Sommer Marsden's Blog, page 45

The Finish Me Off Writing Contest...

The Set Up:
Emily walked quickly down the hallway. Her heels were silenced by the intricately patterned carpet.
Best to hide spills and mishaps…
Excitement pooled in her belly. She wondered where he’d be. She only knew that he was here... at this location. She wondered what he’d look like. How his voice would sound in person. Her scalp tickled with excitement mixed with a healthy dose of anxiety. 
“Breathe,” she said softly to remind herself of the most basic need. Air.
Her leather bag rode heavy on her shoulder, and she tried to remember exactly what she’d put inside. Probably nothing she truly needed for today. Or maybe everything she’d ever need for a day like today. There really was no telling until they were in the moment.
She heard the elevator ding as it arrived. Her phone buzzed in her hip pocket as she rounded the corner and…

The Details: What you need to do is finish me off. Yeah, it sounds dirty. That’s why I like it! Finish the story I started above (Maximum of 5,000 words—yes that is a FIRM max, no wiggle room. No minimum) and give it a title. Send it to me at sommermarsden[at]gmail[dot]com by June 10th. Again that is a FIRM deadline. No wiggle room. I will pick the top three contestants and post them on my blog. Then I will give the final three to an in house reader and that person (we know it’s the man, right?) will tell me which one is the winner from my three favorite stories. Contest is open to established writers and new writers. All are welcome.
Now, let’s talk prizes. I don’t have them all yet. I plan to do that weird thing I do where I gather odd little things that make me happy to send to the winner. But because I need a good dose of excitement in my life, I will offer a monetary prize as well. It’s not much but it’ll buy you some socks or some coffee or even a CD. $15 dollar prize payable by Paypal (so please make sure you have it). That’s right out of my own shallow pocket along with some other goodies, so make sure you spin me a mighty fine tale. It can be as hot or as mild as you like. Just make it good.
Fine print:

1.    Must be 18 or older to enter. Must be willing to let me post your entry on my blog should it make top three.

2.    Must send your own work and verify it by pasting the statement below into the entry:

I ____your legal name___ writing as ___pen name if applicable__VERIFY THAT I AM 18 OR OLDER AND LEGALLY ABLE TO ENTER THE ‘FINISH ME OFF’ CONTEST. THE WORK PROVIDED IS MY OWN, I OWN IT AND I HAVE THE RIGHT SO SUBMIT IT AS AN ENTRY.

3.    Send your entry by June 10, 2013 and put FINISH ME OFF ENTRY in the Subject line. Send it to me at sommermarsden[at]gmail[dot]com by June 10th

4.    Please paste your entry into the email. Attachments will be deleted unread and you will not be notified.

5.    You must have a PayPal account to accept payment and be willing to provide me with a mailing address for the small prizes I’ll send.

Once I have all entries I will read. I'll announce a probable date to have winners once the contest is closed. You agree to allow the story to stay on my blog for readers as a prize winner/top three. Beyond that, rights are yours.

That’s it! If you’re interested, please whip me up a tale and share this call. Tell your mother and your sister and your brother and your mailman! Or ya know, just tell your fellow writers.
XOXOSommer

photo credit: Cristian Mantovani via photopin cc

20 Questions with Giselle Renarde: "Seriously. Those documents are sealed."

It's hump day! Thank goodness, because I am ready for this week to turn into this weekend. Whew.

Today we have the lovely Giselle Renarde. One of my favorite folks online. And a fellow Excessican. And look! We share a favorite YA book. I knew I liked her for a reason. Plus, thanks to her answer to question #11 I now have Peter Gabriel stuck in my head. ;)

XOXO
Sommer
p.s. And not for nothing but is that a fierce book cover down there or what?

1.       Favorite YA book?
A Wrinkle In Time by Madeleine L'Engle.
2.       It’s a meatless meal night. You eat…
Spaghettini with green beans, TVP (textured vegetable protein) and a mountain of cheese. That's what I ate for dinner tonight.
3.       Football or baseball?
Are those... like... sports?
4.       Look at your bookshelf. Top shelf, left to right, what are the first five books you see? No cheating!
Oh jeeze.  There are some plays up there.  Okay here--
-Shakespeare's "As You Like It"
-Beckett's "Endgame"
-Tony Kushner's modern classic "Angels in America"
-"Aman: The Story of a Somali Girl" (an autobiography)
-"Bluebeard's Egg" by Margaret Atwood
5.       Average night. Eat in, eat out, or takeout?
I very rarely leave the house.  Eat in.
6.       Favorite meal to cook?
On nooes... I'm revealing so much of my laziness here.  I used to cook, but I'm only one person and it's not worth preparing a turkey dinner just for me, you know?  I do like making soup from scratch.
7.       Favorite TV show when you were a kid?
Three's Company. 
8.       Favorite TV show now?
Oh, Foyle's War. Absolutely.  Well, I guess it's not on the air anymore, but it's my fave.  I love WWII-era programs.
9.       Best teacher you ever had…
I can't answer that question without getting the individual in question in big trouble.
10.   What did they teach you?
Seriously. Those documents are sealed.
11.   Tell us something you did as a kid that no one/very few people know about.
Oh my gosh, I used to pick up frogs and worms and snakes--anything squirmy. I loved digging in dirt and getting messy.
12.   Tell us something you did this year that no one/very few people know about.
That's hard to answer.  I blog or tweet about so much of my life.  Actually, I finished writing two novels nobody's set eyes on but me.  I haven't even started my own editing process on them yet.  To be honest, I think I'm afraid nobody will buy them and I'll have wasted months of my life.
13.   What one clothing item can you not live without?
Socks.
14.   Zombies, vampires or werewolves?
Vampires. I don't know how you do zombies, Sommer.  They scare the holy fuck out of me.  The first horror movie I ever saw was Night of the Living Dead and it scarred me for life.
15.   Anything you haven’t written about that you desperately want to?
I shy away from historicals because I feel like I don't know enough to write them. Are my self-esteem issues obvious yet?
16.   Anything you’ve written about that you desperately wish you hadn’t?
No, not even "Stacy's Dad Has Got It Going On" which garnered the worst reviews I've ever received.  I'm actually reading it over now, and... I don't know... I still like it.
17.   Do you finish a book that is terrible or put it down?
I try to finish every book I start, but I often don't even finish books I love. I stop when there are two or three pages left.  I guess I don't want them to end.
18.   Do you review terrible books or pass on saying anything at all?
I don't write a lot of book reviews.  Before I was an author, I'm sure I would have written absolutely blood-thirsty ones to prove my cleverness and superiority, but having been on the receiving end of those, I don't think I ever could write one now.  The book would have to be horribly offensive or something.
19.   Do you read reviews of your work?
God no.
20.   Red wine or white wine?
I don't drink anymore, but red wine when I did, with a nice meal. Alcohol makes me sleeeeepy.

Giselle Renarde is a queer Canadian, avid volunteer, contributor to more than 100 short story anthologies, and award-winning author of numerous books, including Anonymous, Nanny State, and My Mistress' Thighs. Read her blog http://donutsdesires.blogspot.com and follow her on Twitter @gisellerenarde.

Weapons of mass Om...

I'm exhausted. I realized that today on my walk. I. Am. Exhausted.

Once upon a time I wrote novels and I spit polished them and then I hunted for a publisher. While I hunted and submitted and waited (and waited and waited) I wrote other stuff. That pattern worked and it felt kinetic but boy was it not as hectic as I thought. Not really.

Right now I'm racing along on a novel that's due ASAHP (as soon as humanly possible) which is actually July. But I need it out of here before July to do the next one. And the next one. Already promised to publishers.

And I'm soooooo grateful that that is the case but...as I realized...I'm tired.

I'm not quite sure how to deal with it. I mean, I cannot stop writing. And I really don't want to. I feel lost when I don't write. But what I'm trying to figure out is a more elegant, more graceful, more calm way to deal with the craziness and the work load.

There are days that I am all: I have got this! I've totally got this! And often those days come with about 4,000 words of book. And then there are days that I'm like: Fucking stop the world I want to get off. I'm going to nap for a year.

So you, yes you, do you have any weapons of mass Om for me? Any tips to share with a frenzied writer like me who is over the moon that she gets to do this for a living but some days feels so overwhelmed she wants to lie down on the floor and shut her eyes and not move?

I love my job. I adore it. I am so blessed. But I am also sort of a little burnt out from the non-stop pace I keep myself on. I need to find my balance. And sometimes balance comes from asking for help. Asking advice.

I think this was the year (I'll have to check with the man) that I said I was going old school. I was going to write the books and then figure out where they went instead of signing on for them. But hey, a girl can't say no when offered good things. And good things were offered. This is a job and you do not turn down chances to secure food on the table for your kids.

But a girl also needs to find her fucking Zen.

I'd love to hear from you! Tell me your Om secrets. And wish me luck as I try to wrap up the current book I'm working on. I love it so much it hurts :)

[As an aside, I almost deleted this three times because the type A, very hard on myself part of me feels it makes me look weak and whiny. But it's sincere and it's something I think a lot of self-employed people experience whether they're writers or daycare or cupcake bakers. So I'm going to force my anal, self critical self to leave it up here. Om...]

XOXO
Sommer

photo credit: Swami Stream via photopin cc

It's Monday and I'm flashing you. With...The Sweetshop Owner’s Daughter by Vida Bailey

Every time I cook mushrooms I think of this story. I cooked some mushrooms for gravy yesterday and there it was again. In my head. Vida Bailey's lovely story. I asked her (sweetly ;) ) if I could run it here and she said yes. This story originally appeared in my short work anthology Dirtyville. I'm so pleased Vida let me share!

XOXO
Sommer


The Sweetshop Owner’s Daughterby Vida Bailey
The basket huge of huge flat field mushrooms Matthew got up to pick lay on the counter. Gina ran a light fingertip across their velvet skin and thought about their juicy, steaky texture. A treat. A celebration breakfast.
She raised the frayed cuff of her husband’s soft, bleached out shirt to her mouth, and chewed on it abstractly. The shirt didn’t come far down her long thighs, and as she moved around the kitchen, setting the table, flashes of her lacy pink panties were visible. Against the chill of the old stone cottage, she wore cream, woolen stocking socks, that pulled up well above her knee, and ruched sweetly. Her red brown hair had a wave to it, and was twisted into a casual knot at the back of her head.
Though the small, ivy framed window she could see the sun was gaining height, and the dew in the grass sparkled. The train would be getting in soon. She fetched the bowl of eggs, brown and speckled, and cut thick slices of her brown bread for toasting. Strong hands wrapped around her waist and a freshly washed and dressed Matthew pressed against her, pushing her thighs into the counter. She leaned her head back against his shoulder and closed her eyes as he held her left hipbone and palmed her breast with his right. The old shirt material was soft and thin, and he could feel the texture of her hardened nipple through it.
‘Train’ll be in soon. I should go over…’ he flicked her nipple gently with his thumb, and she could feel him smiling into her neck. She nodded, wiggling against him.
 ‘Oh, yes. You wouldn’t want to be late.’
Gina watched him walk off out the gate and heard the whistle of the train in the distance. She cracked the eggs into a bowl, marveling at the rich orange of their yolks, and listened for the chugging wheels to come into range of her hearing. Gus is coming Gus is coming Gus is coming.
Gus had been the town bike. Not that they would have called him that, but this was a more enlightened era. Everyone had been Gus’, and he had belonged to no-one. Wide shouldered and laughing, he’d won all the women over, even Gina.
It seemed like he’d left her ‘til last. Years of teenage frustration, she’d waited. The girl in the sweetshop, as untouchable as the boxes of expensive chocolates wrapped in silk bows that no-one ever bought. Her mother’s delusion of grandeur.
And then, one evening as she was locking the white doors, he wandered in the back, leaned against the door jamb and winked at her. He asked her for a quarter of apple drops and she’d measured out the little red and green spheres with anticipation. Grazing her fingers with his, he’d taken the paper bag from her and smiled his full lipped smile. Popping a sweet into his mouth, he’d kept eye contact with her, reached out and taken the metal scoop from her hands and tilted her head up to his. Dropping his face to hers, he’d kissed her; his tongue a tart, sweet surprise, his lips tangy with the shudder of the sour. Her hand came up to touch the stubble on his cheek and tangle in his rich brown curls and he’d pushed the apple drop into her open mouth, passing it to her with his tongue.

He took her clothes off and took her virginity that night, on the wooden boards of the sweet shop floor. He
traced sugary apple drop trails all over her newly bared skin and then licked them off again. And taking the sweet from him, she did the same to him. It was a night of sucking and tasting and touching, and for her, learning. Dusting it with powder from a Dib-Dab bag, she made his sugar-coated cock her lollipop and he licked and sucked her slowly, rolling the sweets around in her wetness, sucking them out of her, sucking them alongside her clit ‘til she screamed into the arm of her baggy wool jumper and came with raspberry fizz-bomb flashes exploding against her closed eyelids. And then he held her on his lap and worked her down onto him, letting her shift, and adjust, and set the pace while he bent his head to her nipples, and licked more sugar and flavouring, tasting chocolate and cherry and the treats of his youth as she said a sweet goodbye to her youth with sugar on her tongue.
The summer neared its end all too soon. She tried not to dwell on it, and looked forward to each knock on the door without counting how many remained. One night he appeared, once more as she was closing the shop, and sauntered towards her with a happy, promising grin. As he bent to kiss her hello, she saw someone else standing in the doorway, leaning on the frame and smiling.
‘This is Matthew,’ said Gus, ‘A friend of mine.’ Matthew advanced slowly, black hair tousled and his knowing eyes clear and blue. Gina looked between them and wondered if Gus had brought her someone she might lay claim to.
And now, there they were, living back in the village, and hadn’t seen Gus in years of marriage. He’d travelled and tried to settle, and travelled again, and now he was risking a trip home; to his parents, the gossiping mainstreet, to Gina and Matt.
Gina fried the buttery mushrooms slowly, waiting until they juiced to add salt and pepper, the chopped parsley. She thought about the freshly made bed and how they’d eat together first, scrambled eggs and freshly toasted bread and the big pot filled with tea.
She heard footsteps ringing in the porch, and looked up to see Gus filling the low doorway, stepping towards her, all shoulders and curls. And as he bent to scoop her up and kiss her, there was Matt, leaning on the doorjamb, grinning.

About the author: Vida Bailey is an occasional writer of smut from Ireland. You can find her at www.heatsuffused.blogspot.com or enjoy her tumblr at http://suffusedwithheat.tumblr.com/

 

Sunday Snog...'Crazy is how some of the greatest things have come into being.’

This Sunday Snog brought to you by the letter S for...slept in! I'm late. Just now making cup two of coffee. And speaking of coffee. Let's have a kiss over coffee this week...Last week's was rather wicked. I had my devil horns on. This week...I'm wearing my halo. ;)


XOXO
Sommer


Snog from my brand new novella INVENTING HERSELF:

He was a veterinary assistant. No shock there.
‘Used to work in banking. I find animals much more soothing than money.’
Sophie sipped her coffee. ‘I’d imagine so.’
‘You?’
‘Magazine writer. Love my job, until I get –’
‘That assignment that touches a bit too close to home.’
She put her head down. ‘Yes. I guess I’m just a wuss. I had no idea my editor would demand I find myself, for God’s sake!’
They had cookies and a muffin split down the middle, yet the thought of food was too much. Her stomach was in a fluttering mess of excitement. Because of him? She could only assume. Don’t find something that isn’t there, her mind warned her. She was looking for something, so surely she’d trick herself into thinking that he – Tate Nicholls, he’d told her – was that missing piece.
That didn’t stop her stupid stomach, though.
‘Yeah, but …’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Sorry.’
‘But what?’
‘Hey,’ he said, touching her hand. Electricity shot up her arm and she turned her hand to take his without thinking. He studied their hands – now lightly entwined – and smiled. ‘The last thing I want to be is a person spewing platitudes at you when you were so honest with me. I can’t be that person.’
‘What person?’
‘The ones who walk around giving you one-liners as if they’re Buddha.’ He laughed at himself.
‘Tell me.’
He shrugged, looking suddenly shy and uncertain. The change in demeanour made him even more appealing to Sophie. She thought she should be careful, but she didn’t care. ‘I don’t think life is about finding yourself,’ Tate said. ‘I think it’s about inventing yourself.’
The idea smacked Sophie in the head and she let out a surprised little gasp. Then she dropped his hand. Her body moved faster than her brain. She levered herself over the small table, grabbed his head and plunging her still chilled fingers into his thick, brown hair, and kissed him. His tongue was warm and soft, and after just one surprised second he kissed her back. Touching her jaw so that the energy from his fingers shivered up her face, under her skin, across her scalp.
Her mouth opened further and she sucked his tongue gently. He made a desperate noise.
‘We’re making quite a display,’ she said. Simon sat under the table at her feet. The screened-in patio area was deserted but for them. But people inside could see. People on the sidewalk could see.
‘Who cares?’ he answered, touching her cheek, kissing her again.
‘God, don’t think I’m crazy.’
‘I don’t.’
‘Don’t think … Well, don’t think anything bad of me,’ she whispered.
He pulled back a bit, stared her in the eye. Blue eyes, she saw. Blue like the sky in fall right before the
‘Because I’m going to ask you to come home with me.’
‘I can do that.’ His eyes were bright as he regarded her. ‘But only if you really want me to.’
‘I do. Do you think that’s nuts?’
‘A little.’ He shrugged, sitting back and taking her hand again. His skin was warm and so was his expression. ‘But Sophie, often the best things in life are. Crazy is how some of the greatest things have come into being.’
weather gets cold. ‘Why would I?’

US link
UK link

Coming soon...CONTEST!

Watch this space (ha! do you see what I did there with the picture!?...ahem...) because very soon I'll be announcing what I think is a fun contest for writers or wannabe writers. I am very excited. And there will be prizes and things! Prizes, I say! I just don't know what they are yet. But I'm very excited, did I mention?

So stay tuned.

Happy Friday! I have a To-Do list as long as my leg and am feeling a bit kinetic. Can you tell?

XOXO
Sommer
photo credit: write_adam via photopin cc

I should be blogging about...

All kinds of other things, and yet, I am so suddenly and thoroughly addicted to Mumford & Sons that I must post this song (one of my super duper faves) and say...boy, they are a dangerous band. Dangerous for me means they are addictive and when I listen to their songs I get a flood of ideas coming at me like a tidal wave. This happened with Florence and the Machine's CD Lungs and I'm just about to start the 3rd book inspired by that music. I have a whole page of notes inspired by M&S. Dear goodness, wish me luck! Because I can't stop listening which means I can't stop brainstorming which means...*gasp*...I just can't stop!





XOXO
Sommer
p.s. but this is one of the things I should be blogging . Ahhhh! Can you believe I'm on Audible , baby? I cannot. I would love to hear my own book read. There are some tres sexy parts...many, actually. I wonder what those sound like. (I imagine good!)

20 Questions with Ashley Lister: "I don't do sports. I can find better ways to break a sweat."

It's Wednesday! Today's 20 Questions interview is with Ashley Lister. If you don't know Ashley, you need to. He's a strong voice in the erotica community and he has the title of being One-Of-The-People-Most-Likely-To-Make-Me-Laugh-Out-Loud when I see his posts on social media (or blogs). Wicked sense of humor, great erotic writing style, nice guy...check, check and check!

Go forth and see for yourself...





1. Favorite YA book?
It was and remains the Harry Potter series, although I've just started getting into Skullduggery Pleasant and they're a lot of fun.

2. It’s a meatless meal night. You eat…
Chili-non-carne (veggie chili rocks)

3. Football or baseball?
I don't do sports. I can find better ways to break a sweat.

4. Look at your bookshelf. Top shelf, left to right, what are the first five books you see? No cheating!
Named and Shamed (Janine Ashbless)
The Mile High Club (edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel)
Satisfy Me Tonight (Fiona Zedde)
Lipstick on Her Collar (Saachi Green and Rakelle Valencia)
Pleasure Bound (anon)

5. Average night. Eat in, eat out, or takeout?
 EAT IN.

6. Favorite meal to cook?
 fajitas

7. Favorite TV show when you were a kid?
The A Team.

8. Favorite TV show now?
Game of Thrones

9. Best teacher you ever had…
Mr Casson.

10. What did they teach you?
English - and a lifelong love of the written word.

11. Tell us something you did as a kid that no one/very few people know about.
I taught myself to touch-type.

12. Tell us something you did this year that no one/very few people know about.
I treated myself to a Smartphone.

13. What one clothing item can you not live without?
A black leather jacket.

14. Zombies, vampires or werewolves?
Zombies for giggles: Vampires for passion: Werewolves for genuine terror.

15. Anything you haven’t written about that you desperately want to?
Zombies.

16. Anything you’ve written about that you desperately wish you hadn’t?
Syllable weights in a mind-numbingly dull academic article.

17. Do you finish a book that is terrible or put it down?
I hurl it violently across the room.

18. Do you review terrible books or pass on saying anything at all? Ideally I'd prefer to pass on them but if I'm forced to review dross I will give an honest opinion. (I've had hate mail).

19. Do you read reviews of your work?
Yes - and I weep.

20. Red wine or white wine?
Neither - I'm teetotal.

Ashley Lister is the author of several novels and short stories, as well as the recently released title: How to Write Erotic Fiction and Sex Scenes. His blog can be found on: http://howtowriteeroticfiction.blogspot.co.uk/

Shazam!

Woke to a new release! Like magic! My new erotic romance novella Inventing Herself is out now as a single. This summer it will be part of an Xcite Secret Library release Finding Herself. Which is the title for this novella in that book. Ya know, alternate titles and all that jazz...just making sure to keep you on your toes. Keeping things interesting! ;)

Here are the deets:

Sophie Calhoun has a good job writing for a hot women’s magazine. Her latest assignment is to do an article about how a strong, confident woman can look deeper into herself to find her centre. The only problem is Sophie feels lost. On a whim one morning, looking for the answers to her unwritten article and the silent turmoil in her heart, she takes a hike. In the wilderness she finds a very large man sitting alone, calm and still and smiling – everything Sophie wants to be. When he opens his eyes and that smile is directed at her, Sophie begins to find herself…

Inventing Herself US
Inventing Herself UK

Happy wet and rainy Tuesday. Is it over yet? Om...

XOXO
Sommer

Happy Birthday!

To my grandmother!

Gosh, I miss her. She was one of my very best friends in the whole world. We shared love of lots of things but books were number one. She was the one who taught me to stop reading books that weren't working for me. "Life is too damn short to read a book you don't like!"

We (Ma and self) used to go every year to the hospice where she passed and sit on the rooftop garden. We'd watch the hawks over Loch Raven reservoir and sit and talk about her. Just a short conversation about her could make us laugh. You've heard people described as 'a character' in your travels, I'm sure. Well, Ilene was a character.

Anyway, at the ten year mark (she'll be gone 11 years this July) we changed it up. I suggested we go out on the day of her birth instead and celebrate that she'd been here and was such a huge part of our lives.

So today is out to lunch day with my Ma. We'll eat, we'll drink and we'll talk about her. She loved big, talked loud and carried a big stick. It's called a cane and she wouldn't hesitate to 'tap' (read whack) you with it if you either stepped out of line or tickled her funnybone. So you never knew when she'd be swinging that thing. Ouch >.<

XOXO
Sommer