Why I love—and hate—epublishing

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.

EXCERPT PG13
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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Short VS. Long

Publishers usually have set word counts they prefer for their genre fiction. Back in the day, the working class people read pulp novels, they averaged between 100 and 128 pages and were mostly easy to fit into pockets and inexpensive thanks to the poor paper quality on which they were printed. Major newspapers also published short stories in parts in their columns to draw in readers. Short stories were the thing for the average person. Of course, there were plenty of longer books in print, thanks to advances in the printing machines along the way. But it makes one wonder just what side of the road you should be on. Long novel or short story?

The first novel I set out to write after my long hiatus away from the writing world, I discovered a couple of houses I thought it would fit into. So I told myself I'd write a set amount of words. Like 75,000. I felt I could convincingly get the characters' kinks worked out in that amount of time. It took me nine months to get from the idea to the finished product. FYI, I hated that MS by the time I got done with it. So I tucked it away and have only attempted to fix it one other time. It's hidden in the deepest recesses of my flash drive now.

However, I started writing steampunk for kicks. In a week and a couple of days I pounded out twenty-five thousand words. Yep, a story from start to finish. I was so proud of myself, it was almost sickening. About two months later I started another story, a historical paranormal romance. This time 30,000 took me about four months, but I was still pretty happy with this reduced time. It dawned on me that I'm not particularly well-suited for writing long books. I'm happier when the action is concise, the details aren't weighing me down and there's lots of dialogue to clue you in on back story. It's not that I don't read long books, I'm just not very good at writing them.

The trouble here: Most of the houses I was looking at want longer manuscripts. They have to make their printing time worthwhile. But there's no call to try to advance my word count. Not unless it's going to benefit the story (which I won't deny, in some cases that might be just the thing). There are other media outlets that might be perfectly content with my shorter novels. For example, e-publishers. Many of the e-publishers you research online have categories that shorter MSs will fit into. Or they prefer their stories to be between 10,000 and 80,000 words. You can thank e-readers and computers for this saving grace. Or if you choose to self-publish, the word count doesn't matter at all provided you have a platform and following already in place. Your fans will know what you're capable of.

Not that every story I write from here on in will stop at the 30k mark. I did recently expand my first steampunk novel to 80,000 words and I actively participate in NaNoWriMo, so I have a couple of 50,000 word novels in the wings. For me, shorter is better. I get too distracted and find myself struggling to keep the plot going when I have to write novel-length fiction. I also know that readers are distracted too and sometimes they prefer a more to-the-point book.

What works for you? Struggling to find one more word to hit your goal or do the words flow from  your finger tips like chocolate from a fountain?

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