Some Write It Hot

December 22, 2010

Holiday Eating Tips by Lauren Fraser

Filed under: Writing life — dangerouslysexy @ 04:00
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Christmas isn’t even here yet and already I’m feeling like I need to hit the treadmill and hit it hard. Yikes it could be grim. So when I saw this post on another group it seemed absolutely perfect. I know what you are thinking, stop making excuses, but come on it, it’s Christmas and that’s what New Year’s resolutions are all about. *grin* I would love to claim credit for the holiday eating tips but I completely stole it from someone else, unfortunately I don’t know who the original author is but whoever you are. Damn, you are bang on. LOL

So in case you are feeling a little like me about the dreaded holiday binge, here you go.

HOLIDAY EATING TIPS

Avoid carrot sticks. Anyone who puts carrots on a holiday buffet table knows nothing of the Christmas spirit. In fact, if you see carrots, leave immediately. Go next door where they’re serving rum balls.

Drink as much eggnog as you can. And quickly. It’s rare… You cannot find it any other time of year but now. So drink up! Who cares that it has 10,000 calories in every sip? It’s not as if you’re going to turn into an eggnog-alcoholic or something. It’s a treat. Enjoy it. Have one for me. Have two. It’s later than you think. It’s Christmas!

If something comes with gravy, use it. That’s the whole point of gravy. Gravy does not stand alone. Pour it on. Make a volcano out of your mashed potatoes. Fill it with gravy. Eat the volcano. Repeat.

As for mashed potatoes, always ask if they’re made with skim milk or whole milk. If it’s skim, pass. Why bother? It’s like buying a sports car with an automatic transmission.

Do not have a snack before going to a party in an effort to control your eating. The whole point of going to a Holiday party is to eat other people’s food for free. Lots of it. Hello?

Under no circumstances should you exercise between now and New Year’s. You can do that in January when you have nothing else to do. This is the time for long naps, which you’ll need after circling the buffet table while carrying that
10-pound plate of food and vat of eggnog.

If you come across something really good at a buffet table, like frosted Christmas cookies in the shape and size of Santa, position yourself near them and don’t budge. Have as many as you can before becoming the center of attention. They’re like a beautiful pair of shoes. If you leave them behind, you’re never going to see them again.

Same for pies. Apple. Pumpkin. Mincemeat. Have a slice of each. Or if you don’t like mincemeat, have two apples and one pumpkin. Always have three.

Did someone mention fruitcake? Granted, it’s loaded with the mandatory celebratory calories, but avoid it at all cost. I mean, have some standards.

One final tip: If you don’t feel terrible when you leave the party or get up from the table, you haven’t been paying attention. Re-read tips and start over; but hurry, January is just around the corner. Remember this motto to live by: “Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well preserved body, but rather to slide in sideways, chocolate in one hand and wine in the other, body thoroughly used up, totally worn out, but screaming, ‘woo hoo, what a ride!'”

Enjoy the Christmas season!!

All the best,

Lauren Fraser

http://www.laurenfraser.com

December 15, 2010

Furbabies and Writers by Cherise Sinclair

Filed under: Writing life — dangerouslysexy @ 04:00
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Why your human writers should include pets in their stories

–an instructional article for fellow felines by the Calico – aka She Who Rules

I’ve been supervising my human’s reading material recently. I’m distressed at how many stories lack the most important characters of all–the pets. Yes, I realize that animals should be charitable toward their human’s short-sighted natures–after all, they can’t even see in the dark–nonetheless, a book should reflect the world, and in America, over sixty percent of American households contain a pet.

So why have I found books where none of the major characters own a cat or even–if they must display such poor taste–a dog? Truly, humans do need direction.

Being of a literary nature, I have assisted my human with this simple task. She tends to start off a story with boring humans…the hero, the heroine, and various two-legged friends. Bleah. If she continues with her narrow-minded plotting too long, I put my paw down. Usually no more is needed. Remember to show patience; use claws only if your human ignores to ignore a mild admonition. Disembowelment for a first offense is excessive. (yes, I’m talking about you, Mittens)

Below, I will list several ways in which an animal brings a story to life, so you can instruct your human. As kittens learn best by watching it done correctly, I will also provide examples for you.

To enhance a personality: Have you even noticed how two-dimensional some humans *cough* I mean, characters–can be? As I’ve shown Cherise, having a hero own a pet adds another, very appealing dimension. For example, in Club Shadowlands, Master Z appears like this:

Smooth black hair, silvering at the temples, just touching his collar. Dark gray eyes with laugh lines at the corners. A lean, hard face with the shadow of a beard adding a hint of roughness. He wore tailored black slacks and a black silk shirt that outlined hard muscles underneath. If Ben was a Rottweiler, this guy was a jaguar, sleek and deadly.”

[As an aside, I rather liked the above comparison–Cherise thought of it all by herself. I was quite proud and brought her a wonderful helping of nice, warm mouse guts to reward her. Please note that it’s almost as important to reward a two-legger as it is to reprimand her. ]

So, we now have a rich, good-looking human. Nice enough writing, but we can do better. Add in a feline to give him a history and a soft heart:

“Ah, about time. I was wondering if you were going to make an appearance,” Sir said to the cat, kneeling to pet it. He looked up. “May I introduce Galahad?”

“Galahad?” she said in disbelief. That had to be the biggest and ugliest cat she’d ever seen, and she’d seen some monsters at the shelter.

“He’s a very chivalrous fellow.”

Jessica knelt on the floor and held out a finger to be delicately sniffed. In approval, the cat nudged her hand, curveted closer to be petted. “You must be quite a fighter.” She frowned at the chewed-on ears and scarred nose.

“He’s been with me about five years, ever since I found him raiding the garbage cans. He was big then, has grown even more since.”

She would never have picked him as a person who would adopt a stray cat. She didn’t know him at all, did she?

To liven up a thinking scene: How often are there tedious scenes where the characters are simply sitting and thinking? Not even grooming–appalling, isn’t it? It’s much more interesting if the heroine has a pet to give her some advice since, face it, humans are notoriously lacking in common sense.

Even if Jake had come, she wasn’t going to roll over like an idiot dog who’d love a person no matter how badly he treated it. She stopped beside Mufasa. “I’m no dog—I’m a cat. Kick me and I’ll walk away, right, Mufasa?”

A furry head butted her leg in agreement.

To improve descriptions: Do the descriptions of hero or heroine lack a certain oomph? Comparing an animal to a human can be revealing. I fear the human usually comes off less appealing than the pet, but, as I’ve said before, stories should be based on reality.

Here’s Logan from Master of the Mountain:

“Right.” She forced her feet forward, one hard-won step after another. Where was the dog? As the man behind the desk shook hands with Matt, Rebecca checked the floor. There. Standing beside the man, it looked huge, with dark brown fur and a darker muzzle. It stared at her, and she heard another rumble.

“Thor,” the man said, his low voice almost a match for the dog’s. “Down.”

The dog flattened to the floor. It never stopped looking at her, though.

“Rebecca, eyes on me, not the dog.” The deep, rough voice broke her free, and she turned to the owner. He looked as mean as his dog, with steel blue eyes in a deeply tanned face—a ruthless face decorated with a day-old beard and a white scar below his left cheekbone. After handing her a pen, he tapped the paper in front of him. “Name and address. Signature on the release.”

My human does struggle sometimes against my gentle direction. For example, she’d planned a simple Dom finds sub in his private dungeon-type story. Very straight-forward–can we say boring? I pointed out that the plot needed a reason for the rich Dominant to have a middle-class submissive in his home. After a little prodding and effort on my part (tail-lashings, ignoring her presence, hacking up hairballs) Cherise gave in. She came up with a rather brilliant reason: to take care of the owner’s dog. I did feel it was a shame she used a dog, but logical–no self-respecting feline would need a babysitter.

So the heroine became a veterinarian, and that led to a fine parade of animals through the story. I did have to throw a hissy fit to get a feline added. Really, a cat can enhance the showing of a character’s problems and back story far better than any drooling canine. Here’s Mac and Alex in The Dom’s Dungeon:

To top off the wreck of her day, she heard footsteps. Alex was home.

And this wasn’t her home. What was I thinking?

Her stomach sank. He’d probably order her right out of his house. The clawing worry in her stomach duplicated the tiny claws digging into her forearm. The kitten had seen Butler.

“Easy, kitling,” she murmured. “I don’t think he eats cats.” But she didn’t know, now did she? “Butler,” she said firmly. “Behave.” She turned so the cat was out of the dog’s sight and vice versa.

Alex walked around the corner with that easy grace and power, and her heart did that funny dip like it did every time she saw him. Maybe she had a heart condition.

“How did the day go?” he asked; then his eyes narrowed, and he moved forward. “What’s wrong, little vet?”

Caught. Caught dead to rights. When she was a kid, she’d rescued a half-starved puppy and brought it to the foster home. Arlene had thrown it out. “This is my home, not yours.” That night, Mac had sneaked out and found the puppy still in the front yard. So little. All bones and big eyes. She’d carried him across town to the animal rescue and cried all the way back. You would think she’d have learned.

Of course, Alex liked animals. Maybe… Her stomach tightened, and she looked down. Anything to avoid his eyes. This was Alex’s home. Not hers. If he liked cats, he’d have one.

He huffed a laugh, and she looked up in time to get a firm kiss on her lips. “I’m not sure which of you is shaking harder,” he murmured, disengaging the kitten’s claws with an easy competence. “Butler, lie down,” he ordered absently when the dog’s approach triggered a tiny hiss.

“I’m sorry,” Mac whispered, looking at the antique furnishings. “It’s just for tonight, and then I’ll try to find him a home. He was in the middle of Mercer Street, and I couldn’t leave him. If you don’t want him in the house, then…” Maybe she could sneak him into a motel.

He gave her a puzzled look. “MacKensie, if you could have left a kitten in the middle of the road, then you aren’t the woman I thought you were.”

See? Now didn’t that add a lot to MacKensie’s and Alex’s characters?

Finally, a word of warning. If and when pets get added into stories, do NOT let your human forget them. All too often an appealing pet appears in a story, but, as the idiotic author gets wrapped up in the romance, the animal disappears. Excuse my hissing, but that’s as disgusting as when a two-legger forgets mealtimes.

I realize the sacrifice I’m asking you all to make, but my friends, it’s imperative to keep an eye on your human writers. For example, Cherise once tried to write a story without consulting me, and obviously needed closer supervision. So I now spend my days warming my paws on her lap. She’s learned to type with one arm pinned under my body–even old humans can be taught new tricks–and if she doesn’t remember to pet me in repayment for my dedication to duty, I flick my tail against the screen. (Have you ever noticed how effective a tail is when used on the tailless? Be sure to teach this to your kittens.)

Well, if you’ll excuse us, I believe this article can come to an end. And I need to reward my human for her dedication to duty. Hmm. Perhaps I’ll let her feed me some of that chicken she cooked last night.

For the latest on what Cherise is up to visit her website

November 29, 2010

Distractions by Ash Penn

Filed under: Writing life — dangerouslysexy @ 04:00
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The Internet is never more riveting than when I have a new chapter to write. Very often the only way I can get any work done is by switching off my router fora few hours. And inevitably, when I do, I’ll immediately need to Google something for research purposes. Then it’s ‘Oh, I’ll just check one or two of my writing forums for new posts before I get started on the new chapter’ and then I’ll check my email and by the time I’m done an hour has passed, and I’ve yet to make a start on the WiP.

I’ve decided that if I’m to get any real work done (and have my latest book on sub by the end of this year) I’ll have to stop treating writing as a hobby and start thinking about it as a career. No more random surfing of the internet for hours on end, nor more wasting a morning or four in coffee shops, or window shopping for things I can’t afford. I’m going to have to get myself settled into a proper routine in a distraction free environment. I’ve managed to set up an office (of sorts) in a corner of my bedroom. Nothing fancy. Just a desk, my laptop, and an alarm clock. There will no more idle strolls into town, no internet or TV until I’ve either reached my daily word count goal or the alarm goes off and I can take a break. Hopefully the new, more disciplined ‘professional writer’ me will keep motivated enough to fulfill my personal goal for next year. I want at least four novellas either published or on submission, and perhaps a novel if I can rescue my failed NaNo attempt.

Just as well I’m not into the whole social networking thing, because I’m sure I’d never get any writing done at all.

November 26, 2010

My Father Inspires Me by Ellie Heller

Filed under: Writing life — dangerouslysexy @ 04:00
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My father inspires me. In his love for hobbies and expression of art outside of his work, he has dabbled at many things and, in the process, gained mastery over several. Carpentry, running a B&B, embroidery are a few of his skills. At seventy he decided he really wanted to do more visual art and took up print making. He’s worked with several different methods and has explained excitedly about each. Just hearing him detailing his process and expounding on his ideas you can feel the love he has for this new medium. He has found his niche, his way of expressing himself and he couldn’t be happier or more enthusiastic.

But it’s not his enthusiasm which inspires me. His entering a new world of art became exciting for everyone who knew him. Seeing some of his work win awards made everyone proud, him most of all. His taking up something new, mastering it and then having other recognize his brilliance certain could be why he inspires me, but it’s not.

No, what inspires me is his dedication and perseverance to continue doing his art while going through chemo and relocating at the same time.

Some days I can’t even get a word on paper, my time does not seem like it belongs to me. Yet my father, through the highs and lows of chemo, not only made and entered pieces for shows, he and my stepmother set their house in order and put it on the market, found a new home and moved.

I am both awed and inspired by this man. No matter what was going on he made time to do something he loved. And with his time possibly now counted by seasons, not years, his urging to make sure you find something you love and then make the time to do it resonates loudly.

I have many things to be thankful for this time of year, but having someone so close to me understand and support my need to do something which brings me joy counts beyond measure.

November 23, 2010

What, no conflict? by Lillian Grant

Filed under: Writing life — dangerouslysexy @ 04:00
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I was working on an idea for NaNo the other day. (NaNo is a special kind of torture where writers go insane and sign up to write fifty thousand words in thirty days.) Anyway, I was working on plot ideas and my eldest wandered into my office and asked what I’m doing.

“Plotting,” says I, “My story needs conflict.”

His response. “Is it a war novel?”

Nooo, it’s romance of course!

So, why do you need conflict? Poor delusion child. I explained how it goes. Girl meets boy, or vise versa, they feel attracted, fall in love, something happens to pull them apart (conflict), they overcome the obstacle and live happily ever after.

He grins at me. “I’ve got a conflict for you. How about your hero is abducted by aliens. They probe him and when he returns to earth he’s gay. Now the heroine has to either get herself changed into a man or find the aliens to reverse the procedure if she wants to save their relationship.”

I do apologize for him. I gave birth to him and after that I have no idea what went wrong.

Funnily enough, around the same time as my son was regaling me with even more ridiculous ideas, a whole discussion opened up on Romance Divas about novels being contracted with no conflict in the plot and didn’t readers want conflict anymore.

I myself have a novella that has been tossed back at me by a publisher because it has no conflict. But I actually don’t mind stories without conflict. Hell, my favorite book of all time doesn’t even have a plot. I defy anyone to read Hunter S. Thompson’s Rum Diary and find the purpose of the book. Just when you think it’s about to get to the reason, the bit that ties it all together, it ends. Despite Hunter’s massive oversight in writing a book that has no real point, other than to meander through the life of journalist Paul Kemp as he lurches from drink to drink and from one apparent disaster to another, it’s a brilliant book.

Let’s be honest, most people don’t have romances with conflict, most relationships are not all Romeo and Juliet with calamity around every corner. Unfortunately my own romantic history has been full of conflict and hand wringing. Maybe that’s why I can accept a story where it’s all love and laughter because it’s not my experience of real life. How about you? Do you want conflict in your romance?

Read more from Lillian Grant at her website

November 22, 2010

Doubts by Ali Katz

Filed under: Writing life — dangerouslysexy @ 04:00
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“I am irritated by my own writing. I am like a violinist whose ear is true, but whose fingers refuse to reproduce precisely the sound he hears within.” ~~Gustave Flaubert

Another crisis this week. Writing is excruciating. Does anyone else feel like this? Are we all masochists?

Irritated doesn’t even come close—try agonized, tortured, tormented, crucified. Well, crucified may be a little over the top.

I am a failure. I am a hack. I am a poseur.

Okay, that’s over. Back to work.

To all our American friends out there, have a great Thanksgiving.

November 19, 2010

Thanks For Noticing Me

The writing world is definitely full of ups and downs. Lately I’ve felt more of the downs as I’m sure my posts have reflected. I’ve been a bit of a Negative Nelly, I know. Some of my author friends have had to talk me off the writing ledge a time or two. (Lauren, I’m look at you!) And I love them for it. It’s fantastic to have such a supportive group of fellow writers. I’m grateful for everyone of them.

But I’m on an upswing right now because I’m a finalist in Tawny Taylor’s Some Like It Hot contest! Wahoo!! An editor at Ellora’s Cave will be reading my partial sub. Yay! I trembled like a Chihuahua for two days after I got the news, lol.

It might not ever come to anything contract wise, but I’m okay with that. Now I know I have the chops to catch an editor’s eye. My dream contract might not come tomorrow but it’s just around the corner.

Learn more about Gillian at her website http://www.gillianarcher.com/

November 18, 2010

Muses by KevaD

Filed under: Writing life — dangerouslysexy @ 04:00
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Where does your muse live? What stirs the salient soul to rise and whisper in your ear?

Mine arrives about the second hour of my 5½-hour lawn mowing duties and buzzes incessantly, a mosquito in my brain. It really whizzes me off. Have you ever tried to take notes while bouncing up and down on a Cub Cadet garden tractor? Trust me on this point. The seat springs only serve an aesthetic purpose.

I think she (my muse has to be female as only a woman could pick such an inconvenient time to get frisky) takes delight in torturing me. Vivid scenes flash through my mind. Characters abound, all talking at once, clambering to the forefront to be heard.

The strongest become focal points. From them tales are told, plots identified, romantic interests are paired, and endings take charge to mold it all into place.

Then a tag line snickers at me as the mower blades mutilate a patch of dandelions, and all hell breaks loose.

Mental outlines fall like bowling pins since the new arrival’s a ten pound rolling ball of excitement for a whole new story concept.

Still, my muse does have a heart. She trims the tag to something easy to remember such as “When Harry met Sally she made him take off her shoes,” or “His first kiss would have been better with a partner,” or “Afraid the parachute might not open, he rode the plane into the mountain” so I can file it away and rejoin the cast for my new novel and get to know them better.

For the next couple of hours I’m more a director seated in the gallery adjusting the actors’ locations on the stage, creating their costumes, drafting the script, and learning the minutia that makes them all individuals.

Lowell has a twitch. Paula tugs at buttons when nervous. Johnson has a big Johnson, when he remembers to put the pump in his pocket.

The trick is memorizing the lines and faces. Once the stage is set I become the producer repeating the play over and over until the last blade of grass falls and I can run into the house to my computer.

It works for me and my muse. Most of the time.

You see, sometimes my wife’s home and at the door to remind me the trimming isn’t done.

Within the gas-powered weed eater lies danger. That muse is definitely male and loves whacking people. He’s a serial killer at heart.

But that’s another tale in another file.

November 15, 2010

The Trouble With Doms by Cherise Sinclair

You’re just jealous because the voices in my head only talk to ME. — Bumper Sticker

Do your characters talk to you? Argue with you? Demand their own way?

Okay, maybe my heroes are a little pushier than some. I write about Doms, after all. Uber-dominant men who not only look at a woman with appreciation, but also tend to visualize what she’d look like with leather cuffs around those pretty wrists, or how her voice will sound as she whimpers and begs to come. No, they’re not your everyday, “she’s got a great rack” guys.

So that means when they start wanting their own way, their author (who unfortunately happens to be submissive) is in serious trouble. Do you realize how difficult it is to say no to a Dom who just happens to be tapping a cane against his palm? Uh, yeah. Sure, it’s just my imagination, but hello? They *live* in my head.

For example, I’m all comfy in my chair, writing Simon’s story for Doms of Dark Haven, and quite pleased with my progress. Not bad at all, really. He’s in the BDSM club and has the heroine restrained with her arms over her head. He’s checking to see how she reacts to him and what kind of play interests her. The scene is unfolding nicely…

“You are a sweet one,” he murmured and took her face between his hands, holding her as his mouth urged hers open. He kissed her slowly. Deeply. Thoroughly.

With her wrists restrained, she was at his mercy, and the knowledge sent anticipation humming through her system.

He lifted his head to look at her for a long moment, then smiled and kissed her again until every drop of blood pooled in her lower half. Her body throbbed for more.

He moved a fraction of an inch back and caressed her cheek. “Where did I leave off? Ah, there are a variety of toys for fun like…a dildo. A vibrator. An anal plug.”

Just the thought of someone using those on her made her squirm. “Maybe.”

One side of his mouth curved up in a slight smile. “That was more than a maybe, lass. Have you ever used an anal plug?”

Her backside tensed, but with her hands chained over her head, she couldn’t cover…anything. “No.”

“I look forward to seeing your reaction.”

* * *

Just then, I feel a hand curve around the nape of my neck, and there’s Master Simon leaning on my chair, reading over my shoulder. “Not bad, Cherise, but I happen to like more variety. Let’s see how Rona feels about something a little out of the ordinary.

Oh man, here we go again. I roll my eyes. “Simon, why don’t you just let me write this and –“

A warm hand cups my cheek, forcing me to look up into narrowed dark eyes, to see how the muscle in his cheek has tightened…

“Yes, Sir.” Hell, there goes the entire rest of the scene that I’d plotted out. “What did you have in mind?”

“I like cupping.”

“You mean like those glass suction cups? Do you know how tricky that would be to…”

His chin raises a half-inch.

Hell. I sigh. “Yes, Sir. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Good girl.”

And I start typing again…Master Simon is still standing in front of Rona, but I sure hadn’t planned that he’d be quizzing her about this:

* * *

“Did you happen to see the cupping earlier?” Master Simon asks softly.

Oh, she’d definitely seen that one. “Yes.” Her voice came out husky.

He raised an eyebrow. “Interesting. And where else do you think a master might apply those cups?”

The dom had put them on his sub’s back, but she’d imagined them on her nipples or even…on her clit. A wave of heat rolled into her face, as inevitable as the sun in summer.

He chuckled. “I’ll enjoy that almost as much as you will.”

“I didn’t say yes.” She hadn’t, dammit.

“You didn’t have to.” He grasped the ribbon at the top of her chemise and pulled it open. Her nipples puckered.

* * *

Thank God, my heroines aren’t nearly as bad–aside from their tendency to wait until the story is half-way done before mentioning little problems. Like they can’t tolerate locked doors because of being shut in a closet in foster care. Or that their father made fun of their weight. But really that’s entirely different. They can’t change what happened in their past, and they don’t demand that I indulge their whims.

No, my damn heroes do that. For example, in Breaking Free, Nolan isn’t what anyone would call a sweetie-pie:

She looked at the Dom. Everything about him seemed hard. Mean. At least six feet tall, broad shouldered, thickly muscled. His darkly tanned face was the reddish-bronze of Native American ancestry. His eyes were black. Reaching his upper back, straight coal-colored hair, exactly as long as hers, had been tied with a leather band. A long white scar ran over his left cheekbone. She winced, knowing exactly how that must have felt.

His menacing gaze ran over her slowly, inch by inch. He didn’t miss anything; his eyes lingered on her scars, her breasts, her legs. At least she still had on some clothes, was all she could think. What would he do to her? If he whipped her, she’d leave. She’d have to leave. She bit her lip to hide its tremble.

* * *

He’s a focused, determined man, right? So how dare he inform me that he loves giving parties–BDSM parties–and setting up competitions between the submissives. I’ve got the suspense coiling up, the romance heating up…and he wants to give a party? Excuse me?

Guess who won that argument? Hint: it wasn’t me…

* * *

He turned to Dan and Cullen. “Here’s the rules for the second half of the game.” He pointed to the baskets beside each chair. “You each have a basket of toys. We’ll start with the vibrator.” He reached into his basket and pulled out the garish purple and green bullet, trying not to smile at Beth’s worried look. She definitely hadn’t been to a play party before. “Lay back, sugar.”

He could see her desire to say no, even though her nipples tightened. Slowly she lay back on the beach towel. In the sunlight, her blue-green eyes were clear as glass as she watched him warily.

“Relax. This won’t hurt a bit.” He grasped her ankles, spread her legs apart, and knelt between them. She was very wet. Still enlarged, her clit glistened, slightly reddened from the flogger, and just begging for attention. Not yet. He slid the purple bullet into her vagina. Enjoying her squirming, he made sure the curved form would hit her G-spot.

Rising, he pulled her to her feet and instructed the others. “Attach the remote to your sub on the side and out of the way.” Using bondage tape, he secured the small box to Beth’s waist.

Once everyone was ready, he continued. “Subs, you’ve been rehydrated, but your Doms are thirsty.” He pointed to the other side of the pool. “There’re drinks over there. Master Dan gets water, Master Cullen gets dark beer, and I get light beer. When you fetch the drinks, go in alphabetical order: Beth, Deb, Kari. Take the next cup in line and serve it to the correct master. Don’t serve the wrong drink to the wrong master or that master will spank you.”

* * *

It’s a hard, hard life, being a writer. There are too many voices rumbling around in an author’s brain, each character demanding his own way. Sometimes they argue with each other. Truly, it could drive a person just plain nuts.

With my luck, the psychiatrist will be a Dom.

Find out more about Cherise Sinclair’s dominant males and sizzling tales

November 11, 2010

A big shout out to all my NaNo friends!! by Ellie Heller

Filed under: Writing life — dangerouslysexy @ 04:00
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I wanted to give a big shout out to all my friends who are participating in National Novel Writing Month (aka NaNoWriMo or simply NaNo) this year. Particularly my fellow ERA members who have taken up the gauntlet:
Ali Katz
Amber Green
Ash Penn
Carol Hone
Cate Chase
Debbie Vaughn
DH Starr
Gillian Archer
Jayde Knight
Judith Leger
Lauren Fraser (who blogged on The Lure of NaNo earlier this month)
Lillian Grant
Shaw Wheaton

I wish them all a great deal of success; it is not an easy thing to do! I wish I could have joined you this year but life just too darned hectic right now. In the past when I have done it one of the biggest benefits was getting in the habit of writing everyday. Because, let me tell you, if I stopped for more than a day or two I fell way, way behind.

So, big kudos to you all, for your determination and for hanging in there.

I expect to be reading lots of new and interesting things over the next several months as revisions are made.

I can’t wait!! 🙂

Read more from Ellie on her blog: Ellie Writes 2

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