Angelia Sparrow's Blog, page 28

A very mixed week

Yesterday started very badly, my dear and faithful readers.





That is my husband's rig. The windshield is missing because the rescue squad had to get him out that way.He is alive. He is home. He has some spinal compression fractures, but we think he'll be all right.
It has been two very stressful days.58% of driver deaths are cause by accidents like this.


Then this morning, I awoke to this in my mailbox:

The cover for my September Release
Blurb:
Corporate retreats are dull at best, but when Carla is sent on one as a punitive measure, she isn't expecting anything to come of it, except a pink slip.
High in the Ozark mountains, nothing is quite as it seems and reality skews in interesting ways. The conference is too elementary and Carla notices people starting to go missing.

And the wild, incessant piping from the forest keeps her awake nights and stirs deeply buried desires.
From Amber Quill's Amber Heat imprint.

My Sexy Saturday Blog Hop: Your Sexy Attitude

From Tiocfaidh Ar La, my new re-release.  SO VERY NOT WORK SAFE!




After enduring a brutal assault, IRA explosive expert Seosamh O'Brien, fled his war-torn homeland for America. Now Joe Colson, he wears his scarred face like armor and keeps out the whole world, protecting the meager little life he's carved out for himself as an illegal immigrant in the Boston slums. But a night programmer with a face like an an angel and an elfin grin full of mischief gets past the armor and scars, and into the softer places of Joe's heart, before he quite realizes what is happening.







Sexy Attitude, Take One

Joe raised one eyebrow at him. "No worries. Turn yourself over now."

Ryan rolled right over. He looked over his shoulder and smiled more. "Condoms are in the end table. Lube, too. Hope you're not allergic."

Joe could do nothing but stare at the perfect ass before him, tight and round, graced with a hot-pink lip print tattooed on the upper curve of the right cheek.

"Oh, boy..." Joe paused in looking for the end table and ran a worshipful hand over the sweetly rounded globes before him. He needed to kiss them, or bite them. He definitely needed to fuck that gorgeous ass, watch it part before his cock and take him all in.

"You like it?" Ryan wiggled his ass pertly, and Joe could not resist swatting it. He liked the light pink hand-print that showed next to the tattoo.

He bent in and kissed the tattoo, matching his lips to the print as closely as he could.

"That's the general idea. Because if you're going to fuck me, you might want to kiss me first."

Re-release Day!

The anthology Carved in Flesh hasn't done too badly.  And today, our story, "Tiocfaidh Ar La" gets a stand-alone release. (As always the cover is the buy link)



Blurb: After enduring a brutal assault, IRA explosive expert Seosamh O'Brien, fled his war-torn homeland for America. Now Joe Colson, he wears his scarred face like armor and keeps out the whole world, protecting the meager little life he's carved out for himself as an illegal immigrant in the Boston slums. But a night programmer with a face like an an angel and an elfin grin full of mischief gets past the armor and scars, and into the softer places of Joe's heart, before he quite realizes what is happening.

$1.99 from Storm Moon Press.

Excerpt:
Ryan cleaned up the plates, rinsing them in the sink before putting them back in the bag. "Yeah, I gotta go. Bad section of code tonight. I swear, sometimes I think they let chimpanzees code it and then hire me to make it work."

As Ryan passed Joe's chair, Joe reached up and caught him by the arm. "Ain't a date without a good-night kiss." He tugged a little, and Ryan bent right down. He kissed the kid and found out that Ryan did know how to kiss. When his tongue touched the boy's lips, Ryan opened up and let him right in. Joe tasted him, all warm pudding and soft mouth. Somehow, as they kissed, Ryan ended up straddling his lap, kissing back, his tongue in Joe's mouth, his arms around Joe's neck.

They parted and stared at each other for a second, and then Ryan plunged right back in for another kiss. Better than the first, that one left Joe hard and ready. Ryan ground against his erection, and Joe gasped into the kiss.

"Oh no!" Ryan moaned. "I'm gonna have to loop the surveillance now." He gave Joe a small peck and tucked his card into the breast-pocket of the uniform shirt. "Call me when you get off."

Joe chuckled at that, and Ryan realized what he'd said. He turned bright red and face-palmed.

"I'll call," Joe said. He watched as Ryan fled for the safety of his office and the chimpanzee code. Once the boy was gone, he laughed for the first time in years. Ryan was cute and sexy and wanted him. He put the bag of dishes away, set his hat on his head, and went off on his rounds to finish the shift.














The inside scoop:What happens when this:











 falls for this :

When the latter has a taste for older men and the tat that says "Bob Dylan" is a pair of lips...

And you can listen to my playlist, what I listened to while writing it, here:

Release Day

Well, Friday was release day, but I spent it at Mephit FurMeet.

Storm Moon Press's Turning the Tables Anthology is finally out.


The cover is the buy link.
My story is a sequel to Hard Reboot, set in the Cyber'verse.
Zara's husband David, one of the twin heads of a premier biotech company, may not quite be what he seems. His violent history, long suppressed with a neural implant, is re-emerging in strange ways, and he—or his twin brother—may be Double Dealing with their identities. It will take cleverness, courage, and the services of a world class hacker to untangle the web of deception around the brothers Gemini.

My Sexy Saturday: Sexy on Fire

I have a new release this week! Turning the Tables has just arrived from Storm Moon Press. Four sexy stories of pegging.

My offering is called "Double Dealing," and is a sequel to Hard Reboot.

Zara loves her beautifully submissive husband. But the dark secret she doesn't know about him could end their marriage and her life. So as he grows more unstable, she is forced into double dealing with an officially dead woman and her husband's identical twin.











So seven, very explicit, not at all work safe paragraphs from "Double Dealing"


Zara steeled herself and slid out of the chair. She went to the room, stripped,
and hung her dress in the closet.

"David, love, watch me."

She felt more than saw his intense dark eyes fasten on her and follow her as she went to the dresser. She adjusted the lighting, dimming the room, which made her skin nearly glow in the gloom. She heard his breath catch.

Zara opened the second drawer of the dresser and took out the toy Ariel had promised his brother. She loved that it was modeled on the twins' own equipment, since David had given it to her shortly after their engagement. She had several, some the size of an ordinary man, some monstrous pricks out of nightmare, as long as her arm and covered in ridges and bumps.

David's bisexuality had never been a secret. Ariel claimed he had made his first million selling his brother's nubile ass on the streets of Tel Aviv in their teens. David always corrected him, saying it had been two million. And he had given Zara the tools to satisfy it.

She undid the pressure seal of the syntheflesh that covered her mons and opened the false skin like curtains. A direct neural interface flashed its readiness. She smiled at David as she plugged the toy into the interface and shivered as the pseudonerves of the toy came on line. She stoked herself with a leisurely hand and heard David's breathing get faster.

"Ready, darling? I am. This is going down your throat and up your ass and all the ways we like it best. So you had best be on your knees before I get to the bed, and ready to suck my dick." She picked up a set of wrist cuffs as well.

My Sexy Saturday Blog Hop: Sexy Me Lucky

For the week of Lucky Thirteen,  a bit of space opera.

Click the cover for a buy link.

Blurb:
Hunting is a young man’s game and Miho is well suited to it. He is a product of centuries of selective breeding, making him human-plus. He has a reputation for finding his quarry. But he doesn’t expect to find an older man at the Tag Board looking for work of his own.

Hevik was outlawed and banished from his homeworld, and now lives a solitary life hunting small-time criminals among the planets. A pretty boy with hair as dark as deep space makes him reconsider that lifestyle.

As the fates keep throwing them together while they pursue the same bounty, both of them discover depths about themselves, and about their lust and need for each other, that makes chasing their quarry all the more dangerous.

'Your Sexy Lucky Bit:

A beep sounded on Miho’s comp and he pulled it up to load the details. He looked up at Hevik off and on, distracted. “That we do. Look, I gotta go pick up a new propulsion array and then figure out where I’m going. So toddle back to the Old Hunters’ Home, would you?” He stood and pulled himself waist-deep into the landing well to find a part number.

A sharp swat on his rear sent his legs scrabbling for purchase on empty air. He clung to the piston and bit down the cry that would have been his natural response. No sense giving this dirty old man the pleasure of hearing him yelp. He peeked out of the well and glared at Hevik. “You know, whatever makes you sleep better at night, pervert.”

Hevik’s grin got wider. “Couldn’t resist that perfect ass. A man’s gotta take what Lady Fortuna puts in his way because she never offers it twice.”

“You’re damn right she won’t.” Miho flipped his body over the piston and dangled his head down, removing his ass from future punishment. “Don’t you have better things to go do? Clean your dentures or something?” he asked derisively. He flat-out refused to admit that there was a part of him wondering why he didn’t ask for another swat. That would be an impulse to study later.

“Only if you fingerpainted on them, brat.”

A cheeky smile crossed Miho’s face as he pulled himself up inside the workings of his two-man ship completely, a tight squeeze for any mechanic. He didn’t respond. He didn’t dare. What was wrong with him? Hevik sent bolts of electricity through places that should never, ever respond to someone like him. He shook his head and tried to concentrate on the part numbers.

“Good hunting, kiddo.” The pat on his boot, almost a caress, startled Miho as much as the swat. He drew his foot up into the workspace and listened until he was sure Hevik was gone.

Oh dear

It's been a bit since I had content here, hasn't it?
The week of my 24th wedding anniversary was 5 work shifts in 4 days.
And the last couple weeks got away from me in a haze of editing for Inkstained Succubus. (we're reissuing a fantasy novel)

And today was the first day of school. Also the first day I've been out of bed before 11, that didn't involve being at the office at 4 in the morning.

My kids are getting too big too fast. Chris is knocking around making ramen for lunch. He's busily eating and working out, trying to gain weight to get into the Army.


Jonathan is ready for his first day of high school. He's 15, will be 16 by Christmas. Olivia is headed to Junior high. She's 13.
I think she has the attitude down. 

So, as the summer melts into fall, and we enjoy the cooler temperatures, what am I up to, other than mainlining Smallville episodes, squeeing at the hooyay, adoring Lana and the Kent parental romance and generally enjoying every second of the Magnificent Bastard?
I have six releases coming sometime soon:1) Steamed up from Dreamspinner. My short is “Five to One,” a bit of clever boys being clever and schmoopy.
2) Forgotten Menagerie. from Storm Moon. My story is “Burdens Lightened,” the tale of a werehorse coming out of the stable, so to speak.
3) Turning the Tables.  from Storm Moon. "Double Dealing" is set in the same cyberpunk universe as Hard Reboot and "Swimming through the Net". We see a moment between Zara and her Gemini.
4)  Tall, Dark and Wriggly from Storm Moon. My story, "Chained to the Wheel," is another cyberpunk piece, this time focused on The Wheelman, and his new housepet, Niall O’Neil.
5) Undeath and the Detective, from Elm books. "S is for Succubus" is reissued in this anthology.
6)  "Fruits of Thine," an interracial BBW piece, involving an amazonian secretary who falls for Pan is coming from Amber Heat.
Gabriel and I are hard at work on an urban fantasy novel set in the DJ Admire universe.  I'm typing on the gothic piece for Samhain and a priest kink one for Storm Moon with Naomi. Still poking at Terror of the Frozen North.

My Sexy Saturday Blog Hop

"One of the most sexy things is the sound of a lover’s voice be it deep and sexy or soft and delicate. Words can be such a turn on when that special someone brushes their fingertips along your cheek."

Today, we get a seven sentence excerpt.
From Barbarossa's Bitch, available from Storm Moon Press.









"All of them would have taken you tonight, every last one of them. But now, no one will lay a hand on you without asking me first. And I won't say yes without asking you. Ryder won't try to hurt you again. He was stupid to do it tonight. You are mine, and I treasure you." Even more softly, bare puff of air against his ear, Barbarossa implored, "Forgive me, Dylan."

A Dear John Letter, or maybe a Declaration of Independence

There comes a time in a writer's life when she must break up with a publisher.

There are right ways and wrong ways to do this.
This is probably the wrong way.

My last book was mauled by the Book Bears of House Style.
Every species name that isn't human is italicized.
The planet names are italicized.

I wonder if it had been "Martian" instead of "Rabbitoid," if that would have to be italicized as well.

I am deeply irritated by this and apologize to my readers. I think you're smarter than that.

House style has been my bane with this press over the years. If it hasn't been demands for more sex and cruder language, it's been house style.

Deliberate removal of necessary commas. Refusal to use even necessary colons (I snuck one in) or semi colons.

Purposely misspelling words. "Use "wrack" for the remains of a shipwreck. Use "rack" for pain." If my character is racked with pain, instead of wracked, I expect a rack in the room.
At one point my editor misspelled "caffeine" in a note. I asked if we were now required by house style to misspell it.

Deliberate censoring of words. I was not allowed to use "queer" as an umbrella term for QUILTBAG people, even when two gay men are talking.

But this, assuming the readers are too stupid to make sense of a sentence such as "The Rabbitoid leaped on the Cythorian's back," without italicizing both beings makes me scream and shout and tear my hair.


But that's not the worst of it.
The contract has gotten steadily worse over the years
The first refusal clause, which demands that even unrelated works be submitted, has decreased in length of those works from 10,000 words to 7500 words. This is one of the few clauses still negotiable.

This, however, THIS is the dealbreaker:

1. Grant of Rights:  Author, on behalf of herself/himself and her/his heirs, executors, administrators, successors and assigns, exclusively grants to the Publisher during the full term of copyright and any renewals and continuations and extensions thereof, the right to publish, print, sell, distribute and license the Work throughout the world, and in any and all media and forms of expressions now known, and all subsidiary rights granted in the Subsidiary Rights clause hereunder. (emphasis mine)

Term of copyright is my lifetime plus SEVENTY YEARS.
(Assuming Disney doesn't manage to get it extended even farther)

That is pure chicanery of the highest order. Even with 100 copy escape clause, this is still bad stuff.  Ordinary publishers do not engage in this level of rights grab, nor do they demand the rights forever.

So, the time has come. The sales are not what they once were. My first story with them sold 147 copies in the five days that comprised its first moth of publication. My most recent piece sold 117 copies between October and April.

That brings us to another problem. Royalty checks used to come fairly consistently around the 10th of the month following. October's money would show up around mid November. Then it became the second month, with a 2 week delay after the fifth business day of the month. Which means May's check should have been here around the 23rd. Now, it's July 31 and May's check hasn't arrived.

I have fulfilled my last First Refusal clause for Ellora's Cave. They get nothing more. I will request reversion of the items I have that aren't selling to meet the 100 copy level.

My Sexy Saturday Blog Hop

Today's offering is from "Out of Options" originally in Storm Moon Press' Like it or Not Anthology, which has just been released as a stand alone story.

Please note, the consent in this story and this anthology is dubious at best. The stories are not for everyone. The excerpt is fairly safe.


"Mmm," Jarrett offered him the cherry, dangling it by its stem in his direction. Connor flicked the cherry with his tongue like it was a piñata. Then he let the sweet, alcoholic fruit sit on his tongue before he drew it, stem and all, into his mouth and kissed Jarrett's fingers. Connor held the cherry behind his teeth as Jarrett tugged the stem out, looking as if he'd like to head straight for bed. "We're gonna have some fun and then crash hard. Since we don't have to get up, we can spend all day tomorrow in bed, too."
"First installment." Connor giggled, the drinks going to his head. He finished up the cherry, not really liking it, but Jarrett's reaction had been worth it. He'd make the sex as hot as he could tonight.
Jarrett just kissed him and left their empty glasses on the coffee table. "Come on, babe. I can't wait to be back inside you." He stood up and reached both hands down to Connor.
Connor smiled and let Jarrett pull him to his feet and straight into another kiss. He'd never met a man who liked to kiss as much as Jarrett did, and he loved it.  They staggered down the hall, entangled in each other's arms and distracted by kisses and undressing.
Jarrett flopped back on the bed, shirtless and barefoot, and laughed. "Come on, strip off. I want you naked. And then you can come finish me up."
"You're drunk, and I shouldn't take advantage," Connor teased. He stripped slowly, letting Jarrett have a show.
Jarrett wolf-whistled approvingly. "Brat."