S.L. Armstrong's Blog, page 13

Lending Ebooks — My Thoughts

I had promised myself I wouldn’t even touch upon the topic. And, for the most part, I won’t. Not about LendInk itself. Plenty of other people have done that already. But, there are some disturbing thoughts being bandied about by authors. I haven’t seen those thoughts from authors in my own genre, but I thought I’d still put my own thoughts out there.

My question to authors—both in my genre and outside it—is, how many of you, from the time you began to read to now, have bought every book you’ve ever read? Yeah, no one. No one does that. Throughout our lives, we borrow books from friends and libraries. You can’t take advantage of those resources while also demanding no one be allowed to borrow your book—be it print or digital.

Amazon and Barnes & Noble have lending programs in place for their digital books. I think this is brilliant. I also don’t think it’s ‘against the spirit’ of the program to use services like LendInk and Lendle to borrow books from strangers. I have dozens of books I’ve bought that I’ll never use the lending license for because my friends tend to buy the same books, so why shouldn’t someone benefit from that one lend? It makes no sense.

Especially when you think about what lending does for an author’s career. Most of the multiple books authors I have in my paperback library or on my Kindle all began life as a simple lend from a friend or family member. One loan of a Stephen King book turned into a lifetime love of the author, and I buy a lot of his books. For my husband, he borrowed a Terry Pratchett book years ago, and he now buys everything the man publishes. In 9th grade, I borrowed Neil Gaiman’s Preludes and Nocturnes from my best friend, and I have been a lifelong Gaiman fan, buying everything Gaiman puts out.

This is how authors gain readers. A borrow turns into autobuys. In this economy, borrowing is how we test drive new authors. I don’t have endless money to waste on hack authors who publish their first draft or have publishers who take hands off approaches to editing (or, many times, simply have no concept of how to edit). I can’t waste my small book budget on books I won’t finish. Borrowing a book helps me learn a publisher or an author, and it will either lead me to avoiding them, or lead me down a buying binge. That’s how an author makes money on a loan: you write a great book, I borrow it, I fall in love with your voice, and then I buy all your books.

Now, not all authors and not all publishers enable lending for their books. I find this a terrible travesty for readers as lending is one of those great perks of owning a book you love: you want to share it. But, that is a choice authors and publishers must make for themselves, but I don’t think being stingy with books is a way to endear yourself to readers. Readers are already wary of ebooks. Let’s not give them more reason to reject the format.

Recipe Monday: Tomato and Shallot Salad

During the hottest days here in Florida during the summer, I hate turning on my stove or my oven. Hate it. It can make my apartment go from a relatively comfortable 73F to an uncomfortably hot 78F-80F. So, if I can help it, I skip the stove/oven thing. Which means there’s a lot of salads and cold soups and chilled seafood. One of the salads the husband-thing loves was something I threw together late one night with what I had on hand. It’s tangy and lovely and perfect for a hot afternoon with a pile of cold shrimp and a tall glass of iced tea.

Ingredients

3 large, ripe tomatoes, seeded, cut into large chunks

3-4 shallots, thinly sliced

1 English cucumber, cut into large chunks

8oz package mozzarella pearls

1/4C red wine vinegar

2TBSP oil of your choice

salt & pepper

Take your thinly sliced shallots and soak them in the red wine vinegar. This helps to soften the sometimes sharp taste of the shallots. While those soak, seed and chop your tomatoes, chop the cucumber, drain the mozzarella. In a large mixing bowl, add the vinegar and shallots, tomatoes, cucumber, mozzarella, and oil, seasoning with salt and pepper. While this is delicious immediately, letting it chill in the fridge for two to four hours makes it stunningly good.

It’s sharp in the vinegar department, but I’m a huge fan of vinegar, so most of my salads are sharp. If you prefer it a little less sharp, add more oil and hold back some of the vinegar.

Another “On the Edge” Teaser

So, next Friday, Fraternal Devotion comes out. (If you haven’t already, go over and pre-order the anthology before the price goes up on the 17th!) K. Piet and I have a short story in that one called On the Edge with fraternal twins Andrew and Ben. It’s all about Andrew’s struggle with his relationship with Ben, who he’s been lovers with since they were fourteen. Their story is a dark, angry one that ends on a happy, hopeful note, and I’m going to give you a final sneak peek before release day.

—

Ben was down on the dance floor, and he could have been made of sparkling gold and glittering sapphires with the way heads turned to follow him. Ben was probably oblivious to the attention, but from his perch, Andrew could see everything. Every last fucking depressing detail.

Ben had gotten glitzed up for tonight; he’d made a special effort, and Andrew just knew it was going to pay off. His twin was fucking gorgeous without any help, and the extra time Ben had spent on his appearance just made the men flock to him. It was like a fresh piece of meat being dangled above a room full of circling wildcats. Sooner or later, someone was going to pounce. The thought made Andrew’s mood even blacker, and he threw back a shot of Everclear. He wanted to get drunk. He wanted to forget the mess his life had become.

“Hey there, rainy skies.”

Andrew wanted to be left the fuck alone. He glanced darkly over his shoulder for a moment, and then looked at the dance floor again, fully intending to ignore the twink of a guy next to him. Probably high on something. The guy was far too friendly for his own good.

“Aww, not even a hello?” The man didn’t sound deterred in the slightest. “You might be the little black raincloud hovering under the honey tree, but I bet I could put a smile on your face, if you let me.”

Andrew practically growled. He didn’t want a damn pick-me-up; he wanted Ben. He wondered if Ben could possibly feel the heat coming from his gaze. An itch on his back, maybe? Something that would make him brush off the two men who were getting really friendly with him on the dance floor. Movement caught Andrew’s eye at the corner of his vision, and he glanced over to see the twink moving in close, looking down at the crowd with him. Not just next to him, but with him.

“Mmm… pretty-boy down there yours?” The twink turned away from the railing and leaned back against it, trying to catch his eye. Andrew gave in and met the gaze, his own eyes filled with annoyance. The young, brunet man wasn’t unattractive. Hell, he even had really nice green eyes—green that he could see in the club lighting, which was kind of impressive. But, no matter how cute the guy was, his endless cheer just made him want to smack the smile off his face and have another shot of hard liquor. A brown eyebrow was arched at him. “Or maybe he was, and you’re both available now? Well, Golden Boy down there isn’t my type. If you feel like trading the ‘fuck you’ sign off your forehead for a pair of wings, I’ll hook you up.” A grin curved his lips as he looked Andrew up and down. “And more, if you like.”

The Next Best Thing Blog Challenge

I nabbed this little meme from Angelia Sparrow and Erastes.

1) Answer the 10 questions below.

2) Spread the fun.

1. What is the title of your book / WIP?

My solo WIP is Human Rights.

2. Where did the idea of the book come from?

Watching an episode of Family Guy where humans were the pets and dogs were the dominant species. I took it a step further, placing felines and canines (mainly big cats and wolves) as the dominant species with humans the pets they keep.

3. What genre would your book fall under?

Fantasy and furry. XD My first real furry title, actually. I always said I would never want to write such characters, but… I have been taught the lesson to never say never.

4. Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?

Actually, I almost never invision real people playing the characters I write. I’ve sat here for fifteen minutes trying to think of someone, but… nope. Nada. I’m also not really aware of actors anymore. I almost never watch current films, so… yeah. Out of touch here.

5. What is the one sentence synopsis of your book?

Humanoid canines and felines keep humans as pets, but there are those among them believe that their pets should be treated as sentient, autonomous equals.

6. Is your book published or represented?

Human Rights should come out from Storm Moon Press in late spring of 2013.

7. How long did it take you to write it?

I’m still writing it. I’m just over 1/4 of the way through it. I hope to take the fall to focus on finishing it up. If I focus, I can writing in a four to six weeks. But, life has a way of not cooperating. >.>

8. What other books in your genre would you compare it to?

Umm… none? XD I think this one is pretty unique to the genre.

9. Which authors inspired you to write this book?

None.

10. Tell us anything else that might pique our interest in your book.

This is the sort of story that I hope will make readers think about what I present them. There are several themes I’m trying to wind into this story, from innocence to what it means to be an individual to loving one that society says you shouldn’t–or can’t–love. It presents more as a D/s tale, but it’s not. The imbalance of power is imposed by society, and the love story is how both Ewan and Jiat can reach a more equal ground while challenging and changing the society they live in. It’s more than a love story, more than social commentary, and it’s far more than I thought it would be when I dreamed up the story itself. I hope readers enjoy it.

Recipe Monday: Shredded Beef, Cilantro-Lime Rice, & Black Beans

Around here, there’s a take away chain called Qdoba. They serve these awesome burritos with yummy cilantro-lime rice and black beans. They also don’t use the greatest meats, and so it’s pretty fatty, not to mention expensive. Friday night, I decided to try and create those flavors at home. I think I did even better than Qdoba, quite honestly, and the only funds I was out was for some fresh ingredients!

Ingredients for Barbacoa

1lb shredded sirloin tip roast (I use leftovers)

1C chopped onion

4 limes

2TBSP chopped cilantro stems and bottom leaves

2tsp cumin

1tsp salt

1tsp garlic powder

1/2tsp pepper

1C water

Start by taking your leftover sirloin tip roast and shredding it. Add onions and cilantro into a large pan with 1/2C of water. Cook over medium heat until soft and water is evaporated. Add in the shredded beef, juice of two limes, remaining water, and all the spices. Mix, cover, simmer for 30 minutes. After thirty minutes, add in the juice of two more limes, stir.

Ingredients for Cilantro-Lime Rice

2C instant rice

2C water

1 lime

2TBSP chopped cilantro

1TBSP butter

1tsp salt

Slice off ends of limes. Cut lime into slices, halve those slices. In a 2qt pot, add butter and melt. Add cilantro and limes, smashing the limes a bit as you stir. Add salt and water. Bring to a boil. Add rice, bring back to the boil, cover, remove from heat. Let sit for 5 minutes. Fluff with fork.

Ingredients for Black Beans

8oz black beans

1 chipped onion

2TBSP cilantro (usually, I divide my bunch of cilantro into threes when making this, easiest way to do it)

1 lime

1tsp salt

1tsp cumin

1/2tsp garlic powder

1/4tsp pepper

1/4C water

In a small skillet over medium heat, saute onions and 1TBSP cilantro. When onions are soft, add in all spices and lime juice. Cook for a minute, and then dump in your beans. Stir to coat, add water. Cook over medium heat until water evaporates.

—

In our house, we use big burrito wraps and fill them with the rice, beans, and meat, and then top them with sour cream, cheese, lettuce, cilantro, and black olives, giving a final splash of lime before rolling them up. This is an awesome way to use what’s leftover and what’s in the pantry. So good! Go! Make it!

Free Fiction: Hard Deadline (NSFW)

So, K. Piet and I, for Pants Off Reviews first blogiversary, decided to allow commenters to throw single line dialogue our way and we’d compile those and work them into an original short. And that’s just what we did. Darien provided the scenario, the commenters provided a dozen lines of dialogue, and K. Piet and I provided the hot little short between a code monkey and his boss. Enjoy!

***

Title: Hard Deadline

Authors: S.L. Armstrong & K. Piet

Websites: SLArmstrong.net & KPiet.net

Blogs: S.L. Armstrong at WordPress & K. Piet at WordPress

Disclaimer: All rights reserved. No part of this story may be reproduced or shared in any form, including, but not limited to printing, photocopying, faxing, or emailing, except for quotations included in critical articles and/or reviews, without prior written permission from the authors.

Dedication: To Darien Moya at Pants Off Reviews. It’s been an awesome year, and we hope the next one is only better for you!

—

Elliot rubbed at his eyes one more time. They were dry and sore, dammit, and he wanted to leave the conference room and run to his desk. At least there he had some Excedrin and Visine. Christ, if he was going feel like he was hung over, he should be given the most basic of remedies. Neil’s voice was sharp, calling his attention back to his boss. “I need an energy drink or more coffee or a drip of pure adrenaline,” he sighed, stretching in his chair. “It’s two in the morning, Neil.”

“And we roll the launch out at eight, so we’re not going anywhere tonight.” Neil stood up, tall and lean. Elliot’s eyes moved down the length of Neil’s body where the cloth of a dress shirt and business slacks hung in all the right ways. “I’ll send John out.”

“John’s asleep.” Elliot pointed at the kid—who couldn’t be more than twenty—who was asleep at the desk outside the conference room. “Which is exactly where I’d like to be.”

“In bed?”

Elliot’s head snapped up. Had he heard Neil right? That edge to his voice, and was that heat in his eyes? He was sure they’d been dancing around something for weeks, ever since Neil had promoted him, but he wasn’t sure. And he wasn’t going to do anything to find out because he valued his job. He wasn’t just some code monkey anymore. “Yeah, in bed.” He couldn’t help the smirk that found its way to his lips. “But you’re keeping me from it.”

Neil shook his head and picked up the phone. He dialed three numbers, and John jerked awake. “We need energy drinks and food.” A pause. “We’re in New York City. Something is open and selling food.” He let the phone drop back into the cradle, an arrogant quirk to his eyebrow.

“You like being the boss, don’t you?” Elliot snapped.

“Yes, I do.” Neil crossed his arms. “You like not being a lackey anymore, don’t you?”

Elliot snorted. “I haven’t been a lackey in years, Neil. I was senior developer before you made me project manager. Which, by the way, I still don’t understand.” Thunder rumbled outside, and Elliot stood up, went to the window. “Great, you sent John out into a damn thunderstorm. Poor kid.”

“He’ll survive.” Neil’s voice was closer now, and the hairs on the back of Elliot’s neck stood on end. Neil had to be right behind him. That voice… fuck, what it did to Elliot’s self-control. “I love thunderstorms,” Neil all but purred behind Elliot.

“What do you like about them?” Elliot asked, and was that his voice that had gone all husky?

Neil chuckled. “The power. The darkness. The brightness.”

“You like power.” God, how close was Neil to him now? “You like challenges to that power?”

Neil’s lips were close to his ear now, and the heat of his words traveled right to Elliot’s cock. “Be careful, Elliot; you might not be able to handle what happens. Power is a wild, untamed thing.”

Elliot licked his lips and wondered if the movement could be seen in his reflection. He didn’t dare move, even if his words were a whole hell of a lot bolder. “I can handle anything you throw my way, boss.”

“That’s not what you said last night,” Neil countered, and Elliot swore there was just a hint of challenge there. Was he supposed to take the bait? Should he just ignore it? What kind of game did Neil have in mind, and would it cost him his job if he fucked it up?

He swallowed thickly before glancing over his shoulder, trying to keep his tone light. “Yeah, well, that was when before I brilliantly came up with the solutions to the five issues we were having with the code.” The others had given up and gone home, but he’d been determined to see the project through and ensure they didn’t blow past their deadline. He deserved a raise, dammit, or at least a hefty bonus for all this overtime.

“I used to think you were so innocent…” Neil’s eyes were dark, sultry even, and Elliot couldn’t look away. “But now, I think there’s a side to you that you haven’t shown me.”

“You see what you want to see,” Elliot tried to say nonchalantly, but his voice cracked halfway through, and he silently cursed himself.

Neil chuckled, and the sound went directly to Elliot’s groin. “I want to see more. I want to see what strange things make you weak. Tell me your secrets, Elliot.”

It was an order, and Elliot didn’t know if he had the strength to deny him. He opened his mouth, and then closed it. After doing that three times, he just decided he should stop trying. Neil’s grin was just growing broader by the second, and part of him didn’t like giving him the satisfaction.

“Need a little help with words? I bet I can inspire you.”

Before Elliot could formulate any kind of protest, Neil’s hands were on him, pressing through his dress shirt all the way down to his slacks. His eyes widened, and he failed to swallow back a gasp as the hands moved forward and up his front. One hand trailed down his arm, and then Neil grabbed his wrist, and brought his fingers up to his mouth.

His heart was thundering in his chest, and he spoke in order to keep from squeaking. “Don’t go putting that in your mouth,” he warned shakily. “You have no idea where it’s been.”

“Maybe not.” Neil smirked at him. “But I know where it will be,” he purred, and then he drew two of Elliot’s fingers between his lips.

“Oh, fuck,” Elliot breathed, lust coiling low in his gut. “I can’t believe it’s not butter!”

Neil pulled back, brow furrowed. “What?”

A flush bloomed bright and hot on Elliot’s cheeks. “I mean—I—Who the hell cares?” He cupped Neil’s face and brought their lips together in a deep, hungry kiss. He’d wanted to do this since Neil had hired him, and if Neil was game, he was going to take every ounce his boss offered up.

Their hands made short work of ties, shirts, and trousers. Neil kicked off his wingtips while Elliot took off socks and loafers. It wasn’t long before Elliot’s hands were on Neil’s boxers, yanking them down, exposing Neil’s gorgeous, uncut cock. He licked his lips. “Gorgeous,” he whispered before drawing his tongue up the hot, hard length of Neil.

He’d only managed two good licks when Neil’s hands fisted in his hair, jerked his mouth away. “Seriously, if you touch it again, it will explode,” Neil panted, his eyes wild.

Elliot rose, kicking his own boxers from around his ankles. “Anything we can use for lube in here?”

Neil’s eyes darted down to look at Elliot’s cock. Elliot puffed up his chest a bit as Neil swallowed. “I’ll be bending you over the conference table, right?”

“No.” Elliot pumped himself. He was proud of the size of his cock. No one expected the thickness or length from some geeky coder in an unremarkable cubicle. “I don’t think so.”

“Are you kidding me?” Neil shook his head, a nervous smile on his lips. “That thing would have me singing soprano for days!”

Elliot gave Neil’s ass a sharp slap. “Find some lube, Neil, or I’m just going to spit in my hand.”

The soft curse that Neil emitted brought a broad grin to Elliot’s face, and he crossed his arms and watched Neil run across the length of the room to the mini fridge. He moved a hell of a lot quicker than Elliot had ever thought possible from a man with such broad shoulders. He eyed those shoulders, let his gaze wander down the line of Neil’s spine to his ass. His cock twitched in anticipation.

Elliot’s face contorted when Neil held up a Tupperware filled with some sort of oily mixture. A salad dressing? The questioning look thrown over Neil’s shoulder told him Neil had no clue either. “It looks odd. Why is it so gray?”

“It’s been that way for a while?” Neil guessed. “Fermentation?”

“Eww!” Elliot laughed. “You don’t know where that’s been! No fucking way I’m smearing that on my cock.”

Neil tossed the container back into the fridge, all but slamming the door. Elliot could see the wheels turning in Neil’s head, the quiet consideration and weighing of options. Neil was the analytical type, a boss that saw a million different details and was able to catalog them and file them away in his brain just in case he needed them. Didn’t matter that their situation was out of the ordinary; Neil was obviously on the hunt, his eyes scanning the conference room for anything else that would do. Time was ticking. John would be back God knew when, and Elliot was sure Neil didn’t want to be caught mid-reaming by the gopher.

A grunt of displeasure, and Neil made a beeline for the door, passing by Elliot along the way. “There’s nothing else in here, dammit.”

Elliot shook his head, following him with quick steps, his stride a bit shorter than Neil’s. He leaned against the door frame, his arms crossed as he watched Neil rummage through the bottom drawer of John’s desk. His eyebrows rose when Neil stopped short and held up a ridiculous stuffed animal.

“Okay, can you tell me why the kitten has purple polka dots?” Neil asked before tossing the furry plush haphazardly over his shoulder. He obviously didn’t expect an answer, which just made Elliot chuckle. Neil grunted his triumph when he held up a tube of lube and a condom.

“What the…? John? Here at the office?” Elliot chuckled. “He wouldn’t be the only one, but still. You knew?”

Neil straightened, and then yanked him back into the conference room. “Nothing happens in this office without my knowledge.”

Elliot fought not to shiver, and when their lips collided again, he battled Neil for dominance until his lips ached and his persistence won out. He snatched the lube and condom from Neil and bit at Neil’s throat, inhaling the scent of aftershave and pure, masculine musk.

Furious kissing led to a small duel of whom would be on top of whom, and Elliot wasn’t about to give his boss that particular satisfaction. Well, not yet, at least. He bit Neil’s lip before he spun him around, pressing Neil’s bulkier, broader frame face first against the conference table. “Stay,” he ground out.

“I’m not a dog.”

Elliot laughed, the sound deep and dark. “You would look lovely in a collar.”

“Watch it.” Neil glared over his shoulder. “I’m still your boss.”

“I know, which is going to make this so damn good.” Elliot rolled the condom down his cock and squeezed the tube of lube. A peel of thunder sounded, and then Neil’s shout filled the room. Elliot buried himself to the hilt in one swift, sure thrust. “Fuck!”

Neil’s breath rasped in and out. “Christ, Elliot. Not much for foreplay?”

“Not when John could be back any minute.” Elliot’s rhythm was fast, hard, the sound of his flesh meeting Neil’s loud, wet, and he groaned. Oh, hell, he wouldn’t last long. He was going to embarrass the hell out of himself by coming too soon. “God, so tight. No wonder… you’re such an asshole.”

Neil pushed back, met him thrust for thrust. “Fuck you.”

“Mmm.” Elliot grinned as he watched himself moving in and out of Neil. “Too busy fucking you, boss man.”

It was everything his wet dreams had been. Neil bent over the conference table, moaning and clutching at the high polished top, and Elliot’s cock plowing his tight hole. God, how was he going to keep working here without getting a hard-on every time he saw Neil? Screw it. He’d worry about that after they rolled out the new version of the shopping cart. Right now, he just wanted to come. He reached around and took Neil in hand, and he pumped as fast as he fucked. It was furious and base and, oh, God, he was going to come!

Elliot threw his head back and let loose a shout as his hips snapped forward, milked the moment for all it was worth. Neil’s shout of climax was a distant sound compared to the pounding of his own heartbeat and the next rumble of thunder. When he came back to himself, his brow was pressed to Neil’s sweaty back, his hand covered in come, and he felt the best he had in, at least, a month. He shook his head, letting go of Neil to hold the condom tight as he pulled back.

“Fucking hell,” Elliot groaned, flopping back into the nearest chair. “I needed that.”

Neil stood, turned, and leaned against the table. He was flushed, covered in sweat, and Elliot just wanted to fuck him all over again. “So did I. It took me a while to figure out that those side-long looks of yours weren’t wishful thinking on my part.”

“I dropped every hint I knew of!” Elliot tossed the condom into the waste basket. “Six months! I could have fucked you six months ago!”

“Yeah.” Neil laughed. “If you’d just asked me.”

Elliot let a laugh bark out of him. “Bastard.”

“I didn’t get to be the CEO of this company any other way.”

They dressed in relative silence, and then Neil ducked out of the room. As Elliot was buttoning up his shirt, he saw Neil walk through the main office space with a step ladder. “Er… where are you going with that ladder?” he called, leaning out the conference room door.

“Do you want security to see the video of you banging my ass?” Neil smirked when Elliot blinked. “Didn’t think so.”

By the time Neil came back, John had come and gone, leaving them with bags from some local joint. It was odd packaging, and Elliot poked at it. Neil raised an eyebrow. “Is that a big pizza pie in the sky that the cowboy is riding toward?” he asked, pointing to the logo and motif on the bag.

Elliot rolled his eyes. “No, the moon doesn’t look like a big pizza pie; that’s just your Italian wolfy hunger speaking. Eat. It’ll look like a moon again.”

“I’m not Italian.” Neil sat in the chair beside Elliot and snagged the bag closest to him. “My family is Irish.”

“Are they?” Elliot opened up his hamburger, eyes sparkling. “I look forward to meeting this Irish family of yours… and getting to know you a lot better.”

Neil rolled his eyes and plucked a fry from the bag. “You’re fired.”

Elliot laughed again. “Anything you say, boss man.”

The End

Mythos of Angels, or Angels Smex It Up, Too

It’s been pointed out in several reviews (and in general reader discussions) that some readers have issues with erotic books starring angels. For some reason, there’s a prevailing thought that angels are these genderless, sexless, pure-as-light beings, and I have to disagree. Like… heavily disagree. That’s not the Biblical mythos at all, and my angels tend to be based on that mythos, and then expanded upon (such as, my angels have bird-like qualities).

I don’t think angels are genderless. In fact, I tend to subscribe to the idea that all angels are male. Canonically speaking, the angels we’re presented with are all male. Male names. Male figures. Male everything. Now, as we’ve gone on, mankind has inserted female angels into the ranks, but I think that’s more progressive thinking than Biblical truth. (Admittedly, I am not Christian and don’t subscribe to their beliefs, but I’ve done a lot of research on Biblical angels.) This, to me, is a direct reflection on the roots of Christianity being a male-based religion, dominated by the male presence, from a masculine God to masculine angels to masculine heroes. (Also, check out Genesis 6:2 where angels are referred to, specifically, as the ‘sons of God’.)

Sexless. As in, non-erotic. This, too, I think, is an odd opinion to take considering the angels—when the human race was young—bred with human females and created the nephilim. It’s part of the Noah’s ark story. The angels thought human females beautiful and wanted to be sexual with them. They were sexual, which led to the conception and birth of the nephilim (Chapter 6 of Genesis goes into that story). These were giant hybrids of angels and man. The angels got their freak on, and then God got pissed. God flooded the world and destroyed them before forbidding the angels to do it again. So, angels, to my reading and interpretation, were/are very sexual creatures with sexual appetites—appetites God instilled them with.

The pure-as-light idea is silly to me. Angels are without free will. They don’t possess souls. They were created to be extensions of God, to do His Will outside and inside of Heaven. They’re also cruel, murdering jerks half the time. Not only will they screw with man, but they screwed with each other, too. Depending on what you believe, there was the angel uprising in Heaven when God created man. When God’s love turned from the angels to man, Lucifer wasn’t happy. He rebelled. He became the source of evil in the world along with his fallen brethren. I tend to think angels were wonderfully summed up by Thomas in the movie Prophecy: Did you ever notice how in the Bible, whenever God needed to punish someone, or make an example, or whenever God needed a killing, he sent an angel? Did you ever wonder what a creature like that must be like? A whole existence spent praising your God, but always with one wing dipped in blood. Would you ever really want to see an angel?

To me, given the varied mythos we’re presented with, angels are complex, sexual, vital creatures, serving a purpose they can’t escape while loving their creator with the kind of purity and devotion that comes only from the absence of free will. Is it any wonder that they would seek any level of control over a life like that, or that bodily autonomy and sexual freedoms would be the only avenue they felt open to them? This is why I write sexually active angels, both in Heaven and on Earth. It’s interesting to explore, and I don’t do it willy-nilly. Promise.

Recipe Monday: Pumpkin Bread

Every year when August rolls around, I begin making pumpkin bread. From August 1st until December 1st (though I will sometimes make a loaf for Christmas because I don’t like pumpkin pie), I make loaves of this bread. It’s delicious, so moist, and redolent of fall spices. I love it cold with a thin smear of cool butter on it.

Ingredients

3 1/2 C flour

2 tsp baking soda

1 1/2 tsp salt

2 tsp cinnamon

1 tsp nutmeg

1/4 pumpkin pie spice

3 C sugar

1 C vegetable oil

4 eggs

2/3 C water

2 C tinned pumpkin puree (NOT the instant tinned pie filling)

Optional: 1 C chopped walnuts (I hate nuts in my food, so I never add them)

Preheat oven to 350F. Sift dry ingredients together. Mix pumpkin, water, oil, and eggs together in another bowl. Pour into dry mixture and mix well. (If you use the optional nuts, once everything has been mixture, you will need to fold the nuts into the mixture.) Pour into 2 greased 9x5x3-inch loaf pans. Bake 1 hour and 15 minutes or until toothpick inserted in middle of loaf comes out clean. Cool before removing from pans.

The Trouble With “Human Rights” (plus teaser!)

I’m working on my first novella solo piece, Human Rights (formally known as For the Love of a Master), and while I love it to bits, I think it has three things working against it. I’m still going to write it. I’m still going to publish it. But I don’t think it’ll be a smash hit. Let me explain.

1. It’s furry. I thought I would never write a novel with a full-out furry character, but this one is. Sir Jiat is a jaguar, one of the elite guardsman in a world where the canines and felines are the dominant species (walking, talking, humanoid) while the humans are the kept pets. I’m not sure how well this will go down.

2. There is a heavy D/s element, though I hesitate to say it’s full out D/s because there is a power inequality. The word is set up so Ewan—the human pet of Sir Jiat’s—has little to no autonomy. While Sir Jiat encourages small steps of independence, Ewan’s life experience thus far leads him to needing the direction and mastering. This might make some readers very uncomfortable as it’s a shadow of slavery. The entire story is told in first person from Ewan’s point of view: how he wound up in the pound, how he was adopted by Sir Jiat, and the growth from simple pet with no sense of self into a man who is able to make his own choices, and I would hope that readers can see through the inequality to the heart of the tale.

3. And the big one. The one that I think will really put this one in the Do Not Read pile for many readers: Ewan, in the first 1/4 of the book, has sex… with a woman! I know, OMG, right? XD As I was writing the scene, I stopped to look at the husband-thing and said, ‘Even if readers could get past the furry thing and the D/s thing, they’re going to hate that Ewan fucks a woman.’ Ewan, who is ‘in tact’ and never had sex, his given a chance to fuck for the first time, and because he doesn’t know his own preferences, Sir Jiat sets him up with a woman. It’s a sweet little scene, not very long (’cause, dude, never had sex, he goes off early), but there is still positive woman loving in the story with explicit wordage.

In the end, I’m loving the story, the process of it, and pushing my own limits. I like writing a completely foreign world, a world alien and yet not. I’m going to leave you with a teaser from it, and I really do hope readers wind up loving Sir Jiat and Ewan’s story. It really is a hopeful, sweet romance.

—

“I have begged off my turn today at the Guardhouse.” Sir Jiat watched me in the mirror. “I arranged for a friend of mine to bring her pet. Syra is a lovely woman, older and sterile, but I think she will be an ideal match for your first.”

My hands stopped moving mid-brushing, and fear coiled around my heart. My master had found a female for me, and I didn’t know what I was supposed to do with her. I knew the basic idea. Cock into slit. Beyond that, though, I was lost. I shifted on my knees, trying to finish grooming Sir Jiat before he received company, but I was distracted. Adrift. Today, I would rut with a woman, and I was scared. He must have smelled the fear because he knelt in front of me, cupping my cheek with his large, paw-like hand.

“Do you not want Syra?” he asked.

I gripped the brush so hard, I felt the sharp bristles break the skin of my palm. Gasping, I dropped the brush, and then I immediately dove after it, ashamed for letting it fall. “Forgive me!”

Sir Jiat gripped my shoulders and forced me to meet his amber eyes. “Ewan, you’ve hurt yourself.” He opened my palm, smeared with red and dozens of little pinpricks. It stung like fire. “You must take care.” Sir Jiat then did something I had never, in my wildest dreams, expected: he bent his head and drew his rough, hot tongue over my broken flesh. Each swipe cleaned a little more blood from my palm. I couldn’t help but whimper. “Why are you afraid?” he asked, his ears twitching on the top of his head, attentive.

It took me a few moments to force my throat to work, my tongue to form words. “I don’t know what I should do,” I admitted.

A smile graced Sir Jiat’s face, sharp teeth showing as his whiskers twitched. “I see. It isn’t difficult. You will grow erect, she will lay back, and you will slide into her body.”

“And then?” I looked up, flushed with embarrassment. It was personal, intimate, but I had no secrets from my master.

“You thrust in and out until you come.” Sir Jiat rose from the cushioned seat in front of the vanity. “Come with me. I will bathe you myself before Syra arrives. She is experienced. Put your trust in her to guide you through this. There is no need for shame.”

I followed Sir Jiat obediently, watching his white tail twitch as he walked. Even if there was no need for shame, I felt it. I was a mutt. No one bred mutts, and if we had needs, they were trivial. To be given an opportunity to know such pleasures even once was something I’d never dared to hope for. But, Sir Jiat said it would become a weekly arrangement. Not always Syra, but someone. I would never be forced to go without so long as I was obedient, and as Sir Jiat rinsed my hair of soap, I swore to never disobey him. I didn’t want to disobey him. So long as I obeyed, I would be kept, and maybe the nightmares would lessen.

In the warmth of the morning, with Sir Jiat’s hands moving slickly over my body, those night frights seemed distant. The heat of the bath eased my sore joints, and Sir Jiat’s gentle touch stirred my body and heart. As I grew hard in the bath, Sir Jiat chuckled, called me eager, promised Syra would arrive soon. I smiled bashfully, unwilling to correct him. It wasn’t Syra’s hands on my body now. It wasn’t Syra’s kindness that kept my belly full, my body clean, and my mind challenged. It wasn’t Syra’s amber eyes I wanted to gaze up into and see bright with pleasure. I wondered if Sir Jiat would purr if touched just right, what his fur would feel like under a lustful touch.

But those desires were forbidden. To want and lay with one’s master only led to the pound and that back room where the guilty found their end. We ignored my erection as Sir Jiat honored me by drying my body, and then he brushed my hair. If I could have purred, I would have. Pampered and adored, my heart slowed, my fears eased. It took all I had not to reach out for Sir Jiat, touch him freely. I was well-trained, and I resisted. I merely stood in the bathing room, clean and groomed, all but preening under Sir Jiat’s attention.

It’s FICTION

I watch a lot of reader and author conversations/debates. I don’t tend to get involved in them because I don’t like arguing with people on the internet. In fact, that’s pretty much my go-to rule the minute someone on the other side of the issue becomes adamant they’re right: I disengage and refuse to respond. I spend a lot of the late 90s arguing with people on the internet, and all it did was ruin my mood daily. But, I store the topics away, internally process them, and then spew them out here.

One thought that comes up for me again and again as I read these debates on on-screen sex with teen characters, incest, rape, dubious consent, violence, safe sex, etc. is: it’s fiction. I see heated, furious debates about various topics in fiction, and whether or not authors have a responsibility for what they right, and don’t authors know that writing about incest or rape or violence or teen sex will hurt society and blah blah blah.

It’s fiction.

It isn’t real.

This was one of the first lessons I was taught in grade school when we toured the library in kindergarten. Fiction isn’t real. Fiction is made up stories people tell for entertainment. Fiction doesn’t owe anyone anything but a good couple of hours spent reading it. Authors hold no responsibility beyond that which they take upon themselves. It’s what I was taught when I was five-years-old, staring with wide eyes at all the possible worlds in front of me, and it’s what I say thirty years later. It isn’t real.

This need to foist political and societal responsibility onto all fiction really annoys me. Authors are raked across coals for mishandling even one small aspect of their story that a group of readers latch onto. I admit, I’ve been on the receiving end of that. I’ve had some nasty things said of me for ‘twisting’ Christianity around to suit my purpose in The Keeper, or how unprofessional it was for Kasper to begin a sexual relationship with his patient in Catalyst.

Why in The Keeper? Because Judas said Christ loved Hadi regardless of Hadi’s sexual orientation. As if God and Christ loving a Christian because he’s a good man who loves someone of the same sex is the most horrific message to have in a book. As for Kasper in Catalyst, I assure you, doctors wind up having sexual relationships with patients. It’s not rampant, but it does happen. There is a kernel of reality in both books among the dramatic plot that keeps readers reading.

People don’t read books for reality. I don’t read or write books for reality unless it’s an exploration of something personal for me. Reality is boring most of the time, which is why a lot of readers shun contemporary books unless something extreme is shown in those contemporaries. Real isn’t what sells books (despite how it seems to sell television shows). The unreality, the extreme, the things we can’t face or explore safely in reality, is what books—fiction—is about. While I would love to leave my readers chewing on what story I’ve just told, I don’t want them to think what I’m showing them is real.

It’s not. It’s fiction. Fictional people in fictional settings in fictional problems. I think it’s time to stop critically picking apart every single book we read and return to the simple fact that fiction is for entertainment purposes only and shouldn’t be seen as any manual, manifesto, or condoning of illegal acts. It’s fantasy, and fantasy is okay to have, even when it’s dark and generally socially unacceptable. It’s fiction.