Liz Crowe's Blog, page 26

Urban Fiction Best Selling Author...

The progression of an author's life is an exercise in getting excited at various milestones.  


First there is the "we would like to publish your..." email or letter or phone call.


Then, the "art form" followed usually by the first round of edits. This can come with some angst and frustration but if you know what you are doing you always learn something from every editor you work with.


Then, galleys--that "last chance to fix anything" moment.


Finally, the "You are live on Amazon/ARe/B&N" split second.


Those of us who've travelled this familiar road realize that the work-slash-fun is only beginning what with blog tours, live tours, romance convention circuits, book signings and various exhausting yet thrilling experiences.


I recently returned from "my first" -- first Romance writer and reader event that is. It was, in a word, incredible. Fun. Exciting. Thrilling. Exhausting. at some times "drunken" but that's a given if I'm around.


I got to put faces to names and online personalities and was to a woman, impressed.


And now, I've hit another one of those proverbial milestones. Mind you, I'm tempering this with "well, they change every hour" but I learned yesterday that Floor Time, The first Stewart Realty book was up in the top 20 of Amazon's "Urban Fiction" category.  I tooted my horn about it in the usual manner, then it dropped off as it does when they get hourly updates.  Today, I'm told, all 4 of the books in this series-from-my-soul are bouncing around in and out of the top 20-30 of that category and Essence of Time, the 4th book that released last weekend is #12 in "Hot New Releases" in urban fiction.


Okay, so I had to look up and see exactly WHAT "Urban Fiction" entailed.  Stories NOT in the suburbs? (check). Stories that seem real about real people? (check).  Well....it seems that "urban fiction" is a bit of an odd fit for this set of books. It's also called "contemporary street lit" and "hip hop lit" and even just "street lit."  I am not really sure how this fits BUT I will take it as an extreme compliment that my tale of real estate agents living their sexy lives and working their asses off would qualify.


Yeah. 


Check them for yourself.  My publisher claims that June sales of Floor Time alone are epic. And I get more and more readers finding me on FB/twitter and my website telling me they read "The entire series in a night" and can't wait for more.  It's a buzz.  All in a days work? Maybe. But a serious BUZZ nonetheless!


Amazon link to the entire series (available in print and ebook):
http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss_1?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=stewart+realty+liz+crowe


Thanks a mil for all your support guys! feel free to ask me anything you like...well, anything but "How does it end?"


Love ya!
Liz

Across the Beer with... DITTER THA GREAT!

Welcome to the Beer Bar Ditter!


What made you want to start a reader group?

I opened my facebook page Ditterthegreat strictly to keep up with my favorite Authors. After a while, I began noticing friend suggestions for Authors I had never heard of or tried previously. I thought "What if one of them has Laurann Dohner potential" So, I requested several of them. The first couple I read were actually good reads. I began noticing how hard they worked trying to get their books out there for the readers to see. I wanted to help in some small way..but wasn't sure quite how, other than buying books from them (Which I did). My reviews caught the attention of several Authors and review sites. I began getting inbox messages asking if I had a Blog? I had never Blogged before so I decided to open a book group, fill it with readers and invite no more than 80 Authors in at a time. It gave us a chance to read and review each one, and decide which ones were best seller material. A few actually were! 


What is your favorite genre to read?

My Favorite is definitely Romance! I read Thrillers, Mysteries, Horror, etc etc but Romance is first choice!


What is your goal for the Ditter Tha Great Facebook group?

My Goal is to read, review and promote these wonderful Authors I have had the pleasure of reading recently! To help them in any way possible!

Do you have any budlight? *Grin*


Because I love you I will let that slide....ahem....


You and I have gotten pretty close, so I'm just gonna come out and say this. You have meant a lot to me and my career but I consider you a very good friend. You have some pretty famous people who are also your friends. Feel like telling us about them?

Not at all! I do consider you a great Friend, I am honored to have met you! I have also had the pleasure of meeting and friending my all time favorite Author, Laurann Dohner! I have made some great Friends with People from NYTimes to Ellora's Cave. Many Publishers, Bloggers, Review sites and most importantly, Hundreds of readers and fans! Without them, none of this would be possible!



Okay this is my blog so I'm gonna talk about me now, ready?Should I be nervous? *Laughs*
 

Why did you become such a Liz Crowe fan?
I have a Mod in my Group, Ashley Carver, who read Floor Time and Sweat Equity. She invited you in to the Group and asked me to take a look at your books. I was reading someone else at the time but Ashley wasn't having that! She was adamant about me reading your series! I started Floor Time that next afternoon and was still reading at 2am! I was so engrossed I could not put it down! I bought Sweat Equity at 4am and started it immediately! I was obsessed with Jack and Sara's story to the point I did not want to begin another book for over a week! I made sure I was on the ARC list for Closing Cost as soon as you made it available! Just read Essence of Time last week...INCREDIBLE!! Liz I have read literally thousands of books in the past 20 years and your books have me hooked! Your writing style is unique, Your signature...It's J.R. Ward'ish with a twist! Unconventional and kind of pushing the boundaries! You opened Pandoras Box and Liz Crowe the creator of Jack Gordon exploded in our face! You went from someone I had never heard of, to one of my top 5 favorite Authors today! Kudos to you!
 

Tell me about Jack Gordon in YOUR words.
Jack Gordon is simply beyond words! He's sexy, dominate, outrageous, sarcastic, pushy, did I mention sexy?One of the most delicious characters ever written in ink! I laughed, cried, sighed, cried again, fell in love, got angry, laughed some more, and of course cried one more time for good measure! I have always read the fantasy, the HEA, the conventional..This is Romance for real life! I could actually relate to alot that happened in your books...and yeah...I want Jack! :)
 

You are starting your own review blog I understand. How is that coming along?
My Blog is up and running as of 4 days ago! I Blog about books, Authors, and also have an advice/gossip column.

 What's coming up for you besides the new site?

I have many new things I'm working on for Authors and readers alike! To learn more as it happens, check out my web page or Blog!
www.ditterthegreat.com or www.accordingtoditter.com Follow me on Twitter Ditterthegreat1 or join my fan page  http://www.facebook.com/AccordingToDitter 

Thanks for stopping by dear! As always, I value your time and efforts!
 

 

Supermodel Saturday: Tyson Brett Ballou

Oh, the wealth of riches these days....I speak of the lovely men of the beautiful game. Those guys who are the fittest dudes ever, who run, kick, and fall down so sexily....ah...sorry, I got a little distracted.


As promised, as part of the kinda sorta regular post on the weekends today we meet: TYSON BRETT BALLOU who, according to Models.com is The Number One Male Model Icon. (personally, I think it oughtta be Mr. Gandy but you know how I  feel about that hunk of man cake).


Young Mr. Ballou is a Texan and began modeling at age 15. Besides having a KICK ASS name he is represented all over the world and can be seen in ads for everything form H&M to D&G and everything in between. 


His stats:  6'2"  brown hair, brown eyes, size 10 shoe (eyebrow raise).


The Models.com folks claim he is a "family oriented, basketball loving boy" and so he gets a 5 star rating from this gal!  




"Excuse me ma'am but I've fallen in the soapy bathtub and can't get up....oh hello you forgot your panties" 

NEXT WEEK: A small diversion into the Soccer Men Liz Loves to celebrate the final weekend of The EuroCup 2012!(here is a taste)

P.S. If you tell me my all time fav in  a comment you will WIN! $25 ARe bucks but you will have to dig back into my posts a little to find him. Here is a hint: Spain
Happy Dad's Day!Liz

Time to Talk Turkey

A lot of people have asked me why in the world I would set a contemporary romance series in Turkey.


It's not a country with very positive connotations. When I started breaking it to my parents and others I was moving there with my young family (kids ages 9, 7 and 3) nearly 100% of the first responses were "Haven't you SEEN 'Midnight Express?'"


Well, I'm here to break this to you now. Turkey is no more represented fairly by "Midnight Express" than the South is by "Deliverance."  Sure there are places that are well avoided. But there are places well-avoided just about anywhere unless you live in Mayberry or in Disney Land.


I learned a lot about myself living in a "2nd World Country" like Turkey. Food is plentiful, electricity is spotty. People are warm and welcoming, especially when you "tip like an American." Traffic is dangerous and nightmarish. Period.  It's a beautiful yet frustrating place to live. I hated it for a solid month. Then I loved it. I was even detained by the Turkish Gendarme and had to start using the Eff word like a slutty American just to get them to understand that I was not a drug dealer.  It's a long story.  Not everything in my life went well in Turkey trust me. It's a place where you are well-served to keep a weather eye on your successful, handsome American husband too, just saying. But all in all, I would go back in 2 seconds.


I set a series of 1NightStand stories from Decadent Publishing there, beginning with a romantic "cougar story" in Turkish Delights.  You can get Turkish Delights for just .99 this month at Smashwords. Use the coupon code QZ68T: Here is an excerpt:


“I miss you already,” Emre said, with his usual candor. “I can’t believe I just met you and now we must part.” He finished his tea and signaled the waiter for another. Before she could lean back, he reached over the tiny table and captured her hand, putting it to his mouth. Elle’s entire body zinged. His lips were gentle, soft but with a firmness that spoke of his potential talents with them. Exactly as she thought they would be, even if only pressed to her hand. She bit her lip, no longer caring what the gawkers around them thought, as she pressed her thighs together to ease the ache building between them.“I know.” Her voice was a whisper. “It’s been…nice getting to know you.” Lame, her brain screamed. Just kiss him, for crying out loud. You are the newly-named CEO of a major pharmaceutical company. You eat fear for breakfast. What the hell is your problem?She stood, pulling up her bag. Emre remained seated, staring at her.“I’m not what you think,” he said, as he stretched long legs out in front of him. Her face flushed with anger. Good. Now I’m on familiar ground. Mad at a man for assuming things about what I think.“Just what do I think, if you don’t mind sharing.” She used her coolest-cucumber voice, and it pleased her to see the young man frown. Anger she could cope with. Besotted was beyond her, especially since she felt the same damn way about this boy nearly fifteen years her junior.“Never mind.” He stood, towering over her even as she stood in her highest heels. “Let’s not fight. It’s our last day together, no?”The urge to run a finger down his strong, stubbled jaw was intense. She clenched her hands together so hard they hurt. He put a familiar arm around her shoulder, nearly bringing her to her knees with lust. The smell of his subtle cologne, mixed with the exotic manliness she’d come to associate with him in his element at his grandfather’s spice booth nearly sent her over the edge. She shut her eyes, leaning into his strong torso ever so slightly. Was it her imagination, or did he flinch? She drew away, ashamed at herself. “I should get back,” Gesturing in the general vicinity of where her car and driver waited, she gasped when Emre held her close then dropped to one knee right onto the cobblestones. Embarrassment and excitement fought for her brain. He took her hand, kissed it, held it to his heart.“You are the most amazing woman in the universe. It has been my honor to know you. I wish….” He blinked, and she used the opportunity to pull her hand away. “I just wish we’d known each other sooner.”It was Elle’s turn to blink. Realization rushed through her, heating her face. He knows damn good and well I’m a dried up specimen, too focused on my career to find and keep a man or sustain any relationship beyond the office. Fists clenched at her sides, she tried to calm her breathing. You are a fool, Ellery Kensington. He knows you’re a horny old lady. And he might oblige you between the sheets, but get the foolish romantic bullshit about spiriting him back to the States with you out of your head. That’s patent nonsense and you should know better. Finished with her self-lecture, she squared her shoulders and leaned in to press her lips to his jaw. Closing her eyes against the chemical reaction she had to him, she stepped away quickly.   From there I moved on to a little "man love" story with Caleb, Elle's personal assistant. He is already in love with Tarkan, Emre's twin brother by the time the Turkish Delights saga begins. But tragedy has struck.  If you join us at the Decadent 1NightStand Book club group on Facebook you can discuss this book with us next Tuesday. There is a Smashword coupon code over there for Blue Cruise. Otherwise, the click here for the buy link.Excerpt:


Caleb finished his two-hour workout by nine PM. and was sitting at the coffee bar, nursing an espresso when he locked eyes with one of the most attractive creatures on the planet. He’d seen the guy before. They worked out at about the same time most days, exchanging polite nods and “excuse me’s” as they completed a long weight circuit. He’d started looking forward to what he considered Extreme Turkish Eye Candy, of the straight variety it seemed, as the man was never without some equally gorgeous female hanging on his every word.He sighed and sipped, relishing the ache in his muscles from the workout. After two and a half years in Istanbul and intense language lessons paid for by the company, he had a good grip on the conversations swirling around him. He caught his fair share of “beautiful yellow hair American” and “sexy boy” from the ladies and smiled at them, for shits and giggles, aware of his affect while completely unaffected by them. But he was there now—the man Caleb had been admiring for weeks. And he was sitting near enough that Caleb could feel the heat of his skin and smell the shampoo in his damp hair. His skin prickled and he looked away.“Merhaba.”Caleb swallowed and answered back, in Turkish. They introduced themselves, shared a few pleasantries until the conversation got more complex than he could handle. The beautiful man’s accent when they switched to English rang in Caleb’s ears like a symphony. He gave himself a shake. Don’t be a sap. He’s straight, remember?“You are here every night, like me.”“Yes, my office is around the corner and it’s an easy stop before going home.”Caleb was mesmerized by the other man’s full lips and the extreme white of his teeth as he struck up conversations with every female who stopped by. They kept touching him, his hair, shoulders, arms. Caleb resisted a sigh of regret. “So,” Tarkan finally returned his focus to him. “I have a boat. Do you like boats?”“Uh...sure.” Caleb looked around, suddenly nervous. He’d been warned to keep his sexuality under wraps in this conservative country. He’d found some pretty high-end gay bars, and discovered the same men there every time he went. But he’d remained celibate for going on three years, unwilling to engage with anyone there, in spite of several extremely tempting occasions. His cock punched hard against the zipper of his jeans. It hurt like a bitch, but he shifted and smiled at his new friend. “I, um, love boats.”“Okay, Caleb, I’m having a party this weekend on mine. Leaving from the Asian side, this dock.” He flipped a business card onto the bar between them.Tarkan DenizBroker, JP Morgan Chase, Istanbul.On the back, he’d written a phone number and address. Caleb frowned into Tarkan’s dark chocolate gaze. Nothing in it spoke of intimacy closer than a couple of buddies on a boat likely full of women and booze. He sighed and stuck out his hand. The electric spark that passed between the two men made them both blink. “Pleased to meet you, Tarkan. I’ll let you know about this weekend. I have to check my schedule.” Caleb’s schedule was full of work, exercise, work, exercise with an occasional injection of more work. He knew he’d be going, if for no other reason than to watch Tarkan do whatever one did when one “had a boat.”The next night he dashed into the exclusive twentieth floor gym, gutted out seven miles on the treadmill, and tried not to stare too obviously, around for the other man’s dark face and body. After he’d toweled off and made his way toward the elaborate weight machines, he’d given up. The guy must not be coming tonight. It was Friday. He probably actually had a social life. After about an hour of arm work, Caleb prepared to call it quits. His boss had dumped a huge project on him and he knew he could get a head start tonight, if he went home now. A familiar laugh made him stop dead in his tracks. He whipped his head around, catching the spectacular rear view of the tall, broad-shouldered, dark-skinned Turk that was the star of his recent lonely fantasies. He took a deep breath and walked toward him.The man was flirting with some women, as usual, as they lay draped around the weight benches, mouths open with eagerness. He didn’t blame them. The guy was a vision. He could be a model. He touched Tarkan’s shoulder. The mega-watt smile and deep mocha eyes caught Caleb off guard. He grinned.“I’ll go,” he said simply, running a hand through his damp hair. The other man raised an eyebrow, as if questioning him. “I mean, I’ll join you. You know, on the boat. Sunday? Like we, ah, discussed?” He started to doubt his sanity. The guy looked positively confused. Then he nodded.“Ah, yes, you must be Caleb.”“Uh, yeah. We met, remember?” The other man’s musical laughter pealed out into the room, drawing attention to their conversation. He slapped a large hand on Caleb’s shoulder.“You are looking for my brother. Tarkan?”It was Caleb’s turn to be open mouthed. There were two of them?“Evet. Ne istyorsun kardesim?”Tarkan’s face appeared from behind a bank of free weights at the other end of the room. Caleb flushed and looked from one man to the other. They were scarily identical. He was willing to bet they’d used that to their advantage more than once if the impish grins on both handsome faces were any indication.The boat trip had only been the two of them, to his pleasant surprise. In the powerful fancy speedboat, Tarkan had torn away from the shore, one hand on the wheel, the other in the air waving to the dockworkers. Caleb sat and watched the man’s body, covered only in khaki shorts and a tee shirt, and tried to will his cock down from its compromising position of extreme hard, bordering on agonizing. They cruised down the shoreline slowly. Tarkan pointed out various historical views and regaled Caleb with stories of growing up with a proud Turkish father and stubborn American mother. By the time they reached a spot about an hour down the coast and had pulled into a dock that looked to be an historical relic on its own, Caleb was drunk with lust.


By the time you get to Tulip Princess, the tragedy has occurred, Elle and Emre are together and Lale (pronounced "Lah-Lay" which means beautiful tulip in Turkish) is about to make her parents insane. So they send her to live in California to help out with her niece, Ayla who is a bit of a kindred spirit to her wayward aunt. They bond immediately but Elle has a plan...to let Lale experience the magical 1NightStand for herself. Little does she know that her sister-in-law is in for a world-rocking experience with Andreas Michos, second generation Greek, former NFL star and Dom. Buy it here.
A Nice Long Excerpt:

 Lale took a deep breath and walked to the table where he stood, holding out her chair. She looked down, unable to meet his eyes for some reason and sat. The moment he joined her, a plate of succulent fruits, nuts, olives, cheese and some smoked salmon appeared in front of them. Her wine glass got filled with something red and rich smelling. Lale blinked then looked up. Dear God, he is gorgeous. And something else…something dark, yet lovely… just out of reach….  “Cheers.” He lifted his glass. “Nice to meet you.” She raised hers, clinked his and took a sip. Realizing she had yet to speak, she cleared her throat, touched a soft napkin to her lips, stalled. “So, I guess I should know your name, otherwise you are going to be ‘the Greek’ to me all night.” Lale winced at herself. “I’m, um, Lale.” She held her hand out over the small table. He took it, and the electric spark that crawled up her arm to the base of her brain nearly made her moan. Sweat beaded her upper lip but the rest of her body shivered. She gulped as his huge hand engulfed hers. “Beautiful Tulip, eh? Nice. Very apt. You are lovely.” He let go. Lale frowned. He stayed quiet, munching on an olive, staring holes into her. She sipped more wine. The silence stretched out beyond anything resembling comfortable or even polite.  “Okay then.” She reached out for an olive, popped it in her mouth and nearly choked on it. He stood and pounded her back. She grabbed water, mortified. After she regained her breath, he sat back down and motioned for the waiter without taking his eyes off her.  “The lady will have the Circassian Chicken, no bread, with a spinach salad, hold the onions and blue cheese. I’ll have the osso buco, extra bread, no salad,” he ordered in textbook perfect French. Lale gaped at the man, amazed, pissed at his assumptions and suddenly starving at the thought of the chicken dish. Easily one of her favorites; she hadn’t had it since leaving Turkey.  “How did you know I ….” He held up a hand.  “Let me clarify this for you now, my dear. I like to be in control. I expect it, frankly.” He took a sip of wine. Lale’s core continued its dangerous meltdown. She had no idea what he meant, but something in her already responded in ways she couldn’t fathom. “I take pride in knowing what my, um, partner needs from me. I noticed you didn’t eat a bite of the cheese. I have some other Turkish friends—although I am loathe to admit it—who are lactose intolerant. I think it is common in your country, this digestive weakness.” “But—” Lale’s face burned and her temper rose to meet the lust that roiled through her, keeping her skin pebbled and her heart thudding.  “I’m not finished.” His voice stayed low, firm, sexy. “Yes, I played football. In Miami. For seven years I hit the center of the opposing team as hard as I could, trying to get to the quarterback. I played this position well because I’d been the center in college at Arizona. After my third major concussion I retired.” He refilled Lale’s wine glass. She kept staring at him, transfixed by his face, his eyes, the soft cadence of his voice. “Yes, I have been married. My ex-wife started out as my sub, or my submissive, then transformed into a slave. Our relationship was very complex, exciting and as it turns out, a complete lie.”  “Uh, your ‘slave’ did you say?” Lale’s face flushed again. If this Greek thought she had it in her to bow down and let herself be treated like shit by the hottest thing with a swinging dick she’d encountered in a while, he’d better think twice. He put a hand over hers. Lale stared at it as her pounding heart calmed and she could suddenly take a deep breath, seemingly at his touch. Dark hair dusted his bronzed skin. Her eyes travelled up the expanse of his light blue shirt, to the tie around his neck, noted his clenched jaw and came to rest on his shining green eyes. She had to cross her legs to keep from trembling. “Yes, I did. But once I left the NFL and moved here to take a job as the athletic director for UNLV, her real self emerged. Selfish, spoiled, suddenly immune to punishment, but I had let myself be weakened by her. I loved her, but she loved the limelight from being the wife of a big football star—and living in the desert didn’t appear on her to-do list, apparently.” Lale watched his throat as he swallowed his wine. He removed his hand from hers. She had never felt more abandoned, although the man still sat right across from her. She shivered.  ”Until I came home early one day and saw my neighbor’s cock in her ass I didn’t realize how bad it had gotten. Some slaves are unredeemable, especially the ones who are merely posing for some sort of gain. So I dismissed her. In my lifestyle, that is more final than any legal statement of divorce. And my neighbor may be able to walk again by now.” “Wow, um that’s….” Lale pecked at her spinach salad.  “Eat that. You need the iron.”  She glanced up at him. “What, you’re a doctor too?” “No, I can tell. It’s my job.” Something like anger shot through her. “Look, Greek, you have no job as relates to me, okay? Just put that out of your head. I mean, you’re, ah, interesting and all, but I think there’s been some mistake.” “Do you?” Lale had to admit the spinach tasted good. She had never been the best eater and these last few days she had not ingested much more than granola bars, coffee, and alcohol. “Yeah, I do.”  He stayed quiet a minute while she wolfed down the dark greens.  “So you are perfectly happy with the men in your life?” “What men?” She dabbed at her lips again. “I mean, I am on a blind date with you, after all.” “What I mean is, I think you might be perfect for me. But I don’t know if I have the energy or inclination to make you understand that.” Lale sat back. What the hell did he mean? “I thought relationships were supposed to be fun, you know, not work that required a lot of energy. Just so you know, my brother met his wife through this little set up and one of my best friends found his new boyfriend thanks to this Madame Eve person as well.”  The huge Greek hunk chuckled and removed a card from of his pocket, wrote something on the back, and pushed it across the table at her. She picked it up. Andreas Michos, Athletic Director The University of Nevada Las Vegas. She flipped it over. 4770 North Cumberland Drive, Summerlin She stared at him. “Gee, I thought we’d exchange email addresses first.”  He leaned forward and held out his hands. Against her better judgment, she placed hers in them, trying not to flinch at the heat that passed from him straight to her lap. Her throat clenched, making it hard to swallow as she studied how small her hands seemed in his again, unable to meet his gaze. “Look at me now.” She lifted her eyes to his which blazed with intensity. “I want you, Lale. I wanted you last night. I want…more than you know. But I’m not sure you can handle what I have to offer. It’s a complex relationship between a Dom and a sub and I don’t know if you’re ready, although….” He stopped and shrugged, his face settling into noncommittal lines. Her face heated alarmingly. Rage surged through her brain and she yanked her hands out of his large, warm ones.  “You know what, you have got to be the cockiest man on the planet. What makes you think I even want what you have to offer, hmm?” “You do. I can tell.” Lale pushed her chair back and stood. She had to get out of there. This Greek…Andreas… did something to her she had no frame of reference for. She needed air. She needed space. But at the same time she had to ball her hands into fists to keep from flinging herself into his strong arms. What the hell? Since when did she let someone dominate her? That was utter bullshit.  He looked up at her, one dark eyebrow raised. “Your move, beautiful tulip. I’ve laid it out for you. Shall we finish our dinner? I think you should.” He gestured toward her chair, an eyebrow raised as if in question. She shut her eyes against the weird compulsion to obey him. To sit down and eat the meal that sat before her, tempting with the familiar smells of home. Slipping back into her seat, she took a bite and let the silence gather some force between them. “I am not interested in being anyone’s ‘slave’,” she finally said as casually as if she were discussing the weather. “So I guess this will be our first and last date.”  The lovely man smiled and his face transformed once again into something she wouldn’t mind seeing every morning of her life, next to her on a pillow. “I know that. Believe me, I’ve been doing this long enough to spot a woman as capable as I am of being a Dom.”She tried not to smile back at him. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Greek.” She got a small bit of satisfaction at the frustration that passed over his strong features.  “Lale, the Dom/sub relationship is not about anything but trust. Something tells me you don’t trust anyone. Not anymore. Am I right?” She blinked. “Maybe. What difference does that make?” “All the difference in the world to me. I want to be the man you trust—with everything. With your body, your safety, your very soul. That requires relinquishing an amount of control I’m not sure you’re capable of handing over….yet.” He motioned for the waiter to take away his empty plate. She hadn’t even registered he’d been eating. “So, perhaps you’re right. This should be our last encounter. We will only frustrate each other. Although…” He licked his upper lip, which sent Lale right over the edge. She grabbed her water glass and tried not to hold it to her flushed face. “The process would indeed be gratifying, that I promise you.” Lale had heard of women having an orgasm from the sound of a voice, without any physical contact. But until that moment had dismissed it as virginal bullshit—the stuff of overheated romance novels. But the dampness between her legs, and the quick second of bliss she had at his words proved otherwise. She had to get away from him before she did something ridiculous. “I think we should call it a night.” She stood, wobbly in her shoes. He joined her and her eyes were drawn directly to the huge lump under his zipper that he made no effort to hide. He took her arm and steered her toward the door.  “You see the affect you have on me. I’ve nursed this hard on since you walked in the room, Lale. But I need more from you than the quick lay you would no doubt allow me.” She yanked her arm out of his grip. Her anger finally allowed her to speak. “Fuck off, asshole. Take your Master and slave bullshit and find yourself a brainless bimbo. This town has got to be full of them, hot for your bod, no?” He put his hands in pockets as they stood in the cavernous lobby. His gaze remained inscrutable. Lale glared at him, the twin compulsions to smack him and wrap her entire body around his and never let go warring in her brain. She took a deep breath.“Well, thanks for an interesting night,” she put out a hand to shake his. This is crazy. I need to go home, see my niece, take some control of my life. He took her hand, brought it to his lips, then suddenly tugged her close to put a possessive arm around her waist. Her body immediately responded. Trying to keep standing as her knees gave out, she kept her face averted. His lips brushed her ear, already familiar, his lilting voice filled her head. “You are not a slut, that’s not what I meant. You should treat yourself better. Take some pride in more than your appearance. You are strong and special. Don’t forget it.” She closed her eyes at the touch of his lips to her cheek then he released her. “Farewell, my beautiful Turk. My dead grandmother thanks you for blowing me off.” Lale wanted nothing more than to run her tongue over his crooked, ironic smile. Her body jangled with need for his touch again.“My very much alive, very Turkish brother and father feel the same way, Greek.” She took one step back, then turned and stalked over to the bank of elevators.




When I finished this last one a couple of things were clear to me.
1.  I was dying to know what sort of parents these kids had.
2. Tarkan was not dead.


So I wrote 2 more books. The first one: The Diplomat's Daughter, is the prequel and is about as close to "sweet romance" as I've come in my writing career. I loved crafting the story about 2 children as forbidden friend, forced apart, then back together as adults.  Vivian Kinkaid is a feisty so-and-so, a young woman embittered by her parents' divorce and chafing at her father's control over her. Levent Deniz is an earnest, respectful and newly successful son of former servants. And he is ass over teakettle in love with her. You can now buy it here. 
An excerpt:

Vivian's gaze travelled upward, taking in dark slacks, a trim waist, light blue shirt, long elegant, golden-hued skin of his throat. She put a hand over her mouth when she locked eyes with Levent. He wasn’t even breathing heavy after his little wrestling match. He lifted his upper lip in a smirk, the scar standing out on his otherwise perfect face. Dear Lord, the man was gorgeous. Her thighs tingled as she smiled at him. The purely physical response was something entirely new. No man had ever elicited anything like it from her. It terrified and exhilarated her all at once. A few of the regulars jostled the German to the door, shoving him out with shouts of encouragement. Levent stood, hands in his pockets and stared at her. She moved first, wrapping her arms around his neck, going up on tiptoe to reach him, breathing in his scent, the very essence of man. He returned her embrace, a little reluctantly at first. She broke away, put both hands on the sides of his face and let a tear slip down her face. He put his large, dark hands over hers. The room shrank, reduced from a loud, illegal bar to a darkened space where only two were present. The surreal sensation made her dizzy. If he would kiss her, right now, she knew she’d be his forever.But he took a breath, and a step back, keeping her hands clutched in his. “Darling, Vivian.” His voice was rough with emotion. “Kucuk olan. I can’t believe it’s you.” She was temporarily blinded by a vision—his hands, her body, his lips, her eagerness, candles, a bed, some wine.“Yes, it’s, um, a surprise isn’t it?” Lame.“The most pleasant one I have ever received.” He kissed one hand then the other. His lips were full, soft, and amazing. Vivian gulped, yanked her hands back before she did something really unsuitable, like fling herself into his arms.“Let’s sit, shall we? We have so much to talk about.” The firm hand on her elbow felt perfect. Lillian gawked at them. “Hello.” He switched to beautifully accented English. “I am, Levent.” He held out a hand to her friend. Vivian regained her senses.“Sorry, um, Lillian, this is my.” She was dumbstruck all over again as she looked at him. He pinned her with his dark gaze, until he raised a dark eyebrow, gave a small nod, reminding her she hadn’t finished her sentence. “My oldest friend, Levent. We knew each other years ago, the first time I lived here.” Lillian devoured the tall, striking man next to Vivian with a glance, and she felt a rush of utterly irrational jealousy at the girl’s stare. She glared at her, and Lillian stuck her tongue out.“Very pleased to meet you.” She simpered and let Levent hover over her hand a tad too long for Vivian’s taste.“Yes, well we’ll be over there.” She indicated a couple of chairs in the corner. “We have some catching up to do.” She looped her arm brazenly through Levent’s and pulled him away. Someone brought them a couple more beers after they took their seats across a tiny table. He sipped his and sat back, watching her. She fiddled with her bottle.“Go ahead, I don’t care.” He indicated the dark bottle. She frowned.“I don’t care if you care.”He burst out laughing. The sound flowed like a beautiful symphony swirling through her brain. He leaned forward and touched her hand. “Exactly like I remembered. Any opportunity to break rules, no?” The tip of his tongue darted out, touched his upper lip, and Vivian nearly fainted at the fantasy loop in her head ramped up a notch. He stayed quiet, incredible eyes narrowed. She wanted to drown in them. How had she forgotten him? They’d gotten into so much trouble that last day his family had sent him away. She’d missed him and soon after her life had exploded when her mother had discovered Vivan’s father’s affair, packed the two of them up, and skedaddled back to California for the next fourteen years.“I thought you had your own company or something.” She crossed her legs aware they were shaking. “Why are you taking classes?”“Finishing a Master’s level degree. How did you know I had a business?” He crossed his arms over his chest. Vivian resisted the urge to stare at how perfectly the soft cotton of his shirt stretched across his shoulders. Her hands itched to touch, feel, caress. She must really be a slut. But she didn’t care. She wanted this man. And sensed he wanted the same thing. She shifted back, mirroring his posture.“I asked around.”“Ah, well, yes I do. A small engineering subcontracting company. I am the go between on large construction jobs right now. It’s a living.” He shrugged. Vivian took a deep breath, sucking in the essence of the man across from her. Light cologne mixed with something elemental, something urgent and needy. She forced herself to smile and flirt when what she really, truly wanted was for him to kiss her, press her up against a wall and—she shook her head. As progressive and liberated as she liked to pretend to be, Vivian was a virgin. Kissing and groping were the extent of her repertoire. She’d never felt compelled by anyone to go any further in spite of a lot of spirited efforts to convince her otherwise.“And you. What brought you back to my city, eh small one?” She realized they had eased into Turkish. The endearment struck her right in the heart. He used to call her that every time they’d venture out, goading her to do more, take more chances, follow him into ever deeper trouble. She looked down to hide her overheated face.“What else? My father.”“But you left, not long after. Well, you know. I thought you would never return.”“How did you know? Your mother told me you had moved to the military academy.” She blinked back tears at the memory. Her mother had yanked her hair so hard that day they’d shown up, late, filthy and in his case bleeding like a stuck pig. He shifted in his seat. She suppressed a gulp at the concept that he was as uncomfortable as she. Long forgotten memories tumbled in on each other.Her parents had yelled at each other long and loud that day indeed. Over her. She’d been left to roam the streets like an urchin with an urchin according to her father. She’d slammed the door and ignored them. But the next day Levent’s mother, the woman who babied her and coddled her in ways her parents never did choked back tears as she told Vivian that her son had gone away. Would not be returning. “Forget him my darling,” she’d crooned as Vivian’s tears soaked her dress. “I have. We must. It’s for the best.”He cleared his throat. “Earth to Vivian?” He cocked his head to one side and touched his scar. Her fact got so hot she figured she’d likely glow in the dark“Sorry, I was just, remembering.” She choked out.He nodded. She drank the too-warm beer in a rush, hoping it would calm her. It went down the wrong way, and she sputtered and coughed as he leapt up and pounded her back. Keeping a warm hand on her upper back, he leaned into her ear.“You okay small one?” His breath brushed her ear, sweet and soft against her flesh. She closed her eyes. He stood a moment longer at her shoulder then sat. She tried not to beg him to come back over, touch her some more.

Oh and for you folks already caught up in the Tarkan drama...here is a little teensy taste of that one, already out in ARC form, releasing June 24 (shhhh...don't tell anyone) an excerpt from the prologue:
The light. It never, ever went out. Tarkan lived with its yellow, sickly fluorescence, night and day, day and night. As if he even knew if it were night or day, if he were on Earth or Mars, gone to heaven or drowning in the yawning depths of hell, or somewhere in between. Hell seemed the most likely.He rolled over on the thin blanket that he’d called home for however long he’d inhabited this particular corner of Hades and blinked, ran a hand over his face. Coped with the familiar combination of simultaneously needing to piss and wanting a drink of water for the millionth time. Of wanting a toothbrush, a real cup of coffee, and the feel of the sun on his skin so badly he could cry, if he had anything left in him to shed tears with. But instead of seeming old, the sick familiarity galvanized him in some perverse way. He wanted to live. So he took a breath and prepared to face yet another day of achieving exactly that.“Beloved?”The soft voice made him smile. His body reacted, in a wholly Pavlovian fashion, hardening, skin pebbling, brain fuzzing, as he went into fight or fuck mode. He had fought for his life for a long, long time. And in doing so, had found an ally in this sick hole he’d inhabited for Allah knew how long.“Beloved. I am here. I…have what you asked for.”Her softly accented Turkish was followed by a loud yell in the rough Kurdish cadence Tarkan had associated with his captors for so long. He’d been utterly alone for what he calculated had been nearly eighteen months, until the moment she had revealed herself as a “she” and had shyly handed him a bucket of lukewarm rancid water and thin cloth to finally cleanse himself with. His training taught him not to trust her. He knew damn well she’d been planted to seduce and then turn him. But at that point he’d been so broken, so lost and alone and desperate, he didn’t care anymore.Her kindness became caring. Her caring became warmth. Then her warmth had become a physical connection Tarkan had clung to for the last months, desperate for something resembling normalcy. It anchored him. Got him through the daily torture sessions he had come to anticipate like they were on some sort of fucked up to-do list. As water was poured into his stomach with a rough tube, or his dental nerve endings prodded with sharp rusty objects, or loud rock music pounded his ears for hours at a time, he held on. Held on knowing at the end, she would be there. She would cradle his broken body, caress his now emaciated frame and press her lush lips to his forehead, cheeks, and mouth. And for a few moments, he had someone on his side.The hours all that time ago, perhaps even another lifetime, came at him in bits and pieces, broken by memories of his life before. He’d resumed his station at the national parliament building after bidding farewell to…to…ah, dear God, Caleb. Lately, memories of his tall, strong, beautiful American lover made him ache with longing. He’d fall asleep in tears, and awaken to find himself still huddled in a ball on the thin blanket in the corner of the horrible room that had served as his home for the last nightmarish months. Caleb’s sparkling blue eyes, deep voice, contagious laughter, his strong back, large hands, and soft lips were more real than they’d ever been. Tarkan would hold out his arms and pretend Caleb was there, holding him. It kept him alive.On the day of the attack, hisHis captors had grabbed him about five minutes before the building he’d resumedhe’d been guarding after a two-week break became reduced to ruins. He had fought them off long enough to race towards the main office, sustaining third-degree burns on his hand from grabbing the doorknob as the first of four bombs detonated. The terrorists had snatched him away from the carnage, dragged him from the wreckage before the second and third bombs had gone off. They stabbed him in the neck with something, immobilizing him. Now all he knew was this room. Thirst. Pain. Terror. And her.
I hope you get a chance to pick up The Diplomat's Daughter (and all of these books). It's getting great reviews including this one of the series so far:  http://sweetnsexydivas.blogspot.com/2012/06/turks-series-by-liz-crowe-reviews.html

En içten dileklerimle
Liz

A Writer's Life: And You Can Quote Me

When you have an evening like I did last night, you start to question your place in the universe.


But instead of whining about fate, pissy karma fairies or reviewers who don't "get me" I am instead sharing some of my favorite writing quotes with you, dear and gentle fan.  




Substitute "damn" every time you're inclined to write "very"; your editor will delete it and the writing will be just as it should be.
Mark Twain

Either write something worth reading or do something worth writing.
Benjamin Franklin

When writing a novel a writer should create living people; people not characters. A character is a caricature.
Ernest Hemingway



I'm writing an unauthorized autobiography.
Steven Wright



In Hollywood the woods are full of people that learned to write but evidently can't read. If they could read their stuff, they'd stop writing.
Will Rogers

All good writing is swimming under water and holding your breath.
F. Scott Fitzgerald

The profession of book writing makes horse racing seem like a solid, stable business.
John Steinbeck

The discipline of writing something down is the first step toward making it happen.
Lee Iacocca

I think some aspects of writing can be taught. Obviously, you can't teach vision or talent. But you can help with comfort.
Toni Morrison

You fail only if you stop writing.
Ray Bradbury

You must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you.
Ray Bradbury

Writing is hard work and bad for the health.
E. B. White

I think it would be cool if you were writing a ransom note on your computer, if the paper clip popped up and said, 'Looks like you're writing a ransom note. Need help? You should use more forceful language, you'll get more money.'
Demetri Martin

Writing is like prostitution. First you do it for love, and then for a few close friends, and then for money.
Moliere


And the one quote that made me stop sniveling, finally and get back to work:
The question isn't who is going to let me; it's who is going to stop me.
Ayn Rand
And thanks to Hector and Alfonse....you guys got me through the morning.




Thanks to all of you for your kind words, support, virtual smacks across the face and most of all your time spent reading my books.  Now let's all go find Hans the sexy blond muse and tell him to stop sulking...I think he went outside for another beer...




Liz

Introducing: SUPERMODEL SATURDAY WITH LIZ!

A funny thing happened to me this morning kids. I woke to find an email in my inbox from my intrepid and beloved Tri-Destiny publisher with full print files for all three Stewart Realty books. I got the requisite chill reading down through the reviews, the title page, the dedications and then, because it was the first file I opened, I started reading Sweat Equity (book 2 in the series and the one that ruffled the most feathers and got the most rave reviews including a Gold Star from Just Erotic Romance Reviews).


Yep, I read that sucker cover to cover, without my usual eye towards "oh hell there's repetition" or "damn that sentence sucked" or even "wow, I can't believe I got away with that."


No. I enjoyed it.  


It got me all hot 'n bothered about my uber-hero Jack Gordon. Which in turn made me wanna see the living breathing epitome of him (only with a Brit accent): one Super Model Fitness Perfection in a Suit or Out of One--DAVID GANDY.


I trolled around the inter webs admiring his physical perfection. Found some cute youtube interviews and features and what not. (here is the thing: he cannot act. But who cares?!) And stumbled into a realm of celebrity-hood I kind of never thought about: Male Supermodels.  


Mr. Gandy it seems is in a category all his own by now since he gets all the major clothing and men's fragrance jobs including the kick ass Banana Republic one this spring. 
And you know this one...hell it was 50 feet high in Times Square. Don't get more supermodel than that I'd say. 


He blogs for Vogue talking about fitness (as you would, since your job is looking perfect) and his car obsession (oh god I just had an orgasm, sorry).



He is a serial monogamist and just broke up with singer Mollie something or another who cares earlier this year that means he's single.


After beginning modeling in 2002 winning some kind of discover the next big thing contest in the UK Davey-boy is #6 of "icon guys" on models.com and #7 of "money guys" on the same site, which by the way has given me reason to believe that trends are going in a different direction for male models as the current "trending" top 10 all look like 15 year old dudes who have never seen the inside of a gym. Not my taste. 


So This guy...IS my Jack Gordon. He has the look, the body, the attitude (if you listen to his interviews.) 
Oh, and he is from Billericay, Essex. I LIVED IN BILLERICAY ESSEX from 2002-2004...about the time he was leaving his job delivering cars for car magazines to become this hottest Effing man thing on two legs as far as I am concerned.
poor Gandy-cakes. Don't worry, Liz will comfort you....


Now, this is an ongoing series. That means I cannot Gandy-obsess every week. But I am creating a Gandy-Scale of perfection and will feature another delicious slice of man pie from the models.com "icons" list every Saturday. He gets ranked against My Boy David. We shall meet some new lovely man-meat each week, and you can decide for yourselves how he stacks up.
I leave you with a little video that, if you are like me, will watch over and over until the other people in your house yell STOP PLAYING THAT SONG ALREADY!!!
It won't embed. Just Click This Link. Trust me.
Oh and follow the poor dear and his tales of living large in London: http://www.vogue.co.uk/blogs/david-gandy
cheers (wipes drool)






Liz
ok, one more:




And next week's feature: Tyson Ballou. The Number 1 Male Icon on Models.com

A Flash...and Not of Writing Genius Either.

It's time for a little medical research:
WebMD Says:

A hot flash -- sometimes called a hot flush -- is a momentary sensation of heat that may be accompanied by a red, flushed face and sweating. The cause of hot flashes is not known, but may be related to changes in circulation.Hot flashes occur when the blood vessels near the skin's surface dilate to cool. This produces the red, flushed look to the face. A woman may also perspire to cool down the body. In addition, some women experience a rapid heart rate or chills.Hot flashes accompanied with sweating can also occur at night. These are called night sweats and may interfere with sleep.A hot flush is a hot flash plus a visual appearance of redness in the face and neck.
Here it is in chart form: Here is how I have felt more and more often every flipping day of the last 2 months: Truly will someone explain to me how this works? Or better yet, How Is This Fair?I carried and birthed the kids (3 times, no drugs) and fed them, you know from my body (for about a year each. For the Record).
I endure the continuing pressure to "look good at 40 and now almost 50" by exercising, eating light, using creams and potions on my face and body.  
I had the periods for that matter from the time I was 15 years old. The monthly purge of my womanly essence or whatever the f$#@ you want to call it that made me alternatively an utter bitch, hyper, ravenously hungry, horny, and then doubled over in pain.
I still have the period. And all the ensuing fun that entails.
And now, it seems I have the hot flashes too.
Yeah. 
After experimenting with a little "More orgasms mean less hot flashes" experiment that showed promise for about 3 days, they are back with a vengeance. The hot flashes. Not the orgasms.  
Before I only got them during the day.  All I'd have to do is say "hot.hot.hot" and wave my arms around and the household would scatter like birds in a thunderstorm. Now I lie in bed at night and would swear that you can see me in the damn dark thanks to the glow of my peri-menepausal skin.
I don't want to take hormones or deal with any of that. But now, I guess, because I am the Superior Gender and am equipped to handle such perverse betrayal by my own body, I must.
Ah Female---thy name is "do not stand between me and that open refrigerator door if you know what is good for you."
Sighing, and fanning.Liz

Deadlines, Bluelines, Bloodlines And Print...lines.

Greetings.


Forgive my weekend absence but the beer world had my full attention between 2 major "fests" and a fund raiser and 3 nights of live music in my Tap Room.


Just a quickie update, hopefully with humor and without provoking any anger. Speaking of that (humor) I would point this out...






Now that's out of the way.


I am under a hard and fast print deadline working my way through Essence of Time, the Stewart Realty Not Realtors book 4. Print deadlines are that (hard and fast) and I have so far approved 2 of the 3 first book covers and they rock it.  Working in this business can be brutal on many levels. Between rejection, fellow author sabotage, editing that results in lightbulb moments requiring major rewrites (more on this later) and reviews you really gotta be tough. But the fact of the matter is it takes a village (read: "team") to put a book together. The writing of the thing is only a part. A big part, yes, but even if you self publish you no doubt have relied on some kind of team to get you through the cover art, upload, virtual tour, reviewing process.  
JERR Gold Star Winner!

I am loving my teams so far at all my publishers but the gang at Tri Destiny has gone above and beyond, getting my hot new covers, working hard to get those covers ready in time to meet that above mentioned hard and fast deadline, arranging book tours, and what not but most especially the Team Leader, one Jessica Warth. This person took a chance on a series that got roundly rejected across the board and now is nearing 700 total downloads for the month of May.  She is a tough editor at times, cheerleader/muse/kick Liz in the ass past herself team captain and great friend. Cheers to my team! 


As for that lightbulb, I had one, as predicted on a walk with the poodle muses in which the current iteration of Lust of Tap, my first Ellora's Cave acceptance will become an even stronger story. It means a re-write/revise beyond what many would consider viable. But to me, the fact that the story is flowing from my late night fingers like water from a faucet is a Clear Indication that all the "blue lines" (it's easier on the eyes than red, thank you Microsoft Word) of the original edit may have stopped me cold at first but gave me the opportunity to make a good book a great one.  I value the opportunity. Means that the story of Helena, Dustin and Erik will be a tad longer seeing light of day but it will be worth the wait.


Bloodlines are making up a part of that tale. For many families they still matter, including the fictional Prufrock one in the (non fictional) Grand Rapids, Michigan. I've beefed up the motivation for young, only-child Dustin to continue to rebel against his overbearing mother and successful but somewhat weak-kneed father. The Prufrocks have been in the prepared food business for three generations (think: GFS---that company with the trucks delivering bags of nacho chips, and huge jugs of ketchup to restaurants all over the nation daily). Dustin fell in love with beer brewing, dropped out of college in Ann Arbor and enrolled in the (slightly fictional) Munich Brewing Institute. His father bankrolled the tuition, he had to pay his living expenses for three years. His mother disapproved (but as Dustin says, "name something she doesn't) but he completed the degree and came back, used part of his now liquid trust fund to open a brewery. 


By the time we meet him, Prufrock Brewing is the 3rd largest in the state, thanks to his business and hiring savvy, producing and selling nearly 40,000 barrels of beer a year and about to open a new "brew pub" at a different location to expand their reach to a downtown crowd.  He's stressed, but happy. And engaged to a woman that comes with his challenging mother's seal of approval. Her pedigree, as heir to the Masterson family chain of successful restaurants, is impeccable. And Dustin is desperately trying to get out of the deal he cut with his mother...one wherein he marries "well" and she leaves him alone with his "project" no longer haranguing him to take over for his father as head of the larger company.  Of course, meeting the sexy, sassy, and utterly "unsuitable" Helena Turner on a beer-selling day does (or doesn't depending on your perspective) help his dilemma.


The whole bloodlines thing makes a difference based on some research I've done. But anymore it does appear to be a factor of environment. Children of wealthy families go to private schools, vacation with families of a similar wealth level and in general tend to associate with kids who would meet bloodline requirements. However, in this story, it's a big part of Dustin's need to both placate and rebel, to accept his role as head of a giant company vs. live his dream. And it nearly destroys him.


Thanks for listening. 
Make it a productive week.


Liz 

Across the Beer Bar with Havan Fellows

Welcome to my beer bar Havan. What can I pour for you to start?Thank you for having me, Liz. *looks around and moves chair a tad closer to my beautiful host* Wow...this is nice...*wiggles on chair* very comfy. Oh, drinks, yes we need beverages don't we? Hmmm…maybe we should start with the first microbrew I ever tried? Ybor Gold was my first microbrew oh so many years ago...*chuckles*
All right then...here, start with Premium Lager, it's my "gateway" beer..

Tell us about your shiny new release.My new release is Emery's Ritches—just released this past Friday! Yay! *giggles* It is technically my first solo release...but is the second story in the Synchronous Seductions series I'm writing. The first one was released in the Story Orgy anthology Word Play. Ritchie won't admit that he's heartbroken. Emery won't accept less than all of Ritchie's affection. Now the trick is: how will meticulous Emery win snarky Ritchie for his own?

And what is this "Story Orgy" business? Ahhh...The Story Orgy. We are a group of six writers that just kinda stumbled together. Every Monday we write an 'episode' on our blog based on a prompt, whether it is a set of words, a quote or even a picture. We've done them all. We do contests that our readers participate in and we have so far three anthologies out, two of which the first ninety days of sales went to charity. We are currently working on our fourth anthology based on Road Trip prompts sent in by our readers, and when this one is published it will also go to charity. *smiles* We started off as strangers, grew into friends and finished as family. We have a Facebook page and a Story Orgy blog that we post all our doings on.

uh oh, empty glass...what can I pour for you next?  I'd like to act all knowledgeable and impress the halibut outta you, but truth is I'm not. So I'll stick with what I know, my nephew is a huge fan of Yuengling Lager, and I know I like the taste of it so let's crack one open. Oh, you were on such a roll too. At least you aren't asking me for rum and cokes and shit like that.  So, for the record THE ONLY BEER I SERVE IS THE BEER MADE HERE. IN THE BUILDING.  That said, let's try one of the seasonal Maibocks, this is called Drag me to Helles (A "Helles" beer is another name for a maibock which is a German spring seasonal).

so now you're loosened up....just what IS your deal with Lee Brazil?
um...*guzzles half the bottle*...well—I met him while I was annoying a copy of friends online and just knew that he was a keeper. He hasn't been able to get rid of me since...lol...But seriously, I wouldn't have had the balls to put my writing out there in public without him. He believes in me and forces me to achieve more. *smiles all goofy like* I got lucky when he called me his muse. I know that.
What are your publishing goals for yourself?  Got any other WIP plans in the hopper?
The third book in my Synchronous Seductions Series, Geoff's Teddy, is set to release in July, that will be the finale of that series. I'm also working on at least a half dozen open WIPs, including my blog story, my Road Trip story with the Story Orgy and a shifter story. Basically I just want to entertain people, if I can do that then I've achieved my dream as a writer. Corny maybe, but I've always been good with that. *lopsided smile*

ok, nightcap time: what's your poison?Well, if this is our last drink together I better make it a good one...since I'm not sure what the good ones are, you pick for us. Remember, the stronger the better—I like when people take control. *winks*
okay.....then, let's break out the bourbon barrel aged Imperial Dark. That'll hit you in the "I like 'em strong" spot.
Emery's Ritches
Blurb: Ritchie Lymings is wallowing in self-pity after seeing the man he loves—his best friend—reunited with his arch enemy. He's drowning his sorrows in coffee and caramel when an irritating stranger barges into his life, determined to make him smile. Even if this interloper is too dense to understand his faux pas, Ritchie figures he may be good for a quickie to get his mind off of his immediate situation. A simple round of love 'em and leave 'em sounds promising.
Emery Hutchins recognizes Ritchie immediately when he stops for his morning coffee and breakfast. His friend Ryder had been telling him stories about "the infuriating twit" for years. Fate and coincidence were two things that normally gave Emery cause for pause, but he couldn't let this opportunity pass him by. Unable to relinquish control to fate though, he immediately devises a plan to make the deliciously snarky Ritchie his own, one hundred percent completely.
But for these two diverse personalities there is one major problem. How can Ritchie's attitude and Emery's meticulousness blend together, or is this an oil and water mess?

You can find Havan Fellows @ Havan's Heavenly Haven blog & Facebook You can find Emery's Ritches @ Breathless Press , Amazon & All Romance ebooks (ARe)

Excerpt: "Oh wow, and here I feared the worst, that you would never break through that dark look and smile. Now that I've seen your smile, I'm pretty sure I never want to see you without it."Snapping out of his daydream, Ritchie turned to the intruding voice and set eyes on the sexiest man he'd seen in a long time. Short golden hair on the sides, longer in front, clear silver-blue eyes, high forehead, and pouty cupid's bow lips. Hot damn, he's a god. After a few tense seconds, Ritchie finally found his voice and attempted to put it to good use. "Can I help you?" Okay, not good use, but use at least."Most definitely, in so many ways too."Ritchie's brows drew together and he couldn't hold back the growl. "Excuse me?"The man smiled, wide and easy. "I wondered if I could share this table with you? This place gets busy in the blink of an eye. Plus I seem to have bought two coffees and two scones so I was thinking we could have breakfast together." And with that, he placed two cups and the single plate with two cinnamon chip scones he had meticulously juggled onto the table. He then proceeded to make himself at home in the chair across from Ritchie.Ritchie glanced around and noted at least three empty tables, and pointedly glared back at his interloper.That easy breezy grin didn't falter and the man didn't miss a beat. "That table wobbles, almost spilled a whole cup of their hazelnut all over me the other morning." He pointed to empty table number one. Then he directed his finger at empty table number two. "Sitting right next to that table you'll find Mrs. Glein. She's a widow and sweet as pie, but keeps insisting I meet with this mysterious grandson of hers named Stevie. Now considering she only has one grandchild, a beautiful woman named Stephanie, I figure she wants to convert me. I would rather skip that conversation this morning." Ritchie glanced over at the old lady. She smiled widely at the stranger and he waved and nodded back in acknowledgment.Then he turned his attention to the third table that now housed two students with their laptops. "And darn if I didn't just miss that table by a millisecond. Good thing I got this seat when I did, huh?"Ritchie took another sip of his coffee, trying to process how to lose this guy. He was obviously ill in some department no matter how hot he might be. Ritchie tilted his cup all the way back, then remembered it was empty. He set the mug back down a little too heavily causing a loud clacking noise that caused many of the patrons to look up with disapproving glares.Then he looked back at his company, who held the extra steaming cup out to him. "Caramel latte, I believe?"Begrudgingly, Ritchie took the cup and sipped some more. Damn near everything could be solved with the blessed combination of coffee and caramel. Staring into those clear silver-blue eyes from across the table, he stressed the damn near part."So, to what do I owe the great honor of your company?"Grinning (of course, Ritchie mentally rolled his eyes) the man said, "You can owe the great honor to the fact that I didn't want to eat breakfast alone. Usually I don't mind, but when I noticed you so melancholy I decided today I minded."Ritchie nodded. "Ah, I get it now. You're one of those do-gooders that just has to stick his nose where it isn't wanted. Come to turn my frown upside down, have you? Thanks, I appreciate the pity, but I'm doing just fine pitying myself. Don't need your help.""But you did need my coffee and you do need to eat something." He placed one of the scones on a napkin in front of Ritchie."What are you, my mother?"He winked at Ritchie. "Not exactly, I don't have the proper equipment for that. Though now I think I should start pitying myself that you didn't notice." And for the first time throughout this whole weird interaction, the stranger's smile turned into an exaggerated version of a pout.Ritchie rolled his eyes for real this time, and against his will, he felt himself smirking in response to that pout."Ah ha!" Not surprisingly the pout disappeared. "I knew I would break down your defenses eventually. So who is he?""Excuse me?" Hadn't he already said that during this conversation?"Who's the guy that's got you all knotted up? Only way for someone to look that downcast is when love's involved. Since you aren't all pissy and mad, well, not any more than what I assume's the norm for you," the man chuckled at his own joke, "I have to deduce that it's unrequited love. The guy obviously doesn't understand what a joyful gem you are. So I repeat, who is he? Shall I hunt him down and explain the error of his ways?" He popped a bit of scone into his mouth and managed to smile through the closed-mouth chewing process."I'm sorry, am I putting off a vibe saying that I'm a people person or something? Because if so, I need to fix my vibe-o-meter. What makes you think it's a guy anyway?"

What IS in a Name?

A potential lawsuit, apparently.

One of my (must more famous) and beloved romance writer colleagues, whose given name (i.e. NOT a pen name) is Adele DuBois, has been informed she can no longer "be" Adele.  As a blogging member of the Romance Books R Us group I was issued a cease and desist order relative to her (being Adele.)

I had a few things to say about this, as you might imagine. Link to that here. 

Turns out a blogger with the Washington Post had a bit to say as well (and yours truly is referenced given my own funky little run in with my very own professional organization earlier in the week.)

The link to that post is here.

The story may seem ludicrous (trademarking mere words like Realt** or names like Ade**) but true.

Check it out here.

I own a brewery too, as you may or may not know.  I realize how much time and effort and money I have put in to build that brand and if someone popped off with a "Wolverine beer" knock off or whatever just to cash in on what I have done, you bet your butt they'd get slapped with a C&D so fast they'd have to run down the road to catch it.  But this? Not the same thing at all...
make it a good day!
Liz
p.s. I did breastfeed my kids until they were about 9 months to a year.  Maintain your sense of humor on this blog. It is a requirement.