Liz Everly's Blog, page 103

Giving it Away

So the publisher of my e-book series,( SAFFRON NIGHTS )is giving away the first book in the series. The numbers were way up last week because of it. It made me jump for joy and cringe at the same time. Because—YAY—what a great rating. But—BOO—nobody is making any money off of it.

The theory is, of course, that people will love the first book in the series so much that they will buy the other two books. And even if they don’t, I’m now on their radar and the next time they see a book written by me they may be more likely to pick it up.

 

I have several friends who have done extraordinarily well with their series because they made the first book permanently free. So maybe there’s something to it. But then again, as all successful marketing trends go up, they often come down. And as I recently read somewhere “A free book is not that big of a deal anymore.”

Which made me very sad.

Most writers don’t write for money alone. What I mean is, it’s not the reason we write. We all write for different reasons. But writing books is hard work. And writers do have to pay bills—just like everybody else. And I know readers enjoy the entertainment—why do some feel like it should be free? Is this what we’ve done by offering free so many books? I don’t know any of the answers. I wish I did.

I’ve been a professional writer for about 30 years, now, in various guises. But before that, I was a reader. A free book would have been (and is) a treat to me. I can’t imagine “expecting” to have free books from my favorite writers. Do people go to the movies for free? See plays for free? Live bands? Nope.

Rant over. I enjoy a good freebie as much as the next person. But I don’t expect them and I lay down the money to read the next book, do you?

If I was in Indie writer, I’d see the results of this latest promo quickly—as in hard core numbers. I could tell you exactly how many downloads there have been and so on. But, it will be awhile before I know anything. I’ll report back to you when I do. And then the other sad truth of the matter is that even though, say, 5,000 people download the book, maybe 2 will read it. Or nobody. Who knows?

I don’t harbor any resentment for e-Kensington for making this book free. I think it’s a good idea. I’m hopeful that the more people who read it, the better off the whole series will be. That series is not for formula-romance readers and it’s taking awhile to find it’s larger audience. Any push is better than none at all.

Free books: Are they still a good way to market and promote to reach readers, or are they doing nothing for writers these days? What do YOU say?

In the mean time, I am on  a blog tour next week and will be offering a $15 gift card as a prize, so follow along on the TEMPTING WILL McGLASHEN blog tour:

15th December: http://locglin.blogspot.com/

16th December: http://www.roomwithbooks.com/

17th December: http://www.pinkypollock.blogspot.com

18th December: http://www.fenellajmiller.co.uk/

19th December: http://gracemarshallromance.co.uk

 

Take a Break From the Holidays With Megan Mulry and Alisha Rai

by Kiersten Hallie Krum

The holiday season is in full swing. I swear, the emails in my inbox inbreed when I’m not looking given how many more I’m getting per day from the same vendors.

Everyone dig deep. We’ll make it through this together. Even if, like me, the only shopping you do is online, we all need a break from the hustle and bustle. Here are two books that can entertain you along the way with a pair of heroines who will knock your thigh-highs off.

Roulette by Megan Mulry

Click on picture to buy!

Safe and secure in academia, finance professor Miki Durant has never enjoyed the limelight that surrounds her flashy movie-star mother and Russian mogul father. But when her father unexpectedly dies, Miki finds herself alone in St. Petersburg juggling the myriad and complex workings of his international empire, which includes negotiating with a notorious French playboy, corporate rival Jérôme Michel de Villiers, or Rome as he’s known among the glitterati. Rome is everything Miki avoids and yet their sizzling attraction keeps knocking her sideways. The work too is challenging and enlivens her professional side more than any tenure track. Will she risk it all on such a gamble, or retreat to her safe if uncomplicated life in L.A.?

I loved Miki. She’s so unashamedly smart and capable. Her upbringing and history are unique and yet grounded in believability. Her grief for her father, despite their complicated relationship, particularly resonates for its lack of emotional hysterics, as deep mourning often presents itself in real life. Into this tumultuous state enters Rome, like a David Gandy advert come to life but with a French accent. All of Rome’s story comes filtered through Miki’s perception as Roulette is written in first-person present, but that just makes his impact all the more strong. He and Miki are instantly kindred spirits, their attraction forming first sight unseen as they spar over the phone. He gives Miki one perfect fantasy night…a night that is romantic and sexy and that haunts Miki even as she turns down Rome’s offer for more. While naturally a risk-taker, her aversion to her parent’s dramatic and very public lives has made her resist impulse and live as risk-free a life as she can manage. Rome is the biggest risk she’s taken in a long time, personally and professionally, and their night together sets loose a chain of events that can transform her life if she’s willing to take the biggest risk of all: trust.

My favorite parts of Roulette are when Miki is in France for her friend’s wedding. It made me think of the movie Stealing Beauty where, in search of the true identity of her father, a young Liv Tyler goes to Tuscany to stay with artist friends of her mother who recently died. Friends hanging out drinking wine and creating things, whether art or, in the case of Roulette, cutting-edge, international finance deals, are my idea of a happy place. But Roulette also seeps with international glamour. St. Petersburg comes to life under Ms. Mulry’s deft pen, all the romanticism of its old world allure brushed up for new world adventures. Roulette kept me up reading until 4 AM. On a weeknight. I know no better recommendation than that.

A Gentleman in the Street by Alisha Rai.

Click on picture to buy.

Like Roulette, I bought A Gentleman in the Street because of its gorgeous cover and buzz on The Twitter. Never let anyone tell you The Twitter doesn’t sell books. Also like Roulette, I was not disappointed.

Bitch. Slut. Whore. Akira Mori has been called them all, often right to her face and frequently by her own parents. Long inured to the slander, Akira takes delight in fulfilling people’s low expectations, secure in the knowledge that she answers only to herself. Known for being shameless and ruthless with an impenetrable heart, in life and in business, she can and does have anyone she wants. Except author Jacob Campbell, the man she’s lusted after for more than a decade since her mother married his father for a New York minute. Believing Jacob will never give in to her considerable charms, Akira instead needles him verbally, taunting him with their not-quite-related status as a defense against how much she longs for him…and how deeply his opinion, out of all of them, matters.

It’s not that Jacob’s not interested, though Akira doesn’t know that. Since having a feckless father left Jacob to raise his three siblings, he takes that responsibility to such serious degrees that he’s been denying his desire for Akira all these years. That hasn’t stop him from featuring her in some deliciously filthy fantasies, but so long as he doesn’t actually touch her, he can hold himself in check. Until the one day Akira pursues him to his writing retreat with a deeply personal request. With just one touch of her hand on his arm years of restraint break free. Now the lines between fantasy and reality are blurring with Jacob only too willing to let Akira show him her brand of shameless pleasure.

Akira is a compelling heroine with all the eroticism of her private life and all the balls-out, barracuda personae of her public one. People say they don’t care what others say or think about them, but Akira really doesn’t care and that is refreshing at the same time that it’s a little sad because of why she doesn’t care. Her parent’s casual cruelty to Akira is shocking. She’s been neglected and emotionally abused by them for so long, she believes she’s actually unlovable but has convinced herself it doesn’t matter. And it truly doesn’t…except for when she perceives Jacob has that same attitude.

As much as Akira is driven to fulfill the bad opinions held of her by society and her horrible parents, Jacob is compelled not to become his father, feckless and shameless to the point of neglecting his children. Jacob’s been lusting after Akira for 10 years, but he’s afraid to give into his erotic imaginings for fear of being so caught up in her, he’ll forget his responsibilities. Forget the people he loves.

There’s so much I like about how this book is written. Rather than dragged out beyond bearing, the big misunderstanding between Jacob and Akira is resolved within the first third of the book and we get right on with the courting. It’s also really, really sexy, especially when Akira initiates Jacob into her notorious house parties. But really, it’s Akira’s characterization that makes me the most happy. She is so confident, so sure of herself even in her extremes. She absolutely does not care what people think of her. She doesn’t back down and she doesn’t apologize. She can be utter unlikable and that’s perfectly okay with her (and, clearly, with Ms. Rai). I’m a big believer in claiming who you are and screw anyone who doesn’t like it, but in actually, it’s incredibly difficult for most of us not to still be affected by the opinions and reactions of people, right or wrong, to our behavior. Akira lives such an ideal full throttle and without apology. She’s got baggage, sure, and while she takes pride in the names people call her, she’s let them convince her she deserves it, that she’s unlovable. But she also knows who she is and does not apologize.

Jacob is a hero worthy of Akira because he doesn’t expect her to apologize. He doesn’t love her in spite of her mouth or her sexual proclivities or her aggressive behavior; he falls for the whole package. When she calls him on blaming her for his shit, he realizes she’s right not in some character-changing epiphany but in contemplative agreement because he’s already that guy, he just had to be reminded of it. Jacob is a total sweetheart, big and rough but gentle and sexy. Really, any man who can manage The Talk with his teenage sister and later discipline her for callously calling another woman “slut” is one to grab hold of.

Years of holding his desires in check has taken its toll, but when Jacob lets loose, he’s completely comfortable in Akira’s world. He never expects her to change, never asks her to tone down her behavior, doesn’t think for one second that he has any influence over how she conducts her life except whether or not he joins her in it. Akira doesn’t have to lose her agency to have Jacob and Jacob doesn’t have to be less manly to be with Akira. The absence of those expectations, even only as a hurdle to be overcome in the story, is vastly refreshing.

Sexy, bittersweet, and with a truly unique heroine, A Gentleman in the Street is an entertaining, must-read.

 

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Raindrops, Roses, Femdom and Warrior Women

Warm thoughts for the holidays. Click for your very own.

 

By Alexa Day

Living as an erotic romance writer means, to me, that I have an obligation to keep my days as full of sexy, sensual stimulation as I possibly can. If I’m feeling stimulated, then I can pass the joy on to my characters, who in turn will hopefully share a little with you, the readers. That’s how it’s supposed to work.

Now, I don’t want you to imagine that I’m spending all day engaged in … inappropriate activity. Who could afford that, really? Who has the energy for it? No. I just mean that I try to keep things joyful. Delicious. Fascinating. Sigh-worthy. Sometimes it means having one of those fried apple pies for breakfast. Sometimes it means reading that extra chapter when I ought to get to sleep. This time of year, it means I get to add peppermint mocha creamer to my favorite alcoholic beverage. (Vanilla soy milk, instant coffee, cake vodka: I call it Illya Kuryakin.)

Well, friends, I’m here to tell you that the last few weeks have sorely tested me. I am not feeling pleasantly stimulated. On the best of days, I’m really annoyed, and on the worst of days, I’m pissed off.

Just last week, I thought I was just a little annoyed with People magazine, when it turned out that I was pissed off at the whole stupid history of the Sexiest Man Alive. Seriously, would it be a huge problem for them to make at least a token effort to find actual sexy people for that? Are their hands full with hard-hitting news?

And can I just send a special thank you to Rolling Stone magazine? Because it’s not often that someone can actually answer the question “Gosh, how could this story be worse for everyone involved” by making a story worse for everyone involved. That was special, guys. Congratulations. Humanity needed that, just as little as it needed continued unrest, division and despair in Ferguson and Cleveland and New York.

Happy thoughts, happy thoughts. Click for your own.

And on top of that, the holiday movie season fills me with a very un-festive despair. The movies in general typically make me lightheaded with rage. I do not live in a selected city; in fact, if I were truly angry, I would say I lived in a godforsaken backwater. And so I expect that the movies I most want to see will keep their distance in Washington while the ones I’m trying to avoid will be here until June. I don’t know if Foxcatcher has been here, is still coming here, or will fail to appear here. I won’t get into my little issues with Exodus: Gods and Kings, which is evidently set in a version of Egypt where people don’t even tan, and just to further protect my blood pressure, I won’t ask how hard we tried to represent the diverse film-going population with the casting of Into the Woods.

This does not begin to cover everything that’s working the holy hell out of my nerves, but I refuse to give all of it the gift of my continued attention. Instead, I’m going to share some of the things I’m actually anticipating this holiday season. It feels nice to look forward to something.

Here’s where I’m finding pleasure lately.

1. The Theory of Everything. I caught Hawking on PBS a while back (the documentary, not the other movie with Benedict Cumberbatch), so I know a bit about the love story at the center of the film. I am very, very partial to an outside-the-box, no-matter-what love story (Rocky is actually my favorite movie romance). And I read that Stephen Hawking was so impressed with the film that he permitted filmmakers to use his distinctive voice, to which he actually owns the rights. There’s just too much to love about this movie, and so I hope I’m able to catch it on the big screen before it’s gone. And if not, I love the idea that Stephen Hawking owns the rights to the sound of his voice. That’s enough to cool my slow-smoldering rage for a little while.

2. Dossouye. Many years ago, in a fantasy anthology, I met Dossouye, a warrior woman from the

Dossouye makes her entrance here. Click to buy.

ancient kingdom of Abomey (an alternate of the real African kingdom of Dahomey), in a short story by Charles Saunders. (“Gimmile’s Songs” appeared in the first edition of Sword and Sorceress thirty years ago.) Dossouye’s encounter with a musician under a magical spell made for spectacular reading, and I’ve never seen anything like that story since, although the Lion’s Blood alternate histories by Steven Barnes struck the same chords for me. I’ve just found that Dossouye has two of her own novels (I might be the last person on Earth to hear about that), and I’m looking forward to checking them out. I believe the first is assembled from Dossouye’s short stories, but the second one, Dossouye: The Dancers of Mulukau, is new.

3. Domme Chronicles: Erotic tales of love, passion, & domination. Megan Hart always brings me joy. Recently, she interviewed Sharyn Ferns, the author of a collection of essays and vignettes about female dominance and male submission. I touched briefly on the subject here because I find it fascinating, and Ferns reinforces in her interview the notion of the male submissive as the knight who rides for his queen. Hart strongly recommends the book (she described it on Facebook as “mm, mm, good”), so I can’t wait to get it onto my Kindle. And that cover is hot. It’s hot, right?

I know you all are finding the good hidden away inside this trying time of year. Let me know how you’re doing it down there in the comments.

And be sure to follow Lady Smut before the holiday break!

Sexy Saturday Round-Up

By Liz Everly and the Lady Smut Bloggers

Hello Sexy! Hope your Saturday is warm and pleasant. Wink. When you get a chance to catch up on some reading, we’ve got you covered.

From Liz:

From the department of “How did I miss this?” a blog with romance writers giving their favorite recipes. Plus excerpts from their books. Hmmmm.

Lou Graham: Seattle’s most famous Madam.

The life of a condom.

From Elizabeth:

Sexuality podcast host Tina Horn talks about dirty talk and spanking and how she got into this crazy biz in the first place.

Oh, if only I could go to sleep and be guaranteed to have a hot sex dream. But wait! Now you can …

Wankers and prankers – people who call suicide hotlines when they want to jerk off. Really? Really??!

For the man who has everything, get him rubber testicles.

From Madeline:

Ask Men sez: Good Dads Are Hot.

Couples Who Sleep Together…Rock It.

…AND the ever addictive “She Woke Up Like This” series:

She woke up like this: Yvonne Force Villareals.

She woke up like this: Designer Cynthia Rowley.

She woke up like this: Tavi Gevinson – this one is particularly vulnerable.

She woke up like this: Stylist Linda Rodin.

She woke up like this: Haley Wollens. 

From CMK:

Amy Adams ‘Red Shoes’ photoshoot

Friendship Breakups & our lack of recognition for their significance

New ‘anti-porn’ laws in Britain outlaw freedom of speech, too (or when they came for the BDSM folk I didn’t speak up because I wasn’t into kink…) not to mention arbitrary and REALLY sexist

Stay hungry,

Liz

P.S. SAFFRON NIGHTS, the first book in my series is now free!

Spinning Gold on Tour!

C. Margery Kempe here. I’m grabbing my Fresher Fairy Tales and heading on tour next week: join me to win prizes! There’ll be a Rafflecopter giveaway of an Amazon gift certificate at the end. Thanks, Writer Marketing Services & Lucy Felthouse!

 

8th December
http://www.thenovelapproachreviews.com/



9th December
http://mmgoodbookreviews.wordpress.com/



10th December
http://heartsonfirereviews.com



11th December
http://jensreadingobsession.blogspot.com/



12th December
http://wowfromthescarfprincess.blogspot.com/

 

I hope our readers will tag along for the fun. In any case, you want to follow Lady Smut because we’re a gift you can get every day!

Stuff that Stocking With Wild Holiday Nights: Q&A Cara McKenna

Perfect for your Xmas stocking.

 

by Madeline Iva

Today we’re dishing on bikers, booty, and being bad to the bone with Cara McKenna.  Cara’s other romance persona, Meg Maguire, has a cute ole anthology out called Wild%20Holiday%20Nights: Holiday Rush\Playing Games\All Night Long (Harlequin Blaze)WILD HOLIDAY NIGHTS.   Meanwhile, I’ve gotten sucked into the world of her Desert Dog Series starting with Lay%20It%20Down: A Desert Dogs NovelLAY IT DOWN.  

Lucky ducks–I’m giving away one print copy of each book—LAY IT DOWN and WILD HOLIDAY NIGHTS to a few happy elves who leave a comment for Cara below.

Cara McKenna writes contemporary romance with the explicit feisty sex we’ve come to associate with erotic romance—but her intricate plot does not depend on the sexual relationship.  Because I love sex AND a lotta plot together, to me Cara’s the whole package.  Let’s jump to the nitty-gritty.

MADELINE IVA: Cara, is a bad boy really bad, or is he just misunderstood?

CARA McKENNA: These days, the biker subgenre is really pushing the envelope when it comes to how bad a bad boy can be, and other authors push it further than I do—my bikers are less Sons of Anarchy and more blue-collar roughnecks. As a general rule, I think most readers expect even the roughest heroes to be redeemable.  I think some readers can handle a man who’s committed murder, but since we’re talking romance, he better treat his woman right, at the very least. I know there are some heroes out there who are seriously dangerous—there’s a line between “alpha” and “stalker” for example, and you can find guys who blur it in the darker corners of romance.

MADELINE IVA: Wait wait wait! – how much do you make your readers wait for some action in your books? Is it a better to start the sexual dial low and move it up gradually? Or vice versa?

Lay It Down: A Desert Dogs Novel

The Cara McKenna move: scorching second-base sex.

CARA McKENNA: I’ve gone both ways. On the one hand, you want the chemistry to be off-the-charts right away, to show the reader, wow, there’s something special about these two together. But you don’t want to burn all the fuel up in the first couple sex scenes, and wind up with the later ones feeling repetitive or boring—or just bonkers, cranked up to fifteen. There’s a sort of cynical joke among some erotica authors that lazy writers follow the oral-vaginal-anal recipe, just poking the cock into increasingly racy holes with each subsequent scene then tossing in some BDSM for the finale, but I clearly don’t go in for that method. My sex scenes typically start out super-sexy and intense but not over-the-top—I’ll kick things off with some explicit, hot-as-hell second-base action.

MADELINE IVA: A totally signature Cara McKenna move.  That scene was smokin’!

CARA McKENNA: I save the more intense or kinky encounters for mid-book. In my books, the kink or intensity tends to pique around the two-thirds mark, I’d say. Later sex scenes typically go down when it’s the emotions that are getting more dynamic, so while the initial encounters are all about the physical intensity, by the later ones there’s less mention of body parts and friction, and more emphasis on what everyone is feeling. By the end, that’s usually where the stakes are highest.

MADELINE IVA: Gah! I need to go take a shower thinking back on the smoking second base scene.  Your heroine in LAY IT DOWN finds out her bad boy has been in jail – more than once. How bad can the bad boys be in a romance?

CARA McKENNA: I’ve written a few heroes who’ve done time, and Vince in Lay It Down is certainly not the worst of them. He’s been put away for illegal bookmaking and recreational bar fights, crimes which compared to Eric’s from Hard Time are child’s play. But Vince is a man with fairly minimal baggage, for a bad boy. I couldn’t give him a fraught, super-dark past and crazy-heavy demons and soul-scarring regret, because the most alluring thing about him is his shamelessness. He’ll never pass up a fight, and he might find occasion to boost a car (to provide for his mom, most likely) but he’d never kill anyone, I don’t think, not unless they hurt his family or friends in some unforgivable way. His brother Casey, on the other hand, has committed some crimes that, in my opinion, are far tougher to parse and forgive, though I can’t say what those things are at this point in the series.

Hard Time

Want to give yourself a Hard Time? Click to buy.

MADELINE IVA: One thing I am frustrated with is when an author creates a real bad boy and then over the course of the book takes it all back until he’s no longer bad at all. (!!!)  Do you think that if an author spells out a bad boy character, she ought to stick to it?

CARA McKENNA: It’s hard to say… I think it depends on reader expectations. When I wrote Hard Time, a book whose entire premise is “convicted felon hero,” I was determined to not take what seemed like the easy way out, and let Eric have been wrongfully convicted, or convicted of something that most people could easily forgive. He’s doing time for a serious, ugly, violent crime, one he tells the heroine he’d commit again, if he had to do it over. But I think many readers—maybe even most—could see why he did what he did, and give him a chance, as the heroine eventually does (after much, much soul-searching.) But others would say that that kind of impulsive violence is never forgivable, and I can respect that, too.

On the other hand, with most of the biker stories out there being of the Sons of Anarchy variety, I’m sure reader expectations could have a few folks throwing the Desert Dogs books across the room, because they really aren’t a motorcycle club or a gang—they’re a group of friends who favor bikes for getting around the badlands, and some are shady, and some are less so, but they don’t run a criminal syndicate and there’s no iron-clad patriarchy ruling over it all. I enjoyed the three or four seasons of Sons of Anarchy that I watched, but I wanted to write my own sort of biker stories.

MADELINE IVA: Do you think that part of the appeal of bad boy biker characters is that we want to see them redeemed or tamed?

CARA McKENNA: I can only speak for myself, and when I pick up a book whose back cover copy promises a really edgy, bad-boy hero, it’s usually because a) I want to see how the author pulls it off, and how far she pushes the label of “bad boy,” and b) I want to see how the heroine handles him. Personally, I don’t need to see the guy tamed, but I wouldn’t necessarily be disappointed or angry if he was, I don’t think (I mean, look at Zsadist, for God’s sake—redemption can be hot as fuck and enrich one hero, as much as it might diminish another) unless it seemed like his edge got ground off or his personality goes flat. The heroine can soften him in all the right places, but love shouldn’t make anyone boring.

MADELINE IVA: Very true! It’s such a pleasure to have you here with us today, Cara!

CARA McKENNA: Thanks so much for having me! I’m wishing all your readers a happy, healthy holiday season, full of cold nights and hot books.

Folks, you can find Cara at her delicious website HERE or on Twitter @caramckenna.  Go Lay%20It Down: A Desert Dogs NovelHERE to get your own copy of LAY IT DOWN if you haven’t already and Wild%20Holiday Nights: Holiday Rush\Playing Games\All Night Long (Harlequin Blaze)HERE for WILD HOLIDAY NIGHTS.  And don’t forget to comment below and win something for your Xmas stocking.

Meanwhile, follow our scrumptious blog so sugar-plum dreams of bad boys can dance about in *your* head.

 

Not Feeling Guilty Over My Guilty Pleasures

By Elizabeth Shore

Here’s a conversation I had with a friend recently about Thanksgiving:

Me: Hey, how was your holiday?

Her: Really good. Yours?

Me: Fun. Went back home, spent time with family. What did you do?

Her: It was great. I watched three Hallmark movies in a row.

Me: (sputtering) What??!!  You’re kidding me! How can you watch those? They’re so badly written. They’re so horribly acted. They’re so sappy and contrived and … well … just really, really bad.

Her: Oh, I know. But I love them.

And there the conversation stopped. Because really, what else is there to say? She was boldly, without shame, enjoying Hallmark movies and freely admitting to it. As a writer, shouldn’t I be offended? My cat could write better scripts. And the acting in Hallmark movies – fuhgettaboutit. They make reality show stars look like Oscar contenders. I’ve got friends who are actors. Shouldn’t I be offended on their behalfs (behalves?)?

The truth is, I’ve got nothing to come back with. It’s not like I’m sitting around immersed in more highbrow activities like quoting Nietzsche or studying comparative lit. No siree. I watch bad movies a’plenty and I love ‘em. They put the guilt in guilty pleasure. But then I thought, why should that be? Perhaps my friend’s attitude is the healthy one. Why not extol the virtues of our guilty pleasures and embrace them for what they are: an escape from the everyday, a release of stress and strain, a spot of fun on a landscape of toil.

So, my friends, tell me your guilty pleasures. Shout them from the rooftops! I’ll even beat you to it and go first. Here they are, in no particular order:

1. Watching bad movies, again and again. And when I say bad, I mean bad. Bad as a Hallmark! Here are the movies that, when they’re on TV, I stop flipping channels. I’m happy they’re being shown, even happier when I realize the show has just started.

Staying Alive. Yes, I know it sucks. I am fully and completely aware of that. But here’s what I love: overdone ’80’s makeup and clothes. Watching Cynthia Rhodes and Finola Hughes dance. Watching John Travolta ham it up. Seeing the big splashy overdone and predictible ending. I’ve not a spot, not a single iota of shame when watching this movie. In fact, I love it so much I own the DVD. How’s that for shameless? Put it in your pipe and smoke it.

Showgirls. Yes, I know it sucks even more than Staying Alive. I know that everyone (allegedly) hated it. It was so lampooned when it came out that poor Elizabeth Berkley probably had to take refuge in a rabbit hole from all those Showgirls haters. But you know what? When it’s on, I watch it and I love it. I like the small town girl makes good in the big city storyline, I like the over-the-top costumes, I like the dancing, and I love how Elizabeth Berkley kicks butt at the end of the movie. Oh, and I love how she supposedly eats more calories a day than a sumo wrestler yet manages to remain thin as a strand of hair. It’s awesome.

Burlesque. Christina Aguilera. Cher. People, what else do you need? Aguilera’s voice blows me away every time. Do I care that the whole plot is as realistic as Kim Kardashian’s blown up butt? No I do not.

2. Eating a bucket of popcorn and calling it dinner. It’s divine. I adore popcorn. The smell, the hot salty kernels melting in my mouth, the way I can just keep eating handful after handful as I sit and watch Showgirls. Oh, and the butter. Lots and lots of butter.

3. Changing in to my pj’s the second I walk in the door after work. Question: Is there anything more comfortable to wear on the planet than pj’s? Answer: Absolutely not. So why shouldn’t I wear them as often as possible for as long as possible? Which brings me to:

4. Not changing out of pj’s all day. I need to take a shower. Not taking a shower isn’t a guilty pleasure for me, it’s just gross. But as soon as I’m done with the shower, the pj’s come back on.

This is the short list. There are more I could add, but I want to hear yours. Come on, friends, fess up. Tell us your pleasures, and feel no guilt. And while you’re at it, follow us here at Lady Smut, where we bring you guilt-free pleasure seven days a week.

 

 

 

 

 

Beardy Goodness by Kemberlee Shortland, Guest Post

By Kemberlee Shortland, special  to Lady Smut








Incredibeard – Isaiah Webb

I participated the celebration of the release of an anthology of sexy stories by some of my online buddies . . . The Lady Smut Book of Dark Desires. We all had a great time and I met some new and fabulous folks…and picked up a few new friends on my Facebook page.

One of the best discussions we had on my side of things was the topic of men with beards in romance, erotica, and erotic romance. We all shared some feelings on the matter, and shared some photos of some great bearded men!

The general consensus was that a lot of women didn’t realize some of the men they were attracted to were beardies! And some of those who were deadset against men with facial hair, quickly changed their minds when we shared some of photos of hunky bearded men.Here’s the link if you want to check out the discussion.

https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10205285249154655

One of the main reasons I posed the question ‘to beard or not to beard’, was because I’m about to release a new volume in the City Nights Series from Tirgearr Publishing — One Night in Dublin (out 27 February 2015).

In my book, the hero has a beard. Not just facial scruff, but a full-on, fist full of whiskers beard. I’ve never written a bearded hero before, nor a bad guy for that matter, so this was a great challenge for me.

Other great challenges were writing in the first person/present tense, and setting a full story within a 24 hour time frame. But those are subjects for another post. Today, I’m sharing some images of some great bearded men who have cropped up on the big screen in the last year or two.

I also want to shore up the prediction I made over the summer while writing One Night in Dublin. That is, we’ll see more bearded heroes in 2015. Not the facial scruff kind, but the full-on, fist full of whiskers kind ;-)




























Aaron Kaufmann from Fast and Loud (Gas Monkeys Garage)









Travis Fimmel as Ragnar Lothbrok and Clive Standen as Rolo on Vikings























So, if you’ve gotten this far in the post, I’d love to hear your thoughts on ‘to beard or not to beard’ when it comes to the heroes in the books you read. I bet you have some favorite actors or other performers who have beards and you really never thought if you liked them because of their beard or not . . . George Clooney, Johnny Depp, Hugh Jackman, Chuck Norris, Brad Pitt, Christian Bale, Russell Brand, Leonardo Di Caprio . . . the list goes on. I’d love to hear some of your favorites. Those above are some of mine.

What about you?

Also Find Kemberlee on Facebook and Twitter .

Note from Liz Everly–Full disclosure: Not only only is Ms. Shortland a fabulous author and fun person, but she is the publisher at Tirgearr Publishing, who publishes one of my books and several of C. Margery Kempe’s.

Also, here’s a deal NEW for you. One of my books, SAFFRON NIGHTS, is free for a short time only. Click here and download.

In the mean time, let’s discuss beards, shall we? Stay on top of all LS discussions by subscribing to the blog.

I Am Size Strong

by Kiersten Hallie Krum

While I was waiting to leave a regional comic con in Massachusetts last weekend, I chatted up two old ladies in the lobby talking TV and HBO and Outlander. Y’all know I’ll talk anyone’s ear off about Outlander with the slightest bit of encouragement. Before I left, I gave them each my card because one of them said she loves to read Sherrilyn Kenyon and you never know when self promo at the right moment might pay off. The other lady started laughing uproariously. Turns out she’d read the back of my card with the tagline “smart, sharp, & sexy romantic suspense novels” but didn’t get past the first three words. Thinking the line referred to me personally, her gut response was “my, she thinks highly of herself.” Taking it in good humor, mostly because of her age, I mockingly demanded, “are you saying I’m not smart, sharp, and sexy?” to which she replied, still laughing but totally serious, “yes!”

And now you know why I do my best to stay the hell out of Massachusetts.

Thing is, this nameless, inconsequential woman’s opinion has been haunting me ever since. Not the good times and lovely moments I had that weekend, but this one thoughtless comment from a stranger right at the end. That old adage about how it takes eight compliments to make up for one insult? For two weeks, I’ve been twisting on the negative side of that divide.

I’ll be blunt: I’m an obese woman who struggles with society’s perception of my value based on how I look as opposed not only to who I am but who I perceive myself to be. At Lady Smut, we talk about and celebrate female sexuality, though the majority of the world would tell you that women of my size don’t have any…or perhaps shouldn’t have any, which is just so much ignorant bullshit. Frankly, I’m pretty fucking amazing. That’s a hard-won if fluctuating sense of self-worth there, not narcissistic vanity. But just one scornful word from a near stranger or one fake construct of a perfect beauty can send me spiraling into a cave of self-loathing. That’s because no one can do a number on me better than I do on myself. I’m not alone in this; women are hardest on other women and often harder than all on themselves. We’re conditioned to lead with our faults and imperfections and scorned for openly praising our own considerable skills and qualities.

That I struggle with my weight–“struggle”, as if it’s some Herculean opponent that defines character instead of merely a physical attribute that describes appearance–dominates my every waking thought subconsciously or otherwise. I think about how I move, how I stand, how I sweat because I’m moving and standing. How I sit. Did I hunch over so my chin disappeared or lean in such a way that my belly was grossly emphasized? It’s exhausting, I promise you, but it’s also second nature. As a performer and writer, I’m hyper aware of presentation and perception, which means I have a near pathological need to set the scene, to craft the image being shown to the world. This becomes increasingly difficult when your physical appearance is the antithesis to what society claims you must be in order to be deemed worthy. In our world, beautiful people–beautiful, skinny people–only must apply.

Around Valentine’s Day this year, BuzzFeed® took four woman of various age and physical make up and gave them each a professional photo shoot, full hair and makeup. Each woman’s photo shoot was then photoshopped and the results shown to the subjects. On a whole, each woman was disappointed and some appalled at how their photoshopped image was stripped of their individuality. One woman objected to her freckles being washed out, another that she didn’t feel the new image adequately reflected her true character. Their biggest objection was that the stylized images removed their flaws, the imperfections they valued that made them unique. “Once you take away your imperfections,” one woman said, “there’s not much left of who you really are.” Right, because as women, it’s our imperfections that make us unique.

Give me a break.

I gotta say, given the chance, I probably would’ve preferred that perfected image however fake it may be. Because it was altered to an unachievable but accepted and valued ideal? No. Because it would’ve shown a version of myself that would let society to get the hell over itself so the inner, better me could be perceived. Not because it made me skinny and beautiful but because an ignorant, judgmental society would no longer have to get past my physical size to see the quality of the character beneath.

In Spring 2013, Dove® did a similar “experiment” with their “Dove® Real Beauty Sketches.” Without actually seeing his subjects, a forensic sketch artist took descriptions from several woman as to how they perceived themselves physically. Each one described their most negative attributes: a protruding jaw, a fat, round face, a big forehead, too many freckles. He then asked other people who knew the subjects to describe the women. The artist then crafted two images from those descriptions, one based on how the subject described herself and the other based on how the “friend” saw her. To a one, each self-portrait was much less attractive than the one drawn from the friends’ descriptions. “I should be more grateful of my natural beauty,” said one subject after the dramatic reveal. “It impacts the choices and the friends that we make, the jobs we apply for, how we treat our children…it impacts everything. It couldn’t be more critical to your happiness.”

The tagline? “You are more beautiful than you think.”

Perception is so key to our self-worth, first in our self-perception and then in what society tells us we should feel about ourselves due to how it perceives us, which is often vastly contradictory. Any woman, no matter her size, will tell you clothes shopping is the worst. There’s little more detrimental to your ego than a fitting room’s florescent lights and unforgiving mirrors. There’s no hiding anything there, not weight gain, face lines, hip spread, the works. “It’s so depressing,” says one woman in Special K® cereal’s “More Than a Number” advert where the brand asks, “Why do we let the size of our jeans measure our self-worth?”

Why do we let an old bitty’s stray comment determine our self-worth?

Last year, Special K® invited a group of women to “Rethink Your Jeans” and shop in a store stocked with size-free jeans. Instead of numbers, the labels were marked with affirming assertions. Store clerks were armed with measuring tapes whose demarcation lines were marked “radiant” and “confident.” “I’m size strong,” one woman proudly proclaimed. “Not seeing the number is so freeing!” announced another. “Let’s rethink what defines us,” advises the tagline.

We take a lot of crap in Romanceladia for what’s perceived to be idealized heroes and heroines, for creating characters real-life people can’t hope to emulate. (Never mind the vastly sexualized, deeply unrealistic portrayal of women in, say, video games, comic books, fantasy fiction, and other male-dominated genres, but that’s a soapbox for another day.) In fact, romance heroines aren’t an idealized image of what real-life women wish for but can never hope to be; they are the personification of what we already are: Empowered. Sexual. Strong. Amazing.

One label does not fit all.

Just like changing the tags on jeans in a store revolutionizes how a woman perceives herself while shopping, exploring the myriad shades of woman, particularly in romance genre where the heroine is almost always the protagonist, changes the restricting concepts of who we’re supposed to be, or expected to be, or told to be in society. It gives us not the photoshopped, flawless version, but the second forensic sketch because it’s truer than any perception we might have of ourselves. Because we are more beautiful than we think and infinitely more beautiful than we’re told.

“My, she thinks highly of herself.”

Yes. Yes, I do.

So should you.

 

 

 

Follow Lady Smut. We’ll show you all kinds of beautiful.

It’s a Big Job, and Someone Needs to Do It

Idris is still very much alive, but he’s probably not terribly concerned about our little American magazines.

By Alexa Day

Something has been weighing heavily on my mind this past week. I’ve tried to stay positive about it and put on a brave face, but this is really bothering me. I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to share this with you, the Lady Smut community, but ultimately, I decided that this is an issue that affects too many women in one way or another. As an erotic romance writer, I have the responsibility to raise issues like this, whether they’re easy to talk about or not.

Really, it’s about starting a dialogue. It’s about raising awareness. It’s less about finding an answer than it is about asking the right questions.

So let’s look right at this. Ready?

In a world where Idris Elba is also alive, how the shit could Chris Hemsworth be the Sexiest Man Alive?

Sorry. Let me take a half-step back and moderate my tone. This is a hot button subject for me, you understand. Maybe a word or two of background will help me regain my perspective.

Since the mid-1980s or so, People magazine has selected a Sexiest Man Alive for one of its November covers. Slate has a long story about how this whole thing came about, and honestly, it sounds like something that should probably have been squashed after Mel Gibson became the first Sexiest Man Alive. Maybe even before. Seriously, go read the story and make your own conclusions.

Luke is certainly cuter than his brother. But is he sexier? Hmm.

Given the history of the whole Sexiest Man Alive popularity contest, which seems confused at times and obvious at others and just sadly misinformed at others, you would think it would be easy for me to abandon my unrealistic expectations surrounding this whole thing. And in a way, you’re right. For the last couple of years, starting with Channing Tatum, I’ve said I was going to swear the whole thing off. I thought I meant it with Adam Levine last year.

Still, as broken as this is, there is so much potential for this to turn into a universal good. How can I turn away from potential? Sexy is my business. Shouldn’t I commit to business being good?

So how do we fix this? Presuming that it’s possible to identify a handful of Sexiest Men Alive — because I think choosing just one is part of the problem — how would we go about doing it?

The easy way is to do what Empire magazine is doing; they trust their readers enough to poll them. Check out the male half of their list of 100 Sexiest Movie Stars from last year.

The hard way is to start by trying to define sexiness. We’ll never come up with a single set of criteria, but identifying a set of variables would be useful, mostly so that we can discuss them thoroughly. Channing Tatum lost me when he became a family man, but plenty of women just love the sight of a man with a baby. I personally enjoy age and life experience more than youthful prettiness, but pretty goes a long way for a lot of other people. Smart is sexy, of course, but how smart does he have to be? Is confidence more important than being able to dance? I don’t think we’ll be able to put a fence around sexy. But if we want this process to be easier, we’ll want to get our arms around some variables.

We also need to stop turning this into a popularity contest. I presume that’s how we ended up with Richard Gere the second time. One of the joys of my job is discovering the hidden gems of sexiness and sharing them (or some of them, since I’m awfully selfish) with you all. I just think that if we’re really looking for the Sexiest Man Alive — the very sexiest man on the surface of our planet — then we need to be looking beyond American popular culture. Scouring the world for all the sexiest men and then subjecting them to an extensive evaluation is going to be an awfully big job. It’s going to include lots of men I’ve never seen or heard of. I hope.

There’s a really strong argument that William here is sexier than Chris.

Finally, we’ll have to introduce a problematic element to the proceedings. We need to remove consent.

I know, that’s kind of uncool. And yet, for this to succeed, we must remove the ability for the Sexiest Man Alive to decide he wants nothing to do with the title.

As it is, People magazine decided somewhere around Matthew McConaughey that the title of Sexiest Man Alive could only be awarded to a man who was okay with it. Given the troubled history of the whole process, it’s kind of easy to understand how a fellow might want to say no, right? Who wants to be after Nick Nolte?

But requiring consent is part of the reason this has turned into a popularity contest. People are most likely to consent — and perhaps to campaign — if they have something to gain from the process. Like publicity for movies or something of that nature. On the other hand, required consent works against a man who is sexy but modest (which is beautiful, isn’t it?), or sexy but uninterested in being on the cover of a magazine, or sexy but wary of what this will do to the gravitas that’s holding up his career.

Channing is more concerned with gravitas than he appears.

I believe in celebrating sexy for the sake of sexy, which will likely mean removing his ability to refuse our attentions. I’ll take full responsibility for reassuring the poor dear. “It’s okay, sweetheart. It just means we think highly of you. It’s not just about the pretty. There’s a whole set of variables. And a committee. A really big committee.”

Alternately, I’m happy to work the casting couch. Or I can do both. I’m nothing if not dedicated to the cause.

Who else is ready to volunteer? Who wants to right this affront to Order? Sound off below.

And for more coverage of the day’s pressing issues, follow Lady Smut.