The title of this post comes from the fact that as I start this, it's due in exactly fourteen minutes. I've been sitting here staring at the same blank page for the last hour and a half, waiting for Blogina, the Muse of inspiration for this sort of endeavor, to kick in. I even got really desperate and tried to send her an Iris message like they do in the Percy Jackson series. (Little tip: I don't think Iris, the Greek messenger goddess, accepts Budweiser bottle caps. Maybe next time I'll see how I make out with Heineken, since I wouldn't know where to start to get a Greek drachma in my pocket, and if I did would I really want to spend it anyway?)
White noise. Endless hissing. Writer's blo--
Nope. Not finishing that thought. Just put me in de Nile and call me Cleopatra.
The idea of not having words terrifies me. More than just about any disability or infirmity I could name, the notion I may NOT be able to open a page and start blasting out words on three and a half seconds' notice scares me beyond belief. And when it actually happens, that I can't riff off seventeen hundred words on whatever strikes my fancy, it freaks me out.
Of course, the rewards for running through that blizzard of white noise are uniquely personal to the writer. Very few other fields of endeavor offer the thrill of having the Eureka moment when the words suddenly gel, the ideas come fast and furious, and your fingers can't fly across the keyboard fast enough to get them out of your head. When it's done, hopefully you've amused, entertained, excited, thrilled, or made the reader think. Any of those is a worthy pursuit, and it's even better when you make it on deadline!
I've been knee-deep in editing, but happily, tonight will hopefully be the last of that I do for a while. (For the Writing Out Child Abuse anthology, A light In the Darkness.) I've loved editing the authors who've joined in, but I'm ready to hand this baby over and let it walk as it will. In doing that, I can get back to the thing I do best.
Whipping out the words, and to hell with writer's block!
Until next time,
Best,
J.S. Wayne
Showing posts with label j.s. wayne. Show all posts
Showing posts with label j.s. wayne. Show all posts
Monday, February 20, 2012
Friday, January 20, 2012
Blend Well, Strain, and Serve
Hmm...sounds like a cocktail recipe.
Don't worry, we'll get around to that.
It often amazes me how things come together in the writing world. I don't know why I'm so surprised when these things happen. After all, as writers, we're creative sorts, and most of us love a challenge of one form or another. Even so, I continue to be impressed by how quickly and easily a vague, seemingly random comment can mutate into an unstoppable juggernaut.
A case in point is the Lesbians Vs. Zombies line from Noble Romance Publishing, which kicked off Monday with the release of KevaD's "The Zombie With Flowers In Her Hair." My own tale for this line, "Dead Means Dead," debuts on February 13th. Hey, Valentine's Day and zombies . . . what could be more natural? I'll get back to that in a minute. (And yes, the recipe's coming. Just hold your horses!)
The whole thing started with Amber Green, one of the editors at Noble Romance and a member of Erotic Romance Authors, my crit group, making a remark in the group's private chat room: "I wonder if we could do something that combines lesbians, zombies, college, and music."
My initial reaction to this looked something like O_O. You would think, having been around her for some three months at that point, I would have learned to expect anything and everything from Amber. The concept really puzzled me, because I've never been a big fan of zombies. They're not exactly what you'd call versatile creatures, even less so than vampires. They eat people. Whether they're the delicate connoisseur type who's only interested in braaaaains (Yup. Intentional.) or the less particular variety (leg, thigh, breast, it's all the same to me), whether they run, walk, or crawl, that's what they do. Period. The end. Munch munch, crunch crunch, hey, you're a zombie. Have a nice day. Try the rump roast, it's delicious.
Thankfully, lesbians are much more, ahem, flexible.
One of the more amusing highlights of this conversation was when Amber asked me, point blank and in all seriousness, if I could write lesbians. This prompted a blink, and then a snicker, because I already had a vampire/ghost lesbian story to my credit: "Espiritu Sancti," from the Red Roses and Shattered Glass anthology. I laughed and said, "Oh, I think I'll muddle through."
So, a zombie's a zombie's a zombie. (Except that they're not. At all. Remind me to send a thank-you note to KevaD for showing the rest of us mere mortals up >.<) That left lesbians. I sat down, lit a cigarette, and got to work.
Only to run face-first into a migraine-inspiring stall.
I had the setting and the zombies. I even had a vague idea of what my heroines should look like. But what I lacked, and didn't realize until I was five thousand words in, was a musical angle that made any form of sense.
@*&%$##*! Back to the drawing board.
It didn't take me long to find the perfect solution, though. And with that last piece, the puzzle fell into place. In less than two weeks, I had sent off my story and moved on to other projects.
Here's the blurb for "Dead Means Dead." I'm still waiting on cover art, or I'd throw that up too. :) I hope you all enjoy it!
Stay tuned after the blurb for my own recipe for a zombie. Just the thing to chase the chill on those cold winter nights! And, if that's not enough zombie goodness for you, here's a link to the official LvZ blog, where you can find the prologue to "Dead Means Dead!"
Louise is having a bad day: a near-fatal overdose of nicotine while cramming for exams, rehearsal under a director she can’t stand, and ill-fitting shoes. Surely there has to be a limit to what a girl has to put up with! But then she meets the pretty new stagehand, Angie. Instant attraction leads to a sexy sojourn in the dressing room.
The day’s looking up, until the director barges in on their interlude and falls no-pulse dead on the floor–only to recover and attack Louise. Angie savagely defends Louise and they flee to the safety of the quad. The girls discover that their fallen assailant is only the first wave of a horrific outbreak and that their campus is cut off from the outside world.
Their best hope to stay alive is to stay together. Exploring one another’s bodies and learning the deepest secrets of their hearts in the enforced closeness, each finds in the other’s arms something she never knew she wanted. But before they can fully explore their new passion, they must learn to survive in a terrifying new world.
There oughta be a law: Dead means dead!
J.S. Wayne's Zombie recipe
Don't worry, we'll get around to that.
It often amazes me how things come together in the writing world. I don't know why I'm so surprised when these things happen. After all, as writers, we're creative sorts, and most of us love a challenge of one form or another. Even so, I continue to be impressed by how quickly and easily a vague, seemingly random comment can mutate into an unstoppable juggernaut.
A case in point is the Lesbians Vs. Zombies line from Noble Romance Publishing, which kicked off Monday with the release of KevaD's "The Zombie With Flowers In Her Hair." My own tale for this line, "Dead Means Dead," debuts on February 13th. Hey, Valentine's Day and zombies . . . what could be more natural? I'll get back to that in a minute. (And yes, the recipe's coming. Just hold your horses!)
The whole thing started with Amber Green, one of the editors at Noble Romance and a member of Erotic Romance Authors, my crit group, making a remark in the group's private chat room: "I wonder if we could do something that combines lesbians, zombies, college, and music."
My initial reaction to this looked something like O_O. You would think, having been around her for some three months at that point, I would have learned to expect anything and everything from Amber. The concept really puzzled me, because I've never been a big fan of zombies. They're not exactly what you'd call versatile creatures, even less so than vampires. They eat people. Whether they're the delicate connoisseur type who's only interested in braaaaains (Yup. Intentional.) or the less particular variety (leg, thigh, breast, it's all the same to me), whether they run, walk, or crawl, that's what they do. Period. The end. Munch munch, crunch crunch, hey, you're a zombie. Have a nice day. Try the rump roast, it's delicious.
Thankfully, lesbians are much more, ahem, flexible.
One of the more amusing highlights of this conversation was when Amber asked me, point blank and in all seriousness, if I could write lesbians. This prompted a blink, and then a snicker, because I already had a vampire/ghost lesbian story to my credit: "Espiritu Sancti," from the Red Roses and Shattered Glass anthology. I laughed and said, "Oh, I think I'll muddle through."
So, a zombie's a zombie's a zombie. (Except that they're not. At all. Remind me to send a thank-you note to KevaD for showing the rest of us mere mortals up >.<) That left lesbians. I sat down, lit a cigarette, and got to work.
Only to run face-first into a migraine-inspiring stall.
I had the setting and the zombies. I even had a vague idea of what my heroines should look like. But what I lacked, and didn't realize until I was five thousand words in, was a musical angle that made any form of sense.
@*&%$##*! Back to the drawing board.
It didn't take me long to find the perfect solution, though. And with that last piece, the puzzle fell into place. In less than two weeks, I had sent off my story and moved on to other projects.
Here's the blurb for "Dead Means Dead." I'm still waiting on cover art, or I'd throw that up too. :) I hope you all enjoy it!
Stay tuned after the blurb for my own recipe for a zombie. Just the thing to chase the chill on those cold winter nights! And, if that's not enough zombie goodness for you, here's a link to the official LvZ blog, where you can find the prologue to "Dead Means Dead!"
Louise is having a bad day: a near-fatal overdose of nicotine while cramming for exams, rehearsal under a director she can’t stand, and ill-fitting shoes. Surely there has to be a limit to what a girl has to put up with! But then she meets the pretty new stagehand, Angie. Instant attraction leads to a sexy sojourn in the dressing room.
The day’s looking up, until the director barges in on their interlude and falls no-pulse dead on the floor–only to recover and attack Louise. Angie savagely defends Louise and they flee to the safety of the quad. The girls discover that their fallen assailant is only the first wave of a horrific outbreak and that their campus is cut off from the outside world.
Their best hope to stay alive is to stay together. Exploring one another’s bodies and learning the deepest secrets of their hearts in the enforced closeness, each finds in the other’s arms something she never knew she wanted. But before they can fully explore their new passion, they must learn to survive in a terrifying new world.
There oughta be a law: Dead means dead!
J.S. Wayne's Zombie recipe
1/2 oz Bacardi® 151 rum
1 oz pineapple juice
1 oz orange juice
2 splashes Grenadine
1 tsp sugar
2 oz light rum
1 oz Captain Morgan Tattoo spiced rum
1 oz lime juice
Combine all ingredients in a blender and blend until smooth. Garnish with a fruit slice, sprig of mint* and a cherry.1 oz pineapple juice
1 oz orange juice
2 splashes Grenadine
1 tsp sugar
2 oz light rum
1 oz Captain Morgan Tattoo spiced rum
1 oz lime juice
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
The "Dating" Game
He's BAAACK!
The last two weeks have been a blur in my world. It's been a good month, as opposed to November, where I got very little done regarding writing or otherwise.
Currently, I'm working on the next story in The Wildsworn, "Silver and Air." I'm hoping to have that off my desk and on to my beta readers by Saturday. It's been a GREAT month for me writing-wise; "Dancing on Flames" started out December at #1 at Noble Romance Publishing and had #5 last week. This week, I'm off the charts, but I finally made it to #1, so I'm really pleased about that. After all the angst I suffered about writing m/m, the early success of "Dancing On Flames" really spurred me back into my writing zone.
The Lesbians Vs. Zombies Line from Noble is ticking right along. My own entry, "Dead Means Dead," is scheduled to release on February 13th, and several of the authors are putting up free reads at http://lvsz.wordpress.com. This is one you'll want to follow, folks!
Also, I'm working on a modern update of "The Legend Of Sleepy Hollow" with the working title The Hollow. This will be a full-length novel and follows a psychic and a ghost debunker who find themselves stalked by The Headless Horseman. (And, of course, it's going to be HOT!)
I just celebrated the 13th anniversary of my 21st birthday, and I cannot believe how fast December's gone by! Now I'm staring Christmas right in the face, and we're getting ready for a very full house, so the holiday insanity is in full swing.
All of this has come at a price, though. I woke up two days ago and said, "Hmm. Gotta get that blog done for Nocturnal Nights." The problem is, now that I'm more energized and back into my "flow," my working day tends to straddle two or three "actual" days, which screws up my internal clock to an unbelievable degree. This is aided by my computer, which has developed a nasty glitch. Seems no matter how rigorously I update my calendar, it fails to alert me one out of three times. That miss rate jumps in direct relation to the importance of NOT missing a date, like THIS one. Something I can skip easily? No problem; I'll get those alerts all day long. So, I'm trying to get that fixed, and I apologize for being so late getting this in.
Before I go, I wanted to take this opportunity to wish you all a Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Happy Kwanzaa, or a Joyous Yule. Whatever you celebrate or however you celebrate it, I hope your holiday season is safe and happy, and that you spend it surrounded by loved ones, friends, and family.
Blessed be, everyone. I hope 2012 is a better year for everyone!
Until next time,
Best,
J.S. Wayne
The last two weeks have been a blur in my world. It's been a good month, as opposed to November, where I got very little done regarding writing or otherwise.
Currently, I'm working on the next story in The Wildsworn, "Silver and Air." I'm hoping to have that off my desk and on to my beta readers by Saturday. It's been a GREAT month for me writing-wise; "Dancing on Flames" started out December at #1 at Noble Romance Publishing and had #5 last week. This week, I'm off the charts, but I finally made it to #1, so I'm really pleased about that. After all the angst I suffered about writing m/m, the early success of "Dancing On Flames" really spurred me back into my writing zone.
The Lesbians Vs. Zombies Line from Noble is ticking right along. My own entry, "Dead Means Dead," is scheduled to release on February 13th, and several of the authors are putting up free reads at http://lvsz.wordpress.com. This is one you'll want to follow, folks!
Also, I'm working on a modern update of "The Legend Of Sleepy Hollow" with the working title The Hollow. This will be a full-length novel and follows a psychic and a ghost debunker who find themselves stalked by The Headless Horseman. (And, of course, it's going to be HOT!)
I just celebrated the 13th anniversary of my 21st birthday, and I cannot believe how fast December's gone by! Now I'm staring Christmas right in the face, and we're getting ready for a very full house, so the holiday insanity is in full swing.
All of this has come at a price, though. I woke up two days ago and said, "Hmm. Gotta get that blog done for Nocturnal Nights." The problem is, now that I'm more energized and back into my "flow," my working day tends to straddle two or three "actual" days, which screws up my internal clock to an unbelievable degree. This is aided by my computer, which has developed a nasty glitch. Seems no matter how rigorously I update my calendar, it fails to alert me one out of three times. That miss rate jumps in direct relation to the importance of NOT missing a date, like THIS one. Something I can skip easily? No problem; I'll get those alerts all day long. So, I'm trying to get that fixed, and I apologize for being so late getting this in.
Before I go, I wanted to take this opportunity to wish you all a Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Happy Kwanzaa, or a Joyous Yule. Whatever you celebrate or however you celebrate it, I hope your holiday season is safe and happy, and that you spend it surrounded by loved ones, friends, and family.
Blessed be, everyone. I hope 2012 is a better year for everyone!
Until next time,
Best,
J.S. Wayne
Sunday, November 20, 2011
When “Yowzah” Turns To “Yawn”
I think every writer has at least one moment like this. After seven contracted works and three in various stages of submission in the last nine months, it’s easy to run out of steam, and I hit a major wall at the end of October, thanks in no small part to some unanticipated events.
I’d planned to end the month on a relatively sedate note, scale back my work and take an honest-to-God week off, unwind, and just enjoy not having to be in four places at once before the madness of NaNoWriMo AND the “Timeless Desire” blog tour kicked off. So, on October 26th, I decided taking a little time off wasn’t a bad idea. Besides, the next day was my four-year wedding anniversary.
And that was the day my puppy, Thor, got sick.
Very sick.
Parvo sick.
At the same time, my wife injured her knee. A sick dog plus an injured wife plus a frazzled writer equals ain’t nothin’ gettin’ done. So, at a quarter after four, when we should have been sitting down to an anniversary dinner, we were at the vet’s office, trying to get Thor better. We got through our anniversary, but it wasn’t what I’d hoped the day would be.
Two days later, I had to bow out of a scheduled author release chat at Noble Romance’s Yahoo group, because Thor’s condition had visibly declined. He became sluggish and lethargic, and we rushed him to the emergency pet hospital near our house, to no avail.
He died in my arms as I was carrying him into the hospital.
Rationally, I know at six months old, the little guy just didn’t have much of a chance. This was particularly traumatic because I’ve seen pets die before. Older pets who’d enjoyed a good life and had lots of years behind them. But you never expect to lose a pet so young (Except for fish, which are kind of borderline pets if you ask me anyway. Animate wall decorations is more like it.) and I took it very hard.
A week later, we got the urn back. A tiny cedar box with a brass padlock and key, swathed in sheer green material and containing a poem and a packet of rosemary. I still haven’t had the heart to open the bag and read the poem. They also included a memorial wall hanging in forest green. The left side has a cut-out shaped like a bone and “The Rainbow Bridge” written on the inside. There are three circles on the right: The top one remains empty until I can find the perfect picture to grace it. The middle bears a pawprint. And the bottom, a lock of Thor’s hair.
The urn has now taken up residence to the right of my monitor on my desk. The wall hanging is above my monitor, where I can see it easily.
I mourned a lot between the time he died and a few days after we got the urn back. I tried to get back in the saddle several times and write the venom and pain out of my system, but all my attempts felt flat and lifeless. It was like I knew the words and how to put them together, but they just wouldn’t come properly. I even took a stab at working on Angel of Death, but I wasn’t in love with what I wrote; a rarity for me, especially where my angels are concerned. The best I could come up with was a half-baked, pseudo-philosophical rant about why death is necessary, and even that wasn’t up to my usual standards.
It took me a seeming eternity to get myself together. But, as often happens on the heels of a tragedy, good news seemed to rain from the sky.
First, I got the cover for my forthcoming release, “Dancing On Flames,” available November 29th from Noble Romance Publishing. I love this cover, because it really conveys the tension of the story. Chalk it up to another wonderful offering from Fiona Jayde, Noble’s staff cover artist. Then I got an email from D.L. King, telling me that she was going to recommend an erotic short story about a succubus I submitted months ago and had all but forgotten about, “The Chapel,” to Cleis Press for a forthcoming anthology. They could still turn it down, but I’ve passed the first hurdle.
In the meantime, I’ve gotten a lot of comments and support from my readers, fans, and friends. It’s been a trying and very dark time, but everything’s turning around. And with so many great people around me, I’m finally getting that spark of creative genius, madness, call it what you will, back.
Needless to say, NaNoWriMo is a fading dream for this year. But I sat down and tallied up all my fiction writing for the year to date: two hundred thirteen thousand words of new material, all of it published or in submission. If you factor in the various blogs I’ve written and the promotional this, that, and the other I’ve done since February, the actual count hovers closer to three hundred fifty thousand words.
Not a bad year by anyone’s yardstick. And dammit, it’s something to be proud of. So I’m going to be. Rather than focusing on my failures and losses, I’m looking forward to what I’m bringing next year. With so many of my peers and fans backing me, how can I fail?
It’s time to grab a spork, put on the chef’s hat, and bring it. 2011 has been a banner year, for all its hardships and difficulties. 2012 will be better.
Because I’m a manuscript mage, a romance rockstar, and that’s just the way it is.
I have willed it so.
Before I go, I wanted to leave you with an excerpt from my forthcoming release, “Dancing On Flames.” This is an unedited excerpt, so there may be (substantial) editing changes from the final version. I hope y’all enjoy it!
Until next time,
Best,
J.S. Wayne
Blurb
In the aftermath of a raid on a band of child slavers, Russell and Ion of the Chosen of Fenrir find themselves baring their hearts and souls—and their bodies—to one another. In doing so, they violate one of their Clan’s most sacred laws: Look not to your own kind for love.
Now, one will lay his life on the line on the Path of the Flame Dance, where the Mother Earth will judge whether the love they have is worthy—or a betrayal of their own blood. The other must watch as his lover walks the fire, or perishes in the attempt. Stand or fall, the two warriors will never be the same. . . .
Excerpt
The silver wolf stole a glance at its larger, black cohort.
What do you think, Ion?
The black wolf gave a low growl and shook its flanks. Its posture and bearing spoke of barely-restrained fury, even as its blue eyes glinted with an intelligence far beyond that which might be observed in its smaller brethren.
Slaver scum, came the ominous mental retort. Looks like our information was right.
When do you want to attack?
The black wolf swiveled its muzzle up to study the high-riding moon. After a long moment, he thought, No time like the present, Russell. You up for this?
Russell chuffed, a sound that would have terrified any of the men below. It was the canid equivalent of a mirthless laugh. Give me a moment, and then we can go.
He looked down at the camp and focused all his will on a plea to the Mighty Mother. Bring forth your breath, Mother, that it may shroud our attack. In his mind, he began a low chant which quickly built in power and volume. Below, a thin streamer of mist crept into the camp. In moments more followed, until a billowing cloud of fog enveloped the tiny enclave. The merrymaking in the camp cut off, to be replaced by cries of consternation and alarm at the unnaturally fast-moving fog.
Russell looked at Ion. Will that cover our entry adequately?
Ion snorted. Well done, Brings-The-Sign. Let’s make an end of these fools.
The silver wolf winked. I thought you’d never ask.
Silently, the two wolves stole down from the hilltop, picking their way carefully. Russell placed his paws carefully on the hard ground, feeling the textures and shapes beneath him and mentally cataloguing everything he touched. Granite here gave way to soil there, which in turn melted into soft grass and small ferns. A field of pebbles about halfway down made him go around, for fear of dislodging one and sending it tumbling down the hill. Might as well bang a drum to let them know we’re coming if we’re going to be that clumsy.
This was not Russell’s first raid. Far from it. Back in the Caves of the Chosen, he had a belt festooned with trinkets and trophies of the many battles he’d fought since coming here, a year earlier. He had earned his Clan name honestly when he had stolen two letters from the neon sign that advertised a massage parlor where many of the “employees” were children. After seeing them all safely out, he had set the place ablaze with cleansing fire. Although the moniker he bore was originally intended as a small slight, he carried it with pride.
Tonight was the first time that he’d ever gone out with Ion, though. The black wolf was a legend within the Chosen of Fenrir, frequently vanishing for weeks at a time from the borders of the Chosen lands. When he returned, he always had fascinating tales to tell. But those tales were always backed up by the macabre souvenirs he carried in his pack; at any moment, he could pluck any item from a vampire fang to a crow’s feather out of his collection and give a detailed accounting of how, when, where, and under what conditions he came by the item.
As a living legend, the Elders often predicted that Ion would not return from whatever errand he went out on. Legends among the Chosen tended to have very short life spans, and Ion had a talent for getting himself into scrapes that the average wolf could never hope to get out of. Time and again, Ion had demonstrated his resourcefulness and cunning; thus far, these qualities had kept him alive where a lesser Scion of Fenrir would surely have fallen.
Russell entertained a brief moment of pity for the men whose camp they were about to invade, earning him a hard, sidelong glare from Ion. He shook his head hastily. Don’t make the mistake of thinking I have any sympathy for them, he thought. I’m just thinking that between you and me, this isn’t even a fair fight.
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Scary Sexy
Pour yourself a glass of wine. Turn out the lights. No, seriously. Get the house nice and dark and settle in for a spell. Don't worry. I'll wait.
*hums Jeopardy theme*
So. Halloween's upon us once again, and that spiky, tremulous energy that permeates the air this time of year vibrates all around. Even here, where it's just you and me and this screen, you can feel it, a strange static electricity humming just over your skin.
But are you sure it's just the time of year? Are you absolutely certain that the veil between our world and the ones beyond isn't thinning to admit something through we scorn to think of in the light of day?
Maybe you should turn around and look, just to make sure that prickling you feel on the back of your neck really is nothing and the hairs standing on end on your arm have nothing to do with the unseen presence standing behind you, reaching out with grave-cold arms for an embrace to savor your warmth. Turn on the light and check every door and window, every nook and cranny, and ensure that your sanctum remains inviolate. Make sure that we're alone. I'm not going anywhere.
Oh, good. You're back! Glad to see you're still in one piece.
Now that I've (hopefully) scared the living daylights out of you, you're probably slightly annoyed with me, right? I don't blame you a bit. But . . . wait for it . . . your pulse is starting to slow, and the fear you felt just moments ago is transforming into something else. If you don't know what I'm talking about right now, I clearly missed the mark. God, you're tough!
The link between terror and desire is well-documented. Terror releases adrenaline and various endorphins to prepare our bodies for fight or flight. We gain endurance, speed, and cold calculation which under ordinary circumstances would be unthinkable. We become killing machines, capable of mind-numbing feats of strength and savagery.
But what happens when all that pent-up energy has nowhere to go?
Nature abhors a vacuum. Everything in the human body is there for a reason. So when your system is flooded with chemicals intended to allow you as an individual being to survive and it turns out there's no valid reason for your system to be so overloaded, the books have to balance somewhere. And sneaky Mother Nature came up with a very clever solution, which interestingly enough is also directly tied in with the ongoing viability of the human race.
When the human body is loaded up with all those chemicals and there's no other way to dispel them, fear quickly transmutes into erotic need. How many times have you gone to a horror movie with your significant other and had the hell scared out of you, only to go home and wear out the bedsprings until three in the morning?
True masters of horror, especially of the erotic variety, build the tension and terror until it's unbearable. Then they give a release: the other person gets it instead of the hero and heroine, who immediately celebrate the fact they survived by falling into a tangled heap on the nearest horizontal surface. This, of course, is an oversimplification, but check out your own reactions the next time you're watching a scary movie or reading a horror novel. Feel the crescendoing fright, the climax, and then the release, your pounding pulse and rapid breathing mellowing and softening as some muscles unclench and others flex in the onset of a very different thrill.
If you still don't believe me that scary can be sexy, check this out:
http://www.im-no-angel.com/2/post/2011/10/lovers-scare-contest-js-wayne-aeternus.html
And don't forget to take a look at my blogs at http://nobleromance.com and http://jswayne.wordpress.com today!
Happy Halloween, everyone!
Until next time,
Best,
J.S. Wayne
*hums Jeopardy theme*
So. Halloween's upon us once again, and that spiky, tremulous energy that permeates the air this time of year vibrates all around. Even here, where it's just you and me and this screen, you can feel it, a strange static electricity humming just over your skin.
But are you sure it's just the time of year? Are you absolutely certain that the veil between our world and the ones beyond isn't thinning to admit something through we scorn to think of in the light of day?
Maybe you should turn around and look, just to make sure that prickling you feel on the back of your neck really is nothing and the hairs standing on end on your arm have nothing to do with the unseen presence standing behind you, reaching out with grave-cold arms for an embrace to savor your warmth. Turn on the light and check every door and window, every nook and cranny, and ensure that your sanctum remains inviolate. Make sure that we're alone. I'm not going anywhere.
Oh, good. You're back! Glad to see you're still in one piece.
Now that I've (hopefully) scared the living daylights out of you, you're probably slightly annoyed with me, right? I don't blame you a bit. But . . . wait for it . . . your pulse is starting to slow, and the fear you felt just moments ago is transforming into something else. If you don't know what I'm talking about right now, I clearly missed the mark. God, you're tough!
The link between terror and desire is well-documented. Terror releases adrenaline and various endorphins to prepare our bodies for fight or flight. We gain endurance, speed, and cold calculation which under ordinary circumstances would be unthinkable. We become killing machines, capable of mind-numbing feats of strength and savagery.
But what happens when all that pent-up energy has nowhere to go?
Nature abhors a vacuum. Everything in the human body is there for a reason. So when your system is flooded with chemicals intended to allow you as an individual being to survive and it turns out there's no valid reason for your system to be so overloaded, the books have to balance somewhere. And sneaky Mother Nature came up with a very clever solution, which interestingly enough is also directly tied in with the ongoing viability of the human race.
When the human body is loaded up with all those chemicals and there's no other way to dispel them, fear quickly transmutes into erotic need. How many times have you gone to a horror movie with your significant other and had the hell scared out of you, only to go home and wear out the bedsprings until three in the morning?
True masters of horror, especially of the erotic variety, build the tension and terror until it's unbearable. Then they give a release: the other person gets it instead of the hero and heroine, who immediately celebrate the fact they survived by falling into a tangled heap on the nearest horizontal surface. This, of course, is an oversimplification, but check out your own reactions the next time you're watching a scary movie or reading a horror novel. Feel the crescendoing fright, the climax, and then the release, your pounding pulse and rapid breathing mellowing and softening as some muscles unclench and others flex in the onset of a very different thrill.
If you still don't believe me that scary can be sexy, check this out:
http://www.im-no-angel.com/2/post/2011/10/lovers-scare-contest-js-wayne-aeternus.html
And don't forget to take a look at my blogs at http://nobleromance.com and http://jswayne.wordpress.com today!
Happy Halloween, everyone!
Until next time,
Best,
J.S. Wayne
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
The Myth (And Reality) Of A Writer
Howdy, all!
Since the property damage from my last visit was so minimal, Tabitha graciously invited me back for another round! And, since I'm getting to know everyone, I wanted to take a little time and tell you what my "typical" writer's life looks like.
I get up bright and early at 5:30 every morning, to the sounds of birds chirping and the last of the nighttime crickets peeping. I bound out of bed, ready to start my day, jump in the shower, pour a cup of coffee, and sit down at my massive Louis Quinze desk. I spend a few leisurely moments catching up on the news and reading email, and then I start working, to the gentle strains of Mozart and Beethoven, while the sun rises gently in the east, welcoming me to the new day.
After a couple of hours, I'll have a nice breakfast and get back to work, where I'll be until lunchtime. .
*Record scratch sound effect*
Myth #1: I'm not a crack of dawn type of guy. The crack of noon's more my speed! Luckily, I work from home both at my day job and on my writing.
Myth #2: The early bird gets the worm, In my case, the early bird conjures dark fantasies of light-load shotgun shells. (No, I don't act on these. But this may become important in an upcoming WIP, and yes, there will be a quiz.)
Myth #3: I don't leap. At all. Ever. I'm not a freaking ninja and I'm not built for that. To say that I groggily stumble out of bed is much more accurate.
Myth #4: I shower when I have ten minutes to get ready. Otherwise, I rinse off the dirt and then settle into a steamy bath, where I'll be with my latest TBR project until the water starts to get cold.
Myth#5: Now that I'm ready to start my day, I grab a two-liter of Mountain Dew, a full pack of cigarettes, and a clean ashtray. The full items will be empty and the empty items full long before I get done with my day's work.
Myth #6: My desk cost me $20 at Wal-Mart.
Myth #7: "Leisurely" doesn't exist in my world or my vocabulary until the work is done. If I'm working on LESS than four things at any given time, someone's liable to ask me if I'm feeling okay. Multitasking is the only conceivable way I can get everything done that I need to!
Myth #8: I never watch the news. Least of all upon waking. If I want to be depressed or need proof that Darwin was right, then I'll look it over. Otherwise, my TV is very rarely on.
Myth #9: You will NEVER find the "classics" on my playlist. Substitute Metallica for Mozart and Black Sabbath for Beethoven and you're closer to the truth, with a liberal sprinkling of Tupac, LL Cool J, Paula Cole, and Melissa Etheridge.
Myth #10: If I'm seeing sunrise, you can bet I'm coming at it from the other side of midnight unless I'm sick, and I've probably been around the clock at least once already.
Myth #11: I eat once a day, and exercise for me constitutes getting into the car and driving to get more smokes or Mountain Dew. My preferred meal is dinner, at which time I usually eat what amounts to breakfast in most civilized countries. (This is because my body has been trained to consider my one meal of the day the end of the day, and so after I eat I'm not much good for anything.)
Oh, yeah. It's a glamour job. :)
Thanks for coming by and hanging out. I'll see y'all next month! (But, if you haven't had enough snark yet, come on by http://www.nobleromance.com, where I'll be hanging out today too!)
Until next time,
Best,
J.S. Wayne
Since the property damage from my last visit was so minimal, Tabitha graciously invited me back for another round! And, since I'm getting to know everyone, I wanted to take a little time and tell you what my "typical" writer's life looks like.
I get up bright and early at 5:30 every morning, to the sounds of birds chirping and the last of the nighttime crickets peeping. I bound out of bed, ready to start my day, jump in the shower, pour a cup of coffee, and sit down at my massive Louis Quinze desk. I spend a few leisurely moments catching up on the news and reading email, and then I start working, to the gentle strains of Mozart and Beethoven, while the sun rises gently in the east, welcoming me to the new day.
After a couple of hours, I'll have a nice breakfast and get back to work, where I'll be until lunchtime. .
*Record scratch sound effect*
Myth #1: I'm not a crack of dawn type of guy. The crack of noon's more my speed! Luckily, I work from home both at my day job and on my writing.
Myth #2: The early bird gets the worm, In my case, the early bird conjures dark fantasies of light-load shotgun shells. (No, I don't act on these. But this may become important in an upcoming WIP, and yes, there will be a quiz.)
Myth #3: I don't leap. At all. Ever. I'm not a freaking ninja and I'm not built for that. To say that I groggily stumble out of bed is much more accurate.
Myth #4: I shower when I have ten minutes to get ready. Otherwise, I rinse off the dirt and then settle into a steamy bath, where I'll be with my latest TBR project until the water starts to get cold.
Myth#5: Now that I'm ready to start my day, I grab a two-liter of Mountain Dew, a full pack of cigarettes, and a clean ashtray. The full items will be empty and the empty items full long before I get done with my day's work.
Myth #6: My desk cost me $20 at Wal-Mart.
Myth #7: "Leisurely" doesn't exist in my world or my vocabulary until the work is done. If I'm working on LESS than four things at any given time, someone's liable to ask me if I'm feeling okay. Multitasking is the only conceivable way I can get everything done that I need to!
Myth #8: I never watch the news. Least of all upon waking. If I want to be depressed or need proof that Darwin was right, then I'll look it over. Otherwise, my TV is very rarely on.
Myth #9: You will NEVER find the "classics" on my playlist. Substitute Metallica for Mozart and Black Sabbath for Beethoven and you're closer to the truth, with a liberal sprinkling of Tupac, LL Cool J, Paula Cole, and Melissa Etheridge.
Myth #10: If I'm seeing sunrise, you can bet I'm coming at it from the other side of midnight unless I'm sick, and I've probably been around the clock at least once already.
Myth #11: I eat once a day, and exercise for me constitutes getting into the car and driving to get more smokes or Mountain Dew. My preferred meal is dinner, at which time I usually eat what amounts to breakfast in most civilized countries. (This is because my body has been trained to consider my one meal of the day the end of the day, and so after I eat I'm not much good for anything.)
Oh, yeah. It's a glamour job. :)
Thanks for coming by and hanging out. I'll see y'all next month! (But, if you haven't had enough snark yet, come on by http://www.nobleromance.com, where I'll be hanging out today too!)
Until next time,
Best,
J.S. Wayne
Saturday, August 20, 2011
A Male Romance Writer, Without Apologies
First, I'd like to thank our lovely and gracious hostess for having me here today. I'm scheduled on the 20th of each month here, so I'm really excited about this opportunity! (And praying that my first isn't also my last!)
When I first started writing sixteen years ago, I didn't think for one minute that I would ever get within fifty MILES of writing romance, erotic or otherwise. My speed was more urban fantasy/horror/suspense. If there happened to be an erotic or romantic overtone, wonderful, but that was never the ultimate aim. I wrote "guy stuff:" Sex, violence, sex, rock and roll, sex, and did I happen to mention sex?
What changed my mind was, as with so many other writing tales, more or less an accident.
One little contest later, I got to thinking about trying my hand at romance in earnest. If I hadn't won that particular contest, who knows what I'd be doing now? I tabled the idea for a few months, because I was in a big push to finish my first novel, Shadowphoenix: Requiem. Once that was done, I waited for the next contest to start and riffed off my second entry.
That one split first with a story about a mermaid, and I started to get serious about the idea of writing romance on a regular basis. After all, winning two contests with erotic romance seemed to imply that I had a certain flair for the genre. But where to start?
I'm a voracious, insatiable devourer of books. If a book is lying in my field of vision for more than, say, three seconds, and I haven't already read it, I start to get symptoms reminiscent of nicotine withdrawal. (A subject I can speak on with a certain amount of authority, having now been a smoker longer than not. It's depressing when you suddenly realize you're older than you thought you were!) I start to twitch, I get short of breath, and sooner or later, the only thing that's going to make the shakes and the darting eyes go away is getting my fix. Books or smokes, to me it's same/same: my body's addicted to nicotine, but my mind's addicted to books.
So I'd read a romance book or two (thousand!) in my time. The biggest problem I had with the genre was the fact that so many of them seemed to be the exact same story, rewritten with different names and set in different places and times, but same old same old same old. *Yawn*
When I decided to turn my hand to erotic romance, I also decided to kick convention to the curb. Nothing makes me happier than seeing a "Keep Off The Grass" sign, because I read that as "Please Trample My Lawn." So all the "shalt-nots" of romance went into a big, scary wood chipper. The only convention that I kept was the obligatory Happily Ever After, because I like a happy ending as much as the next guy. Everything else became up for grabs. Why? Because I wanted to write romance stories that guys could read and appreciate just as much as women. Lots of violence, sex, thought-provoking plots, all of it overlain with an emotional context that men and women could both appreciate.
I'm a male romance writer, and I make no apologies for it. Because, hey, it seems to be working!
I promised that this wouldn't be a promo blog, so I'm not going to leave an excerpt or any of that today. If, however, you'd like to know more about me or my work, I'm also blogging at http://www.nobleauthors.blogspot.com today, as well as my own blog at www.jswayne.wordpress.com. I always appreciate fan mail, rants, or raves, and you can get a hold of me at jswayne702@yahoo.com.
Thanks for letting me come hang out with y'all today. It's been a lot of fun!
Until next time,
Best,
J.S. Wayne
 |
| I offer something for every taste! |
What changed my mind was, as with so many other writing tales, more or less an accident.
One little contest later, I got to thinking about trying my hand at romance in earnest. If I hadn't won that particular contest, who knows what I'd be doing now? I tabled the idea for a few months, because I was in a big push to finish my first novel, Shadowphoenix: Requiem. Once that was done, I waited for the next contest to start and riffed off my second entry.
That one split first with a story about a mermaid, and I started to get serious about the idea of writing romance on a regular basis. After all, winning two contests with erotic romance seemed to imply that I had a certain flair for the genre. But where to start?
 |
| Yeah. It looks EXACTLY like that... |
I'm a voracious, insatiable devourer of books. If a book is lying in my field of vision for more than, say, three seconds, and I haven't already read it, I start to get symptoms reminiscent of nicotine withdrawal. (A subject I can speak on with a certain amount of authority, having now been a smoker longer than not. It's depressing when you suddenly realize you're older than you thought you were!) I start to twitch, I get short of breath, and sooner or later, the only thing that's going to make the shakes and the darting eyes go away is getting my fix. Books or smokes, to me it's same/same: my body's addicted to nicotine, but my mind's addicted to books.
So I'd read a romance book or two (thousand!) in my time. The biggest problem I had with the genre was the fact that so many of them seemed to be the exact same story, rewritten with different names and set in different places and times, but same old same old same old. *Yawn*
 |
| How to say "Please Stomp My Grass" In Five Languages! |
I'm a male romance writer, and I make no apologies for it. Because, hey, it seems to be working!
I promised that this wouldn't be a promo blog, so I'm not going to leave an excerpt or any of that today. If, however, you'd like to know more about me or my work, I'm also blogging at http://www.nobleauthors.blogspot.com today, as well as my own blog at www.jswayne.wordpress.com. I always appreciate fan mail, rants, or raves, and you can get a hold of me at jswayne702@yahoo.com.
Thanks for letting me come hang out with y'all today. It's been a lot of fun!
Until next time,
Best,
J.S. Wayne
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