Samantha MacLeod's Blog, page 29
February 2, 2017
Hard Water Fishing
I live in Maine.
And in Maine, in case you hadn’t heard, we’ve got some long winters. So what do you do when it’s below freezing for six months of the year?
Well, you go ice fishing, of course!
[image error]Drilling a hole in the ice. Power augers are for wimps.
I didn’t grow up ice fishing, so it’s been an interesting learning experience. For example, I’ve learned ice makes noise.
True story. The ice gurgles and makes deep, disconcerting bubbling noises, especially on a sunny day.
And sometimes it cracks. In front of you.
[image error]Scares the hell out of the dog, too…
Also, you don’t just sit around a hole in the ice with a fishing rod. In Maine, most people set traps.
[image error]This is a trap.
There’s a minnow on the end of that line. When (if?) a fish bites, the orange flag flies up.
And of course, it’s not just about catching fish. It’s about doing something outside, with the kids, in the heart of winter.
[image error]Frozen waves along the shore of an island
Basically, it’s about punching winter in the face.
[image error]Suck it, WINTER!
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January 30, 2017
Little Mermaid
New flash fiction!
18+ for this one, please.
*
Little Mermaid
Oh, he was to die for!
Dark hair, light eyes, full lips. And those cheekbones! That body, too, even with those disturbing legs. He wasn’t weak or puffy like most princes, overinflated with the luxury of their position. No, he was strong and active, this one, always riding along the cliffs or sailing the waters. He was as drawn to the ocean as I was drawn to the shore, and we were both especially infatuated with boats.
Boats! Imagine the concept! To create a bit of land that could travel the sea; why, I couldn’t help but imagine us creating a bit of sea to travel on the land. We could harness the wind as well, exploring the rolling hills from the comfort of our watertight vessel.
My father’s reaction to this idea was disappointingly predictable.
As was his reaction to my next idea. The one involving the prince.
Fine. As if I needed his permission. There’s always more than one way to navigate the shoals, so I headed deep, deep into the North Sea. There are dark places in the ocean, with dark inhabitants, and they tend to enjoy bargaining.
My first request was simple: “Make me human.”
The Sea-witch’s response: “Give me your voice. And oh yes, you’ll dance, but every step will feel as though you dance upon the sharp points of knives.”
Well. Only an idiot would take that offer.
“Perhaps I can bring him here, to live with us,” I suggested.
The Sea-witch laughed. “He won’t live long,” she warned. “Perhaps a week. Perhaps less. And I’ll still want your voice.”
I frowned. Surrendering my voice seemed unwise. Still, I was curious. His eyes danced in my mind, his eyes and his full lips.
“What about a storm?” I asked.
The Sea-witch raised a mossy eyebrow. “What kind of storm?”
“Enough to capsize a ship. What would that cost?”
She cackled and ran a black tongue over her broken lips.
The storm cost me my maidenhead, which I have not once missed.
I released it on his birthday. He loved the sea, my prince, and his party was held on a ship. The witch’s storm came like thunder upon that celebration. I rode the waves, watching his ship toss and crumple like seaweed. A great many men fell to the depths, where I imagined my sisters examining the bodies, fascination and horror playing across their sun-dappled faces as the stared at the grotesque legs, the mens’ sex so open and vulnerable.
But I did not linger. After one great and terrible wave swept him overboard I had my prize, my prince, in my arms. I dragged him to an island, not much more than rock and water, and tucked him out of sight.
His reaction, upon awakening, was not exactly what I expected.
He stared at the swell of my breasts as though he’d never seen a woman’s chest before. Perhaps he never had. When I took his hand and pressed it to my nipple, he groaned as if in pain.
It occurred to me then I may not have needed my voice, after all.
My first attempts to explore his body were a disappointment. I needed just to press my hand against the place where his legs came together and his entire body shook as salt spilled from his manhood and over my fingers. He didn’t seem to realize I wanted more from him until the day I pulled his body over mine, grabbing his legs and wrapping them around my tail. His eyes widened and he cried out as he pumped against me, spilling his seed inside me in mere moments.
Disappointing.
But perhaps, I told myself, he just needed time. Perhaps he needed to be more comfortable in the cave, or to share something other than our bodies. I brought him food and water, and soft materials for a bed. I even tried to lead his hands along my body, to show him how to pleasure me, but he did not appear to understand.
The fresh water was a hassle to collect and carry; he was displeased with the food. He spoke frequently, in a lordly, arrogant tone, although of course we did not share a language. I doubt think it occurred to him that I could speak as well, that he may be able to learn some of my language as he may be able to learn some of my body.
He was, in short, a very difficult pet.
I began to neglect him. I rode the waves, swam with the dolphins, spent hours or days singing with my sisters. When I finally remembered him, he met me with tears or rages. By then I understood enough of his language to hear his professions of love, but they always came just before he mounted me.
One night I swam into the cave on the island and found him asleep. Ah, how handsome he was in the moonlight, when he was silent and still! I almost touched his cheekbone, brushed the hair from his face. But no. I did not want him to wake.
My chest heaved in a silent sigh. I preferred my human lover unconscious.
That morning I found a fisherman’s skiff and towed it through the waves, to the island where I kept my captive, unsatisfying lover. I watched from beneath the water as he boarded the boat, trimmed the sail, and navigated toward the rising sun. Toward his kingdom, where he could rut and lord over any number of girls with legs.
Perhaps he tells stories about me, my human lover. My prince.
I do not often speak of him.
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January 27, 2017
New Blurb!
My wonderful fellow erotica writer Mira Stanley helped me with a total makeover of the book description for The Trickster’s Lover.
Mira, by the way, is the author of the amazingly hot Dirty Minds series. And hey, the first book, Good Girl, is FREE! I highly recommend checking her out. Her series is great, and she’s a blurb-writing genius. 
January 25, 2017
“I highly recommend this one to anyone who loves romance. Or Greek myths. Or just good writing.”
The lovely Danielle at Caldwell Publishing just posted her review of Persephone Remembers the Pomegranates, making her officially the first reviewer of my new short story.
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What did she think of the book?
“If there ever comes a day when Samantha MacLeod writes something that doesn’t delight me,” Danielle writes, “I’ll start listening for the sounds of four sets of hooves.”
She continues: “The story was hella compelling. The writing was, as always, fluid, elegant, and engaging. And the characters had a breath of life in them that is normally difficult to convey in such few pages. And the steamy parts? Hubba-hubba.”
“Not normally one for short stories, I highly recommend this one to anyone and everyone who loves romance. Or Greek myths. Or just good writing.”
Wow, way to make a writer’s day, Caldwell Publishing!
You can read the entire review here.
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January 23, 2017
Birthday Post!
Hey, it’s my birthday!
[image error]My mom sent me the best birthday card ever.
I know, I know, you aren’t supposed to ask a lady her age. Well, guess what?
I’m 37!
And I think being coy about your age is stupid.
I’ve earned all 37 of those years, damn it. Would I go back to being sixteen? Ugh, no way – I had enough adolescent angst to last me an entire lifetime, thank you very much.
What about twenty-nine, the age some people get stuck on for decades? Let’s see…at twenty-nine I was teaching business administration classes, something that holds very, very little interest for me, and living about a bajillion miles away from all my family and friends (I was in Washington state, if you’re keeping track). No thanks, I’m happier writing smut and teaching philosophy in Maine.
But (you say) wouldn’t you at least want your sixteen-year-old or twenty-nine-year old body back?
Well…maybe. But I’ve earned this body, too. And, funny thing is, my body is less lithe and a bit lumpier than it was ten, fifteen, or twenty years ago. But I’m more comfortable with it now than I was then. I spent my teens and early twenties whining about being fat.
[image error]Me at 22, thinking I’m fat.
Now?
[image error]Sporting my awesome birthday present T-shirt!
Yeah, I could stand to lose 20 pounds. But I’m pretty healthy, I eat fairly well…and I don’t really give a fuck anymore.
Part of this is having a great husband who thinks I’m sexy no matter what I weigh. Part of this is also having a daughter and trying my damnedest to never, ever, ever mention weight or fat around her, because I want her to grow up thinking of her body in terms of health and strength, not beauty or dress size. And part of this is also realizing no one actually cares about the size of my thighs. (Seriously. No. One.)
So please, I’ll have the whipped cream on my full-fat mocha. And the biggest slice of chocolate cake you’ve got.
Ahhhh… being 37 is freaking awesome.
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January 20, 2017
My Political Post: Shall Not Perish 2017
Friends, I know this inauguration feels like a dark day to many of us.
It feels like a dark day to me, and I’m straight, white, and middle class. I can only imagine what my LGBT or minority friends are feeling right now.
But I’m not going to go into the many, many reasons why I am so deeply afraid.
Instead, I’m going to tell you what happened this weekend. I was in the grocery store with my six-year-old daughter, and we saw a black woman wearing a headscarf. My daughter grabbed my arm and said, “Mom, is that one of the people Donald Trump wants to get rid of?”
I said, “If he tries, honey, a lot of people are going to make that very difficult.”
My daughter nodded and said, “We’ll protect her, right, Mom?”
And I said…
“Yes. Yes, we will.”
It’s easy to feel powerless in the face of enormous political forces, not to mention ignorance and hatred.
But I’m determined to do what I can. I’m invested in this stupid world, after all – I live here! And what’s more, I believe in democracy. I believe in a country that holds these truths to be self-evident, that all human beings are created equal and endowed by their creator with certain inalienable rights.
And when future generations look back on the election of Donald J. Trump and whatever came after, I’d like the record to show I fought his hatred, racism, xenophobia, sexism, and blatant disregard of our environment from day one.
In that spirit I’m taking action.
First and most immediately, I’m taking my children to the Sister March in Portland, Maine tomorrow morning. We can’t make the drive to DC to participate in the Women’s March, so we’re doing to next best thing. And hell yeah I’m taking the kids – I want to show them what democracy looks like.
It’s not what I wanted to show them.
I wanted to wake my children on the morning of November 9th and tell them love triumphed over hatred, America rejected a message of fear and ignorance, and history moves forward.
Instead, I’m telling my children that, 241 years later, we’re still trying to reach the lofty ideals of the Declaration of Independence. Equality is still a struggle, and freedom depends on the concentrated efforts of citizens.
To continue the fight after the march, I’ve joined Shall Not Perish 2017, a group of people across the US who’ve committed to a letter writing campaign to their US Senators. Every week we’ll write a letter on the same topic and (hopefully!) help to negate some of the coming damage.
These are small steps, of course…but aren’t they all?
If you’re interested in joining us, I’ll bet there’s a Sister March near you.
And you can check out the signup form for Shall Not Perish here. US residents only, please.
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January 17, 2017
Book Review: In Bonds of the Earth by Janine Ashbless
Buckle up, buttercup, because you’re in for one hell of a ride!
I loved Janine Ashbless‘s romantic, erotic, dark, thoughtful, and often beautiful novel Cover Him with Darkness (you can check out my review here), which tells the story of Milja, daughter of a village priest in Serbia, as she frees and falls in love with the fallen angel Azazel.
In Bonds of the Earth picks up exactly where Cover Him with Darkness left off: Milja is trying to navigate life with an inhuman lover, and Azazel is attempting to fulfill his vow to release the rest of the imprisoned fallen angels.
The second installment in a trilogy always has a tough role to fill. It has to deepen our relationships with the characters while furthering the story, and it has to tie up enough loose ends to leave the reader satisfied while leaving enough unsolved problems to fill the third installment.
Was Ashbless able to pull this off?
[image error]YES!!!!!!!
Just like the first book, this novel is a globe-trotting masterpiece. Ashbless’s landscapes are so evocative they may as well be characters. History and geography are beautifully woven into this passionate, sexy, and occasionally disturbing story, and the hours of research Ashbless must have done really pay off.
Speaking of the research…I’ve got a Master’s degree in Religious Studies, and I have to admit I learned a few things from this novel.
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Okay…I learned a LOT of things from this novel.
I won’t give too much away, but let me tell you you’re going to be booking plane tickets (or at least wishing you could book plane tickets) once you finish this story.
As in Ashbless’s previous books, beautiful erotica runs through In Bonds of the Earth live a live wire. These scenes never feel gratuitous; instead, they help to push the characters, illuminating their deepest motivations, and sometimes revealing surprising new gifts.
And those characters!
Milja makes a great narrator; she’s tough in all the right places, quick on her feet, and human enough to make your heart ache. And Egan, the Catholic special forces operative with an “it’s complicated” relationship to Milja, is both a perfect counterpoint to Azazel and fascinating in his own right.
But Azazel is the character who truly blew me away. It’s difficult to create a sympathetic but also believably non-human character, especially as a love interest (trust me). Azazel is that character, and you can’t help but root for him as he attempts to free his imprisoned friends and navigate human relationships, both tasks that seem quite daunting.
Speaking of characters…the adversary in this novel is especially creative. And creepy. Really, really, really freaking creepy.
In Bonds of the Earth also continues the fascinating Dostoevsky-an examinations of morality, love, and duty Ashbless began in Cover Him with Darkness. This novel even pulls a few more sacred cows (like monogamy) into question.
And, for the record, this book contains the single most romantic demonic possession scene ever written.
So where is this series going to go next?
I’ll be honest with you – I have no freaking clue.
But I can’t wait to find out!
Rating: ALL THE STARS!
In Bonds of the Earth is available for preorder now right here, and will be released on March 1st.
And you can find the first book in the trilogy, Cover Him with Darkness, here.
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January 13, 2017
Pre-Order Persephone Remembers the Pomegranates!
My erotic re-telling of the Greek myth about Hades, god of the underworld, and Persephone, goddess of spring, comes out this Valentine’s Day.
[image error]
You’ve heard it was the pomegranate.
Those six juicy, ruby seeds, staining my lips and fingers. Sealing my fate. Damning me.
Well, maybe so.
But that’s not entirely the truth.
Now you can pre-order your very own e-copy for just .99!
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What’s more, you’ve got options, baby. You can order it through Amazon, iBooks, Barnes & Noble, and Kobo.
You can also read a teaser here, just in case you can’t wait until Valentine’s Day…
[image error]You’re welcome!
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January 12, 2017
From Thor to Twitter: Flyting & the Norse Tradition of Insulting Your Enemies
Good morning, my friends!
Today I’m thrilled to be part of Folklore Thursday‘s excellent blog.
You can check out my article about flyting, the tradition of poetically insulting your enemies, and its long history in Norse mythology right here.
You might even pick up a new insult or two…
[image error]Loki taunts Bragi by W. G. Collingwood
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January 10, 2017
Novel #2: Update & Teaser
I haven’t written much about Novel #2 (working title: The Wolf’s Lover) but yes, my friends, it does exist!
What’s more, it’s actually finished!
[image error]
At least, the first draft is finished. As I’ve written earlier, my first draft is still miles away from a final product, and this is especially true with a novel.
Right now, the novel is roughly divided into seven sections (for those of you keeping track, Trickster’s Lover was divided into six). I’m in the process of revising each section, then giving them to my very favorite sexy beta reader (that’s you, husband!). Once I’ve gotten his feedback, I’ll tweak it again, share it with my other beta readers, and change what they think needs changing.
Then I’ll print the whole damn thing out and line-edit, just like I did to Novel #1.
And how’s that going?
Well, I’m still revising section one.
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The Wolf’s Lover is not, strictly speaking, a sequel.
Caroline’s not the protagonist and Loki’s not the love interest, although the story does take place in the same world and some of the same characters show up.
This novel is about Loki’s son Vali, who was turned into a wolf when Loki was bound under the earth, and Karen McDonald, a wildlife biologist with a dark past who’s studying wolves in Yellowstone National Park. In fact, she’s there just now, watching and waiting with her two graduate students Colin and Zeke…
The Wolf’s Lover Excerpt
There was a moment of silence before the walkie-talkie exploded with Colin’s laughter.
“Boys, boys,” I said, pressing the TRANSMIT button. “I’m not sure this is the best use of our grant-funded research equipment.”
“Roger that, Boss Lady,” Zeke said over the walkie-talkie. The line fell silent, and then Zeke’s voice crackled again. “And do you think the National Science Foundation would prefer Guns N’ Roses?”
I snorted a laugh as Colin’s voice came over the line, clipped and urgent. “Karen,” he said. “Get the tranq gun. Headed your way, north-northwest.”
My fingers trembled as I pulled the tranquilizer gun off my shoulders and loaded a dart. I couldn’t see anything yet, so I grabbed my binoculars.
It was the black male wolf.
Something must have startled him; probably Zeke, from the direction he was running. I took a deep breath and brought the gun to my shoulder. I was raised hunting; I could make this shot. I held my breath as the black male wolf zig-zagged through the sagebrush bushes and across the low grass. I led him just a touch with the barrel of the tranquilizer gun, waited until he was close enough to make out the golden glint of his irises, and then squeezed the trigger.
The wolf yipped in alarm, and I felt a wave of guilt when I saw the bright red dart sticking out of his flank. He took off again, running away from me this time, although it didn’t take more than a minute for his steps to waver. He disappeared from my sight along the creek as the walkie-talkie erupted with cheering.
“Hell of a shot, Boss Lady,” Zeke said.
“I saw him go down,” said Colin. “In the willows by the creek. Headed over now.”
“Me too,” I said.
I walked quickly across the flats. The wind was picking up against my back, and it smelled like rain. We must be due for an afternoon thunderstorm. We’d have to work fast; the tranquilizer only subdued the animal for about twenty minutes. Where did this wolf come from? Canada was the most likely option, although that would be a heck of a long walk, all the way across Montana—
I was almost to the tall willows lining the creek when I saw Colin. His face was bizarrely pale, and my heart started racing as I sprinted the last few feet to reach him.
“Colin?”
“You’d better see this,” he said.
He took my hand and led me around the willow bushes.
There, on the soft, green grass next to the river, was the body of a naked man. A bright red tranquilizer dart stuck out of his left thigh.
*
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