Janine Ashbless's Blog, page 132

Eyecandy Monday

Some for him . . .


Some for her . . .

None for me, today :-(

Brains!

This week I finished an erotica story set in a Zombie Apocalypse.

There's a first time for everything :-)

The ordinary writer

Yesterday I had a telephone interview with a journalist from national newspaper. The thrust of the article is supposed to be "how ordinary erotica writers are in contrast to their work."

Heck. Am I ordinary? I don't hold down a proper job like most people. I just slob around the house all day talking to myself. I don't have kids, unlike most people (including erotica writers. How the HELL they look after children and then find the time and energy and inspiration to write I have no idea). I'm not even sure I count as a real writer, because I sure as hell would starve to death on the street if Mr Ashbless didn't support me.

Real writers knock out 10,000 words a day, every day, apparently.
(Personally I once managed 5,000  . . . and that was by dint of being locked in a hotel room with nothing except Italian on the TV, and not getting out of bed except to pee.)

So by 5.15pm I'm hovering near the phone feeling like THE WHOLE WORLD IS TRYING TO FALL OUT OF MY ASS.

The phone goes. It's the photography desk at the Express. Just to let me know they're sending a hair-and-makeup woman along with the photographer on Sunday, "if that's okay with you." I tell them I don't usually wear makeup and it might not give a realistic impression. They say it's just to make me look more defined for the picture.

Well, okay.

The phone goes again. It's somebody I really need to talk to - but NOT RIGHT NOW! I make grovelling apologies and promise to phone back.

30 seconds later the reporter rings. She sounds nice, but then it's a journo's job to sound nice. I yak for 25 minutes. I probably sound like a total asshole.

I don't know how the article's going to look in the final version. It's completely out of my hands now. If they do makeup it won't even look like me . . . Which, to be honest, is probably for the best.


This chart below, btw, is the most horribly accurate answer to her question "What is your day like, as a writer?"

Short stories making Mischief

Look look! I've got two more short stories signed up for forthcoming Mischief anthologies:

Amuse-Bouche appears in The Visitor: vampire erotica. It's a M/f/F tie-in to Red Grow the Roses, and features two of my more sympathetic characters being ... unsympathetic. The story I longed to write, but couldn't include in RGtR .

The Visitor : vampire erotica is out REAL SOON NOW - 17th  May, I believe.

AND my story Slave of the Lamp is to appear in Underworlds: paranormal erotica (no cover pic yet). Guess what that one's about, eh? Slave of the Lamp is actually malesub (very very reluctant malesub) and NOT a tie-in to any of my novels, though it may have similar sources of inspiration to a certain Arabian Nights adventure. Oh, and it's my first pegging story!

Underworlds: paranormal erotica is due out in July

By the way, many Mischief books are still being held at half price, including Red Grow the Roses, so it's a great time to buy:

Mischief on Amazon UK  (I can do a search by publisher there. Can't work it out on Amazon US) or direct

Eyecandy Monday

I've featured body-painting eyecandy before. but this is something else...

[click to enlarge]

For Richard the editor

... and everyone else who knows it matters.


:-D

Barcelona

Squeeee - I spent the weekend in Barcelona! A city that was on my bucket list before the term "bucket list" was invented . . .

Barcelona is famous for 1) pickpockets and 2) Antoni Gaudi (1852-1926). He was a "modernista" architect and artist - which means Art Nouveau in our terms - and one of my heroes just because he had his own individualistic and completely crazy vision, and didn't give the faintest crap about fashion or popularity. So now his work is all over Barcelona, counts as World Heritage Sites, and has become a huge tourist draw.



Where better to go and worship Gaudi than the Sagrada Famila, the enormous church he was working on until his death? It's still unfinished, but getting there . . .


This is the Nativity Facade, which Gaudi did, and gives a good idea of his bizarre style - flowing stone, excessive ornamentation, and a passion for reptiles.


 His buildings look like they were grown rather than constructed.


The interior, which was built post-Gaudi, is a more austere version of his style - but still perhaps the most beautiful building I've ever seen.




Then we went to the Casa Batlló, a townhouse Guadi decorated ... a place with a truly warped interior . . .
 


Hardly a straight surface anywhere!





And we also visited Casa Milà, a Gaudi-built appartment block:


This is the roof:

 
You know what Gaudi design reminds me of most? DR SUESS!!!




The sun came out when we went to the Park Güell, and it was lovely - but way crowded.


The other Gaudi "thing" is using broken ceramics as decoration.





"But wait!" I hear you complain. "This is a Janine holiday! Where are the corpses and the boobies?" Well, sadly, despite the rampant Catholicism there were no corpses on display.



But I would like to present, for your spiritual edification, Saint Eulalia, patron saint of Barcelona, who was martyred topless, apparently. . .

Named and Shamed - full disclosure

Publication Date News! My deleriously dirty fairytale novel,

Vince heard. He looked over his shoulder from the front seat and his eyes widened.

“I’m sorry!” I sobbed, but I didn’t stop. I was sitting in the back of the car frigging myself in public, and I couldn’t stop. I was red with shame — at my exhibitionism, at my helplessness, with the humiliation of what had happened — but my need was only made stronger by my shame. And Vince seemed unable to look away. He was in danger of twisting his neck off his shoulders, the way he was turning in his seat to stare. I spread my thighs and pulled my panties aside to give him a good view of my fingers at play in my glistening pink slit.

“Oh shit,” he said in a strangled voice.

The car slewed suddenly over to the left and shuddered to a halt. Without my seatbelt on I was tipped hard against the driver’s seat. I hardly had enough sense to care.

“You!” said Gail to Vince. “You’re driving!” Then she bundled herself right over the seats into the back with me.

“I’m sorry!” I repeated, hands out of my pants now and raised to beg mercy. “I’m really sorry, Gail!”

“Shush!” she scolded. She reached between my legs. “I said we’d take care of you, Tansy. I meant it.”
For a moment there was no response and I held my breath. Then came the bump of a cupboard door. I had the wit not to move. I held myself almost motionless, face down and ass up, my hands holding my cheeks open, my naked pussy splayed and pulsing with heat. I assumed the house-hob could see in the dark, after all. Gently I shifted my ass back and forth, hoping to entice it. The lino was chilly under my feet.

“Are you a good girl?” said a voice, as faint and whispery as dry leaves.

“Me? Yes, I’m a good girl.” My breath was condensing on the cold tabletop. “I swept the floor and made up the fire before bed. I washed up.” 

“Are you clean? Are you careful? Not lazy, not silly, not dishonest?” 

By most standards I reckoned I counted as deeply dirty and reckless, to be honest, but that wasn’t the answer the house-hob was looking for. And at least I don’t think I could be described as workshy.

“Yes,” I lied. “I’m a good girl. A good, sweet girl. Take a look.”

With the lightest of thumps it landed on the table next to me, and I tried not to flinch. Then it hopped onto the small of my back. I thought again of spider monkeys, as long, satiny limbs wrapped around my ass. Tiny hands spread my labia. The sigh of a long exhalation of breath reached my ears. Then the tongue. Wet and slick, slipping down my asscrack from hole to hole.

These are not the rudest pictures in the book, by the way. Some are dirtier. Some (like the ogress) are SCARIER. I only wish I could show you the illustration of Tansy and the Elder Witch's three sons, which I just love . . . But no: you'll have to buy the book for that!

Named and Shamed is my Badass Book. It's wicked, edgy, BDSM stuff, in parts - nothing remotely illegal, but I've dared go places in writing Named and Shamed that I've never been before. Here's the official author foreword I wrote:

"Named and Shamed is an adult fantasy, and demented even by my standards. It includes scenes of threat, unsafe sex, humiliation, abduction, forced orgasm, corporal punishment and doubtfully consensual BDSM. Throughout, I have employed specially-trained stunt characters who can deal with that sort of thing without sustaining physical or mental harm. Named and Shamed is fiction. In real life, sex should be safe, sane and consensual."

You won't find that foreword in the printed book. We had to take it out, in case the trigger words upset online censors. I know that makes NO SENSE, but that's the current climate.

So readers, you're on your own out there. Be careful. Don't look behind you. Yes, that's the sound of something huge and monstrous stalking at your heels. Whatever you do, don't run . . .

Eyecandy Monday

The new Avengers movie opens here this week, so here are a couple of fabulously silly and fabulously sexy superhero cosplayers to save the day.

You can find more here and actually buy the prints here

Skiving off

Guess where I am this weekend!



Another clue:

:-)