Beth D. Carter's Blog, page 73

Topic Tuesday - The Right Thing

How far would you go to do the right thing? And have you ever done the wrong thing, only to reflect on it later and realize you really should have done it differently?To answer truthfully, I have no idea if I would do the “right thing”.  I would hope I was the kind of person who would turn in a bag full of money or a diamond necklace, but since I’ve never been in that position I haven’t a clue how I would act. 
That might sound shallow of me, or make me sound like a bad person, but most of us have never had their morals tested.  My parents raised me to do the right thing, but how does one know their inner strength unless challenged?  Ten or fifteen years ago I would say with absolute certain I would always do the right thing, but I’ve become a bit of a cynic over the years so now…I don’t know.
I can honestly say that I am cool under pressure.  Years ago I was working as a pharmacy technician and during our Christmas party, a man in a ski mask came in, pointed a gun at the pharmacist, looked me in the eye and demanded I give him all our “Class A drugs”.  (No such thing but I knew what he meant).  I looked him in the eye and pushed the silent alarm.  When he tried to escape, I ran after him, determined to get his license plate.  The pharmacist grabbed my coat and hauled me back inside reminding me that he had a gun and could shoot me.  All I was concerned about was catching him. 
Like any human being, I’ve fucked up through out my life.  But those are lessons I’ve learned and I've had to find a way to live with mistakes I’ve made.  I’ve apologized when I needed to but I know I'm not perfect and I'm sure I'll do something really dumb or say something wrong again at some point.  It's human nature.
I don't dwell on the things I wish I could change because it would drive me crazy.  I don't have time for what-ifs.  I have too much to look forward to.

Saturday After Dark Presents...Black Leather Pants

http://theafterdarkworld.blogspot.com
Black Leather Pants wasn't the first book I wrote but it was the first one I had published.  I wrote it while living in Paris, France.  Some of you might think that sounds familiar, and it is...I wrote a companion piece titled "True to Her Heart" that I featured a few weeks ago.  Now, the two have nothing in common except both are set in Paris.  I used to travel every day by train, exploring the city and I put all those adventures into both books.  At night I used to go to this English Pub (hilariously called "The Frog") to understand people and to watch football (soccer).  I fell in love with the game while living there.  
One night, I was watching Real Madrid (back when Beckham used to play for them) and I was sitting next to this girl named Steph.  She was from South Africa and was living and working in Paris.  She started talking to me, ready to make fun of the American watching a game that Americans don't appreciate at all.  Boy, did I surprise her when I was talking about the offside rule, the points, and the overall defense of RM.  
Me and Steph became friends and we hung out a lot, drinking beer and eating fish and chips.  Sadly, we lost touch once I came back home but what a great time!  Hmm....I should write a football story!
Anyway, here is my excerpt from Black Leather Pants.  Readers might realize that every time the hero, Kiley, wears his black leather pants, he and Penny have sex.  My perverse sense of humor started early.+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
At that moment the wine hit her. All her inhibitions, if she had any remaining, simply vanished and she reacted  on pure lust. She fell back, he with her, and her hands started tearing at his clothing.

His sweater pealed off and she delighted in exploring every inch of smooth, hairless skin. Her fingers undid the button of his pants and pulled down the zipper, slipping her hands inside and pushing the leather off his rear. Penny sank her nails into his ass, giving his flesh a smart slap.
 He pulled back from her nipple and gazed down at her in sinful arousal.
 “You think I’ve been naughty?”
 “A very bad boy,” she panted.
 He cast her a wicked grin and bent to capture her mouth again. His tongue slipped deep into her mouth as he unbuttoned her jeans. He slipped his fingers inside, finding the nub drenched in moisture. With alternating sweeps of pressure, he rubbed her clit, making her gasp and clench as desire pulsed through her.
“You’re so wet,” he muttered. They finished undressing, tossing garments aside in haste. Kiley settled between her thighs, rocking, banging his cock against her slit. His hands moved down her body, caressing her leg until he grabbed her knee and brought her leg up to grip him around his hip. He moved his hand inward, grasping her thighs.
 "Open for me," he whispered, demandingly, pushing her legs open wide.
 As she lay there, staring at him through half closed eyes, Kiley trailed his middle finger toward her, past the dark curls to rub her lightly. He didn't need to go in any farther. Penny arched her back from the floor with a gasp, her eyes flying open to meet his.
 "Ah," he murmured, rubbing again, using her slickness to coat his finger. Feather light caresses, faster, harder, over and over. Her body coiled, wound tight, all she could do was balance for a moment on the precipice and then fall.+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Blurb:
Small town girl Penny Varlet has moved to Los Angeles to pursue her love of art. Her boss, Kiley Laurent, is a sinfully sensual man who finds his way into her erotic dreams. One night, while working late, they act on their impulse and share a moment of raw passion. 
Circumstances continue to throw them together, until one night, while working late, Penny is attacked by an intruder and hurt. Kiley whisks her away to Paris to heal, showing her a world of art and wonder. As she heals, can Penny put the anger over her attack to rest and find the courage to act on her love for Kiley?
Where to buy: http://www.bookstrand.com/black-leather-pants                    www.bethdcarter.com

Topic Tuesday - Consumerism & Working Thanksgiving

This week's topic: Stores opening on Thanksgiving this year. What do you think about it? Did you partake? How does consumerism effect your holiday?I noticed that this has been a hot topic lately and most people are shouting for stores to be closed so employees can share time with their families.  Frankly, I don’t see the big deal if stores are open or not.  Most of the stores closed at reasonable hours, allowing families to be together for dinner and if they happen to stay later then shifts were split. 
When I was in my twenties I was off living my life and my family was about three thousand miles away so celebrating Thanksgiving wasn’t a big deal. Often I volunteered to work either Thanksgiving or Black Friday because I didn’t care.  Sometimes people need the money, and usually if you work on a major holiday it’s time and a half.  Or employers compensate by alternating holidays; for instance, if you work Thanksgiving you get off Christmas. 
Frankly, I didn’t understand this big uproar about boycotting stores who were open.  I ended up going to see The Hunger Games: Catching Fire on Thanksgiving night.  That’s one industry that doesn’t close, even on Christmas Day.  Movie theaters have been open on holidays for as long as I can remember.  No one talked about boycotting AMC.
Now, I don’t shop Thanksgiving or Black Friday so consumerism doesn’t affect me one way or another.  I usually start my Christmas shopping in July.  I’ve only got a few more people to buy for and of course Santa has a list that’s being added to daily.  And when I do go out and brave the long check out lines…or the post office lines…I do so knowing I’m going to be in line for a while.  I don’t stomp my feet, or sigh with impatience, or mutter and curse.  I just pull out my ereader and occupy myself as I shuffle along until I get to the check out. 
My blood pressure thanks me.+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++I want to thank everyone who participated in the Hot Autumn Nights Blog Hop!  I decided to give away two ebooks and the winners are J. Bur & Angela Searles, who have been contacted already!  Come January, there will be more chances to win on my Love Story Book Tour.

Hot Autum Nights Blog Hop

hdthomson.com or http://carisroane.com

Skinny dipping with a handsome guy late at night.  The moon full and bright, letting us see just enough before jumping into the lake.  Insects buzzing.  The smell of dogwood and wild lavender heavy in the air. It is a night for laughing, a night for loving.  A night to always remember.

I grew up in southeast Missouri where just such a thing could happen.  The leaves on trees turning gold and red, the air becoming cooler every week.  You'd need a scarf and jacket by night but during the day lying in a patch of sunlight felt like heaven.  Walking through the forest, picking up fallen pine cones and kicking leaves, hoping you don't find a snake seeking a little warmth.  There's nothing quite like autumn.


It's different now that I'm older.  I don't live where the leaves turn or where the nights get too cold.  My son doesn't take walks through the woods like I used to.  Times pass, people change, and somehow the days go by very fast.  The song Boys of Summer by Don Henley plays over and over in my head.

A couple of years ago I went with a friend of my to a music festival in upstate New York benefiting the local farmers.  I slept in a dog tent freezing my ass off because I was unprepared for how very cold the north was in late August.  But the mornings were crisp and clear and I looked out upon the rising vista and felt the world grind to a halt.  There was something enchanting and I could feel my soul calm and settle.  The night was devoted to music and dancing inside a huge barn where coffee flowed just as much as beer.  It was a fabulous time, despite the cold.


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Thanks for visiting with me during the Hot Autumn Nights Blog Hop!  To win a free PDF book of any of my titles, just leave a comment and a way to contact you.  (No contact info, no win)  And please check out the others at the links below. 

Scarfing

This is a concept I knew nothing about until I watched Queer as Folk.  My favorite character, Brian, was having an emotional crisis and started scarfing, or tying a scarf (or piece of material) around the neck while masturbating.  This is supposed to restrict the blood flow to the brain and increase the pleasure of orgasm.  
Brian: If I want to experience the joys of scarfing, what the hell business is it of yours?!

Michael: It's my business cause I'm the one that will get the call from the god damn cleaning lady who finds you hanging from the rafters with a fucking boner!
The medical/psychological term is called autoerotic asphyxiation, and its popularity is high among young males.  Accidental death has occurred due to the nature of hanging one’s self to achieve the desired sexual satisfaction.  The person looses consciousness and the self-rescue mechanism fails.  It is unknown how many suicides are actually botched attempts of scarfing but it is estimated about 250 to 1000 deaths a year.  Among famous celebrities who have died during such practice are David Carradine, Michael Hutchence, and Sada Abe.
The practice of autoerotic asphyxiation has been documented since the 17th Century and was used as a treatment for erectile dysfunction.  People noticed that males being hung would produce an erection, sometimes even ejaculating after death.  When the carotid arteries are compressed, the lack of oxygenated blood to the brain and the increase of carbon dioxide induces a semi-hallucinogenic state called hypoxia.  Combined with the euphoria of an orgasm, the rush is highly addictive.  
The thought of scarfing, for me, sounds a little like playing Russian Roulette.  I would never judge any adult who tempted fate with practicing scarfing, but perhaps it would be better to be with a partner so that if anything were to go wrong at least there is someone to help.  But then again, perhaps it’s the thought of self bondage which also heightens the pleasure. All I’ll say is just be careful of cumming while going…

Topic Tuesday: Dialogue vs. Description

Do you prefer writing description or dialogue? What do you have the most difficulty with? Why do you suppose that is? What do you do to strengthen it or do you avoid it at all costs?This week’s discussion is one of my favorites.  I’ve been waiting for this question because I love to write dialogue.  No, seriously, I do an I have been waiting for this question, or one like it.  I know, I’m weird like that.  But dialogue is one of my favorite things to write and I think I’m pretty good at it.
“I thought you were joking about the bathtub,” Jonas said, frowning as Charlotte slid back into the passenger side, once again shaking her head. This had been the fifth hotel they had stopped at.
“Why would I joke about a bathtub?”
“I don’t know. What do you have against them?”
“Do you know there are over eight hundred thousand accidental drowning deaths in a year caused by slipping in a bathtub?”
“Do you realize there’s more water in a toilet than in an empty bathtub?”
“Okay, but my body won’t fit in a toilet.”
He stared at her, one eyebrow raised.
“I’m just saying is all,” she replied, rather defensively.
“You don’t look like the type of person who has an excess fear of anything.”
“We all fear something, Jonas,” she said rather practically. “Whether it’s spiders or heights or germs. Mine happens to be bathtubs, although surprisingly, there isn’t is a technical phobia term for it.”
“Yeah, go figure,” he said deadpan.
(From my book, “Otherworldly)
I love getting inside my character’s mind and working through their words.  Most of my plot twists or plot changes come from whatever pops out of their mouth, stuff I didn’t see coming until I’m writing and…there it is.  I was at a dinner this past Saturday and when the person I was sitting next to asked if I had crazy ideas in my head all the time I immediately said, yes.  Characters talk to me all the damn time.  He tried to avoid me the rest of the night.
For me, dialogue is easy because I guess I live in my mind.  What I mean, is that I’m a badass when it comes to internal dialogue.  But as soon as I open my mouth I usually fuck everything up.  It took me a long time to get over foot in mouth disease, although I still have lapses from time to time.  I suppose that’s given me a flair to writing character dialogue.
Description, on the other hand, sucks.  It’s boring and difficult for me to stretch out what’s happening through the day.  Some authors write fabulous description.  I don’t think I’m one of them.  I struggle with it and to help I go back repeatedly to edit and add.  I have to remind myself constantly to describe what the house looks like, or what the characters look like or even what style clothes they have on. 
Dialogue is fun and it bridges the gap between thought and action.  Most of the time I wish I had a ten minute heads up so I could pre-think all of my dialogue for an evening and write it down so I don’t end up lapsing back into Did I really just say that? mode.

Saturday After Dark Presents....The Song Bird

                                                 http://theafterdarkworld.blogspot.com
One thing about being a writer is that we constantly try to find a story in everything. My mind is always going on side trips to see if a piece of information I've assimilated could or would work somehow.  Sometimes it's just a picture, or a piece of music, or a even a word. 

I am a lover of history.  My brain works well with linear timelines and facts I can memorize.  To paraphrase Dr. Who, history is a fixed time point in history.  It can't be changed, and now with the internet, even those who try to change it truth will always be around.

One period of history that always fascinated me was the California gold rush of 1849.  It was the aftermath that really captured my attention, how a city swelled from around 2000 to over 200,000 in a matter of years while dealing with all the infrastructure nightmares.  And to make matters even worse, a cholera epidemic swept through in 1855.  I was thinking Love in the Time of Cholera until I read about an interesting part of San Francisco's violent past...The Committee of Vigilance.  This was vigilante group that tried to end the violence and corruption running rampant through the city.  You had bankers and investors trying to gentrify this city suddenly thrust into fame, outlaws and criminals trying to run it, the Chinese immigrants who were rated lower than slaves, and disease.  What better time period to write a romance?

I guess the gold was a blessing and a curse.

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It took only a moment for him to flip her skirts up and ease his calloused fingers up her inner thigh, sliding over her sensitive skin with feather light teasing. When he touched her curls surrounding the spot that pulsed for him the most, she was surprised that his hand didn’t get singed from the heat. “And this,” he murmured against her ear, “is your pussy. Your delicious, wet pussy.” She meant to close her legs, but he shook his head. “No, let me. Please. Trust me, Avilon.”Slowly, she relaxed. His finger dipped inside her curls, teasing before it found a rhythm that quickly escalated the fire in her blood. “Feel this?” he asked as he flicked over the bud that throbbed with need. “This is your clit, and all I want to do is draw it into my mouth and suck on it until your cream flows into my mouth.”The words enflamed her, the mental picture so stimulating that her body almost convulsed. Then he slipped another finger inside her as his palm applied just enough pressure to make her writhe. In and out he pumped with his hand, her hips mimicking as she gasped.“Let go, love,” he whispered, and she felt his lips brushing over her cheek, her eyelids, her forehead. “You’re so much tighter than I imagined. I can just picture you clenching around my cock as you ride me.”In and out his fingers pumped as he managed to rub her clit at the same time. Seconds later, her body tensed as waves of energy rolled over her, making her light headed. Stars exploded as every nerve ending blazed. Avilon was helpless to do anything but ride it out, humping his hand, which still tantalizedBlurb: 

Avilon Chambert travels to the wild city of San Francisco to find her missing sister.  All she has is a letter explaining she’s in terrible trouble and that she’s been working as an upstairs girl in a club owned by two handsome men, Eli Masters and Jason Braddock.

When she arrives at the club, the only way she can get to talk to them is by auditioning for the singing position, and she captivates them by her beautiful operatic voice.  But the answers to her questions are vague and filled with holes, rousing her suspicions.
Her arrival at the club seems to set off a chain of events filled with danger.  As she searches further for her sister, she unleashes the wrath of a madman bent of revenge, threatening to destroy everything and every one she’s come to love.
Buy:  www.bethdcarter.com http://www.bookstrand.com/the-song-bird
 

What's In A Name?

'Tis but thy name that is my enemy:
Thou art thyself, though not a Montague.
What's Montague? It is nor hand nor foot,
Nor arm nor face, nor any other part
Belonging to a man. O be some other name!
What's in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other word would smell as sweet;
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd,
Retain that dear perfection which he owes
Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name,
and for thy name, which is no part of thee,
Take all myself.
Arguably, one of the most famous scenes in literature, Shakespeare knew the art of names.  Naming a character is like naming a child.  You have to find the right combination of first and last names to match characteristics, looks, intelligence and character background.  And it can be a long process. 
Just imagine this line, “Buddy, Buddy, where for art thou Buddy?”.  It’s just doesn’t have the same impact.  Now imagine Edward Cullen.  The name ‘Edward’ has a certain ring to it, a noble quality, while the character of Edward Cullen is gentlemanly, cultivated, and distinguished.  The name fits with who he is, where he came from, and the time period he was born. 
And not only do writers have to figure all that in, but we have to be aware that some names are new creations.  For instance, the name Vanessa was “invented” by the author Jonathan Swift in the early 1700’s, so if you happen to be writing a piece set in the 1600’s then the name would be anachronistic. 
I have a hard time, just like every other writer, finding that one name that jumps out at me to define the character I have in my head.  But I tend to get my names from unusual places.  For instance, in my book Spirals,the two heroes are Tobias Noble and Orion West… which are all street names in LA County.  Even my heroine, Kaori, got her last name from a street in El Segundo, California.  In Kismet, the sequel to Spirals, Evie’s last name is a surgical instrument!  A writer will never know where inspiration will strike.
Names that have strong syllables usually bring to mind strong heroes.  For instance, John or Luke or Max.  Each name brings to mind a certain man: John Wayne, Luke Skywalker or Mad Max.  Most writers will go with a strong name over something more…odd.  Eustace probably won’t usually be a hero’s name, at least not in romance books, although he was an excellent annoyance in Voyage of the Dawn Treader!

Topic Tuesday - Overcoming Obsticals

It is said that as a problem arises, so does the solution.  This week it is all about how that is true in our lives. What issues big and small have you overcome this week, month or year? Were they easy? What did you learn?The easy answer for me would be sickness.  I've been sick for most of November and had a major relapse this past weekend.  I'm on antibiotics now so hopefully will be getting better quickly.
The harder answer?...my WIP.  I'm the type of writer that just sits down with an idea and begins to write, not knowing where the story is headed or how I'm going to get to the finish line.  Now, most of my books feature some type of mystery.  In the McKnight, Perth & Daire trilogy I had to come up with three different murders.  I watched a lot of murder shows on Investigation Discovery much to the concern of my boyfriend.  
For this trilogy I'm working on, I've taken on a huge heap of "What the hell am I doing?" and thrown a little "What the hell was I thinking?" in with it.  It's a cross between Sons of Anarchy and Longmire, and all are MFM.  So, since I am a complete pantser I've been trying to figure out how to end book two...because I'm almost to the point of finishing it but have no clue how to do that.  And, of course, my rough draft is due by the end of the month.
(Yes, I would like a little cheese with my whine)
But I'm like this with every book I write.  I set my brain into overdrive thinking about the damn ending.  They say keeping your mind active staves off dementia so I'm keeping my fingers crossed.
So, what have I learned...?  Time stands still for no one, even when your sick.  I mean, I just made (and broke) my New Year's Resolution!  I'm going to be forty-one next month and I can't believe that.  I feel like I'm still twenty!  I guess that's good. I've noticed my heroes have moved into a different age bracket and I think actors like Zac Effron and Josh Hutcherson are just babies.  Maybe I'll write a Cougar story. 
I wish this post could be something full of enlightenment, but alas, it's just musing along.  Thanks for reading!


 

Saturday After Dark Presents "True to Her Heart"

 http://theafterdarkworld.blogspot.com
Some may know that back in 2004 I lived in Paris, France, with my boyfriend Brian for four months.  In that time, I wrote Black Leather Pants, which would become my first published novel five years later.  But I also wrote 32 pages of another story that eventually became True to Her Heart. 

TtHH was based on certain events that happened when Brian and I got to Paris, as well as my own voyeuristic encounter.  The first apartment we rented was a shithole so the company offered us another.  We loved the new tiny apartment located on the sixth floor (with no elevators), located right off Rue de Magenta.  And the living room window looked down into the bathroom of my neighbor.  I didn't realize this until one night I was looking at the moon and my very handsome neighbor decided to take a shower.  Now, I realize this was very naughty of me, and it probably was very wrong.  But in my defense, this man had to have known that someone could see him.  The window was too fracking large.  My boyfriend still maintains I was wrong to do this but I bet if it was a naked woman, he'd been watching with binoculars.

So while the voyeurism was correct on my part, he didn't masturbate like Shane does for Molly.  Darn.
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His tight butt had been sculptured by angels because it was so heavenly. Nice, round, firm, she saw the tattoo on his hip curled around to incorporate most of the cheek. It made her want to lick it, to trace the design with her tongue and maybe not stop until she swallowed him down. She’d never been a blow job type of girl but with this man all she pictured was her on her knees in front of him.Turn around, damn it!As if reading her thoughts, the man stepped out of his pants and then slowly, ever so freaking slowly, turned. He gripped his cock and jerked casually on it and Molly felt her mouth falling open in wonder. He was huge. Not hung like a horse huge, thank god, but he could easily be a porn star if he wanted. His cock was long and thick and she couldn’t take her eyes off it. Him. Oh god!He reached over and squirted something in his hand and then she saw him start to masturbate in front of her. He made sure to keep his eyes open, watching her as she watched him, and it was the most erotic thing in her life. Ever. Hands down. Better than all the romance books she read and certainly better than watching HBO.Her body literally throbbed. Her clit throbbed. Her heart throbbed. Even her blood throbbed through her veins. She wanted to touch herself so bad. Would it be wrong to pleasure herself while watching him pleasure himself? Somewhere all the lines of what was right and wrong blurred and her brain screamed at her to do it, slide her hand into her pants and rub herself until she climaxed.And then she realized while she was arguing with her brain her hand had already done it. She lightly touched her clit and her body arched as mind-numbing desire speared through her. She watched as the man tugged on his nipple rings, twisting them a little, which caused his eyes to close for a second. She imagined they had to be a big turn on for him and she’d loved to do that for him, to suck on those rings as he thrust that huge cock up inside her. He opened his eyes again and pinned her with their silvery depth. She saw fire in them, lust. He wanted her and it made her heart pound heavily with the revelation.
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Blurb:  Everyone in her hometown knows that Molly Evain is shy. As a librarian she relates to books better than to people. Quiet, reserved, demure...all words people use to describe her, including her boyfriend. But when he pops the big question, Molly realizes she doesn't want to be those adjectives anymore. What she doesn't know is if she's able to change since she suffers from panic attacks and agoraphobia. In order to give herself time before answering, she decides to take an impromptu vacation to Paris.

A chance encounter puts her in the path of not one, but two handsome men. Rookery Jones is a hockey heartthrob, on vacation to find relaxation and anonymity in Europe. Shane Gordon is the man she is having a voyeuristic romance with through her hotel window. When she realizes both men are best friends and she’s whisked to the French countryside, Rookery and Shane come to terms that they are both falling for the same girl.

But their lives are disrupted by the media attention of their relationship, and Molly doesn’t know if she’s strong enough to handle the attention and publicity. Does she run away, knowing that if she does, she could lose both the men she’s come to love?

Where to buy:  http://www.bookstrand.com/true-to-her-heart
Pre-order now and save 10%!