Mercy Walker's Blog, page 2
September 13, 2012
Book Two in the Conning the Billionaire Series
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Making Him Want It 2 -- Callie's Secret (Conning the Billionaire)
http://www.amazon.com/Making-Want-Callies-Secret-ebook/dp/B0099WU32U/ref=sr_1_2?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1347577344&sr=1-2&keywords=making+him+want+it+by+mercy+walker
September 8, 2012
August 31, 2012
Free Kindle eBook: Books 1 & 2 of the No Safe Words Here Erotica Series.
Free Friday and Saturday!!!
Book One
http://www.amazon.com/Safe-Words-Here-Part-ebook/dp/B008Z26UMC/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1346438605&sr=1-1&keywords=no+safe+words+here+by+mercy+walker
Book Two
http://www.amazon.com/Safe-Words-Here-Part-ebook/dp/B008Z26UMC/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1346438605&sr=1-1&keywords=no+safe+words+here+by+mercy+walker
Book One http://www.amazon.com/Safe-Words-Here-Part-ebook/dp/B008Z26UMC/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1346438605&sr=1-1&keywords=no+safe+words+here+by+mercy+walker
Book Two http://www.amazon.com/Safe-Words-Here-Part-ebook/dp/B008Z26UMC/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1346438605&sr=1-1&keywords=no+safe+words+here+by+mercy+walker
August 22, 2012
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August 4, 2012
No Safe Words Here
So I'm writing a serial erotic novel/first draft blog/novel in progress. It's called No Safe Words Here, and I like it to Desperate House Wives goes S&M B&D, Gun Crazy and homocidal. I hope anyone who reads it will enjoy.
Here's the link:
http://no-safe-words-here.blogspot.com/
Here's the link:
http://no-safe-words-here.blogspot.com/
May 21, 2012
Saving My Mother...But Only in Words
I finally, finallygot my best friend Lisa to read my latest novel: a paranormal romance about a gypsy witch and a bloodthirsty vampire (are there any other kind). It’s sexy and funny, and full of action…so I thought the first thing she’d have to say would be about one of those things. I was betting on the sex scenes, because she likes her books on the racy side. Or maybe the connection between the witch and vampire—she loves romance. Secretly I was hoping she’d love the plot twists I’d labored over so hard.
But the first thing out of her mouth when she clicked off her Kindle was, “You got to save your mother.”
I stared at her, slack-jawed. What the hell was she talking about? My novel was a dark, sexy, action-packed paranormal romance. My mother had nothing at all to do with it.
“You were reading my book all this time, right?”
She’d brought her kindle on our little mini vacation to Lake Geneva, a regular summer hangout of ours for the last couple decades. I’d seen her laugh and shoot me a scathing glance a few times while she read, so I’d been sure she’d been reading my book.
“Dark Surrender?” she said. “Yep, that’s the one.”
She’d read all 75000 words in about four hours. She reads way faster than I can, and I’ve always felt sort of jealous. No, really jealous. But that means I get to borrow books from her far faster than she can from me.
We sat there for a few beats, just staring, before I caved in. “So would you like to elaborate?”
She looked at me like you would a small, not-so-bright child. “You really mean you have no idea?”
What the…
“No, Lisa, I haven’t a clue as to what the hell you’re talking about.” I took her kindle and powered it back on. “Where did I write my mother into this thing, because I don’t remember doing that.”
Actually, I went out of my way not to write anything even resembling my mother. It hurt too much. She’s not dead or anything like that. She’s mentally and physically I’ll, living in a nursing home not far from me. I’m there for hours every day, taking care of her and keeping her calm.
She seems to have an anxiety disorder from hell: like bipolar disorder, schizophrenia and Alzheimer’s combined, with a maddening jolt of OCD on top of it.
She’s been like this for nearly five years, and not one of the doctors I’ve taken her too has any clue as to what’s wrong with her. It’s like she’s trapped in a cacophony of anxiety and fear.
The look Lisa gave me was kind of sad. She’s usually sarcastic as hell, which is why I love her. We’ve been best friends for most of my adult life, and she’s the model I’ve used when I’ve written bitchy best friends into my stories in the past.
“Min’s mother,” she said, raising her eyebrows. “Katarina.”
“What about her?” I just wasn’t getting it.
“Honey…isn’t what happens to her in the book sort of what’s happened with your mom?”
She was insane. They had nothing in common. Katarina was a witch. She was put into a mystical coma by an evil faerie queen. And my mother was a blue collar woman that had had to work every day of her life until she’d become ill—which had been violently sudden, the illness progressing within days.
She reached out and held my hand and looked me square in the eyes. “Honey, it’s the same thing. And in the story your heroine’s mother gets cured. By the end of the story she’s completely well.”
Oh…I dropped my gaze and closed my eyes. I pushed back the tears that were trying to flow. No need for that! I’d cried enough over the last five years.
But yeah, I got it. And it hurt. I’d saved my mother…but only in words.
I gave Lisa a withering smile. “Some best friend you are…ruining a perfectly good vacation with deep thoughts.”
But the first thing out of her mouth when she clicked off her Kindle was, “You got to save your mother.”
I stared at her, slack-jawed. What the hell was she talking about? My novel was a dark, sexy, action-packed paranormal romance. My mother had nothing at all to do with it.
“You were reading my book all this time, right?”
She’d brought her kindle on our little mini vacation to Lake Geneva, a regular summer hangout of ours for the last couple decades. I’d seen her laugh and shoot me a scathing glance a few times while she read, so I’d been sure she’d been reading my book.
“Dark Surrender?” she said. “Yep, that’s the one.”
She’d read all 75000 words in about four hours. She reads way faster than I can, and I’ve always felt sort of jealous. No, really jealous. But that means I get to borrow books from her far faster than she can from me.
We sat there for a few beats, just staring, before I caved in. “So would you like to elaborate?”
She looked at me like you would a small, not-so-bright child. “You really mean you have no idea?”
What the…
“No, Lisa, I haven’t a clue as to what the hell you’re talking about.” I took her kindle and powered it back on. “Where did I write my mother into this thing, because I don’t remember doing that.”
Actually, I went out of my way not to write anything even resembling my mother. It hurt too much. She’s not dead or anything like that. She’s mentally and physically I’ll, living in a nursing home not far from me. I’m there for hours every day, taking care of her and keeping her calm.
She seems to have an anxiety disorder from hell: like bipolar disorder, schizophrenia and Alzheimer’s combined, with a maddening jolt of OCD on top of it.
She’s been like this for nearly five years, and not one of the doctors I’ve taken her too has any clue as to what’s wrong with her. It’s like she’s trapped in a cacophony of anxiety and fear.
The look Lisa gave me was kind of sad. She’s usually sarcastic as hell, which is why I love her. We’ve been best friends for most of my adult life, and she’s the model I’ve used when I’ve written bitchy best friends into my stories in the past.
“Min’s mother,” she said, raising her eyebrows. “Katarina.”
“What about her?” I just wasn’t getting it.
“Honey…isn’t what happens to her in the book sort of what’s happened with your mom?”
She was insane. They had nothing in common. Katarina was a witch. She was put into a mystical coma by an evil faerie queen. And my mother was a blue collar woman that had had to work every day of her life until she’d become ill—which had been violently sudden, the illness progressing within days.
She reached out and held my hand and looked me square in the eyes. “Honey, it’s the same thing. And in the story your heroine’s mother gets cured. By the end of the story she’s completely well.”
Oh…I dropped my gaze and closed my eyes. I pushed back the tears that were trying to flow. No need for that! I’d cried enough over the last five years.
But yeah, I got it. And it hurt. I’d saved my mother…but only in words.
I gave Lisa a withering smile. “Some best friend you are…ruining a perfectly good vacation with deep thoughts.”
May 9, 2012
May 6, 2012
Quandry Over New Cover
I have two versions of the new cover for Dark Surrender. One is Pink, one is Blue. Which one do you all like best.
April 29, 2012
A New Cover for Last Rites: a Lucy Hart, Rites Novel
Here's the new cover for Last Rites: a Lucy Hart, Rites Novel. I decided that the book just wasn't a "girl in a dress" kinda novel. And anyone that's read it will find it funny I put Lucy in that skirt!
April 22, 2012
Why I Love Jack Nicholson
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So it’s Jack Nicholson’s Birthday today…number seventy-five…and I started thinking what it is that makes me love him so much.
I missed much of Mr. Nicholson’s early work—didn’t get up to speed until the advent of Netflix—but I remember watching him on VHS in The Witches of East Wick every chance I got. As Daryl Van Horne—just your average, horny little devil—Jack was a letch, a slob, seductive as hell and criminally charming as he insulted his female leads (Cher, Michelle Pfeifer and Susan Sarandon) into the sack.And for me, most importantly, it was one of the first times I’d seen a witch depicted other than Bugs Bunny’s cackling broom-rider, or as a garish green baddy in The Wonderful Wizard of Oz.
And I’m sure I’ll be taken to task by any staunchly religious types, but he made the Devil rather appealing. I played flute all through high school: Bach…Prokofiev. And I always, always wanted to find an instructor that would tell me “You’re bowing sucks”—you know what I mean!—and then somehow bring out the most passionate, amazing performance of my life…and then screw the hell out of me on the upright piano.Sigh…that little fantasy never came to be, and the closest I get to classical music now is public radio and YouTube—I love YouTube!
But Jack’s influence didn’t end there. Right after I graduated high school he cursed and threatened his way into stealing A Few Good Men from the stars of the movie, Tom Cruise and Demmi Moore. No one can make you love the bad guy like Jack.And in a few more years there was As Good as It Gets, his third Oscar win as OCD meany Melvin Udall, and the best (in my humble opinion) movie of that year—for me Titanicwas about the fourth best movie that year, behind AGAIG, LA Confidential andGood Will Hunting.
Anytime the female lead pulls focus from Jack, you know you’ve got something special—where have you gone Helen Hunt?And who can forget him as sixty-ish letch Harry Sanborn in Something’s Gotta Give. Again he’s charming and politically incorrect, and absolutely at the top of his game. Diane Keaton was truly phenomenal. Why they didn’t sweep the Oscars that year, as he and Hunt had in 1996, is still a mystery to me.
As I said, I came to his earlier, scary performances later, thanks to Netflix. Jack Torrance in the chilling horror classic The Shining. A football-helmeted, hard-partying lawyer in Easy Rider. Private dick J.J. "Jake" Gittes in China Town. And one of his most powerful performances as Randle McMurphy in One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest.What I love most about Jack is how he bends reality to make every character he plays so much more than just a person in a story on a big, brightly lit screen. He makes them legend, he makes them alive and kicking…and cursing, and flirting, and screaming.
Some say Al Pacino says the “F-word” better than anyone else. I say they haven’t heard Jack snarl it in A Few Good Men, or purring it to Cher in Witches of Eastwick.And most of all, I love how he just brings it , no matter what the role calls for, he’s up for it. Fearless about how horrible he looks on screen, so wonderful to his fellow actors (especially the ladies) that they swoon and throw accolades at him like he’s the God of acting…which probably wouldn’t be the title I’d give him.
I’d call him the Devil of Acting, the Sultan of Letches, and my absolute favorite actor of all time.Happy Birthday Jack!
