the screen.

Having a great time, but the hotel bed is so empty without you.

He smiled at the thought of Donata in that Parisian five-star hotel, wearing a silken negligee—maybe the one as red as spilled blood—her small breasts and hard nipples pushing against the barely-there fabric. He was damn lucky to have married her rather than taken her as a mistress, even if he did tend to send her away on shopping trips to London, Paris, or New York when he had to get this involved with the family business. Even if, as she put it, she only bought the clothes so she could take them off for him.

His neck was cramping up, so he stood, stretched out, and then headed for the open balcony doors and the salty breeze. In a corner, two men were talking in murmurs, denying him solitude, so he headed down the broad stairs toward the front of the mansion.

The white gravel driveway was lit all the way from the road. Above the rhythmic swell of the ocean sounding from beyond the house, Stefano heard the revving of a powerful, aggressive engine.

A motorcycle, all sharp edges, painted black with white highlights. It zipped along the winding driveway as if it had a race to win, swerving dangerously and then stopping with a dramatic turn, spraying gravel everywhere.

Including across Stefano’s polished leather shoes.

The driver was hunched over the handlebars, wearing a matching full-body leather suit with Kevlar plates.

Like some modernist centaur on wheels.

The driver stepped off, displaying long, long graceful legs and a tiny ass clad in leather. Woman? Lean and angular, but feminine, even when kicking the stand underneath the bike. The helmet came off after a somewhat awkward release. Short, spiky hair beneath. Not a woman—and that jolted through Stefano just as hard as the driver’s cold, motionless, focused expression. In that pale face lurked the blackest, darkest eyes Stefano had ever seen, and lips like they’d been cut with knife blades, perfect, sharp, and deadly.

The driver cast him an annoyed glance—At his proximity? His staring?—but then paused and regarded him longer. No smile, no recognition. Eventually, he turned to hang the helmet from the handlebar.

Stefano backed away, but watched the man unstrap saddlebags just large enough for a proper suit and toiletries.

The driver glanced at him again. “Old guy’s not dead yet?” he asked.

“Not that I know of.”

“Bene.” The driver shrugged. “I’ll go have a shower now. Wanna come?”

What. The. Fuck. He forced himself not to recoil. Think, Stefano. Think. If he’s family. Son? Cousin? Grandson? He couldn’t afford to make enemies here, even if those words—that invitation—could get men killed.

Wanna come? The way he’d said it could have meant anything.

Stefano decided on a sneer. “That would hardly be appropriate.”

The driver shrugged and sauntered past him toward the house. The guards near the door stopped him, but when he produced a piece of paper from inside his leather suit, they let him pass. They even looked a little impressed. Or was it bewildered?
Stefano followed back into the house—not following the driver, though, of course not—and watched him climb the big central staircase inside.

The leather played off his body in interesting ways. He tried to ignore the other details—taut piece of ass, broad shoulders, the V-shape of the back at odds with the first impression of femininity when he’d straightened up from the bike.

Not that women had any reason to be here. At least not attractive single women.
Stefano shook his head and turned away.

“What the fuck is he doing here?” one man said, casting a baleful eye up the steps.

“He’s Battista’s boy,” another man said, in the far more hushed tones of respect.

“Gianbattista’s getting senile to rely on him,” the other man sneered. “Fucking wild card.”

“Well, seems Battista’s not coming personally.”

Stefano inched closer, ostensibly to settle at one of the small round tables scattered around the house, and pretended to be interested in the glass of salt sticks nobody else had touched.

“What’s he up to these days, anyway?”

“Breeding roses, they say.” The boss ignored his companion’s incredulous snort. “For all intents and purposes, Battista’s retired. I’d say the boy’s making sure nobody comes calling in favors.”

“Security?”

“Oh yeah. He killed Diego Carbone. In self-defense.”

The other man grimaced. “I’d heard Carbone was dead, but not who did him.”

“I have it on good information. He did Diego. Pumped him full of lead and then strangled him. It was a massacre. Diego shot him, too. Put the boy in the hospital for a few months—blood poisoning or some shit like that. People say he’s just as insane as Carbone now.”

“Cazzo.” The man glanced up the stairs, but the driver was gone. “I believe it.” He looked around as if trying to escape the conversation, then stood and followed a servant with a silver tray of canapés.

Stefano made eye contact with the boss who’d been left behind. “Excuse me, I couldn’t help overhearing that conversation. Stefano Marino.” Stefano offered his hand.

Gathering information beat sitting near the fireplace being bored. The thought that the driver had killed Diego—an enforcer so violent as to be virtually insane—made him uneasy. He didn’t hear much news from the east coast, wrapped up as he was in the microcosm of his own territory and his immediate interests. But some interesting names in all that. Il Gentiluomo, Gianbattista Falchi, cultured on the outside with his mild manners and graying temples, an old-style consigliere like straight out of The Godfather. Stefano had met him only once, warned and aware that Falchi was a trickster and schemer, yet still not immune to his charisma.

How curious that the old consigliere trusted his security to this young killer who didn’t seem to give a fuck about tradition. Maybe as a retiree with still-considerable influence, Gianbattista Falchi could afford to ignore tradition, too.

“You’re still here,” a voice said at his back.

Stefano turned around to find himself standing way, way too close to the driver. Those black eyes were without light, without reflection. The stare punched the air from his lungs, and those lips . . . God, those lips. Distantly, he heard his conversation partner making his excuses, but he paid the man no mind, and neither did the driver. He could feel the heat from the driver’s body. Imagined touching. Being touched. He blinked and stepped away.

Only then did he realize the driver had changed and showered, as promised. His short hair was still wet, and he was wearing a severe black suit over a white shirt. No tie. The suit was cut to hide the gun under his right shoulder, but also showed off a whole lot of lean muscle. Not an ounce of fat on him.

Stefano swallowed. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“They call me Barracuda.” No smile, just stating a fact. The name was oddly fitting for that expressionless face. “Silvio Spadaro.”

Spadaro was offering his hand. Stefano took it, the grip firm and dry, the skin rough. Of course, he was a killer, a sicario, so he’d have to touch guns enough to harden against them. Stefano swallowed. He shouldn’t be thinking about what this hand touched and how. “Stefano Marino.”

“I know.” Spadaro lifted an eyebrow, and didn’t release Stefano’s hand. “How long have you been waiting for the old man to die?”

“Leukemia takes a while. We’ve had some false alarms in the past.”

“This time it’s real. That’s why I’m here.” Spadaro kept holding his hand, and Stefano realized he was beginning to sweat. It wasn’t fear. The man was just so intense. Not freakish, not insane. Just mental games, psychological warfare. A killer’s job.

“So, how—” he forced his hand from the man’s grip “—is Gianbattista Falchi these days?”

“Sta bene.” Spadaro cast a quick glance around the room. When the eye contact broke, Stefano could breathe again. But then the eyes came back, staring him point-blank in the face. “He sent me to pay his respects.”

“Why’s he not coming personally?”

“Want the truth or a polite lie?”

Stefano huffed. “Surely he’d say goodbye to his old friend?”

“He fucking hates the rest of the family,” Spadaro said flatly. “And he hates the smell of hospitals. The lies, the polite smiles. He said he wouldn’t trust himself not to make a scene.”

Seemed Gianbattista had embraced his retirement. Or saw a danger to himself here. Stefano filed the thought away. “So he figures you of all people won’t?”

Spadaro’s lips quirked. “Maybe I’m here to make sure the old guy meets Death properly this time. Do you know what’s going on in people’s heads here?”

“I have an educated guess.” Stefano reached for the glass of salt sticks, more unnerved than he wanted to admit by the killer’s comments. He didn’t expect violence, but you never really knew with the family, did you?

“Yeah, well, fuck ’em.” Spadaro cast another glance at the assembled Mafiosi. “I wouldn’t change places with any of them.”

Was that a slip of the mask? Calculated provocation? “Oh? Why not?”

“You know what they did to Joey D’Amato?”

Stefano straightened. Why would Spadaro mention the faggot? Way too crass and unsettling, especially considering he’d been vanished, not even a body to bury.

Spadaro studied him, head tilted. “That’s why I don’t belong to anybody,” he said quietly, but with the force and conviction of a kidney punch. “I’m not following their fucking rules.” He swept the crowd again with his expressionless black eyes, then fixed them on Stefano’s face.

Stefano’s lips tingled. It was still hard to breathe and he had no idea why. He couldn’t let this man intimidate him. Couldn’t be seen as too interested. Barracuda or not—even Gianbattista Falchi’s protetto or not—he could afford zero suspicion. He’d be dead. Fuck Spadaro for flustering him so, and fuck himself for getting flustered, but he’d never show it. “Well, give Falchi my best wishes when you return to him.”

“Will do.” Spadaro sketched an ironic salute and stepped away.

Stefano fought the urge to straighten his tie, fought harder against the urge to watch the Barracuda cut through the assembled groups of men.

He caught Vince’s gaze, and though his bodyguard relaxed a little, he still looked worried. Stefano could see why. A sicario who belonged to a “retired” consigliere, and not just any pensioner, but crafty old Gianbattista Falchi, who’d been more powerful in his own right than many bosses. That was all manner of disturbing. “Paying his respects” by being anything but respectful. Mentioning D’Amato like killing the faggot was somehow wrong. Mentioning him in fucking public.

He stood around, restless, then noticed Luigi approach Spadaro and touch his shoulder. The black eyes flared and Spadaro glowered at Luigi as if he were about to take the older man’s head clean off. But he reached into his suit jacket, pulled his gun from his holster with two fingers, and handed it to Luigi. The consigliere took it without batting an eyelash, then went upstairs. Spadaro followed.

Vince stepped to his side. “That’s really fucking impressive. Arrives here and gets seen almost immediately.”

“Well, he was sent by Gianbattista Falchi.”

Vince nodded solemnly. “I don’t like his attitude.”

“I fucking hate it.” The way the man’s presence made his skin tingle wasn’t hatred, but that wasn’t something he could admit. Spadaro seemed to have that effect on people. The fact that he clearly carried weight and power was even worse.

So what was this guy’s game?

Find Aleksandr on the web at:
Email address: vashtan@gmail.com
Website: www.aleksandrvoinov.com
Blog: http://www.aleksandrvoinov.blogspot.com/
Twitter: @vashtan
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/groups/220403907986697/

Author Interview with Jan Springer

2011-11-05T04:00:00.001-04:00

Whipped Cream is pleased to welcome Jan Springer, whose third book in the Desperadoes series, Be My Dream Tonight is out from Siren-Bookstrand.

I asked her to tell us a little bit about Be My Dream Tonight.

A fiery eruption of solar flares disintegrates most of Earth’s human population, frying electrical grids around the world and thrusting everyone into a cold, harsh land where only the strong survive. Passionate ménages with the fierce men of the Durango gang have always made Eve Wright’s body hum with sizzling arousal. Secretly, she loved all three men, that is, until she suffered a head injury and forgot them. Now her memory is returning with a carnal vengeance and she knows of only one way to relieve her sexual frustrations…by returning to the men she once loved.

When Eve shows up at their hideout, Kayne, Riley, and Maddox are pleased she wants them to help her remember what they once shared. Their hot looks, tender touches, and scorching pleasure-pain will leave Eve tangled in an erotic storm that threatens to break her heart and give up a gut-wrenching secret.
I asked Jan how she distinguished between erotica, erotic romance, and pornography.

"I feel that erotica entails most of the story revolving around sex with a lesser plot and a possibility of not a happy ending. Erotic romance to me means a juicy plot with lots of hot sex and sexual tension and a happy ending always. Porn is just one sex scene after another with no real plot. In other words, sex just for sex sakes."

At the beginning of her writing career, an editor told Jan that she will know she's done her job right when she feels aroused while writing her sex scenes. Jan tends to stick with that rule as a guide for when she's on the right track with a story.

Other authors that Jan feel write excellent erotic fiction include Jaid Black, Lora Leigh, Cheyenne McCray, and Maya Banks, but she admitted there are many more. Lora Leigh, however, is her favorite with Marly's Choice being her favorite erotic book.

"Marly's Choice was the first ménage erotic romance I ever read," Jan explained, "and I am still blushing today every time I pick it up to read."

For research, Jan reads lots and lots of erotic romances.

"Usually if I have an idea for a story – for instance if I want to write an amnesia erotic romance, I will immerse myself in reading amnesia romances to get as many ideas as I can get and then I plunge ahead with fleshing out my story," she told me.

Jan first started off writing romantic suspense, but one day she discovered Ellora's Cave.

"I went thru the 'I can’t write this stuff' phase," she confessed. "But then one day something clicked in my head and I began saying to myself, if other authors can write this exciting stuff then I can too!!"

I asked her what her family thought about her writing erotic romance.

"Well, my brother thinks I write porn. My dad always grins when I show him my covers and my mom keeps bragging about me writing hot stuff to whoever she meets. My mom read my stuff before I wrote erotic romance, but I won’t let her read it now. I tell her she’s too young."

On a personal note, I asked, "If you had to pierce a body part, what would you pierce and why?"

"Oh my! I would go with nipple rings because I think that would look really sexy. I’d have large gold hoops…maybe light weights attached with pretty diamond jewels dangling from the weights. I would think that matching nipple rings, belly ring and labia rings would make a woman look visually sexier to a guy."

Some things you probably don't know about Jan:

Her favorite food is ice cream—all flavors, but her favorite is Baskin Robbins Chocolate Chip.

She can't bring herself to eat seafood—she thinks it might have something to do when she was younger and would go fishing with her dad and brother. She would watch her mom take out the insides and sometimes the heart would still be beating. Now, the closest she can come to seafood is a can of tuna.

She can tell the difference between Coke and Pepsi, but not because of the taste—Pepsi keeps her from sleeping at night and Coke doesn't.

Her favorite letter is F. Why? "I use the f word a lot when I am mad," she admitted.

If someone were to play Jan in a movie, she would like it to be Julia Roberts.

"First of all, because she is my favorite actress and she’s a great actress. Second of all she did a really wonderful job in the movie Eat, Pray, Love about a woman searching for her destiny. I too seem to searching constantly for my destiny, so that’s why I would pick her to play the part of me."

"What is your most embarrassing moment?" I asked.

"Well, I guess it would be safe to say it here since you asked…I believe in chiropractors so I go to them. One particular time I was going to this one chiropractor who put me into the position on the table to adjust my hips…when he was pushing down on my one hip…I farted. How embarrassing!! I never went back to him, I was so embarrassed. So, yeah, that would be it for me."

Finally, I asked Jan what advice she would give to authors who wanted to write erotica.

"When I first started out thinking about writing erotica I kept saying to myself 'I can’t write these kinds of stories. What will people think?' My advice is, don’t give a hoot what other people think. If you want to write erotica or erotica romance, then by all means write it. Hide behind a pseudonym if you have to," she said with a grin, "but get your butt into a chair and write. Make a habit to write every day. When I started out I wrote during lunch hours at work. I wrote while waiting in the doctor or dentist’s offices (of course I always found a secluded corner where no one could look over my shoulder). For the longest time I would escape the madness of family (I still do) by hopping into the car and heading to a park with a parking lot where I can sit and write for hours (with the doors locked). I write in the car in the winter in 30 below celcius (turning on the heater once in awhile). I write in heat waves parking my car under trees (lots of cold water in the cooler), and I’ve been known to sit in my car during blizzards in order to finish a story. The latter part is how I found my latest stray cat, Chee Chee, during a blizzard stuck up a tree." She laughed. "I coaxed the skinny ball of fur down from the tree and took her home with me. Anyways the moral of my story is write wherever you can and whenever you can. Read your favorite authors and figure out why you like their voice and how they write. Soon you’ll be able to find your own voice and you’ll be on your way. Most of all, if you really crave to write it, never give up. No matter what."

You can keep up with Jan on her website, http://www.JanSpringer.com.

Friday Spotlight: Cassandra Carr

2011-11-04T04:00:00.001-04:00

Why My Books Are Set in Buffalo (for the most part, anyway)
By Cassandra Carr

I live in the Western New York area, which includes the city of Buffalo. I’m proud of where I live – I think it’s a great place to raise a family and the people here are awesome.

So when I started writing, it seemed only natural to set my books in Buffalo. Why not highlight the place I call home? Why not show everyone there’s so much more to Buffalo than the supposed piles of snow on the ground from September to May. *rolling eyes* Why not write about an area I’m intimately familiar with, rather than having to do research on every little thing?

And really, why not Buffalo? It’s just as easy to fall in love in Buffalo as it is any other place. There are hot guys here, too, I assure you. Several of them play for our local NHL team, the Buffalo Sabres. If you don’t believe me, check out this post I did a little while ago on my personal blog. And those are just the youngsters!

Do you like smaller town settings or do you prefer the bright lights of more urban areas?

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Cassandra Carr lives in Western New York with her husband, Inspiration, and her daughter, Too Cute for Words. When not writing she enjoys watching hockey and hanging out on Twitter. Her debut novel, Talk to Me, was released by Loose Id on March 22, 2011. Head Games, Buffalo Intimidators book 1, will release on November 2, 2011 from Siren Bookstrand, and Caught will release December 13, 2011 from Loose Id. For more information about Cassandra, check out her website at http://www.booksbycassandracarr.com/, "like" her Facebook fan page at http://www.facebook.com/AuthorCassandraCarr or follow her on Twitter at http://www.twitter.com/Cassandra_Carr

Thursday Spotlight: Cassandra Carr

2011-11-03T04:00:00.000-04:00

Why Writing at a Coffee Shop Can Be Hazardous to Your Health and Others
By Cassandra Carr

I sometimes am able to leave the house to write. Most times I either go to Panera Bread or a local grocery store that has a café area. I prefer to have my back against a wall when I write. Why? Not because I don’t want to have my back to the door (it’s not like someone’s going to whack me Sopranos-style or something), but because if my back is against the wall my screen won’t be in easy reading distance.

Why is this important? Because I write REALLY hot erotic romances, and I’d hate to have someone either 1-trip because they were trying to read the salacious words on my screen or 2- have a heart attack, either from the words or from looking at the quite innocent-looking woman writing them. It’s a public service, really.

Of course, now that I’m writing about Panera Bread I’m craving one of their delicious baked goods, which are only ninety-nine cents when you purchase lunch or dinner. Yes, I go to Panera far too often. Why do you ask?

Have you ever read something on someone else’s laptop screen in a public place? ‘fess up!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Cassandra Carr lives in Western New York with her husband, Inspiration, and her daughter, Too Cute for Words. When not writing she enjoys watching hockey and hanging out on Twitter. Her debut novel, Talk to Me, was released by Loose Id on March 22, 2011. Head Games, Buffalo Intimidators book 1, will release on November 2, 2011 from Siren Bookstrand, and Caught will release December 13, 2011 from Loose Id. For more information about Cassandra, check out her website at http://www.booksbycassandracarr.com, "like" her Facebook fan page at http://www.facebook.com/AuthorCassandraCarr or follow her on Twitter at http://www.twitter.com/Cassandra_Carr

Wednesday Spotlight: Cassandra Carr

2011-11-02T04:00:00.000-04:00

What I Wish I Had Done From June 2006 to June 2008
By Cassandra Carr

I was laid off from my job as Director of Marketing for a dot com in December 2005. I took a six-month contract after that, but other than two brief stints on contract with a local hospital doing event planning and public relations, I haven’t worked full-time since May 2006. One of those stints at the hospital was from April to August 2007, while the other was from August 2009 to March 2010.

I started writing as a career choice in June 2008 (though obviously when the chance to make money at the hospital came again in 2009 I took it). So what did I do between June 2006 and June 2008? Not much, really. Sure, I did some contract marketing work, but overall, I wasted my days away online, watching movies, etc.

Now that I’m a multi-published career writer, I’d love to have that time back. Think of what I could’ve written in two solid years – when I had no children! But as they say, hindsight is 20/20, and I try not to regret the things I do. I believe things happen for a reason.

So what’s the point of this post? Simply this: use the time you’re given as best you can, but be gentle with yourself. If the laundry doesn’t get done the world won’t end. Trust me. I’ve been there and lived to tell about it.

Is there something you wish you had done in your life? Is there still time to do it?

Head Games Excerpt - Chapter 1
“I can’t take it anymore!” Leo Laporte, goaltender for the Buffalo Intimidators, glared at his teammates as they glided past him after the third goal in the first ten minutes of the game was scored. “You guys either play some fucking defense or I’ll jam my stick where the sun don’t shine! You got that?”

Crouching down into his stance, he banged said stick on each post just as he did before every faceoff at center ice. Looking up, he saw the head coach, Tom, waving at him. A quick glance to Tom’s left showed his goaltending partner, Scott Schaffer, warming up.
“Fuck!”

Tom called a time-out, and Leo skated to the bench, bracing for the tirade.

“You guys need to get your heads outta your asses, pronto. You’re down by three already and the game’s hardly even ten minutes old. Since you don’t seem to want to play for Leo tonight, we’ll see how you do with Scott in net.”

Tom threw a sympathetic look Scott’s way.

“Good luck saving anything with these jackasses in front of you.”

Tom wasn’t known for mincing words, and tonight was no exception.

Leo opened the door to the bench and squeezed around one of the team’s hulking defensemen as best he could.

Glaring at the man, he thought, Slug’s not good for much tonight. Certainly not getting out of my way.

The guy was built like a tank and made a much better door than he did a window, as Leo could attest on that third goal. The puck had been in the net before Leo had even been able to react.

Leo clapped Scott on the shoulder. “Good luck, man.”

Scott nodded and took the ice. Performing a few quick stretches in the crease, he raised his catching glove to signal his readiness to continue play. Leo sat down, taking a long pull from a water bottle he’d grabbed from the shelf in front of him. No one said a word to him, which was just fine.

The team responded to Scott being in net and scored two goals by the end of the first. Leo stalked into the dressing room, heading straight for the can. Just as he’d planned, by the time he got out the second period was about to start. Tom told him he was going to continue to play Scott to see if they couldn’t salvage the game, and Leo nodded. It irked him that he’d been left out to dry, but he also knew damn well they’d done the same to Scott in the past. It was one of those weird hockey things no one could put a finger on, and Leo didn’t even try.

After trundling back to the bench for the second period, his stomach growled. The noise caused his mind to wander, straight to the tall, curvy woman with a mess of curls his hands just itched to plunge into. Right now Kelly Chase was probably pulling her famous apple pie out of the oven at the bistro where he and Scott had been going for dinner after games for nearly a year. Thinking about seeing her made his cock harden inside his jock and he willed it down. Having a hard-on when wearing a cup was a pretty damn unpleasant experience—one he wasn’t eager to go through at the moment.

He’d bet she knew he’d been pulled, but he’d also put money on the fact that if anyone made an ass-hatted comment about why she’d shut them right up. Kelly knew her hockey, and she watched every game on the big screen TV housed behind the counter at her bistro as best she could in between cooking meals for the customers. He could almost smell her special sour cream apple pie. She only made it on home game days when she knew Leo and Scott would be coming in afterward for their post-game meal. She’d even named it after the team, calling it Intimidating Apple Pie. There was sure as hell nothing intimidating about it, but it was definitely sinful, which was just how he liked it.

Thinking about her and her pie brought his mind to other subjects, like what she was most likely wearing that night. It drove him crazy the way she dressedin these cute little light pink T-shirts with Kelly’s emblazoned on the front right across her ample breasts. Even her chef’s clogs—also light pink—were cute. But her body wasn’t cute. It was sexy as hell. She was all bumps and curves, in all the right places. She wasn’t a dainty little thing, standing only about an inch shorter than his five foot ten, and he loved that about her—gave him something to hold on to should he ever be blessed with the opportunity to get into her checkered chef’s pants.

Leo was jerked out of his lust-hazed stupor by the “heads up” shout from his teammates. A puck was sailing right for him, and he automatically knocked it down with his blocker before it could do any damage. He didn’t wear his goalie mask on the bench, and if his reflexes weren’t lightning-quick he would’ve taken a puck right to his grill.

Head in the game, Leo.

Settling back, he watched his team tie it up by the end of the second. During intermission, Tom took both he and Scott aside and said he wanted to put Leo back in. Scott shrugged.He’d always been the more easy-going of the two men. Their combined personalities meshed well, which translated into a successful goaltending partnership and a friendship that had spanned nearly eight years.

Leo stretched out and took the ice for the third. Their opponent seemed momentarily surprised by another goaltending change but recovered quickly and gave the Intimidators a challenge. In the end, Leo got the win by one goal. After accepting the congratulations of his teammates, he bopped Scott on the head as they left the ice together.

“Kelly’s is on you tonight, bro,” Scott said.

Leo snorted. He’d been expecting no less. “Not a problem. I hope she made apple pie.”

“She always makes apple pie if there’s a home game.”

They rushed through their post-game interviews and hopped into the shower. Only a half hour after the buzzer they were climbing into Leo’s Range Rover on their way to Kelly’s. When they walked in, she turned from behind the counter to greet them. Leo caught sight of her luscious tits straining the material of her T-shirt and his dick twitched. He quickly ran his hand over it.

Down, boy.

“Hey guys. Good game, both of you.”

“Thanks,” they answered in unison, sliding onto stools.

“How about some apple pie?” Leo said, licking his lips already. An image of him nibbling pieces of it off of her flew into his head. Man, was he horny tonight…
Kelly put her hands on her hips.

“You know better than that. I never let you have apple pie until after you eat a good meal.”

Leo rolled his eyes. “Fine.”

Perusing the specials written on a chalkboard underneath the TV, he ordered shepherd’s pie. Scott asked for a chicken souvlaki wrap, and they settled back to relax as Kelly went into the kitchen to make their food.

“I fuckin’ love those T-shirts. I’d give up a mil of my salary just to be that T-shirt for a day.”

“Don’t I know it…”

Since it was late, Kelly was waiting tables herself in addition to cooking, and both of them tracked her as she bustled around behind the counter. Coming back over, she poured them both ice waters and plopped silverware in front of them before going into the back once again. There were still a few customers, but everyone gave the Intimidators their privacy here—it was one of the reasons Leo and Scott loved to come here so much. The primary reason, of course, was Kelly herself.

“Okay, so let’s go over everything again – make sure we’re on the same page here,” Leo urged.

“All right. Can’t hurt. We need to present a united front if we’re gonna do this.”

“Exactly. So both of us want her.”

They’d been attracted to Kelly since the moment they’d laid eyes on her, but had come to the realization a few months ago that their feelings ran deeper than simple lust.
Scott nodded; his eyes as determined and focused as Leo had ever seen them.

“Yes, we both want her, and the only way that will work is if we share her. But we need to make it clear at some point, maybe not right up front, that we want her more than just sex.”

“And we think tonight is the night?”

“She’s definitely intrigued.”

Scott paused and Leo could practically see the wheels turning in his friend’s head.

“Even when we mentioned a threesome last week she didn’t run.”

“Yeah, and did you see the expression on her face? She wants it.”

“I think so, too. But don’t forget. We can’t push her too hard. And everything one of us does affects the other. We can’t let her tear us apart and if this thing starts to do that we need to reconsider.”

“Agreed,” Leo answered. He held up his fist. “Even now, even with Kelly, bros over hos, man.”

The two men did a quick fist bump and Leo relaxed a little.

A few minutes later Kelly backed out of the kitchen, her arms laden with plates, and both men paused to admire her ass in her tight chef’s pants. She caught them staring and just shook her head, laughing.

Yes, they were done waiting for her to come around. It was time to put Operation Seduction into action.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Cassandra Carr lives in Western New York with her husband, Inspiration, and her daughter, Too Cute for Words. When not writing she enjoys watching hockey and hanging out on Twitter. Her debut novel, Talk to Me, was released by Loose Id on March 22, 2011. Head Games, Buffalo Intimidators book 1, will release on November 2, 2011 from Siren Bookstrand, and Caught will release December 13, 2011 from Loose Id. For more information about Cassandra, check out her website at http://www.booksbycassandracarr.com, "like" her Facebook fan page at http://www.facebook.com/AuthorCassandraCarr or follow her on Twitter at http://www.twitter.com/Cassandra_Carr.

Tuesday Spotlight: Cassandra Carr

2011-11-01T04:00:00.004-04:00

How I Created My Heroine for Head Games
By Cassandra Carr

I am not a fan of cookie cutter heroines, so I don’t write cookie cutter heroines. For Head Games, I wanted a girl who was voluptuous, someone who looked like they loved food. After all, Kelly owns a bistro, and her signature dish is apple pie. I wanted her to be tall, too. So many heroines are these little bitty things, but Kelly is almost as tall as one of the heroes.

Once I had her physical attributes down, I had to delve into what type of woman might succumb to a ménage relationship. She had to be at least somewhat sexually adventurous, but at the same time, Kelly has doubts about the morality and the reality of being part of a permanent ménage relationship, and I wanted those doubts front and center.

Kelly also had to be someone that two men could fall head over skates in love with. She’s caring, loyal, and affectionate. She goes after what she wants. And those were all things Leo and Scott admired and loved her for.
What attributes do you like or hate in heroines?

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Cassandra Carr lives in Western New York with her husband, Inspiration, and her daughter, Too Cute for Words. When not writing she enjoys watching hockey and hanging out on Twitter. Her debut novel, Talk to Me, was released by Loose Id on March 22, 2011. Head Games, Buffalo Intimidators book 1, will release on November 2, 2011 from Siren Bookstrand, and Caught will release December 13, 2011 from Loose Id. For more information about Cassandra, check out her website at http://www.booksbycassandracarr.com, "like" her Facebook fan page at http://www.facebook.com/AuthorCassandraCarr or follow her on Twitter at http://www.twitter.com/Cassandra_Carr.

Monday Spotlight: Cassandra Carr

2011-10-31T04:00:00.000-04:00

A Day in My Writing Life
By Cassandra Carr

I don’t have “typical” writing days. I’m a stay-at-home mom with a toddler, in addition to being a writer, so every day is different. But here’s a peek into a specific day – today.

8:30 – climb out of bed, get myself ready

9:00 – wake up my daughter, get her dressed and in her high chair

9:15 – make my daughter’s breakfast, sit her in front of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse to eat (she takes FOREVER and I’ve long since given up trying to have her eat at the kitchen table)

9:20-10:20 – check e-mail, get organized for the day, fetch things for my daughter – she’s a serial eater, so she wants one thing and then another thing etc, and pick up the bottom floor of the house so my mother-in-law isn’t disgusted when she picks my daughter up

10:20-10:30 – get my daughter and mother-in-law out the door

10:30 – start my tasks for the day

1:00 – throw a frozen meal into the microwave, keep working

3:30 – go to kitchen for a snack, realize I have something for dinner thawed but no idea what to do with it

6:15 – start dinner

6:45 – hubs arrives with our daughter

6:45-8:30 – family time

8:30 – hubs brings our daughter upstairs to bed

8:30-12:30 – work again

As you can see, my actual workday is around eleven hours, with short breaks taken to eat, cook, put in laundry, etc. How much did I get done today? I wrote ten blog posts and got nearly 3,000 more words in on my work-in-progress. Gotta make hay while the sun shines!

What do you think of my schedule? What’s yours like?

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:Cassandra Carr lives in Western New York with her husband, Inspiration, and her daughter, Too Cute for Words. When not writing she enjoys watching hockey and hanging out on Twitter. Her debut novel, Talk to Me, was released by Loose Id on March 22, 2011. Head Games, Buffalo Intimidators book 1, will release on November 2, 2011 from Siren Bookstrand, and Caught will release December 13, 2011 from Loose Id. For more information about Cassandra, check out her website at http://www.booksbycassandracarr.com, "like" her Facebook fan page at http://www.facebook.com/AuthorCassandraCarr or follow her on Twitter at http://www.twitter.com/Cassandra_Carr.

Author Interview with Cardeno C.

2011-10-29T04:00:00.002-04:00

Whipped Cream is pleased to welcome Cardeno C, whose latest m/m romance in the Home Series, Just What the Truth Is, has just been released. Cardeno (or CC) is working on the next book in the Home Series as well as books in a brand new series—paranormal gay romance the Mates Series.

When CC first started writing, all the stories were posted online for free.

"I wasn’t sure whether they’d be embraced and I enjoyed the freedom and simplicity of putting my work out there without any expectations. I received wonderful e-mails from readers, several of whom repeatedly encouraged me to publish my work. I actually found my publisher because a few different readers specifically told me that they felt it was a good publisher for my stories. Before those e-mails, I’d never purchased an e-book and I’d never read anything published by Dreamspinner Press (the publisher for all of my stories so far). Following my readers’ advice, I bought some e-books from Dreamspinner, liked the quality, and decided to submit a story to them. That was five books ago and I’ve been very happy with the publishing process so far. I don’t think I’d have gotten here if it wasn’t for the support and encouragement of my readers, so they have my eternal gratitude."

To CC, the difference between erotic romance and pornography comes down to the place of plot and story. In erotic romance the plot and story take center stage.

"Yes, there are sex scenes in erotic romance, sometimes very graphic sex scenes. But those scenes aren’t the crux of the story and they’re utilized to advance the relationship, plot or other aspects of the story," CC explained. "Pornography, on the other hand, has its own wonderful uses but I think they’re not so much for story-telling and more for personal, ehm, 'enjoyment.' As far as erotica goes, I’ve heard that phrase used in various contexts, so I think it can mean erotic romance or it can mean pornography, depending on who is using it."

CC continued, "I consider my stories to be erotic romances. The romance between the characters is front and center in my stories. I don’t shy away from sex scenes because I think they’re an important aspect of the characters’ relationships and I want readers to see and experience their passion."

"How do you judge what makes a good erotic story when writing your own fiction?" I asked.

"I feel happy with my story if it tugs at my heart when I read it. I want a connection between the characters that a reader can feel and a plot that holds the reader’s interest. Now, as far as a good 'erotic' story, well, I’d say that in addition to hearts tugging, there should be some tugging at areas lower down as well."

CC believes that a lot of people who have never read erotic romance might believe that the stories are all about sex and that plot and character are secondary. In CC's opinion, that's not the case at all. And, based on emails from readers all types of people—male, female, college age, and grandparent-age—read and enjoy m/m romance.

The books are set in contemporary settings and are very character based, so there's not much in the books that's outside the scope of CC's life. However, if there are questions about a certain career or something a character is experiencing, CC talks to friends in that line of work, or who have had the particular experience, or researches the information online. Although CC has never written a character completely based on a friend, characteristics of people CC knows are the foundations of the characters—with lives and relationships born from CC and friends' own experiences.

"I often find myself making a mental note of a funny story or comment a friend has made so that I can incorporate it into a story."

I asked, "Did you always set out to write erotica or did it evolve from something else?"

"I wanted to write stories about people finding happiness and fulfillment in their lives. I wanted to positively depict my characters and describe relationships that are supportive and committed. Sex is part of a relationship so I’ve always included it in my stories."

It's important for CC that the sex be within the context of the relationship between the main characters.

"Because porn is about the sex itself, there can be all sorts of scenes between varying characters. It advances arousal, which is the goal of porn, and its impact on relationships is irrelevant because relationships aren’t the focus of porn," CC explained. "For my own stories, I want the relationship between the main characters to be front and center. I want their love and their commitment to come through to the readers. Infidelity can be an interesting plot device, and I’m not against using it, but I won’t describe it in romanticized detail on the page. If it happens, it’ll be touched on for the sake of the plot and the impact on the main characters but it will not be utilized to arouse."

If CC could entertain a character for an evening, it would be Zack Johnson from He Completes Me.

"Zach is irreverent, lewd, and fun. I think an evening with Zach would involve a good bit of drinking, a lot of sarcasm, and maybe even a little Karaoke," CC said.

On a personal note, I asked CC, "If you could be anyone you wanted, who would it be?"

"If I could be anyone I wanted, I’d still be me. I’m sure I would have answered that question differently if I was younger. But over the years, I’ve gotten comfortable in my own skin. I like my friends and family, I have a wonderful career, I’m privileged to have time to contribute to my community, and I’m fortunate enough to publish my writing. I’d say I have it pretty damn good. And if it ain’t broke … well, you know the rest."

If CC had to pierce a body part, it would be a helix piercing at the outer rim of the top of the ear.

"I like how those piercings look – a little out of the ordinary, but not screaming, 'look at me!' As far as sexy, I think there’s still a little bad boy/girl appeal to piercings. Even though they’re more common than they once were, they still have that, 'I’m a rebel and I don’t give a damn what anyone thinks' mystique. Plus, depending on where a piercing is located, they can take sexy to a new place by enhancing sex. A tongue piercing can be enjoyable if it’s used to lick the right body part. And genital piercings have their own joys to both the pierced person and the person they take to bed."

Finally, I asked CC, "What advice do you give authors wanting to write erotica?"

"As simple as it sounds, I’d say go for it. You’ll never know if you can do something unless you try it. If you write your story, step back for a little while, and read it; you’ll know whether it resonates with you. And I think if it resonates with you, there’ll be readers out there who will enjoy it as well."

You can keep up with CC on the website, http://CardenoC.com.

Friday Spotlight: Minnette Meador

2011-10-28T04:00:00.001-04:00

THE BELLE STALKER

An urban fantasy thriller

By Minnette Meador
Click on the video to hear the author read the excerpt.

Chapter Two – Excerpt

Community Officer

Over his folded arms, Detective Michael Cranston carefully examined the worn out sneakers sitting on top of his desk. The chair he sat on bent so far back, it was like magic. Cranston loved these old chairs: indestructible, comfortable gravity-defiers.

He pursed his lips at the woman on the other end of the line, not sure if he was angry, bored or didn’t give a shit. Probably the latter, he thought.

His lids started to droop, and he had to blink them open. It was the end of a very long week. Shifting his eyes to take in the grungy clock hanging on the wall across from him, he adjusted the receiver and listened to her bitch.

“I understand, ma’am…” he tried to interject above the tirade. “We did talk to them. They are within the City’s…”

He tapped his sneaker-shod toes together. The piles of incomplete paperwork that obscured the wooden top of his desk gave him a plaintive rustle.

“Yes, I spoke to the bar owner and…”

Sucking his bottom lip into his mouth, he rolled his eyes.

He had to get tough.

“Yes, ma’am, I do understand. Did it ever occur to you that the bar has been there for about ninety years and your house only since last summer? Maybe you should loosen up a bit and go dancing. I’m sure the bikers would love you there.”

That was probably a mistake. The sudden dead silence on the other end of the phone confirmed that assumption. A wintry huff buzzed against the receiver followed by those fateful words, “I want to speak with your supervisor.”

“Sure thing.” Mike lifted his legs off the desk, bounced into a sitting position propelled by the ancient chair and smacked the hold button, condemning Ms. Thompson to bad jazz for the duration.

Standing up, he stretched and ran his finger tips over three days of beard growth. It crackled back at him. The stakeout garnered two meth dealers, but he hadn’t caught more than a wink or two in the last forty-eight hours.

He pivoted his chin from side to side admiring the stubble in a crooked mirror hanging among expired wanted posters. The usually bright blue eyes above them looked tired, and his blond hair was now a riot of dusky dishwater.

In one dingy corner, a yellowing photo caught his eye. A younger, cleaner, tux-encased version of himself stared back, apparently without a care in the world. The happy face sported a shit ass grin, and a beautiful bride dressed in billowing yards of lace clung to his arm. Cranston scanned her face.

Belle was the prissiest, most stubborn, biggest pain in the ass, impossible individual he had ever known. She could bring out the absolute devil in him with nothing more than a look. Every time he saw her, no matter what the circumstances, he wouldn’t sleep for a week or more until he got her sneaky little claws out of his consciousness. It was like going on a three-week binge.

He ran two fingers over her image. God, I miss her. Regret blew through him, but he pushed it down and forced his eyes, and his thoughts, back to the mirror.

Thursday Spotlight: Minnette Meador

2011-10-27T04:00:00.008-04:00

EDITED TO ADD: Unfortunately, the wrong clip was included with yesterday's post. Please go back to hear the correct clip.

THE BELLE STALKER

An urban fantasy thriller

By Minnette Meador
Click on the video to hear the author read the excerpt.

Chapter One – Part 4

From the Shadows

Forcing her thoughts to behave, she couldn’t suppress a little smile. Belle had to admit, it was a lot more pleasant thinking about Cranston than it was about the asshole who had ruined her self-confidence.

Turning toward the elevator, she caught O’Donnell’s eye as he held the door open for a group of laughing, obviously drunk, tenants. He winked at her, which animated the kind old face, and tipped his hat. The worn uniform was dull gray against the dark night behind him.

Belle sent a quick smile his way and stepped inside before the noisy group crowded into the elevator. Tucking herself in the back, she leaned against the wall, tilted her head and closed her eyes. God, she was tired. The group stumbled out on the seventh floor, leaving her alone for the journey to the tenth.

When she reached the door to her apartment, she slipped the mail under her arm and searched for the key from the bundle. Glancing to her right, the lights from downtown Portland dazzled her for a second. The city was lit up like Christmas.

She found the right key and shoved it into the lock.

That’s odd. The door was unlocked.

A bolt of shock turned her knees to rubber and another flashback triggered. There was something about his touch…

Belle squared her shoulders and tightened her jaw at the door. “You’re not going to run my life. Cary probably just left it unlocked. Piss!” she whispered to the hallway. Cary was a dear friend, but he had the responsibility of a herring sometimes. Just Cary being an idiot.

But that didn’t stop a murky premonition that started as a pain in her left temple. Maybe she should call O’Donnell. And tell him what? That you’re afraid to go into your own apartment. Belle, you’re tougher than this!

She turned the knob and pushed the door open with deliberation.

The apartment was dark. Closing the door, she eased into the little hallway off a large sunken living room. Her instincts blazed like cannon fire, but Belle knew to ignore them; PTSD playing Russian roulette with her nerves, that’s all. She could defend herself. Hell! She had earned her brown belt in less than a year.

Setting her purse and the mail on a small table, she flipped the wall switch.

The kitchen lights flooded through the half-open wall and blinded Belle. Making her way down the two steps into the living room, she rubbed her eyes.

When they cleared, a jolt of cold wrapped around her head. She stopped.

There was something there. Something big.

It covered the sable couch, spilled over the white carpet, broke the black marble table under it into two sections. It was dripping syrupy pools of liquid onto the floor.

A gasping sound started in her chest, and she took a step back. Her mind couldn’t wrap itself around what she saw. Shock choked her throat. Her hands went numb. Everything faded from her vision except the tunnel that formed around the incongruity in front of her.

Spread over her furniture lay John Ian’s mutilated body.

Belle screamed.

Wednesday Spotlight: Minnette Meador

2011-10-26T04:00:00.005-04:00

THE BELLE STALKER

An urban fantasy thriller

By Minnette Meador
Click on the video to hear the author read the excerpt.

Chapter One – Part 3

From the Shadows

The lobby was deserted. She could make out O’Donnell’s back through the glass double doors, his uniform as wrinkled as ever. He rocked on his heels watching the street, cigarette smoke circling his head, a stolen break from the security desk that gleamed in one corner of the lobby.

Belle really liked the rugged Irish guard. He was friendly, funny and had developed an almost fatherly devotion to her. Why, she didn’t know, but she didn’t mind. Despite her deeply rooted, almost radical independence, secretly she thought it was nice having someone looking out for her. Pride had kept her from asking him to escort her from the garage each night, though he had offered many times. She knew the demons she had to confront were her own, and she had to face them that way.

She was tempted to linger and chat, but her eyes were already drooping. Maybe tomorrow.

Crossing to the bank of golden mail boxes, she pulled a small key from the bunch. It slid easily into the worn keyhole, and the little door popped open under the stress of mail behind it. Belle pulled out the bundle and sorted it above the recycle box next to the panel of little doors, throwing most of it away.

Junk. Junk. Junk. Bill. Junk. Bill.

She froze at a small white envelope with her name printed neatly in the middle and no return address. Her heart caught in her chest.

It was from him.

As the police had instructed, she was careful not to handle it much. She wrapped a small flyer around the menacing post and tucked it under her arm, wiping her hand on her hip when she was done.

Belle imagined the stacks of little white envelopes tucked away somewhere inside police headquarters. There must be almost a hundred now. Each typed on plain white paper, folded exactly alike and stuffed into a common envelope. Every single one of them containing the same four words:

Just so you know.

She always turned the letters into the cops, and they always gave her the same answer: no fingerprints, no clues, no step closer to catching the son of a bitch who had taken away her independence—her innocence.

The night of her father’s murder snapped into her head unexpectedly, sparked by those four words, reminding her of what she had hidden from the police—from her therapist—from herself.

Those eyes—

In a panic, Belle pushed that memory as far down as she could manage, but it was getting harder all the time.

The world is deadly… there is no safe place…

With an audible, “Stop it!” Belle got herself under control by biting down on the inside of her cheek. “You’re not going to let him do this to you!” she whispered to herself. The top of the white post gleamed at her, and, in a frantic move, she stuffed it further into the flyer. She didn’t open the letters anymore. Her therapist had insisted.

Searching for anything to appease the anxiety, her mind took her to the one thought that always instantly trumped the rest.

Cranston could have solved this case in a heartbeat. She had almost called him more than once, but each time she managed to control the impulse, knowing it was a bad idea.

Cranston was the only man she knew who could drag the best and the worst from her. He was arrogant, irreverent, completely maddening and one of the most exciting men she had ever known. Is that why you married him? The question made her tighten her lips.

Since their divorce, she had seen him maybe a dozen times: police fund raisers, weddings of mutual friends and even a chance meeting once or twice. Every single time he had managed, with no effort at all, to anger her to the point of violence while at the same time reminding her deeply of emotional and physical needs that hadn’t been satisfied since their break up. It was infuriating that he could still touch her like that. She had moved on, made something of her life without him—hadn’t she? The thought of her ex-husband back in her life, in whatever capacity, sent a quick shiver down her arms. Belle wasn’t sure if it was pain or pleasure.

Let’s not go down that road, girl!

Tuesday Spotlight: Minnette Meador

2011-10-25T04:00:00.004-04:00

THE BELLE STALKER

An urban fantasy thriller

By Minnette Meador
Click on the video to hear the author read the excerpt.

Chapter One – Part 2

From the Shadows

Brahms’s Fifth Symphony suddenly buzzed like a hornet’s nest from her purse, impelling her into the air. Pinpricks like fireworks traveled up her arms. “Shit!”

Belle pulled the cell phone out of the side pouch and flipped it open. The neon green JOHN IAN on the screen fortified her enough to get her legs moving again.

“Hello?” She scurried toward the elevator, the jarring click-click-click of her heels against the asphalt vibrating up her naked legs.

“Are you all right?” John’s voice sounded strange, far away and full of static. She barely recognized it.

“John?”

“Who else would it be? Are you all right?”

“Yeah, fine.” Belle hit the up button next to the elevator door hard then turned around and bit her lower lip. “Thought I heard something. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“Do you want me to come over?”

“All right.”

The elevator slid down to meet her and the doors whisked open.

“I—surprise—you.” The words broke into pieces.

“What?”

“—soon.” There was a strange lilt to John’s voice, but the phone went dead. She looked at the screen, and the call was gone. Probably just the connection. She’d call him when she got upstairs.

Putting the phone away, she backed into the metal box and jabbed the first floor button, a buzz of fear forcing her finger to hit it several times.

When the door closed, she blew out a breath and slumped against the cold metal wall.

The clang of steel on steel as the little room hummed its way up the cables was somehow comforting. Smells of cooking garlic mingled with flowery air freshener and the greasy mechanics of the old lift. Twisting her neck from side to side eased her muscles but not the persistent rapid beating of her heart.

Belle hated herself for being so paranoid. It was why she had let John talk her into his tae kwon do classes to begin with. It was also why she had allowed him into her life when she wasn’t looking for anyone. He did rescue you from that maniac, sister. She would have done just about anything he asked.

And I did…

A shot of guilt tensed her shoulders. She liked John, was grateful to him for everything, but she didn’t love him. They had become friends over the past year, but she knew John wanted something more significant from her. To make matters worse, in a moment of weakness spurred by his warm caring nature and a few glasses of wine, Belle had slept with him. That hadn’t helped at all. Another pang of guilt joined the first making it unanimous. Her roommate Cary asked her on a daily basis why she didn’t just dump John, but it was complicated. She didn’t want to hurt him.

A daily calendar taped to the elevator wall reminded her it was Wednesday; Cary would be out with his boyfriend tonight, so she’d have the apartment to herself.

The thought of spending the night alone in her little sanctuary helped to slow her breathing. Her wonderful office/bedroom was the only place in the world Belle felt safe. Smiling, she could almost hear her therapist saying in the background, Now, Belle, you need to expand beyond your little world into the bigger one. Go out. Have fun. Don’t stay cooped up so much. Belle couldn’t help it; her books, her research, her life was tucked into that four hundred square feet of security, and she wasn’t about to leave it for anything.

It suddenly dawned on her that she had just told John to come over. After spending several hours in high heels lecturing at Portland State, she just wanted to fall into bed with a book and a glass of wine. Her new graduate students were a lively bunch; they had questioned her raw. Belle thanked her stars that the adjunct professorship would end in the spring when she would leave for a Celtic dig in England.

The elevator eased to a stop on the first floor, and the familiar creak calmed her heart as the doors whisked open. By the time Belle stepped out, the voice in the dark seemed distant, almost silly. Maybe I should start parking on the street.

Monday Spotlight: Minnette Meador

2011-10-24T04:00:00.006-04:00

THE BELLE STALKER

An urban fantasy thriller

By Minnette Meador
Click on the video to hear the author read the excerpt.

Chapter One – Part 1

From the Shadows

(Join us over the next five days to hear and read the next segment)

A faint laugh echoed against the steel I-beamed ceilings—a man’s laugh.

Or was it?

Belle pirouetted on the hard asphalt. Her hips warmed when they hit the hot side of her car. She squinted at the blinking fluorescent lights. They stuttered against the garage in fitful illumination.

“Hello?” The word echoed back to her unaccompanied, sending pins and needles through her hand as it tightened on the strap of her purse.

Belle’s senses sharpened almost painfully: the metal keys biting into the flesh of her palm, the blood slamming against her eardrums. A gust of fear rushed through her spine, setting her ears ringing, preparing her to fight—or maybe run.

Instincts. The word pulsed through her thoughts quickly.

She pushed her head forward, straining to listen, trying to penetrate the shadows to locate that chilling laugh. Instead, all she heard was the tick-tick-tick of her engine cooling and the muted hiss of silence.

Was it real?

A moment of doubt made her step away from the car. She stared at the oily surface of the garage floor, mesmerized. The scuffed blacktop triggered a memory.

A pale hand coiled around her face, clamped hard against her lips and nose, cutting off her oxygen. She desperately bit, clawed and fought, but nothing loosened that unnatural grip. It clung to her face like an iron mask.

Belle squeezed her eyes tight, willing the memory to go away. She knew the deeply masculine violation had permanently infected her confidence. There was nothing she could do about it. Uncertainty was her constant confidante. She had to pull strength from a deep will to fight the trembling.

It’s just a memory. A memory can’t hurt you. The mantra lost juice in the silence.

Even with a year of therapy and all her martial arts training, a cold chill still ran through Belle in this eerie-ass garage. The attack was a year ago today, wasn’t it? She knew anniversaries sometimes triggered memories, but knowing that didn’t help.

Broken lights deposited black shadows in one corner. Peering into the darkness, Belle fancied she saw two beaming pins of white, like eyes. Another blaze of recall weakened her knees.

Sliding backwards on broken heels into the shadows, she was a rag doll in his arms.

Belle shook her head violently to dislodge the flashback and deliberately rushed toward an elevator that seemed to fall away from her as she moved. Frozen bumps formed on her neck.

Ripples of static tingled against her face, electrifying her hair until it danced. A sweet smoky smell enveloped her senses. His smell. She couldn’t move—wouldn’t move—a kind of desire pushed through her, forcing her to comply. Her body went limp in his embrace, as if he had opened her soul and thrust himself inside her—

Pulling in a shaking breath, she scanned the solid concrete pillars as she moved and found the exact spot where John had stood that night, hoping that memory would expel the others.

Her ears rang with the sound of a stranger’s voice bouncing across the concrete. “Hey! You! What the hell do you think you’re…”

The monster dropped her. Her tailbone snapped sending waves of nausea through her bowels. She threw up and curled into a ball of shock. Everything fizzled like an ailing balloon into black.

From out of the shadows around her, another sound eclipsed the laugh.

Belle.

Her feet and heart stopped simultaneously. Fire rose in her cheeks and the back of her hands. The whispered word was soft, haunting—close. Ice wrapped around her spine.

“Who’s there?” she demanded, but only silence answered.