Rosi S. Phillips's Blog, page 2
December 26, 2014
Saying Hi!
Happy holidays to everyone who celebrates something. I had family celebrations and am sooooooo behind on everything. Pluses are that I got 3 A letter grades and 2 B letter grades on my college courses, which means I am still an honor student! Phew, I was worried for a second. Apart from that, I'm three... maybe five months behind on a ghostwriting assignment that my boss has been more than accommodating on, so I have to finish that. For all of you wondering when I'm going to finish everything.... well, soon-ish. I'm working out a schedule with my publisher I can stick with, so hopefully you all will have things to read. I will also not be writing ANYTHING the weekend of January 20th. KMM's new book BURNED comes out, and I'm putting life on hiatus to read it. I HIGHLY suggest everyone get it. I'm a die-hard fan, and her work is what I hope to be able to achieve one day—with variations of course. Peaches and Bane may have a mini-novel (smaller than what I've written but free) on the way since I miss them terribly. So many things on my plate, but let's hope I finish them all. Wherever you are, whoever you're with, Happy New Year and happy holidays!
December 8, 2014
Can't Fight Fate/Can't Fight Nature Teaser
“Nn..” Blood slid against her tongue as Nina raked her nails down Grim’s back and bit hard into his shoulder.
Heat pushed its way into her body, igniting a fire that seemed to emanate from her very soul. Flames licked up her arms, around her legs, coating her until she burned.
Nina felt Grim pull out, flip her on her knees in the soft grass, lift her ass high in the air, and sink in the juncture between her thighs. He went deeper, pushed harder. Beneath them the ground rolled, a volcano in a distant corner of their world exploded. Tiny flames danced in the oxygenated air extending from Nina's fingertips to trace every blade of grass, every speck of dirt, without disintegrating them.
“Oh!” Grim’s fingers grazed her clit, his power licking like a million tongues over her body. Nina's spine curved, and her nails ripped up the earth around her. He thrust back in, his hair alight and wild with against the flames.
Fire shot off Nina's body, forced out from every pore until a blazing halo resided around the couple and their world ignited. Sparks ferried across the landscape, over hills, between valleys, shooting up thick tree trunks and capturing the azure sky.
Nina screamed, and the world roared back, echoing her.
Nina’s eyes widened as she look over her shoulder through her wild sweat-soaked curls at her husband. Grim was a flame. From the tips of his back hair to the soles of his olive-toned feet, he burned a deep blue. But his smile was red hot. “Keep screaming, Amica." Grim thrust in hard, and burned her from the inside out. He forced Nina to take him, expand to his size, give him everything he never asked for.
Animals. They were animals on the forest floor, returning to a time that no longer existed. The ground rolled. The wind lashed at their bodies. Rain poured in buckets, battling the fire. And all at once it became too much, not enough—too big, too small.
A scream tore from Nina’s soul, vibrating through her body past her bones and into her blood. It was the center of chaos, one originating point of the end and the beginning. Grim melted into Nina, became her just as she became him.
Scream for scream, pant for pant, they echoed back at each other until their world split. Until Nina’s body separated from her mind and collided into Grim’s blood, tissue, and bone.
"Uh, y-you're too rough, Grim."
Bang! The world was created.
A deep chuckle. His strong fingers rhythmically gripping her hips. "You can take it."
Bang! The world was destroyed.
Again and again and again.
Grim fused with Nina, and became something else. Nina fused with Grim and became everything she was not supposed to be, but everything she was. They were creators, murderers. Infinity that even Yin and Yang couldn’t comprehend.
A blast of light as Nina came, a shrouding darkness as Grim did the same. Shimmering in the molecules around them, embedded in the soil under them, sluicing off their bodies, they created something. Together, in an explosion of life and death, the beginning and the end, they created love.
Heat pushed its way into her body, igniting a fire that seemed to emanate from her very soul. Flames licked up her arms, around her legs, coating her until she burned.
Nina felt Grim pull out, flip her on her knees in the soft grass, lift her ass high in the air, and sink in the juncture between her thighs. He went deeper, pushed harder. Beneath them the ground rolled, a volcano in a distant corner of their world exploded. Tiny flames danced in the oxygenated air extending from Nina's fingertips to trace every blade of grass, every speck of dirt, without disintegrating them.
“Oh!” Grim’s fingers grazed her clit, his power licking like a million tongues over her body. Nina's spine curved, and her nails ripped up the earth around her. He thrust back in, his hair alight and wild with against the flames.
Fire shot off Nina's body, forced out from every pore until a blazing halo resided around the couple and their world ignited. Sparks ferried across the landscape, over hills, between valleys, shooting up thick tree trunks and capturing the azure sky.
Nina screamed, and the world roared back, echoing her.
Nina’s eyes widened as she look over her shoulder through her wild sweat-soaked curls at her husband. Grim was a flame. From the tips of his back hair to the soles of his olive-toned feet, he burned a deep blue. But his smile was red hot. “Keep screaming, Amica." Grim thrust in hard, and burned her from the inside out. He forced Nina to take him, expand to his size, give him everything he never asked for.
Animals. They were animals on the forest floor, returning to a time that no longer existed. The ground rolled. The wind lashed at their bodies. Rain poured in buckets, battling the fire. And all at once it became too much, not enough—too big, too small.
A scream tore from Nina’s soul, vibrating through her body past her bones and into her blood. It was the center of chaos, one originating point of the end and the beginning. Grim melted into Nina, became her just as she became him.
Scream for scream, pant for pant, they echoed back at each other until their world split. Until Nina’s body separated from her mind and collided into Grim’s blood, tissue, and bone.
"Uh, y-you're too rough, Grim."
Bang! The world was created.
A deep chuckle. His strong fingers rhythmically gripping her hips. "You can take it."
Bang! The world was destroyed.
Again and again and again.
Grim fused with Nina, and became something else. Nina fused with Grim and became everything she was not supposed to be, but everything she was. They were creators, murderers. Infinity that even Yin and Yang couldn’t comprehend.
A blast of light as Nina came, a shrouding darkness as Grim did the same. Shimmering in the molecules around them, embedded in the soil under them, sluicing off their bodies, they created something. Together, in an explosion of life and death, the beginning and the end, they created love.
Can't Fight Fate/Can't Stand Alone Teaser
“Nn..” Blood slid against her tongue as Nina raked her nails down Grim’s back and bit hard into his shoulder.
Heat pushed its way into her body, igniting a fire that seemed to emanate from her very soul. Flames licked up her arms, around her legs, coating her until she burned.
Nina felt Grim pull out, flip her on her knees in the soft grass, lift her ass high in the air, and sink in the juncture between her thighs. He went deeper, pushed harder. Beneath them the ground rolled, a volcano in a distant corner of their world exploded. Tiny flames danced in the oxygenated air extending from Nina's fingertips to trace every blade of grass, every speck of dirt, without disintegrating them.
“Oh!” Grim’s fingers grazed her clit, his power licking like a million tongues over her body. Nina's spine curved, and her nails ripped up the earth around her. He thrust back in, his hair alight and wild with against the flames.
Fire shot off Nina's body, forced out from every pore until a blazing halo resided around the couple and their world ignited. Sparks ferried across the landscape, over hills, between valleys, shooting up thick tree trunks and capturing the azure sky.
Nina screamed, and the world roared back, echoing her.
Nina’s eyes widened as she look over her shoulder through her wild sweat-soaked curls at her husband. Grim was a flame. From the tips of his back hair to the soles of his olive-toned feet, he burned a deep blue. But his smile was red hot. “Keep screaming, Amica." Grim thrust in hard, and burned her from the inside out. He forced Nina to take him, expand to his size, give him everything he never asked for.
Animals. They were animals on the forest floor, returning to a time that no longer existed. The ground rolled. The wind lashed at their bodies. Rain poured in buckets, battling the fire. And all at once it became too much, not enough—too big, too small.
A scream tore from Nina’s soul, vibrating through her body past her bones and into her blood. It was the center of chaos, one originating point of the end and the beginning. Grim melted into Nina, became her just as she became him.
Scream for scream, pant for pant, they echoed back at each other until their world split. Until Nina’s body separated from her mind and collided into Grim’s blood, tissue, and bone.
"Uh, y-you're too rough, Grim."
Bang! The world was created.
A deep chuckle. His strong fingers rhythmically gripping her hips. "You can take it."
Bang! The world was destroyed.
Again and again and again.
Grim fused with Nina, and became something else. Nina fused with Grim and became everything she was not supposed to be, but everything she was. They were creators, murderers. Infinity that even Yin and Yang couldn’t comprehend.
A blast of light as Nina came, a shrouding darkness as Grim did the same. Shimmering in the molecules around them, embedded in the soil under them, sluicing off their bodies, they created something. Together, in an explosion of life and death, the beginning and the end, they created love.
Heat pushed its way into her body, igniting a fire that seemed to emanate from her very soul. Flames licked up her arms, around her legs, coating her until she burned.
Nina felt Grim pull out, flip her on her knees in the soft grass, lift her ass high in the air, and sink in the juncture between her thighs. He went deeper, pushed harder. Beneath them the ground rolled, a volcano in a distant corner of their world exploded. Tiny flames danced in the oxygenated air extending from Nina's fingertips to trace every blade of grass, every speck of dirt, without disintegrating them.
“Oh!” Grim’s fingers grazed her clit, his power licking like a million tongues over her body. Nina's spine curved, and her nails ripped up the earth around her. He thrust back in, his hair alight and wild with against the flames.
Fire shot off Nina's body, forced out from every pore until a blazing halo resided around the couple and their world ignited. Sparks ferried across the landscape, over hills, between valleys, shooting up thick tree trunks and capturing the azure sky.
Nina screamed, and the world roared back, echoing her.
Nina’s eyes widened as she look over her shoulder through her wild sweat-soaked curls at her husband. Grim was a flame. From the tips of his back hair to the soles of his olive-toned feet, he burned a deep blue. But his smile was red hot. “Keep screaming, Amica." Grim thrust in hard, and burned her from the inside out. He forced Nina to take him, expand to his size, give him everything he never asked for.
Animals. They were animals on the forest floor, returning to a time that no longer existed. The ground rolled. The wind lashed at their bodies. Rain poured in buckets, battling the fire. And all at once it became too much, not enough—too big, too small.
A scream tore from Nina’s soul, vibrating through her body past her bones and into her blood. It was the center of chaos, one originating point of the end and the beginning. Grim melted into Nina, became her just as she became him.
Scream for scream, pant for pant, they echoed back at each other until their world split. Until Nina’s body separated from her mind and collided into Grim’s blood, tissue, and bone.
"Uh, y-you're too rough, Grim."
Bang! The world was created.
A deep chuckle. His strong fingers rhythmically gripping her hips. "You can take it."
Bang! The world was destroyed.
Again and again and again.
Grim fused with Nina, and became something else. Nina fused with Grim and became everything she was not supposed to be, but everything she was. They were creators, murderers. Infinity that even Yin and Yang couldn’t comprehend.
A blast of light as Nina came, a shrouding darkness as Grim did the same. Shimmering in the molecules around them, embedded in the soil under them, sluicing off their bodies, they created something. Together, in an explosion of life and death, the beginning and the end, they created love.
November 25, 2014
Haven't Read the Peaches Series yet? Here's what you're missing
Could I Be a Werewolf?
"Peaches," Bane growled behind me. "Wait."
Ha! If he thought I was going to wait for him he was crazy. The second I stopped angry walking to the hotel, I'd turn around and start angry yelling at him. Which would only end in hot, angry sex, and for once, I wanted to stay angry.
"You just called me stupid, Bane," I threw over my shoulder as I stomped across the street, holding my hand out for cars.
A guy beeped at me and yelled, "Get out of the fucking way!"
I slammed my hands down on his hood. "Don't curse at me!"
Blue eyes widened before the guy barked out a laugh and ran a hand through his short black hair. "Crazy bitch."
Bane had his fist through the hood before I could blink. His eyes glowed red and his fangs lengthened just the tiniest bit, peeking out from his upper and lower lips. "Don't speak to my wife that way or I'll kill you."
Ooh, Bane was so freaking sexy when he went all territorial on other men. I totally hated it when he did it to me, but there was something about seeing Bane get upset on my behalf that made me almost want to forgive him for calling me stupid.
Almost.
I shot a dirty look at my husband before continuing across the street.
"You just hit my car!" the nasty driver screamed. "There's a hole in my fucking car! Get back here and pay for this."
Both Bane and I ignored the dude. "Habibi, I didn't call you stupid. I said what you planned to do was stupid."
I snorted as I pushed open the hotel doors and strode through the lobby, barely sparing anyone a glance. To most people Bane and I looked like a normal couple fighting, but to people that knew us, we were far from normal.
He was a vampire and I was... well, a butterfly? I didn't exactly have a known species. I was able to kind of make up what I wanted to be. Butterfly sounded nicer and cuter than acid spiting, mind reading, memory diving, soul eating, winged monster. Shorter, too.
I hit the up button for the elevator, crossed my arms under my breasts, and tapped my foot impatiently the epitome of 'don't fuck with me right now'. Bane didn't take the hint, but then again, my husband never took the hint.
I smelled Bane, felt his heat slide over my left side like a caress, before I heard him. "You could get killed, habibi."
I shook my head and turned toward him, throwing my hands down at my sides. "I could always die. That's sort of our thing—going into dangerous, life-or-death situations."
Red bled into the brown of his irises. "And sometimes you do die, Peaches. Do you want me to go through that again?"
I rolled my eyes. "Stop throwing that one around, Bane. I died. I came back. Get over it and stop being so dramatic."
The elevator dinged and he used his vampire speed to get me on the elevator before anyone saw us move. He held me against the wall and I watched the doors slowly close, my only exit narrowing down to a sliver of light.
I felt his lips warm on my neck. "Dramatic? Is that what you call my reaction?"
It's a trap! I knew it was. I kept my mouth shut.
"I became a monster. A killer because of you. Ah, habibi , you drive me insane. Sometimes I want to strangle you, I'm so upset and other times I want to tie you to my bed and fuck you until you can't think. Until you can't walk. Until I hear nothing from you but pleading and begging for more."
I leaned forward and nipped at his neck, ran my tongue over the shell of his ear. "We did that before and almost lost our kingdom." My voice my have been just a touch breathless, "And I'm still mad at you. We're not having sex."
We always had sex. That wasn't a complaint, just a fact. My husband was insatiable, but so was I. We worked that way.
He chuckled and I felt his hand slide to the fly of my jeans. "You always say that, Peaches."
I sighed. Yup, I did, but somehow I always ended up with Bane between my thighs. "I better come three times," I finally said, a little miffed.
My jeans and underwear were gone a second later. "Let's make it four."
"Peaches," Bane growled behind me. "Wait."
Ha! If he thought I was going to wait for him he was crazy. The second I stopped angry walking to the hotel, I'd turn around and start angry yelling at him. Which would only end in hot, angry sex, and for once, I wanted to stay angry.
"You just called me stupid, Bane," I threw over my shoulder as I stomped across the street, holding my hand out for cars.
A guy beeped at me and yelled, "Get out of the fucking way!"
I slammed my hands down on his hood. "Don't curse at me!"
Blue eyes widened before the guy barked out a laugh and ran a hand through his short black hair. "Crazy bitch."
Bane had his fist through the hood before I could blink. His eyes glowed red and his fangs lengthened just the tiniest bit, peeking out from his upper and lower lips. "Don't speak to my wife that way or I'll kill you."
Ooh, Bane was so freaking sexy when he went all territorial on other men. I totally hated it when he did it to me, but there was something about seeing Bane get upset on my behalf that made me almost want to forgive him for calling me stupid.
Almost.
I shot a dirty look at my husband before continuing across the street.
"You just hit my car!" the nasty driver screamed. "There's a hole in my fucking car! Get back here and pay for this."
Both Bane and I ignored the dude. "Habibi, I didn't call you stupid. I said what you planned to do was stupid."
I snorted as I pushed open the hotel doors and strode through the lobby, barely sparing anyone a glance. To most people Bane and I looked like a normal couple fighting, but to people that knew us, we were far from normal.
He was a vampire and I was... well, a butterfly? I didn't exactly have a known species. I was able to kind of make up what I wanted to be. Butterfly sounded nicer and cuter than acid spiting, mind reading, memory diving, soul eating, winged monster. Shorter, too.
I hit the up button for the elevator, crossed my arms under my breasts, and tapped my foot impatiently the epitome of 'don't fuck with me right now'. Bane didn't take the hint, but then again, my husband never took the hint.
I smelled Bane, felt his heat slide over my left side like a caress, before I heard him. "You could get killed, habibi."
I shook my head and turned toward him, throwing my hands down at my sides. "I could always die. That's sort of our thing—going into dangerous, life-or-death situations."
Red bled into the brown of his irises. "And sometimes you do die, Peaches. Do you want me to go through that again?"
I rolled my eyes. "Stop throwing that one around, Bane. I died. I came back. Get over it and stop being so dramatic."
The elevator dinged and he used his vampire speed to get me on the elevator before anyone saw us move. He held me against the wall and I watched the doors slowly close, my only exit narrowing down to a sliver of light.
I felt his lips warm on my neck. "Dramatic? Is that what you call my reaction?"
It's a trap! I knew it was. I kept my mouth shut.
"I became a monster. A killer because of you. Ah, habibi , you drive me insane. Sometimes I want to strangle you, I'm so upset and other times I want to tie you to my bed and fuck you until you can't think. Until you can't walk. Until I hear nothing from you but pleading and begging for more."
I leaned forward and nipped at his neck, ran my tongue over the shell of his ear. "We did that before and almost lost our kingdom." My voice my have been just a touch breathless, "And I'm still mad at you. We're not having sex."
We always had sex. That wasn't a complaint, just a fact. My husband was insatiable, but so was I. We worked that way.
He chuckled and I felt his hand slide to the fly of my jeans. "You always say that, Peaches."
I sighed. Yup, I did, but somehow I always ended up with Bane between my thighs. "I better come three times," I finally said, a little miffed.
My jeans and underwear were gone a second later. "Let's make it four."
Haven't Read the Peaches Series yet? Here's what you're missing
"Peaches," Bane growled behind me. "Wait."
Ha! If he thought I was going to wait for him he was crazy. The second I stopped angry walking to the hotel, I'd turn around and start angry yelling at him. Which would only end in hot, angry sex, and for once, I wanted to stay angry.
"You just called me stupid, Bane," I threw over my shoulder as I stomped across the street, holding my hand out for cars.
A guy beeped at me and yelled, "Get out of the fucking way!"
I slammed my hands down on his hood. "Don't curse at me!"
Blue eyes widened before the guy barked out a laugh and ran a hand through his short black hair. "Crazy bitch."
Bane had his fist through the hood before I could blink. His eyes glowed red and his fangs lengthened just the tiniest bit, peeking out from his upper and lower lips. "Don't speak to my wife that way or I'll kill you."
Ooh, Bane was so freaking sexy when he went all territorial on other men. I totally hated it when he did it to me, but there was something about seeing Bane get upset on my behalf that made me almost want to forgive him for calling me stupid.
Almost.
I shot a dirty look at my husband before continuing across the street.
"You just hit my car!" the nasty driver screamed. "There's a hole in my fucking car! Get back here and pay for this."
Both Bane and I ignored the dude. "Habibi, I didn't call you stupid. I said what you planned to do was stupid."
I snorted as I pushed open the hotel doors and strode through the lobby, barely sparing anyone a glance. To most people Bane and I looked like a normal couple fighting, but to people that knew us, we were far from normal.
He was a vampire and I was... well, a butterfly? I didn't exactly have a known species. I was able to kind of make up what I wanted to be. Butterfly sounded nicer and cuter than acid spiting, mind reading, memory diving, soul eating, winged monster. Shorter, too.
I hit the up button for the elevator, crossed my arms under my breasts, and tapped my foot impatiently the epitome of 'don't fuck with me right now'. Bane didn't take the hint, but then again, my husband never took the hint.
I smelled Bane, felt his heat slide over my left side like a caress, before I heard him. "You could get killed, habibi."
I shook my head and turned toward him, throwing my hands down at my sides. "I could always die. That's sort of our thing—going into dangerous, life-or-death situations."
Red bled into the brown of his irises. "And sometimes you do die, Peaches. Do you want me to go through that again?"
I rolled my eyes. "Stop throwing that one around, Bane. I died. I came back. Get over it and stop being so dramatic."
The elevator dinged and he used his vampire speed to get me on the elevator before anyone saw us move. He held me against the wall and I watched the doors slowly close, my only exit narrowing down to a sliver of light.
I felt his lips warm on my neck. "Dramatic? Is that what you call my reaction?"
It's a trap! I knew it was. I kept my mouth shut.
"I became a monster. A killer because of you. Ah, habibi , you drive me insane. Sometimes I want to strangle you, I'm so upset and other times I want to tie you to my bed and fuck you until you can't think. Until you can't walk. Until I hear nothing from you but pleading and begging for more."
I leaned forward and nipped at his neck, ran my tongue over the shell of his ear. "We did that before and almost lost our kingdom." My voice my have been just a touch breathless, "And I'm still mad at you. We're not having sex."
We always had sex. That wasn't a complaint, just a fact. My husband was insatiable, but so was I. We worked that way.
He chuckled and I felt his hand slide to the fly of my jeans. "You always say that, Peaches."
I sighed. Yup, I did, but somehow I always ended up with Bane between my thighs. "I better come three times," I finally said, a little miffed.
My jeans and underwear were gone a second later. "Let's make it four."
November 13, 2014
Author Spotlight: Lizzie Ashworth (Interview)
Since I've been posting my stories and poems online. I've met a lot of wonderful writers. That is why I have decided to do an author/poet spotlight whenever I meet a truly remarkable individual over the web. I'll do an online interview with them, post some of their work, and links so you can read more of their stuff.
Today's author is Lizzie Ashworth. I virtually sat down with Lizzie and asked him a few questions.
***
Hi Lizzie! I’m so glad to have you. So, let’s just jump in here! When and why did you begin writing?
When I was five, I created a little book from cut up pieces of notebook paper, maybe five inches square. My mom helped me create a binding with yarn. I have no idea what happened to it, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it turned up in one of her scrapbooks somewhere. I wrote because it seemed the thing to do. My mother was one of nine children and their family round robin circulated often. She also slaved over a family history of her mother’s family that she finally published a few years ago. We were a family of readers—always had books around.
Wow. That’s a great history. And nine children? I can only imagine what kind of research your mother had to do for her own book. So did you consider yourself a write at five, or when you were older?
At least by junior high, I was trying to write fiction. I remember starting a sci-fi with the description of an orange sky. And then I didn’t know what else happened. In tenth grade, I discovered metaphors and that threw me into poetry as my main outlet. In college, it was all about gaining a profession, so I majored in English with as many electives as possible in writing classes—poetry and fiction. I fully embraced the idea of being a writer by the age of twenty, but it took a lot longer to make that real.
At twenty? That’s incredible! So what inspired you to write your first book?
You know, life has a lot of twists and turns. One year out of college, I discovered that being locked up in a classroom all day with a bunch of insolent adolescents was simply something I could not do. I ended up being the owner/operator of a rural gas station/grocery and lived in the back, then met someone and moved to the woods to have babies. After my dad retired from teaching high school band, I’d just had my second child and he needed a helper in his hobby/moonlighting job of piano tuning and repair. That became a thirty year career for me, convenient because I could schedule appointments around the needs of my three children. During those years, I wrote a few articles for the local free weekly, mostly interviews and personal essays. But what began collecting in a file folders were observations about my work, the pianos, the places, the people. And so in the mid-90s, my first book was published, a non-fiction collection of my essays entitled Notes of a Piano Tuner.
After that, I continued to write local history and biographical profiles, mostly articles for the county historical society. So when I decided to start writing erotic fiction, I took a pen name of Lizzie Ashworth so readers familiar with my non-fiction didn’t pick up an erotica and have their hair burst into flames.. Hers to Choose, my first book as Liz, was a result of stepping into the romance genre after two decades and discovering it had come out of the closet. That inspired me to write material that I call “legal porn.”
That’s such an interesting history. Yeah, I’m not sure my hair wouldn’t have burst into flames if the piano tuner mother down the street turned out to be an erotica writer. Then, because you write both nonfiction and fiction, is there a specific style you write in?
My tendency is toward excessive description. Every nuance of the environment, appearance, sensory experience ends up on the page. I’m slowly learning to stop this. My challenge is to build stories strong on action and character instead of scenery. But I will never give up my need to give readers an immersive reading experience.
Neither do I think you should. Having the ability to create a world for your characters is honestly half the battle of writing, especially when writing about sex. It’s all feeling.
How did you come up with the titles for your stories?
Ah, titles. It’s a laborious process, trying to distill the meaning of the work into a word or two. Plus, it has to resonate with the prospective audience. And it has to stand out in a very crowded marketplace. I wouldn’t say I’ve mastered the process, by any stretch, but I’m getting better.
Titles are hard things. I still have trouble, and I’m contemplating just telling my publisher to come up with a title that sells. But then I remember that’s not the main goal of my writing, and probably yours. It’s all about the message, and what you want readers to get out of your story. On that note, is there a message in your novel that you want readers to grasp?
All my novels are about more than what the characters are doing on the page. In my erotica, the bottom line message is that sex is more than sex. It’s spiritual. It’s transformative. It’s a process of discovery for everyone involved. In my latest release, which is a dystopia, there are multiple messages having to do with our beliefs, our desires—what it means at our core to be human.
I definitely got that feel from your novel. I’m not going to give spoilers away, but I completely understand transforming through sex. I think that you’re strength really lies there. So are these experiences you write about, based on someone you know, or events in your own life?
I think it’s impossible to write without drawing from all the people and experiences the author has lived through. Our understanding of ourselves is formed this way, and so is our view of the world. As far as specific people contributing to particular characters or storylines, I can think of maybe one person/event that triggered an idea for a character and story, but that’s not the norm. My stories come to me in dreams, or in a moment staring out the window, or from something I read or see on television, and I try to figure out what it means as my fingers create words and paragraphs.
Mm-hmm, I agree. I don’t think any author has written a book that wasn’t part of them in one way or another. Is there anything you find particularly challenging in your writing?
Plot! I never could play chess, and thinking more than two moves ahead strains my brain. I’m getting better, but so far my best method is to develop the characters and let them guide me.
You see I’m completely different. I love chess and set all my books up like a game. But then I get lost or confused because I forgot the moves I’ve already made. *shaking my head* It’s funny. Do you have particular novels that have really influenced your life?
All the early sci-fi was a strong influence—Huxley, Vonnegut, Asimov. I’ve read a lot of romance, too, but I can’t say there was much that stuck with me from that. I love nonfiction, especially archaeology, prehistory and ancient history, writings of Romans like Julius Caesar and Greeks like Herodotus. I loved the mind opening effects of the ancient astronaut books by von Daniken. I also remember one book I read that blew my socks off about sacred sexuality.
Who is your favorite author and what is it that really strikes you about their work?
Right now I’m deeply hooked on M. John Harrison. He’s an amazing sci-fi writing, probably best known for his early work entitled The Centauri Device. The first book of his that I read was Viriconium, and I fell in love with his use of language above all else, but also his ability to take me to a totally unexpected place and make it feel familiar! After that, I’ve read some of this works that didn’t appeal so much, but his latest series of Light, Nova Swing, and most recently Empty Space—well, words don’t describe. All I can say is, I’ve been reading Empty Space for a year. Over and over. Random passages. Each time I pick it up, it’s like I never read it before. His writing is that dense, that magical.
On the other hand, I read a lot of erotic romance. That’s recreational. I really love Tiffany Reisz and her Original Sinners series. I also have recently become a fan of J. A. Huss with her Rook and Ronin series and most recently her Social Media series. These women write hot, fast, and sassy stories that are great fun to read.
Then which writer, would you say, has influenced your work the most?
Strangely enough, since I began writing full time in 2012, Sylvia Day was the first strongest influence because I was interested in the style of romance that has come into vogue since my previous reading experiences of that genre. I was impressed with her ability to weave passion, action, and character development into her romances. I learn from every book I read, finding either things I was to try, or improve with my writing, or things not to do in my writing. I also recently read a book entitled Doc by Mary Doria Russell, a biography of Doc Holliday. About as far from Sylvia Day as you can get. I was thrilled with Russell’s use of language and the style of writing she used in this book. I’m working on a series of historical fiction based on the life of a female outlaw from the 1890s, and so Russell’s work was of particular interest.
I’m a fan of Sylvia Day myself. I keep re-reading The Stranger I Married. It’s my favorite of her books. What book are you reading now?
Uh, Archaeology magazine… I’m seriously in need of books to read, but I’ve been delaying my next trip to the library in order to get my new dystopia novel out for reviews.
Well hopefully you get to the bookstore soon! I can’t live without reading a new book every week, or starting it. Have you tried the Succubui Diaries? That’s my next series to read. It really caught my attention. Are there any new authors that have grasped your interest?
Not at this point in time.
I suppose that's because of your new dystopian novel. Do You have any other projects going on?
Romance—several short stories set in the British Isles circa 500 BC to 700 AD. Sci-fi—just released Salvation of my House of Rae series and am seeking beta readers for the second book in the series, Denial. Hope to begin work soon on the third book, but have set that on the back burner while I work on my female outlaw story. I’ve researched this woman for ten years, have tried to write a biography for her but there are too many holes in the historical record. So I’ve settled for a fictionalized history and am struggling with giving her the fullest possible development as a person. I’m also finishing the last details of a biography of a local attorney who had an incredible run until his death in 1965—absolutely fascinating character. I’ve worked on him for about a year. I can’t work on one thing at a time. Obviously.
Haha neither can I so I completely understand. It’s amazing you’re able to do some many vastly different things at once. I really commend that. Do you see writing as a career?
Yes, absolutely. I waited through other careers so I could devote myself to writing full time. I’ve been a teacher, secretary/admin assistant, gas station/grocery store owner/operator, wife and mother, goat farmer and back to the lander, registered piano technician, and cafe owner/operator/cook. Since the late 1980s, I’ve owned and managed commercial rental properties. One property is a funky old warehouse property I’ve refurbished as ten rental units for entry-level entrepreneurs. Right now there are two hair salons, an art gallery, a wine/champagne dive bar, a vintage musical instrument store, an art studio, and a vintage clothing boutique. The other property I bought and remodeled in 2005 to house 16 rehearsal studios for rock and roll bands. Through all that, writing has been burning holes in me as the ‘real’ thing.
Wow, that is a lot of different things! That’s incredible. Well then, if you had to do it all over again, would you change anything in your latest book?
I always think of things that could be tweaked, but at a certain point, it’s like ‘get out of my head!’ and I move on.
Switching gears a little… Who designed the covers?
I design my own covers. It’s a matter of money, not that I think I’m so great. But hey, I’m getting better. Me and Photoshop.
I understand. I’m a student, so money it extremely tight. I’ve been lucky that my company covers all the start up fees otherwise, I simply would be able to afford to publish. On the note of money, and doing stuff for oneself… Do you have any advice for other writers?
Yeah, get over the idea that you’re going to get rich, that you’ll write a bestseller. The age old advice that resonates with me is, write because you have no choice. The stories are in your head demanding to be released, and you’re just an instrument. Write because you have to, read like mad to learn, pay close attention to grammar and other technical details of your craft. Houses don’t get built by carpenters who can’t drive a nail.
Do you have anything specific that you want to say to your readers? Thank you for reading, even if you have critical things to say about my books. Your feedback is an important part of my process.
Haha I think I might actually do that from now on LOL What do you do in your down time? Watch TV (news, nature, crime, vet, ancient aliens); Stare out the window into the Ozark woods where I live; deal with dogs and cats; build fires in my woodstove to keep warm; deal with real life—rental property, kids, family drama, bills...
In four words, describe yourself.
Hermit. Driven. Hard ass. Empath.
What are your top ten snacks while writing?
Tea, preferably Assam or Darjeeling. Apple. Salted almonds. That is all.
Awesome! Well, that’s for letting me interview you, and I hope everyone likes your books as much as I do! :)
*Read an excerpt of her work here!*
Today's author is Lizzie Ashworth. I virtually sat down with Lizzie and asked him a few questions.***
Hi Lizzie! I’m so glad to have you. So, let’s just jump in here! When and why did you begin writing?
When I was five, I created a little book from cut up pieces of notebook paper, maybe five inches square. My mom helped me create a binding with yarn. I have no idea what happened to it, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it turned up in one of her scrapbooks somewhere. I wrote because it seemed the thing to do. My mother was one of nine children and their family round robin circulated often. She also slaved over a family history of her mother’s family that she finally published a few years ago. We were a family of readers—always had books around.
Wow. That’s a great history. And nine children? I can only imagine what kind of research your mother had to do for her own book. So did you consider yourself a write at five, or when you were older?
At least by junior high, I was trying to write fiction. I remember starting a sci-fi with the description of an orange sky. And then I didn’t know what else happened. In tenth grade, I discovered metaphors and that threw me into poetry as my main outlet. In college, it was all about gaining a profession, so I majored in English with as many electives as possible in writing classes—poetry and fiction. I fully embraced the idea of being a writer by the age of twenty, but it took a lot longer to make that real.
At twenty? That’s incredible! So what inspired you to write your first book?
You know, life has a lot of twists and turns. One year out of college, I discovered that being locked up in a classroom all day with a bunch of insolent adolescents was simply something I could not do. I ended up being the owner/operator of a rural gas station/grocery and lived in the back, then met someone and moved to the woods to have babies. After my dad retired from teaching high school band, I’d just had my second child and he needed a helper in his hobby/moonlighting job of piano tuning and repair. That became a thirty year career for me, convenient because I could schedule appointments around the needs of my three children. During those years, I wrote a few articles for the local free weekly, mostly interviews and personal essays. But what began collecting in a file folders were observations about my work, the pianos, the places, the people. And so in the mid-90s, my first book was published, a non-fiction collection of my essays entitled Notes of a Piano Tuner.
After that, I continued to write local history and biographical profiles, mostly articles for the county historical society. So when I decided to start writing erotic fiction, I took a pen name of Lizzie Ashworth so readers familiar with my non-fiction didn’t pick up an erotica and have their hair burst into flames.. Hers to Choose, my first book as Liz, was a result of stepping into the romance genre after two decades and discovering it had come out of the closet. That inspired me to write material that I call “legal porn.”
That’s such an interesting history. Yeah, I’m not sure my hair wouldn’t have burst into flames if the piano tuner mother down the street turned out to be an erotica writer. Then, because you write both nonfiction and fiction, is there a specific style you write in?
My tendency is toward excessive description. Every nuance of the environment, appearance, sensory experience ends up on the page. I’m slowly learning to stop this. My challenge is to build stories strong on action and character instead of scenery. But I will never give up my need to give readers an immersive reading experience.
Neither do I think you should. Having the ability to create a world for your characters is honestly half the battle of writing, especially when writing about sex. It’s all feeling.
How did you come up with the titles for your stories?
Ah, titles. It’s a laborious process, trying to distill the meaning of the work into a word or two. Plus, it has to resonate with the prospective audience. And it has to stand out in a very crowded marketplace. I wouldn’t say I’ve mastered the process, by any stretch, but I’m getting better.
Titles are hard things. I still have trouble, and I’m contemplating just telling my publisher to come up with a title that sells. But then I remember that’s not the main goal of my writing, and probably yours. It’s all about the message, and what you want readers to get out of your story. On that note, is there a message in your novel that you want readers to grasp?
All my novels are about more than what the characters are doing on the page. In my erotica, the bottom line message is that sex is more than sex. It’s spiritual. It’s transformative. It’s a process of discovery for everyone involved. In my latest release, which is a dystopia, there are multiple messages having to do with our beliefs, our desires—what it means at our core to be human.
I definitely got that feel from your novel. I’m not going to give spoilers away, but I completely understand transforming through sex. I think that you’re strength really lies there. So are these experiences you write about, based on someone you know, or events in your own life?
I think it’s impossible to write without drawing from all the people and experiences the author has lived through. Our understanding of ourselves is formed this way, and so is our view of the world. As far as specific people contributing to particular characters or storylines, I can think of maybe one person/event that triggered an idea for a character and story, but that’s not the norm. My stories come to me in dreams, or in a moment staring out the window, or from something I read or see on television, and I try to figure out what it means as my fingers create words and paragraphs.
Mm-hmm, I agree. I don’t think any author has written a book that wasn’t part of them in one way or another. Is there anything you find particularly challenging in your writing?
Plot! I never could play chess, and thinking more than two moves ahead strains my brain. I’m getting better, but so far my best method is to develop the characters and let them guide me.
You see I’m completely different. I love chess and set all my books up like a game. But then I get lost or confused because I forgot the moves I’ve already made. *shaking my head* It’s funny. Do you have particular novels that have really influenced your life?
All the early sci-fi was a strong influence—Huxley, Vonnegut, Asimov. I’ve read a lot of romance, too, but I can’t say there was much that stuck with me from that. I love nonfiction, especially archaeology, prehistory and ancient history, writings of Romans like Julius Caesar and Greeks like Herodotus. I loved the mind opening effects of the ancient astronaut books by von Daniken. I also remember one book I read that blew my socks off about sacred sexuality.
Who is your favorite author and what is it that really strikes you about their work?
Right now I’m deeply hooked on M. John Harrison. He’s an amazing sci-fi writing, probably best known for his early work entitled The Centauri Device. The first book of his that I read was Viriconium, and I fell in love with his use of language above all else, but also his ability to take me to a totally unexpected place and make it feel familiar! After that, I’ve read some of this works that didn’t appeal so much, but his latest series of Light, Nova Swing, and most recently Empty Space—well, words don’t describe. All I can say is, I’ve been reading Empty Space for a year. Over and over. Random passages. Each time I pick it up, it’s like I never read it before. His writing is that dense, that magical.
On the other hand, I read a lot of erotic romance. That’s recreational. I really love Tiffany Reisz and her Original Sinners series. I also have recently become a fan of J. A. Huss with her Rook and Ronin series and most recently her Social Media series. These women write hot, fast, and sassy stories that are great fun to read.
Then which writer, would you say, has influenced your work the most?
Strangely enough, since I began writing full time in 2012, Sylvia Day was the first strongest influence because I was interested in the style of romance that has come into vogue since my previous reading experiences of that genre. I was impressed with her ability to weave passion, action, and character development into her romances. I learn from every book I read, finding either things I was to try, or improve with my writing, or things not to do in my writing. I also recently read a book entitled Doc by Mary Doria Russell, a biography of Doc Holliday. About as far from Sylvia Day as you can get. I was thrilled with Russell’s use of language and the style of writing she used in this book. I’m working on a series of historical fiction based on the life of a female outlaw from the 1890s, and so Russell’s work was of particular interest.
I’m a fan of Sylvia Day myself. I keep re-reading The Stranger I Married. It’s my favorite of her books. What book are you reading now?
Uh, Archaeology magazine… I’m seriously in need of books to read, but I’ve been delaying my next trip to the library in order to get my new dystopia novel out for reviews.
Well hopefully you get to the bookstore soon! I can’t live without reading a new book every week, or starting it. Have you tried the Succubui Diaries? That’s my next series to read. It really caught my attention. Are there any new authors that have grasped your interest?
Not at this point in time.
I suppose that's because of your new dystopian novel. Do You have any other projects going on?
Romance—several short stories set in the British Isles circa 500 BC to 700 AD. Sci-fi—just released Salvation of my House of Rae series and am seeking beta readers for the second book in the series, Denial. Hope to begin work soon on the third book, but have set that on the back burner while I work on my female outlaw story. I’ve researched this woman for ten years, have tried to write a biography for her but there are too many holes in the historical record. So I’ve settled for a fictionalized history and am struggling with giving her the fullest possible development as a person. I’m also finishing the last details of a biography of a local attorney who had an incredible run until his death in 1965—absolutely fascinating character. I’ve worked on him for about a year. I can’t work on one thing at a time. Obviously.
Haha neither can I so I completely understand. It’s amazing you’re able to do some many vastly different things at once. I really commend that. Do you see writing as a career?
Yes, absolutely. I waited through other careers so I could devote myself to writing full time. I’ve been a teacher, secretary/admin assistant, gas station/grocery store owner/operator, wife and mother, goat farmer and back to the lander, registered piano technician, and cafe owner/operator/cook. Since the late 1980s, I’ve owned and managed commercial rental properties. One property is a funky old warehouse property I’ve refurbished as ten rental units for entry-level entrepreneurs. Right now there are two hair salons, an art gallery, a wine/champagne dive bar, a vintage musical instrument store, an art studio, and a vintage clothing boutique. The other property I bought and remodeled in 2005 to house 16 rehearsal studios for rock and roll bands. Through all that, writing has been burning holes in me as the ‘real’ thing.
Wow, that is a lot of different things! That’s incredible. Well then, if you had to do it all over again, would you change anything in your latest book?
I always think of things that could be tweaked, but at a certain point, it’s like ‘get out of my head!’ and I move on.
Switching gears a little… Who designed the covers?
I design my own covers. It’s a matter of money, not that I think I’m so great. But hey, I’m getting better. Me and Photoshop.
I understand. I’m a student, so money it extremely tight. I’ve been lucky that my company covers all the start up fees otherwise, I simply would be able to afford to publish. On the note of money, and doing stuff for oneself… Do you have any advice for other writers?
Yeah, get over the idea that you’re going to get rich, that you’ll write a bestseller. The age old advice that resonates with me is, write because you have no choice. The stories are in your head demanding to be released, and you’re just an instrument. Write because you have to, read like mad to learn, pay close attention to grammar and other technical details of your craft. Houses don’t get built by carpenters who can’t drive a nail.
Do you have anything specific that you want to say to your readers? Thank you for reading, even if you have critical things to say about my books. Your feedback is an important part of my process.
Haha I think I might actually do that from now on LOL What do you do in your down time? Watch TV (news, nature, crime, vet, ancient aliens); Stare out the window into the Ozark woods where I live; deal with dogs and cats; build fires in my woodstove to keep warm; deal with real life—rental property, kids, family drama, bills...
In four words, describe yourself.
Hermit. Driven. Hard ass. Empath.
What are your top ten snacks while writing?
Tea, preferably Assam or Darjeeling. Apple. Salted almonds. That is all.
Awesome! Well, that’s for letting me interview you, and I hope everyone likes your books as much as I do! :)
*Read an excerpt of her work here!*
Author Spotlight: Lizzie Ashworth (Works)
Since I've been posting my stories and poems online, I've met a lot of wonderful writers. That is why I have decided to do an author/poet spotlight whenever I meet a truly remarkable individual over the web. I'll do an online interview with them, and post some of their content, and links so you can read more of their work.
Here is an except from Lizzie Ashworth's novel Jarrod Bancroft, Book II:
“I’m just about fed up with this goddamn weather,” Chris Patterson grumbled, kicking his boot against the logs in his massive fireplace. A shower of sparks flew out from the inferno, but he didn’t back away.
Macie flashed back to the time she stood there, stripped of clothing and her dignity, following Chris’s command—really, just his suggestion—that she explore her real self and bring herself to orgasm in front of him. The experience had been shattering. And the beginning of a new life.
“It’s winter,” she replied, glancing out the big window at snow—more snow!—cascading down. Torrents of big fat flakes rippled down through the gray daylight. “It’s supposed to be shitty weather.”
He shot her an annoyed glance. “When I was younger, I considered winter a perfect playground. Snow, ice—however bad it got, I was challenged to conquer it. Get out in a vehicle and head for the steepest hills, the nastiest curves, and see if I could make it. Got myself in a few great jams that way.” He smiled. “Ah, youth.”
“Yes, well, I’ve never been tempted that way. It seems my challenges are more internal.” She pulled her tweed jacket tighter around her midsection, squeezing the corduroy vest and turtleneck close to her skin. This damn mansion of Chris’s might look fabulous, but the place was cold. But then, so was the Academy. The energy costs to run that place, keeping it decently warm for a bunch of people running around butt naked, well, she had promised herself not to think about the Academy today.
Chris’ gray eyes fixed on her with an analyzing stare. “What are you doing, Macie? Why back away from what you’ve worked so hard to create?”
So much for not thinking about the Academy.
“Of course you ask,” she said, buying time. She had thought this through, more than once, but what if her reasoning didn’t withstand the piercing scrutiny of Chris Patterson? She found herself lifting her chin and feeling defensive. “It was starting to feel old. Predictable.”
He nodded, lifting his elbow from the mantel and moving toward a big leather wingback. He motioned to the other chair and she perched.
“Yes,” he said finally. “That’s to be expected, I suppose, that when you become competent, even excellent, at something, that the challenge would seem to disappear. Then discontent creeps in around the edges, and you start to feel disdain for yourself. Too easy,” he said, stippling his fingers under his chin and riveting his gaze on her face.
It struck her that his eyes were exactly the color of the gray-white sky framed by the heavy gold draperies behind him. His white bushy eyebrows and full head of white hair didn’t make him seem old as much as it accented the tan creases of his powerful face. He must have been a striking man in his time. Hell, he was striking now, in an intimidating kind of way. A fierce dom. A light rush swept over her skin at the thought of being at his mercy.
“What’s the challenge now?” he said, casting a sideways glance with his eyebrows raised.
“Uh,” she stammered. “I don’t know, really. I’m a little off balance.”
“Jarrod have anything to do with this?”
Macie shifted in the chair, scooting back and crossing her legs. His question hit too close to something she didn’t want to talk about. Couldn’t talk about. “Not really,” she said, an utter lie. “I had started to be irritated before he entered the picture. It’s—I don’t really see why I should be the one. The responsibility for all these people’s lives...”
He nodded and stared out the window. The high dark-paneled walls of his library echoed the crackle of the fire. “Is that how you saw it, really? That you were responsible? Didn’t the people make their own decision to come there? Didn’t they pay for a service you offered? How was that your responsibility?”
Her mouth opened and closed. “But I was responsible. I reviewed each one, their history, education, all the intimate details our investigations produced. I made decisions about who could enter and how they would be treated.”
“At their request, I’d point out. Their wishes, their secret desires, which they told you in writing in order for you to try to fulfill them. That’s no small point, Madam Fitzgerald. They came to you in extreme need.”
“I’m cursed with this, then, aren’t I? This ability to sense what it is people need even when they haven’t exactly said it? Or even figured it out? What makes me right, Chris? What if I’m wrong?”
“You’re successful—the Academy is successful—because you have that talent. Surely you recognize that. What the hell do you think would happen if you didn’t have that ability? People would come hoping to find out some inner truth, some new way of accepting themselves, and go away disappointed. This isn’t something just anyone can pull off, you know.” He stood up and went to a side table to pick up a teapot from under a cozy. “Tea?”
“Yes, please.”
The cup of tea warmed her hands and left a comforting trail down her throat. How typical that this gruff man served tea in fine bone china. He meant for her to see something, and she had known at his phoned invitation this morning that he would rake her over the coals. After all, he had been key to her awakening, and in a way, she had credited him with not only her personal epiphany but also her inspiration for the Academy. Why did she just now consider the extreme likelihood that the old dog had manipulated the entire idea?
“You know, I’ve considered that maybe your years of teaching school provided the perfect training for your role at the Academy. You’re sensitive and intelligent, and anyone with those capabilities and the motivation to teach would be forced to try to get into the minds and hearts of a bunch of promising kids. I personally can’t think of a more heartbreaking pursuit than to teach. So many reasons that most of your efforts would be fruitless.” He adjusted the thick sleeves of his dark gray sweater over pristine white shirt cuffs and leaned forward. “At least, it probably seems fruitless, but you don’t know about the rest of their lives. There were teachers for all of us who said things, or forced us to do things, that later—I mean years later—popped back into our minds as a valuable key to some part of ourselves. How few of us manage to ever reconnect with those people in our lives? You can’t ever really know the outcome of your efforts.”
“But that’s just it. What if the outcome isn’t always good? It’s one thing to force history down the throat of insolent seventeen-year-olds. But these activities at the Academy—these are adults, and the sex isn’t just sex. This stuff has psychological, emotional impact to the core of their being.”
“Yes, and they’re desperate for it.” He sipped his tea. “You think you’re responsible for Sam’s death.”
Her jaw dropped. She hadn’t really talked about Sam in any detail with Chris. And he wasn’t asking a question. “I, uh...” At a loss for words, she shook her head.
“Yes, of course you do, and you think that if you had recognized his need for domination, he wouldn’t have died.”
Her eyes filmed and she cleared her throat. “Yes, I think that’s possible,” she replied in a quiet voice. She’d spare herself asking Chris how he knew.
“What if you’re wrong? How does that change your viewpoint? And ask yourself this,” he said leaning toward her. “Would you be any less a dom? Would you have less motivation to force a willing partner to submit? Or to give them what they need?”
She looked at him, unable to reply. These were questions she should have asked of herself, but hadn’t. Doubt and confusion swept over her.
“Would your domination have saved Sam’s life? Can you really say that it would?”
“I don’t know,” she finally whispered. “I think so.”
“So now you’re burdened with this towering sense of responsibility. If you learned that one of the Academy graduates died in a car crash tomorrow, would you blame yourself? What if one of them overdosed? Divorced? Ran off never to be heard of again? What about all the things that happen to these people that you never hear about? Macie,” he said, leaning toward her, “how far does your responsibility go?”
“No, of course, there is a limit. But when I’m there, when someone is looking at me with such expectation, that’s when the weight settles on me. I feel like I’m drowning.”
“Did you feel that way before Jarrod?”
Macie tried to think. Yes, she had been tired, even slightly bored, with the Academy proceedings. The routines had been established, even down to the special events tied to graduation proceedings. She had thought a vacation might be in order, but not really walking away from the whole thing. Her glance flickered in Chris’s direction.
“Not entirely,” she confessed.
“You care for him.”
Her cup and saucer clattered to the side table as she jumped up to stride to the window. With crossed arms, she hugged herself and worried about how she would push through this new layer of snow to get back home. There would be snow plows out. Should she make a stop at the grocer?
“I made a mistake,” she finally replied. “He was—is—different. Graduation night, I gave in and broke my own rules. I started something I couldn’t finish. This thing we have going on, it’s wrong in so many ways.” She wheeled around. “I’ve brought him into my private life. He’s living with me.”
“Yes, I’ve heard.”
Macie shook her head. Another time she wouldn’t even ask how Chris knew. The man had ears all over town. “Well,” she rushed on, “I’ve realized I have to step away from everything. I’m thinking of moving, actually.”
“On the run.”
“No, just, well, facing reality. I’m a mess.”
Chris nodded. Damn. His eyes seemed full of sympathy. She hated this.
“It does seem you have some things to think through,” he replied.
She waited. Surely he had some sage advice, some hint about where he thought she should go with all this. She watched as he bent at the fireplace to lever another big log into the flames.
He came to where she stood and put his arm around her shoulders. “I wish I knew what to tell you, dear, but I’m afraid these are your decisions. I’d suggest you lighten up on yourself, see what bubbles to the surface.”
“Damn it, I don’t want to see what bubbles up,” she retorted, surprised at her emotion.
“Yes, well, that’s the hell in it all, isn’t it?” He laughed lightly as he led her through to the entry hall and held her long coat as she stuffed her arms through. “Would you like me to have Pierce drive you?”
She shook her head. “No, thanks. The Rover will get me there. You’ve done quite enough, thank you.”
A big smile creased his weathered face. “Yes, I suspect I have. Nevertheless, please give me a call if you need anything.”
“Yes, of course.” She leaned up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “Thanks, Chris. Although I’m not sure for what, exactly.”
His smile broadened and he winked as she slipped out the door.
***
What indeed? The question kept breaking into her thoughts as she maneuvered through light traffic and an increasingly difficult roadway. On impulse, she pulled into the crowded parking lot at the supermarket and made her way down one aisle and then another, tossing things into the basket without any real plan. Part of her wanted to snuggle into a cozy domestic situation with Jarrod, snow piled high outside, a pot of soup simmering on the stove, maybe a pie in the oven, and his rumbling baritone muttering sweet nothings in her ear. The other part wanted to run, fast, to her office and lock herself inside where she would scan potential vacation spots and book her flight. Leave tomorrow or, well, as soon as the runways cleared.
She hated to admit to herself that she had no real plan. Even more to the point, it was completely out of character for her to take such a big step without a thorough plan in place. She might fluff off that point by saying it was high time she did something spontaneous, but she wasn’t in such extreme denial that she could ignore the fact that she was running away from something instead of running toward it.
The cart jammed against a red and pink display of Valentine candies. What the hell day was it, anyway? She pulled out her phone. February 14. Of all the... How had this slipped up on her? But then, what the hell difference did it make? Sentiments like “Only You” and “Be Mine” were best left on little heart-shaped candies to be exchanged in grade school. A line of tables stretched down the entire produce department aisle with gift boxes of sweets and red roses. Transparent red cellophane caught up in big clusters over boxes of candy, secured with big shiny bows. Fluffy teddy bears, cute sparkly flower arrangements, potted plants with red ribbon…
Shit. She wanted to cry. And why? What the hell difference did it make, she asked herself angrily. Any holiday might summon a sense of loneliness, of having no relationship that involved the intimacy of gift giving or silly cards. Hadn’t she long since outgrown those kinds of stupid expectations?
She stared down at the cart, realizing there were things that she didn’t remember putting there, and she actually considered, briefly, that she might be having a nervous breakdown. A war waged inside her, what to put back, what to add. Instead, with tears brimming her eyes, she snatched up her purse and walked away from the cart and out of the store into the cold.
The car heater warmed up quickly, faster than she could decide what to do next. She sat there with exhaust whipping sideways in the wind and snow piling up on the wipers, her hands tucked under her thighs as she tried to sort through the jumble of thoughts. Nothing made sense.
Chris was right about one thing. The situation with Jarrod had gotten out of hand. Had been out of hand from the minute she had seen his application to enter training at the Academy. Much as she had tried to treat him like any other trainee, there had been a personal agenda. The attraction she had felt for him as a lanky teen dripping with testosterone had simply added fuel to the flames that burst out the minute she saw him.
She remembered Chris’s recommendation that she accept Jarrod into the program: I have full confidence that he is aware of what he is asking, and that his intentions are unshakable... It occurred to her now that perhaps Chris had dabbled in a bit of maneuvering. Did he think there would be something between her and Jarrod? Had Jarrod said something about an old crush on a high school teacher, and Chris thought he’d play agent provocateur? She had known from the beginning that something about Jarrod bloomed outside her comfort zone, and she had foolishly strolled down the garden path anyway.
Memories of Jarrod’s training raced through her mind, the first time she saw him standing naked in that trainee room. Sublime male beauty, enough to take her breath at the mere thought. But it had been the sheer force of his personality more than anything about his body that had captured her attention both as a seventeen-year-old and more recently at the Academy. As a man, even though ten years her junior, he provoked and incited her until she felt constantly on edge. The few times she had determined to sit down and figure it out, to regain some measure of control over herself, the only thing she figured out was that she didn’t want to figure it out. Whatever wizardry he possessed, no matter how ridiculous it made her, she wanted it to stay behind the curtain.
She buried the palms of her hands against her wet eyes and leaned back. Cars came and went from the grocery parking lot, and the snow showed no sign of relenting. If she fucked around here long enough in her little funk, she truly might not make it home. With a sigh, she put the car in gear and eased onto the road.
Loved it? Buy it!Erotic Romance by Lizzie Ashworth:Jarrod Bancroft Books I, II, and III:It started innocently enough. A rich young man in search of adventure in sadistic humiliation. An older woman intent on her profession as dominatrix. Their crossed paths should have been six weeks of a purely business relationship.But things never go as planned.The story of Jarrod Bancroft becomes much more than scenes of extreme sexual kink. Hope rejected, regret and anguish, terror in captivity, and an awful truth about Jarrod’s family emerge in this richly-presented series. Told in stunning detail, Jarrod Bancroft’s adventure reveals old lies, ugly threats, and the raw human need for love.Book 1 is free: http://www.amazon.com/Jarrod-Bancroft-Book-Gift-ebook/dp/B00GYGE3ZM/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1415899196&sr=1-1&keywords=jarrod+bancroft Book 2: http://www.amazon.com/Jarrod-Bancroft-Book-II-Valentines-ebook/dp/B00HWHM2SW/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1415899243&sr=1-2&keywords=jarrod+bancroftBook 3:http://www.amazon.com/Jarrod-Bancroft-Book-III-Homecoming-ebook/dp/B00K3XN0OW/ref=sr_1_3?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1415899279&sr=1-3&keywords=jarrod+bancroftJarrod Bancroft: The Novel is the paperback edition containing all parts:http://www.amazon.com/Jarrod-Bancroft-Novel-Lizzie-Ashworth/dp/1500620793/ref=sr_1_cc_1?s=aps&ie=UTF8&qid=1415899332&sr=1-1-catcorr&keywords=Jarrod+Bancroft
And check out an expert from here new Dystopian novel!
NEW RELEASE:Dystopia novel Salvation, House of Rae Book ISummer 2059. Fires burn out of control contaminating crops and water supplies with poison particulate. Carbon film infection runs rampant, spreading its devastating brown death across the globe. Only the mysterious effects of pleasure energy clear the infection. Transmitted from dance centers, meditation rooms, and sex houses to the healing grids by psionic adepts, pleasure energy ignites controversy and dissent. Or the disease is a lie fabricated by the liberty culture. According to the Brotherhood, these are the end times, hastened by the world’s slide into moral decay. Young Josh Carter, fourth generation Brotherhood, has trained for years to combat this lie, to right the wrongs. Now the time has arrived. His mission—get inside the House of Rae sex house and take it down.Excerpt:This edgy feeling won’t go away. It’s been in my neck for days. I think it’s the mission, but I’ve known about the mission for a long time. This is different.
It’s not the fire either. By the time I finished high school last year, the countryside had been on fire for years. When the fires range within a hundred miles, there’s a glow at night. They burn toward us from out past Leavenworth or Topeka, sparked by lightning or agricultural machinery. Every dawn and every sunset carries the orange-red hue of smoke in the air even when real clouds gather.
We drive along in the hot wind tinged with smoke scent. Bits of music break through the engine noise, pealing out from shops and street cafes, nightclubs and dance centers. Crowds throng the sidewalks now that the sun has set, families with eager children, groups of enthusiastic young people, loving couples staring into each other’s eyes. You’d think, looking at them, that the world wasn’t in its last days, that we’d just go on living like we always have rolling around in our desires, our appetites. I used to think I wanted that, what everybody else had. I know better now.
I keep my face turned away from Uncle Dan. Even as well trained and dedicated as he’s raised me, I can’t stop my feelings. There’s excitement in that crowd, in all these throngs along the streets. It travels through the night and hits me in my chest. Makes my stomach tight. Just once, I’d like to mingle in those crowds, smell the tobacco and marijuana smoke, the beer. I’d like to hear the laughter up close, stare into the colorful lights and video displays. I’d like to know how it feels, that pleasure, that freedom to sin.
http://www.amazon.com/Salvation-House-Rae-Book-1-ebook/dp/B00PD8LNX2/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1415900003&sr=1-1&keywords=salvation+lizzie+ashworth
*You can read the interview here!*
Here is an except from Lizzie Ashworth's novel Jarrod Bancroft, Book II:
“I’m just about fed up with this goddamn weather,” Chris Patterson grumbled, kicking his boot against the logs in his massive fireplace. A shower of sparks flew out from the inferno, but he didn’t back away.
Macie flashed back to the time she stood there, stripped of clothing and her dignity, following Chris’s command—really, just his suggestion—that she explore her real self and bring herself to orgasm in front of him. The experience had been shattering. And the beginning of a new life.
“It’s winter,” she replied, glancing out the big window at snow—more snow!—cascading down. Torrents of big fat flakes rippled down through the gray daylight. “It’s supposed to be shitty weather.”
He shot her an annoyed glance. “When I was younger, I considered winter a perfect playground. Snow, ice—however bad it got, I was challenged to conquer it. Get out in a vehicle and head for the steepest hills, the nastiest curves, and see if I could make it. Got myself in a few great jams that way.” He smiled. “Ah, youth.”
“Yes, well, I’ve never been tempted that way. It seems my challenges are more internal.” She pulled her tweed jacket tighter around her midsection, squeezing the corduroy vest and turtleneck close to her skin. This damn mansion of Chris’s might look fabulous, but the place was cold. But then, so was the Academy. The energy costs to run that place, keeping it decently warm for a bunch of people running around butt naked, well, she had promised herself not to think about the Academy today.
Chris’ gray eyes fixed on her with an analyzing stare. “What are you doing, Macie? Why back away from what you’ve worked so hard to create?”
So much for not thinking about the Academy.
“Of course you ask,” she said, buying time. She had thought this through, more than once, but what if her reasoning didn’t withstand the piercing scrutiny of Chris Patterson? She found herself lifting her chin and feeling defensive. “It was starting to feel old. Predictable.”
He nodded, lifting his elbow from the mantel and moving toward a big leather wingback. He motioned to the other chair and she perched.
“Yes,” he said finally. “That’s to be expected, I suppose, that when you become competent, even excellent, at something, that the challenge would seem to disappear. Then discontent creeps in around the edges, and you start to feel disdain for yourself. Too easy,” he said, stippling his fingers under his chin and riveting his gaze on her face.
It struck her that his eyes were exactly the color of the gray-white sky framed by the heavy gold draperies behind him. His white bushy eyebrows and full head of white hair didn’t make him seem old as much as it accented the tan creases of his powerful face. He must have been a striking man in his time. Hell, he was striking now, in an intimidating kind of way. A fierce dom. A light rush swept over her skin at the thought of being at his mercy.
“What’s the challenge now?” he said, casting a sideways glance with his eyebrows raised.
“Uh,” she stammered. “I don’t know, really. I’m a little off balance.”
“Jarrod have anything to do with this?”
Macie shifted in the chair, scooting back and crossing her legs. His question hit too close to something she didn’t want to talk about. Couldn’t talk about. “Not really,” she said, an utter lie. “I had started to be irritated before he entered the picture. It’s—I don’t really see why I should be the one. The responsibility for all these people’s lives...”
He nodded and stared out the window. The high dark-paneled walls of his library echoed the crackle of the fire. “Is that how you saw it, really? That you were responsible? Didn’t the people make their own decision to come there? Didn’t they pay for a service you offered? How was that your responsibility?”
Her mouth opened and closed. “But I was responsible. I reviewed each one, their history, education, all the intimate details our investigations produced. I made decisions about who could enter and how they would be treated.”
“At their request, I’d point out. Their wishes, their secret desires, which they told you in writing in order for you to try to fulfill them. That’s no small point, Madam Fitzgerald. They came to you in extreme need.”
“I’m cursed with this, then, aren’t I? This ability to sense what it is people need even when they haven’t exactly said it? Or even figured it out? What makes me right, Chris? What if I’m wrong?”
“You’re successful—the Academy is successful—because you have that talent. Surely you recognize that. What the hell do you think would happen if you didn’t have that ability? People would come hoping to find out some inner truth, some new way of accepting themselves, and go away disappointed. This isn’t something just anyone can pull off, you know.” He stood up and went to a side table to pick up a teapot from under a cozy. “Tea?”
“Yes, please.”
The cup of tea warmed her hands and left a comforting trail down her throat. How typical that this gruff man served tea in fine bone china. He meant for her to see something, and she had known at his phoned invitation this morning that he would rake her over the coals. After all, he had been key to her awakening, and in a way, she had credited him with not only her personal epiphany but also her inspiration for the Academy. Why did she just now consider the extreme likelihood that the old dog had manipulated the entire idea?
“You know, I’ve considered that maybe your years of teaching school provided the perfect training for your role at the Academy. You’re sensitive and intelligent, and anyone with those capabilities and the motivation to teach would be forced to try to get into the minds and hearts of a bunch of promising kids. I personally can’t think of a more heartbreaking pursuit than to teach. So many reasons that most of your efforts would be fruitless.” He adjusted the thick sleeves of his dark gray sweater over pristine white shirt cuffs and leaned forward. “At least, it probably seems fruitless, but you don’t know about the rest of their lives. There were teachers for all of us who said things, or forced us to do things, that later—I mean years later—popped back into our minds as a valuable key to some part of ourselves. How few of us manage to ever reconnect with those people in our lives? You can’t ever really know the outcome of your efforts.”
“But that’s just it. What if the outcome isn’t always good? It’s one thing to force history down the throat of insolent seventeen-year-olds. But these activities at the Academy—these are adults, and the sex isn’t just sex. This stuff has psychological, emotional impact to the core of their being.”
“Yes, and they’re desperate for it.” He sipped his tea. “You think you’re responsible for Sam’s death.”
Her jaw dropped. She hadn’t really talked about Sam in any detail with Chris. And he wasn’t asking a question. “I, uh...” At a loss for words, she shook her head.
“Yes, of course you do, and you think that if you had recognized his need for domination, he wouldn’t have died.”
Her eyes filmed and she cleared her throat. “Yes, I think that’s possible,” she replied in a quiet voice. She’d spare herself asking Chris how he knew.
“What if you’re wrong? How does that change your viewpoint? And ask yourself this,” he said leaning toward her. “Would you be any less a dom? Would you have less motivation to force a willing partner to submit? Or to give them what they need?”
She looked at him, unable to reply. These were questions she should have asked of herself, but hadn’t. Doubt and confusion swept over her.
“Would your domination have saved Sam’s life? Can you really say that it would?”
“I don’t know,” she finally whispered. “I think so.”
“So now you’re burdened with this towering sense of responsibility. If you learned that one of the Academy graduates died in a car crash tomorrow, would you blame yourself? What if one of them overdosed? Divorced? Ran off never to be heard of again? What about all the things that happen to these people that you never hear about? Macie,” he said, leaning toward her, “how far does your responsibility go?”
“No, of course, there is a limit. But when I’m there, when someone is looking at me with such expectation, that’s when the weight settles on me. I feel like I’m drowning.”
“Did you feel that way before Jarrod?”
Macie tried to think. Yes, she had been tired, even slightly bored, with the Academy proceedings. The routines had been established, even down to the special events tied to graduation proceedings. She had thought a vacation might be in order, but not really walking away from the whole thing. Her glance flickered in Chris’s direction.
“Not entirely,” she confessed.
“You care for him.”
Her cup and saucer clattered to the side table as she jumped up to stride to the window. With crossed arms, she hugged herself and worried about how she would push through this new layer of snow to get back home. There would be snow plows out. Should she make a stop at the grocer?
“I made a mistake,” she finally replied. “He was—is—different. Graduation night, I gave in and broke my own rules. I started something I couldn’t finish. This thing we have going on, it’s wrong in so many ways.” She wheeled around. “I’ve brought him into my private life. He’s living with me.”
“Yes, I’ve heard.”
Macie shook her head. Another time she wouldn’t even ask how Chris knew. The man had ears all over town. “Well,” she rushed on, “I’ve realized I have to step away from everything. I’m thinking of moving, actually.”
“On the run.”
“No, just, well, facing reality. I’m a mess.”
Chris nodded. Damn. His eyes seemed full of sympathy. She hated this.
“It does seem you have some things to think through,” he replied.
She waited. Surely he had some sage advice, some hint about where he thought she should go with all this. She watched as he bent at the fireplace to lever another big log into the flames.
He came to where she stood and put his arm around her shoulders. “I wish I knew what to tell you, dear, but I’m afraid these are your decisions. I’d suggest you lighten up on yourself, see what bubbles to the surface.”
“Damn it, I don’t want to see what bubbles up,” she retorted, surprised at her emotion.
“Yes, well, that’s the hell in it all, isn’t it?” He laughed lightly as he led her through to the entry hall and held her long coat as she stuffed her arms through. “Would you like me to have Pierce drive you?”
She shook her head. “No, thanks. The Rover will get me there. You’ve done quite enough, thank you.”
A big smile creased his weathered face. “Yes, I suspect I have. Nevertheless, please give me a call if you need anything.”
“Yes, of course.” She leaned up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “Thanks, Chris. Although I’m not sure for what, exactly.”
His smile broadened and he winked as she slipped out the door.
***
What indeed? The question kept breaking into her thoughts as she maneuvered through light traffic and an increasingly difficult roadway. On impulse, she pulled into the crowded parking lot at the supermarket and made her way down one aisle and then another, tossing things into the basket without any real plan. Part of her wanted to snuggle into a cozy domestic situation with Jarrod, snow piled high outside, a pot of soup simmering on the stove, maybe a pie in the oven, and his rumbling baritone muttering sweet nothings in her ear. The other part wanted to run, fast, to her office and lock herself inside where she would scan potential vacation spots and book her flight. Leave tomorrow or, well, as soon as the runways cleared.
She hated to admit to herself that she had no real plan. Even more to the point, it was completely out of character for her to take such a big step without a thorough plan in place. She might fluff off that point by saying it was high time she did something spontaneous, but she wasn’t in such extreme denial that she could ignore the fact that she was running away from something instead of running toward it.
The cart jammed against a red and pink display of Valentine candies. What the hell day was it, anyway? She pulled out her phone. February 14. Of all the... How had this slipped up on her? But then, what the hell difference did it make? Sentiments like “Only You” and “Be Mine” were best left on little heart-shaped candies to be exchanged in grade school. A line of tables stretched down the entire produce department aisle with gift boxes of sweets and red roses. Transparent red cellophane caught up in big clusters over boxes of candy, secured with big shiny bows. Fluffy teddy bears, cute sparkly flower arrangements, potted plants with red ribbon…
Shit. She wanted to cry. And why? What the hell difference did it make, she asked herself angrily. Any holiday might summon a sense of loneliness, of having no relationship that involved the intimacy of gift giving or silly cards. Hadn’t she long since outgrown those kinds of stupid expectations?
She stared down at the cart, realizing there were things that she didn’t remember putting there, and she actually considered, briefly, that she might be having a nervous breakdown. A war waged inside her, what to put back, what to add. Instead, with tears brimming her eyes, she snatched up her purse and walked away from the cart and out of the store into the cold.
The car heater warmed up quickly, faster than she could decide what to do next. She sat there with exhaust whipping sideways in the wind and snow piling up on the wipers, her hands tucked under her thighs as she tried to sort through the jumble of thoughts. Nothing made sense.
Chris was right about one thing. The situation with Jarrod had gotten out of hand. Had been out of hand from the minute she had seen his application to enter training at the Academy. Much as she had tried to treat him like any other trainee, there had been a personal agenda. The attraction she had felt for him as a lanky teen dripping with testosterone had simply added fuel to the flames that burst out the minute she saw him.
She remembered Chris’s recommendation that she accept Jarrod into the program: I have full confidence that he is aware of what he is asking, and that his intentions are unshakable... It occurred to her now that perhaps Chris had dabbled in a bit of maneuvering. Did he think there would be something between her and Jarrod? Had Jarrod said something about an old crush on a high school teacher, and Chris thought he’d play agent provocateur? She had known from the beginning that something about Jarrod bloomed outside her comfort zone, and she had foolishly strolled down the garden path anyway.
Memories of Jarrod’s training raced through her mind, the first time she saw him standing naked in that trainee room. Sublime male beauty, enough to take her breath at the mere thought. But it had been the sheer force of his personality more than anything about his body that had captured her attention both as a seventeen-year-old and more recently at the Academy. As a man, even though ten years her junior, he provoked and incited her until she felt constantly on edge. The few times she had determined to sit down and figure it out, to regain some measure of control over herself, the only thing she figured out was that she didn’t want to figure it out. Whatever wizardry he possessed, no matter how ridiculous it made her, she wanted it to stay behind the curtain.
She buried the palms of her hands against her wet eyes and leaned back. Cars came and went from the grocery parking lot, and the snow showed no sign of relenting. If she fucked around here long enough in her little funk, she truly might not make it home. With a sigh, she put the car in gear and eased onto the road.
Loved it? Buy it!Erotic Romance by Lizzie Ashworth:Jarrod Bancroft Books I, II, and III:It started innocently enough. A rich young man in search of adventure in sadistic humiliation. An older woman intent on her profession as dominatrix. Their crossed paths should have been six weeks of a purely business relationship.But things never go as planned.The story of Jarrod Bancroft becomes much more than scenes of extreme sexual kink. Hope rejected, regret and anguish, terror in captivity, and an awful truth about Jarrod’s family emerge in this richly-presented series. Told in stunning detail, Jarrod Bancroft’s adventure reveals old lies, ugly threats, and the raw human need for love.Book 1 is free: http://www.amazon.com/Jarrod-Bancroft-Book-Gift-ebook/dp/B00GYGE3ZM/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1415899196&sr=1-1&keywords=jarrod+bancroft Book 2: http://www.amazon.com/Jarrod-Bancroft-Book-II-Valentines-ebook/dp/B00HWHM2SW/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1415899243&sr=1-2&keywords=jarrod+bancroftBook 3:http://www.amazon.com/Jarrod-Bancroft-Book-III-Homecoming-ebook/dp/B00K3XN0OW/ref=sr_1_3?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1415899279&sr=1-3&keywords=jarrod+bancroftJarrod Bancroft: The Novel is the paperback edition containing all parts:http://www.amazon.com/Jarrod-Bancroft-Novel-Lizzie-Ashworth/dp/1500620793/ref=sr_1_cc_1?s=aps&ie=UTF8&qid=1415899332&sr=1-1-catcorr&keywords=Jarrod+Bancroft
And check out an expert from here new Dystopian novel!
NEW RELEASE:Dystopia novel Salvation, House of Rae Book ISummer 2059. Fires burn out of control contaminating crops and water supplies with poison particulate. Carbon film infection runs rampant, spreading its devastating brown death across the globe. Only the mysterious effects of pleasure energy clear the infection. Transmitted from dance centers, meditation rooms, and sex houses to the healing grids by psionic adepts, pleasure energy ignites controversy and dissent. Or the disease is a lie fabricated by the liberty culture. According to the Brotherhood, these are the end times, hastened by the world’s slide into moral decay. Young Josh Carter, fourth generation Brotherhood, has trained for years to combat this lie, to right the wrongs. Now the time has arrived. His mission—get inside the House of Rae sex house and take it down.Excerpt:This edgy feeling won’t go away. It’s been in my neck for days. I think it’s the mission, but I’ve known about the mission for a long time. This is different.
It’s not the fire either. By the time I finished high school last year, the countryside had been on fire for years. When the fires range within a hundred miles, there’s a glow at night. They burn toward us from out past Leavenworth or Topeka, sparked by lightning or agricultural machinery. Every dawn and every sunset carries the orange-red hue of smoke in the air even when real clouds gather.
We drive along in the hot wind tinged with smoke scent. Bits of music break through the engine noise, pealing out from shops and street cafes, nightclubs and dance centers. Crowds throng the sidewalks now that the sun has set, families with eager children, groups of enthusiastic young people, loving couples staring into each other’s eyes. You’d think, looking at them, that the world wasn’t in its last days, that we’d just go on living like we always have rolling around in our desires, our appetites. I used to think I wanted that, what everybody else had. I know better now.
I keep my face turned away from Uncle Dan. Even as well trained and dedicated as he’s raised me, I can’t stop my feelings. There’s excitement in that crowd, in all these throngs along the streets. It travels through the night and hits me in my chest. Makes my stomach tight. Just once, I’d like to mingle in those crowds, smell the tobacco and marijuana smoke, the beer. I’d like to hear the laughter up close, stare into the colorful lights and video displays. I’d like to know how it feels, that pleasure, that freedom to sin.
http://www.amazon.com/Salvation-House-Rae-Book-1-ebook/dp/B00PD8LNX2/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1415900003&sr=1-1&keywords=salvation+lizzie+ashworth
*You can read the interview here!*
Author Spotlight: Lizzie Ashworth (Interview)
Since I've been posting my stories and poems online. I've met a lot of wonderful writers. That is why I have decided to do an author/poet spotlight whenever I meet a truly remarkable individual over the web. I'll do an online interview with them, post some of their work, and links so you can read more of their stuff.
Today's author is Lizzie Ashworth. I virtually sat down with Lizzie and asked him a few questions.
***
Hi Lizzie! I’m so glad to have you. So, let’s just jump in here! When and why did you begin writing?
When I was five, I created a little book from cut up pieces of notebook paper, maybe five inches square. My mom helped me create a binding with yarn. I have no idea what happened to it, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it turned up in one of her scrapbooks somewhere. I wrote because it seemed the thing to do. My mother was one of nine children and their family round robin circulated often. She also slaved over a family history of her mother’s family that she finally published a few years ago. We were a family of readers—always had books around.
Wow. That’s a great history. And nine children? I can only imagine what kind of research your mother had to do for her own book. So did you consider yourself a write at five, or when you were older?
At least by junior high, I was trying to write fiction. I remember starting a sci-fi with the description of an orange sky. And then I didn’t know what else happened. In tenth grade, I discovered metaphors and that threw me into poetry as my main outlet. In college, it was all about gaining a profession, so I majored in English with as many electives as possible in writing classes—poetry and fiction. I fully embraced the idea of being a writer by the age of twenty, but it took a lot longer to make that real.
At twenty? That’s incredible! So what inspired you to write your first book?
You know, life has a lot of twists and turns. One year out of college, I discovered that being locked up in a classroom all day with a bunch of insolent adolescents was simply something I could not do. I ended up being the owner/operator of a rural gas station/grocery and lived in the back, then met someone and moved to the woods to have babies. After my dad retired from teaching high school band, I’d just had my second child and he needed a helper in his hobby/moonlighting job of piano tuning and repair. That became a thirty year career for me, convenient because I could schedule appointments around the needs of my three children. During those years, I wrote a few articles for the local free weekly, mostly interviews and personal essays. But what began collecting in a file folders were observations about my work, the pianos, the places, the people. And so in the mid-90s, my first book was published, a non-fiction collection of my essays entitled Notes of a Piano Tuner.
After that, I continued to write local history and biographical profiles, mostly articles for the county historical society. So when I decided to start writing erotic fiction, I took a pen name of Lizzie Ashworth so readers familiar with my non-fiction didn’t pick up an erotica and have their hair burst into flames.. Hers to Choose, my first book as Liz, was a result of stepping into the romance genre after two decades and discovering it had come out of the closet. That inspired me to write material that I call “legal porn.”
That’s such an interesting history. Yeah, I’m not sure my hair wouldn’t have burst into flames if the piano tuner mother down the street turned out to be an erotica writer. Then, because you write both nonfiction and fiction, is there a specific style you write in?
My tendency is toward excessive description. Every nuance of the environment, appearance, sensory experience ends up on the page. I’m slowly learning to stop this. My challenge is to build stories strong on action and character instead of scenery. But I will never give up my need to give readers an immersive reading experience.
Neither do I think you should. Having the ability to create a world for your characters is honestly half the battle of writing, especially when writing about sex. It’s all feeling.
How did you come up with the titles for your stories?
Ah, titles. It’s a laborious process, trying to distill the meaning of the work into a word or two. Plus, it has to resonate with the prospective audience. And it has to stand out in a very crowded marketplace. I wouldn’t say I’ve mastered the process, by any stretch, but I’m getting better.
Titles are hard things. I still have trouble, and I’m contemplating just telling my publisher to come up with a title that sells. But then I remember that’s not the main goal of my writing, and probably yours. It’s all about the message, and what you want readers to get out of your story. On that note, is there a message in your novel that you want readers to grasp?
All my novels are about more than what the characters are doing on the page. In my erotica, the bottom line message is that sex is more than sex. It’s spiritual. It’s transformative. It’s a process of discovery for everyone involved. In my latest release, which is a dystopia, there are multiple messages having to do with our beliefs, our desires—what it means at our core to be human.
I definitely got that feel from your novel. I’m not going to give spoilers away, but I completely understand transforming through sex. I think that you’re strength really lies there. So are these experiences you write about, based on someone you know, or events in your own life?
I think it’s impossible to write without drawing from all the people and experiences the author has lived through. Our understanding of ourselves is formed this way, and so is our view of the world. As far as specific people contributing to particular characters or storylines, I can think of maybe one person/event that triggered an idea for a character and story, but that’s not the norm. My stories come to me in dreams, or in a moment staring out the window, or from something I read or see on television, and I try to figure out what it means as my fingers create words and paragraphs.
Mm-hmm, I agree. I don’t think any author has written a book that wasn’t part of them in one way or another. Is there anything you find particularly challenging in your writing?
Plot! I never could play chess, and thinking more than two moves ahead strains my brain. I’m getting better, but so far my best method is to develop the characters and let them guide me.
You see I’m completely different. I love chess and set all my books up like a game. But then I get lost or confused because I forgot the moves I’ve already made. *shaking my head* It’s funny. Do you have particular novels that have really influenced your life?
All the early sci-fi was a strong influence—Huxley, Vonnegut, Asimov. I’ve read a lot of romance, too, but I can’t say there was much that stuck with me from that. I love nonfiction, especially archaeology, prehistory and ancient history, writings of Romans like Julius Caesar and Greeks like Herodotus. I loved the mind opening effects of the ancient astronaut books by von Daniken. I also remember one book I read that blew my socks off about sacred sexuality.
Who is your favorite author and what is it that really strikes you about their work?
Right now I’m deeply hooked on M. John Harrison. He’s an amazing sci-fi writing, probably best known for his early work entitled The Centauri Device. The first book of his that I read was Viriconium, and I fell in love with his use of language above all else, but also his ability to take me to a totally unexpected place and make it feel familiar! After that, I’ve read some of this works that didn’t appeal so much, but his latest series of Light, Nova Swing, and most recently Empty Space—well, words don’t describe. All I can say is, I’ve been reading Empty Space for a year. Over and over. Random passages. Each time I pick it up, it’s like I never read it before. His writing is that dense, that magical.
On the other hand, I read a lot of erotic romance. That’s recreational. I really love Tiffany Reisz and her Original Sinners series. I also have recently become a fan of J. A. Huss with her Rook and Ronin series and most recently her Social Media series. These women write hot, fast, and sassy stories that are great fun to read.
Then which writer, would you say, has influenced your work the most?
Strangely enough, since I began writing full time in 2012, Sylvia Day was the first strongest influence because I was interested in the style of romance that has come into vogue since my previous reading experiences of that genre. I was impressed with her ability to weave passion, action, and character development into her romances. I learn from every book I read, finding either things I was to try, or improve with my writing, or things not to do in my writing. I also recently read a book entitled Doc by Mary Doria Russell, a biography of Doc Holliday. About as far from Sylvia Day as you can get. I was thrilled with Russell’s use of language and the style of writing she used in this book. I’m working on a series of historical fiction based on the life of a female outlaw from the 1890s, and so Russell’s work was of particular interest.
I’m a fan of Sylvia Day myself. I keep re-reading The Stranger I Married. It’s my favorite of her books. What book are you reading now?
Uh, Archaeology magazine… I’m seriously in need of books to read, but I’ve been delaying my next trip to the library in order to get my new dystopia novel out for reviews.
Well hopefully you get to the bookstore soon! I can’t live without reading a new book every week, or starting it. Have you tried the Succubui Diaries? That’s my next series to read. It really caught my attention. Are there any new authors that have grasped your interest?
Not at this point in time.
I suppose that's because of your new dystopian novel. Do You have any other projects going on?
Romance—several short stories set in the British Isles circa 500 BC to 700 AD. Sci-fi—just released Salvation of my House of Rae series and am seeking beta readers for the second book in the series, Denial. Hope to begin work soon on the third book, but have set that on the back burner while I work on my female outlaw story. I’ve researched this woman for ten years, have tried to write a biography for her but there are too many holes in the historical record. So I’ve settled for a fictionalized history and am struggling with giving her the fullest possible development as a person. I’m also finishing the last details of a biography of a local attorney who had an incredible run until his death in 1965—absolutely fascinating character. I’ve worked on him for about a year. I can’t work on one thing at a time. Obviously.
Haha neither can I so I completely understand. It’s amazing you’re able to do some many vastly different things at once. I really commend that. Do you see writing as a career?
Yes, absolutely. I waited through other careers so I could devote myself to writing full time. I’ve been a teacher, secretary/admin assistant, gas station/grocery store owner/operator, wife and mother, goat farmer and back to the lander, registered piano technician, and cafe owner/operator/cook. Since the late 1980s, I’ve owned and managed commercial rental properties. One property is a funky old warehouse property I’ve refurbished as ten rental units for entry-level entrepreneurs. Right now there are two hair salons, an art gallery, a wine/champagne dive bar, a vintage musical instrument store, an art studio, and a vintage clothing boutique. The other property I bought and remodeled in 2005 to house 16 rehearsal studios for rock and roll bands. Through all that, writing has been burning holes in me as the ‘real’ thing.
Wow, that is a lot of different things! That’s incredible. Well then, if you had to do it all over again, would you change anything in your latest book?
I always think of things that could be tweaked, but at a certain point, it’s like ‘get out of my head!’ and I move on.
Switching gears a little… Who designed the covers?
I design my own covers. It’s a matter of money, not that I think I’m so great. But hey, I’m getting better. Me and Photoshop.
I understand. I’m a student, so money it extremely tight. I’ve been lucky that my company covers all the start up fees otherwise, I simply would be able to afford to publish. On the note of money, and doing stuff for oneself… Do you have any advice for other writers?
Yeah, get over the idea that you’re going to get rich, that you’ll write a bestseller. The age old advice that resonates with me is, write because you have no choice. The stories are in your head demanding to be released, and you’re just an instrument. Write because you have to, read like mad to learn, pay close attention to grammar and other technical details of your craft. Houses don’t get built by carpenters who can’t drive a nail.
Do you have anything specific that you want to say to your readers? Thank you for reading, even if you have critical things to say about my books. Your feedback is an important part of my process.
Haha I think I might actually do that from now on LOL What do you do in your down time? Watch TV (news, nature, crime, vet, ancient aliens); Stare out the window into the Ozark woods where I live; deal with dogs and cats; build fires in my woodstove to keep warm; deal with real life—rental property, kids, family drama, bills...
In four words, describe yourself.
Hermit. Driven. Hard ass. Empath.
What are your top ten snacks while writing?
Tea, preferably Assam or Darjeeling. Apple. Salted almonds. That is all.
Awesome! Well, that’s for letting me interview you, and I hope everyone likes your books as much as I do! :)
*Read an excerpt of her work here!*
Today's author is Lizzie Ashworth. I virtually sat down with Lizzie and asked him a few questions.
***
Hi Lizzie! I’m so glad to have you. So, let’s just jump in here! When and why did you begin writing?
When I was five, I created a little book from cut up pieces of notebook paper, maybe five inches square. My mom helped me create a binding with yarn. I have no idea what happened to it, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it turned up in one of her scrapbooks somewhere. I wrote because it seemed the thing to do. My mother was one of nine children and their family round robin circulated often. She also slaved over a family history of her mother’s family that she finally published a few years ago. We were a family of readers—always had books around.
Wow. That’s a great history. And nine children? I can only imagine what kind of research your mother had to do for her own book. So did you consider yourself a write at five, or when you were older?
At least by junior high, I was trying to write fiction. I remember starting a sci-fi with the description of an orange sky. And then I didn’t know what else happened. In tenth grade, I discovered metaphors and that threw me into poetry as my main outlet. In college, it was all about gaining a profession, so I majored in English with as many electives as possible in writing classes—poetry and fiction. I fully embraced the idea of being a writer by the age of twenty, but it took a lot longer to make that real.
At twenty? That’s incredible! So what inspired you to write your first book?
You know, life has a lot of twists and turns. One year out of college, I discovered that being locked up in a classroom all day with a bunch of insolent adolescents was simply something I could not do. I ended up being the owner/operator of a rural gas station/grocery and lived in the back, then met someone and moved to the woods to have babies. After my dad retired from teaching high school band, I’d just had my second child and he needed a helper in his hobby/moonlighting job of piano tuning and repair. That became a thirty year career for me, convenient because I could schedule appointments around the needs of my three children. During those years, I wrote a few articles for the local free weekly, mostly interviews and personal essays. But what began collecting in a file folders were observations about my work, the pianos, the places, the people. And so in the mid-90s, my first book was published, a non-fiction collection of my essays entitled Notes of a Piano Tuner.
After that, I continued to write local history and biographical profiles, mostly articles for the county historical society. So when I decided to start writing erotic fiction, I took a pen name of Lizzie Ashworth so readers familiar with my non-fiction didn’t pick up an erotica and have their hair burst into flames.. Hers to Choose, my first book as Liz, was a result of stepping into the romance genre after two decades and discovering it had come out of the closet. That inspired me to write material that I call “legal porn.”
That’s such an interesting history. Yeah, I’m not sure my hair wouldn’t have burst into flames if the piano tuner mother down the street turned out to be an erotica writer. Then, because you write both nonfiction and fiction, is there a specific style you write in?
My tendency is toward excessive description. Every nuance of the environment, appearance, sensory experience ends up on the page. I’m slowly learning to stop this. My challenge is to build stories strong on action and character instead of scenery. But I will never give up my need to give readers an immersive reading experience.
Neither do I think you should. Having the ability to create a world for your characters is honestly half the battle of writing, especially when writing about sex. It’s all feeling.
How did you come up with the titles for your stories?
Ah, titles. It’s a laborious process, trying to distill the meaning of the work into a word or two. Plus, it has to resonate with the prospective audience. And it has to stand out in a very crowded marketplace. I wouldn’t say I’ve mastered the process, by any stretch, but I’m getting better.
Titles are hard things. I still have trouble, and I’m contemplating just telling my publisher to come up with a title that sells. But then I remember that’s not the main goal of my writing, and probably yours. It’s all about the message, and what you want readers to get out of your story. On that note, is there a message in your novel that you want readers to grasp?
All my novels are about more than what the characters are doing on the page. In my erotica, the bottom line message is that sex is more than sex. It’s spiritual. It’s transformative. It’s a process of discovery for everyone involved. In my latest release, which is a dystopia, there are multiple messages having to do with our beliefs, our desires—what it means at our core to be human.
I definitely got that feel from your novel. I’m not going to give spoilers away, but I completely understand transforming through sex. I think that you’re strength really lies there. So are these experiences you write about, based on someone you know, or events in your own life?
I think it’s impossible to write without drawing from all the people and experiences the author has lived through. Our understanding of ourselves is formed this way, and so is our view of the world. As far as specific people contributing to particular characters or storylines, I can think of maybe one person/event that triggered an idea for a character and story, but that’s not the norm. My stories come to me in dreams, or in a moment staring out the window, or from something I read or see on television, and I try to figure out what it means as my fingers create words and paragraphs.
Mm-hmm, I agree. I don’t think any author has written a book that wasn’t part of them in one way or another. Is there anything you find particularly challenging in your writing?
Plot! I never could play chess, and thinking more than two moves ahead strains my brain. I’m getting better, but so far my best method is to develop the characters and let them guide me.
You see I’m completely different. I love chess and set all my books up like a game. But then I get lost or confused because I forgot the moves I’ve already made. *shaking my head* It’s funny. Do you have particular novels that have really influenced your life?
All the early sci-fi was a strong influence—Huxley, Vonnegut, Asimov. I’ve read a lot of romance, too, but I can’t say there was much that stuck with me from that. I love nonfiction, especially archaeology, prehistory and ancient history, writings of Romans like Julius Caesar and Greeks like Herodotus. I loved the mind opening effects of the ancient astronaut books by von Daniken. I also remember one book I read that blew my socks off about sacred sexuality.
Who is your favorite author and what is it that really strikes you about their work?
Right now I’m deeply hooked on M. John Harrison. He’s an amazing sci-fi writing, probably best known for his early work entitled The Centauri Device. The first book of his that I read was Viriconium, and I fell in love with his use of language above all else, but also his ability to take me to a totally unexpected place and make it feel familiar! After that, I’ve read some of this works that didn’t appeal so much, but his latest series of Light, Nova Swing, and most recently Empty Space—well, words don’t describe. All I can say is, I’ve been reading Empty Space for a year. Over and over. Random passages. Each time I pick it up, it’s like I never read it before. His writing is that dense, that magical.
On the other hand, I read a lot of erotic romance. That’s recreational. I really love Tiffany Reisz and her Original Sinners series. I also have recently become a fan of J. A. Huss with her Rook and Ronin series and most recently her Social Media series. These women write hot, fast, and sassy stories that are great fun to read.
Then which writer, would you say, has influenced your work the most?
Strangely enough, since I began writing full time in 2012, Sylvia Day was the first strongest influence because I was interested in the style of romance that has come into vogue since my previous reading experiences of that genre. I was impressed with her ability to weave passion, action, and character development into her romances. I learn from every book I read, finding either things I was to try, or improve with my writing, or things not to do in my writing. I also recently read a book entitled Doc by Mary Doria Russell, a biography of Doc Holliday. About as far from Sylvia Day as you can get. I was thrilled with Russell’s use of language and the style of writing she used in this book. I’m working on a series of historical fiction based on the life of a female outlaw from the 1890s, and so Russell’s work was of particular interest.
I’m a fan of Sylvia Day myself. I keep re-reading The Stranger I Married. It’s my favorite of her books. What book are you reading now?
Uh, Archaeology magazine… I’m seriously in need of books to read, but I’ve been delaying my next trip to the library in order to get my new dystopia novel out for reviews.
Well hopefully you get to the bookstore soon! I can’t live without reading a new book every week, or starting it. Have you tried the Succubui Diaries? That’s my next series to read. It really caught my attention. Are there any new authors that have grasped your interest?
Not at this point in time.
I suppose that's because of your new dystopian novel. Do You have any other projects going on?
Romance—several short stories set in the British Isles circa 500 BC to 700 AD. Sci-fi—just released Salvation of my House of Rae series and am seeking beta readers for the second book in the series, Denial. Hope to begin work soon on the third book, but have set that on the back burner while I work on my female outlaw story. I’ve researched this woman for ten years, have tried to write a biography for her but there are too many holes in the historical record. So I’ve settled for a fictionalized history and am struggling with giving her the fullest possible development as a person. I’m also finishing the last details of a biography of a local attorney who had an incredible run until his death in 1965—absolutely fascinating character. I’ve worked on him for about a year. I can’t work on one thing at a time. Obviously.
Haha neither can I so I completely understand. It’s amazing you’re able to do some many vastly different things at once. I really commend that. Do you see writing as a career?
Yes, absolutely. I waited through other careers so I could devote myself to writing full time. I’ve been a teacher, secretary/admin assistant, gas station/grocery store owner/operator, wife and mother, goat farmer and back to the lander, registered piano technician, and cafe owner/operator/cook. Since the late 1980s, I’ve owned and managed commercial rental properties. One property is a funky old warehouse property I’ve refurbished as ten rental units for entry-level entrepreneurs. Right now there are two hair salons, an art gallery, a wine/champagne dive bar, a vintage musical instrument store, an art studio, and a vintage clothing boutique. The other property I bought and remodeled in 2005 to house 16 rehearsal studios for rock and roll bands. Through all that, writing has been burning holes in me as the ‘real’ thing.
Wow, that is a lot of different things! That’s incredible. Well then, if you had to do it all over again, would you change anything in your latest book?
I always think of things that could be tweaked, but at a certain point, it’s like ‘get out of my head!’ and I move on.
Switching gears a little… Who designed the covers?
I design my own covers. It’s a matter of money, not that I think I’m so great. But hey, I’m getting better. Me and Photoshop.
I understand. I’m a student, so money it extremely tight. I’ve been lucky that my company covers all the start up fees otherwise, I simply would be able to afford to publish. On the note of money, and doing stuff for oneself… Do you have any advice for other writers?
Yeah, get over the idea that you’re going to get rich, that you’ll write a bestseller. The age old advice that resonates with me is, write because you have no choice. The stories are in your head demanding to be released, and you’re just an instrument. Write because you have to, read like mad to learn, pay close attention to grammar and other technical details of your craft. Houses don’t get built by carpenters who can’t drive a nail.
Do you have anything specific that you want to say to your readers? Thank you for reading, even if you have critical things to say about my books. Your feedback is an important part of my process.
Haha I think I might actually do that from now on LOL What do you do in your down time? Watch TV (news, nature, crime, vet, ancient aliens); Stare out the window into the Ozark woods where I live; deal with dogs and cats; build fires in my woodstove to keep warm; deal with real life—rental property, kids, family drama, bills...
In four words, describe yourself.
Hermit. Driven. Hard ass. Empath.
What are your top ten snacks while writing?
Tea, preferably Assam or Darjeeling. Apple. Salted almonds. That is all.
Awesome! Well, that’s for letting me interview you, and I hope everyone likes your books as much as I do! :)
*Read an excerpt of her work here!*
November 12, 2014
Past and Future Author Spotlights
Hey Everyone,
So, I've met a lot of wonderful writers on the web and in person. I've had the privilege and pleasure to not only interview them and get inside their heads, but also showcase their work on my site. Below are links to previous Author Spotlights I've done, and I highly encourage everyone to check their work out.
Jaz Cullen/ J C Gordon (Work)
Jaz Cullen/ J C Gordon (Interview)
James DiBenedetto (Interview)James DiBenedetto (Works)
C. Rose (Works)C. Rose (Interview)
Christian Gallagher (Interview)
Christian Gallagher (Poems)
And in the future....?
Well, I'll be doing two new Author Spotlights in November! Yay! So be looking out for those.
*If you would like to be featured on my blog and other sites, please send me an email and a piece of your work.
So, I've met a lot of wonderful writers on the web and in person. I've had the privilege and pleasure to not only interview them and get inside their heads, but also showcase their work on my site. Below are links to previous Author Spotlights I've done, and I highly encourage everyone to check their work out.
Jaz Cullen/ J C Gordon (Work)
Jaz Cullen/ J C Gordon (Interview)
James DiBenedetto (Interview)James DiBenedetto (Works)
C. Rose (Works)C. Rose (Interview)
Christian Gallagher (Interview)
Christian Gallagher (Poems)
And in the future....?
Well, I'll be doing two new Author Spotlights in November! Yay! So be looking out for those.
*If you would like to be featured on my blog and other sites, please send me an email and a piece of your work.
October 27, 2014
Wrong Book Published
Hey Everyone, So, there was a mistake in publishing. It seems that an early version of the 4th book was published. If you have the book that states Luther was a king, YOU HAVE THE WRONG BOOK! The correct book is now on Amazon. Please update your amazon book to ensure you are reading the correct version, if you still have trouble with this, please contact me DIRECTLY! This is extremely important! Thank you Rosi
