Silke Juppenlatz's Blog, page 5

The Great Valentine's Day Panic

Valentine's Day is upon us.

Men are frantic.

Women watch them with glee as they become more and more agitated.

I work in an all male environment, and I get to see the fallout firsthand.

Frantic phonecalls to the bookseller, because the books still haven't arrived.

Tearing through catalogs and special offers in the hope to spot something — anything — that might appeal to the wife.

It's kind of sad to watch.

Me? I'm easy. I honestly don't care about Valentine's Day.

You think I'm kidding, right? After all, I am a romance writer. Surely Valentine's Day must be the most important day in my calendar?

It's not.

Yeah, it's nice to get some flowers, but I'd rather get them when I least expect it.

I just texted my other half, telling him not to bother — and I really mean that. It's not some ploy to get him to do / buy something. (I mentioned it to my boss — who is looking for a present for his wife right now — and his response was "Marry me!" LOL)

My guy does other stuff, you know? When they predicted snow two weeks ago, he asked if I wanted him to pick up some hay for Oscuro. We went to the old yard and picked up five bales of haylage, and he paid for them. That, to me, is worth far more than some contrived "Special Day" present. That's thoughtful and unexpected.

He comes home bringing a big bag of Bretzeln, because he just happened to be in the area where there is a bakery who does them, and he knows I loooove them. He found me some of the foods I miss from home.

Do I need flowers on Valentine's Day?

Absolutely not.

I think women need to cut their men some slack. If your guy does things like mine, and surprises you with things you really like — then don't stress him out on Valentine's Day. They panic. Really, they do. I have three guys running around the office all freaked out about tomorrow, because they don't want to "get it wrong".

If all you get is a card and a bar of chocolate — smile and say thank you. Don't harangue him for "doing it wrong" or start with the "You don't love me" nonsense. They do, they just don't think like we do, and they are terrified to upset you.

Maybe I'm just very laid back, but I think Valentine's Day is vastly overrated, a commercial excuse to rake in money from men desperate to prove something that (often) should be obvious to a woman from the things they do all year round.

Yeah, there are the slobs out there, who never do anything for their women. You can send them into meltdown, I don't mind.

But if your man does things for you without being asked, just because you might like it, or he knows you like it and saw it and brought it home for you…

Those are the keepers. Those are the ones who deserve the slack.

They love you. All you have to do is pay attention to what they do, rather than say — and love them back.

Downmarket? Really?

The Guardian recently had an article about Ebooks. You can read it here:

Ebook sales are being driven by downmarket genre fiction

Wow.

Slamming genre fiction for selling books to the masses takes some serious guts.

In a time when book sales are going down as people cut down on "luxury" items, surely we should be happy some authors are still able to captivate the imagination of their readers? Does it matter what people read, as long as they read something?

World Book Day is around the corner, and we're trying to get more people to read, and yet here is a writer *cough* who criticizes people for what they read. I registered as one of the givers. Guess what I chose? Good Omens by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman. Why am I trying to get that specific book to give away? Because I know it's entertaining, funny, and people might just pick up another because they enjoyed that one.

Quite frankly, fiction is fiction. I don't care if it's literary, genre, pulp or whatever other description journalists or snobs want to apply.

The only thing that makes literary fiction "literary" are highbrow, holier-than-thou reviewers who like to ram it down our throats that they are better educated than the rest of the plebs.

You know what? Those "Literary Fiction" writers probably didn't set out to write literary fiction. They wanted to tell a story, and that's what they did. Who decides what's good and what's not? It's not Ms Senior. It's not me. It's certainly not some reviewer who likes to read Ulysses in Greek. (Or pretend to read.)

It's the Readers. They decide what's good and what's not. And they are making their choice based on what they like. Apparently they like genre fiction like SF, Fantasy, Horror and Romance. What gives a journalist the right, or authority, to call them — in whatever veiled manner — stupid?

Reading any of the above isn't a "guilty pleasure" or something people need to hide. They don't even want to hide it. No one I know ever went out and bought a Kindle, Nook, Sony or any other ereader with the sole intention to "hide" what they read. It's prepesterous to say that's why people buy ebooks.

I couldn't care less if people see what I read, but alas, my Kindle doesn't show the cover to the outside world. Neither does a paperback, once you fold the pages over. (Yeah, that's how I like to read, so shoot me.)

Readers use ereaders not to hide their preferences, but because they are convenient to carry around. Who wants to drag around War and Peace in their pocket / handbag? Might as well put a brick in there.

I have just signed my fourth contract with a reputable, royalty paying publisher. I write paranormal romance, and I'm proud of it. Yes, proud.

My books have as much right to be out there as "The Great Gatsby" (which, incidentally, I have read), as long as they entertain people. There are no "throbbing manhoods" or "vampires seducing virgins" in my books. Mine have a plot that is structured around Goal, Motivation and Conflict. They tell a story, just like the Fantasy, SF and Horror books do, and readers enjoy them. There is nothing "downmarket" or wrong about that.

Good writing is good writing, no matter what anyone says. I know the big words. I can spell them, use them in context and employ them in a manner that befits the story. In contrast, many literary writers shun the "small" words in favor of convaluted "big" words and half the population doesn't "get" their meaning. Plot is a small word, and I've read plenty of literary fiction which could have benefited from being acquainted with that little word a lot more intimately.

The journalist (and I use that term in the loosest sense of the word) who wrote the article has not endeared herself to the reading "Plebs", as evidenced by the multitude of comments. Most are offended. Some think it's satirical. I just think this lady (again, a term I use in the loosest sense of the word) has failed to do proper research and simply came off as snobbish, elitist and just plain…wrong.

Just because I read Terry Pratchett, doesn't mean I don't read Hemingway. But I won't be reading Hemingway on the train, when I have people jostling me, stops where I have to change, and simply cannot concentrate long enough to really enjoy reading. And I certainly don't want to lug a heavy book around, so I read on my Kindle, or *gasp* my mobile phone via an app.

How would Ms. Senior know what I'm reading? As she points out, I'm "hiding" my preferences. For all she knows I might be hiding that I'm reading A Tale of Two Cities on the train. And besides…

If "The Classics" are literary fiction, and therefore so much more intellectual and better than anything out today… someone might want to point out that those classics were once…genre fiction. Jane Eyre? Wuthering Heights? Lady Chatterley's Lover? You think any of them were written as "Literary Fiction"? (Whatever that is. So far no one has been able to define it for me.) 1984? Anna Karenina? War and Peace?

What about the books by Jules Verne? Penny Dreadfuls, that's what they were. Written for entertainment and sold to the masses.

They've endured as classics because they are just great stories and well written, and they still have appeal today.

Who is to say that today we don't have genre books out there which in a hundred years will be considered classics? A classic becomes a classic because people enjoy reading it, and they give it to their children to read, and those children grow up and give it to their own children.

That's how, there is no other way.

They don't become classics because some reviewer says they should be. No, for a book to become a classic, first of all it has to be loved by many, many readers. Those masses the author of the article likes to ridicule and alienate.

So, Ms. Senior, you can just shove your opinion and swivel on it.

I write genre fiction — and I'm proud of it.

Book updates and a cover reveal

I've been a little too quiet lately.

But I've had a good reason. Well, a few actually.

First of all — I've just received the first round of edits for "Watch Me".

No cover yet, no blurb or anything, but I'll get that to you as soon as I have something.

The other reason… I've just signed the contract for another book.

It's Book 2 in a series called "Gatekeepers". It's an exciting idea, and right now, all I can tell you is that the hero's name is "Caedir" (which is also the name of the book). He's a Daoine Sidhe (Deannan Shee), a warrior fae, who is in charge of a gate linking our world with…another. He's sworn to protect that gate at all costs and not let anything get through.

He's a pretty brutal and ruthless guy, which is why he was chosen for the job.

Can't tell you much else yet…because I haven't written it yet. I'm 5,000 words into it though — and I have a great cover to reveal:

Yummy.

New Review for Howl

Bitten by Books reviewed Howl and gave it a whopping 4 Tombstones!

Read the review here: http://www.bittenbybooks.com/41908/howl-by-silke-juppenlatz/

SOPA – I'm protesting. Are you?

I've censored the following, in protest of a bill that gives any corporation and the US government the power to censor the internet–a bill that could pass THIS WEEK. To see the uncensored text, and to stop internet censorship, visit: http://americancensorship.org/posts/35286/uncensor

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"Deer Dairy"

One of these days I'll find a self published book I'll actually enjoy.

Not because the story told is bad, but because the spelling and use of words will be on par with the storytelling.

There is nothing worse than being jarred out of a story than the wrong word used in the context.

I know I keep harping on about it, but it really annoys me to the n'th degree when I see a writer use lightening where they mean lightning. Lightening does not split the sky. Lightning does.

Friends tell me "Get over it. You're too critical."

Am I? What's so bad about insisting the writer learns his or her craft? After all, if you expect me to pay for your book, I expect you to have applied rigorous editing procedures. Surely every writer is aware of words they often misuse and checks for them?

Apparently not.

If it were only the occasional misused word…fine. It happens. But some seem to like mixing it up with blatant spelling mistakes. (I know the difference between a typo and a spelling mistake…) When you see the same word misspelled all over… It tells it's own story, and it's not the one you want me to read.

If you're not sure if you have errors in your manuscript, either hire an editor, or get someone who is very good at spotting this stuff to read over your finished work. (Hey, here's a wild thought — ask your former English teacher.)

Grammar and sentence structure is often subjective, but there is only one spelling for a word, and only one use for a word within the context you're using.

Misused words are not found by a spellchecker. A mispelled word (and lightening could be both) might not be found either, if the error makes it mean something different.

As a self published author, the only one who can be blamed for the mistakes a reader finds is you. There is no hiding behind a publishing house.

Make a good first impression, rather than an (often) lasting bad one.

Please welcome Guest Author Autumn Piper!

The first time I went to a local writers' group meeting, someone mentioned a writing contest, with an entry deadline in two weeks. It was a week before Thanksgiving, and I had no idea what to write about, but decided to come up with something. Holidays seem fraught with emotion—good for most families, and downright awful in others. And since writing a short story presented a challenge for me (my ongoing 1st novel at that point had already capped out around 189k words), I opted for a story that would leave readers to decide the ending for themselves. The premise was this: a woman out for a walk on Thanksgiving, after in-laws had gone home, facing a decision about her marriage after she'd caught her husband fooling around the night before at a party. While she's out walking, she meets a man (and they have instant chemistry), who shows obvious interest in her, going so far as to confess he watches her out walking every day. Which is a little creepy and makes his character a little iffy… During this meeting, she feels drawn to him regardless, and ends up spilling her troubles to him. He asks her what she's going to do about her marriage, but she doesn't know yet, and leaves him wondering, along with the reader.

I won 3rd place in the writing contest.

But then…

Even though I loved leaving my readers hanging, I'd kind of gotten attached to my main character Mandy. I liked her pithy, smart-ass way of seeing things, and really wanted to see if she'd take her wayward husband back, or go for the new guy. And, being a pantser, I honestly had no idea how it'd turn out. I did know her husband wasn't all bad, and she wasn't perfect, and Adam (aka New Guy) wouldn't be 100% good—because I was tired of stories with perfect lead characters and totally evil bad guys.

The result turned out to be something like this (here's the book trailer link http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9NJUIDdanyg ):

One good heartbreak deserves another.

Mandy plans to leave her husband the minute their month of counseling is over. How can she forgive his outrageous affair? It would almost be funny if the consequences weren't so harsh. They've got kids, and families with strong–and warped–opinions on marriage.

Her aunt thinks she should take a page from the black widow spider. Her brother's begging to avenge her broken heart, and their marriage counselor offers to play the willing victim in some payback sex.

While her clueless husband launches a campaign to win her back, Mandy meets Adam, the perfect shoulder to cry on. Will perfect justice prove just how sweet revenge can be when you wait for it?

Content Warning: Real people aren't all good or all bad. Neither are the characters in this story. The shade of right or wrong you see may depend upon whose glasses you are looking through.

Waiting for Revenge is available wherever ebooks are sold, for $0.99.

Autumn Piper

Got romance?

http://piperpatter.blogspot.com/

www.autumnpiper.com

Just a little teaser…

Still playing with the new pony.

Well, he's a horse, even if he's a small one.

But technically he's a pony, as he's under 14.8 hands.

Anyway.

The release for "Watch me" was pushed back to August.

Not terribly happy about that, but alas, nothing I can do about it.

So in the meantime I'm finishing up my self publishing venture.

Okay, it's not going majorly fast. I have about 30k right now, which makes it about half done. Maybe a little more than half.

It'll probably go to about 50k.

I've been working on this series on and off for several years. The later books are sitting on my drive, but I wanted to start the series off with a little introduction of how the series starts. So that's the one I'm writing at the moment.

I'm not letting the cat out of the bag just yet, but when I'm ready…I'll give you the details.

But… I'll let you take a peek:

     Kelverian tried to pull away, disgust and fear warring for dominance inside him, but found he lacked the strength. Unused to being so helpless, he could only lie in the dust and let the angel proceed as he wished. He shuddered when the man's lips touched the fragile skin on the inside of his wrist, leaving a burning pain behind.

     Once the angel let go, Kelverian tucked his arm beneath his body to protect it. Damn it hurt, the burn radiated outward, shooting from his wrist all the way to his heart.

     "Kelverian, you are now under my protection. If you dare rebel against us, I will revoke my seal and Raguel will have you hunted down and destroyed — by your own kind."

     Before Kelverian could utter a single word, the weight on his back was gone and the angel vanished. He glanced at Raguel, unable to hide the terror he'd experienced. "Who was he, and what was this about?"

     "My boss. Camael."

     It rang a bell. A loud, clanging alarm bell. "Remind me who he is."

     "A Great Crown Judgment Prince."

     Oh holy crap. He knew there were eight of them, and they held jurisdiction over every angel. Even Metatron deferred to them on occasion. Kelverian stared blankly at his left wrist, at the slight glow beneath the skin. It didn't hurt anymore, but damn. He carried Camael's sigil. No wonder he'd felt a burn. He struggled to his feet, feeling completely wiped out. God, he'd never known pain like it."What did he do?"

     "I'm sorry he dropped his shield. Being so close…he had no right to do it."

     "Shield?" Oh hell, they shielded themselves?

     Raguel nodded. "If we were to lower it, or drop our shields, you would be unable to stand in our presence."

     "It felt like I'm dragged into the abyss! Do you have any idea how it feels to be crushed?"

     "Not the abyss. He didn't lower you. He raised you."

     "Raised?" It dawned on him what Raguel meant. "Heaven? That's what heaven feels like?"

     "To you, yes. A few more moments, and he would have liquefied your body."

     How could they defend themselves against that? Horror gripped his spine and twisted hard. He hadn't known, and he doubted his brethren knew, either. Oddly, none of the angels he'd fought had affected him like this. "Was it just because he was so…elevated? Or can all of you do this?"

     "We all can. The lowest to the highest."

     "I don't understand. If you have a weapon we have no way of defeating, why not use it to exterminate us? No angel ever did this to me."

     A smile quirked Raguel's lips. "No, they would not. It is a double edged blade. You cannot use Heaven as a weapon. It is forbidden. And if they had, then humans for a hundred miles would have felt the Grace and come running. Even now, I suspect, many are on their way here because of Camael."

     Grace? That's what they called it? As far as he was concerned, there was nothing lovely about it. Pure agony, that's what it was. "Did it ever occur to either of you to just tell me what you want, rather than slam me into the dirt, Grace me, and do it?"

     "I don't command him." Raguel shrugged and helped him up. "Your other wrist, please."

     "This whole kissing my wrist stuff is gross, just for your information." Nevertheless, he let Raguel grip his arm. "And we seriously need to work on our communication."

     Raguel placed his lips against the inside of Kelverian's wrist. Another burn, less painful than Camael's mark, then a second sigil glowed beneath the skin.

     Kelverian drew his arm away. "Are you done molesting me now?"

     Something dark and hard crossed Raguel's features. "We did not molest you."

     "Felt like it," Kelverian muttered and rubbed his forearm. "So what happens if I get killed again? Purgatory?"

     "If you are killed before you find your vessel, yes."

     "Vessel?" Kelverian's head jerked up. "Could you elaborate on that? I have to find a container of sorts?"

     Panic entered Raguel's eyes. "I cannot tell you. I said too much already."

     "You haven't said enough. How can I find something when I don't even know what I'm looking for?"

     "I cannot–"

     "Come on, Rag. Throw me a bone. At least tell me where to start looking."

     "No." Raguel's gaze hardened. "And don't call me Rag. My name is Raguel. Unless you prefer to call me Rufael, Suryan or Akrasiel."

     Amusement took hold. "One name wasn't enough for you?"

     "Do not be insolent."

     "I think I'll call you Rag. Just because you hate being called that." Kelverian grinned. "So, Rag, are you going to help me out a little? What's the big secret?"

     Raguel's expression became thunderous. "I cannot tell you. Do not ask me again."

     "And you call yourself the angel of fairness." Kelverian slapped the dust off his clothes, trying to appear as if he weren't fazed. Truth told, Raguel's change in speech pattern hadn't gone unnoticed, nor had his expression. He wasn't about to push his luck with an Archangel.

So that's what's coming.

I hope you enjoyed the little taste.

Please welcome Guest Author Rebecca Rose

Writing Endings

Today I'm going to be talkin' about story endings. There are some simple guidelines with sometimes overwhelming edits to follow them. But in the end, your story will be tighter, your story more believable and your readers will be satisfied.

Number One rule: Let your characters take control of your story. You'll be pleasantly surprised by what happens to the plot. Sometimes authors/aspiring writers come up with great ideas for a book, along with a great ending and then wonder why the plot driven story is flat. Well… fiction writing is much like living; you have no idea what's going to happen so the story needs to be character motivated. And, most times you'll have to rewrite the ending idea, anyway. After all, how can you know how a situation is going to turn out, if you haven't worked through it yet? Your characters are the same.

There are some major problems with having a set idea for a great ending when you first begin your story. 

The ending will seem too contrived and disappoint the reader, and you, because it wasn't done naturally or logically. How do you avoid this?  Foreshadowing with sub-plots and secondary characters. This will make the ending, when it comes, believable. Also, try and trick the reader. Lead them to expect a different ending. I love the surprises when it happens!

With a predetermined ending, your characters won't have the freedom to be spontaneous, either. Nor, go in the direction they desire. This can result in writer's block because your characters will be stuck living in the world you want for them, not their own free choosing.

Also, most times, authors/aspiring writers will rush toward that ending they're so excited about, and forget the all important sub-plots that make a story believable and enjoyable.

Now, if your ending idea is too good/too shocking to forget about, give it away as soon as possible. Ever been shocked in the middle or toward the end of a story? Isn't it the best? In my opinion, the Obligator Scene is the best place to give the surprise away. It'll provide some answers, (don't give all of them away) it'll keep your reader reading and satisfy your need to write the scene. Plus, your characters will be free to end their story on their terms.

Advantages to not knowing your ending: 

You'll keep your audience reading because you'll have the chance to start other story lines. Sub-plots and secondary characters can really keep a book from stalling. And your readers won't have to wait for that fabulous ending that they might not get to because of boredom.

With the blank page, pun intended, your characters will be able to move and live all sorts of different possibilities. Nothing will tie them down. They'll find a new ending, a better ending, a more exciting ending. Your characters will push your creative mind and make you better at your craft. Don't hold back on any of your good ideas. Write them as they come and don't save them for the 'next book'. This work in progress is what's important. And if you try to jip your characters on their ending, they will let you know!

Hope this was helpful! I love dissecting creative writing and learning new ways to achieve my craft.

Thank you for having me, Silke. Have a Sparkling Holiday!

Rebecca Rose

Don't forget to stop by Lyrical Press for our Christmas bash where my novel, Divine Redemption is 30% off!

Blurb for Divine Redemption

Sometimes redemption is the only salvation needed to forgive yourself.

In his first selfless act, Donald Write takes a bullet for Daniel Allen. Now he's changed his name and moved across the country to live with Daniel's family, whose welcoming home reception wasn't very warm.

Jacqueline is Daniel's daughter. This soft spoken, well dressed lady soon teaches Donald that looks can be deceiving and her heart can be his if he's willing to open up and except her gift of love.

Donald hadn't counted on the intense and immediate attraction to Jacqueline. She's the boss's daughter and off limits; that is until he finds himself with an irresistible primal need to be with her. She shows him love in a way he's never felt before and gives him the strength to become the better man he's always wanted to be. But how can Donald touch and care for someone so pure of heart when their future can be destroyed by his past? A future built on redemption and second chances.

Content warning: M/F romance, action, and explicit sex.

Excerpt:

"Hey, Donald, I need that expense report. Where are you?"

"Under the desk." Since Donald started working for the Allens, he'd learned a valuable lesson in patience. Not touching Jacqueline was the hardest thing he'd ever done.

"You know, Donald, there's talk that you're the most eligible bachelor in town."

Donald craned his head to look at her. "That's my chair you're sitting in."

"Yes, but I like the view of your behind."

He wiggled it for her and she laughed.

"Donald, what are you looking for?"

"I dropped my paperclips."

His dry response had another giggle coming from her.

"You're too cute."

"I'm not trying to be cute. This job really sucks sometimes, you know."

"But you're so good at it." She rubbed her foot along his bottom, then attempted to go between his legs but Donald closed them.

"We talked about this, Jacqueline." He turned and placed a hand on each of her knees.

"I'm only flirting with you."

"You're sexually harassing me, and I believe there's a strict policy about that."

"Donald," she said, bringing her face close to his.

"Ya." His eyes went to her lips and back to her eyes.

"I need that expense report."

Please welcome Guest Author Cristal Ryder

Today I have author Cristal Ryder with me.

I asked her to tell us about some Christmas Memories.

Hi there, Cristal!

When I was a kid, it was about this time a package would arrive from England. It was wrapped in brown paper, secured with tape and string and covered with stamps.

Mom hid this mysterious package on the top shelf of the coat closet by the front door. I would peek in every day to make sure it was still there.

We were allowed to open one gift on Christmas Eve and it was this package. The anticipation of unwrapping this package was tangible. Inside would be numerous other packages wrapped in Christmas paper. There would be one for me, my brother, my mom and a few raunchy post cards for my dad. And there was always a Cross and Blackwells Plum Pudding. My mom is very British and until Mark's and Spencer's crossed the pond, nothing over here was as good as back home.

The package came from my mom's friend Ann. They exchanged gifts every year. I can't remember when they stopped, maybe when us kids grew up. Ann had two daughters and we were all about the same age. Ann and my mom were teenage friends in Eastbourne, England. Ann's husband Harold and my dad were pretty close and he was the one that sent those questionable post cards which usually had naked breasts on them. Both Ann and Harold are gone now. Ann passed away just after Christmas last year. I know its been tough on my mom not having Ann at the other end of the phone line. They would talk for ages a few times a year.

Memories of Christmas stay with you through the years. Brown paper packages wrapped up with string is just one of the many memories I hold dear. I can only hope I've created memories for my own kids that they will carry with them through the years. Maybe I need to ask them.

Below is an excerpt for Being Ariana, the prequel to Being Bound which will be released February 20, 2012.

You can find me at www.cristalryder.com I'd love to hear from you!

Is it better to get lost in your fantasy, or be found in another's?

Ellie Taylor lives her erotic dreams by masquerading herself as Ariana and visiting the Black Phantom. In this club where anything goes, she plans to perform onstage before an audience, building her sexual excitement to a fever pitch before selecting her man. But Ariana is sidetracked by a tall, blond masked maitre-d. He captivates her and all thoughts of performing are forgotten. He's every bit as domineering as Ariana and pushes her to her sexual limit. Their true identities concealed, they set out to use each other for pleasure–no risk of entanglement or commitment…but that may prove easier said than done.



Warning – Explicit sex/language, domination, bondage and kink.


Copyright 2011, Cristal Ryder
All rights reserved, Lyrical Press, Inc.



Ariana carefully composed herself and positioned the peak of the organza hood a little lower over her face. She felt the flush on her cheeks and the need to regain her composure from prying eyes. Her focus for the night had shifted dramatically in the last few minutes because of this strange man. Ariana turned her head within the hood to see if he was still there. He stood at the bottom, watching her. Ariana's heel caught on the runner and she saw him start as if to jump up the stairs and assist her. She caught herself in time and shook her head, hoping he would get the message to leave her alone. Again, his brilliant smile clutched at her heart and he nodded his head. But she didn't really know what that nod meant. Was he agreeing to leave her alone, or was it simply an acknowledgement of…what?



Oxygen filled her starved lungs and clarity came back with air. She decided to think of him as a delectable treat to help enhance her experience tonight and nothing more.



She knew her encounter with the mystery maitre'd had been noticed. The arousal of those around her was tangible and the weight of hungry gazes followed her until she found a table close to the balustrade. Ariana loved the interest the observers had in her recent encounter and rather than be intimidated by being watched, she thrived on it. At the table she paused and turned her head slightly behind the veil, enough to see some of those sitting around her and their stares skittered away when she caught them gaping with curiosity. Ariana smiled, and with a graceful movement sat at the center of a butter soft, wine-colored settee big enough for two.



Her fingertips touched the edge of the veil, making sure it was still where she wanted it. These seats offered a clear view of the lower level and yet the high back hid her from anyone seated behind. She scanned the floor below and concentrated on bringing her heart and breath firmly under control.



Guests in all kinds of masquerade mingled about or sat with their drinks at tables placed in concentric arcs before the stage. The lights, already dim, would be lowered even more in a little while, then all the focus would be on the performers.



Ariana could almost taste the growing excitement of the crowd. It thrilled her, and she grew more aroused, tightening her thigh muscles in pleasure.



People on the upper level shuffled around the seats in costume. Their choice to be at the top had purpose. They didn't want to be noticed. Their tastes leaned toward watching only. Lighting ran along the edge of the floor, low and muted, mostly for safe passage between the tables and chairs. It gave the room a cavernous appearance that swallowed the furniture and guests into a dark void. Perfect for their anonymity. Many curious voyeurs in the dark hungered to watch the performers on the stage.



She swung her gaze to the main floor and watched the activities below. Costume clad hostesses fussed with guests and ensured their satisfaction with cocktails. Many still mingled and others had found their seats.



Her gaze stopped at the base of the stairs. Was she hoping to see him? Her breath caught slightly and sweet heat tingled between her thighs. She admitted he aroused her, unlike others, and sought him out with her gaze. The dark velvet curtains did well at hiding anyone standing in their folds. Then a section moved and she focused on the spot.
 
Thank you for coming to visit, Cristal!