Come join us at: Some Write It Hot 2
February 28, 2011
I’m standing at the proverbial fork in the road. After four years living abroad in Ireland, my husband and I have decided it’s time to move back home to the States. We’ve been so homesick for so long, I’m amazed it’s taken us almost six months to get to this point. Don’t get me wrong, I realize how blessed we are to have had this experience. We’ve met some fantastic people, done some crazy things and seen some amazing sights. I’m half afraid that crossing so many items off my bucket list so early is tempting fate. But if viewing the latest “People of Walmart” email makes you homesick, it’s probably time to move back home.
Before we can move, we have to figure out where our next home is. So far we’ve narrowed it down to Salt Lake City, Phoenix or Seattle-ish. Needless to say there are pros and cons to all the locations. Honestly, I’m hoping for Phoenix. I’m excited at the thought of summer for a change, plus we could get a house with a swimming pool *big grin* But any way it goes, I’ll be happy because I won’t be staring at the “People of Walmart” in envy—I will be one of those shlubs very, very soon!
See where Gillian’s at on her website
February 12, 2011
Alas for lost innocence. Author Cari Silverwood has left it far behind. In fact, she’s jumped so enthusiastically into the kinkier side of erotic romance that we heard her inviting Darth Vader to a bondage and hot wax session. (I think he accepted)
Although Cari is previously published under another name in another genre, I think she’s going to stay on the dark side for a while. Her characters have given her a long list of sexual activities they want to try, and she’s having way too much fun trying to incorporate the various positions, places, and…other things…into her stories.
Surprisingly serene despite having a teen and preteen, Cari lives in Australia with a husband who is master of the raised eyebrow when catching glimpses of what she writes. Since she’s a pet-lover with an amazingly diverse menagerie–dogs, cats, lizards, fish, and birds–it’s not surprising that her cocker spaniel managed to sneak his way into her story. And you can get an idea of her sense of humor–the floppy-eared, puffy-pawed spaniel is named “Killer”.
Her first erotic romance, Three Days of Dominance, is coming out this spring from Loose Id, and having read parts of it, I’d say readers are in for a thrill.
Blurb for Three Days of Dominance
When a man with mint-green eyes steps from a lake and offers to rescue Danii’s dog in exchange for three days of total obedience, it’s obvious he must be either joking or crazy. And, being a police officer, she knows how to handle the crazies. But when it comes to Heketoro, she’s the one being handled. Each day their lovemaking becomes wilder and Danii discovers exactly how far this man can take her. Though the tattoos drawing themselves on his body make it clear he’s not quite human, to Danii what’s more important is their burgeoning love for each other.
An ancient curse prevents Heketoro from returning to his world. With one last ritual of love needed to break this curse, Heketoro’s enemies return and threaten to destroy him by using his only weakness — Danii. Will love, or their enemies, triumph?
Excerpt (note – this is an early, unedited version)
Her wrists were drawn taut, above her head, secured to the headboard by ropes of thorned red rose and bougainvillea. The pricks of their thorns threatened to puncture her dream. She resisted that, wanting more. Raising her head, she stared down the length of her body, past her red protruding nipples, and along her stomach where sweat lined the floral rope fastening her thighs up against her body. With her bottom tilted and her legs spread, her pussy was open, available.
The man, his black hair spread in floating streamers about his head, lifted his head from between her thighs and she gasped, rolling her hips upwards. The wet tip of his tongue slid across as he licked her juices off his lower lip. Her clit, so recently probed by that clever tongue, pulsed. If he didn’t put it back there, soon…
She panted, feeling his thumbs glide in the slickness of her labia, felt them sink deep, then deeper inside, and gasped again, lost in the molten sensation. She tried to move her arms, her legs, and couldn’t. Trapped and pinioned for him to do what he wished. Excitement screwed her insides a notch tighter. Her vagina squeezed around his thumbs. He pulled them out and she mewed at the loss.
Slowly, his eyes never leaving hers, he rose to his feet, shifting position until his hands wrapped around her thighs and the head of his cock pressed against her entrance.
Anticipation made everything feverish bright, sent lust snaking, thick as syrup, to her groin. Her thigh muscles juddered as she pushed up vainly against the rope. The rope tightened. The thorns bit down.
The man smiled with satisfaction as her struggling subsided, becoming a trembling acceptance of what was to come. He drove the head of his cock into her, sliding inside, and halted. She groaned, anticipating the thrust as he penetrated farther.
Watching her intently, he skated his finger in tantalizing circles about her clit, sometimes touching the aching nub, and sometimes not. He gripped it between finger and thumb, and squeezed, then thrust with his cock, then squeezed, then thrust — the rhythm driving her closer and closer to the edge, her clit so swollen she was sure she’d explode if her release was held off a second longer.
Withdrawing until the head barely parted her lips, he poised there, making her ache, making her want.
Aaah. She arched, threw back her head, opened her mouth…and something soft and furry landed on her. A long tongue swept across her face. The dream dissolved.
Danii opened one eye. Two doggy eyes looked back.
“Killer,” she rasped. Her Cocker Spaniel barked twice and squirmed closer. She plonked a hand on his head to still his tongue and squinted at the alarm clock.
“Six o’clock. Gah! Couldn’t you have waited one more minute? We nearly did it this time!” Not that it would have mattered. Her dreams always ended before she came, though this time had been close, much closer than usual.
Danii squeezed her thighs together and groaned. She really needed a lover. Only, good men didn’t grow on trees, especially not men that did special tricks with bougainvillea. Whoa, that had been something, way too kinky. She’d never let a man do that to her for real, but in dreams, in dreams it was…nice.
Killer barked again, more urgently.
“You want to go for your walk, don’t you?”
He ruffed and sat up, tail swishing across the sheets.
“Okay. Okay. I’m getting up.”
* * * * *
Getting her mind in gear in the early morning was something she’d had practice at for years. Within half an hour, Danii was at the lake, having wrenched on jeans and a top and collected the neighbor’s dog like she’d promised. The lake was pristine blue-green, cool, and still. The sun’s rays struggled over the horizon in little sparks and glints that hurt her eyes when she looked up.
Preoccupied by thoughts of what might await her at work, Danii barely noticed the concrete path under her feet, the ducks cruising on the water, or the myriad other life in and around the lake. She’d been here a million times and the dogs more than made up for her inattention as they sniffed weeds and tree trunks, a patch or two of sodden grass, and eyed off everything that moved.
Most likely there’d be a long list of thefts and assaults to investigate today. No court appearances, thank heavens.With a wrench she brought her mind back to the here and now — time for all the stresses of work later, when she had to think about it.
Killer and Jugsy, the neighbor’s Dalmatian, easily kept up with her on the lazy walk around the lake, though the Dalmatian had a habit of doing pretzel maneuvers around Killer every so often.
A distinctive child’s hat with butterfly appliqué rested abandoned on the grass ahead. She knew Marie, the mother of the child, and went to pick it up. Jugsy’s lead tangled with Killer’s at the same time she bent over. She absentmindedly fiddled with the lead, and dropped it.
In that one millisecond of sloppiness, a dragonfly darted across Jugsy’s nose, and he took off like a spotted rocket. She lunged then dived for the loop of the lead, and missed. With a gigantic splash, Jugsy plunged into the lake and was yards out before she’d scrambled up off the grass.
Holy hells. Who was to know the dog could win an Olympic medal in dog paddle?
Visit Cari’s website at www.carisilverwood.netfor a longer excerpt and, well, just to say hello!
February 9, 2011
Well with Valentine’s Day quickly approaching love is in the air, the stores are filled with hearts, chocolates and flowers and it’s got me thinking about what it is that makes a great love story.
Now as a romance writer, I have to admit I’m always thinking about love in all it’s forms. I’m sure it’s pretty obvious that I’m a HUGE sucker for a happy ending but for me, part of the fun of a love story is watching the couples journey to their Happily Ever After. Following the journey from those initial sparks and zings of attraction all the way to the big L-O-V-E, through all the ups and downs of should we or shouldn’t we. How they handle all that sexual tension and angst.
Although I am a sucker for the happy ending, I have to admit I do enjoy when it’s a bumpy ride to get to the admission or realization that this is the person they are supposed to be with.
I think part of why I enjoy love stories that have some bumps to them is it makes the characters more real for me, more human. I feel like I can connect with characters so much better when they are at least a little flawed, like me. LOL
For most of us the road to finding our partner was a little bumpy. They don’t say you’ve got to kiss alot of frogs to find your prince for nothing.
Then you have to factor in can you see past all your own crap to realize that the person standing in front of you is the perfect person for you. Oy, sometimes it’s amazing we get it right. LOL But when they finally realize and everything comes together. It’s magic. Yep, a bumpy ride is a beautiful thing.
Now don’t get me wrong, I do like my fair share of fantasy in my romances but I like a little reality woven in.
What about you? As a reader do you prefer the romance in your stories to be a bit smoother, more of a fantasy rather than reality or are you like me and like when the couple has to work at least a little to find “The ONE”?
Read about what else Lauren is thinking on her website
January 26, 2011
Today, January 26th, is Australia day, a day when Aussies celebrate the arrival in 1788 of the First Fleet of eleven convict ships from the UK. The day the British flag was raised and occupation of the eastern half of our continent began. England’s largest jail was born.
Now, whilst this may be a minor event on the planetary calendar, not coming close to the Superbowl or Macy’s Christmas Parade, I still think the world should pause, reflect and celebrate with the inhabitants of the world’s largest island.
If Disney’s reinterpretation of the Pirate genre can give birth to ‘Speak like a Pirate Day’ then surely something as monumental as Australia Day should garner a similar response. Therefore, I think this holiday should be renamed, ‘speak like an Aussie day.’
To help you all get in the swing of it I shall endeavour to give you the heads up on the most useful Aussie expressions and pronunciations. Now any of you who watched that movie with Meryl Streep where she declared, “a dingo ate my baby” are at a disadvantage…we really don’t sound like that.
First things first, an Australian will tell you they come from Austraya, note the word has a silent L.
When meeting an Austrayan the native will greet you with, G’day mate, the universal acknowledgment of your existence and acceptance as friend rather than foe.
If he offers you a ‘snag’ do not be offended or concerned, he is merely offering you a sausage, usually from the barbie.
The average Austrayan will pepper his language with words that may appear profane to the uninitiated. For example if he calls you a bastard it is a usually a term of endearment, unless you happened to let slip some unfortunate information about your parentage. ‘Oh bugger’, denotes that something has clearly gone wrong. If an Aussie were to drive into the back of your vehicle with his Ute (a car with a tray on the back instead of rear passenger seats and a trunk) his first response would usually be ‘oh bugger.’
Austrayans have many affectionate terms for those they love, mate, cobber, and dag. Dag being reserved for the times when his mate is being stupid. If you spill beer down yourself and make an Aussie laugh he may well call you a dag. Should you hasten to Wikipedia for a translation you may be insulted to discover the word dag denotes a fly blown, shit encrusted piece of wool hanging below a sheep’s butt, however, to an Australian it is an acknowledgment that you are amusing and just plain stupid.
Clothing here has its own names. At the beach, the male of the species can be seen wearing budgie smugglers, you may call them a banana hammock or perhaps swimming trunks. Dacks are pants and underdacks, are obviously underwear. Women have been known to wear frocks and men singlets rather than wife beaters. A skivvy is a roll neck jumper and thongs go on your feet.
As well as their being generic words recognized the country over, each state has its own nuances. For example should you meet an Austrayan who ends every sentence with ahy, thus turning every comment into a question, you can be assured you are in the company of a Queenslander. Should your tame Aussie keep telling you everything is grouse then you are the proud owner of a Victorian.
Having lived here for many years I have learned to understand and even mimic the Aussie so well that I have blended into my habitat. I grew up in the UK but became an Austrayan citizen as soon as time allowed, there is no where else in the world I would choose to call home, despite the drought, flooding and kookaburras who seem greatly amused by something in the trees outside my bedroom window at 5.30 in the morning. Although I do like Paris, maybe I could do Paris. Hmmm.
See if Lillian moved to Paris
December 24, 2010
As the only blog contributor not freezing my way through a winter ice age, I thought it would be interesting to share what it’s like to have Christmas in the summer.
Until the age of 22 I lived in the UK so Christmas was a major event that broke up the seemingly endless months of cold, rain, ice, fog and misery that is a British winter. The long dark evenings were brightened by the Christmas tree lights twinkling in the corner of the room and the big heavy Christmas meal sat well in a body rigid with cold.
Even though I have lived in Oz for many years I still hold on to the traditions of an English Christmas. I am not alone. The rest of the world may think, compliments of Paul Hogan, that the day is spent tossing another shrimp on the barbie or surfing at the beach but in reality, for most people, the day is spent at home sharing the traditions of your ancestors, where ever they came from. You will find many revelers on Bondi beach but they are mostly European backpackers living the Aussie dream.
For those of us with a British heritage the meal is traditionally turkey with way too many roast potatoes and vegetables, followed up with a heavy Christmas pudding made with brandy and lots of dried fruit served with brandy butter and custard then to top it off sweet mince pies. If the day is hot, which looks not to be the case this year, then the house becomes unbearable and your appetite wanes as you lose your body weigh in sweat, but still you stuff yourself to blotation before declaring next year you’ll do something different.
When we lived in Melbourne we would spend the day with an Aunt and Uncle. After dinner we would play volleyball in their swimming pool to work off the calories. This being the only concession to the fact it was summer.
Even though we celebrate a traditional English Christmas it never has the magic it did in winter. The sun sets far too late for the tree to ever truly look good and it doesn’t hold the excitement of a mid winter celebration heralding the turn toward spring and summer.
For me Christmas is a stark reminder of my status as an immigrant transplanted in a foreign land where the seasons are turned on their head.
November 30, 2010
Around the holidays we start to think about saying goodbye to the old year and hello to the new. The New Year ushers in clean slates—an opportunity for us to change, add positive elements to our lives or remove negative energy that surrounds us daily. What if we lived in a country where any type of change was forbidden and you could never wipe the slate clean?
I’m thankful for clean slates.
Unspeakable tragedy lurks all around us; a teen beaten to death in New York, a horrific hate crime in Pennsylvania, the shooting of a priest in a small town. Big things. And then I realize how truly fragile life is. I have a place to live, cars that run, heat, and electricity—little things we take for granted.
I’m thankful for little things.
My cupboards are full and so is my refrigerator. During the holidays my table groans with platters of food, laughter of children and smiles from elderly members of our family. Did you know that one out of eight children in the US go to bed hungry?
I’m thankful for groaning tables.
I love that my children still like to hang out with me, truly want my company. Tell your children you love them every time you share a sweet visit, hug them, let them know how blessed you are they were sent to journey through life with you.
I am thankful for sweet visits.
Meows and Barks
Cats have saved owners from burning buildings, dogs have rescued drowning children. Your pet in most cases will always choose you over anyone else in the world. Your furry friend gives you unconditional love, friendship, and loyalty. Give it back and you’ll never be sorry.
I am thankful for meows and barks.
The joy of writing
I’m horrible at math, not very good at biology or science either. But someone gave me a gift I’m sure I’m not worthy of. If you open a dictionary and choose a word, 90 percent of the time I can tell you the meaning. One thing I can always count on is the ability to string words together. I’m gonna ride this one out for as long and as far as it will take me.
I am thankful for the joy of writing.
Random acts of kindness
A random act of kindness is a selfless act performed by a person wishing to either assist or cheer up an individual. There will generally be no reason other than to make people smile, or be happy. An oft-cited example of a random act of kindness is stopping to help someone who’s out of fuel or has a flat tire. You can’t leave your name and you refuse to accept money in exchange for your assistance. You merely stopped to help because help was needed. We shouldn’t help people based on merit, but on need.
I am thankful for random acts of kindness.
Over 5,000 US soldiers have died in the Iraq war and over 1,000 in Afghanistan. We must all realize that giving one’s life is the ultimate sacrifice. These heroic men and women have lost everything. This Holiday Season, thank them/pray for them for surrendering all they ever were or could ever hope to be to ensure our freedom.
I am thankful for freedom.
Friends and family
I saved the best for last. I’ve made wonderful friends over the years and have been blessed with the most awesome family. At Christmas and every day of the year I’ll remember to be thankful for friends and family. Remember, family and friends are like stars. You don’t always see them, but you know they’re always there for you.
I am thankful for friends and family.
Blessed Holidays to you and yours,
You can find Keta here on the Internet:
Author Home: http://ketadiablo.blogspot.com
Keta’s Haunt: http://www.ketadiablo.com
Keta’s Keep: http://ketaskeep.blogspot.com
Gay Fiction Blog: http://thestuffofmythandmen.blogspot.com
Keta on Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/ketadiablo
November 25, 2010
Today most of you will gather with family, ravage some poor defenseless turkey and watch obnoxious brother-in-laws, hands stuck in their waistbands, doze in your favorite chair.
I say “you” because my wife Virginia and I won’t be so engaged.
For more than a decade now we have spent each Thanksgiving and Christmas morning at the local Salvation Army along with dozens of other folks preparing meals for those without.
It’s the “without” part that caused me to write this.
We tend to think of the Salvation Army and other such agencies and churches as buffet lines on these two holidays. But so much more takes place behind the scenes with and for people you won’t ever meet.
Our purpose, our job, is to box meals to be delivered to shut-ins. The majority of those people are the forgotten. When the volunteers arrive to help deliver the meals, I make the route assignments, count the meals going into the boxes, ensure the right boxes go to the right drivers, and when the last order is filled, Virginia and I head out to a high rise where we distribute, on average, sixty dinners.
We, and the others like us across the country, do this for many reasons.
But the most compelling reason is the people we meet. They and their stories bring us back every year.
One such story is a man who never signed up for the meals and rarely spoke.
Every Thanksgiving and Christmas in the dining room where we set up, this quiet man would appear dressed in slacks, sport jacket, clean shirt and tie. His shoes, always freshly polished.
He would stand at the windows looking out to the parking lot until he tired and sat down.
The second year, my curiosity peaked, I asked a couple of residents about him.
Each holiday his family would tell him they were coming to get him and bring him to wherever the family was gathering that particular day. Each holiday no one ever arrived to take him there.
I offered him a slice of homemade pumpkin pie. He declined, saying he wanted to arrive at his family hungry so he could enjoy the full meal with them.
On Christmas I insisted. He sat and wolfed it down.
The next year we brought a meal for him. He refused, but readily accepted the slice of pie.
And on it went until last Christmas.
We arrived, set up, and distributed the meals. The residents gathered at the tables, ensuring each had sufficient silverware and a drink. Many said prayers together.
The man wasn’t at the window, nor did he appear before we packed up to leave.
I had to ask.
I asked some of his neighbors if his dream had finally come true.
“Yes,” came the response. “He passed away.”
Celebrate your holiday with loved ones. But if you have time, consider giving an hour or two to someone standing at the window.
Read more from KevaD
November 24, 2010
Good morning, David. Thank you for taking the time to talk to us about you and your work.
Thank you, Bobby. The pleasure is truly mine.
First of all, I have to ask about the troll…and your pen name. What motivated you to write as “KevaD”? And how comfortable is it under those stairs, anyway?
The troll actually came about when I was searching for an avatar for the critiquing group I belong to, ERAuthors. ERA had quite a selection to choose from – all female – not a toothless beggar in the bunch. The troll and I found each other in an orphanage for abandoned avatars. It was drool at first sight.
“KevaD” is a play on my name – Dave K backwards. Out of the Closet was a journey through the looking glass for me, and it seemed fitting at the time.
The space under the stairs is very comfortable. The floor’s oak and the walls are… were painted until KevaD licked them clean. My wife used to send me there every once in a while when I’d been bad. KevaD tossed a couple animal pelts on the floor and he’s been there ever since. I wish I’d known then the “pelts” weren’t dead yet.
Does your writing as KevaD differ from that as DA Kentner? How so?
Originally, not at all. Now I think KevaD has developed a shadow of a life of his own. He’s become a bit of a muse in his own right and questions what I’m doing, where I’m taking a story or character. Unfortunately, since he’s right most of the time, his ego has grown and is insisting I allow him to write a fantasy erotic trilogy. That’s so far out of my past writing styles I wouldn’t consider it. He scribbled the first few pages in crayon the other night. I had to frustratingly agree the project might have merit, as did one of my critiquing buds I sent it to for an opinion. I need to wrap up the second installment of Out of the Closet and SonRise, a WWII novel about four people destroyed by war and how their lives intertwine, eventually becoming a ragtag family. Then we’ll get serious about the trilogy.
The oddball is DA Kentner. I’ve never been “DA” at anytime in my life. I’m Dave or David. Ironically, there is another David Kentner twenty miles from me – no known relation. When The Readers’ Writers was picked up locally by the (Freeport) Journal Standard I thought there might be some confusion, so I signed the column as “DA”. GateHouse decided to nationally distribute the column, and “DA” was etched in stone.
Needless to say, while DA writes for GateHouse News Service and KevaD gets credit, or blame, for my stories, it’s me, David, getting lost in the shuffle, until the bills are due. But it’s okay. My golden retriever doesn’t care who I am, as long she gets fed on time, and my wife has two men and a troll to keep her company.
The truth is, it’s David behind the curtain.
Let’s chat briefly about Out of the Closet. What inspired you to write this story, and what do you want your readers to take away with them having read this story?
Love. The answer is that simply complicated. Love isn’t chained to sex, race, religion, geography, or perceived gender. It acknowledges no boundaries; yet, we don’t always see it before the chance to know real love strolls out of our lives.
Chaz is like so many of us, blindly stumbling his way through life, completely clueless that what he is searching for has been within his grasp the entire time. Fortunately for Chaz, he is granted a second chance to hold onto love with all his might before it escapes him again.
Why romance? And especially, why gay romantic comedy?
Insert heavy sigh here. I’m a true romantic. I honest to God believe in love. Almost every story I have ever written contains a thread of a love story woven in to it. Can’t help myself. The first piece I received minor accolades for was a love story between an alien man and earth woman.
Gay romantic comedy happened because of Ash Penn, the author of the MM novel Stray. Ash is a member of ERA and was looking for help with a scene. I’d never written MM before, but offered my version of the scene. She didn’t use it, but asked if I’d written MM before. I said no. She said I had. It was Ash who got it across to me that what I write about are the emotional strengths of love. I don’t worry about who (human) or what (non-human) is in love.
I decided to give MM a shot. After all, love is love. Chaz and Mike both have traits borrowed from multiple people I have known. I actually knew a man who scaled telephone poles upside down for six packs of beer. I figured if I had a character who did outrageous, nearly unbelievable acts, it better be a comedy or the readers would never believe somebody like Mike could really exist.
As I wrote, I posted the completed chapters on ERA for critiquing. The feedback and suggestions for improvement led me to foolishly believe they actually were enjoying it. Barb Sheridan, another author friend, said I really needed to get that story published.
Fingernails between teeth, I sent the manuscript to four publishers. Two offered contracts.
So, blame the members of ERAuthors for KevaD’s interest in gay romantic comedy. And you can specifically blame author Evanne Lorraine for the MMF scenes in the upcoming fantasy trilogy.
I know that you write several different genres: romantic comedy and suspense to name two. How much of a challenge is it to switch between them?
Weirdly, not much. I’m a character writer. I let the characters tell me how they’ll react to the circumstances I create for them. It’s not unusual for me to have two works in progress like I do right now. Romanian Infantry Corporal Vezirov Kasmerkhov can guide me through the morning, and Chaz and Mike can take the reins in the evening for another chapter or two of their next adventure. During this same time, I wrote the short story “SonSet” (the prequel to SonRise) for inclusion in Evanne Lorraine’s E-book A Scarlet Past due out on Kindle, Nov 19th. It’s a $.99 promotion for her upcoming series.
I find, for me (I don’t recommend it), having two diverse stories going at the same time allows me greater freedom to explore the varied characters.
As an example: I was working on Sunday Awakening, the romantic suspense novel Noble Romance Publishing is releasing Dec 6th (cheap, self-serving plug here), when Chaz and Mike knocked on the door right smack dab in the middle of it. Cheryl and Taylor were driving to New Mexico from Iowa anyway, and they said they wouldn’t mind if I spent some time with the new guys. The end result is a novella and a full-length novel being released three months apart.
But, I couldn’t do any of it if it weren’t for ERAuthors and their invaluable input. That’s a fact.
Tell me a little bit about your column “The Readers Writers” that you write for the Freeport Journal Standard as well as your involvement with SeeFreeNews.com.
The Readers’ Writers started as a way to thank two authors, Barbara Sheridan and mystery writer Sam Reaves, who were mentoring me when I was on the verge of giving up – throwing in the literary towel. A case of Charmin doesn’t contain as many sheets of paper as my rejection pile. Barb and Sam agreed to be interviewed believing the interviews were only for my new blog I didn’t know what to do with.
I sent the interviews to 63 newspapers as a surprise. I was the one surprised – only my local paper, the Journal Standard was interested. I still suspect the interest was only because of my name–in another life I was the Freeport Chief of Police—and I didn’t want to be paid. Not being paid undoubtedly had a lot to do with it. To all our amazement the readers’ response was tremendous. The JS wanted more. I was only too glad to oblige. We agreed on two interviews a month.
Next thing I knew GateHouse News Service, the parent of the JS, wanted a weekly for national distribution to all their affiliates. We test ran author Poppet’s interview as she is so unique and her personal story is so riveting. Over half the affiliates ran that interview. Now, all of the affiliates run the weekly interviews. That’s over 500 dailies and periodicals with over a hundred of them posting the column to their web sites in addition to the printed run – coast-to-coast.
For the record, I still receive the same pay – nix, nein, nada. I do it to spread the word about the authors gracious enough to allow me an interview. GateHouse does give me a line now at the bottom of the column to advertise my blog and books.
GateHouse runs the interviews edited to meet space limitations – I post the unedited interviews on my blog. So far it’s working out for all involved. But, you never know.
Seefreenews.com is a local Internet news service – a one-man operation – that received some national interest from a story he ran. Keith Bardell (owner/publisher) asked me if I would be willing to do something—anything—to add some content to his news pages. The downside was a 250-word limitation. That excluded the idea of author interviews.
Instead, I suggested we offer authors the 250-words of space to tell about themselves and their latest project. All I do is edit what they submit. Keith does all the work. Surprisingly – this business is full of surprises – we have trouble getting authors willing to invest the time it takes to write their own 250-word blurb. Keith also posts links, pics and trailers if the authors have them to submit. Anybody interested? If so, email me at firstname.lastname@example.org for more information. I mean, it’s free advertising. Why not? We might even consider a book review site’s blurb… such as, oh… say… BookWenches?
Oh, twist my arm already! (heh) Limiting to 250 words will be tough, but I’m sure we’re up to the challenge.
Tell me a little bit about your writing habits. Are you pretty regimented in terms of when and where and for how long you write, or do you tend write when the muse attacks?
I would love to be regimented. Unfortunately, that’s not life in our house. I write when there’s enough silence around me to drift into my characters’ minds. Sometimes that’s 8 a.m. Sometimes it’s 2 a.m. My computer’s a pc located in the living room. My wife believes the TV was made to run 24-7. Why God created the Soap Channel and the Game Network, I’ll never understand. So, I have to wait until she’s either not home, or asleep. But when my muse attacks with a new story concept, I sit down and hammer out the characters and plot before the damn muse giggles and runs away.
If I ever have the money, it’s a laptop and a room upstairs for me.
Will you share with us the story of your first “sale” for professional publication? How long had you been writing before you pursued publication?
I’d been writing for several months after a thirty-eight year hiatus. Initially I thought I was destined to be an English teacher. Life disagreed. I ended up in the Army. Part of my job was assisting the Secret Service and State Department in the personal protection of the President, Vice President and Secretary of State. When I eventually decided to return to civilian life, law enforcement seemed the natural route to follow.
This is a long way to answer your question, but it’s part of that first published piece.
I wasn’t getting anywhere as far as being published. Then I read a book review that I actually had to haul out a dictionary and French translation program to decipher. I thought it the most ridiculous article of self-absorption I’d ever wasted my time on. Cue the muse.
The muse whispered I should combine several of my experiences with that book review. In hindsight, the short story wasn’t very well written. But Daniel Sawyer and Faraway Journal loved it and published it. I’ll always be grateful to Daniel for that first opportunity.
What is your goal as a writer? Have you reached it yet?
Thank the Lord I haven’t reached my goal, which is to write until I can’t write any more.
What do you think makes for a great work of fiction? How do you instill that into your work?
For me it’s characterization. Give me a character, good or evil, I believe in, and I’m your willing captive to the very end. I need to take that ride with them, win or lose. That’s what I strive for in everything I write. If you really want to wound me, tell me my characters suck.
In SonRise I wrote a character I wanted to be as evil as I could possibly create. ERAuthor member Debbie Vaughan emailed me that character “…needs to die. He needs to die very soon.”
Will you give us a peek at what you’re working on right now? What can your readers expect from you in the not-too-distant future?
I touched on these earlier. Chaz and Mike’s next adventure is nearing completion. If it’s published, and “if” readers enjoy it, a third installment is already plotted out for them.
SonRise is my biggest challenge to date. The novel is actually completed and I’m in revisions and rewrites before I try to find it a home. But it’s literary fiction, not romance, though the two love stories in it are front and center and critical to the story. I’m more than a little nervous about finding a publisher for it.
As writers, I believe we all put a piece of our hearts into our prose. SonRise contains a piece of my soul.
When those two are polished off, I’ll start the erotic fantasy trilogy and pull a romance novel back out of the virtual drawer I stuck it in. It’s another completed novel in need of rewrites and revisions that would be a nice working counter-balance to the trilogy. I have eight such completed novels in “drawers”.
Tell me a little bit about DA Kentner the person. What do you do when you’re not shackled to the keyboard? Do you have a profession outside of writing? Do you have kids, hobbies, man-eating cats?
I have a business. I buy junk and sell antiques. But the economy has pretty much tanked sales, so I don’t spend near the time with it I used to. It’s hard to get excited about dealing with people who offer me half of the tagged price when my mark-up was only 30% to start with. No, I don’t tend to smile at offers of a 20% loss.
My two sons are grown and gone. It’s just my wife and I, our Golden Retriever who’s allergic to wood, and our tripod cat. Yup. Out of the Closet’s The Cat personified. He has a habit of gently touching a person when he wants their attention. If they ignore him, he’s all fur and claws on his way through their clothing to their skin. He has two levels of attitude; chill and kill.
My love of writing is also my passion. When I’m lost in my characters or interviewing an author, I’m happier than I could ever be with a hobby.
What do you think the future has in store for the world of publishing? Do you think electronic publishing will ever supplant print? Do you believe that small indie publishers are a fad, or do you think that they are here to stay?
Small Indie Press is definitely here to stay, and we should all be grateful for it. Writers and readers alike stand to gain from small Indie press – quality at affordable prices. I did an interview with author/publisher Nelson Ottenhausen where I touch on that.
Do I believe electronic will supplant print? Yes, but not in my lifetime.
The saddest loss of printed books will be the child or grandchild on your lap, sharing that book and the memory of it with you, reveling in the excitement of the pictures, turning the pages.
Many claim print will never disappear. I’d like to join that chorus, but I don’t think it’s reality.
We as a civilization are currently fostering the first generation introduced to non-print schoolbooks. Their textbooks are on Kindles. This concept will expand to all school systems. Consider the logic involved here. If you are raised without printed books, you carry dozens of books in a device no larger than a notebook and can interchange them at will, at the touch of your finger on the screen, how attractive is a ten-pound stack of books you need to buy bookshelves for? Fact: The majority of people don’t buy maps and atlases anymore – we have a GPS and MapQuest.
Originally stone tablets were the “books” of the time. Leather replaced stone. Rice and fiber paper replaced leather. Pulp replaced rice and fiber. I’m sure somewhere in there were folks claiming none of those could ever be replaced.
Hand carving was replaced by hand-written ink. Hand-written was replaced by the hand-operated printing press, replaced by the electric and gas-powered printing presses, replaced by digital press that put lots of people out of work. Newspapers are folding left and right due to the Internet. The newspapers still printed utilize computers to create and print them from electronically produced printing sheets – no typesetting.
Evolution is inevitable. Books, and the means producing them, have evolved right along with everything else. To see the future, we need only look at the past.
Please let us know how we can find out more about you and your writing – websites, blogspots, etc. How can we go about purchasing your work?
Visit dakentner.blogspot.com for author interviews, kevad-author.blogspot.com for the more personal updates of what KevaD’s up to.
Check out BookWenches for more author interviews and book reviews.
Both those sites have links to Noble Romance Publishing and Amazon.com for my published novels and novellas. Okay. For Out of the Closet. Sunday Awakening isn’t available until December 6th.
Finally, what have I forgotten to ask? Is there anything else that you would like to share with us?
You have been so kind and gracious to me, all I can say is thank you so much for allowing me this time.
This interview is posted with the BookWenches’ permission. The original interview may be read here
November 10, 2010
I have the sincere pleasure of introducing Keta Diablo to Some Write it Hot. I don’t know her all that well yet but what I do know is that she loves animals as I do. She lives on six or so acres of land with a lake named after a famous Indian Chief and plenty of woods for critters to roam. Rumor has it her property is home to an Indian burial ground. Is that the wind I hear, or something more apparitional?
In the Summer months, Keta loves to garden and spend as much time as she can outdoors. That’s where she creates all the memorable characters from her books you can sample at Amber Quill, Decadent Publishing, Phaze Books and Noble Romance.
Her latest, Where The Rain Is Made is on the Top 100 on Amazon under Time-Travel.
Here’s the blurb
After a decadent-looking savage captures Francesca DuVall and her brother Marsh, she spends every waking moment planning an escape. She didn’t count on the powerful draw of desire interfering with her scheme while in the clutches of the brutal Cheyenne Dog Soldiers.
Ethan Gray is a curator at a national museum . . . most of the time. When he travels through time to help his beloved People he’s Meko, leader of the most revered and feared tribe of the plains. Their worlds are decades apart and yet Meko can’t resist the dark beauty he kidnapped during a raid. Violent battles loom on the horizon, but there’s only one he must win at all costs – the capture of Cesca’s heart forever.
From the windswept plains of Colorado and the harsh life of a Dog Soldier to the placid life of a curator, their love was fueled by passion and kindled by destiny.
For more information on Keta, visit her website.