Deanndra Hall's Blog, page 4
November 15, 2014
Street team abuse - it's real
I want to start off by saying that I know I've been a little absent lately, but I've had to rethink my blog offerings, primarily the Wednesday posts.
When I started off with my Wednesday reads, I made it abundantly clear that they were NOT reviews; rather, they were books I read and appreciated for their uniqueness, writing skill level, storytelling, or subject matter, or just because I like a sappy love story. Shut up. They were never intended to be reviews, as I stated.
Problem is, I've been inundated by authors, agents, and publishers wanting me to review their books. Let me say it again: I'M NOT A REVIEWER. The purpose of this blog is to support my WRITING, not to provide every Tom, Dick, and Harry out there with a frickin' review. To all my author friends whose books I've showcased here, I was glad to do it. To the rest of you, it ain't happenin', so just cut it the hell out. I even had one who had the audacity to pursue me and then ask me what my qualifications were for reviewing. I'm guessing you're thinking, "I know what she said to that," and you'd be right.
So I'm going to showcase the books from series I've already started and possibly do others, but I'm not going to do them on any set time schedule. I'll do them when I do them. That's it - that's all. Sorry. In between you'll get more of my pithy, sarcastic, screw-you attitude - which I know you love.
And now on to the purpose for today's post.
I had a little come-apart earlier in the week and sent a rather lengthy post to my street team, basically asking them if I posted it, would I get kicked off Facebook. The response I got was positive and sad at the same time. So I'm asking you to read this and then post the link all over the place so EVERYONE sees it. This is a message to all the authors and street team members out there who need to hear it.
You see, I've been hearing rumblings all over, and I mean ALL OVER. So here are some of the things I've heard.
I'm on a street team where we have to post ten times a day or we get kicked off.
They made me fill out an application to be on the street team and said, "We'll get back to you." And they never did.
I had to take time off for a family crisis, and I explained it to them and apologized. When it was resolved, I asked to come back to the team. They didn't want me back.
I'm being treated like shit in the street team I'm on because I'm on more than one street team.
According to them (other ST members, admins, or the author), if I'm on more than one street team, I'm being "unfaithful" to the author.
I'm being told that I can't be on this or that authors' street teams by the street team I'm on because that author doesn't like the other authors.
They've got a limit of five (six, three, etc.) street teams that I can be on, and it's a requirement that they're all in the same genres (or the same thing but all different genres).
The author wants me to have his/her tee-shirts, caps, swag, etc., but I'm expected to buy it.
So now I've got a little question for my author buddies out there. It's a simple one, really.
JUST WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?
I mean, really? Here's an idea: Dock their pay. Take away their benefits. Cut back on their sick days and holidays, or cut out holiday pay altogether. Isn't that what an employer does?
Wait? You're not paying them? What do you mean, you're not paying them?
Get this now and get it straight: THESE PEOPLE DON'T OWE YOU A DAMN THING. They're doing what they're doing out of the goodness of their hearts because maybe they like you, or they like your books, or you said something clever on a Facebook post once and it made them laugh, or their best friend is on your street team, or your name is their dog's name too. Whatever. Doesn't matter what the reason - YOU'RE NOT PAYING THEM. You have ZERO right to impose any rules on them. No, I take that back: You do have the right to either deny them membership or to remove them from membership if they can't behave in a professional manner or if they are doing something illegal or immoral, such as soliciting drugs from another street team member or using the street team as a hookup ground for cybersex. Not cool - not cool at all. Otherwise, get this through your head - you're not paying them. You have NO RIGHT to impose rules on them.
Are your books so damn spectacular that they should kiss your feet for writing them? Are you so damn special that they should be in awe of you and be glad that you'd even let them on your street team? Are you sure as hell not going to interact personally with them? What kind of narcissist are you? Are you really egotistical enough to believe that the occasional free book or sharing some of your own advertising material with them is compensation? Uh-oh - I just threw up in my mouth a little.
So let me clue you in on a little sumpin'-sumpin'. If you've been in the indie publishing game for three or four years, the playing field is being leveled as I type this. It's unlikely that you'll be getting those big checks anymore. Why? Because there are thousands of people hitting "publish" every day who shouldn't. Their work is crap, and some of them know it, but they're so in love with the idea of being an "author" that they're going to do it anyway, even if they know their work is shit. That puts them out there in the marketplace where YOU have to compete with them. Kindle Unlimited and Kindle Owners' Lending Library is making that more lucrative for them every day, and people who otherwise would never have sold a book are getting little chips off the Global Fund block for borrows. That's enough to encourage them to keep going. What that means for you, as a seasoned indie veteran, is that putting out a book every one and a half to two years is no longer going to be acceptable. Six months, and they've moved on to another author. Some of our readership doesn't have a lot of discretion, so they'll read crap and think it's wonderful. And you've lost a reader. (Don't tell me you don't care about those people because they don't know good books when they read them. If everyone like that quit buying your books, you'd have to get a job at a convenience store, and you know it.)
Street teams were intended to fill in that gap between the author and the readers out there who've never heard of them. Anyone who knows anything about business - and a lot of you really don't - knows that advertising is the number one biggest expense any business has. Street teams are a cheap, fast, effective way to do some advertising when you don't really have any cash flow.
So why in the world wouldn't you be kissing your street team's collective asses? You certainly should be. They're doing you a favor, dumbass. They're working for you when they'd rather be reading (maybe even someone else's books), or shopping, or watching TV, or any of a number of things, but instead, they're in there glued to the computer screen, pimping as fast as they can go (and sometimes getting put in Facebook jail, right, Tabby?), talking you up to anyone who'll listen, and offering to leave swag all over their town to get people to notice you. And for some unfathomable reason, you think they should reach a daily "quota" of work for you, or buy your swag at ungodly prices, or sequester themselves in your street team and your street team alone (insecure or jealous, are we?), and work like a sonofabitch for you while you watch them in your notification boxes and pat yourself on the back. What the hell?
Don't get me wrong - I know many of us can't afford to pay a street team, and I know I certainly can't. But if I'm not paying them, I don't have the right to impose ANY requirements on them. None.
So here's the deal. I love my street team. The ladies on there will tell you it's more like a family than a street team. I get messages from some of them saying they're going through a hard time and they'll be absent for awhile. I always tell them family first, and I mean that. Yeah, I've got a few I haven't heard from in ages, even thought I've tried to contact them. That's okay. Their name on my membership roster isn't costing me money, so what difference does it make? I try to remember their birthdays and when they're having surgery and if they or one of their children has a chronic illness, and I try to be supportive. God knows my memory is crap, but I try, I really do, and I think they'll tell you that I do.
Street team members, if you're not being treated that way, or at least with some respect, GET THE HELL OUT OF THAT STREET TEAM. No author should use and abuse street team members, and if you're in that situation, tell them to go fuck themselves and get out. Want a street team to go to?
Come to mine. I guarantee it's a fun, friendly, family-type place to be where you can promote me to your heart's content, even if that just means one day a week, or maybe once a month. I'm not picky. I'm not paying you. I'll take whatever time you can offer me and be thankful for it.
You authors out there with your noses up in the air, you should probably get yourself an attitude of gratitude and thank your lucky stars that you've been as successful and popular as you have been, because the times, they are a-changin'. In a few months, you may just need those street team members. If you keep abusing them and their time, they may not be there when that happens. It'll be a painful lesson.
So to my street team, I love you guys and appreciate every little thing you do for me. My goal in life is to write great books and live up to your expectations. If I fall down, I expect you to tell me, and to know that I don't blame you. And if I'm successful, it will be because of you, so I thank you in advance.
And authors, if you think I'm talking about you, I probably am. So think about why that might be and go thank your street team RIGHT NOW before they all come over to the dark side to have cookies with me. I serve tequila shooters and craft beer too. Yeah, that's right - I'm way more fun than you are.
When I started off with my Wednesday reads, I made it abundantly clear that they were NOT reviews; rather, they were books I read and appreciated for their uniqueness, writing skill level, storytelling, or subject matter, or just because I like a sappy love story. Shut up. They were never intended to be reviews, as I stated.
Problem is, I've been inundated by authors, agents, and publishers wanting me to review their books. Let me say it again: I'M NOT A REVIEWER. The purpose of this blog is to support my WRITING, not to provide every Tom, Dick, and Harry out there with a frickin' review. To all my author friends whose books I've showcased here, I was glad to do it. To the rest of you, it ain't happenin', so just cut it the hell out. I even had one who had the audacity to pursue me and then ask me what my qualifications were for reviewing. I'm guessing you're thinking, "I know what she said to that," and you'd be right.
So I'm going to showcase the books from series I've already started and possibly do others, but I'm not going to do them on any set time schedule. I'll do them when I do them. That's it - that's all. Sorry. In between you'll get more of my pithy, sarcastic, screw-you attitude - which I know you love.
And now on to the purpose for today's post.
I had a little come-apart earlier in the week and sent a rather lengthy post to my street team, basically asking them if I posted it, would I get kicked off Facebook. The response I got was positive and sad at the same time. So I'm asking you to read this and then post the link all over the place so EVERYONE sees it. This is a message to all the authors and street team members out there who need to hear it.
You see, I've been hearing rumblings all over, and I mean ALL OVER. So here are some of the things I've heard.
I'm on a street team where we have to post ten times a day or we get kicked off.
They made me fill out an application to be on the street team and said, "We'll get back to you." And they never did.
I had to take time off for a family crisis, and I explained it to them and apologized. When it was resolved, I asked to come back to the team. They didn't want me back.
I'm being treated like shit in the street team I'm on because I'm on more than one street team.
According to them (other ST members, admins, or the author), if I'm on more than one street team, I'm being "unfaithful" to the author.
I'm being told that I can't be on this or that authors' street teams by the street team I'm on because that author doesn't like the other authors.
They've got a limit of five (six, three, etc.) street teams that I can be on, and it's a requirement that they're all in the same genres (or the same thing but all different genres).
The author wants me to have his/her tee-shirts, caps, swag, etc., but I'm expected to buy it.
So now I've got a little question for my author buddies out there. It's a simple one, really.
JUST WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?
I mean, really? Here's an idea: Dock their pay. Take away their benefits. Cut back on their sick days and holidays, or cut out holiday pay altogether. Isn't that what an employer does?
Wait? You're not paying them? What do you mean, you're not paying them?
Get this now and get it straight: THESE PEOPLE DON'T OWE YOU A DAMN THING. They're doing what they're doing out of the goodness of their hearts because maybe they like you, or they like your books, or you said something clever on a Facebook post once and it made them laugh, or their best friend is on your street team, or your name is their dog's name too. Whatever. Doesn't matter what the reason - YOU'RE NOT PAYING THEM. You have ZERO right to impose any rules on them. No, I take that back: You do have the right to either deny them membership or to remove them from membership if they can't behave in a professional manner or if they are doing something illegal or immoral, such as soliciting drugs from another street team member or using the street team as a hookup ground for cybersex. Not cool - not cool at all. Otherwise, get this through your head - you're not paying them. You have NO RIGHT to impose rules on them.
Are your books so damn spectacular that they should kiss your feet for writing them? Are you so damn special that they should be in awe of you and be glad that you'd even let them on your street team? Are you sure as hell not going to interact personally with them? What kind of narcissist are you? Are you really egotistical enough to believe that the occasional free book or sharing some of your own advertising material with them is compensation? Uh-oh - I just threw up in my mouth a little.
So let me clue you in on a little sumpin'-sumpin'. If you've been in the indie publishing game for three or four years, the playing field is being leveled as I type this. It's unlikely that you'll be getting those big checks anymore. Why? Because there are thousands of people hitting "publish" every day who shouldn't. Their work is crap, and some of them know it, but they're so in love with the idea of being an "author" that they're going to do it anyway, even if they know their work is shit. That puts them out there in the marketplace where YOU have to compete with them. Kindle Unlimited and Kindle Owners' Lending Library is making that more lucrative for them every day, and people who otherwise would never have sold a book are getting little chips off the Global Fund block for borrows. That's enough to encourage them to keep going. What that means for you, as a seasoned indie veteran, is that putting out a book every one and a half to two years is no longer going to be acceptable. Six months, and they've moved on to another author. Some of our readership doesn't have a lot of discretion, so they'll read crap and think it's wonderful. And you've lost a reader. (Don't tell me you don't care about those people because they don't know good books when they read them. If everyone like that quit buying your books, you'd have to get a job at a convenience store, and you know it.)
Street teams were intended to fill in that gap between the author and the readers out there who've never heard of them. Anyone who knows anything about business - and a lot of you really don't - knows that advertising is the number one biggest expense any business has. Street teams are a cheap, fast, effective way to do some advertising when you don't really have any cash flow.
So why in the world wouldn't you be kissing your street team's collective asses? You certainly should be. They're doing you a favor, dumbass. They're working for you when they'd rather be reading (maybe even someone else's books), or shopping, or watching TV, or any of a number of things, but instead, they're in there glued to the computer screen, pimping as fast as they can go (and sometimes getting put in Facebook jail, right, Tabby?), talking you up to anyone who'll listen, and offering to leave swag all over their town to get people to notice you. And for some unfathomable reason, you think they should reach a daily "quota" of work for you, or buy your swag at ungodly prices, or sequester themselves in your street team and your street team alone (insecure or jealous, are we?), and work like a sonofabitch for you while you watch them in your notification boxes and pat yourself on the back. What the hell?
Don't get me wrong - I know many of us can't afford to pay a street team, and I know I certainly can't. But if I'm not paying them, I don't have the right to impose ANY requirements on them. None.
So here's the deal. I love my street team. The ladies on there will tell you it's more like a family than a street team. I get messages from some of them saying they're going through a hard time and they'll be absent for awhile. I always tell them family first, and I mean that. Yeah, I've got a few I haven't heard from in ages, even thought I've tried to contact them. That's okay. Their name on my membership roster isn't costing me money, so what difference does it make? I try to remember their birthdays and when they're having surgery and if they or one of their children has a chronic illness, and I try to be supportive. God knows my memory is crap, but I try, I really do, and I think they'll tell you that I do.
Street team members, if you're not being treated that way, or at least with some respect, GET THE HELL OUT OF THAT STREET TEAM. No author should use and abuse street team members, and if you're in that situation, tell them to go fuck themselves and get out. Want a street team to go to?
Come to mine. I guarantee it's a fun, friendly, family-type place to be where you can promote me to your heart's content, even if that just means one day a week, or maybe once a month. I'm not picky. I'm not paying you. I'll take whatever time you can offer me and be thankful for it.
You authors out there with your noses up in the air, you should probably get yourself an attitude of gratitude and thank your lucky stars that you've been as successful and popular as you have been, because the times, they are a-changin'. In a few months, you may just need those street team members. If you keep abusing them and their time, they may not be there when that happens. It'll be a painful lesson.
So to my street team, I love you guys and appreciate every little thing you do for me. My goal in life is to write great books and live up to your expectations. If I fall down, I expect you to tell me, and to know that I don't blame you. And if I'm successful, it will be because of you, so I thank you in advance.
And authors, if you think I'm talking about you, I probably am. So think about why that might be and go thank your street team RIGHT NOW before they all come over to the dark side to have cookies with me. I serve tequila shooters and craft beer too. Yeah, that's right - I'm way more fun than you are.
November 8, 2014
No, I did not forget
My blog tour for Planning an Addition ends today. I didn't want to compete with the post that Drue's Random Chatter did, so my regular post will be tomorrow. Her offering is Nikki's confession. Tony has told both her and Vic repeatedly that he believes them when they say nothing happened while he was in jail, but it's eaten at him until he can't stand it anymore. Now, with the possibility that she won't be around much longer, he has to know exactly what happened, details and all. It's the opportunity to finally quash all of the speculation, gossip, and rumors once and for all. Hope you'll go over and enjoy it.
Drue's Random Chatter
And while you're at it, pick up a copy of Planning an Addition; hell, get all three! They're an enormous amount of fun and quite a bit of entertainment for not a lot of money.
See you tomorrow!
AVAILABLE EXCLUSIVELY AT AMAZON!
November 5, 2014
Here's an outtake from Planning an Addition
When I wrote this, I had something particular in mind. Do you know who Joe Perry is? He's the guitarist for Aerosmith. He and his wife have a farm in Vermont, Sleepy Hollow Farm, and there they raise Friesians. Friesians are very large horses that look a lot like draft horses (think Clydesdales), but instead, they're very graceful and often used as saddle horses and for dressage. As you can imagine, they were in high demand for knights to use in jousting or war because they're so big and heavy but able to maneuver easily through rather iffy terrain.
Anyway, the Perrys are in the process of selling their farm, or at least they were, and it's a historic landmark. This is not part of my story - Sleepy Hollow Farm is actually for sale, and you can see photos there of Joe and his wife on a couple of the horses, as well as their beautiful barns and pastures. I'd love to live there. I think the asking prices is like $4M or something. Ehhhh, probably not going to happen in the next few years (or ever).
But I started to think about the fact that Tony and Vic are big guys, plus they were schooled in dressage while they were living in Italy, and Friesians were just a natural choice before I ever knew about Sleepy Hollow Farm. I wrote this and liked it, but it served no purpose in the books. But I thought it was fun - so here it is!
= = = = = = = = = = = =
“Do you want me to saddle Trickster? Because I can if you want.” Vic had finished saddling and bridling Vladimir, and the big stallion stood at ease, his reins tied to a ring on a stall door,
“No, no, I want to watch you work Vlad. I’ve never seen you ride.” Laura had been watching Vic move around the horse, completely relaxed and looking like he was in his element. “I’m surprised you remember this stuff.”
“Three days a week in elementary school, third level through sixth level. I was big enough for my age that I had a good-sized horse to work with. I don’t guess I’ll ever forget her. A mare. Her name was Pepe – Pepper. Pretty little gray Arabian. Even right before we left Italy, with everything I was involved in, I still went to the stables at least once a week to see her. I really missed her when we left.” Laura was touched; Vic’s eyes moistened just thinking about that horse, and she loved that after all that time, he still remembered the mare and loved her.
“You guys out here?” Tony’s voice rang down the barn corridor.
Vic called back, “Yep. Down here.”
They appeared in the hallway, Tony carrying Nikki. She looked more than exhausted, and that made Vic anxious. “Hey, sugar! You sure you’re up to this?”
Nikki nodded. “I wanna watch.”
Vic laughed. “Then I’ll make sure the show is worth the trouble!”
“I expect to see my husband show you up,” Nikki laughed and kissed Tony’s cheek.
Tony chuckled. “Oh, wow. Great. I’m sunk!”
“I remember you being pretty damn good. We’ll find out, won’t we?” Vic winked at Tony and Tony laughed right out loud. He pulled up a bale of hay and ducked into a stall to grab a blanket as Nikki stood, weaving a little; Laura moved over and wrapped an arm around her waist until Tony could get back and get her nest made. When he had the blanket over the hay, he helped her get situated, then sat down beside her and pulled her into his side. She rested her head against his shoulder and sighed.
“Okay, big boy, let’s see what you’ve got,” Tony growled, shooting an evil grin Vic’s way.
“Here we go.” Vic unsnapped the lead line and, taking the reins, led Vladimir into the practice arena. Once they were inside with the gate closed, Vic mounted the horse and Nikki watched with interest as the animal shuddered. “Okay, big ‘un, let’s see what you’ve got.” One cluck and his heels into Vlad’s sides, and the horse moved forward.
Nikki and Laura watched wide-eyed as Vic put Vlad through a series of dressage moves, from collected and extended gaits to passage. Horse and rider executed a half-dozen flying changes, all flawless. Tony just grinned. He’d heard from family members about Vic’s skill level in dressage, but he’d never really witnessed it for himself. And it was impressive – very, very impressive. When Vic finished, he cantered to where the three watched. Nikki was the first to speak, and all she could squeak out was, “Oh my god, Vic, that was amazing!”
“You weren’t kidding. You really can ride.” Laura was shaking her head.
Tony just smiled – until Vic said, “Okay, brother, your turn. Put him through his paces. This horse is a champion waiting to ribbon. We get him in the arena, let him turn on the heat, and he’ll be unbeatable.” As he spoke, he dismounted. “You’re up. Show these girls how it’s done.”
Tony laughed. “Too late! I think you already did!”
“I hear you’re pretty damn good yourself.” He held the horse while Tony mounted, then turned loose and joined Nikki on the hay bale, wrapping an arm around her just as Tony had. Tony grinned and winked, then turned the big horse and took off across the arena.
He was every bit as good as Vic. The horse responded easily to his cues, and they watched as he not only performed a whole series of flying changes but also executed four three-sixty pirouettes in rapid succession at a full canter. His mount carried out every command with grace and ease, and Vic watched, awestruck. This was it; this horse would be a champion. Tony returned to the entry point and dismounted. “My god, this horse is amazing. I can’t believe how easy it was to lead him through all of that.”
“Like second nature for him,” Vic replied, nodding.
“Absolutely. We need to try out the mares, see if they’re close to as good as him. If so, we’ve got a winning breeding program in the course of time.” Tony affectionately slapped the sweaty horse on the neck, then scratched behind his ears. Vlad stretched his neck out and curled his lips. “I think he likes that a little.” Tony chuckled as the big head shook and Vlad snorted, then stamped one foot.
“By the way, I know where they came from. Did you get to actually talk to . . .” Nikki had been a fan of their famous previous owner most of her life.
Vic grinned. “Yeah! Nice guy. Talked to his wife one day too. She’s just as nice. But I think the farm is up for sale. They’re keeping their saddle horses, but they’re selling off all the rest.”
“Want a farm in Vermont?” Tony asked and winked at her.
Nikki snorted. “No! I like this one just fine. I’m not going to Vermont. Too cold in the winter.” Before anyone could say anything, she stood and walked up to the Vlad. He looked even bigger with her tiny, thin frame standing before him. She reached up and scratched his forehead. “Hi, buddy. That was very nice. You did a good job. I wish I could ride you someday.”
“You’ll most definitely ride him. I’d love for you to be the one to show him.” As Nikki continued to scratch his nose and Tony scratched his neck, he tried again. “You could handle him easily. He’s a dream to ride. Want up? I’ll help you.”
Nikki shook her head, then dropped her forehead to the horse’s face. Vlad responded by standing perfectly still as she wrapped her arms around his neck and just stood, motionless, like she was passing some kind of information to the big beast. “He wants to stay here, not go back to our barn. Can he stay here? In the big barn?”
“What do you mean, he wants to stay here?” Tony didn’t understand.
“He wants to stay here. More horses. Near the arena. He misses that and he wants to be here.” She didn’t turn loose of Vlad, just continued to stand and lean into the big horse.
“Nope. He needs to go back to our place. And you need to get back to bed.” Tony handed Vlad’s reins to Vic, then lifted Nikki easily and carried her toward the door. “You guys want to walk back with us?”
“Sure. Nikki, why don’t you just get up there and ride him back?” Vic pointed to the saddle.
Tony smiled at her. “I’ll get up there with you, precious. It’ll be fun.”
Nikki shook her head. “No. He’s going to get upset when you try to take him back.”
They got as far as the big barn door and stepped through, only for Vic to almost stumble backward when Vlad stopped. “Come on, bud,” Vic told him and patted his withers. But when he stepped forward again, Vlad just stood there. “Come on. Let’s go.” He clucked to the horse and slapped his shoulder, but Vlad wouldn’t budge. Vic turned his head and gave Nikki a scorching look.
She wilted. “Not my fault. I told you he doesn’t want to go back to our barn.”
“Well, how ‘bout you tell him he has to go,” Vic snarled.
“Won’t do any good. He doesn’t want to go. I can’t make him change his mind.” Nikki shrugged.
Laura walked right up to Vlad, put a hand on his neck, leaned into his ear to whisper something, and told Vic, “Okay. Take him on out.”
Vic took tried another step and, to his surprise, the horse stepped forward and followed. “What the hell?”
Laura just smiled. “I’m the horse whisperer,” she chuckled.
Tony stared at her. “What the hell? What did you say to him?”
Laura laughed outright. “I told him Nikki and I hang out in that direction. He wants to be with the girls!”
“Seriously?” Vic’s eyes went wide. “You did not. You’re making that up.”
Laura shook her head. “Think whatever you want. He’s moving, isn’t he?”
“That he is.” Vic’s free hand reached for Laura’s and she took it in both of hers, then kissed the back of his hand. Vic smiled at her and those same little butterflies she always felt when he was around flitted around in her chest.
“How did you know he didn’t want to go?” Tony couldn’t figure it out.
Nikki gave him a tiny smile. “Because he told me.”
Tony started to say something, and then he stopped. He didn’t understand, and he decided in that moment he didn’t need to. Some things about his wife were still a mystery to him, and that only made him love her more. He wanted to see her on that horse; he wanted her well enough to be on that horse. As he carried her with Vic and Laura trailing behind them, he wondered what else he’d never know about her. He was afraid there might be a lot he’d never get the chance to know. His life had become full of flying changes, some of which he hoped would stop.
Anyway, the Perrys are in the process of selling their farm, or at least they were, and it's a historic landmark. This is not part of my story - Sleepy Hollow Farm is actually for sale, and you can see photos there of Joe and his wife on a couple of the horses, as well as their beautiful barns and pastures. I'd love to live there. I think the asking prices is like $4M or something. Ehhhh, probably not going to happen in the next few years (or ever).
But I started to think about the fact that Tony and Vic are big guys, plus they were schooled in dressage while they were living in Italy, and Friesians were just a natural choice before I ever knew about Sleepy Hollow Farm. I wrote this and liked it, but it served no purpose in the books. But I thought it was fun - so here it is!
= = = = = = = = = = = =
“Do you want me to saddle Trickster? Because I can if you want.” Vic had finished saddling and bridling Vladimir, and the big stallion stood at ease, his reins tied to a ring on a stall door,
“No, no, I want to watch you work Vlad. I’ve never seen you ride.” Laura had been watching Vic move around the horse, completely relaxed and looking like he was in his element. “I’m surprised you remember this stuff.”
“Three days a week in elementary school, third level through sixth level. I was big enough for my age that I had a good-sized horse to work with. I don’t guess I’ll ever forget her. A mare. Her name was Pepe – Pepper. Pretty little gray Arabian. Even right before we left Italy, with everything I was involved in, I still went to the stables at least once a week to see her. I really missed her when we left.” Laura was touched; Vic’s eyes moistened just thinking about that horse, and she loved that after all that time, he still remembered the mare and loved her.
“You guys out here?” Tony’s voice rang down the barn corridor.
Vic called back, “Yep. Down here.”
They appeared in the hallway, Tony carrying Nikki. She looked more than exhausted, and that made Vic anxious. “Hey, sugar! You sure you’re up to this?”
Nikki nodded. “I wanna watch.”
Vic laughed. “Then I’ll make sure the show is worth the trouble!”
“I expect to see my husband show you up,” Nikki laughed and kissed Tony’s cheek.
Tony chuckled. “Oh, wow. Great. I’m sunk!”
“I remember you being pretty damn good. We’ll find out, won’t we?” Vic winked at Tony and Tony laughed right out loud. He pulled up a bale of hay and ducked into a stall to grab a blanket as Nikki stood, weaving a little; Laura moved over and wrapped an arm around her waist until Tony could get back and get her nest made. When he had the blanket over the hay, he helped her get situated, then sat down beside her and pulled her into his side. She rested her head against his shoulder and sighed.
“Okay, big boy, let’s see what you’ve got,” Tony growled, shooting an evil grin Vic’s way.
“Here we go.” Vic unsnapped the lead line and, taking the reins, led Vladimir into the practice arena. Once they were inside with the gate closed, Vic mounted the horse and Nikki watched with interest as the animal shuddered. “Okay, big ‘un, let’s see what you’ve got.” One cluck and his heels into Vlad’s sides, and the horse moved forward.
Nikki and Laura watched wide-eyed as Vic put Vlad through a series of dressage moves, from collected and extended gaits to passage. Horse and rider executed a half-dozen flying changes, all flawless. Tony just grinned. He’d heard from family members about Vic’s skill level in dressage, but he’d never really witnessed it for himself. And it was impressive – very, very impressive. When Vic finished, he cantered to where the three watched. Nikki was the first to speak, and all she could squeak out was, “Oh my god, Vic, that was amazing!”
“You weren’t kidding. You really can ride.” Laura was shaking her head.
Tony just smiled – until Vic said, “Okay, brother, your turn. Put him through his paces. This horse is a champion waiting to ribbon. We get him in the arena, let him turn on the heat, and he’ll be unbeatable.” As he spoke, he dismounted. “You’re up. Show these girls how it’s done.”
Tony laughed. “Too late! I think you already did!”
“I hear you’re pretty damn good yourself.” He held the horse while Tony mounted, then turned loose and joined Nikki on the hay bale, wrapping an arm around her just as Tony had. Tony grinned and winked, then turned the big horse and took off across the arena.
He was every bit as good as Vic. The horse responded easily to his cues, and they watched as he not only performed a whole series of flying changes but also executed four three-sixty pirouettes in rapid succession at a full canter. His mount carried out every command with grace and ease, and Vic watched, awestruck. This was it; this horse would be a champion. Tony returned to the entry point and dismounted. “My god, this horse is amazing. I can’t believe how easy it was to lead him through all of that.”
“Like second nature for him,” Vic replied, nodding.
“Absolutely. We need to try out the mares, see if they’re close to as good as him. If so, we’ve got a winning breeding program in the course of time.” Tony affectionately slapped the sweaty horse on the neck, then scratched behind his ears. Vlad stretched his neck out and curled his lips. “I think he likes that a little.” Tony chuckled as the big head shook and Vlad snorted, then stamped one foot.
“By the way, I know where they came from. Did you get to actually talk to . . .” Nikki had been a fan of their famous previous owner most of her life.
Vic grinned. “Yeah! Nice guy. Talked to his wife one day too. She’s just as nice. But I think the farm is up for sale. They’re keeping their saddle horses, but they’re selling off all the rest.”
“Want a farm in Vermont?” Tony asked and winked at her.
Nikki snorted. “No! I like this one just fine. I’m not going to Vermont. Too cold in the winter.” Before anyone could say anything, she stood and walked up to the Vlad. He looked even bigger with her tiny, thin frame standing before him. She reached up and scratched his forehead. “Hi, buddy. That was very nice. You did a good job. I wish I could ride you someday.”
“You’ll most definitely ride him. I’d love for you to be the one to show him.” As Nikki continued to scratch his nose and Tony scratched his neck, he tried again. “You could handle him easily. He’s a dream to ride. Want up? I’ll help you.”
Nikki shook her head, then dropped her forehead to the horse’s face. Vlad responded by standing perfectly still as she wrapped her arms around his neck and just stood, motionless, like she was passing some kind of information to the big beast. “He wants to stay here, not go back to our barn. Can he stay here? In the big barn?”
“What do you mean, he wants to stay here?” Tony didn’t understand.
“He wants to stay here. More horses. Near the arena. He misses that and he wants to be here.” She didn’t turn loose of Vlad, just continued to stand and lean into the big horse.
“Nope. He needs to go back to our place. And you need to get back to bed.” Tony handed Vlad’s reins to Vic, then lifted Nikki easily and carried her toward the door. “You guys want to walk back with us?”
“Sure. Nikki, why don’t you just get up there and ride him back?” Vic pointed to the saddle.
Tony smiled at her. “I’ll get up there with you, precious. It’ll be fun.”
Nikki shook her head. “No. He’s going to get upset when you try to take him back.”
They got as far as the big barn door and stepped through, only for Vic to almost stumble backward when Vlad stopped. “Come on, bud,” Vic told him and patted his withers. But when he stepped forward again, Vlad just stood there. “Come on. Let’s go.” He clucked to the horse and slapped his shoulder, but Vlad wouldn’t budge. Vic turned his head and gave Nikki a scorching look.
She wilted. “Not my fault. I told you he doesn’t want to go back to our barn.”
“Well, how ‘bout you tell him he has to go,” Vic snarled.
“Won’t do any good. He doesn’t want to go. I can’t make him change his mind.” Nikki shrugged.
Laura walked right up to Vlad, put a hand on his neck, leaned into his ear to whisper something, and told Vic, “Okay. Take him on out.”
Vic took tried another step and, to his surprise, the horse stepped forward and followed. “What the hell?”
Laura just smiled. “I’m the horse whisperer,” she chuckled.
Tony stared at her. “What the hell? What did you say to him?”
Laura laughed outright. “I told him Nikki and I hang out in that direction. He wants to be with the girls!”
“Seriously?” Vic’s eyes went wide. “You did not. You’re making that up.”
Laura shook her head. “Think whatever you want. He’s moving, isn’t he?”
“That he is.” Vic’s free hand reached for Laura’s and she took it in both of hers, then kissed the back of his hand. Vic smiled at her and those same little butterflies she always felt when he was around flitted around in her chest.
“How did you know he didn’t want to go?” Tony couldn’t figure it out.
Nikki gave him a tiny smile. “Because he told me.”
Tony started to say something, and then he stopped. He didn’t understand, and he decided in that moment he didn’t need to. Some things about his wife were still a mystery to him, and that only made him love her more. He wanted to see her on that horse; he wanted her well enough to be on that horse. As he carried her with Vic and Laura trailing behind them, he wondered what else he’d never know about her. He was afraid there might be a lot he’d never get the chance to know. His life had become full of flying changes, some of which he hoped would stop.
November 1, 2014
Release day post: Writing erotica isn't as easy as it looks
Today is release day for Planning an Addition, the fourth and final novel in the Love Under Construction series. No, it's not the last you'll hear of the Walters clan - there are three Citadel books and four Legacy books coming, so hang in there and you'll be richly rewarded.
But there's something that's different about this book from anything I've done so far. This time around, I wound up with M/M components in the love story, and that's a new thing for me. So how does a hetero female write M/M?
She does a lot of research.
First, I read a few other M/M works, but I try not to do that. I don't want someone else's voice in my work, and that's a really good way for that to happen. I chose carefully, but I found that none of the works I read helped because my scenes are VERY different from those.
So next I found some works written by gay men, not stories, but actual accounts of their romances and encounters. Those were pretty interesting. Unfortunately, those were also not much help because the two individuals in my M/M were entirely different. One is bisexual, and the other considers himself to be straight. And that pretty much shot those works right out of the water.
Then I did the thing I always do. I started reading works that explain exactly how the sex act is performed between two men. I'm talking mechanics, physiological responses, etc. Not the most fun reading, but definitely the most accurate. I learned lots of things, some that I really wish I didn't know, but that's okay - that kind of information lends itself to far more realistic-sounding scenes. So I read and read and read.
And in the end, I had to do something I knew I'd do all along.
I just asked the characters. I let them talk, let them develop the relationship, let them experiment on their own. Their personalities are the key to virtually everything they experience in the books, of course, and letting them form their own relationship was the real answer to every dilemma in writing the work. It did something important. It let them do it their way and got me out of the way. How I felt about their relationship no longer mattered. They spoke, and I listened and wrote down the account just as they wanted it written. And guess what?
It worked.
What I wound up with was a rich, multi-layered, transparent look into the lives of a couple of people, one of whom is deeply in love, and the other, terrified. It also gave me a portal into the thoughts and feelings of the other person they brought along for that ride, and her perspective was interesting too, not to mention her inclusion in the relationship. Well, okay, it's more than interesting - it's frickin' hot.
I also discovered something else as I wandered down this pathway, and it's that there are very few menage books that feature all three of the characters actually in sexual relationships with each other all the way around. And I found they interacted in ways I never expected but loved. Some of those interactions were way past kinky, but that suited them. Not only that, they made no apologies for the way they felt about each other, but finally embraced it and let it grow. That encouraged me.
In the end, they were sweet and sexy and loving toward each other in a protective, familial way. I loved them before; I love them even more now. And holy hell, are they ever hot. Hot, hot, hot. Flaming hot. No, I didn't mean it that way, just hot. Okay, maybe I did mean it that way - sue me. But I love them and I'm especially proud of one of them for doing what he knew he wanted to do but was too afraid to admit to at first. You, Peyton Stokes, are my guy, and you rock. I'm so proud of you I could . . . no. I'm not going there.
I love this book, and I love that I'm getting to bring it to you. I hope you enjoy it, every hot, sweet, painful, sorrowful, joyful minute of it. And if you don't, you can blame them. They wrote it, after all.
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But there's something that's different about this book from anything I've done so far. This time around, I wound up with M/M components in the love story, and that's a new thing for me. So how does a hetero female write M/M?
She does a lot of research.
First, I read a few other M/M works, but I try not to do that. I don't want someone else's voice in my work, and that's a really good way for that to happen. I chose carefully, but I found that none of the works I read helped because my scenes are VERY different from those.
So next I found some works written by gay men, not stories, but actual accounts of their romances and encounters. Those were pretty interesting. Unfortunately, those were also not much help because the two individuals in my M/M were entirely different. One is bisexual, and the other considers himself to be straight. And that pretty much shot those works right out of the water.
Then I did the thing I always do. I started reading works that explain exactly how the sex act is performed between two men. I'm talking mechanics, physiological responses, etc. Not the most fun reading, but definitely the most accurate. I learned lots of things, some that I really wish I didn't know, but that's okay - that kind of information lends itself to far more realistic-sounding scenes. So I read and read and read.
And in the end, I had to do something I knew I'd do all along.
I just asked the characters. I let them talk, let them develop the relationship, let them experiment on their own. Their personalities are the key to virtually everything they experience in the books, of course, and letting them form their own relationship was the real answer to every dilemma in writing the work. It did something important. It let them do it their way and got me out of the way. How I felt about their relationship no longer mattered. They spoke, and I listened and wrote down the account just as they wanted it written. And guess what?
It worked.
What I wound up with was a rich, multi-layered, transparent look into the lives of a couple of people, one of whom is deeply in love, and the other, terrified. It also gave me a portal into the thoughts and feelings of the other person they brought along for that ride, and her perspective was interesting too, not to mention her inclusion in the relationship. Well, okay, it's more than interesting - it's frickin' hot.
I also discovered something else as I wandered down this pathway, and it's that there are very few menage books that feature all three of the characters actually in sexual relationships with each other all the way around. And I found they interacted in ways I never expected but loved. Some of those interactions were way past kinky, but that suited them. Not only that, they made no apologies for the way they felt about each other, but finally embraced it and let it grow. That encouraged me.
In the end, they were sweet and sexy and loving toward each other in a protective, familial way. I loved them before; I love them even more now. And holy hell, are they ever hot. Hot, hot, hot. Flaming hot. No, I didn't mean it that way, just hot. Okay, maybe I did mean it that way - sue me. But I love them and I'm especially proud of one of them for doing what he knew he wanted to do but was too afraid to admit to at first. You, Peyton Stokes, are my guy, and you rock. I'm so proud of you I could . . . no. I'm not going there.
I love this book, and I love that I'm getting to bring it to you. I hope you enjoy it, every hot, sweet, painful, sorrowful, joyful minute of it. And if you don't, you can blame them. They wrote it, after all.
October 29, 2014
My Reads: My Body-His (Marcello) by Blakely Bennett
When I picked up Blakely Bennett’s first book in the My Body series, I was hooked – so hooked, in fact, that I went ahead and bought the other two, then spent the entire weekend reading them. A few weeks ago I told you about My Body-His. Now I’ll tell you about the second book, My Body-His (Marcello).
First, let me just say that if you know me, you know how I feel about Italian male protagonists – love ‘em. And this book just fed that passion. We go back to visit Jane and Luke, and watch as the relationship becomes more and more dysfunctional, if that’s even possible. There’s a push and pull as Jane both tries to be the submissive Luke wants and tries to keep some of herself. Unfortunately, she fails on both accounts. After she’s disobeyed at a party, Luke sends her to Marcello as discipline. She doesn’t want to go, and when she stands up to him, the beating he gives her forces her to do the one thing that pushes him past the point of no return.
Having nowhere to go, she winds up at Marcello’s anyway. Marcello is one of those characters, not the ones you love to hate, but the ones you hate to love. For all his harshness and abusiveness, he also has a tender side, and uses some common sense in his use of Jane and the handling of her emotional fragility. Marcello had told her early on that she would be his, and due to her own actions, that winds up being the case. But exactly what that means is unclear, and he’s subjected to yet more pain and degradation under his tutelage. Problem is, even bound to a whipping horse and used as a toy by every man in attendance, something about the sex and the unsteadiness her love of being used by men brings great instability and yet great peace to Jane’s life.
When this book ends, Jane has become Marcello’s, even if only through attrition. But Marcello may be one of the better things that’s happened to Jane. Or may not. That’s left to be seen.
I loved this book. Once again, Blakely took me into a world of extreme BDSM with enough mind fucks to turn the strongest submissive into a blathering fool. Luke’s behavior made me hate him even more, while Marcello’s understanding, patience, and temperance gave him the human touch he’d lacked before and helped me both like and appreciate him. I also loved Blakely’s exploration of Jane’s relationship, or lack of, with her father, a clue that let me see into the reason Jane could so easily allow herself to fall for Luke and be totally controlled and manipulated by him.
These books are must-reads. I can’t say enough good things about them, and in a few weeks I’ll bring you the final one, My Body-Mine. Until then, grab these two and get caught up on the series. Once you start reading, you won’t be able to put it down.
First, let me just say that if you know me, you know how I feel about Italian male protagonists – love ‘em. And this book just fed that passion. We go back to visit Jane and Luke, and watch as the relationship becomes more and more dysfunctional, if that’s even possible. There’s a push and pull as Jane both tries to be the submissive Luke wants and tries to keep some of herself. Unfortunately, she fails on both accounts. After she’s disobeyed at a party, Luke sends her to Marcello as discipline. She doesn’t want to go, and when she stands up to him, the beating he gives her forces her to do the one thing that pushes him past the point of no return.
Having nowhere to go, she winds up at Marcello’s anyway. Marcello is one of those characters, not the ones you love to hate, but the ones you hate to love. For all his harshness and abusiveness, he also has a tender side, and uses some common sense in his use of Jane and the handling of her emotional fragility. Marcello had told her early on that she would be his, and due to her own actions, that winds up being the case. But exactly what that means is unclear, and he’s subjected to yet more pain and degradation under his tutelage. Problem is, even bound to a whipping horse and used as a toy by every man in attendance, something about the sex and the unsteadiness her love of being used by men brings great instability and yet great peace to Jane’s life.
When this book ends, Jane has become Marcello’s, even if only through attrition. But Marcello may be one of the better things that’s happened to Jane. Or may not. That’s left to be seen.
I loved this book. Once again, Blakely took me into a world of extreme BDSM with enough mind fucks to turn the strongest submissive into a blathering fool. Luke’s behavior made me hate him even more, while Marcello’s understanding, patience, and temperance gave him the human touch he’d lacked before and helped me both like and appreciate him. I also loved Blakely’s exploration of Jane’s relationship, or lack of, with her father, a clue that let me see into the reason Jane could so easily allow herself to fall for Luke and be totally controlled and manipulated by him.
These books are must-reads. I can’t say enough good things about them, and in a few weeks I’ll bring you the final one, My Body-Mine. Until then, grab these two and get caught up on the series. Once you start reading, you won’t be able to put it down.
October 25, 2014
The number one enemy of sex
Want the know what the number one enemy to having a great sex life is? This is going to sound simple, I know, but it’s a truth that everyone needs to hear. I made this unbelievable discovery a couple of years ago and it changed my life. It can change yours too, if you’ll just pay attention. It’s easy, quick, and can turn everything around in your bedroom. What is it, you ask?
White cotton underwear.
Before you start laughing, or tell me I’m an idiot, or think to yourself, This woman’s mental, or try to refute or belittle or argue, just let me make my case and I think you’ll see what I mean.
Three years ago, I wore a size 22. Today, I wear a six. Okay, sometimes an eight when there’s been pasta around, or it’s the holidays, or I just fell face-first into a carton of praline ice cream. But usually, I wear a six.
Anyway, it was hard work, very hard work. While I was going through this transformation, things were very hard. They were hard for me, trying to change my lifestyle, trying to stay on track, and they were also very hard on my bank account. You see, when you go through that many different sizes in eight months, you have to buy A LOT of clothes. Tons. So many, in fact, that I was packing pants off to consignment that had only been worn once or twice before they were too big for me. I went through a lot of stuff that year, and know what the worst was?
Underwear. I went through FIVE SIZES OF UNDERWEAR. Not kidding. I’d no sooner get a pack of panties broken in than they were too big and I had to start again. I kept Hanes in business. Oddly, too, my bra size changed, and in a weird way: I got smaller around, but the cups got bigger. Don’t ask; I have no idea. But that’s what happened. So I was buying, buying, buying.
What was I buying? Hanes cotton panties in the eight-pack. The same Vanity Fair bras that I’d always bought, just a little lace and nothing more. And one day I had a blinding flash of insight.
Why wasn’t I buying sexy underclothes? Why was I still hanging onto those cotton nightmares I’d worn when I didn’t feel well, was depressed, didn’t feel sexy, didn’t want sex or need sex or even think about sex? I was certainly feeling better about myself. Dropping the pounds and working out several times a week had alleviated the depression and made me look pretty damn good, but underneath it all, literally, I was still dressing like my grandma. So I decided to do something about it.
Yes, I know you already know, but the clerks at Victoria’s Secret now take notice when I walk in. I opened the drawer with my bras in it while my daughter was here and her eyes bugged out. Yes, that drawer is full. Yes, I know it looks like a box of 64 Crayolas. Yes, they’re fancy. (And before you say it, they DO make beautiful underclothes for big, beautiful girls. I’ve seen 3X panties and some very, very sexy teddies and such. Look for it; it’s out there.)
But, you know what? When I wear fancy underthings, I feel fancy too. Very fancy. And very, very sexy. I had no idea that would happen, but when I turn and look in the mirror and find myself there in something that’s pretty and shapely and fun, I feel better about myself.
Need I tell you what it does for my partner? Let’s just say the girls at VS see him almost as much as they see me. He likes it; he likes it a lot. And I love the reaction I get from him when I put on something new and exciting and he gets a gander at it. Yeah. After all these years, who knew a simple triangle of acetate nylon was so important to the libido?
And he’s not the only one. So let me just say this . . .
Guys, those baggy boxers? No. Just no. Take any cover model on any romance novel and put him in a pair of those baggy boxers. See what happens. You want readers to buy the books, not recoil in horror. I know some of those guys could wear ruffled rhumba panties and still look hot, but the baggy boxers aren’t on the agenda.
So when my honey decided he wanted to go sexy, he went to Kmart (of all places) and got some bikini briefs. That made me laugh. Does he look silly in them? Kinda. But also kinda hot. Even at the very least, he ditched the baggy boxers and got boxer briefs. Now those are hot. They show off everything – and I do mean everything – and still fit nicely and are comfortable. I especially like the black ones. And they’re not expensive. Even tighty whities are better than those baggy boxers.
Of course, I could get him some Andrew Christian underwear. If you haven’t seen those, well, you owe it to yourself to look them up. I thought about it, and then I thought better of it. I’m all for sexy.
But when it comes to most of the men I know, sometimes you can just go too far.
White cotton underwear.
Before you start laughing, or tell me I’m an idiot, or think to yourself, This woman’s mental, or try to refute or belittle or argue, just let me make my case and I think you’ll see what I mean.
Three years ago, I wore a size 22. Today, I wear a six. Okay, sometimes an eight when there’s been pasta around, or it’s the holidays, or I just fell face-first into a carton of praline ice cream. But usually, I wear a six.
Anyway, it was hard work, very hard work. While I was going through this transformation, things were very hard. They were hard for me, trying to change my lifestyle, trying to stay on track, and they were also very hard on my bank account. You see, when you go through that many different sizes in eight months, you have to buy A LOT of clothes. Tons. So many, in fact, that I was packing pants off to consignment that had only been worn once or twice before they were too big for me. I went through a lot of stuff that year, and know what the worst was?
Underwear. I went through FIVE SIZES OF UNDERWEAR. Not kidding. I’d no sooner get a pack of panties broken in than they were too big and I had to start again. I kept Hanes in business. Oddly, too, my bra size changed, and in a weird way: I got smaller around, but the cups got bigger. Don’t ask; I have no idea. But that’s what happened. So I was buying, buying, buying.
What was I buying? Hanes cotton panties in the eight-pack. The same Vanity Fair bras that I’d always bought, just a little lace and nothing more. And one day I had a blinding flash of insight.
Why wasn’t I buying sexy underclothes? Why was I still hanging onto those cotton nightmares I’d worn when I didn’t feel well, was depressed, didn’t feel sexy, didn’t want sex or need sex or even think about sex? I was certainly feeling better about myself. Dropping the pounds and working out several times a week had alleviated the depression and made me look pretty damn good, but underneath it all, literally, I was still dressing like my grandma. So I decided to do something about it.
Yes, I know you already know, but the clerks at Victoria’s Secret now take notice when I walk in. I opened the drawer with my bras in it while my daughter was here and her eyes bugged out. Yes, that drawer is full. Yes, I know it looks like a box of 64 Crayolas. Yes, they’re fancy. (And before you say it, they DO make beautiful underclothes for big, beautiful girls. I’ve seen 3X panties and some very, very sexy teddies and such. Look for it; it’s out there.)
But, you know what? When I wear fancy underthings, I feel fancy too. Very fancy. And very, very sexy. I had no idea that would happen, but when I turn and look in the mirror and find myself there in something that’s pretty and shapely and fun, I feel better about myself.
Need I tell you what it does for my partner? Let’s just say the girls at VS see him almost as much as they see me. He likes it; he likes it a lot. And I love the reaction I get from him when I put on something new and exciting and he gets a gander at it. Yeah. After all these years, who knew a simple triangle of acetate nylon was so important to the libido?
And he’s not the only one. So let me just say this . . .
Guys, those baggy boxers? No. Just no. Take any cover model on any romance novel and put him in a pair of those baggy boxers. See what happens. You want readers to buy the books, not recoil in horror. I know some of those guys could wear ruffled rhumba panties and still look hot, but the baggy boxers aren’t on the agenda.
So when my honey decided he wanted to go sexy, he went to Kmart (of all places) and got some bikini briefs. That made me laugh. Does he look silly in them? Kinda. But also kinda hot. Even at the very least, he ditched the baggy boxers and got boxer briefs. Now those are hot. They show off everything – and I do mean everything – and still fit nicely and are comfortable. I especially like the black ones. And they’re not expensive. Even tighty whities are better than those baggy boxers.
Of course, I could get him some Andrew Christian underwear. If you haven’t seen those, well, you owe it to yourself to look them up. I thought about it, and then I thought better of it. I’m all for sexy.
But when it comes to most of the men I know, sometimes you can just go too far.
October 22, 2014
My Reads: Chain of Title by Robyn Roze
I was going through my Kindle app on my iPad, wondering what to read, and I found Chain of Title there waiting for me. A post for it had drifted past my eyes just an hour or so before on Facebook, and I felt like it was a sign. I'm definitetly happy I yielded to that sign, because I got several hours of entertaining reading from what turned out to be a great book.
I was sucked into Shayna Montgomery Edwards Chastain's world almost immediately. She's a woman who's worked hard to look good in her prime, and it's a good thing, too, because her ex-husband, Frank, threw her over for a girl about their daughter's age. In their bed. And she walked in on it. Her first trip to the attorney's office culminates in a solo trip to a little Italian restaurant in the same district, and there she meets the owner, Sean Parker.
The attraction is instantaneous, but there's no acting on it, and through the course of the long, drawn-out divorce (as divorces between rich people often are), they spend time getting to know each other as she frequents the restaurant, but they never act on the feelings growing between them. Why? Because Sean has no intention of getting involved with someone who runs back to her ex when things get rocky. Can't blame a guy for that.
But the day she comes into Gaetano's to celebrate the finalization of her divorce, things heat up instantly, and I do mean instantly. It's obvious that Sean's just been biding his time, but no more. He makes his intentions perfectly clear, and Shayna rises to the occasion. Their time together is wild and hot, and they both fall hard and fast.
Frank doesn't give up easily. A powerful and wealthy man, he threatens Sean, first privately and then publicly, and Sean Parker isn't one to back down. Threats are made and favors are called in, and Shayna finds out three important things: Sean is much more than meets the eye; he's capable of doing things, good and bad, that she never thought he would or could do; and that, just like some of the most important people in her life, she's once again been left behind.
But her brother, Scott, has other ideas for her, and when he introduces her to the owner of a vineyard in Italy, her world changes again. And that's as much of a spoiler as you're going to ever get from me.
Chain of Title is one of the most colorful reads I've picked up in a long time. Robyn has the ability to take you into a scene and hold you there, giving you wonderful, intimate details that leave you feeling the touch of silk under your skin, tasting the sparkling citrus water, and inhaling the scent of star jasmine. The sex scenes are roasty-toasty and I could feel the emotion rolling off the players. A few times I thought Shayna was being overly harsh, but looking at the big picture, I don't think she could've been any other way and survived it all.
The one thing that we never hear about is Sean's past relationships, and I'd love to hear about those. Just curiosity on my part, I guess, but everyone has a history.
The absolute best part? We're left with something that I would't call a cliffhanger; rather, I'd call it a promise of things to come. I'd really like to know what they are. I don't know when the next book in this series is coming out, but you can bet I'll be reading it. So get yourself a copy of Chain of Title and join me in waiting to see what happens next.
I was sucked into Shayna Montgomery Edwards Chastain's world almost immediately. She's a woman who's worked hard to look good in her prime, and it's a good thing, too, because her ex-husband, Frank, threw her over for a girl about their daughter's age. In their bed. And she walked in on it. Her first trip to the attorney's office culminates in a solo trip to a little Italian restaurant in the same district, and there she meets the owner, Sean Parker.
The attraction is instantaneous, but there's no acting on it, and through the course of the long, drawn-out divorce (as divorces between rich people often are), they spend time getting to know each other as she frequents the restaurant, but they never act on the feelings growing between them. Why? Because Sean has no intention of getting involved with someone who runs back to her ex when things get rocky. Can't blame a guy for that.
But the day she comes into Gaetano's to celebrate the finalization of her divorce, things heat up instantly, and I do mean instantly. It's obvious that Sean's just been biding his time, but no more. He makes his intentions perfectly clear, and Shayna rises to the occasion. Their time together is wild and hot, and they both fall hard and fast.
Frank doesn't give up easily. A powerful and wealthy man, he threatens Sean, first privately and then publicly, and Sean Parker isn't one to back down. Threats are made and favors are called in, and Shayna finds out three important things: Sean is much more than meets the eye; he's capable of doing things, good and bad, that she never thought he would or could do; and that, just like some of the most important people in her life, she's once again been left behind.
But her brother, Scott, has other ideas for her, and when he introduces her to the owner of a vineyard in Italy, her world changes again. And that's as much of a spoiler as you're going to ever get from me.
Chain of Title is one of the most colorful reads I've picked up in a long time. Robyn has the ability to take you into a scene and hold you there, giving you wonderful, intimate details that leave you feeling the touch of silk under your skin, tasting the sparkling citrus water, and inhaling the scent of star jasmine. The sex scenes are roasty-toasty and I could feel the emotion rolling off the players. A few times I thought Shayna was being overly harsh, but looking at the big picture, I don't think she could've been any other way and survived it all.
The one thing that we never hear about is Sean's past relationships, and I'd love to hear about those. Just curiosity on my part, I guess, but everyone has a history.
The absolute best part? We're left with something that I would't call a cliffhanger; rather, I'd call it a promise of things to come. I'd really like to know what they are. I don't know when the next book in this series is coming out, but you can bet I'll be reading it. So get yourself a copy of Chain of Title and join me in waiting to see what happens next.
October 18, 2014
Open letter to the guys
(Disclaimer: If there are errors in this post or something looks crazy, I apologize. I don't know what's going on, but I can't seem to keep blogger up long enough to accomplish anything. So my apologies.)
This week or last, I forget which, another author with whom I'm friends on the BOF posted something for the guys. It was his take on what they should do when she's in "the mood." No, he didn't mean the good kind of mood - he was talking about the PMS, smoking and churning, vagina-with-teeth (as he called it) mood. He outlined all of the dainty, pretty, loving things a guy can do for his lady when that time of the hormones comes around.
My comment was that if the guys waited until she was courting the hounds of hell with her dagger-like stares, it was too late. They should be doing those dainty, pretty, loving things all the time.
But there's another factor to consider. In a previous post, I talked about why women don't want to have sex. I felt it necessary to revisit that with an open letter to the guys. Have your favorite guy read this, even if it's your teenage son. Because some day, my dear, he'll have a significant other, and relationships between mothers-in-law and daughters-in-law are difficult enough without yours thinking you've raised a Neanderthal (no slights to Neanderthals intended, but it is what it is). So here goes.
Dear sweetheart,
There are some things I really think I need to talk to you about, but since you can't tear yourself away from the monster truck pull, I thought I'd just write them down and share them. You're always wondering why pretty much anytime you say "go" in the bedroom I say "no," so I want to share some of my concerns with you.
First, those feet. I will gladly buy you a foot file, callous remover, set of giant-sized toenail clippers, but please, do something with those things. I really expect you to perch on the edge of the dresser, drum your fingers together, and mutter something about "my precious" every time I see them. Your toenails are clacking on the floor when you walk, and it's looking like I need some Kevlar legging to wear to bed to keep my legs from being slashed to a bloody mess. So, I beg you, since I'd like to keep my lunch down, bend down and take a look-see at what you might be able to work out down there.
And speaking of "down there," your hoo-hah is starting to look like a button on a fur coat. We have scissors, clippers, razors, all of that stuff. Could you maybe see if you could tame the wild west down south, please? You keep asking me what it would take to get me to wrap my lips around that bad boy, but it would be like sucking on a shetland sweater. You wouldn't want to do that, so why would I?
Since we're talking about taking a look-see, if you can't see the forest for the pork-rind or butter-flavored-popcorn-fueled trees or reach your feet to take care of the claws there, consider cutting back on the hot wings, ice cream, and nachos, and taking a little trip to the gym four or five nights a week. It's really hard to get excited about the prospect of having sex with Jabba the Hutt. And before you say something that's going to ensure your celibacy for all eternity, let me remind you that my body has born you beautiful children and it'll NEVER be what it was before. But I do try to take care of myself, for my own health and your visual pleasure, and it would be nice if you'd do the same.
Also, know that fragrance is important to women. We wear perfume. We buy body wash because we like the way it smells. We light scented candles all over the house. Here are some fragrances we DO NOT like:
Dirty socks;
Stinky gym clothes;
Mud;
Gasoline, oil, and/or diesel fuel;
Smoke (and the garbage-burning kind is the absolute worst);
Cheap aftershave (especially some of those body sprays the kids use - yuck);
Last but not least, body odors - lack of deodorant, lack of soap, lack of engagement of the exhaust fan in the bathroom, and then there are the airborne ones you gift me with after you've had two bowls of chili with beans and three beers. Because, baby, no one's lovemaking experience has EVER been enhanced by a fart. Not one single time. And yes, I have done that accidentally a time or two, but NEVER on purpose, and I've CERTAINLY never bragged about it, neither then nor later.
If you'd like to really alienate me, be sure to tell me how much I remind you of your mother. That'll go a long way to making me feel loved and special. It's bad enough that I have to treat you like a child because you act like one, but knowing that you think of me as a mom is just, well, gross, and also not very sexy. At all.
Make sure we never have an evening to ourselves. If it's not with the kids, it's with your buddies or your parents or at the parts store. Then come home and ask for a quickie before you have to roll over and catch some shut-eye for work the next day. Because nothing says love like coming in second, or third, or fourth, or even lower, with you. One date a week at somewhere other than Buffalo Wild Wings won't kill you.
Give me a vacuum cleaner, pots and pans, or tools for my birthday, Christmas, and our anniversary. That's absolutely what I wanted. Never mind the perfume I like, that sweater I've been looking at in the window downtown (of course, you didn't notice), the designer-knockoff bag I saw at the bargain store, or even a calendar with cute kittens and puppies on it. Nothing says love like a crescent wrench. Oh, and consistently forget those important dates anyway. It seems they mean nothing to you, so they mean nothing to me, right? That's sure to warm me up (but not necessarily in a good way).
Last but not least, make rude comments about me, and make them sound like jokes. There's nothing like hurt feelings to get a girl in the mood. Your, "Oh, honey, I was just joking!" works every time, like telling the jury to disregard the witness's last statement. Then when we're alone, give me a chewing out for embarrassing YOU in front of our family/friends/grocery clerk/stranger on an airplane because, after all, I didn't have to get all offended - it WAS just a joke.
In closing, let me just say that I love you - well, I want to love you anyway. You make it so easy for me, too. I'd love to take you to bed - then pull out a garrote and choke you in your sleep. But really, dear, I'm not asking for a lot. I'm just asking that you treat me as one civilized human being would treat another if they expected that person to love them, trust them, and give their body to them on a regular basis to do with as they please. If this is too much, please let me know and I'll make other arrangements.
And believe me, I can.
Love,
Your significant other
And P.S., ladies: If any of the things I mentioned above can be said about YOU, get busy. You've got no excuse. Bitching only works when you actually have something to bitch about.
Don't forget to go checkout my friend Ken's blog. Today's post is a fun one!
This week or last, I forget which, another author with whom I'm friends on the BOF posted something for the guys. It was his take on what they should do when she's in "the mood." No, he didn't mean the good kind of mood - he was talking about the PMS, smoking and churning, vagina-with-teeth (as he called it) mood. He outlined all of the dainty, pretty, loving things a guy can do for his lady when that time of the hormones comes around.
My comment was that if the guys waited until she was courting the hounds of hell with her dagger-like stares, it was too late. They should be doing those dainty, pretty, loving things all the time.
But there's another factor to consider. In a previous post, I talked about why women don't want to have sex. I felt it necessary to revisit that with an open letter to the guys. Have your favorite guy read this, even if it's your teenage son. Because some day, my dear, he'll have a significant other, and relationships between mothers-in-law and daughters-in-law are difficult enough without yours thinking you've raised a Neanderthal (no slights to Neanderthals intended, but it is what it is). So here goes.
Dear sweetheart,
There are some things I really think I need to talk to you about, but since you can't tear yourself away from the monster truck pull, I thought I'd just write them down and share them. You're always wondering why pretty much anytime you say "go" in the bedroom I say "no," so I want to share some of my concerns with you.
First, those feet. I will gladly buy you a foot file, callous remover, set of giant-sized toenail clippers, but please, do something with those things. I really expect you to perch on the edge of the dresser, drum your fingers together, and mutter something about "my precious" every time I see them. Your toenails are clacking on the floor when you walk, and it's looking like I need some Kevlar legging to wear to bed to keep my legs from being slashed to a bloody mess. So, I beg you, since I'd like to keep my lunch down, bend down and take a look-see at what you might be able to work out down there.
And speaking of "down there," your hoo-hah is starting to look like a button on a fur coat. We have scissors, clippers, razors, all of that stuff. Could you maybe see if you could tame the wild west down south, please? You keep asking me what it would take to get me to wrap my lips around that bad boy, but it would be like sucking on a shetland sweater. You wouldn't want to do that, so why would I?
Since we're talking about taking a look-see, if you can't see the forest for the pork-rind or butter-flavored-popcorn-fueled trees or reach your feet to take care of the claws there, consider cutting back on the hot wings, ice cream, and nachos, and taking a little trip to the gym four or five nights a week. It's really hard to get excited about the prospect of having sex with Jabba the Hutt. And before you say something that's going to ensure your celibacy for all eternity, let me remind you that my body has born you beautiful children and it'll NEVER be what it was before. But I do try to take care of myself, for my own health and your visual pleasure, and it would be nice if you'd do the same.
Also, know that fragrance is important to women. We wear perfume. We buy body wash because we like the way it smells. We light scented candles all over the house. Here are some fragrances we DO NOT like:
Dirty socks;
Stinky gym clothes;
Mud;
Gasoline, oil, and/or diesel fuel;
Smoke (and the garbage-burning kind is the absolute worst);
Cheap aftershave (especially some of those body sprays the kids use - yuck);
Last but not least, body odors - lack of deodorant, lack of soap, lack of engagement of the exhaust fan in the bathroom, and then there are the airborne ones you gift me with after you've had two bowls of chili with beans and three beers. Because, baby, no one's lovemaking experience has EVER been enhanced by a fart. Not one single time. And yes, I have done that accidentally a time or two, but NEVER on purpose, and I've CERTAINLY never bragged about it, neither then nor later.
If you'd like to really alienate me, be sure to tell me how much I remind you of your mother. That'll go a long way to making me feel loved and special. It's bad enough that I have to treat you like a child because you act like one, but knowing that you think of me as a mom is just, well, gross, and also not very sexy. At all.
Make sure we never have an evening to ourselves. If it's not with the kids, it's with your buddies or your parents or at the parts store. Then come home and ask for a quickie before you have to roll over and catch some shut-eye for work the next day. Because nothing says love like coming in second, or third, or fourth, or even lower, with you. One date a week at somewhere other than Buffalo Wild Wings won't kill you.
Give me a vacuum cleaner, pots and pans, or tools for my birthday, Christmas, and our anniversary. That's absolutely what I wanted. Never mind the perfume I like, that sweater I've been looking at in the window downtown (of course, you didn't notice), the designer-knockoff bag I saw at the bargain store, or even a calendar with cute kittens and puppies on it. Nothing says love like a crescent wrench. Oh, and consistently forget those important dates anyway. It seems they mean nothing to you, so they mean nothing to me, right? That's sure to warm me up (but not necessarily in a good way).
Last but not least, make rude comments about me, and make them sound like jokes. There's nothing like hurt feelings to get a girl in the mood. Your, "Oh, honey, I was just joking!" works every time, like telling the jury to disregard the witness's last statement. Then when we're alone, give me a chewing out for embarrassing YOU in front of our family/friends/grocery clerk/stranger on an airplane because, after all, I didn't have to get all offended - it WAS just a joke.
In closing, let me just say that I love you - well, I want to love you anyway. You make it so easy for me, too. I'd love to take you to bed - then pull out a garrote and choke you in your sleep. But really, dear, I'm not asking for a lot. I'm just asking that you treat me as one civilized human being would treat another if they expected that person to love them, trust them, and give their body to them on a regular basis to do with as they please. If this is too much, please let me know and I'll make other arrangements.
And believe me, I can.
Love,
Your significant other
And P.S., ladies: If any of the things I mentioned above can be said about YOU, get busy. You've got no excuse. Bitching only works when you actually have something to bitch about.
Don't forget to go checkout my friend Ken's blog. Today's post is a fun one!
October 15, 2014
My Reads: My Fairy Godfathers by Krystabella
I have no idea how I found this book. I can't remember what I was looking for. I'm thinking maybe I was looking for a book by someone else and I ran across the author's name. Regardless, I found it, bought it, and started reading it. And I got the biggest surprise of my life. It turned out that My Fairy Godfathers was nothing like I thought it would be.
So, first off, let me say that Krystabella's covers aren't my favorites in the world. I find them kind of, I don't know, odd maybe? Or just strange. And diffuse. Just different. But I never judge a book by its cover, or possibly only occasionally, so I decided to read the thing just to see what it was.
As I read, I wasn't particularly impressed by the writing style. It's plenty good enough, and the choice of language was good, but it lacked a bit in the grammar and punctuation area, and it switched tenses too often. I decided I could live with that, though, because none of that detracted from the story itself.
That's where things get interesting. According to Krystabella, this is a true story written about Greg Wyler (not the man's real name), who came out to his wife and left her and his kids for the gay lifestyle. And when he left, he really, really left. It was profound. Oh, he still loved his wife, still stayed in touch, actually continued to live there, but when he decided he was gay, he never went back. Never.
And this is what I love about this book. The descriptions say it's a true story. I know Krystabella writes fiction also, but if this isn't real, it's damn close. It's written in such a style that I felt I was going along for the adventure with Greg, seeing what he was seeing, feeling what he was feeling, doing what he was doing. It was amazing, actually, to hear from a man who had lived the hetero lifestyle and knew it wasn't for him. Totally and utterly amazing. I enjoyed discovering how he fumbled around until he found three men, the Glorious Eagle Brothers, who could properly introduce him to the lifestyle. That's when he discovered he was absolutely, positively a bottom, someone who wanted to receive, not give. He dove into it like an Olympic diver on a high board into a pool and never looked back.
I was very interested in the fact that, once he came out, his wife pushed him to be authentic. She actually went out to a club and had a one night stand to encourage him to take the first step toward a new relationship. He tinkered with being an erotica writer of gay literature, was taught how to dress appropriately, and even at one point experienced puppy play. It was quite a trip for Greg, but he took it all in stride.
I enjoyed this book immensely, and that was a real surprise to me. I think the thing that I appreciated the most about it was the fact that it dealt primarily with a married father of three coming out and becoming the gay man he was always destined to be. In the not-so-distant past, I was a member of a religious sect that believed gay could be "cured." Their efforts to tell gays and lesbians that there was something inherently wrong with them and try to change them was repugnant to me - still is. This book pointed out what I already knew, that people have the right to be who they are, and they can still have productive lives, regardless their sexual orientation. Krystabella still worked to maintain the anonymity of Greg's wife and family, and that was admirable. The second book in this series is a collection of four short stories about gay men leaving their heterosexual lives and embracing their sexuality. I haven't read it yet, but one of these days when I have time (yeah, right), I'm going to.
If you've ever wondered about the gay lifestyle and how a man who sees himself as straight transitions into it, this book will help you in your understanding. If you don't have Kindle Unlimited, it's a whole $1.29, and it's worth every penny and more.
So, first off, let me say that Krystabella's covers aren't my favorites in the world. I find them kind of, I don't know, odd maybe? Or just strange. And diffuse. Just different. But I never judge a book by its cover, or possibly only occasionally, so I decided to read the thing just to see what it was.
As I read, I wasn't particularly impressed by the writing style. It's plenty good enough, and the choice of language was good, but it lacked a bit in the grammar and punctuation area, and it switched tenses too often. I decided I could live with that, though, because none of that detracted from the story itself.
That's where things get interesting. According to Krystabella, this is a true story written about Greg Wyler (not the man's real name), who came out to his wife and left her and his kids for the gay lifestyle. And when he left, he really, really left. It was profound. Oh, he still loved his wife, still stayed in touch, actually continued to live there, but when he decided he was gay, he never went back. Never.
And this is what I love about this book. The descriptions say it's a true story. I know Krystabella writes fiction also, but if this isn't real, it's damn close. It's written in such a style that I felt I was going along for the adventure with Greg, seeing what he was seeing, feeling what he was feeling, doing what he was doing. It was amazing, actually, to hear from a man who had lived the hetero lifestyle and knew it wasn't for him. Totally and utterly amazing. I enjoyed discovering how he fumbled around until he found three men, the Glorious Eagle Brothers, who could properly introduce him to the lifestyle. That's when he discovered he was absolutely, positively a bottom, someone who wanted to receive, not give. He dove into it like an Olympic diver on a high board into a pool and never looked back.
I was very interested in the fact that, once he came out, his wife pushed him to be authentic. She actually went out to a club and had a one night stand to encourage him to take the first step toward a new relationship. He tinkered with being an erotica writer of gay literature, was taught how to dress appropriately, and even at one point experienced puppy play. It was quite a trip for Greg, but he took it all in stride.
I enjoyed this book immensely, and that was a real surprise to me. I think the thing that I appreciated the most about it was the fact that it dealt primarily with a married father of three coming out and becoming the gay man he was always destined to be. In the not-so-distant past, I was a member of a religious sect that believed gay could be "cured." Their efforts to tell gays and lesbians that there was something inherently wrong with them and try to change them was repugnant to me - still is. This book pointed out what I already knew, that people have the right to be who they are, and they can still have productive lives, regardless their sexual orientation. Krystabella still worked to maintain the anonymity of Greg's wife and family, and that was admirable. The second book in this series is a collection of four short stories about gay men leaving their heterosexual lives and embracing their sexuality. I haven't read it yet, but one of these days when I have time (yeah, right), I'm going to.
If you've ever wondered about the gay lifestyle and how a man who sees himself as straight transitions into it, this book will help you in your understanding. If you don't have Kindle Unlimited, it's a whole $1.29, and it's worth every penny and more.
October 11, 2014
It's happened to everybody, so share with me and make me feel better about myself
You knew I was up to something, right? Well, here we go. You can answer this anonymously, but I want you guys to tell me, tell us all:
What was your most embarrassing moment during sex?
I know you have one. If I get ten comments here, I'll share with you guys what mine was, and my face still burns when I think of it lo these many years later. Yep. That bad. So answer up and entertain us all. Who knows? Someone might take pity on you and reply with something even worse. And you'll feel so much better if you get it off your chest, kinda like nipple clamps or . . . I should probably shut up now.
Can't wait to see these!
What was your most embarrassing moment during sex?
I know you have one. If I get ten comments here, I'll share with you guys what mine was, and my face still burns when I think of it lo these many years later. Yep. That bad. So answer up and entertain us all. Who knows? Someone might take pity on you and reply with something even worse. And you'll feel so much better if you get it off your chest, kinda like nipple clamps or . . . I should probably shut up now.
Can't wait to see these!
