Saturday, March 8, 2014
Tuesday, March 4, 2014
The initial source of the trouble is my first line. Which I thought was wonderful. I think you know exactly what I mean. Alas, why must we always be called upon to kill our baby darlings? I was pondering this question as I styled my hair this morning.
I'm not one of those people who normally "styles" their hair. But I've grudgingly noticed that I need to join their brigades. That, since I'm not one of those wearing a head full of curls with waves that never crash on the shore on a humid day, I need to make some effort.
My usual attempt at hair styling falls flat (pun intended) because I am far too often far too lazy to take the extra five minutes to actually dry my hair. I just can't be bothered. Which has me wondering: is this how I write as well? Foregoing the extra effort needed to polish my prose and poetry until it shines like a silver spoon a jewelry store display case?
I'm afraid it's true. I am always in search of that magical mousse or gel that will allow me to surrender making any effort. How many of us secretly harbor this fantasy about our work, believing that our first drafts should be our last?
I hope March brings you golden drafts of a different sort. Happy St. Patrick's Day, and best of luck welcoming spring 2014. If you're interested in a paranormal romance about what happens when the vernal equinox goes awry, please consider "Matching Wits With Venus". Happy Writing!
Monday, March 3, 2014
“Would you trust a Werewolf” blurb:
Cord’s a werewolf and the holiday season makes Cord’s skin itch, his head ache, and his wolf side agitated. Usually he goes on vacation at this time of year but he wants to be with Dillon.
Cord decides to rent a little cabin in the mountains for the holiday week and Dillon agrees to come with him. They have a few wonderful days together, then Cord asks Dillon about werewolves and Dillon reveals his abhorrence of the animals and his animal heritage. Cord’s heart is breaking that the man he loves could be so mistrustful of him. How can they have a future without trust?
You need your fucking head examined. Going off to fuck a werewolf? Where's your brain? Dillon chastised himself as he followed Cord's truck. Oh, yeah, that's right -- it's in your pants. Well, you deserve everything that happens to you, then.
Yeah, but all that's going to happen is that I'm going to get laid. And it'll be excellent, I know, because Cord's so yummy.
Quite likely. But I'll be a contented, sated idiot.
Having lost the argument with himself, and being unaccountably happy and excited at the thought of spending the night with Cord, Dillon jumped out of his car, beeped the security system on, and bounced across the parking lot to where Cord was standing waiting for him.
The man did look yummy. Hunkalicious. Dillon was tempted to lick his lips but managed to refrain. He didn't dare look down to check, but he was almost certain his dick was leading the way to Cord. To bed. Oh yes!
Side by side they walked up the stairs, their steps echoing with a hint of urgency, Dillon’s heart beating faster and faster the closer they got to Cord’s apartment.
Cord kicked the apartment door shut and pressed Dillon to the wall. Dillon stared into Cord's eyes. Their faces were almost on a level. Cord was just the slightest bit taller than him. His breath hitched at what he saw in Cord's gaze. Lust. Desire. Passion. "Kiss me," he breathed.
"I plan to do a whole lot more than kissing," said Cord, holding Dillon's chin in one hand.
Dillon licked his lips. He couldn't help himself this time. He leaned forward and very deliberately rubbed his cock over Cord's.
Cord hissed, then pressed back against Dillon, pushing him hard into the wall with his full body weight. When Cord was plastered tight against Dillon's body from hips to shoulders, he flicked his tongue across Dillon's nose, eyelids, forehead, and jaw line, as if savoring the flavor.
Dillon reached up and grabbed Cord's head, sliding his hands through the thick, silky hair, then holding tight. "I thought you said you were going to kiss me. That's not a kiss."
"This is, though," said Cord in a half-strangled, husky tone, before plunging his tongue into Dillon's mouth.
Cord's tongue was everywhere, tangling with Dillon's tongue, rubbing along the insides of his cheeks, sliding over the roof of his mouth. Dillon tightened his grip on Cord's head, holding it still so he could thrust his own tongue in return, matching Cord thrust for thrust, stroke for stroke, until they were both breathless and gasping for air.
"Now that was a kiss," panted Dillon, grinning.
"Bedroom," said Cord. "I don't want our first time to be against a wall."
BUY LINK: http://www.evernightpublishing.com/would-you-trust-a-werewolf-by-berengaria-brown/
Ali Crean made me this awesome banner:
Saturday, March 1, 2014
|Theia~ 3 weeks after her surgery...|
Friday, February 28, 2014
Anyone that thinks writing is easy and fun doesn’t have a clue what it really takes to complete a novel. Sure, anyone can write a first draft and send it out without bothering to self-edit or hire an editor, but it’s not going to be very good or error free. Writing isn’t easy and doing self-edits isn’t fun.
I’m in the process of finishing 3 books, all part of the same series. It has been a long, tedious process, especially all the rounds of self-editing I’ve had to do. I am close to finished. Yay. I don’t know if there is an easier way to self-edit, but I do it in layers. This takes longer but gets the job done. The main things I am looking for when I go through one of my stories is overused words or phrases because that’s my bad habit. I’m also filling in details, characters and story details--what I call the “frosting” to my “book cake.” This is where I am looking for plot holes or any inconsistencies. I’m making sure the opening has a hook, that the story flows to that dark moment and final climax.
It’s a lot to look for so I have to do several rounds of self-edits. I’m done when I can read through the story and not have to fix anything or only have to fix a small amount. And once I’m finished with the self-edits, I’m going to have a professional proofreader look it over. Authors should never do final edits on their stories. Never. We are too close to our work to find all the typos. Final edits are the edits done before publishing. I can self-edit well enough to have a clean manuscript to submit to a publisher. Some authors might need to have their stories edited before submitting to a publisher. You have to know your weaknesses. I have been writing for a long time and know what I can and cannot get away with doing.
Some of the things I see in manuscripts as an editor are overused crutch words like when, as, once, that, with, etc. “When and “as” usually appear in passive sentences or sentences where the reaction comes before the action. One thing I’ve noticed is that every author, no matter how talented they are, always have at least one bad habit. That’s why it’s important to use at least a proofreader for typos and grammar. They will also catch most of the things like overused words and passive voice. An editor will look for the same things as a proofreader plus things like plot holes and flow problems.
Kelley Heckart, Historical fantasy romance author
Two mortals are caught in the midst of the battle between the Titans and Olympian gods.
Saturday, February 8, 2014
Although sometimes when you write, it may feel a bit magical, there is no magic wand that you can wave while writing that will make your words sound better or correct all your errors. Only you can do that. It's called revision and for most professional writers, it is the heart of writing. Sure, it's fun to throw words on a page, but it's even more fun to see them shine.
Friday, February 7, 2014
Wednesday, February 5, 2014
I just read the best book on writing advice, called "Writing Is My Drink" by Theo Pauline Nestor. If you can lay your hands on this book, do it - Ms. Nestor cuts to the quick about what makes prose sing. And she has the clearest insight I've ever read about the ways in which our backgrounds may be holding us back.
One of the techniques Ms. Nestor recommends is something called the triptych method, which she learned from poet Ken Brewer. The triptych is a technique used by visual artists and harkens back to those three paneled works of art many of us remember from our school days.
Here's the idea. We are starting with "theme". Not character. Grab a piece of paper. In the middle of the paper write a word expressing your theme (ie, redemption, etc.). Now divide the page into three. In each third, write about an incident revolving around this theme. Piece them together after you're done, figure out a way to unite them, and voila - a work united by theme.
Happy Valentine's Day. May the month of February bring you love in your work and in your life.
Monday, February 3, 2014
What I love:
Digital publishing is so much faster than traditional print publishing. That means I don’t have to wait a year for the next book in a series. As an author, it means I can publish more books faster. Also, as an author it means my books are never out of print. If someone discovers me, all my backlist is sitting there for them to look through.
As a reader, nothing is worse than spending hours on eBay trying to find a backlist book from a favorite author, and seeing that the shipping costs will be twice the price of the book itself. That never happens with epublishing.
What I hate:
Pirates. I understand (but don’t necessarily condone) a reader’s frustration when all their friends in one country are able to read the latest book in a series, but they, in some different country, have to wait weeks or even months for it to be released. But I don’t understand the people who don’t even try to buy a book legally, but automatically go to a pirate site and download the book, which they proceed to give to all their friends, who give it to all their friends, who…
Honey, if no one pays to read this book, I’m a lot less likely to ever write the next one in that series.
And now for something different.
“Seeds of Love” released 29 January. It’s different from most ménage stories in that it’s an FFM book. It’s Bev’s story, but it’s also Cinthe’s story. And since Cinthe loves Inigo as well as Bev, that gets complicated.
Beverley is hopelessly in love with Hyacinthe. Hyacinthe loves Bev, but she also loves their hot-bodied coworker Inigo. Which doesn’t help Bev’s already low self-esteem. The only saving grace is that Inigo seems a pretty decent guy.
Ménage sex gradually brings the triad together—until Cinthe’s fairy wings sprout. Inigo and Bev don’t cope well with this change—because everyone knows there’s no such thing as a fairy. Bev’s obsession with her physical inadequacies takes a backseat to her concern over the wings sticking out of her lover’s back.
While Beverley struggles to come to terms with having a fairy for a girlfriend, she also has to deal with someone stealing rare plants from the botanical gardens where they all work.
Nothing happened for long seconds, then Hyacinthe felt the air move by the nightstand drawer. Ah, Inigo would be lifting toys out, likely showing them to Beverley or maybe just choosing some himself. Yes, they were moving again, Beverley would be choosing some toys, or accepting the ones Inigo offered her.
Careful to keep her face expressionless, Hyacinthe grinned hugely in her mind. Over the years she'd collected an impressive array of toys. Although she seldom used them when having sex with a partner, she enjoyed experimenting when alone, and had nipple clamps and clips, dildos, butt plugs, vibrators, and scented oils. She could hardly wait to find out which ones they'd use on her.
There was the soft sound of fabric being removed, the slide of a zipper, the pop of a snap fastener, then Inigo's heavy weight was beside her on the bed and his big hands ran lightly from her toes, over her sensitive arches, and around her heels.
Delicious! Cinthe shivered with delight.
A soft plop was followed by the weight of a body sitting on the other side of the bed.
Bev has taken her shoes off and joined us, deduced Hyacinthe.
Beverley's hands were slightly rough from all the outdoor work they did, but she used them gently to trail along Hyacinthe's rib cage and tenderly cup a breast.
Unconsciously, Hyacinthe thrust her breast up into Beverley's warm palm, feeling her nipple peak instantly at the slight touch of Bev's finger. Meanwhile, Inigo's hands were gradually moving higher up Hyacinthe's leg, teasing behind her knee and over her lower thigh.
A hot tongue licked warm, wet patterns on her lower thigh, circles and spirals and pictures, then a mouth puffed warm air on the wet spots, making Hyacinthe shiver once again.
At that very moment another mouth descended on her breast, sucking nipple and areola deep into a warm cavern. A tongue pressed Hyacinthe's nipple to the roof of a mouth then rolled it and played with it. Hyacinthe groaned. Oh yes! Beverley had a very talented mouth. And the moves Inigo made on her thigh were not so shabby either. His tongue was reaching higher and higher up her leg, causing a spiral of need to build deep in her core.
Hyacinthe groaned again as Bev released her nipple then blew on the wet peak. Bev's hands disappeared for a moment then a nipple clamp bit into her flesh with just the right amount of tension to ride the perfect line between pleasure and pain.
The bed creaked as Inigo moved between Hyacinthe's spread legs, his wide shoulders pushing them even farther apart, and Beverley got off the bed and moved around to the other side. Aha! Hyacinthe thought. They have divided me as above and below the waist, not right and left sides!
Buy link: http://www.ellorascave.com/seeds-of-love.html
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