Janine Ashbless's Blog, page 57

I have my knife

.... and my flip-chart and my thigh-boots.

I'm packed for Smut by the Sea tomorrow!

Let's Smut-by-the-Sea again

... like we did last summer!


Smut by the Sea 2016 Author and Reader event (Sponsored by Godemiche) – Are you going to Scarborough Fair?
There’s never enough time to do everything you want, is there?
 When I gave my talk at Eroticon 2015 on ‘Writing Fantasy and Fairytale Erotica,’ I spent so much time enthusing about why fantasy is such a good crossover with erotica that we ran out of time to do the writing exercises I’d prepared. And that’s a crying shame, isn’t it? No matter how eruditely I blather on and how stonkingly awesome my Powerpoint slides are, if writers aren’t actually getting stuck in to try the genre for themselves then it’s all a bit of a waste.
So I’m giving a workshop at Smut by the Sea THIS SATURDAY as a sort of practical spin-off from my original talk. I’m going to assume from the start that if you're there you want to write fantasy, paranormal and/or fairytale erotica. Let’s say you’ve seen a call for an anthology, say. You know what sort of sex you like writing about, that’s a given. But maybe you’re just stuck on the setting, or how to include magical creatures in a convincing manner, or how much world-building you need to fit in 5000 words. Or maybe you want to write Little Red Riding Hood but you think it’s been done a million times before and you’re looking for a way to give it your own twist.
I’m hoping in this session to help you find places to look that’ll kickstart your inspiration, your creativity, and your daring. I want to show you my fantasy plot cheat-codes. I want to get you writing!
We’ll still run out of time, of course  ;-)

 

Smut Events are fun, safe, inclusive days out when our community of erotica writers, sex bloggers. talented performers, readers, geeks & those that love them get together to socialize, exchange ideas and inspire one another. Smut by the Sea 2016 is the fourth event to be held at Scarborough Library and this year it is on  Saturday 28th May from 10am -5pm. 
On the day there will be a host of fun, smutty things to enjoy including interactive workshops, reading slams, a brand new incarnation known as Dr Scribbly and much, much more. You even get your buffet lunch thrown in for free!
In the erotic marketplace you’ll be able to meet event sponsors Godemiche and get to grips with their amazing handmade silicone dildos, have a go on the world famous erotic tombola and win sex toys galore, check out amazingo.co.uk and treat yourself or pick up a book from the book stall and get your copy signed by the attending authors.
Tickets are now available from just £12 (excluding paypal charges) and there are a few limited author and promo tickets left for those who want to bring their books and promotional items on the day. Pick up your ticket at Eventbrite now or if you’d like to arrange an alternative way to pay other than paypal contact Victoria Blisse at victoria @ victoriablisse. co. uk (no spaces). As Host with the most she will be able to answer all your questions too.

10:00am    DOORS OPEN
10:15am    Introduction from Victoria Blisse
Welcome to our fourth annual Smut by the Sea event!
10:20am    Reading Slam #1
Featuring: Victoria Blisse, Anna Sky, Slave Nano, Kev Blisse
11am    Morning Break
11:15am    Jennifer Denys presents “Sex in sci fi stories”
Jennifer Denys has written several sci-fi erotic romances and in the process had to research a weightless sex scene – have any astronauts ‘done it’? Come to Jen’s workshop and find out! The session will briefly cover the history of sexuality in sci-fi literature, look at modern depictions and you will get a chance to come up with your own ideas for sex scenes in the future (we want some really fun, innovative ideas!)
12noon    LUNCH!!!
1pm    Anna Sky from Sexy Little Pages presents “Shortcuts to Self-Publishing”
Anna will take you on a whistle-stop tour on how to get more out of your publishing. Find out how to reach more sales platforms with little extra effort, how to use free services to help readers find you more easily and tips and tricks for spreading your new releases further afield.
1:45pm    Check out the Erotic Market Break
2pm    Reading Slam #2
Featuring: K D Grace, Charlie J Forrest, Dylan McEwan, Jennifer Denys

2:45pm    Bing-Oh-Behave!
Eyes down on those lovely legs elevens for a game of purple prose bingo!
3pm    Janine Ashbless presents “Writing Fantasy Erotica”
So you want to write a fantasy, fairy tale, SF or paranormal erotic story … but you don’t know where to start? You’re wondering where to find fresh ideas? This interactive workshop with Janine Ashbless focuses on where to find your inspiration, and how to turn centuries-old plots into startling new stories.
3:45pm    Afternoon Tea Break
4pm    Dr. Scribbly with performer Bea Noir
You get to watch amazing performances designed to inspire you on the spot. Then you have a certain amount of time to write something about the performance. Anything you like, a poem, a flash fiction, or even simply a description of what you saw. Its totally up to you, no boxes, no cages, just your words.
There will be fun competitions to take part in and opportunities to win fabulous prizes.
5pm    So long, and thanks for all the Smut!
Another seaside adventure draws to a close, as we say our goodbyes for another year xxx
5:30pm    DOORS CLOSE
 

Blue Monday: Kay Jaybee guests

Every Monday I post a naughty excerpt for you entertainment!

My guest this week is Kay Jaybee, with a teasing excerpt from her very first short story set The Collector, which has just been re-released in a new edition with two extra stories!



Gathering salaciously erotic stories against an everyday backdrop of bus trips, train journeys, coffee shops, and restaurants, The Collector documents a wide variety of sexual encounters as she travels Great Britain.

The Collector’s research takes her into every arena of the erotic experience, from love, lust, submission and dominance, to voyeurism and beyond. 

Are you brave enough to see if it was your supposedly private conversation she overheard - and then wrote down?


The Scottish Fantasy

Stacie gasped as the door opened. The dark shine to the man’s slate eyes as he regarded her and her friend Kate was in danger of taking Stacie’s breath away, and he hadn’t even spoken yet.

Tall, broad, with a tanned face and short spiked hair, a hint of stubble shadowed his square chin. Obviously surprised to see two young women walking through the woods so late on a winter’s afternoon, the ranger ushered them inside his wooden hut. 

Introducing himself as Rob—Like Rob Roy! Stacie’s inner voice shouted at her. How perfect is that!—he looked at them enquiringly, ‘I dunna ken what you’re doin’ here, hens.’ 

Stacie’s brow furrowed. She’d thought that the Scottish spoke English.

Kate laughed as she saw her friend’s confused expression. ‘He means he doesn’t understand what we want, honey. “Dunna ken” means “don’t know” and “hen” is the local term for girl.’  Turning toward the ranger, Kate smiled. ‘This is Stacie, and I’m Kate. Stacie hasn’t got her ear geared into the local accent yet; she’s American.’

‘I guess that means an American accent.’ The ranger spoke so softly, Stacie felt herself melting on the spot. ‘I rather like those.’

Ignoring her friend, whose eyes were on stalks, leaving her in no doubt that Stacie was on an internal lust trip, Kate said, ‘We’re really sorry to bother you so late, but could you tell us where we are? We seem to be on a much longer trail than we intended to be, and we’ve lost the track.’

Rob’s dark eyes bored into her as she spoke. Kate couldn’t decide if their presence mildly amused him, or if he was merely tolerating the interruption to his work.

‘We’ve run out of water as well. Could we fill up our bottles here, please?’

‘It’s a good job you stopped, hen.’ The ranger pulled a map off his cluttered desk and pointed a thick finger at a red dotted line. ‘You’re here, on the all day walk. It’s called that for sound reasons.’

Lost in an erotic daydream, Stacie wasn’t listening to a word he said, just to the sound of his voice; the beautiful, gentle burr of his accent. She judged it fitted neatly half way between Ewan McGregor and Sean Connery. 

When Kate had invited her friend over from the States for a couple of weeks exploring the Grampians of Scotland, Stacie had been thrilled. Not only could she catch up with her gorgeous friend and occasional lover, she could visit an area of the world that had always held a fantasy for her. Kilts, burly men in tight white vests, cabers being tossed, heather, whiskey, and mountains topped with snow. 

The heather and mountains were a reality sure enough, as were the late night tots of warming whiskey she’d shared with Kate as they snuggled up together in the king-sized bed their Deeside hotel room provided. But until now, in this ranger’s office, hidden away in the woods near the flooded caves of Burn O’Vat, Stacie hadn’t seen anyone who even came close to the Celtic man of her late night fantasies.

Stacie felt mesmerised by the ranger. Despite the coldness of the late winter air he wore no coat, and his green sweater sleeves were rolled back to show arms honed by hard work. Forget kilts, this was as close to perfection as Stacie’s Scottish fantasy was ever going to get.

 ‘I’ll fill your bottles right enough, but if you’ll heed my advice, you’ll go back on the route you came. Far quicker and safer. It’ll be dark in about two hours.’

‘Thanks, I think we’ll do that.’ Kate watched as he took their empty water bottles over to his sink. His back view was as stunning as his front. The goldfish expression on Stacie’s face told her girlfriend that she was mentally undressing him, and Kate began to do the same.  Well aware that Stacie had serious fantasy issues where Scottish men were concerned, Kate wondered just how turned on her friend was. Did she have damp knickers? Were her nipples hard?

As Kate’s thoughts rambled, her own arousal began to tweak up a notch. Perhaps… She took a deep breath. Well, why not?

‘It must be lonely here, on your own all day.’ Kate knew the line was a bit lame, but she didn’t care. A sideways glance at Stacie showed that her lover had understood her intentions, and approved.

Rob didn’t look round. He didn’t need to. He could sense the two sets of eyes on his back; they were almost scorching him. Taking his time to fill the second bottle, the ranger thought the situation through.

Two of them, both hot totty. One a blonde, one a redhead. One English. One American. A tasty combination. Their bulky winter coats, sensible walking trousers and boots didn’t give much away, but he was willing to bet that once all the layers were off, they would be a sight to behold. He could be wrong, he supposed, but maybe…

Rob replied to Kate’s question. ‘I like it well enough, hen. I ken it’s quiet, but I like peace and quiet.’

‘So, you don’t get… lonely, then?’ Kate knew she was being blatant, but she didn’t care. If she could pull this off, it would be the perfect holiday present for her friend. Stacie, her mouth dry with anticipation, stepped forward. Pulling off her gloves to reveal pale hands with violently clashing purple nail-varnished tips, she took the full bottles from Rob’s hands. Making certain her fingers brushed his as she did so. 

‘Thank you,’ Stacie purred as she passed one of the bottles to her partner. The tacit standoff that followed as tension rippled through the small office room-cum-workshop was eventually broken by Rob.

‘Would you lassies like something to warm you up before you go?’  His sentence, delivered in a deadpan tone, could have been suggesting something as mundane as sharing of a mug of hot chocolate, but his sparkling eyes hinted at so much more.

Stacie’s pulse quickened as Kate casually replied, ‘Well, if it’s not too much trouble, that would be lovely.’ Another normal sentence, but packed with enough eyelash-fluttering that she might as well have screamed out ‘Fuck us now!’

‘I was about to light the fire.’ Rob knelt at a small grate, already neatly piled with kindling. ‘Perhaps you’d like to lose your jackets for a while. When this takes, this place gets pretty hot.’

The girls’ eyes were drawn to the hopping, spluttering flames. They threw their coats over their backpacks, which they’d already dumped by the front door. 

Taking his time with the fire, the ranger didn’t stir from where he crouched until it had taken to his satisfaction, and was smoking nicely up the chimney. Then, with a measured movement, he stood and faced his guests, who with unspoken agreement had divested themselves of far more than just their coats. Somehow Rob managed to keep his face passive as his eyes travelled from the top of each girl’s head down to their toes.

They stood naked. Holding hands. So, lovers in their own right, then. Nice. He smiled. It had been over fifteen years since he’d been with two women at the same time. A memory that kept him warm during the dark winter days and nights as he guarded the woodland and its wildlife. 

Deciding against comment, Rob took a silent moment to choose which girl he’d treat rough and which one he’d simply treat. Then, with a pace that neither girl would have associated with the man whose previous movements had been so controlled and steady, he stripped...

Buy The Collector at:
Amazon US
Amazon UK

For over a decade Kay Jaybee has lived a nomadic existence across the British Isles, collecting stories as she travels

She was named Best Erotica Writer of 2015 by the ETO

She received an honouree mention at the NLA Awards 2015 for excellence in BDSM writing.

Kay Jaybee wrote The Perfect Submissive Trilogy, (The Perfect Submissive, The Retreat, Knowing Her Place, Xcite 2011-14), The New Room, (Xcite, 2015), The Voyeur, (Xcite 2012), Making Him Wait (Sweetmeats, 2012), A Sticky Situation (Xcite, 2013), Digging Deep, (Xcite 2013), Take Control, (1001 NightsPress, 2014), and Not Her Type (1001 NightsPress, 2013).


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Silence is Golden

I'm delighted to announce that my short story In Real Life, which originally appeared in the Surprise anthology way back in the day, is going to see a reprint in Silence is Golden , edited by Anna Sky and published by the fab new Sexy Little Pages imprint.

Silence is Golden: If someone is unable to speak, how do they communicate with their partner? If a sub or Dom can’t hear well in crowds but loves to play at parties, what mechanisms are in place to ensure everyone stays safe?

With a bit of luck it'll be available for sale by the time Smut by the Sea happens - that's ONLY A WEEK, FOLKS!

Jigsaw plot

This is where I am with my WIP right now:


At 35,000 words - coming up to half way - I've finally got my characters to Ethiopia, thus totally justifying my holiday there last year. And hell yes, I'm using those thousands of photos I took for reference purposes. I WANT TO GET IT RIGHT ... not that anyone reading the novel will care. *sigh*

As a die-hard Pantser, at 35K I've also hit the point where the writing process becomes really complex - a bit like doing a jigsaw where every piece has to be hand-carved as you go along. I'll sit down to write a new scene, moving the plot an other notch forward. But inevitably I also have to go back to one or more previous scenes to add a few lines of dialogue or a single adjective, to tie that scene into the new one. I have to make sure that the characters can proceed logically from one action to the next instead of making gigantic lucky guesses, and that they can look back on past scenes and suddenly realise the significance of a event or observation. That means a LOT of infilling of details.

I flew thousands of miles to take this photo, I'll have you know.Three times now I've had to go back and insert entire new scenes that round out character motivation, or that will have the desired plot effect eight chapters down the line. And more embarrassingly, I've also had to backtrack to remove stuff. But just once.

Every scene must pull its weight. There's no padding.

I go to bed every night thinking about plot and wake up every morning thinking about plot. I've grown increasingly non-verbal around Mr Ashbless, as I'm constantly trying to keep every story detail in mind until I can get them written down.

Don't marry a writer, folks. Or maybe check if they are a Plotter or a Panster first!

Blue Monday

Every Monday I post a naughty excerpt for your entertainment!

Hmph. Today marks a milestone in my lifespan because I am now in the age category that gets called in for a routine mammogram. Therefore I thought I'd pick a particularly boobilicious excerpt from a story to share. This is from Three Legs in the Evening, which appeared in the acclaimed anthology The Sexy Librarian's Big Book of Erotica.


Oedipus is recounting his history with the Sphinx ... to an unnamed female interrogator.


He sighed. “She was beautiful. Terrifying, of course—huge—but beautiful. The body of a lioness, the wings of an eagle, the head and breasts of a woman. I’ve seen statues and paintings that make her look Greek, but that’s wrong. Have you ever seen a woman of Upper Egypt?—she looked like that. Dense, long black ringlets of hair, and great dark eyes lined with kohl, and golden earrings that hung almost to her neck. I wondered—later—how she went about adorning herself, but it turned out she had thumbs that were almost human, on those great big paws.

    “It wasn’t her paws I was thinking about as she stood right over my helpless body, though. It was her canine teeth, and her breasts. Oh gods, her breasts…She was bigger than any human woman of course, and those orbs of hers hung over me like the mountains of the gods. The cleft between them was as dark and deep and rich as the Nile Valley, and her black nipples were bigger than the tops of my thumbs.

    “Oh how I wanted those tits. Death seemed an irrelevance in comparison. Don’t get me wrong—I was afraid. But my cock filled and lifted too.

    “‘Now answer my riddle,’ she growled. ‘What is it that walks on four legs in the morning, two at noon, and three in the evening?’
 
 “I can understand why no one had answered her correctly before. Imminent death is not conducive to clear thought. But I couldn’t stop looking at those incredible breasts. My mouth should have been dry with terror, but it was watering at the sight. As she crouched over me, not quite touching but mantling me with her wings like a feeding hawk, I realized I could smell her sex. Spice and musk and female lust: it went to my head just like the fumes of the Underworld filling the Pythia’s skull, and drove me nearly as mad.

    “‘Well, I have a third leg right now,’ I said hoarsely. ‘And I am a man.’

    “‘Are you?’ she boomed. ‘Are you?’ She looked down my body, at the rigid cockstand pointing right up at her. ‘Maybe you are,’ she said: ‘at last.’ With the razor-edge of her claw she slashed through my bonds. ‘What will you do now, clever little man?’

    “This,’ I said, grabbing her nibbles and pulling them—together and down, and toward my lifted mouth. I got my lips around the tips of those ambrosial breasts and I chewed and sucked and nuzzled my face between them and kneaded with my fingers…and I damn near spent my load there and then, I tell you.” Oedipus’ hands were crossed over his groin now, in an attempt to hide the obvious. “The Sphinx seemed no less pleased,” he added, clearing his throat. “She yowled like a cat in heat and arched her back, and lifted her rump in the air while she lashed her tail from side to side. But I couldn’t reach any of that. I just had her wonderful tits in my face. That was all I could do…until she snatched me up and rolled over onto her back, taking me with her. I’m very glad she kept her claws velveted. Wings spread in the sand, legs open, she pushed me down her body.

    “Her front was human—two breasts and no more, a hairless belly, and between her lion’s legs a sex that looked entirely human to me, pink-hearted and wet and open like a blown rose. The smell of her was intoxicating.

    “‘Fill me!’ she ordered, showing teeth like bronze daggers. And it was clear what she wanted, what was driving her mad with frustration—but how was any man supposed to satisfy her? I was sporting an erection of heroic proportions, but she was bigger than any woman, bigger even than a lioness, and I doubted she’d even feel my shaft.”

    Oedipus paused, breathing deeply. “She was the kind of challenge that made my blood sing.”

    I shifted my weight from one thigh to the other, feeling the impatient slickness between them. “Go on!”

    He turned his face to me, a habit left over from his sighted life. “Do you really want to hear?”

    “Yes!”

   “You want to know how I fucked the Sphinx?”

   “Yes,” I repeated, my voice all twisted up.

    “Then come closer.”

 Buy The Sexy Librarian's Big Book of Erotica at:
Amazon US 
Amazon UK
Google Play

Buns of Evil

I've been going through my old photos from Ethiopia for research on this current novel ... And I would just like to point out what a fine fine butt the Devil has.

Truth Lies at the Bottom of a Well

I was delighted to come across this awesome example of Academic art the other day, which sent me scrabbling across the Internet:


It's called Truth Coming Out of Her Well to Shame Mankind , by our old favourite Jean-Leon Gerome (1824-1904). Truth is not just going to shame Mankind - she's going to give us all hell with the scourge in her right hand there.

And I thought ... what the heck? Why is Truth living down a well?

It seems to originate with a quote from Democritus:

ἐτεῇ δὲ οὐδὲν ἴσμεν, ἐν βυθῷ γάρ ἡ ἀλήθεια: "We know nothing certainly, for truth lies in the deep."

or in fuller form:

"By convention hot, by convention cold, but in reality only atoms and void, and also in reality we know nothing, since the truth lies in the deep."

"In the deep" suggests under water, somewhere completely inaccessible, and is sometimes glossed as "beneath the sea":  But by the looks of things it was commonly quoted by Victorian times as "at the bottom of a well" and had gained the connotation that it is something you have to dig down a long way for. When used in specific cases - "The truth of the matter is something we'll probably never know."

Édouard Debat-Ponsan: Truth Leaving the Well (1898) Frances MacDonald McNair: Truth Lies at the Bottom of a Well (1912)
We don't quote Greek philosophers in public much these days, which is possibly a great loss to art.

Kinked Ink

BDSM writer L N Bey invited me over to take part in the Kinked Ink: eroticists' favorite erotica series. Talk about my favourite erotic novels, I was told!

So naturally I refused, because I am an awkward bitch.

I have a problem with erotic novels.

You can read why - and all about the books I did pick to praise - RIGHT HERE. (And you can read F Leonora Solomon's much more cooperative response to the call too)
;-)