Some Write It Hot

September 30, 2010

Meet DH Starr By Jadette Paige

Filed under: Who we are — dangerouslysexy @ 04:00
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I absolutely love D.H. Starr’s wickedly naughty mind! One of the newest members of our group, he fit right in from the start. I really like him because he gushed about my current WIP. Who wouldn’t love a guy like that? Gush away, D.H.! Let it pour all over me! Clears throat…uh, yes, as I was saying, he was born and bred in Boston. He’s the type who loves the fast pace of city life. Here I have to stop and say good for him cause I’m a country girl and I have a hard time understanding how anyone enjoys living in such a huge place as Boston and even in NYC. He’s also an Aries–um, maybe that’s why we get along.

I love the fact that he has a 300 DVD collection. Yes, I admit it. I’m jealous. I still have about 200 to go before I can match that number.

Reading has been an important part of D.H.’s life since his childhood days. Even through his high school years when he wrestled for the school’s team, he still found time to dive into a good book. As the years went by, he began working in public education where he interacts with the younger generation.

He brings to his books a complexity of relationships while weaving an intricate plot of how the characters find answers to their problems without losing any respect or love for one another.

If you have the time, be on the lookout for his releases, Premonition and Made For Each Other. He’s a new and upcoming author to keep an eye on.

To learn more about D. H. Starr and his books, please visit his website.

Here are blurbs for DH Starr’s coming release:

Made For Each Other

Coming soon from AI Press

Sometimes your first love is the one that was meant to be.

Craig Harper and Jeremy Finn were best friends growing up. They attended the same school, spent all of their time together, and hung out with the same group of people. It wasn’t until the day before Jeremy and his family moved across the country that they discovered their attraction to one another.

Fifteen years later, they reunite by chance in New York City. Both are in relationships and have established a routine in their lives. But routines and relationships are shaken as they begin to spend time together once again. Old feelings and connections are still strong.

As each deals with the issues in their own relationships, they begin to question whether the comfort of what they know is more powerful than the pull of what they could have been…and what they might become. Struggling to find the answer, only their hearts can reveal if they are meant for each other.

September 29, 2010

Nothing New Under The Sun By Debbie Vaughan

Filed under: Writing life — dangerouslysexy @ 04:00
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t’s true you know? As my website, Get Bit! indicates, I write about vampires. Not just vampires of course, but all the other creatures we associate with them. I write urban fantasy. Am I the first? Heaven’s no! Many, many have gone before and will come after.

People often tell me, “but, all that’s been done.” or “insert famous author’s name here”, writes about those.” To which I reply, “Yes, but mine are different.” There really isn’t anything new under the sun. The trick is to put a new slant on what everyone knows. Will there be similarities between my writing and other authors? Certainly, it’s inevitable. There should be! If you want to read about vampires you expect there to BE vampires, right?

The trick is to present my characters differently than all the rest. I think I have done that. I read a lot, in every genre, but admittedly mostly my own. I am well aware of what is out there. I know agents and editors keep up too. That’s their job. Hopefully when Midnight Sun comes across their desk, they won’t just groan, “Oh no, not another vampire novel!”, but will take the time to read at least part of it. Because then, I’m very sure, you all will get to read it. You want to read about a rich, handsome cowboy turned vampire who owns a tanning salon, about his hilarious gay sidekick, the girl they both grow to love and her dachshund, don’t you?

I think I have built a better mousetrap. Here mousy, mousy. . .

September 28, 2010

Meet Lillian Grant by KevaD

The lady from down under with over-the-top writing skills.

Lillian’s debut novel HAPPY BIRTHDAY NANCY TOBIN is a lighthearted romp carrying the reader along on a glee-filled ride from looming middle-age depression to heart warming elation, and undoubtedly destined to be a hit.

This delightful novel serves as a signpost for things to come from this author.

Lillian diligently crafts her plots and characters, then weaves them together into a tapestry of pleasure readers of multiple genres will enjoy for hours on end. The one common thread to be found in all of her works (I have had the privilege to preview several) is love. Regardless of whether the tale is about middle age, kidnapping in Rio, blackmail, or business tycoons trying to outmaneuver each other in board rooms and bedrooms, the final outcome is happy ever after, and sure to satisfy the most discriminating reader.

Family and career woman, Australia’s Lillian Grant is sure to become a mainstay author, her books, a ‘must have’ in any library.

Learn more about Lillian Grant at her website.

If you woke up on your fortieth birthday to a half-naked twenty-six year old stud-muffin offering to light your candles, could you say no? Nancy Tobin can’t–and why would she want to?

Blurb

Suddenly single on the eve of her fortieth birthday, Nancy Tobin’s not sure turning middle-aged is worth celebrating. She’s stuck in a dead-end job as the boss’s bitch with her morose Labrador, what does she have to party about? Maybe if she ignores the whole birthday thing, it will just go away.

Hot twenty-six year old, Jake Turner has other ideas. When he bumps into Nancy at the library, he sees a woman in need of a wake-up call. Determined to find the beauty hidden beneath the sad façade, he schemes to relight her spark. He wants to give her a birthday to remember but he ends up being the one who can’t forget: a visit to his apartment becomes a weekend in his bed where he discovers an offbeat, unpredictable, sexually adventurous woman he never wants to let go.

With Jake, Nancy can do anything, can be whatever she chooses. But this new and exciting relationship teeters on the edge of destruction when her soon-to-be ex-husband reveals the reason for Jake’s initial interest in her. Can Nancy trust Jake when he finally tells her he loves her?

Excerpt

Nancy walked toward the library. What bright spark thought it was a good idea to build a university campus on the side of a hill and park the library right at the top? Thank God she was finally fit enough to climb the stairs without having to stop to catch her breath halfway up.

When she arrived at her destination, her first port of call was the kitchen for a cup of coffee. Sipping the warm liquid, feeling the caffeine invade her senses, she wondered what excitement the day held. No doubt it would begin with putting last night’s returns on the shelf. Then she’d be at Cynthia’s beck and call. She grimaced. They should just change her job title from library assistant to Cynthia’s bitch. She chuckled. Maybe she would suggest it at her next staff review.

Footsteps approached. She poured the last of her coffee into the sink, put her cup in the dishwasher, and escaped. Small talk was horrendous at the best of times; in the mornings, it was completely unbearable. No one gave a crap about the latest episode of Big Brother or what the weather was supposed to do all week. Why waste your breath on such trivial bullshit?

Nancy heard giggling as she pushed her second full cart around the corner into the row she needed. She came to a halt and stared with disgust at the aisle’s occupants. The library on a Friday morning!

“Excuse me; would you like to take this somewhere else?”

The couple pulled apart, and Nancy glared at them. The boy slowly removed his hand from inside his companion’s shirt and zipped up his pants. They didn’t even have the decency to be embarrassed about being caught.

The blonde piece stuck her nose in the air and barged past Nancy. Her liberally pierced male companion smirked as she dragged him along behind her. No doubt they would find some other equally inappropriate place to copulate.

Not willing to go quietly, the young girl sneered at Nancy and turned to her partner in crime.

“Miserable, dried-up old bag. I bet she’s never had a man in her pants.”

Nancy shook her head. The stories she could tell would turn their hair gray, although she’d never considered screwing anyone at the library, not even in her wildest dreams. Why did youngsters assume middle-aged people had never had a life? Dear God, did that mean her parents had been like rabbits, with nothing but sex on their minds? She closed her eyes and shuddered with disgust as she deliberately pushed the thought aside and turned to racy memories of her own youth.

She’d been a typical teenage girl, her bedroom wall covered with posters of virile young men and her head full of love and sex. However, her first sexual encounter had been far from typical. Underage, she had sneaked into a club with her friend Fiona to see a local band, Freddie and the Slayers. Fiona had been madly in love with the lead guitarist, even though he had only had eyes for Nancy. A gorgeous sex god, resplendent in tight black leather pants and a loose white shirt open to the waist. His light brown hair had fallen halfway down his back in a mass of soft curls, and when he’d stared at her, his cobalt blue eyes had given the impression he could read her mind. He’d been a showman with a reputation for being a hard-drinking, hard-living whore who picked up women and discarded them wherever he went.

It seemed his reputation was well earned. Nancy still remembered the pain of losing her virginity and the humiliation when the back doors of the panel van had been flung open and the rest of the band — and Fiona — had stood staring at them. That was the last time she had ever seen Fiona.

The boys had chuckled and made some comment about the “shagging wagon” as the guitarist climbed off her, cock still semierect. At his request, she had written her number on the back of his hand, but she’d never expected Christopher to call. On reflection, it might have been better if he never had.

Lost in her memories, Nancy jumped when a hand squeezed her shoulder.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I spoke to you twice.”

Nancy turned around. Stunned, she stared at the gorgeous specimen who had interrupted her. Had he sought her out after their impromptu skirmish in the corridor the day before? She mentally shook herself. Get a grip. Of course not. Look at him. He was only about twenty-five, if that. Yesterday she’d only seen those big smoky brown eyes ringed by long dark lashes. They gave the impression he wore eyeliner. She looked closer. Now she could see the gorgeous eyes were complemented by a square jaw, high cheekbones, and short dark hair.

She became aware she was staring at him and the fact that he was still waiting for a reply. She smiled.

“Not your fault. I was miles away. What can I do for you?”

“Were they pleasant?”

“Were what pleasant?”

“The thoughts.”

Nancy shrugged. “Not really, just memories from another life. So what can I help you with?”

“The lady at the desk told me to try looking over here for a copy of the Kama Sutra, but I can’t find it. Any ideas?”

Nancy stared at him, opening and closing her mouth a couple of times. The students game enough to check out that tome usually hid it in a pile of textbooks. They certainly didn’t accost her in the aisles and ask for help finding it. “Why would you want the Kama Sutra? What the hell are you studying?”

The young man folded his arms and chuckled. “Don’t tell me you’re a prude. Surely someone as pretty as you is a woman of the world?”

Okay, so he majored in bullshit. The reflection in this morning’s mirror pulled no punches, and pretty was stepping way beyond reality.

“Flattery will get you nowhere, young man.”

He smiled at her, his eyes seeming to twinkle with amusement. It appeared she’d become his latest plaything. The batteries in his Game Boy must have gone flat.

“Jake.”

“What?”

“My name’s Jake, Jake Turner.”

Well, Mr. Smoky Eyes had a name. It suited him. Not that she needed to know his moniker. They were ships in the night. No doubt he had some blonde bimbo tucked away somewhere, ready to scratch his itch. Nancy could see the wall clock over his shoulder. Time was marching on. Cynthia would be doing her rounds soon. Woe betide anyone caught shirking.

“Well, Jake, if we have a copy, it will be in the next aisle.”

“Thank you.” His lopsided grin made her heart beat faster. “Lovely to bump into you again.”

Despite her best intentions, her face broke into a smile. “You’re most welcome. Now move along.”

He leaned his shoulder against the shelf. “Not until you tell me your name.”

The familiar stomp of Cynthia’s size 10 shoes approached, but he still didn’t move.

“Nancy. Now get out of here before I get in trouble.” She waved her hands to shoo him along.

“Okay, Nancy. Thank you for your help.”

She watched him wander away. When he slid his hands into his front pockets, pulling his jeans tight, she couldn’t help but notice his firm backside. At the end of the aisle, he glanced over his shoulder and winked at her.

“Maybe I’ll bump into you again.”

Caught with her gaze drilling his backside, Nancy felt her face flush and turned the other way as she fumbled and dropped a book on the floor with a loud thud. She bent down and scooped it up just as Cynthia arrived in the aisle and glared at her.

“Nancy, get a move on. You’re not paid to socialize with the students. If that book’s damaged, the cost will be coming out of your wages.”

With great difficulty, Nancy fought the urge to flip her the bird, afraid Cynthia would look back around the corner and catch her. Alone again, she glanced down the now empty corridor toward where Jake had disappeared. What did he mean about maybe bumping into her again? Her heart skipped a beat at the thought that he might come back.

* * * * *

Nancy sat alone at the table near the student café. Despite her best intentions not to, she searched the male population for Jake. He must have been teasing. Why would a cute young guy be interested in her? She stared at the nubile female bodies as they walked past, their belly buttons proudly displaying all manner of trinkets and tattoos and yelling to the world, I’m young, supple, and the best shag you could ever have. She looked down at herself and saw the roll of flab above her waistband. Her body appeared to yell, I’m old and saggy and too fucking tired to care if I ever shag again. Why would he even give her a second thought? Perhaps it was a dare or a joke.

“Excuse me; is this seat taken?”

The voice dragged Nancy back to reality, and she looked up, surprised to see a familiar face. Her cheeks burned, and she struggled to speak.

“No, please, feel free.”

Jake slid into the seat next to her. “So, Nancy, we meet again. Are you stalking me by any chance?”

Nancy was quick to shake her head. While she had been hoping to see him again, she had no intention of revealing that to anyone. She could barely believe it herself. Was she so desperate for love she would latch on to the first male who showed a glimmer of interest? No matter why she attracted him, with her track record, she should avoid good-looking young men like the plague. “No, absolutely not. Are you sure you’re not stalking me? I was here first.”

His deep, sexy chuckle resonated through her. “Touché. You guessed it. Someone is paying me to follow you.”

“Well, they’re wasting their money, I can assure you. There is nothing to see here.”

“Let me be the judge of that. Did you miss me?”

Nancy tore her eyes away from his and tried to sound nonchalant. “I haven’t given you a moment’s thought since you left the library.”

He put his hand over hers, and she felt the blood rush to her cheeks again. When he leaned closer, she closed her eyes. The smell of his musky cologne and the feel of his breath on her face as he whispered in her ear made her stomach lurch and her heart rate lift.

“Liar, but it’s okay. I’ve been thinking about you too.”

Nancy opened her eyes and snapped her head around to glare at him. No one in their right mind would think about her. She refused to be the butt of anyone’s joke. Her hand hovered in midair as she fought the urge to slap his face. Jake leaned back and put his arm up. Deciding he wasn’t worth it, Nancy dropped her hand and snatched her empty Coke bottle off the table instead.

She clenched her teeth. “Fuck off, you git; you’re not funny,” she spat out.

Without another word, she got up and stomped back to the library, tears of frustration stinging her eyes. Stupid, stupid woman!

Want more? You can buy it here from Loose Id!

September 27, 2010

Are Critique Groups Necessary?  By KevaD

Filed under: Writing life — dangerouslysexy @ 04:00
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I’ve seen this question posed and discussed in various chat rooms, blogs, and sites. Given my experience with and without a critiquing group to support my efforts, I’m going to weigh in on the answer here and now.

Grab a Pepsi or a glass of wine. I’m never short-winded.

For two years I wrote and submitted my work to agents and publishers, knowing I would receive the literary brass ring in response at any moment. How could they not see I was the next King, Patterson, Bombeck, or Robbins?

After all, my family and friends loved what I wrote.

Ten novels and hundreds of rejections later, I was as devastated as I was determined to figure out what I, and I stress “I,” was doing wrong.

Could it be my own family and friends had no idea what they were talking about?

In a word… Yup.

The key here is to accept, if you’ve just started writing, you don’t know what you’re doing – – yet. But you will. You will as soon as you accept, you don’t.

Having awakened to the fact I needed the opinion of a total stranger – yes, in writing you need to talk to strangers (and the stranger the better) – I first tested the water at Absolute Write Water Cooler, a critiquing site anyone (writer or not) can join and sit in anonymous judgment. Posted a couple of sure-fire samples I knew would wow the crowd. Two days of patting the carpet later, I finally located my head they’d cut off and tossed back at me.

As author Amber Green is so fond of saying, “NEXT!”

Next was reviewfuse.com. It’s a neat little free site designed for writers. Simply post a sample to be critiqued and, once you’ve critiqued three others’ works, your private posting receives three critiques. The experience was enlightening. Not only did I obtain what I thought were fair and unbiased comments and suggestions for improvement, I learned there were writers in the same spot as me – – totally lost and confused as hell.

Armed with just enough experience to be stupid, I went back to Absolute Write. They went after my hands this time.

“NEXT!”

Next was posting want ads on Absolute Write for a crit (critiquing) buddy, someone to evaluate my work in exchange for assessing theirs. A one-on-one situation where I could ask questions and receive honest answers from someone who hadn’t kissed my boo-boos when I fell off my training bike.

My personal knight in font armor was well-respected author Barbara Sheridan. I was looking for a crit buddy. She was looking for someone with cop insight for a story she was writing. I had twenty-four years of what she needed, and she had twenty years of what I needed.

We entered into a temporary literary marriage of convenience with divorce decreed by the final keystroke.
Unlike my first wife, Barb didn’t pretend I’d disappeared on a Tibetan sponsored exploration of the Antarctic the next time we digitally bumped into each other. Instead, she referred me to a critiquing group looking for a new member. Not just any group, but ERAuthors… Erotic… Romance… Authors.

I mean, I’ve engaged in sex in places I won’t admit to, read Playboy for more than the articles, viewed confiscated porno flicks on a sheet suspended over jail cell bars (we had to affirm the quality of the evidence, don’t you know), assigned positions on my number scale to every woman in the bar and readjusted their placement with each emptied bottle of beer until all that remained were ‘tens’ (except for the guy in the corner with the cute heart and rose tattoo – he stayed an ‘I’m not that drunk yet’ eight), purchased mountain climbing equipment in case I ever met Dolly Parton, and shared every throbbing stroke of my unmarried conquests (except for one of his ex-wives) with my best friend. And contrary to popular belief, my parents did have sex at least once.

But these people have the audacity to actually write about that which I do, talk about, fantasize about, and watch. How dare they!

Yes indeed. How dare they pen expertly crafted plots, artistically cultivated characters who float across the page, and locations as exotic and real as the breath they steal from your throat.

When I read the excerpts of ERA’s members, I was absolutely intimidated. Each and every one of them is the very definition of the word ‘writer.’ Except one. Me.

They took me into their fold (apparently they like a challenge).

That was in April. In July, under the tutelage of ERA’s members, I completed a romantic comedy titled “Out of the Closet” and submitted it to four publishers.

Two of the four sent me contracts.

Holy crap.

Two years of beating my head against the wall believing I could do this on my own, and this fantastic assemblage of writers, through patience and sheer desire to help each other, helped me learn the skills to have not one, but two publishers want to print my work in just three – count them; one, two, three – months.

This small group of gifted people celebrate their successes with each other, and lend a supportive shoulder in defeat and personal time of tribulation. ERA exists for one reason – to encourage growth in their writing skills.
At times their comments may seem harsh. But sometimes it takes a strong slap through the computer screen to get my attention.

Someone asked me the other day what the most important thing is my writing has gained from being a part of this particular group of unique individuals.

I answered immediately. Honesty.

You can read more from KevaD at his blog

September 24, 2010

Meet Jenika Snow

Filed under: Who we are — dangerouslysexy @ 04:00
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Jenika is just your average woman. She lives in the too hot northeast with her husband and their young daughter. Thankfully, he shares her unusual sense of humor and naughty nature.

Along with taking care of their daughter, they have to keep an eye on Milo, their spunky cat. When not writing, Jenika works full-time at a hospital and attends nursing school. Writing is Jenika’s number one passion, but since life gets in the way, she isn’t able to write full-time (at least not yet.)

Jenika writes erotic paranormal, contemporary and sci/fi romances. Her publishing houses are Siren-Bookstrand, Total-E-Bound and Passion in Print publishing.

Jenika started writing at a very young age. Her first story consisted of a young girl who traveled to an exotic island and found a magical doll. That story as long since disappeared, but her passion for writing has stayed strong.

Blurb

When Kasia is taken to the BDSM club, Cimmerian, by her friend, she doesn’t realize that she isn’t the only one with dark fantasies. When she is approached by a Dom only known as Master, she doesn’t know if she is really ready to experience what she has always fantasized about.

Through him she is tempted with erotic pleasures, and tantalized with experiences that she has only dreamed about. Tonight is when she will finally know what it means be fully dominated, while she lets her mind and body submit.

Excerpt

Her breath seized in her lungs as her eyes adjusted to the sight, smells, and sounds. The smell of leather, sweat, and sex filled the air and instantly caused her to tingle all over, as if her very cells come alive with arousal and titillation. The sound of whips cracking in the air and hands slapping against flesh surrounded her. Moans and groans of pleasure filled the air and brought about realism for her that she instantly recognized. This place was right. She felt like there was no other place that could have described the things she felt or that could have made her feel so comfortable.

She took the time to look around, to actually take in every nook and cranny, every dip and hollow that made up this underground club. The air was thick with sex and made her senses come alive with want. Leather whips cracked against the ground, the sound causing her muscles to tense with vivification and a little bit of trepidation. Although there were not too many bodies in the room, the small space was intensified by the heat of each person moving to reach their pleasure.

Tatiana whispered in her ear about grabbing some drinks and she nodded. She was transfixed by everything, not able to pry her eyes away from everything that was being revealed.

A stage was set up directly across from the door she had just entered through. A woman stood on the stage, naked, arms above her head as a masked man took a crop to her caramel colored skin. Even from the distance, Kasia could see how much the woman enjoyed it, her body now covered with red marks, her flesh swollen as she withered and moaned. The chain that held her arms in place jangled loudly, her body thrashing as she spread her legs and thrusted her hips out at her masked lover. He never touched her though, just continued to slap her with the crop, the sounds of leather against skin loud in the room. Over her breasts, across her belly, and between her legs, he was ruthless in his pursuits. Over and over again he did this, never once touching his flesh to hers until soon the woman had her head thrown back and screamed out her release. It was intensely erotic and frightening.

Kasia took a step back, her hand going over her heart to will it to slow down. She felt like a voyeur for the way she had just watched that woman get slapped into orgasm. There had to be something wrong with her, something terribly disturbing going on with her for her to want to see these things, for her to desire to be the one strung up there. She pushed the thoughts away and looked around the room, noticing for the first time that the majority of the patrons were staring at her. She swallowed, suddenly feeling so overwhelmed that she couldn’t breathe. Her stomach was suddenly rolling with nervousness and lust. She looked around for Tatiana, trying to see through the thick, murky darkness that coated the inner club.

Aside from the stage, there wasn’t anything else going on. The inside of the club was set up much like any other club. Tables were strewn about, an impressive bar on one side, a dance floor on the other. There really weren’t too many people—at least, not as many as Kasia assumed there would be on a Saturday night. She noticed someone coming out of a side door, sweat clear on his body and a flogger in hand.

She shivered.

Whatever was behind that door was where the real party was. What was displayed out here was just an appetizer.

She finally spotted Tatiana leaning against the bar, a man dressed only in a pair of tight leather pants talking precariously close to her. Kasia made her way toward her friend, halting when she felt a prickling on the back of her neck. She stopped and looked around, her eyes stopping on a table that was pushed far against the wall. The shadows obscured the majority of it, but she could still see the massive body that was seated behind it. She couldn’t make out the face, but judging from the huge legs that were lazily stretched out beneath the table and the huge forearms that the shadows didn’t touch, it was a man – and a very big one at that.

Even though she couldn’t see his face, she knew he was staring right at her, knew that his eyes were boring right into her own. His finger played over the rim of his cut crystal glass, the fluid in the glass as dark as blood. She swallowed, her pussy suddenly growing damp, knowing that the man seated behind that table was powerful and strong: a Dominant. She quickly moved her gaze away from the shadowed table, feeling embarrassed and dirty at the fact that she had grown wet from her thoughts. She felt exposed, stripped bare, as if the clothes she wore were nothing in a place like this.

Even though she felt dirty and disgusted with herself, she felt alive and aroused, empowered by the feelings that this atmosphere conjured up in her. She was a big walking contradiction.

Learn more about Jenika Snow at her website

*Free ongoing vampire erotic read hosted at Jenika’s website! A new chapter is added each month.

September 23, 2010

The Distraction of New Ideas–Part Two by Ellie Heller

Filed under: Writing life — dangerouslysexy @ 04:00
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Last time I talked about getting rid of those top of the brain new story ideas which are clamoring for attention while you are trying to write. And I mentioned I tend to save a note, perhaps the scene with three or four tag line ideas as to why it happened or a short paragraph if there’s a more solid story racing around. This is because for me, ideas come in one of two categories, scenarios I wonder about and people I see doing things and I wonder what they’re thinking.

For a scenario I note the trigger and perhaps one or two thoughts I’ve had, but generally not full sentences and no characters. Just the scene and the ideas it sparked.

Something like:

Ambulance – u-turn in forest. Stops.
-Attack from inside?
-Dump drugs/chemicals/body?
-Spill coffee in lap?
-Let changed Were creature out to roam?
Then I force myself to stop. Just stop.

Okay, usually I do succeed; sometimes one of the ideas becomes so entangled with the idea for a character I instead jot down a paragraph about the character and scene. While I always try to use good grammar, just getting it down and out of my head is top priority here:

If Daria had just done her job and searched in the Hudson’s garage as well as the house while they were there with the warrant Harris wouldn’t be standing in the sweltering sun without a lick of shade going through the dumpster which supposedly contained their trash. Although, it wasn’t like Daria to be slack on the job, heck, she usually busted balls over someone screwing up like this. Which made Harris wonder why the screw-up had occurred in the first place, and why she wasn’t ripping her partner Jude up one side and down the other. She was clearly covering for him. What hold did Jude have over her that she’d let him get away with a stupid mistake? Harris would find out, if only so he’d know her secret too and make her cut him some slack. Some days being low man on the totem pole at the sheriff’s office was hell; no matter how much you’d done before you got here, you were treated like a greenie and watched like a hawk. And given the worst and nastiest jobs; right now, sweat dripping off him, eyes squinted against the glare of all the white paper in the mid-summer sun, life pretty much sucked.

There done, I have it for later.

If, and it’s happened, I seem to have a lot of ideas (and this does seem to be inverse to how far I am in a piece, i.e. the further I am the more ideas will pop into my head, keeping me from finishing my current project) I try to set a time or number limit generally three ideas or fifteen minutes.

For me scenes and scenarios are always easy to come up with and, along with them, some general ideas for stories. I’m always curious, though, how other people come up with their ideas.

When not distracted, you can find Ellie Heller at her blog

September 22, 2010

Meet Judith Leger By Amber Green

Filed under: Who we are — dangerouslysexy @ 04:00
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Her myspace page says Judith Leger (pronounced LaZHAY) has 2476 friends. That’s true only if you limit the count to myspace. There are more on Facebook. Her blog, as seldom as she updates it, still has more than three dozen public followers. She tweets–and has over 1400 followers on Twitter.

She watches anime and reads manga in between keeping half a college running, doting on an aging Appaloosa, and playing lady in waiting to a supremely regal dachshund who doesn’t like being on a diet. Plus there’s the husband, the kids, the grandbaby. And she writes. Her writing can break a heart, or mend it. Read her Mother’s Day essay.

She keeps up with other people’s lives and troubles and triumphs, and still finds time to read way more than I do. She writes books and short stories too. Yet she always has time to help me brainstorm the motivation for my book’s next scene–or what the motivation leads to if it doesn’t lead to the next scene I’d envisioned. Where does she get the energy? Is this some weird side effect of listening to Linkin Park, The Beatles, and Metallica? How can she possibly get so much done and still be so incredibly nice?

September 21, 2010

Welcome To The Revolution by Evanne Lorraine

The revolution of Ebooks is the one on my mind.

A couple of different posts caught my interest lately. One from Josh Lanyon How to pick a publisher. The other from JA Konrath’s Newbie’s Guide to Publishing On Beyond EBooks.

These topics may look unrelated, but they dovetailed for me. Mr. Lanyon talks about why he works with a publisher, Mr. Konrath talks about why he doesn’t.

I don’t pretend to be in their sales rankings, or income brackets. Though I’d like to be, so I follow these very different success stories.

Both sides of the unofficial debate appeal to me. I’ve learned more from editors about writing than from any class, craft book, or workshop. I’m painfully aware I do not turn out flawless prose. An editor’s, and a copy editor’s, applied skills make me look good and they make my stories look even better.

On the other hand, not every story that pops into my head fits neatly into established publisher guidelines. Where are all the WWII erotic romances? People still watch Gone With The Wind, there have to be at least one or two who would enjoy a shifter story set in the early 1940′s.

Thus, A Scarlet Past began to unfold in my head before I’d finished A Taste of Scarlet .

A Taste of Scarlet is scheduled for release in January from Loose Id with the cooperation and amazing effort of a professional editorial team. (Sorry, you’ll have to wait for a peek at the cover).

A Scarlet Past, is scheduled for release this November direct to Kindle via Amazon’s digital platform. Luckily, I have help. The release will include excepts from Amber Green and an original short story from DA Kentner.

Frankly, I don’t expect to make a lot of money from the story. If it pays for the cover art — thank you Stella Price I’ll be thrilled. Working with Amber and DA will be a blast and I’m bound to learn something–always a pleasure.

How do you feel about the e-publishing revolution? Are you still clinging to dead tree books or are you embracing digital titles?

September 20, 2010

Meet Gillian Archer by Evanne Lorraine

Filed under: Who we are — dangerouslysexy @ 04:00
Tags: , ,

In a remote village in the Irish countryside, Gillian Archer commutes deep underground each day toiling away in a mine as an engineer. Until three years ago she’d never lived anywhere except her home state of Nevada. Now, not only has she moved halfway around the globe, she vacations in exotic locales every few months.

For most women juggling a career, home, and family is enough. But the intrepid Ms. Archer also pens erotic romance in her spare time. I’ve been privileged to read some of her manuscripts. She has a breezy fun style and an engaging voice. Readers are in for a treat when her stories are contracted.

You can read more about Gillian Archer on her website.

September 17, 2010

Voice By Ali Katz

Filed under: Writing life — dangerouslysexy @ 04:00
Tags: , , , ,

My face-to-face crit group picked up a new member about a month ago. He’s fresh out of college, has been writing for a long time, but never tried to have anything published. The first chapter he presented for crit was a well-crafted bit of writing but typical for a beginner: lots of flowery descriptive passages, no action, no concept of character, not a clue to what the story was about.

One of our older members, who’s been around a while and has a few novels with a major print publisher, commented. “This voice might work for a literary piece, but it won’t fly in genre fiction.”

His reply, “What’s voice?”

People keep slinging that word around. I had to look it up.

Voice is a combination of a writer’s use of syntax, diction, punctuation, character development, dialogue, etc….Voice can also be referred to as the specific fingerprint of an author, as every author has a different writing style. ~~Wikipedia

OoooKaaaay.

One thing I know about voice is how elusive it can be.

Hard to find, easy to lose. Usually, when I feel myself slipping, or more often locked up, I pick up a piece of fiction by an author I enjoy reading and start analyzing paragraphs. Lately, I’ve been reading poetry.

O for the dropping of raindrops in a song!
O for the sunshine and motion of waves in a song!

~~Walt Whitman, A Song of Joys

In a half dozen articles, I kept reading these words: song, poetry, sound, rhythm, color. Color?

A writer’s voice is his song. The magic of words strung together to create an image only he can show us. It’s a living breathing thing that changes as characters, scene, emotions change, but beneath every line lies the unique voice of the individual telling his story.

Can we learn it? We can learn to do it right. Study syntax, accept the rules, learn to use them to your advantage, but your voice is within you waiting to be found. It forms from all you have experienced, all the people you’ve met, all you have read, all that makes you who you are.

So, how do you find it? By writing, and rewriting, and writing again. And, in my case, I write, and rewrite, write again and read poetry. At some point, the words fall into place and you see magic happen. Voila, exactly what you wanted to say, said clearly and beautifully.

I did not know how to differentiate
between volcanic desire,
anemones like
embers
and purple fire
of violets
like red heat,
and the
cold
silver
of her feet:
I had two loves separate;
God who loves
all
mountains,
alone knew why
and understood
and told the old
man
to
explain

the impossible,

which he did.

~~HD Doolittle, The Master

Thanks for reading.

ali

Read more from Ali on her Blog, Love Songs or her Website, Passion In Spades

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