Passion: Erotica For Women

When Rachel Kramer Bussel put out a call for blogs to take part in her "Passion" virtual tour, I jumped on it, and not just because her anthologies--all of Cleis Press, really--are beautifully composed, but because this was subtitled "Erotica For Women."

What differentiated that from the more traditional literary erotica collected by Cleis? I just had to find out. Within the first few pages, it became clear. "Erotica for Women" is less edgy, maybe, more about the romance and female fulfillment than some other erotic stories I've read. The female point of view dominates, for sure.

But what I've found is that each story centers on building relationships, new or old, which definitely falls within the purview of many female readers. Though it may be stereotypical, women, as far as I've found, seek out new relationships as a matter of course. We feel energized and fulfilled by these new connections--I certainly do. And add a healthy dose of arousal and eroticism to the mix? Female heaven.

I was particularly taken with Angela Caperton's "Dear in the Headlights" because I feel it embodied not just the raw lust found in most erotica, but that indefinable touch that makes this story "erotica for women." It was not only sexy, but made me think about erotica and its possibilities in a new way, both as a reader and a writer.

The only issue I take with the anthology is this: though it may be erotica for women, this should definitely be required reading for men. Definitely. I will likely be slipping this book into the hands of some well-intentioned but misguided men I know in hopes that they'll learn a thing or twenty (one for each story) about how to bring passion to their relationships.

Curious? Well watch the trailer below, and get your hot little hands on a copy of "Passion: Erotica for Women" ASAP.

Whiteout

Right now, I have only one thing on my mind, one thing taking up all my time…so when I had to pick a blog topic, I really didn’t have a choice. What else could I write about besides…

Two days ago, everything was normal here in the town of Homer, Alaska. Days were getting shorter, nights were getting colder. Every morning we’d check the temperature—hm, got down to 28 last night. We’d squint up at the sky, admire the lovely flock of sheep-like clouds flitting across the blue, then get on with our various projects.

Then, overnight, it all changed. While we were sleeping, a veil of white fluttered down on us. The veil thickened to a featherbed, which grew and grew and grew until everywhere you look, white now stares back at you. White trees, white buildings, white ground, white cars. Everything is white except the sky, which has stayed a stubborn gray, warning of more to come.

Mark it down: November 6. The day the snow started falling on Homer this winter. As I write this post, it still hasn’t stopped. Two feet of fluff and counting. It’s everywhere, in enormous, exuberant amounts.

It’s as if we’re suddenly living in a different element, not air, but snow. To get anywhere, you have to wade through hip-high piles of the stuff. When you open a door, a ridge of newly fallen snow collapses on you. Everything—cars, trees, piles of lumber—has been transformed into ghostly white yak-like blobs. When you brush against them, you’re treated to a shower of icy crystals.

The onslaught of snow has to be factored into everything we do. If anything was left on the ground before the snow fell, you can forget about finding it until sometime in May. Everything takes twice as long to accomplish, once you add in the time it takes to put on your snow gear and wade through the drifts and chip the ice off the car. The drive into town, which usually takes fifteen minutes, can take half an hour of white-knuckle, afraid-to-blink navigating of icy curves.

Better to stay home. Which brings me back to where I started. Shoveling. Yes, that’s been my life for the last two days. Shoveling paths, making huge snow mountains, clearing the driveway, digging out the cars. Sure, the snow’s still coming, but we’ve got to start sometime, and who knows when it will stop? It’s hard, sweaty work, but when I take a break and the quiet flakes cool my face and I sense the silent sigh of the land settling in for the winter, it’s a joy.

Those of you who live in the North, has anyone else had snow this early in the winter? You in the South… jealous? ;) Or thanking your lucky stars?

Okay…back to work. Thanks for the break! If no one hears from me for a while, I’m either still shoveling…or we’re drowning in the stuff. I'll keep you posted.

Hanging by a Moment

A lot of the time when I'm dragging my heels with writing or brainstorming, it will only take hearing a really good song to flip the switch in my head and suddenly I'm ready to go. When I hear certain songs, I'm instantly reminded of what book I was working on when I listened to a particular song compulsively.

For Stripped Away it was The Dolphins Cry by Live, for Call Me Cupid it was All I Can Do by Chantal Kreviazuk, for Dark Obsession it was Broken by Lifehouse, for Primal Attraction it was It's Not Over by Daughtry, for Whatever it Takes it was, yes, Whatever It Takes by Lifehouse. :)

When it was time for me to rewrite my upcoming release, Trust Me, the first thing I did was pull up the song that I had listened to when I first wrote the book almost seven years ago. Hanging by a Moment by Lifehouse. Seeing a trend? LOL Yeah, I adore Lifehouse and I've yet to write a book where one of their songs didn't make it onto my book playlist.

I've blogged before that finding time to write can be challenging, but sometimes even when the time is there, that driving edge to create misses the memo and takes an impromptu vacay. So on those rare occasions when a window opens up for me to work and I'd sooner scrub the toilet with a tooth brush than plant my butt in front of the computer, nine out of ten times I can get over my anti-writing funk by grabbing my iPod and sitting somewhere and just listening to music, especially if it's a song that's become tied to the book I'm working on.

So much of my creative energy is wrapped up in music that I can't imagine writing without it. For me, music helps me dig deeper into a character or gives me clarity when the images in my head are a little blurry. It's also great for drowning out the voices of other characters and stories waiting to be told. :)

What about you? Does music motivate you or help you get through a task? Does it inspire you to create or maybe just dance madly around the kitchen when you hear a favorite song? Do you adore Lifehouse as much as I do and have a favorite song?

And I'm sure most of you have heard Hanging by a Moment, but just in case you haven't or it's been awhile, here's a video of the live version.

The Zillionaire Vampire Cowboy's Secret Werewolf Babies - Chapter 9

Chastity took a step back, shaking her head. “What am I even saying? Rock Fangsworthy a vampire?” It was almost as ridiculous as the scrutiny on Billy Bob’s face as he stared at her boobs, her left one in particular. Damn it, she knew that plastic surgeon had been lying when he swore she was the only one who noticed they weren't even.

She gripped his chin and jerked his head up. “Why do you think he’s a vampire?” Rock had always been a little…toothy, but surely he would have tried to bite her or something if he was really a vampire. Unless he thought she didn’t taste good. She delicately sniffed her arm. Impossible. She would totally bite herself if she was a vampire.

Billy Bob snuck another peek at her chest. “Well, have you ever seen him eat real food?”

“Protein shakes.” Isn’t that what Rock had called them?

“Does he have any crosses in this place or garlic?”

She shriveled her nose. “Ew.”

“Okay, have you ever seen him in the sun?”

“Ha!” Triumphant, she poked Billy Bob. “I know this one. Rock can’t be a vampire at all.”

Billy Bob crossed his arms. “Oh yeah? Why is that?”

“He doesn’t sparkle.”

His brows scrunched together. “What are you talking about?”

She rolled her eyes. “Real vampires sparkle when they’re out in the sun. Everyone knows that.”

“Chastity, darlin’, I think maybe you’ve been spending too much time in the tanning beds.”

She waved him off. “Now that we’ve got that all vampire nonsense cleared up, I need to fix things with Rock and get Buffi out of the picture.” She crossed her arms and glared at Billy Bob. “And you’re going to help me.”


If it has tires or testicles it’s going to give you trouble. That’s what Buffi’s grandmother had always insisted, but she hadn’t said a damn thing about wineries, or winemakers for that matter.

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Buffi tried to forget the lack of progress she and Vince had made when he’d wanted her to stop by his lab and taste something new he’d been working on. Only by the time she’d finished going over the winery’s books, she’d developed a nasty headache and Vince had refused to let her sample anything new while under any kind of mental duress.

The breaking point, though, had come when a woman claiming to be Rock’s fiancée had stopped by the winery to talk with her. Buffi had peeked around the doorway and taken one look at the dark-haired vixen with her painted-on spandex dress, and handed the twins to Vince to watch while she’d slipped out the back for some fresh air.

Buffi couldn’t imagine what the woman would want with her and hopefully she was long gone by now. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to leave the familiar comfort of her grandmother’s grape arbor.

Rock was getting married? Her Rock?

Pain knifed through her heart. No, not hers. Not anymore.

She glanced at her surroundings. Maybe the arbor hadn’t been the best place to come after all. Thinking about Rock and being here, where his chiseled, naked body had covered hers, his hard man root taking her maidenhead, was a bad idea.

“Buffi?”

She whirled around at the sound of Rock’s voice.

“We need to talk,” he growled, his gravelly voice rougher than usual.

“About your fiancée?”

“My what?”

She held up her hand to measure a few inches shy of her head. “This tall, breasts too big for her body, bats her eyes like a toad in a hailstorm.”

“Chastity.” Rock sighed, then frowned. “She’s not—Wait, are you trying to have her killed too?” For a second there he almost sounded a little hopeful.

“What are you talking about? Has someone been slipping something into your blood supply?”

Even in the dark his face visibly paled. “Do not say the…b-word.”

She propped her hands on her hips. “Could we stay on track for a second? Why would I have her or anyone killed? You know how crazy that sounds, right?”

He removed his Stetson and ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t right know what to think.”

“That makes two of us.” She blew out a breath. “I think you should leave, Rock.”

He opened his mouth.

“Not a word about my selling the winery to you or so help me I’ll go hunting tonight and leave the carcass on your doorstep. A bloo—

Moving faster than she remembered he was capable of, Rock moved in and pressed his finger to her lips. “Be nice.”

She growled in warning, and damn it all, he grinned at her. Although tempted to bite his finger, she kept her lips closed. She wasn’t sure she entirely trusted herself not to turn it into a playful nip or something more.

“You’re trespassing and I want you off my property.”

He ran his finger along her chin.

“Now, Rock.”


Rock knew she was right. It was best if he left. He wasn’t entirely convinced she had nothing to do with the no good, yellow belly vampire hunter that he’d caught on his land - and with Chastity.

When he’d woken at sunset, he’d immediately left the house, not wanting to deal with Chastity in case she’d come slinking back, looking for him. He hadn’t expected to see Buffi walking through the vineyard. He also hadn’t expected to feel his loins burn at the memory of the kiss they’d shared.

It certainly didn’t help that he was hornier than a two peckered billy goat, and after realizing he’d only thought about proposing to Chastity to get Buffi off his mind, he was finding it even harder to ignore his attraction to her.

“You’re right, I should go.” He turned away from her, fiddling with his hat.

“Rock?”

He whipped back around. “Yes?”

“You came from the other direction.”

Damnation, but this female got his head all turned around. Always had. “I know that,” he lied.

A smile caught the corner of her mouth, dazzling him. Before he thought about what he was doing, he swept her into his arms and crushed his mouth down on hers.


To be continued...Chapter Ten

If you enjoyed this chapter of The Zillionaire Vampire Cowboy's Secret Werewolf Babies, please be sure and join us again next Thursday for the next exciting installment.

You can read more about the serial HERE. And be sure to enter our contest! Rules and information can be found HERE.

NaNoWriMo and a New Release Excerpt

Tomorrow is Day 3 of National Novel Writing Month. For those of you who don't know, NaNoWriMo is a (very large) group of writers, organized by the Office of Letters and Light, who pledge to write 50,000 words in the month of November. You're allowed to plot beforehand, but not write any words of the manuscript.

Last year was my first attempt at this Herculean effort. I know some of my fellow writers (yes, Ms. Jamieson, you) have magic fingers that fly across the keyboard when they're on a roll, but I'm a much slower writer. Whether it's my internal editor (whom I like) or my internal critic (who can STFU, TYVM) competing with the muse, something slows me down.

Except during NaNo. Knowing that I have to write so quickly suddenly makes it ok to not have every sentence perfectly crafted in the first draft. And the solidarity of other writers doing the very same thing makes it almost bearable to leave alone all those mistakes I catch from the corner of my eye--after all, that's what the editing process is for.

Come November 30th, I hope I'll be celebrating victory. If not, well, there's always next year. For now, I'll satisfy myself by keeping my butt in the chair, hands on the keyboard, and celebrating other successes.

My second novella, "Lawful Pleasures," is out now from Parker Publishing. I wrote this story before my internal critic had truly developed her voice. When I first started writing, the words flowed more easily because I wasn't aware of things like "showing, not telling," "too much backstory," or "headhopping." After sitting under my virtual bed for almost a year, during which I studiously absorbed as much writing advice as possible, I edited the heck out of it and it found a happy home.

So here's to NaNo and channeling that early, naive writer--and to the editing faeries who make first drafts readable.

***

Excerpt (not safe for work or innocent eyes)--Lawful Pleasures by Skylar Kade

Blurb: Skylar Kade’s Lawful Pleasures brings together Detective Dario Martoni and Lia Delgado when her home is broken into. The cute cop is determined to protect her from danger, but she’s the one who has to protect her heart when he decides she’s just the woman for him.

Detective Dario Martoni was so fuckin' tired of dumb broads. He was hauling ass to a North Hollywood condo where some idiot had just contaminated a crime scene, trying to play Xena. Evidently this chick’s place had been broken into, but instead of waiting for the police like any sane person would have, she’d stormed in wielding a bat and an attitude.

And if it had been any normal B&E, maybe her actions could have been excused—maybe. But this wasn’t some punk looking for petty cash and electronics to pawn. It was La Hermanidad del Diablo, according to the threat painted onto her bedroom wall. That kicked his protective instincts into high gear; Hermanos was known for its all-action-no-talk way of doing business, and since they controlled most of the LA drug trade, Dario knew them like he was a member. He snorted at the irony.

He was already on edge from the gang violence that had escalated then disappeared a few months ago. As a narcotics detective, he’d been up to his eyeballs in punk-ass dealers shooting each other up over drugs and turf wars, the likes of which he hadn’t seen since last decade when Hermanos took over their competition. He had a gut feeling that they were behind the new violence; he just hadn’t found evidence to back him up yet. Yet. Not to mention that the sudden lull in crime didn’t convince him the fighting was over. Oh, no fucking way. There was something big going on, and until he had more than bits and pieces of the picture, Dario would stay on high alert.

He arrived on the scene, which painted blue and red with the squad car lights. Neighbors dressed in pajamas gathered around the yellow caution tape that barred the path leading to the Delgado chick’s door. Luckily, no news vans had gotten there. That was a goatfuck he wasn’t ready to deal with. They'd be there eventually, but at least he wasn't being harassed with questions. Dario Martoni was not a people person.

He flashed his badge to the cop guarding the tape before ducking under and stalking to the open condo door. Dario, as a detective, was now the ranking officer on site. One of the original men on scene, a newbie grunt getting his first taste of cop life, scampered over to give Dario the rundown of events. God, had he ever been that green? That excited to be riding the streets and “fighting crime”? Fifteen years after his first day as a cop, Dario honestly couldn’t remember.

“Detective Martoni, the victim, Lia Delgado, arrived home around six to find her door unlocked. She said when she turned the lock, she realized there must've been a break-in and called the police.” The rookie looked at him incredulously and continued, “Then she grabbed her bat from the garage instead of staying on the line with the 911 operator as she should have.” Women. Dario rolled his eyes. He bet this Delgado woman was some psycho new-age broad who thought men were all knuckle-dragging idiots trying to repress feminine power or some shit. At least that’s what his littlest sister, the feminist, kept telling him. He rolled his eyes again for good measure and steeled himself to deal with this nutcase.

“I got it from here, kid. Which way is she?” The rookie simply pointed down the hallway branching off of the small living room. “She’s that way,” the kid muttered, “and hopefully you can talk more sense into her than the rest of us.”

He took in the scene as he headed to the back rooms. Her couch cushions had been shredded, tables and chairs overturned. Red paint covered the walls in bloody streaks. The first door on the right held an office—chair overturned and papers strewn across the floor.

Dario stopped cold in the doorway of the last room—her bedroom. The roundest, most delightfully luscious ass was presented to him as a woman bent over to dig through the bottom drawer of an armoire. Hot damn, she had JUICY written across her backside in cotton-candy pink. He bet she tasted like cotton candy…Dario’s mind wandered while keen eyes took in curve upon curve encased in sweatpants, bare feet, and—oh, hell—lingerie spilling out from the open drawer. The tips of her curly dark brown hair danced amid the thongs and boyshorts and bras and teddies he could spy peeking out from the mass of sexy underthings. The lacy barely-there wisps of fabric sent blood rushing away from his head, to places best left forgotten during a crime scene investigation. Damn, he could just imagine her ass framed by that little pink number, rounded cheeks peeking out from the lace edges. Her legs would stretch for miles, and her ass would overfill his greedy palms. If this was Lia Delgado, he was in trouble.

Semi-incoherent rambling jarred Dario from his fantasies. “Good-for-nothing pendejos… think they’re hot shit, don’t they… my fucking condo, my home… dumbass kids…At least they didn't fuck with my lingerie...” That woman had a dirty mouth on her. It shouldn’t have turned him on; his cock obviously didn’t agree, as it re-hardened uncomfortably beneath his slacks. Thank God his suit jacket covered the front of his pants.

“Ma’am? Ms. Delgado?” The woman spun, cinnamon skin flushed and eyes bright with anger. Her ass was a beautiful sight to behold, but her face was a work of art. Dario felt his breath catch in his chest. Deep brown eyes were framed by tight curls that fell past her luscious lips, down, down, to hit the tops of her stunning breasts. She was a curvier, sexier version of Gina Torres, and Dario had almost worn out his DVD of “Firefly” watching Gina over and over. Momentarily forgetting what he wanted to say to her, he simply stared.

“¡Mira! They finally sent a grown-up to deal with me? Good. By the way, when did they start letting toddlers into the police academy? Because those boys out there didn’t look old enough to drive, much less figure out who the fuck invaded my space!” The Amazon before him planted clutched fists on her hips and thrust out her chest in indignation. The angry heaving of her chest almost pulled him back into his earlier fantasy, but he restrained himself—barely. Besides, he now had something to prove to this Delgado woman. Dario was no rookie street cop, fresh out of the Academy. She was tired of the boys? Great, because Dario was a Man with a capital M—one who never backed down from the kind of challenge she'd just thrown.

Guest Blogger Eden Bradley - Eden Bradley’s Evil Twin Eve Berlin

November is an exciting but strange month for me. I have two releases out: THE LOVERS, from Harlequin Spice, and PLEASURE’S EDGE, from Berkley Heat-written as Eve Berlin. PLEASURE’S EDGE is my first ‘Eve’ book, which is awesome and a bit confusing. As I’ve built the ‘Eve’ website and prepared for the release of my first ‘Eve’ book, I’ve been caught in this bizarre state of writerly schizophrenia. Some people may ask themselves ‘who am I’ in a more existential way, but for me, I actually have to think about it from one day to the next. Which book am I working on? Am I Eden or Eve today?

When I first launched Eve publicly on my group blog, the Smutketeers, Eden interviewed Eve. Er… I interviewed myself. See? It makes my head spin a little. Anyway, I was talking about my first ‘Eve’ book, and that conversation went something like this:

Eve: My debut novel, PLEASURE’S EDGE, will be out November 2nd. I’m so excited about this book!

Eden: Tell us about it! I’ve had a sneak peek and the hero is hot and hunky!

Eve: I think so, too… Alec Walker is one of those huge guys, built like a football player: tall, broad-shouldered, big muscles—my kinda guy. And he’s an experienced dominant, so he’s really my kinda guy! But he’s not one of those asshole dom’s—he’s a true gentleman. That combination will always make me swoon-the sort of man who can spank you until you cry, then take you in his arms and wipe your tears away.

I love my heroine, too. Dylan Ivory is an erotica author, so I suppose you could say there’s a lot of me in her. She’s also a little neurotic, a bit of a control freak (yes, that’s me, too…*sigh*).

Both of my characters are a little complicated, a little angsty, which is always fun to write. And I love writing about someone taking those first steps into the world of BDSM. It makes for some hot sex, but it also makes for complexity and intensity in the relationship.

Eden: Let’s talk more about the hot sex, please. :)

Eve: I had a feeling you were going to want to hear more about the sex! In this book, the power play dynamic is crucial to the sex, and there’s plenty of it! There’s something about an alpha male who can completely take over that can make a woman feel utterly feminine. Or maybe I just like the whole tie me up and spank me thing…*G*

Eden: Hey, me too!

Eve: I knew that about you.

Eden: Am I that transparent?

Eve: Um…yes. Publicly. Is there really any question about that?

Eden: Probably not. But wait—aren’t I interviewing you?

Eve: Are you?

Eden: Now I’m getting confused.

…and so it went…

Here’s the blurb for PLEASURE’S EDGE, in case my split-personality discussion wasn’t telling enough:

How do you know…

For beautiful erotica author Dylan Ivory, being in control is everything. Growing up in a dysfunctional home, she raised her younger brother--right up to the day he died in a motorcycle accident. Since then, she has lived a life of perfect order, leaving nothing to chance. Then she met the man who was everything she was not…and everything she wanted.

How far you can go…

Alec Walker is a writer of dark psychological thrillers--and a man who lives for thrills. From motorcycles to snowboards to swimming with sharks, there's no end to his lust for excitement. His tastes extend into the bedroom as well, and into The Pleasure Dome, the local BDSM club where he lets no rules bind his desires. The only thing he truly fears is love, and allowing someone else to really know him…

Unless you go over the edge?

While researching a book on sexual extremes, Dylan interviews Alec--and longs to taste the temptation he offers. But he’s a self-proclaimed dominant and she refuses to surrender control. Slowly and seductively, though, Alec shows her that by letting go and submitting to his every desire she can experience the ultimate pleasure. But to keep the woman who for the first time brings him to his knees , can Alec take the ultimate risk and surrender his heart?

* * *

I’m starting to get used to the schizophrenia thing, which is a good thing because this week I have to be both Eden and Eve pretty much simultaneously. My Eden book, THE LOVERS, comes out November 1^st. Here’s a peek:

It seemed ideal —two months at a charming writers' retreat, surrounded by kindred souls. But Bettina Boothe wasn't prepared for just how long eight weeks truly was. Or that in the process, she would have to open up and reveal the most secret places in her body and soul.

Fortunately, her fellow authors do not share Bettina's self-consciousness and begin to draw her out of her self-imposed shell. One in particular—Audrey LeClaire—seems to ooze confidence and self-assuredness. Dark and petite, Audrey's potent sensuality draws the men and women in the workshop to her like flies to honey. Bettina is just as vulnerable, finding herself overwhelmed by a very unexpected attraction to Audrey who makes Bettina her special project.

But when Jack Curran arrives at the retreat, everything changes. Jack is tall, beautiful, masculine. A writer of dark thrillers, he is as mysterious and alluring as his books. He and Audrey are obviously an item, but they eagerly welcome Bettina into their bed. Suddenly Bettina finds herself swept up in a maelstrom of lust, obsession and jealousy, torn between her need for two very different people in a love triangle where she will either be cherished…or consumed.

I loved writing this book so much! The location, a small town just north of Santa Barbara, is this absolutely gorgeous place on the California coast. This story is sort of dreamy to me-the tone of it, the house on the beach…dreamy and sexy and sensual. And I really fell in love with, Jack. Of course, Alec from PLEASURE’S EDGE totally makes me swoon. So many men, so little time…it’s a good thing there are two of me!

So, how about a little contest? Tell me what you’d do if you had a second you. Would you make your clone run errands for you? Or would you want to trick people by being in two places at once? Take two lovers and switch off without telling them, perhaps? Or am I the only one who thinks like that? Either way, post your answer here and be eligible to win a prize package of the first three e-books in my Celestial Seductions series, WINTER SOLSTICE, SPRING EQUINOX and WINTER SOLSTICE! You can read all about them on my website or on the Samhain Publishing site.

I’ll choose a winner and announce it here on Friday, November 5^th, so be sure to check back!

I hope you’ll all come by both my sites to visit: www.EdenBradley.com or www.EveBerlin.com , or to my group blog, www.Smutketeers.com . And I hope readers enjoy my books, whether from Eden or Eve!

Eden Bradley aka Eve Berlin writes dark, edgy erotica and erotic romance for Harlequin Spice, Berkley Heat (as both Eden and Eve), Bantam/Delta, Samhain Publishing and Phaze Publishing. Two of her books have been Romantic Times Top Picks, and her novel, FORBIDDEN FRUIT, was profiled in Cosmopolitan Magazine’s Red Hot Reads column.

Eden lives in Hollywood and appears regularly on Playboy Radio’s ‘Night Calls’. She loves shoes, tattoos, art, younger men, reading smutty books, chocolate and sex, of course, not necessarily in that order.

Book buy links:

THE LOVERS: http://www.amazon.com/Lovers-Eden-Bradley/dp/037360551X/ref=ntt_at_ep_dpi_8

PLEASURE’S EDGE: http://www.amazon.com/Pleasures-Edge-Eve-Berlin/dp/0425236870/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1268186099&sr=1-1

Writing Romance Is Like...

I’m starting a blog tour here today! It was November 2009 that saw the publication of my first book so in celebration I’m visiting around the web and giving stuff away!

And I have a sort-of theme: Writing Romance Is Like…

Some of the topics include how writing romance is like adopting a new puppy, shaving your legs, a horror film… you get the idea.

At every blog stop (yes, including this one!) all comments get entered for a chance to win a choice from my backlist (I just love saying that—last year at this time I didn’t have a backlist *g*). And if you really want to play along, follow me around to all stops, fill in the answers to the questions on the form (on my site) and then e-mail it to me by December 15th. You’ll be entered to win a chance at a $50 gift certificate to your choice of online bookstore (Amazon.com, BarnesandNoble.com or MyBookstoreandMore.com)!

You’ll learn more about me, more about what it’s like to write romance—kind-of— and be (hopefully) a little entertained. (And did I mention the chances to win stuff?!) So, please join me! The schedule, questions to get entered into the big drawing and blog topics are on my site (www.ErinNicholas.com)

And with no further ado: Writing Romance Is Like…that chocolate candy bar you accidentally left in the car in July: It’s no longer perfect, but it’s still damned good!

Before I was published writing was fun and done whenever I had the time and inspiration. I had visions of quitting my job and sitting at my desk, the sun shining in, the window open to a gentle breeze that ruffles the curtains. Of course, the words flowed effortlessly from my fingers, incredibly witty and emotionally satisfying dialogue appeared as if by magic, the heroes and heroines complex and well developed, their love stories were hot, yet poignant, the sex scenes singed the pages. And of course, I would sell a million copies, have all five-star reviews and need a new e-mail address just to handle the influx of fan mail. Oh, and don’t forget the book signings! People lined up around the block I tell you!

So, now I’m published. Which is awesome! Not perfectly in align with the visions—or even the reality—of before I was published, but still damned good.

Now I have things like deadlines. Doesn’t really matter if I have time or inspiration. Some days it’s really like pulling teeth to get a few paragraphs that don’t suck. I also rarely write at my desk—sun shining or not. The desk is taken over by kids doing homework so my lap top and I get comfortable in my chair. I don’t know why, exactly, the Perfect Writing Vision included sitting at a desk, but it did. I also still have my “day job” which really does get in the way of the writing. Then again, I’ve often suspected that being forced away from the computer makes me appreciate and take advantage of the time I do have there and (usually) increases my word count. But, the words don’t always flow effortlessly, we haven’t quite made it to the million copy mark and there’s no way I’m brave enough to do a book signing at this point!

But there are so many things that make writing sweet now! I do get reader e-mails—which are by far the best thing in the world! I get some great reviews, my editor is wonderful, I’ve met an amazing group of writers who have become cheerleaders, consultants and friends! Heck, I’m thrilled even one other person wanted to read something I wrote and liked it! *g* So there’s a lot of sweetness.

Yep, it really is damned good.

Join me at my next stop! November 4 at Leah Braemel’s blog

Excerpt, Just My Type (a “sweet” scene :))
Erin Nicholas

She pulled out her reading material as they settled into two seats in the gate area. Which got Mac’s attention.

“What the hell is that?” he whispered.

“A catalog.”

“So I see.” He glanced around. “Is that appropriate for reading in public?”

“Everyone else here is reading for pleasure or work. This is a little of both for me,” she whispered back.

“What have I done to deserve this?” he groaned.

“I think most men would be jealous of you having a wife who is studying a sex-toy catalog,” Sara told him. “It’s not all raunchy. I mean look at this: cotton-candy-flavored body powder. Great for licking. I’m so getting that.”

Mac tipped his head back, covered his eyes with his hand and groaned again. “Please don’t.”

“Oh, I am,” she told him. “And these chocolate body pens. You use them to write on each other…then lick it off.”

“Yeah, you could have stopped with chocolate body pens. It’s kind of self-explanatory.”

Mac shifted in his seat and Sara hid a smile. He’d been getting his way all day—and last night when he’d gone back to his condo—if she felt like torturing him a little, she would.

“Do you like piña colada flavor?” she asked.

“No. Not at all.”

She smiled. “Well, there’s lots of choices. How about lemon meringue?”

“No.”

“Bubble gum?”

“Definitely not.”

“Beer flavor?”

That opened his eyes. “What do they have in beer flavor?”

“Nothing that I’ve seen yet. I was just making sure that if I find something I can order it without hesitation.”

He sighed. “What are you looking at?”

“Edible massage lotion.”

“What’s with all the edible stuff?”

“That’s just the catalog section I’m in.”

“I’m not interested.”

A quick glance at his lap told a different story. “Then I’ll flip to a section you are interested in. Oh, look, the nipple-clamp section.”


More on Erin
www.ErinNicholas.com
NineNaughtyNovelists.blogspot.com
ErinNicholas.blogspot.com
http://samhainpublishing.com/authors/erin-nicholas