O.M. Grey's Blog, page 51

Effulgent Sunshine

I'm a huge Whedon fan. HUGE.

I watch Buffy, Angel, Firefly, and Serenity in their entirety every year. At least once, sometimes twice.

Yes. I'm a total geek that way.

For those of you who know Spike, my favorite vampire EVER, you'll be familiar with his poetry:

"My soul is wrapped in harsh repose,

Midnight descends in raven-colored clothes,

But soft… behold!

A sunlight beam

…Butting a swath of glimmering gleam.

My heart expands,

'tis grown a bulge in it,

Inspired by your beauty…

Effulgent."

Now there is a man who can write a love poem!

Effulgent. I loved this word so much, as it was just complete silliness, I just had to find a way to work it into my book Avalon Revisited…

(excerpt from Chapter 2)

"Pleasure," I said, bowing. The ladies curtsied and batted their eyes at me from behind their ornate fans, which matched their outfits perfectly. As did their parasols. They were all the same general age, this was to say between forty and fifty. No doubt their husbands, the honorable barons, were considerably older. Which was why I had my pick of ripe women. It was a good life.

"Won't you join me, ladies?"

"It would be our pleasure," said Lady Bainbridge with a flirtatious spin of her parasol, obviously the boldest of the lot. She was dressed in garish yellow, the color of effulgent sunshine. I feared the brightness of her dress would dust me on the spot.

Lady Hamilton was thankfully dressed in a more muted shade of soft pink. Their colorful celebration of springtime no doubt made me look like a deep hole hidden among the blossoms, hoping for someone to misstep and twist their ankle while gathering flowers.

I stepped back to let them sit upon the blanket, and I took the back corner closest to the trees for myself. It was shady enough that the ladies no longer needed their parasols, so they collapsed them and laid them down.

"Lovely day," Lady Bainbridge offered, settling in. She curled her legs to the side, allowing her ankle to scandalously peek out from beneath her lemon skirts. Even with the high boots, ladies were not to show their ankles in public. This woman was indeed bold and quite open to seduction.

"It certainly is," I replied, pretending not to notice.

"Dreadful news from the party last night," Lady Bainbridge said. "Were you in attendance, Arthur?" She reached down to the edge of her skirt and paused, forcing my eyes there. Then she covered herself completely with the sunny ruffles.

"I was, Lady Bainbridge," I answered, snapping my eyes back to hers. She smiled, knowing she had my attention. "I was quite shocked to see the headlines this morning. Did you notice anything amiss?"

"Not at all, Lord York."

"Please, call me Arthur. I have always been uncomfortable with titles."

"Then you must call me Emily," insisted Lady Bainbridge.

"And me Hazel," Lady Hamilton added, blushing to a shade much deeper than her dress. She looked down at her hands delicately folded in her lap over her collapsed fan.

"Of course. Now that we are all confidants, what do you make of such news, Arthur?" Lady Bainbridge asked, pulling my attention back to her. She wasn't used to sharing attention, but I was quite intrigued by Lady Hamilton. She certainly would pose much more of a challenge.

-_Q

Avalon Revisited will be once again available on Amazon.com and wherever books are sold starting next week. Check back for updates!

Filed under: News & Reviews Tagged: amazon, arthur, paranormal romance, steampunk, vampires

If I Had Known…

If I had known it would be the last

I would have held you longer,

Slipping my arms around you,

Pulling you close to me, too,

Placing my cheek on your chest,

Stroking your hair, watching you rest.

If I had only known.

If I had known it would fade so fast

I would have kissed you deeper,

Absorbing your lips' softness,

Losing myself in your kiss.

Drinking in all your desire,

Refusing to quench the fire.

If I had only known.

If I had known it would be the last

I would have stayed through the night,

Holding on to every breath

As if it would mean my death

To let you go.

If I had only known.

Filed under: Lost in the Aether Tagged: poetry, romance

Atlanta & NOLA Comic Con

Last weekend I attended Atlanta Comic Con (Wizard World) and had the great pleasure of getting to know Steampunk author Nick Valentino (author of the great Steampunk adventure tale Thomas Riley). Our neighboring tables in Artist Alley made up the bulk of the Steampunk contingent at Atlanta Comic Con, and we had a blast together. It was freezing inside the convention center, so Mr. Valentino, being the dapper gentleman he is, lent me his fine wool coat (below left).

Saturday evening, Nick and I met with the fabulous Dr. Q (pictured above on the left with Mr. Valentino and Steampunk Boba Fett) and the lovely Taloola Love for drinks at the world famous Brick Store Pub in Decatur.

Unfortunately, steamy Steampunk author Elizabeth Darvill was unable to attend, but I hope that both authors will be joining me for NOLA Comic Con in January 2011.

Which brings me to the next part of this post: my next event!

I am very excited to announce that I will be in attendance somewhere in Artist Alley for the New Orleans Comic Con next year! Not only is New Orleans an awesome town, one which I am always thrilled to visit, but I just found out that both James Marsters AND Julie Benz will be in attendance as well!

Come by and get your author-signed copy of Avalon Revisited.

See you there!

Filed under: Events & Contests Tagged: author visit, convention, steampunk

All I See Is Your Absence

When I awake each morning,

I do not see the sunrise.

I do not see autumn leaves

Swirling around in the breeze.

All I see is your absence.

My ears, deaf to the bird's song,

Deaf to the wind in the trees.

They cannot hear the music

Of the life surrounding me.

All they hear is your silence.

My mind returns to your lips,

But I no longer feel them.

My skin, longing for your touch,

Has forgotten your caress.

All it feels is your distance.

I start a new empty day

Hoping to fill it with you

Hoping to find a way back

To see the heat in your eyes,

But all I see is your absence.

Filed under: Lost in the Aether Tagged: poetry, romance

Poetry

Poetry is in the language

But my language has no poetry

Filed under: Lost in the Aether Tagged: poetry

Steampunk Spotlight: Weatherbred

This week we visit the beautiful jewelry of Weatherbred.

-_Q

☞ Weatherbred on ETSY. ☜

-_Q

If you like it, buy something … or at the very least, tell a friend about it.

Share via your social networks.

Etsy has a wonderful "share" feature to the right of every item. Use it.

-_Q

Buy Handmade. Support Artists Now.

How about you?

-_Q

Do you make Steampunk-something?

Would you like to be a part of this Steampunk Spotlight?

Contact Olivia to submit your handmade product.

Filed under: Steampunk Spotlight Tagged: etsy, jewelry, steampunk

If you were coming…

If you were coming in the fall,

I'd brush the summer by

With half a smile and half a spurn,

As housewives do a fly.

If I could see you in a year,

I'd wind the months in balls,

And put them each in separate drawers,

Until their time befalls.

If only centuries delayed,

I'd count them on my hand,

Subtracting till my fingers dropped

Into Van Diemens land.

If certain, when this life was out,

That yours and mine should be,

I'd toss it yonder like a rind,

And taste eternity.

But now, all ignorant of the length

Of time's uncertain wing,

It goads me, like the goblin bee,

That will not state its sting.

~Emily Dickenson

 

Filed under: Lost in the Aether Tagged: poetry

Steampunk Spotlight: Zeppelin Dreams

Below is the first part of my latest short story. It's a tragic romance that gets quite steamy in the second half. There is also light adult content in the first half, so be warned.

Leave a comment below and share it to get the free code to read the rest.

ZEPPELIN DREAMS

She lay on the floor, a zeppelin between her legs. That was what the ladies called it at tea parties. It was an inside joke, as in "My last zeppelin ride was quite the adventure." It was code for sex, mostly, but it also referred to the machines doctors used to relieve a lady's hysteria. Ever since a psychiatrist first had helped her ease her own hysteria with a zeppelin, she kept one around. They had greatly improved over the past twenty-years; the clockwork driven machine now lasted much longer. Lilah's was the latest style of zeppelin, shaped more or less like its namesake. It was not for insertion, after all, just clitoral stimulation. Handy little gadgets, they were, especially when one did not want to go through all the trouble of coitus. After twenty-five years of marriage, it was mostly just a mess to clean up. Her husband was even less interested in sex than she was, if that was possible. And it must be, for if they ever made love, it was she who went to him.

But she was tired of that.

She wanted to be taken, dominated. She wanted to be longed for, desired.

She had rarely used her zeppelin anymore, for her interest in such carnal delights had waned considerably over the past few years, that is, until she met him.

"Joshua." His name passed through her lips in an after sigh as her hips rested back against the floor and her muscles relaxed. She could already feel a soreness in the back of her throat where she had screamed his name, moments earlier, into her handkerchief. She had to ensure that she was mostly alone when she rode her zeppelin. Her husband had gone for his daily walk, so it had been the perfect opportunity. Still, she was careful not to be too loud, just in case.

The iron vibrator, cool against her heated thighs, slid out of her hands. As she lay there catching her breath, she went over that night again in her mind. All these weeks later, she could still feel his nearness. The single kiss he had placed on her neck had kept her heated for days. His warm breath, body pressed close, the volumes left unsaid. It had sustained her. Allowed her to go on, counting every moment until she could see him again. Longing to see his lips, wet with Scotch, and aching to taste them.

She had held on to every detail and used the lingering ardor when she pleasured herself, allowing the unrequited desire between them to fuel her fantasies.

Her every thought was consumed with him, even though she knew it was wrong.

Perhaps because it was wrong. She wanted more.

More. More. More.

More than he could give. More than she could give. The more attention he showed her, the more she wanted. The less attention he showed her, the more she wanted. It would never be enough until their desire had destroyed them both.

Her passion had become an obsession.

Now came the embarrassment. It was never far behind. Middle-aged and aging further everyday. This entire business was far beneath her, to behave like the proverbial school girl. She sat up and pulled her skirts down over her knees. She longed to wilt into obscurity, fade from this world. Dissolve into a thin mist. Be as invisible as she felt.

It had to end. She knew this in her fractured soul, for her very sanity was at stake.

Then the tears came. The fear.

What if her husband discovered her in such a position? Or the housekeeper?

She would be mortified beyond repair.

Yet the lust engulfed her, again and again. She tried to keep it at bay. She tried to busy herself with needlepoint or reading or anything else, but the all-consuming need would not die. Then she would return to the darkened attic to take care of her needs. Alone. She quite literally could not control herself.

The morning light filtered in from the solitary attic window at the opposite side of the room. After her eyes adjusted to the light, they caught sight of her hands. They were not the smooth, pale hands of her youth. They were her mother's hands. Perhaps even her grandmother's. Thin skin hung too loosely over her fragile bones, and she swore even its brightness had faded over the years. Just as the rosiness in her cheeks, all except when she blushed from her own foolishness. Her shame colored her cheeks like a rosy maid, yet it was less becoming on a woman her age.

She ran those withering hands down her body, trying to remember what it was like to be cherished by a lover. Her breasts, still full and relatively firm, were not what they once had been. And they never would be again. Her hips and thighs, shapely, supple, and still quaking slightly from her phantom lover, were not those of a young woman. But they were not those of an old woman yet either.

The limbo of middle-age imprisoned her, for she would never be what she had once been. She would just continue to age, continue to become less and less appealing.  A past full of promise and unrealized dreams haunted her. Her future…mediocrity, then death.

Lilah had been married at eighteen to a man twelve years her senior. She had been a maid, of course, and her husband was a good man. He had been a good father and provider, too. After three children and nearly twenty-five years of marriage, she certainly had thought the days of anyone yearning to touch her were long past.

Then Joshua came into her life. They had only met a few times, but they had an indescribable connection between them that extended past basic lust. It was intellectual and soulful in addition to sexual desire, quite the dangerous mix. He had found a way to get her alone during the last social gathering. They had just been talking, enjoying the other's company as they had in the past. Innocent. Just conversation.

Until that night.

He had led her to a remote garden and embraced her there to say goodnight. Nothing else was spoken. No words of longing or love, just an embrace and a single kiss on her cheek.

Then another on her neck.

They said farewell and parted. Simple. Brief. Yet it was this restrained embrace that changed everything between them.

His kiss on her neck still burned her skin. She still felt the building heat between them on that cold evening, even all those long nights later.

"Joshua," she breathed. His face once again filled her thoughts. She caressed every angle of it with her mind. Dark eyes. Dark hair extending down into long sideburns along a strong jaw. His bottom lip fuller than the top, begging to be tasted and licked and sucked between her own…

——  -_Q ——

READ MORE by leaving a comment and sharing it on Twitter and/or Facebook:

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Filed under: Steampunk Spotlight Tagged: gothic, romance, short story, steampunk, victorian

Austin Comic Con

Xander is totally hot. Seriously. I mean smoking, steamy hot.

I had the pleasure of watching Mr. Nicholas Brendon, the actor who played Xander Harris on Buffy the Vampire Slayer, along with many other celebrities walk the aisles of Austin Comic Con (Formerly Wizard World Texas) this past weekend.

I didn't, however, pay the $60 to get a picture taken with him. I'll save that chunk of change for when I meet James Marsters.

Along with my fellow Blue Moose Press authors Ethan Rose and Robert Stikmanz, we talked to fans, posed for dozens of pictures, and signed lots of books this weekend at the Blue Moose Press dealer booth.

In fact, I had such a great time at Austin Comic Con, that I've decided to attend both Atlanta Comic Con and New Orleans Comic Con in the coming months. Keep an eye on my "Sightings" page for more appearances in 2011.

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: avalon, convention, cosplay

You Belong in the Darkness with Me.

You belong in the darkness with me.

Steal away to the darkness with me.

Together we will banish all light

And hold each other through the pain.

Together we will kindle the fire

To illuminate the darkness

Within and around and throughout us.

You belong in the darkness with me.

Steal away to the darkness with me.

Kiss me there, when I cannot see you,

When I can only feel your lips,

When I can only feel your hands

Caress me, tease me, and taunt me.

Whisper that it's only a dream.

You belong in the darkness with me.

Steal away to the darkness with me.

Let's slip away out of this time,

To one where you can breathe my name,

To one where you can whisper 'My Darling,'

Where our secret passion may prevail,

Where we revel in our darkest dreams.

You belong in the darkness with me.

~O. M. Grey

Filed under: Lost in the Aether Tagged: paranormal romance, poetry