Lillian Grant's Blog, page 12

Meet Debbie Vaughan

Today I am delighted to be interviewing the wonderful Debbie Vaughan. Even better this interview is being simulcast over on Cornelle Keveen's blog. Debbie had me on Cornelle's couch a while ago and it seemed only right I return the favour. I am sure his post will be all singing and dancing, disco balls, flashing lights, loud music you know the gig. Well, that is assuming he has managed to rebuild the set.  Last time we visited there was a little misunderstanding about what kind of grenade he wanted us to bring.

Hey, don't blame me!  The man said bring hand grenades, I brought hand grenades.  How was I supposed to know he meant a drink?  I barely remember that interview!  He was the one who decided to juggle the damn things.

It was a simple mistake…anyone could of made it.

Exactly!

So, Debbie, before we start can you please empty your pockets.

How the Hell did those get in there?

Uh yeah, they will need to go in this bucket of sand.

Sorry, Leeann laid out my clothes.

*Puts bucket outside, smiles and pats the sofa* Now we are all safe, come and tell us a bit about yourself. How about a nice easy question to begin with?

Why am I worried?

As you know I am a huge fan of your writing.

Aw shucks, thanks! 

Whilst you are, as yet, unpublished, you have written three books in a series. Can you tell us a bit about the story and the characters?

Well let's see…We have Constance Bennett, human.  She's had a rather tragic life but hasn't let it get her down, much, except she's sort of given up on the whole sex thing.  She has a couple of real close friends and her paraplegic dachshund, Willy, to keep her company.

Then we have the new man-about-town, at least at night, Thomas Nathaniel Thornton.  You'll notice his initials are TNT, believe me, there's a reason for that. He's da bomb!   He's a mover and a shaker in the vampire community but deep down he's a good ole' boy with a Texas drawl and a large…belt buckle.

Belt buckle? Belt buckle? Is that a euphemism?

What did you think I was gonna say?

Well if you didn't mean belt buckle you could have said – you know – we're all adults here. But belt buckle it is *wink*

Last, but by no means least, is Rafael, Raf, to his friends.  "Just Raf, like Cher."  My best description of him is a young Tony Curtis channeling Richard Simmons.  Believe me the combination is lethal.  He's old as mud, gorgeous, gay and proud of it!  Oh, and possibly the first vampire– of course in my world just because it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck– doesn't mean it's a duck.  LOL

There are others in my cast but those are the A team.

Vampires live among humans, many like Tom, are the power behind those who rule the world and have been for ions. While a blood substitute has made it possible for them to make their presence known without much fear of reprisal, it leaves a little something to be desired. Okay, a LOT to be desired.

I should mention at this juncture another well known writer has used synthetic blood as a medium for her vampires to "come out of the coffin."  This is not a patent concept.  Blood substitutes and extenders exist in the real world. They are of limited use in human medicine but have found some success in the veterinary community.  See, I do research. 

Vampires are a popular theme in the urban fantasy genre of late. Your books are not about your average vampires, so what makes them different?

Lots of things really.  I suppose the first would be they are not the bad guys in my series but rather another misunderstood minority just trying to fit in with the "normal" folk.  I also put a different slant on the whole vampire legend.  What if vampires aren't really demon spawn?  What if they came from… shall we say, slightly higher origins, but had bought-in to the whole stereotypical vampire hype?

Have you always been drawn to the dark side?

Well, yes but not in the way you would expect.  I adore the whole idea of "monsters" and things that go bump in the night.  The flip side is they don't frighten me.  I have always felt an affinity for them.  I root for King Kong, the hunchback, the Wolfman and especially the vampires in film and prose.  They are so sensual, so tragic so, YUM!  What's not to love?  ~~fans self~~ Is it hot in here?  I think I'm having Frank Langella flashbacks…

If I hear noises under my bed I'll know who to call then.

Why?  You got Frank under there?

Moving right along, what things in life inspire you to write?

Everything!  I think that's part of being a writer, the least little thing sends your mind off on a tangent.  Granted, I lived in my head a lot, especially as a child.  My vivid imagination often runs away with me.  Give me a "what if?" and I will give you a hundred scenarios for the situation.  Is the man helping change the tire for the lady at the side of the road a good-Samaritan or a serial killer selecting his next victim?  Will he be struck by a passing car forcing the lady to save him from the clutches of death by turning him vampire?  Vampires pop-up a lot in my imaginings.

When did you first get an inkling that you could write, and when did you first act on it?

I used to make up stories to keep myself amused as a child.  They often involved knights on white chargers coming to my rescue and were filled with talking animals.

When I got older and learned to read I was voracious.  We had to write book reports for school and my teachers always selected mine to be read aloud.  In high school I was blessed with two wonderful Literature teachers who thought I was gifted and urged me to pursue my passion.  I had a few pieces published in the school paper but I never thought of making it a career.  Life got in the way.  But I kept reading!  Then about thirty years ago I came up with the idea I could write a book, a romance, with time travel and a paranormal element.

The story was written in long hand, and ended up being about 150,000 words! (It was the era of the epic novel.)  Oddly, the story generated some interest but none of the publishers could pigeon hole it.  I was asked to remove the mystery, to focus on the romance, to make the setting all past or the present.  Crossing genre lines wasn't allowed then.  I wasn't willing to make those changes, so I shelved the idea.

You recently entered the Amazon Breakthrough Novel competition. I have read your entry and I love it. However I do know this is a rewrite of something your originally wrote many years ago. Looking back, how has your writing changed from when you first wrote it?

That's true.  Dare to Dream was the novel I wrote thirty years ago.

I suppose the biggest change to my writing has been to lose the purple prose.  I read a lot of historical romance back then and purple was "in".  The Dare to Dream submitted to ABNA was only about 52,776 words, a third of what it was originally.  I like to think my energies are more focused now.  (It isn't God but the Devil in the details!) I credit my critique group with helping sort the wheat from the chaff.  Without ERA to guide and encourage me I might have thrown in the towel again.

The business end of writing is brutal.

I'm afraid Dare to Dream didn't interest the ABNA panel.  That's not totally unexpected.  While not erotica, it does carry a lot of heat and sensual content, so probably not the best fit for the contest. I have started schlepping it to publishers.

Now that you are not as young as you once were and not as old as you could be, do you think life experience has enriched your writing?

Absolutely!  No matter what a writer may tell you, their own lives are reflected in their work.  Now I'm not saying they have a hunk chained in the basement waiting to be flogged or a vampire under the floorboards in the closet, but the everyday goings-on sets the tone for what the characters do and how they relate to the reader.  Perhaps I relate with my characters more than other writers.    My heroine, Connie, is a very big part of me or perhaps, the other way round.

What is a typical day for Debbie Vaughan?  Do you have set hours when you write or do you grab the time when you can?

I wish I could say yes.  I like a set routine and thrive on order but that hasn't been the case for the last few months.  My life has undergone some major changes and I am still struggling to get everything in order.  I have re-entered the workforce after thirty odd years which is thrilling and scary as hell!

My typical day starts at 5:30 am.  I let the dogs out and go feed the horses.  Then I feed the dogs, me, get ready for work and leave the house about 7:45.  When I return from work, I repeat the morning chores and try to set things to rights, washing, cleaning house, yard work, that sort of thing.  I check with ERA and do my weekly critiques and get to read all the stories before the rest of the world. Then I check critiques of whatever piece I have up.

When I'm working on a new piece, I tend to be absorbed by it and will often not leave the computer for hours. All ten of my dogs lie around and watch me pound away at the keyboard. Needless to say, these days most of my writing is accomplished on the weekend.

Are you working on anything at the moment?

Well, I'm trying to get Haven, the third book in the Legacy Series, through critique and I've just started book four.  I have the title: Heaven and Earth!

Only the title?

Well, you have to start somewhere…

Gees, I'm exhausted just reading that. I may need to take a lie down on Cornelle's couch once we're done.

He did very well with the selection.  Red chenille!  Very posh and comfy.  * Debbie bounces on the sofa*

I have heard you talk about your muse, so give me a description and tell me who is in charge, you or them?

I am totally at Raf's mercy.  He calls all the shots and is constantly surprising me.  I had no idea he would be my muse, but from the moment he stepped into the scene, he took over.  Don't tell him, but his was supposed to be a minor role, sort of the comic sidekick.  Now an entire series revolves around him, his relationship with Connie and Tom and how they're linked.  I hope everyone will get to meet him soon and, love him as much as I do.

You know I love him. What's not to love about a flamboyantly gay Tony Curtis look alike?

My very thoughts!  Oh, and he NEVER lies.

When do you usually get plot motivation?  How do you keep hold of those ideas before they disappear into thin air?

At the most awkward times!  I get a lot of them while I am driving or mowing the lawn.  I bought one of those digital voice recorders, but all I could hear was engine noise.  So, I try to hang onto them until I reach my notebook or computer.  I have a file called "story notes" I stash them in.  I don't make outlines.  Why bother when Raf will step in and change things anyway.  I come up with an idea and he runs with it.

What has been the most exhilarating moment to date in your writing life?

Oh geeze, I've had several.  The first was when I entered a grossly under edited Midnight Sun in the 2009 Get Your Stiletto in the Door Contest sponsored by the Chick-Lit Writers.  I didn't win, but I received a very high score and the judges loved my voice and characterization.   As an unknown, I can't tell you what that validation did for my spirit.  That same work is now being considered by two New York houses.  While there is no guarantee either will accept it and offer a contract, knowing they think I am good enough to consider put me over the moon.  I could probably leap the sun if they would contact me before I die.   LOL

I have also had the opportunity to meet one of the nicest authors on the planet, Ms. Charlaine Harris, who has been a huge inspiration for me and through her board another author, Amber Green.  She asked if I would like to join ERAuthors.  What was she thinking?

One of the things that inspires me most about you is your attitude.  No matter how many times you get a knock back you pick yourself up and soldier on. I am sure there is a publisher out there that will publish your books but that's easy for me to say.  How do you stay motivated despite the setbacks?

I try to put a happy face on it, but I get depressed like everyone else.  I learned a long time ago if you dwell in your misery, misery is all you will have.

This is a very difficult industry to break into, especially now with the digital revolution.

When I first sent Dare to Dream out thirty years ago.  I sent the full manuscript.  No one wanted a synopsis or query letter, they wanted to see the finished work.  And, they sent it back with suggestion and notes in the margins!  Those times are long gone.

Now everything seems to hang on a couple of well written sentences.   If you can't write a great tag line it doesn't matter how good the manuscript may be, they'll never ask for it.  The big houses no longer accept unsolicited work; you have to have an agent.  That is harder than it sounds. Agents seem to be in a holding pattern, waiting to see which way the wind will blow with e-books.  It's frustrating and requires a lot of patience.  Something I have in short supply.

One of my favorite authors is Laurell K. Hamilton.  In one of her old blogs she stated she had to send her first Anita Blake manuscript, Guilty Pleasures, out over two hundred times before she found someone willing to take a chance on her.  I have had a lot of rejections, but I am nowhere near her mark!  Yet.

You need more than talent to become a successful author.  You need a thick skin, perseverance and patience but more than anything else, you have got to believe in your work.

Obviously people can't buy your books but I do know you have a number of free reads available. Where can people go to read them? And discover the joy that is the imagination of Debbie Vaughan.

I have a website: www.debbievaughan.com where you can find some snippets of my manuscripts as well as reviews and excerpts from some of my author friends.  There is also a link:  Get Bit by My Free Reads which will redirect you to my Blogger site: http://www.getbit-bymyfreereads.blogspot.com/

I have a novella called Tom's Story which will give you a more detailed look at my series hero.  There is also a short story titled, Query This Sucker! Memoirs of an Angry Author, a tongue-in-cheek look at my publishing frustrations. Just click the title is the subject bar.

Now some questions just for fun…

Should I be worried?

Looking back over your life what was your favorite year and why?

1978 and I'm not telling LOL *grin*

You're the second person who has answered that question and refused to say why. Am I sensing a conspiracy?

My lips are sealed.

Favorite movie and favorite movie quote?

Gone With the Wind: "Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn!"  I also like when Rhett scoops Scarlet up and tells her …well never mind.

Maybe you'd better change the subject?

Okay, if you were stranded on a desert island what book would you take to read and why?

Besides Gone With the Wind?   *Debbie flips her hand and raises a brow*

Something to make me laugh.  Any of MaryJanice Davidson's Undead series, except the last one!  The last one makes me crazy.  Or any of Janet Evanovich's Stephanie Plums.  Or, there is this Aussie writer who cracks me up…her name is on the tip of my tongue.  Oh yes, Lillian Grant!  I love Happy Birthday, Nancy Tobin.  I understand you have another comedy, Male Order, guaranteed to keep me in stitches and I can't wait to get my hands on Speak to Me of Abduction.

What is the stupidest thing you ever did?

Stayed married to the wrong man for 38 years.  Luckily, I recently got over it.

I guess it was an easy mistake to make.

Let's just say my best and worst quality is my unyielding loyalty and leave it at that, shall we?

Thanks for having me.  We need to do this again real soon, only the next time I'll be Debbie Vaughan, New York Times Best Selling Author!

*Gets up and hugs Debbie.*

Is that a Glock in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me?

Dammit!  I'm gonna kill Leeann when I get home.

*Debbie stuffs three hand grenades into the pocket of her slacks.*

Do these make my butt look big?

Hunh!

::A disturbance offstage gives prelude to a very well timed interruption::

"What do you mean I can't go out there?  Hmpht.  Here read this and get outta my way.  Yeah.  That's what I thought you said and the name's Cornelle Keveen."

:: That Big Easy glide distinguishes his stride onto the stage.::

Yeah, I bet you two weren't expecting to see me here in one piece were you?  Zip it Debs and make sure you take those hand grenades with you this time.

Lillian, quit trying to look innocent.  It ain't working for you.

For those of you reading this in the dark, I'll bring you up to speed.  These two women are destructive guests.  That's all I can tell you.  If you want to know more, drop by my blog and read their last appearance there.

I loved the interview ladies.  Ms. Vaughan's mystery has been revealed at last.  Good job Lillian.  It was rather amusing to see her squirm.

I wanted to sneak in on you two to plug a new concept over in the new studio that my lawsuit against you will finance.  It's called "On the Character's Couch."

Readers will get to delve into the minds of both Author and their lead characters as they sit down across from one another for a little interaction that you will only find at Cornelle Keveen's space.

I know.  It's kinda brilliant huh?  And just think.  I owe it all to Lillian's misdirection and Debbie's misinterpretation.

::Hands them both their legal notices with a kiss, a pinch, and a wink.::

You've both been served Big Easy Style.  'Whoa Nah Ya Heard Me?'

Cue the band.  I'm outta here.

What the f…?  Did I ask him to juggle?  I don't think so!  Call my attorney!  No, wait…Call Leeann. 

*Lillian shakes her head and sighs* I really need to get a better class of guests around here.

Find out the truth about me

Well some  of it anyway. I am being interviewed at BookWenches. Stop by and say howdy.

And don't forget to check back tomorrow for my interview of Debbie Vaughan which, thanks to an unexpected guest, descends into farce.

My dog ate my homework

I have been very slack of late. Not in life, just in updating my website. Would you believe it's my dogs fault? She ate my log in details.  Okay, okay, she didn't.  Life got hectic.  I signed a contract with SirenBookstrand for my book Speak to Me of Abduction. This comes with the promise not only of being released as an e-book in June but as a paperback in October. I will be able to pet my own book.

However, this lead me into a frenzy of activity. I started the sequel ages ago, got halfway and put it aside. It's hard to be motivated to write book two before you have a contract for book one.  Newly enthused I got to work finishing it off. Then, in  a complete fit of madness, I signed up for a 3 month writing bootcamp that starts on Monday!  Now I really need to get the sequel, currently entitled Keep it Under Wraps, edited and tidied up to send to my crit partners before the flogging begins.

In other breaking news, on Wednesday I will be posting an interview with the lovely Debbie Vaughan, writer and crit buddy extraordinaire.  You can also find out more about me at BookWenches on Monday.  They interviewed me and asked lots of probing questions.  Like aliens, except they prefer to probe your bellybutton, apparently. So, pop by Monday for the link to BookWenches and Wednesday to meet the lovely Debbie Vaughan.

Back in the Closet

Today I am thrilled to be able to share an interview with the multi talented David Kentner AKA Keva.  Under his pseudonym David has published two fantastic stories with Noble Publishing and his third Back in the Closet is due out on Valentines Day.

You can find all of David's books here at Noble Publishing.

Back in the Closet is book two in the series following on from Out of the Closet.  I loved book one and just wondered if life had got any easier for Chaz, Mike and The Cat Too?

A. Not at all. Mike's as loveably crazy and devoted to Chaz as ever. TCT discovers hunting can be fun, and that Chaz hates snakes. Chaz has to confront some issues from his childhood, though.

In the end, Chaz is a much better man for it and understands and appreciates just how special Mike really is in his life.

As for Mike, he'll get over that he couldn't keep an Amish as a souvenir of their time on the farm…eventually.

Please tell me your real life is nothing like the lives of Chaz and Mike

A. Okay. My real life is nothing like the lives of Chaz and Mike.

I know male/male romance wasn't something you had written before you created book one, so what inspired you to try a new genre?

A. The critiquing group, ERAuthors, you and I are a part of. As you well know, there are some amazing writers there, and you're one of them. They challenged me and gave me the self-confidence to explore new venues and genres. Out of the Closet, written and contracted with a publisher in just three months, was the result.

I'd probably still be unpublished if it wasn't for ERAuthors.

I am a big fan and have read a lot of your work.  Your stories all vary in plot and genre but the one thing I noticed about all of them is how you take time to paint your characters.  Are they what comes to you first when you start a book or is it the plot?

A. Thank you! I'm such a fan of yours, your saying that means the world to me.

Usually, for me, it's an initial concept. In Sunday Awakening, the entire story formed around the words "Sundays are like that sometimes." The tag developed from those five words. The plot itself went through several variations until the character Cheryl stepped forward. Once she appeared, I was a goner. I had to tell her story. But she required a very special man to fall in love with. If anyone ever takes the time to really dissect the story's hero, Taylor Hughes, (and I have no idea why they would) they will find Taylor is simply Cheryl in the male persona. That's why he was so easy to write.

Out of the Closet sprang from the tag, "Chaz never once thought the day he came out of the closet no one would be home . . . except the cat. And he was neutered."

Likewise, Back in the Closet came from it's own tag line.

Obviously, the tag lines are, and remain, my original, core thoughts that give birth to the story and thusly the characters.

An exception is a novel I've had on hold for a while now, The Hummingbird, which I'll get back to working on once my current project is finished. The Hummingbird was created from the character Krisah, an orphan surviving in the sewers. I was conducting research for another work in progress when Krisah stepped into my imagination and told me his story. It's a tale too compelling not to write.

All of your books have wonderful humor in them.  The tag line for Sunday Awakening, for example, is just brilliant and when you get to the point in the story where Cheryl is living the moment it seems like such a normal reaction, for her.  Does the humor come naturally to you in everyday life or is it something your characters bring to the page?

A. Basically, I'm a sarcastic prick.

Honestly, I've been around a lot of people faced with conditions so extreme I don't know if I could survive with the dignity and grace they have. The one commonalty they all shared is the ability to find and give away a smile. My characters and people I have known inspire whatever humor I have.

I also used to drink a lot. People are really funny when you're snockered.

What things in life inspire you to write?

A. People. The human race is amazing. No matter what difficulties and horrors are inflicted on people, when they have been beaten down and have nothing left, they will put their arms around a total stranger and say, "I'm here. Lean on me." How can we not be inspired by that?

Whilst you have only been published recently, I wonder, when did you first get an inkling that you could write and when did you first act on it?

A. I'll never be convinced I "can" write, but I've been trying since before I learned the alphabet. My first story was lines and squiggles in crayon on paper. I wrote it for my mother two years ago. To tell the truth, I can't recall a year in grade school I didn't write a story the teacher didn't read to the class. In high school I had a poem and short story published in a local magazine. I had every intention of becoming an English teacher and writer – life disagreed and it's only been in the last few years I've enjoyed the opportunity to return to my love of writing.

What is a typical day for KevaD?  Do you have set hours when you write or do you only get to hide under the stairs when life allows?

A. When life and wife permit. I try to hide from my wife, but the three-legged cat tells her where I am. He gets upset because he wants to use the litter box and there isn't room for both of us.

I have heard you talk about your muse, so give me a description and tell me who is in charge, you or them?

A. The muses are definitely in charge. One is female. She offers gentler stories and helps hone works in progress. Her specialty is refining plots and character motivation. The male is a bit sadistic. He enjoys murder and revenge. The things he whispers in my ear are terrifyingly mouthwatering. I've been sketching out a storyline he's been pushing. It's disgustingly interesting.

When do you usually get plot motivation?  How do you keep hold of those ideas before they disappear into thin air?

A. Anytime I am alone or my wife is asleep. More than once I've pulled over to the side of the road and jotted down notes. I joke about my best story concepts coming while I'm mowing the lawn, but there's a lot of truth in that. The engine noise blocks out extraneous sound and I can lose myself in my thoughts for the five to six hours it takes to mow our yard. When I'm finished, I sit down at the computer.

What has been the most exhilarating moment to date in your writing career?

A. Truthfully, being accepted in to ERAuthors. To have a group of superior writers welcome me into their fold was humbling and exciting. I'm totally in awe of the stories these people create. I keep saying it because it's true – I wouldn't be published if not for ERAuthors.

The two previous moments were my first story being accepted by a magazine (Faraway Journal) and placing fourth in a national fiction competition (Mensa's Calliope magazine).

As well as writing stories you also devote yourself to supporting others.  I know you run great interviews on your blog for example. What else do you do to give back to the writing community?

A. The blog interviews are actually the unedited versions of interviews I conduct for GateHouse News Service, an agency that distributes stories to newspapers across the country. It's true I don't receive any pay for writing my weekly column. I do it because I love to write, and if my love of writing helps promote other authors, regardless of genre, we all win. I'll pretty much help anyone, anytime with their writing, though I learned the hard way that I need to be a tad more selective. More than once I've spent hours on end trying to help improve and hone a story, only to discover the writer had no intention of ever trying to see it published.

So, what next for KevaD? Any new stories in the pipeline you can share with us?

A. I'm wrapping up my latest novel Whistle Pass, a MM intrigue tale with a strong romantic thread set in 1955. It's a complex story with loads of twists and turns set in a time when our government openly considered homosexuality a mental disorder and treatment included lobotomies and court ordered commitment to insane asylums. I should be ready to try and find Whistle Pass a home in about a month, if all goes well.

Krisah and The Hummingbird have really been insisting I return to that story.

And my male muse's story of betrayal and revenge refuses to go away, so I better do something with that one, too, before he inflicts some of the torture on me he has planned for characters in the novel.

Oh, yeah. SonRise. Can't forget SonRise. That WWII intrigue novel is nearing completion of revisions before I try to find it a home also.

Now some questions just for fun

Looking back over your life what was your favorite year and why?

A. 1978 – It has a nice ring to it.

Favorite movie and favorite movie quote?

A. Yellowbeard – that movie is insane and full of unforgettable lines.

Yellowbeard: She couldn't be your mother. No woman ever slept with me and lived.

Yellowbeard: Who're you talkin' about?

Betty: The fruit of your loins, sugar drawers.

Yellowbeard: Are you mad, woman? I haven't got fruit in my loins! Lice, yes, and proud of 'em!

Betty: When little Dan came along…

Yellowbeard: Who's Dan?

Betty: My and probably your son!

If you were stranded on a desert island what book would you take to read and why?

A. Kama Sutra – there's bound to be a knothole in a tree somewhere.

Seriously – the Boy Scout Handbook. That book contains everything anyone needs to survive – and it has pictures. Gotta have pictures. Tying a square knot's a bitch without pictures.

What is the stupidest thing you ever did?

A. Legally?

Legally, it was as a police officer. There was this behemoth tearing up a place. I was the commander of the night shift at the time and my officers called for me to come to the scene. They had a standoff going with this monster. I walked in and the gentleman shouts, "You think you can arrest me?"

I was having a really, really bad night. So, gathering all the stupidity I could find, I took off my cap and gun belt and said, "Yeah."

It wasn't pretty.

Or did you want the truth?

Be sure to check out David's new book on the 14th at  Noble Publishing and if you haven't read the first one you are really missing out on something special.

Blurb

Sometimes the best-laid plans don't mean you get laid.

Chaz and Mike are inaugurating their life together as an openly gay couple. Bliss is inevitable, until a dead relative rises up and brings their plans to a screeching halt.

Chaz's not-so-dearly departed Amish Uncle Silas has bequeathed his nephew his farm . . . and a $60,000 tax bill if Chaz doesn't play by the rules.

With empty wallets, the duo and their kitten, TCT, head off for Iowa to live on the farm for ninety days – without electricity or plumbing . . . or sex.

While Mike finds trees to climb, horses to ride, and a big ax to play with, and TCT discovers a wide array of critters to chase and capture, Chaz faces a past veiled in mystery.

As a young boy, Chaz spent time on the farm. Why can't he remember the giant oak tree or the ancient barn? Each time he tries to enter the barn, terror stops him cold.

Chaz will need courage he's never had before, along with all the strength in his partner's lusciously muscled body, to solve the riddles plaguing him. Keeping Mike and his axe from chopping off the wrong piece of lumber might not be a bad idea, either.

Excerpt:

"Chaz, it's a dick, not a birthday candle." Mike rolled his eyes.

This wasn't working out at all like I'd thought it would. It had become painfully obvious the best-laid plans didn't always mean you got laid.

I looked up from between Mike's muscled thighs. The un-bottled perfume of his heat and pearly drops of natural lubricant hung in the air. "Then why do they call it a blowjob?"

I certainly didn't know. I'd bruised myself the first time I tried to beat off. The epiphany – and me – came when I massaged my swollen member to ease the pain.

He flopped his head onto the pillow and rubbed his brow in an attempt to stave off the obvious headache. "I don't know, man. Why do they call showing somebody your ass, 'shooting the moon?' The moon doesn't have a butt crack through the middle of it."

The size of the monster in my hands set my tongue on a collision course with my quivering nerves. "Actually, it has nothing to do with the moon. Well, not in the classic idiom of the earth's singular satellite. The terminology relates to the concept of bringing darkness into the light. The adage purportedly has historical references as far back as Adonis. You see, Adonis, by popular opinion, somewhere along the line became confused, intertwined if you will, with a nonexistent god named Adidas. Thusly, Adidas holds reference to 'false identify,' which in turn may, at times, depending on the debate, also mean 'to bring out the reality of that concealed.' In layman's vocabulary, 'shooting the moon' is a primitive means of revealing something previously hidden. I can explain it further if it would help?"

His left hand joined his right in massaging his temples. "No. I've got it. Thanks."

A muffled shriek rose from my throat. "You're losing your erection!"

"Ya think?"  Rolling onto his side, he patted the black silk sheets. "Come up here and lay with me."

Begrudgingly, I obliged him. It was to be our first time. Not just as a couple, but as an openly gay couple. Two virginal homosexuals surrendering our homosexual virginity to each other. A beautiful, life-changing experience, and I'd blown it . . . sort of.

Mike pulled me in close. Even had I wanted to resist, which I didn't, the strength of the high-rise construction worker wouldn't have allowed me to. Tall and lean, the man's muscles had muscles.

His abs weren't washboard, they were those warning strips the street department puts down to wake up drivers so they don't cruise through a stop sign. I swear his eyelids could lift as much weight as my spindly arms could. I leaned against telephone poles. Mike climbed them – upside down.

Warm, wet, his lips pressed a kiss onto my throat. My cock responded with a few drops of its own wetness, then shuddered and throbbed when his hand engulfed it.

"Let me show you how it's done." The words, throaty, all man, thrust more blood into my erection than I thought it could handle. My testicles tightened when he dotted my chest with kisses, a trail of wanting to my waist.

"Mrrrrowwww. Ssssss."

The Cat Too. TCT for short. A tuxedo kitten Mike had given me, the traitorous creature had abandoned me for Mike. Sat on his shoulder like a parrot.

"Ssssss."

I'd put it out of the bedroom. If it was going to throw a hissy fit every time Mike and I made – tried to – make love, we needed another plan.

Bzzz, bzzz, bzzz, bzzz. The doorbell? Great. Just fricking wonderful.

The moment, and my erection, waning, Mike rolled onto his back and sighed. "You get the impression this isn't supposed to happen today?"

"There's always tonight." I whispered, kissed his forehead, then tumbled off the bed. Slipping into gray flannel shorts and a T-shirt, I opened the bedroom door. There stood TCT, back arched, tail perpendicular, eyes focused towards the entrance to our apartment. He hadn't thrown a fit about us, he'd known before the bell rang somebody was at the door.

"Good, kitty." I stroked his back. He responded by wrapping his fur ball body around my hand, sank needle-sharp teeth and claws into my skin, then left me bleeding while he bolted through the doorway and scrambled up the covers to lie next to Mike.

My cat. Yeah, right.

Wounded, both in body and spirit, I opened the front door.

"Chaz Westerbrook?" the woman asked – in a baritone voice.

"Yes?" I scoured the face. Nothing about it held any familiarity. Either as a male or female. The orange bouffant looked nice, in a Folies-Bergere sort of way. The Adam's apple had a point capable of popping balloons. He was tall enough, that's where my line-of-sight rested.

"Would you autograph this for me? Please?"

In his hand he held a copy of my debut novel, "A Kiss From the Shadows," the first book of my gay love trilogy. A fan. My chest and ego swelled with pride.

"Certainly." Taking the novel from him, I asked, "Do you have a pen?"

He unbuttoned the top three buttons of his lavender paisley sundress and pulled a pen out of his black lace bra.

I opened the cover. "Who would you like it to?"

"Jasmine. If you don't mind?"

His smile was priceless. Really. All of the teeth were capped in gold with diamond insets on the canines. I didn't want to ask why. He might have told me.

"To Jasmine," I said aloud. "You will always be in my thoughts. Chaz." It was true. How could I forget him? His chest was hairier than TCT. I handed the book back to him. "Have you ever considered filling in your cleft? You remind me of a young Kirk Douglas." I left out the part about a young Kirk Douglas crossbred with King Kong.

"I get that a lot." He embraced the book to his chest, licked it – yuck – and opened a lime green shoulder bag. "You seeing anyone?" The long-lashed, brown eyes looked a little too hopeful.

"Yeah, snow cone." The growl came from behind me. "He's in a relationship, so hit the bricks."

"Well," he huffed. "In that case . . . ." The book went in the bag. When he withdrew his hand, a sheaf of papers thumped against my chest.

"You've been served."

He spun on a heel with an exaggerated swish of the loose-fitting dress and sauntered to the waiting elevator. "Your book sucks dingleberries by the way."

A whirlwind of heated anger shoved past me. "I'm gonna kick his ass."

"Mike. Mike!" I couldn't grab his shirt, because he didn't have one on. So, I grabbed the waistband of his shorts.

Men – really, really, well-built men – have this indentation in their firm little butts. I wanted to glue my cheek in Mike's when the shorts ripped off in my hands. Damn, the man was so built.

A black and white streak of fur shot past us and into the elevator just as the door closed. Shit. This wasn't over.

I'd made it a third of the way to the stairs when Mike slammed into the stairwell. By the time I hit the first landing, his one flight, one-step cadence had him on the ground floor.

When I arrived in the lobby, a woman stood in front of Mike, offering him her card. But by where her eyes were focused, had the police asked for a description of the naked man, she'd probably only been able to say, "Six inches by two inches limp."

I could attest to the fact, erect, it more than doubled that. Hence my nervousness in the bedroom. The thought of Mike's love tool nailing my virgin ass scared the beejeezus out of me.

TCT, asleep in Mike's arms, purred his contentment.

"Where's Jasmine?" I asked, though more than a bit concerned of what the answer might be.

"Garbage can out front. And the tranny ain't no tranny." Mike headed for the elevator.

"Call me," the woman cried out. "The number's on the card. On the card. My number?"

She caught me at the door. "What happened to his nipple?"

"Cat bit it off."

In disbelief, she slapped my arm. "Seriously, what?"

Truth was, TCT's predecessor, The Cat, bit the thing off. "Last woman he screwed got so excited she ripped it right off with her teeth. He carries hers in his wallet."

I left her to mull it over and went outside.

Jasmine was trying to push his way out of the curbside can. The dress bunched at his waist exposed a pair of denim mid-thigh shorts. I grabbed his legs and jerked him out.

"Thanks," he heaved. I didn't pull the used condom off his forehead or the brown lettuce leaf out of his hairdo. In Jersey, such things were to be expected in trashcans.

"You've got shorts on under your dress." Pissed, I gave him my best slanty-eye look along with a droop-mouth frown.

"Hey," he mumbled, shrugging. "Whatever gets me to the mark so I can get the papers served."

Oh, yeah. Boiling piss mad. "You're not a fan of my writing?"

He pulled the book out of his bag. "This crap? I wouldn't read this if you paid me."

I snatched the book from his grasp, did a three sixty, and smacked him in the face with it. He fell unconscious against a parked car, setting off the alarm.

"Bitch." I hissed, and walked back into the apartment building.

The woman stalked me all the way to the elevator. "What's his name?"

"Rock Hard, the actor." The doors closed over my lie.

"I knew I recognized him!" She screamed her false victory so everybody could share in her stupidity. "Tell him to call me!"

* * * * *

Mike flopped down on the couch next to me.

"So, what's up?"

I leafed through the papers. "I have to be in court tomorrow to confirm my tax-exempt status before being awarded my uncle's farm in Haven Glenn, Iowa."

"Your uncle? You've never mentioned him."

"Yeah. I know." Nobody ever talked about crazy Uncle Silas for fear his insanity might be contagious. "He died a while back, and it looks like he left me his farm."

"Why? You his favorite nephew or something?"

Not having an answer, I shook my head. I didn't get this at all. "No. He refused to speak to me after 'A Kiss From the Shadows' hit the bookstores. Wasn't a big fan of gay unless it involved nubile virgins, ribbons, and a Maypole."

"What's this tax-exempt status thing about?"

"I have no idea, Mike. I'm as much in the dark here as you are."

He sighed and leaned into the cushions. "I guess you're gonna be gone a while?"

"I don't know. Maybe. Come with me. I don't want to go without you."

"Nah. You can do your writing and accountant job from your computer. The union isn't gonna buy my disappearing overnight. I can come when they clear my request for some time off. That good enough?"

I laced my fingers through his and smiled. "Yeah. Good enough. I'm going to miss you until then."

"One thing." His brow dipped. Something appeared to trouble him.

"What is it?"

"Where is this place?"

"Haven Glenn?"

"No. Iowa."

"It's . . . ." I had to think. Iowa wasn't exactly on a New Jersey boy's lists of sights to see before he died. "I'll get my laptop. Maybe Google can find it."

Aussie Inventiveness

After my post on Australia Day I have been doing some more research into what makes Australia unique. Having blown in on a chill wind from the UK some hwmmw years ago, I never had to pass a test to become an Aussie Citizen.

I realize my knowledge of all things Australian is very lacking. So, in an effort to enlighten myself, and the non-Australian reading public, I thought I would share some of the wonders I discovered. This week I want to look at some Aussie inventions. Some of them are surprising and without them the world would be a different place, and some I think we all wish had never happened.

The Good

Thanks to an Aussie you never need to worry about your beer going cold. If you like to keep your coldies cold in a cooler, which is an Esky down here, then you have a man from the land down under to thank.

In similar vein, if you slide your beer bottle or can into a stubby holder to keep it cool look this way, yep another Aussie invention.

How about cask wine. A bottle just not big enough? Then you need wine in a box and we made it!

Now you may be thinking Aussies like to drink…well you could be right but some of our alcohol related inventions work for other things. Like the refrigerator. Not just good at keeping your drinks cold it's a great place to store your snags.

And what about entertainment? The first feature film was made down here in 1906. We also invented the clapperboard, used to synchronize sound and picture when making a movie.

Wi-fi was also a result of someone having a brain wave down under.

The Bad

Meat flavored water for your dog. I can see that being a huge hit.

The Panel Van. Like a station wagon with a higher back end. The lack of windows in the back and space for a mattress means many an Aussie can trace their moment of conception to some side street out of the way of prying eyes.

How about streaking? Invented by a former Accountant at a rugby match in the UK in April. That was going above and beyond it must have been freezing. I can't believe people think accountants are boring. When was the last time an investment banker got his kecks off in public?

The Ugly

Vegemite. Yuk. Made from the dark yeast leftovers from beer brewing. I think this is our punishment for liking a beer.

Viagra Oysters. Someone laced their oysters with Viagra for an extra boost to the aphrodisiac effects. The health department quickly closed them down.

Um Speedos. Next time you are at the beach and see a lovely male body wearing the budgie smugglers, or you may call them banana hammock blame, us.

And last, but not least, backless briefs. If you don't want people to see the back of your thong when you were low slung jeans, we have invented the solution, ladies undies without a back. I have no idea how that works, and to be honest I am not going to find out.

Want to know more.  Check out these links

Inventions in Australia

Australian Inventions

Make Me, Sir by Cherise Sinclair

Today I am honoured that Cherise let me have a small part in the much anticipated release of her new book, Master of the Shadowlands 5: Make Me, Sir. I am a huge fan, but I will keep the squeeing to a minimum.

It is available at Loose Id from February 1st

Blurb

Her job is to make his life miserable. His job is to make her submit. Whose heart will surrender first?

Across the country, rebellious BDSM submissives are being systematically kidnapped, one from each club. When her friend falls prey to the slavers, FBI victim specialist Gabrielle volunteers to be bait in a club not yet hit: the Shadowlands.

She finds that being a bratty sub comes naturally, especially when she gets to twit the appallingly conservative Master of the trainees. But she soon discovers he's not as stuffy as she'd thought. Or as mean. She'd expected punishment, even humiliation, but she sure never expected to fall in love with a damned lawyer.

Courtesy of a prima donna ex-wife, Marcus loathes disobedient submissives. When the club owner insists he admit an incredibly bratty trainee, he's furious. But as he comes to know Gabrielle and sees the alluring sweetness beneath the sass, he starts to fall for her.

Unfortunately, Marcus isn't the only one who believes the feisty redhead is a prize worth capturing. And in the world of the slaver, such treasure is worth a hefty fee.

Excerpt

"Gabrielle." Master Cullen waved her closer, then finished drawing a beer. He nodded to two drinks on the bar top. "Pet, be a good girl and run these over to the couple sitting by the suspension area."

He gave her an easygoing grin that had her smiling back. "Yes, Sir." A few steps from the bar, she realized she should have smarted off to him. Duh, Gabi.

At the suspension area, two doms had trussed a submissive in an elegant array of ropes, and she dangled in midair. Nearby a muscular, black-haired dom in black leathers observed the scene. His sub sat beside him, very pregnant and very cute, looking rather like a fat poodle next to a wolf.

Gabi steeled her nerve. "Here go, dude." She slapped the two drinks down on the coffee table hard enough to send liquid sloshing over the sides. "Oops. My bad."

His gaze stopped on her gold-colored wrist cuffs, and his face hardened into solid rock. "Here go, dude?" he repeated softly; then his voice turned cold. "What is your name, trainee?"

Oh crap. "I'm Gabrielle" — don't say Sir, don't say Sir — "Sir." The respectful term slipped out; she just couldn't hold it in under his ruthless stare. Damn, he and Master Marcus had this intimidating stuff down to a science. Don't let him psych you out. She tsk-tsked at him. "My grandmother said you shouldn't frown like that because your face might stay that way."

"She's got a death wish," he said under his breath. Rising — and oh, joy — the guy was as tall as Marcus. He gripped her arm and glanced at his sub. "Wait here, Kari. I'll return in a second."

"Yes, Sir," his sub said and gave Gabrielle an appalled look.

After glancing around, the dom dragged Gabi across the room to a station where a domme caned a potbellied, older man. Gabi winced as the man's gag-muffled groan followed each whacking noise. The nasty dom didn't plan to borrow that cane, did he?

He pulled Gabi farther, heading straight toward…Master Marcus. Hell.

Marcus's smile faded when he saw Gabi. "Is there a problem with the trainee, Master Dan?"

Oh, this is not good.

"Damn right." The dom stared down at Gabi. She hadn't realized brown eyes could look so pitiless. "Either incredibly poorly trained or simply insolent. I think insolent, myself."

"I see." Master Marcus's gaze dropped to her. "That would be a downright pity, wouldn't it?"

Okay, blue eyes could definitely turn colder than brown ones. A tremor shook her body as the dom passed her off, and Master Marcus's equally merciless grip closed around her upper arm. "I do thank you for bringing her to me, Master Dan. I'll take care of it."

One corner of Master Dan's mouth curled up. "Good enough." He gave her a dismissive look as if she were a puppy that had peed on his kitchen floor, and walked away.

She shifted her weight and peeked up from under her eyelashes at the suit.

Arms folded over his chest, he studied her with disapproval. "Well, you got yourself in a heap of trouble. Did you not understand my instructions as to the behavior of a trainee?"

Why did she feel as if she'd let him down? Making him happy wasn't her job. The cheerleading team in her brain started chanting brat, brat, brat, and she said in an irritating whine, "I've served drinks all night, and my feet are tired, and I just wanted to have a little fun. He didn't have to be such a jerk about it."

"Your feet are tired, and you want to have fun. I see." His lips curved slightly. "Then we might should get you off your feet."

His hand closed on the back of her neck again as he headed over to a small sitting area where a younger dom and one with silvery gray hair sat talking. The older one glanced up. "Marcus, how are you doing?"

"Quite well, thank you, sir." The warm reply was a vast contrast to how he'd sounded a second ago. "Master Sam, I would like to offer y'all a coffee table for your comfort. She complained her feet are tired, so I have a notion that resting on hands and knees would suit her better."

Coffee table? When Gabi tried to pull away, Master Marcus slid her legs right out from under her so quickly she'd have belly flopped if he hadn't caught her. "Hands and knees, please, Gabrielle," he said and set her on the floor.

This was…just wrong. Avoiding the legs beside her, she sidled around far enough her butt was toward the wall at least.

He sighed and picked her up, setting her back down with her ass toward the center of the room, then shoved a foot between her knees, forcing her legs apart. Exposing her more fully. "You stay right there now."

"Thanks a lot, boss," she snapped.

Stinging pain slashed across her bottom, and she yelped.

"Silence, sub," the old guy said, motioning with the switch he held. A switch. Hell, no wonder it'd hurt. His pale blue eyes examined her without any compassion at all. "I dislike noisy coffee tables."

Marcus ran his hand over the burning spot. When she winced, he chuckled. "Gabrielle, you will serve as a coffee table until I return. I would recommend you hold very still — anyone whose drink you spill can have a blowjob from you."

A blowjob? She stared up at him in disbelief, a solid knot forming in her stomach. I don't want to do that. I don't want to be here.

He paused, and his voice took on a deeper, cutting edge. "Am I clear?"

She really, really didn't have the guts to challenge him — not when he used that tone. Tears blurred her vision. "Y-yes, Sir."

He bent and stroked his hand over her hair. "Much better. I'm sorry you won't find this a comfortable time, sugar." The sympathy in his voice made her want to lean into him. To beg him not to leave her.

But he did. He walked away. She dropped her head, not willing to look at anything or anyone. Naked, on hands and knees, her butt exposed. A second later, the old man set his beer on her back. The cold, damp bottle made her jump, and thank God, he'd kept hold of the drink or she'd have knocked it right off. The younger man put his can of beer on her too. They must keep the refrigerator here at subzero temperatures, she thought as goose bumps rose on her skin.

She stayed in place, not moving a muscle, and realized after a few minutes that having her legs spread helped her balance. Not that she'd ever forgive Mr. Perfect anyway.

The two men talked, arguing over Tampa's baseball team, over a recent suicide off the Skyway Bridge, over Master Z's mouthy sub and her latest infraction. They picked their drinks up, set them down, paying as much attention to her as if she really were a coffee table.

Then she realized Master Sam had set his drink right on the edge of her scapula. Feeling the bottle teeter, she stopped breathing. It settled. Tiny little breaths. Don't move.

"I do think she makes a fine piece of furniture." Marcus's voice came from behind her, and she startled, just a tiny bit, caught herself…and the bottle tipped. The glass hit her back, and cold beer drizzled off her ribs and downward to pool at the base of her spine. Horror ran through her, and her fingernails dug into the hardwood floor. No no no. At least the other man had already picked his can up or she'd have spilled them both. She pushed herself up to a kneeling position, and the cold beer trickled down between her butt cheeks, making her anus pucker.

"Hell, I hadn't finished yet," came the gruff tones of the older man.

"Truly a shame." Marcus shook his head at her. "Well, she'll do better next time, I assume."

This isn't fair. You guys set me up, you bastards. Gabrielle saw the older guy unfasten his leather pants, and she closed her eyes. Oh no. They wouldn't

Speak Like an Aussie Day

Today, January 26th, is Australia day, a day when Aussies celebrate the arrival in 1788 of the First Fleet of eleven convict ships from the UK.  The day the British flag was raised and occupation of the eastern half of our continent began.  England's largest jail was born.

Now, whilst this may be a minor event on the planetary calendar, not coming close to the Superbowl or Macey's Christmas Parade, I still think the world should pause, reflect and celebrate with the inhabitants of the world's largest island.

If Disney's reinterpretation of the Pirate genre can give birth to 'Speak like a Pirate Day' then surely something as monumental as Australia Day should garner a similar response.  Therefore I think this holiday should be renamed, 'speak like an Aussie day.'

To help you all get in the swing of it I shall endeavour to give you the heads up on the most useful Aussie expressions and pronunciations.  Now any of you who watched that movie with Meryl Streep where she declared, "a dingo ate my baby" are at a disadvantage…we really don't sound like that.

First things first, an Australian will tell you they come from Austraya, note the word has a silent L.

When meeting an Austrayan the native will greet you with, G'day mate, which is the universal acknowledgment of your existence and acceptance as friend rather than foe.

If he offers you a 'snag' do not be offended or concerned, he is merely offering you a sausage, usually from the barbie.

The average Austrayan will pepper his language with words that may appear profane to the uninitiated. For example if he calls you a bastard it is a usually a term of endearment, unless you happened to let slip some unfortunate information about your parentage.  Oh bugger, denotes that something has clearly gone wrong. If an Aussie were to drive into the back of your vehicle with his Ute (a car with a tray on the back instead of rear passenger seats and a trunk) his first response would usually be 'oh bugger.'

Austrayans have many affectionate terms for those they love, mate, cobber, and dag.  Dag being reserved for the times when your mate is being stupid. If you spill beer down yourself and make an Aussie laugh he may well call you a dag.  Should you hasten to Wikipedia for a translation you may be insulted to discover the word dag denotes a fly blown, shit encrusted piece of wool hanging below a sheeps butt, however, to an Australian it is an acknowledgment that you are just plain stupid.

Clothing here has it's own names.  At the beach, the male of the species can be seen wearing budgie smugglers, you may call them a banana hammock or perhaps swimming trunks.  Dacks are pants and underdacks, are obviously underwear.  Women have been known to wear frocks and men singlets rather than wife beaters.  A skivvy is a roll neck jumper and thongs go on your feet.

As well as their being generic words recognized the country over, each state has its own nuances.  For example should you meet an Austrayan who ends every sentence with ahy, thus turning every comment into a question, you can be assured you are in the company of a Queenslander.  Should your tame Aussie keep telling you everything is grouse then you are the proud owner of a Victorian.

Having lived here for many years I have learned to understand and even mimic the Aussie so well that I have blended into my habitat. I grew up in the UK but became an Austrayan citizen as soon as time allowed. There is no where else in the world I would choose to call home, despite the drought, flooding and kookaburras who seem greatly amused by something in the trees outside my bedroom window at 5.30 in the morning.  Although I do like Paris, maybe I could do Paris. Hmmm.

A Great Review

I have been very remiss of late but life got so hectic.  We are in the midst of renovating our toilet and laundry and I have just finished editing a novel about a girl who accidentally becomes a pimp to a male prostitute. I will be subbing it soon so, fingers crossed, a publisher will love it.

Meanwhile, Happy Birthday,  Nancy Tobin, is getting some great reviews from readers on Goodreads like this one from Mrs. Missive.

Let me start of by saying that this book shocked the heck outta me. Aside from the A-hole hubby and the overwhelming desire to off herself, I had a scary similar life situation to Nancy(our newly 40 heroine).

Nancy has a job she hates, a life she doesn't know how to change and the sudden interest of a hot college stud named Jake.

Jake decides he just wants to make Nancy smile. Well what better way to make a woman smile than boinking her brains out? Hell, sounds like the right idea to me.

Now I know you are thinking, "Hold up! She's married!" But trust me a few pages of her husband and you'd boink the hottie too.

I felt a real connection with the characters in this book, and I could not put it down until I found out if Nancy got the HEA she deserved. And I have to say the ending sentence is the absolute best I have ever read. I've never quoted the end of a book, because I'm not a spoiler sally, but this ending is beyond quotable.

The only problem I had in this book for awhile were Nancy's waffling on her belief that Jake could want her. This breaks my cardinal rule of, "if you are boinking a hottie, you aren't aloud to have body issues". However Nancy's growth as a character, and the inner strength that is brought out in her completely redeemed her for me.

This was a true spicy romance novel. Loved it. So glad I won the copy, highly recommend to erotica and romance readers alike. 5 stars.

Interesting locations for a sexual adventure

Today I am guest blogging at  Smutketeers, where my topic of choice is unusual locations for having sex.  Come and check it out for a chance to win a copy of my book.

Smutketeers

Non consensual sex in romance writing

Hi, everyone!  I'm KS Brown, and I'm so honored that Lillian invited me to be a guest on her blog!  You've never heard of me because none of my books have been published yet, but I'm working toward that goal every day.  I write steamy paranormal romances about weredragons and day walking vampires and the bad guy organization that wants to exterminate them.  But enough about me…

Lately, I've been wondering when rape became sexy.  Oh, I know there are people who get off on rape fantasy, and I get that.  No problem.  What I do have a problem with is when romance and erotica authors write thinly disguised rape as sex scenes.

I'm sure you know the ones I'm talking about.  Where the hero insists on sex despite whatever level of objection the heroine raises.  Then, the heroine either decides she likes it, or that he's not really hurting her, or whatever, and goes on to fall in love with him.

It's normally justified in some way, so the reader might not always see the hero as a rapist.  He's from a different culture, so his standards of behavior are different.  He lost control, because he just wants her soooo much, or he loves her soooo much, or some other reason.

I've seen these scenes in everything from old historical romances, to BDSM erotica, and nearly everything in between.  The result for the reader can be as simple as being turned off by the story, to as serious as making them think that behavior is the norm and expecting it in their own relationships.  It also perpetuates the common myth that participants in certain kinks are either abused or abusers.  The debate on whether or not authors should bear the social responsibility to accurately portray such things is a subject for another time. J

Many authors, probably most, don't resort to this kind of thing.  They do the work to ensure that both parties thoroughly enjoy themselves, and consent to the act.  In my opinion, these non-consensual sex scenes are poor, lazy writing, a way for the author to add conflict without working for it.  If the author cares so little about her characters, why should I as a reader care about them enough to read their story?

As a reader, I read romance and erotica to get lost in the story, the fantasy, of the relationship.  If the author includes non-consensual sex between the main characters, I don't buy any more of her books.  If it's in a newer book, I try to contact the author to let her know I was disappointed and why.

So, authors, please, take the time to make sure your characters enjoy the sex and consent to it. Your readers will thank you.

Find out more about my guest at her website KSBrown

and her blog.