Robin L. Rotham's Blog, page 6

Because I've Been In the Cave SO LONG...

I think I'll make a fortune, don't you? And that's before the movie offers start rolling in!

Geared for Pleasure!

To celebrate tomorrow's release of Geared for Pleasure by RG Alexander writing as Rachel Grace, the Smutketeers are hosting a scavenger hunt, and I get to be a destination -- WOOT! Rachel is giving away tons of prizes, including ebooks and Amazon gift cards, so be sure and stop by the Smutketeers blog today.



I had the pleasure of reading Geared, and I have to say, it's the best steampunk romance I've ever read. The characters are wonderfully relatable, the sex is hawt (which should go without saying, in light of the author), and the steampunk elements are fantastical and yet believable.





Here's the blurb:

The world of Theorrey runs like a well-oiled machine.



The elements are in balance, passion is tamed and the young queen is the heartbeat of it all. But in these two all-new stories of elemental steam, nothing is ever as it seems…




Earthly Desires



Demeter "Dare" Senedal is the Queen's Chalice-her protector and closest companion. So when the queen goes missing, Dare rushes to locate her, even though the search leads her straight into trouble.



A gentleman who trades in secrets and sin, Bodhan revels in carnal delights, but when a naked and bound woman appears on his shore, he finds his hunger to possess at odds with his need to protect. As Bodhan shares his knowledge of pleasure, Dare must decide if she can trust him, both with her mission and her heart.



Fiery Temptations



Seraphina always lands on her feet. After all, she is a Felidae-more feline than human-and an excellent thief. There has never been a job Phina wouldn't take or a man who could tame her…until she meets Cyrus Arendal.



As the Queen's Sword, Cyrus should have known better than to fall victim to a beautiful bandit. Now, to find and retrieve the moonfire dagger, he'll need to convince Phina not to judge a man by his station, but rather by how completely he can satisfy her desires.

Remember, Geared for Pleasure releases tomorrow -- get yours while it's hawt!

Alien Excerpt!

At long last, the puzzle pieces are falling into place almost faster than I can type, and I'm ready to give you all a peek at Amorous Overnight.



Caveat: It's not quite done, and everything you see below is unedited and subject to change.



Amorous Overnight

by Robin L. Rotham



Blurb:



Her mother always said, "If an alien makes you an offer you can't refuse, he's probably just trying to get into your genes." Well, those weren't her exact words, but after four months aboard an alien warship, Shelley Bonham would have agreed to just about anything to get off.



Which is why, when her plans for taking her twins home are wrecked by an unscrupulous reporter, Shelley finds herself doing the unthinkable—accepting an offer from the alien leader, Minister Cecine. In exchange for working as a nurse on Garathan for a year, her crushing debt to the GaraTer Alliance will be forgiven and she'll have a nest egg to take back to Earth.



But the more time she spends with Cecine and his guard, Ensign Hastion, the harder it is to keep her hands off them—and out of her pants. When she stumbles across the two gorgeous males in the midst of a forceful sexual encounter, she's sucked into an alien triad that turns her world upside down. It's only after Shelley begins to trust Cecine that she finds out the truth—he engineered the whole thing. Worse, he's engineering her, and things are about to get ugly. But if the Garathani leader thinks she'll take being turned into an alien lying down, he's got a reality check coming...if she lives through it.



Excerpt:



"There's got to be something wrong with me," Shelley said, staring in worried fascination at the sterilizing block Monica was preparing to plunge her hands into. It would be a long time before she stopped dreaming about the horror of Dr. Ketrok's shredded hands when Monica and Tiber managed to yank them free. It would be even longer before she could forget it was her own husband who'd done that to him.



She noticed Monica hesitated for just a second, too, before shoving her hands into the spongy aqua block. The infirmaries were still stocked to the gills with hand sanitizer and all the human nurses still used it, but as always, Monica the Intrepid refused to be ruled by fear.



"It's only four months since you gave birth to twins via C-section," Monica said. "You've got to cut yourself some slack."



"Monica, I'm breastfeeding, I exercise 'til I drop, and I've cut my calorie intake to the point where I'm starving all the time, and yet look at me…" Shelley gestured down her body. "I'm the Michelin Man in drag."



Monica snorted with laughter. "You are not—although that's funny as hell to imagine."



"Try looking at all these rolls of fat in the mirror every day."



"Oh stop."



"It's true. And I'm getting zits! My God, do you know how many years it's been since I had a zit?"



Monica tipped Shelley's face up to the light and had a look "I see worse when I look in my own mirror every morning. And you know your hormones won't start getting back to normal until you stop breastfeeding."



"I know, but…" Shelley sighed. "I just don't understand why this is happening. I didn't even gain all that much weight since the babies were premature. I should be back in fighting form by now."



"You're under a lot of stress, Shel, but otherwise you're a very sturdy girl who's in great shape. You need to relax, and maybe vent a little. Go beat the stuffing out of one of the sparring dummies in the training center, and then have some wine and get a massage from one of the trainers."



Shelley gave her the stink-eye. "I'd rather beat the stuffing out of one of the trainers and get a massage from the sparring dummy."



Monica shrugged. "Whatever turns you on. You realize the Garathani aren't the bad guys here, though, right? That they're—that we're doing everything we can to help you and everyone else the Narthani fucked over."



"I know. Sorry," Shelley added. "Slamming the Garathani is a hard habit to break, but I know I need to, especially if I decide to take your father up on his offer."



"That's why I wanted you to come see me."



"To bitch at me about slamming the Garathani?" Shelley teased.



"No, nitwit, to talk you into coming with us. You totally should. Think of it—you'd get to experience a whole new world. Blue stars, a binary star system, two moons in the same night sky…"



"I was happy with the old world."



"It's always warm on Garathan."



"I hate the heat. That's why I lived in Colorado."



"There's lots of single men there," Monica said enticingly, wiggling her eyebrows.



Shelley scowled and Monica immediately looked contrite. "Sorry, that was insensitive, wasn't it?"



"Slightly." Shelley sniffed. "And even if were in the market for another man, Garathan's the last place I'd shop. I've already got chronic neck pain from looking up at everyone, and unlike you and Jasmine, I don't have dormant genes waiting to turn me into a seven-foot alien overnight."



"I'm only six-three," Monica grumbled. "It's no fun being the shortest."



"Welcome to my world," Shelley returned dryly. "You're still more than a foot taller than me."



"Come on, you know you'll miss me if you go back to Earth."



"Well I'm going to miss you sooner or later because I'm definitely going back to Earth, but I guess maybe a tour of duty on Garathan would give the media frenzy time to die down."



"See? Maybe you'd be such old news after a year or two that you wouldn't even have to go into the relocation program."



Shelley sighed. "That would be so great. I really wasn't looking forward to being totally alone and unable to contact my family."



"Then again, maybe you'll decide you love Garathan so much, you want to stay forever."



"Yeah, right. And maybe it'll be like the Hotel California and I can check out any time I like but I can never leave."



Monica cocked her head. "What the hell are you talking about?"



Shelley gaped. "You've never heard Hotel California?"



"Of course I've heard Hotel California."



"Then why did you ask what the hell I was talking about?"



"I was talking to…" Monica shook her head impatiently. "Never mind. Empran's just being a smartass again."



She reached for one of the Garathani syringes that collected blood through the skin without piercing it. "Let me get some blood here and we'll check to make sure everything's where it should be."



Shelley rolled up her sleeve.



"As far as the Hotel California thing, that would be kind of counter-productive, wouldn't it?" Monica held the syringe against her plump inner arm and pressed. "The Garathani want to entice more females, not scare them off by acting like buttheads. They want women to want to go there."



Shelley didn't reply as she watched the syringe fill with her blood as if by magic.
All she'd wanted for the last three months was to go home. Her yearning for Earth was often so acute it left her breathless, and some days she got so frantic, she felt like a secondary character in a disaster movie—the one who can't take the suspense and somehow manages to kill herself right before help arrives.



It was a good thing she had no idea how to operate the airlocks. Her dad had always said she was going places, but she doubted that her freeze-dried corpse cartwheeling through space was what he'd had in mind.



Monica pulled away and plugged the syringe into a panel. Seconds later, a holographic readout popped up in front of her face. "Empran, are you stupid? How many times have I told you I need my readouts in English?"



"I can read English and Garathani, Monica, which I believe makes you the stupid one," Empran returned sweetly.



"Bite me, you infantile pile of scabby circuitry, and put it up in English."



"As you wish."



The readout scrambled and reappeared. "Well, you're slightly anemic," Monica pronounced, "and your mineral levels are a little low. Do you drink the hydration fluid when you work out?"



"Hell no," she said with a shudder. "It tastes like semen."



Monica snickered. "That's what Jasmine said, too. Drink it anyway—your body needs it. Are you still taking your prenatal vitamins?"



"I ran out."



"We'll fix that. But seriously, I want you to relax, okay? Get plenty of rest, eat a little more, and enjoy your babies."



* * * * *



Hastion could feel his heart beating frantically in his throat. Surely the minister hadn't said…



He tugged on his collar. "I'm sorry, Sir, I don't believe I understand…"



The minister leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. "Then let me rephrase," he said with a penetrating look. "If you accept my offer, you are agreeing to be sodomized at my convenience, and my convenience tends to arise daily, often more than once."



Hastion stared at him, his mind utterly blank, his internal systems functioning erratically.



"I'm going to be perfectly candid with you, Ensign. During our last six months at the Beaumont-Thayer compound, I paid handsomely for the exclusive use of one of the compound secretaries. She put no limitations on my enjoyment of her body—it was available to me at any time of the day or night, in any manner I chose, for as long as I wanted it. Despite being barren, she went so far as to utilize some sort of birth control measure that inhibited her menses—although I believe that was more for her comfort than mine, since I made it clear that her body's natural processes wouldn't inhibit my desire for intercourse with her." He smiled grimly. "She was visibly horrified to hear that Garathani females are at their most demanding during their menses."



Hastion swallowed. "I wouldn't know about that, Sir."



"No?" The minister studied him intently and Hastion felt like a specimen under a microscope. "You never had intercourse with a Garathani female?"



Heat rose in his cheeks again. He was an idiot. A veritable infant. "No, Sir."



"The demonstration was your first sexual encounter."



Hastion nodded miserably.



"Then think carefully before you make your decision, Ensign. To say I am a vigorous bedmate would be an understatement. I fuck with my entire body and I do not enjoy holding back, especially when I'm frustrated with…other matters."



The bottom dropped out of Hastion's stomach and suddenly he had never felt so vulnerable in his life.



Then he frowned. "Shelley…"



"Will be handled with the greatest of care. Why do you think I seek a male on which to slake my lusts?"



A fine tremor rippled through Hastion's bones. He had entertained forbidden fantasies of being used in just such a manner for more years than he cared to remember, but they had never included any premeditation on his part, much less anything as civilized as a formal agreement. And they most certainly had never featured the most powerful male ever to spring from the loins of Garathan. His fantasies had all begun and ended with the act itself, usually perpetrated by some beast of a male who rudely shamed Hastion for his twisted desires even as he gave violent rein to his own. Until a few months ago, the beast had never even had a face—just brutal hands restraining him and a thick cock stretching his tender anus and bruising his bowels.



And now Minister Cecine wished to slake his lusts upon him.



Peserin, it had never even occurred to him that the minister might have lusts which required slaking. Cecine was their leader, their conqueror, the embodiment of all their wisdom and courage, and a model of restraint. In the eyes of most, Cecine was more god than male.



Could he handle being fucked by a god?



"I can see that I've caught you unawares," Cecine said rather aridly.



"That's…yes, Sir. Quite." In truth, Hastion had barely begun to recover from the shock of being offered second position, to believe that his longing to protect Shelley and her children might actually be satisfied, when the minister announced his condition. He felt almost…betrayed. Any other male would probably be deeply offended by the suggestion he might be willing to bottom for another male, even one as powerful as Cecine. How had he known Hastion might be more open to the offer?



"Why me, Sir?" he asked abruptly, finally meeting the ministers eyes head-on.



Cecine didn't pretend not to understand. "You are aware of the relationship between Shauss and Tiber."



"Yes, Sir."



"And you are accepting of it."



"I find their relationship…" Hastion swallowed. "Quite beautiful," he finished brusquely.



Cecine regarded him for a moment, tapping his fingertips lightly on the table. "I did not rise to my exalted position by being unobservant, Hastion."



"Yes, Sir."



After another awkward moment, the minister rose. "Do not feel compelled to give me your answer now. Ms. Bonham may yet decide to eke out a miserable existence alone on Earth."



Rising as well, Hastion grimaced. "I sincerely hope not, for her sake as well as the twins'."



"As do I."



When the minister turned to leave, Hastion spoke. "Excuse me, Minister."



"Yes, Ensign?"



"What if Shelley does go back to Earth?"



Cecine's eyes grew sharp and Hastion held his breath, standing utterly still as he rounded the corner of the table. Pausing mere inches away, the minister gazed down at him with hooded blue eyes full of speculation. He leaned forward until their cheeks almost met, sending Hastion's already rapid pulse into a frenzy, and then inhaled deeply.



Without moving away, he murmured, "What is it Terrans say? The cat is out of the bag?"



Staring at the fall of deep red hair on the Minister's should, Hastion volunteered nervously, "The train has left the station?"



Cecine leaned back and arched a brow at him. "The horse has left the barn?"



"Elvis has left the building?"



Hastion jumped when Cecine threw back his head and laughed. "He has indeed." Sobering slightly, he added, "However it's phrased, the sentiment is the same. My words cannot be unsaid. And my desire to fuck you won't disappear just because Ms. Bonham does."



The reassurance only increased Hastion's tremors. Holy Powers, but this was madness.



"The proverbial ball is in your court now, Ensign," Cecine said as he walked away. "You know where to find me."

Cirque du Minuit By Annabel Joseph

Only Annabel Joseph could make me read a book about the circus...and love it.



Seriously, if I had seen a book titled Cirque du anything written by anybody else, I'd have passed it up without a second glance. I hate the circus. I mean, I hate the circus. I'd rather have oral surgery—without anesthesia—than go to the circus. The one time I took the kids, I had to get up and take a walk to the bathroom during the aerial acts



At the root of my issue with the circus is, of course, fear of heights—and by extension, fear of watching some performer spatter head-first onto the ground. I remember attending the circus as a child and loving the clowns and the jugglers and the animal acts…and then watching in horror as tightrope acts, trapeze artists, and silk acrobatic performers risked their very lives for the sheer entertainment value of it. Not to put too fine a point on it, I was terrified. My little sister was enthralled, but I was literally sick with fear, and every now and then, a certain combination of popcorn, cotton candy and animal odors brings that gut-clenching feeling roaring back.



Obviously I have no control issues. Nope. Not me.



So needless to say, books about the circus never even make it into my TBR pile, much less rise to the top. After I read the blurb, I was even less thrilled about the plot of Cirque du Minuit. It was actually about the circus, not just some circus-themed window dressing for a bunch of hot BDSM scenes. Here it is:

It's no easy feat transitioning from the disciplined arena of competitive gymnastics to the artistic whirl of the Cirque du Monde. Kelsey Martin finds secret inspiration in Theo Zamora, a dark, taciturn trapezist–until his partner dies in a tragic accident and he decides to leave the circus for good.



Theo doesn't understand why Kelsey reaches out to him, only that she compels him with her unique combination of innocence and recklessness. Before long the two are collaborating on an aerial silks act for a new production, the Cirque du Minuit. Theo's impatience with Kelsey's naivete is matched only by his passion for her, and the two soon become embroiled in a tempestuous, consuming romance.



But some still blame Theo for his partner's accident, and danger wraps up the two performers as inevitably as the scarlet silk of their act. Theo and Kelsey must find a way to connect and trust one another as he leads her deeper and deeper into a dangerous world of control and desire.

See what I mean? But dammit, this was Annabel Joseph. Annabel freaking Joseph. How could I not read it? Hadn't she made me adore books about dance, of all things? I mean, most days I'd rather pound my own forehead with croquet mallet than read a book about dance, and yet Annabel had managed to draw me into her world and made me soar (and bleed) right along with her characters—and I mean during the dance scenes, too, not just the BDSM scenes.



So I bought the book yesterday and started reading, interrupting the longest, most productive writing binge I've had in over a year. (I really never even hesitated. After all, this is Annabel Joseph we're talking about.)



Having read the excerpt, I had an idea of what was coming, and I promise you, my stomach was knotted with anxiety throughout the entire first couple of chapters. But once again, I found myself sucked into her world and loving it. Annabel's worlds and her characters are so inextricably bound that if you fall in love with one, you fall in love with both.



And I did fall in love with both Theo and Kelsey and the world they inhabited. Both characters were flawed and driven, and Kelsey was just so damn gutsy! Even when she edged into her little paranoid phase, she was totally lovable and relatable to me, even though I've never been any kind of athlete. I loved that she was an American girl on her own in France, unable to speak the language. I loved her youth and innocence, and her conflicted need for something dark and depraved. I loved that she wanted to talk to her mother, even when she was doing things that would have curled her mother's hair. I loved that Theo enjoyed her innocence even as he relished making her dirty. And I absolutely loved Kelsey (and felt bad for her even as I laughed out loud) when Theo thought She was the world's worst fellatrice, perhaps, but they could work on that.



What's more, I loved that she went after Theo, even when she didn't consciously intend to, and kept after him even in the face of his cruelty. I was never afraid for Kelsey, even when she was at her most vulnerable—she was that strong a person, stronger than even Theo, in my estimation. Kelsey was my idea of the perfect BDSM heroine—an emotionally heroic sub.



As for Theo, I hardly know what to say, except that Annabel got him totally right. He's that elusive blend of compelling and repelling that spells DOM to me. You scare the shit out of me and I can't take my eyes off you. He was the kind of irresistible that defies logic and taste and predefined personal standards, the kind that can make you accept a whole hell of a lot more (or less) than you ever thought you would.



It probably goes without saying I loved the D/s elements. The first sexual encounter between Theo and Kelsey was so incredibly intense, I get breathless just remembering it—that collision of ruthless dominance and ballsy innocence, that eye-opening "Oh shit, what have I just opened myself up to?" moment for Kelsey, just blew me away.



And I even enjoyed my foray into the circus. I liked seeing the behind-the-scenes aspects, the training and dedication, and most importantly, the safety precautions, so much so that I might even reconsider my long-standing avoidance all things circus and go see a show, if I can find a really good one.



One final note: The writing was smooth and seamless, rich and compelling, and the technical aspects of the book were very nearly perfect. If only all books were produced so professionally and with such great attention to detail!



So if you enjoy a wonderful love story, pulse-pounding BDSM elements, and excellent writing, I'd definitely recommend Cirque du Minuit as a must-read.

13 Reasons I'm Glad As Hell January's Over

1. The Great Hack of 2012. Yes, the website and associated forum I'm administrator of was one of over 100 sites that went down in early January when our web host was hacked. Fucking hackers! I've said it before and I'll say it again -- hackers should all be sterilized and forced to listen to Slim Whitman albums for eternity. I've spent a large chuck of nearly every day since then working on getting our members back to some semblence of normal communication, and we're still not out of the woods.



I could really stop right there, don't you think? That should count for 13 reasons and more why I'd be glad January is over. But I'll keep going.



2. Weird, warm weather. We barely had an inch of snow in January, and there's NO snow on the ground. Temps were mostly in the 40's and 50's for most of the month, and even hit the 60's the last couple of days. Contrast that to the snowfull during our last last two Januarys:




2011








2010




Yes, those are snow drifts, and in this 2010 photo, the tall boy is my son, who was 5'11" at the time. That drift was 12' tall -- it crossed a completely flat driveway.



What really pisses me off about the weather is that over the last two winters, we lived in that old, shitty, drafty house and were desperately cold all winter. Now that we're in our beautiful new well-sealed house, it's too warm outside to use the gas fireplace. :P :P :P



3. Sickness. It seems like illness never left our house. Someone or other was always coughing or running a fever or stuck in the bathroom. Why, I ask you, when the weather is so nice?! Mr. Robin came down with laryngitis on Tuesday and still can't talk. I had the never-ending sinus infection, and it seems I'm going to have to have surgery to keep it from coming back all the time. :P



4. Wrestling meet. I had to work the nacho bar at our wrestling meet, which ran from 1 pm until almost midnight, and make 2 batches of bars for it. Even though my son no longer wrestles. They just ask the parents of freshmen to do crap like that, so I did it.



5. No sleep! Honest to Pete, between illness, web stuff and writing, I've averaged 3-4 hours sleep almost every night and have had no time to nap. I'm tired!



6. Our sweet little cat died. Fortunately, I'm not the one who killed her. That privilege went to Mr Robin, who had parked his truck outside for a couple of hours. She crawled into the nice, toasty-warm engine to nap, and when he left again, she didn't make it out alive. I miss her very much.



7. The farm books are completely DONE. Mr Robin had his last appointment with the tax man yesterday.



8. Basketball is almost over. God, why in the hell are there so many basketball games?! Football was only once a week, but it seems like I met myself coming and going with as many as four basketball games in a single week. Now there's just one regular season week left, and our poor teams did so badly there's not a chance in hell we're going to district playoffs. I feel bad for them but happy for myself.



9. Bad accident nearby. I happened by a very bad rollover accident in January, not too far from our house. Emergency vehicles were already there so I didn't need to stop, thank God. It turned out to be the man who sells sweet corn in town every summer. Very nice guy, but (unbeknownst to me) he had a drinking habit. Stopped for a couple of drinks on the way home after the late shift at work and wrecked sometime during the night. He wasn't found until 7:30 the next morning when the sun rose. Fortunately, he died on impact, so he didn't lie there suffering all night, but also sad because he might have lived if he'd been wearing a seat belt. Or not. The pickup was pretty mangled.



10. Tenants from hell. Yeah, we get those once in a while. These particular people are freaking FOUR MONTHS behind on their rent -- they only moved in mid-September and have yet to pay one full month's rent. Mr Robin has tried to be nice about it, but they always come up with some excuse for not having any rent money. In November, this couple got into a drunken brawl with each other and both got thrown in jail for domestic assault -- and they had the nerve to call Mr Robin and ask if he'd bail them out! He declined, of course. (Naturally they had to use their rent money for bail.) Then their oven went out on Christmas Eve, and the woman called demanding a new stove that day so she could finish her holiday baking. Mr Robin told her he couldn't get one on such short notice and she'd have to wait. Then he talked to her husband, who said not to worry about it -- they could get by with just the stovetop. When January rolled around, Mr Robin just flat-out refused to replace the stove until they paid some of the back rent they owe. Their response was to call some kind of city inspector to lodge a complaint against him for not honoring the terms of their lease -- terms that they haven't met since they moved in! Fucking assholes. Guess what they got yesterday... (Here's a hint: It starts with "Eviction" and ends with "Notice".)



11. Too dark. January is always depressing, even when the weather is as good as it was this year, because the sun comes up so late in the morning and goes down so early in the evening. It was literally pitch-black many mornings when I took the kids to school. This week, the sun was already rising when I left the house. YAY!



12. Crappy reading. Too many of the books I found time to read were either badly written, or as with the book I semi-reviewed yesterday, not my cup of tea. I noticed that several of my favorite authors have books coming out in February. Yay! But I can't read them until I finish put THE END on Amorous Overnight. Boo!



13. Car troubles. Not MY car, fortunately, but first our son's transmission went out, so we had to replace that and bushings in the front, and a couple of other things. (Well, the pickup is a 79 Chevy, so it was probably due for some work.) I had to take the kids to school every morning while it was being worked on. Then our old Suburban, which our foster daughter drives, needed a new engine, so Mr Robin or I had to pick up the Demon Spawn in Town for her every afternoon. (His special School for Budding Career Criminals is 20 miles away and there's no bus.)



BONUS: I like February. *grin* My first child, my son, was born on Valentine's Day. He's going to be 15 this month. *sob* They grow up so damn fast!



So how was YOUR January?

Dead and Pissed: Not A Good Combo

Okay, yes, I have to admit it right up front: last night I set aside the book I'm working on long enough to read someone else's book for my own edification. To tell the truth, I have to stop writing and read regularly or else I get such severe tunnel vision, I can't see the direction my own story is supposed to take. I just sit and spin in circles, wondering why it isn't working but unable to do anything about it.



And not only that, but reading recharges my emotional batteries. If it's a good book, the conflict, the buildup of tension, and that wonderful climax and oh-so-satisfying resolution just get all my happy creative juices flowing.



Unfortunately, the book I read tonight, though a fairly well written NY print book that got lots of good reviews on Amazon, did none of those things for me. In fact, it did exactly the opposite -- it left me feeling gutted, hopeless and trapped in an endless, barren wasteland. In short, it made me feel dead inside. And yet supremely pissed off at the same time.



Dead and pissed. Bad combo, author. Very bad. (I should have read the bad reviews, too. Dammit, why didn't I read the bad reviews, too?)



There are two main reasons why I feel this way:



1. The author subjected her poor hero and heroine to entirely too much pain and sorrow over the course of the book, and



2. Their resolution was so abbreviated and easy, and so much of their conflict was resolved separately rather than together, that I didn't buy into it. NOT. AT. ALL. I felt totally cheated.



I should have known when they had their HEA at the halfway point that things were about to go to hell. They'd worked so hard and overcome so much already, and they were so madly in love, so meant for each other, yada, yada, yada... And then BAM! BAM! BAM! One fucking tragedy after another, just angst and more angst piled on top of trauma and heartache and loss. Toss in an evil schemer actively working to stick it to both of them, and I just felt like I'd been put through absolute hell by the time it was over.



The heroine wound up being so dramatically changed by all the events of the story, it was like she was a completely different person at the end. She wasn't the heroine I'd fallen in love with. She'd suffered too much, lost too much, and was too hopelessly bound up in her pain and fear.



And yet her issues were basically resolved in one page. ONE. FUCKING. PAGE. After hundreds of pages of pain and suffering.



Can you say UNFULFILLED?! Jesus, throw me a bone here, author -- I know you're just as tired of this convoluted damn story as I am, but you need to balance all that terrible heartache with a longer, deeper resolution. He should have had to work harder and not just make a token gesture. She should have punished him a little more, even if he didn't necessarily deserve it, because by God, she'd SUFFERED for his decision. She suffered a HELL of a lot more than he did, and dammit, I wanted to feel his love more, to feel that he would go through anything to get her back. He paid lip service to it, but I didn't get to see him actually do it.



Oh, there was a happy enough prologue, but not anywhere close to the one I'd hoped for. That little slice of life, however much later it was, wouldn't have counted even if it felt realistic. I wanted to see her in the process of healing, not just all healed up.



/rant



*deep cleansing breath*



Now that I've purged my ire and cleansed my lungs, I have to admit this is a good lesson for me in what NOT to do in my own books. I just need to come back here and read this post periodically as a reminder.



Now quick, someone recommend a wonderful book for me to read! Something that will make me sigh with happiness when it's over.

Contract for Book Purchase?

Close on the heels of this week's clusterfuck at DA comes another WTF moment from Insane Hussein -- a Contract for Book Review.



Ooh, do you suppose we authors could make readers sign a contract like this when they buy our stories? Let's see, how could we make that look? What kind of restrictions could we possibly impose on the purchase of our books?



(fade to black)




Contract for Book Purchase




In exchange for the opportunity to purchase Author's book, Reader agrees to:




1. Read Book in its entirety, immediately, if not sooner.



2. Check any preconceived notions of what makes writing "good" at the title page; ignore any technical deficiencies or inconsistencies, including, but not limited to, grammar, usage, syntax, spelling, and formatting; and not allow small details like plot, characterization, motivation, pacing, setting, historical inaccuracies, anachronisms, world-building, or flow of text to impede his/her enjoyment of Book.




3. Email Author with effusive thanks for having written such a brilliant Book. Reader will follow up with periodic reminders of Author's brilliance and enquiries about Author's upcoming releases.




4. Rave about Book to a minimum of 10 friends in person or via email.




5. Buy every other available edition of Book in every format and language.




6. Join Author's fan club and Yahoo group, and/or sign up to receive Author's newsletter. In the event Author has none of the preceding, Reader agrees to start and maintain at least one of them.




7. Post at least five stars (more where available) and a glowing 200-word review free of criticism, constructive or otherwise, on every book etailer website, and to publicize said review on all major social networks. In the unlikely event s/he doesn't belong to at least five social networks, Reader agrees to remedy such deficiency immediately, if not sooner, and friend and/or follow Author.




8. Attend every book signing at which Author appears within a 500 mile radius of Reader's home; encourage a long line at Author's table by standing there long enough to make other attendees think Author is Someone Special; and have Author autograph a publicity photograph of Author, which Reader will have obtained independently in advance of the signing.




Upon receiving said autograph, Reader will squee conspicuously, race home, post a scanned copy of autographed photo on all social networks, and then have it matted, framed, and hung with appropriately dramatic lighting in a place of prominence within her home. Reader agrees to keep Author's shrine said autographed photo and the area around it dust- and clutter-free.




9. Rabidly defend Author and/or Book in the unlikely event a negative review appears on any website; launch a counter-offensive against the reviewer at fault, citing every reason, real or imagined, the reviewer might have for a personal vendetta against Author; and round up an Author posse to mark unfavorable Amazon reviews of Book as "unhelpful" until said reviews disappear.




10. In the unlikely event Book does not advance to Reader's Keeper shelf, Reader agrees to destroy Book rather than sell it to a second-hand store or pass it on to a friend, as this might cut into the Author's and/or Publisher's profit margin.




11. In the extaordinarily unlikely event Reader fails to enjoy Book, Reader agrees to forget having ever purchased or read it immediately upon finishing, if not sooner.




Failure to adhere to the terms of this agreement could result in hurt feelings, increased alcohol consumption, lack of attention to personal hygiene and appearance, and/or failure to produce any further books on the part of Author; posse-administered beatdowns of Reader's reviews; shrinkage of Author's and/or Publisher's profit margin; and attempted career suicide via major clusterfuck events at popular online review sites.





What do you think? Would any reader fall for that?

As a reader of over 300 romance books last year, I know what MY answer would be...

The Egg McMuffin of Books

A clusterfuck of dreadful proportions blew up at Dear Author yesterday over a book that received an F grade, and as I watched the drama unfold, I was reminded of McDonalds' new #AdFail campaign, where people keep comparing things to the Egg McMuffin as if that were the highest compliment they could imagine.



The first time I saw the ad, I was stymied for a moment by the opening scene in which a man told his girlfriend, "I love you," and after thinking for a moment, she replied, "You're the Egg McMuffin of boyfriends."



*blink* WTF?



Just what was she saying? It felt like one of those Twix "Need a moment?" commercials where the guy crams a Twix into his mouth to put off answering a question the woman wouldn't like the answer to.



As the commercial progressed, I realized it was supposed to be a compliment, even though it came off as more of a backhanded compliment, an oblique way of saying, "You're not great, but you're mine."



Frankly, calling me the Egg McMuffin of wives would be the fastest way for Mr Robin to land himself in divorce court, but I digress.



Sure, Egg McMuffins are cheap, convenient, plentiful and fill a need, but they're hardly the pinnacle of culinary achievement, and frankly, any idiot can make a bigger, better Egg McMuffin at home in less than ten minutes for a fraction of the cost. Egg McMuffins from McDonald's are usually slapped together haphazardly, with the little egg disk sticking out one side and the Canadian bacon sticking out the other, the cheese is stuck to the wrapper, and the English muffins are often cold, tough, and/or burnt around the edges.



And yet millions of people buy them every day. Certainly a lot more diners are buying Egg McMuffins from McDonald's every day than are buying filets from five-star restaurants like Ruth's Chris steakhouses. Why? Because they're cheap, convenient, plentiful and fill a need. Ruth's Chris steakhouses, meanwhile, are fewer and farther between, they're not open for breakfast, they don't have a drive-thru, and they certainly aren't cheap.



And while many Ruth's Chris devotees would rather go hungry than soil their palate with fast food, a lot of people actually like Egg McMuffins. They buy them even when they can afford much better. I'll admit that I've bought a few Egg McMuffins in my day, when I was on the road or late for work or feeling lazy or just plain in the mood for one. But these days I'd rather make my own because I know they'll be done exactly the way I like them.



How does this relate to books and book reviews, you wonder? I'm getting there, I really am. Just stay with me here.



See, when I'm in a strange city--for instance when I attend an RWA National conference--what I eat depends on variables such as how much money I have, how much time I have, what time of day it is, what restaurants are nearby, and what kind of food I like and/or am in the mood for. If I'm in a hurry and/or low on funds, I might grab an Egg McMuffin from a nearby McD's. If I've got plenty of time and money and am in the mood fine dining, I might go to a nice restaurant I already know and trust, or one that my friends have raved about, or I might seek out the concierge for a recommendation...or I might look online at menus and restaurant reviews. I don't bother looking for reviews of McD's, or Arby's, or any other fast-food franchise, because their quality is fairly universal and I know exactly what I'm getting without even looking at a menu.



And when I want to read a book, I do the same thing. Usually my first impulse is to buy a book from an author I already know and trust. I may not enjoy the content of all a trusted author's books to the same degree, but I can always count on their being well written and edited to within an inch of their lives. But my favorite authors don't always have a new book out, and they don't always write what I'm in the mood for.



Sadly, most of them don't write erotic romance, so usually when I'm in the mood for an erotic romance (which is quite often), I'm flying blind. I'd ask a friend for a recommendation, but most of my friends don't read much erotic romance even if they write it. There's a crap-ton of erotic romance out there, both house-published and self-published, and finding a book I'm likely to enjoy can be a daunting task. When I'm buying from Amazon or the publisher's website, I will look at the reader reviews for what they did and didn't like, but I don't usually go looking for reviews because they're so subjective. In the end, the factor that weighs most heavily in my decision to purchase a book from an unknown author, or an author who's let me down before, is a book's excerpt.



That said, I've learned over the years which reviewers enjoy the same kinds of books I do, the ones who are annoyed by the same things in books that annoy me, and the ones whose idea of a quality book closely aligns with mine, and I read their reviews on a regular basis. More often than not, I wind up buying (and usually enjoying) one of their recommendations that I may not have otherwise.



I've also learned which reviewers enjoy books I usually delete within seconds of reading and authors who grace my NEVER BUY AGAIN list, reviewers who don't seem to notice or care about the things that annoy me and/or can't give a lucid summary or an explanation of why they did or didn't enjoy a book...reviewers I feel wouldn't know a quality book if it descended to their laptop from a pillar of light accompanied by a heavenly chorus. If I see brags about great reviews for books I thought were utter garbage, I'll avoid that reviewer's website and completely ignore squees of great reviews from them.



Does that mean those reviewers are wrong, or they suck, or they should be banned from the internet (or sterilized and forced to listen to Slim Whitman albums for all eternity, as I believe hackers should be)? No, because some readers enjoy the books they recommend. Some readers look for the same things they do in books. Their taste simply doesn't coincide with mine, so if they happen to read and hate my one of my books, I probably won't even read the review because it will mean nothing to me. I'll just smile and say, "Thanks for reviewing my book!" because as a result of this review, more readers who might not otherwise have heard of me will know my name, and they might think my book sounds like something they'll enjoy.



I will read reviews of my books from reviewers I trust, and I may or may not take their comments to heart. We all have personal hot-button issues, and I've noticed that many of my worst reviews arise from such issues. My heroes tend to be emotionally stunted, dominant alpha-males, and my heroines display their strength in less kick-ass ways than some readers would like, and so reviewers may perceive my heroes as assholes and my heroines as doormats. I can totally live with that, and I love it--seriously LOVE it--when reviewers actually say that. It steers readers who enjoy those character types, that relationship dynamic, toward my book and readers who hate it away from my books. I don't want readers to buy my book expecting one thing and getting another.



Which brings me back around to my point: When a reviewer doesn't enjoy your book and takes the time and trouble to write a detailed review of exactly why she didn't like it, remember--as with the Egg McMuffin, it's just a matter of taste. A bad review is nothing personal, and if you turn around and make it personal by going batshit in a very public way, the only one who looks bad is you.



After all, there are worse things than writing the Egg McMuffin of books.

A New Year's Contest--and Bonus Personal Tale!

To start the year off with a bang, I'm giving away a $25 Amazon gift card to one lucky winner. See my contest page for deets!


And now for the bonus personal tale...


I'm sure I blogged about this at some point in the past, but I can't find the post anywhere so I'm blogging about it again because it's once again relevant to my life.


This weekend marked not just the start of a new year for my elder daughter, but the first of innumerable bouts of furtive monthly misery her embarkment on that exciting and mysterious journey into womanhood.


When she told me about this development, her eyes were red from crying and she begged to stay home alone when the other kids went along with me to the grocery store. I was instantly transported back in time to the day I embarked on the same voyage.


My mother had told my sister and me all about periods when we were very youg. I must have been around eight when my sister asked where babies came from and Mom told us all about it without the slightest hesitation. So I kind of knew it was coming for years, but in a very abstract way. Like tornadoes striking or someone you love dying suddenly, it felt like the kind of thing that would happen to other girls but not to me. My best friend Tracy, who was three or four years older, was waiting for her period with bated breath--she had a little menstrual kit (which in those days consisted of a garter belt and thick pads) that she dragged out to show me every time I went to her apartment. But I moved away before the big event happened, and my mom never bought a menstrual kit or made any special preparations for me.


So when I woke up late one summer vacation morning with cramps and ruined underwear, I was emotionally wrecked. I had to call Mom at work and ask her what to do, and she directed me to the box of super tampons under the bathroom sink. "Just read the directions and do what they say," she said. Well, I read the directions--and called her back to say no way. I couldn't even begin to imagine sticking anything inside me. She told me to hold tight and she'd bring home pads after work.


I cried ALL DAY, and when mom brought home pads, I hid them under my bed and tried to pretend this wasn't happening. I didn't want anyone to know, especially my little sister, who would have been excited that she was finally a woman. At 10, she was already French kissing boys under the blankets on her bed when Mom was at work. But I thought of myself as asexual at that point and I preferred to stay that way as long as possible.



Naturally, since I viewed this development as humiliating and something to be kept secret, I assumed my mother would keep it just between us. Instead, that very evening, my grandparents showed up for dinner at our apartment, and afterward, Mom announced that I'd gotten my first period and presented me with a congratulatory greeting card and a red votive candle in a blood-red holder.


My face was undoubtedly even redder.


I've never forgotten the trauma of that event, and I wanted to ensure that it was as casual and easy as possible for my daughters, so I 1) had "the talk" with each of them individually, as quickly and concisely as possible with the older one because she was obviously uncomfortable, and 2) gave them a couple of highly recommended books, The Care and Keeping of You and The Feelings Book: The Care and Keeping of Your Emotions. My older daughter especially is a visual learner and prefers to gather her own information, so I thought these would be helpful.


I also bought supplies suitable for young girls, made up zippered kits that they could carry in their book bags, showed and explained them to the girls, and put them in a drawer in their bathroom so they could just take them when the time came. My own supplies had straggled around loose in the purse that I very conspicuously (or so it felt) started carrying at that time, and I lived in constant fear of spilling them in front of a crowd.


So my elder daughter is having a very subdued new year, and the fact that she's also got some kind of bug and has been spiking a fever all weekend hasn't helped. But I've made it a point not to tell anyone except her dad, who I felt should know and be prepared for what she's going through. And I made a special point of not telling my mother, for obvious reasons.


As my friend Dawn pointed out, my daughter would be thrilled that I'm telling all of you, but I know you will understand and be sympathetic and won't embarrass her by congratulating her or presenting her with blood-red mementos of the occasion.


So I know some of you have been through this with your daughters. Any words of advice?

A Book Recommendation!

Unveiled by Courtney Milan




I don't recommend books very often, but since Courtney Milan has become the gold standard against which I measure all other romances (and since Goodreads offered me all this code to blog my review from there), I thought I'd blog about this one. Here's the blurb:



Ash Turner has waited a lifetime to seek revenge on the man who ruined his family—and now the time for justice has arrived. At Parford Manor, he intends to take his place as the rightful heir to the dukedom and settle an old score with the current duke once and for all. But instead he finds himself drawn to a tempting beauty who has the power to undo all his dreams of vengeance…



Lady Margaret knows she should despise the man who's stolen her fortune and her father's legacy—the man she's been ordered to spy on in the guise of a nurse. Yet the more she learns about the new duke, the less she can resist his smoldering appeal. Soon Margaret and Ash find themselves torn between old loyalties—and the tantalizing promise of passion…



I read this series out of order but it didn't stop me from loving every word of each book. The relationships between the brothers were just as complex and riveting as the relationships between the heroes and heroines. My heart broke for both Margaret and Ash at different times, for different reasons, and even though I knew they wound up together, the conflict between them seemed so insurmountable, I was anxious for them right up to the very end--which was wonderfully satisfying. Courtney Milan has become a must-buy author for me with this series!



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