Riding the tiger.

I have now officially crossed over into the twilight zone of my career as a writer. I have been wrangling with agents lately.

Oh yes, I know what you are saying. Gee, not a bad problem to have.

All I have to say is just wait until you get there. It’s like riding a wild tiger. I would just as soon let go and fall off, but the ride is so spectacular, I dig my fingers into the short hairs of the beast and hang on even though my stomach lurches and my heart aches.

Here’s the just of it: A new agent from a well known agency wants to represent THE YARD MAN. She has worked as an editorial consultant for years, but is just getting started as an agent.  She says she will be working closely with the president.  She is not interested in THE SEDUCTION OF PHAETON BLACK at all. Thinks the sex scenes are coercive. My take is that as a new agent, she does not want to go out with such a controversial ms. Can I blame her? I am grateful, however, that she is willing take on THE YARD MAN, the historical, romantic suspense that just finaled in the Golden Heart.

So, at the advice of my sister GH finalists, I put everyone who has a full manuscript on notice. Several of those agents read the manuscript right away and have already gotten back to me. One of those agents sent me this amazing, complimentary rejection and left the door open. She totally gets THE YARD MAN and THE SEDUCTION OF PHAETON BLACK, but wants changes if she decides to represent the ms. We may get together at the RWA Nationals.

I got the most glowing rejection I have ever received from a third agent who read the full ms. but can’t figure out how to sell cross-genre.

Finally, I have one full manuscript left, floating out in the litterarrius nebula. Wish I could name names, but in the interest of my fits and starts writing career, I had better not.

At the moment, I am exhausted by this game of agents and queries and rejections. I am trying to concentrate on finishing up my current WIP. Writing is the only thing keeping me sane at the moment.

I am sticking to my brand. My voice. I know the direction I want to go with my writing. It may take me longer to get published. Someone out there has to recognize that my work is not entirely like the rest of the romance writers out there, nor are my stories.

Oddly enough, I am not afraid.

G. Jillian Stone

There are fields in time that burn with desire. Meet me there.

Jillian is currently finishing the second book in The Yard Men Series. Set in late Victorian London, Scotland Yard detectives have never been as wickedly sexy or as brilliantly clever. To read more about her latest work in progress, THE SEDUCTION OF PHAETON BLACK, please drop by her website: www.gjillianstone.com

ONE MAN’S THOUGHTS: In the Mood for Love

Last week I received a comment on my blog from a pleasant lady, Robin, which concerned the crafting of a love scene. She mentioned that some authors have to be in mood for writing such a scene, although the act of writing can produce such a mood. It becomes one of those situations that will leave you asking; which came first; the chicken or the egg?

Well the whole issue got me wondering and so instead of writing I thought about this enigma. Typically if I’m feeling randy my body’s need will influence my thoughts. That heightened sensitivity inspires the imagination and the ‘mood’ will manifest itself. If I have the opportunity to write at such a time I crank out some descriptive passages— not necessarily well written, but it’s a start. However, if the reverse is true and I’m lost in carnal fantasies about a beautiful exotic woman in need of rescue, my body will respond with increased blood flow and once again the ‘mood’ will materialize. When the brain initiates the mood it produces more interesting scenarios in my stories and most of the love scenes come about in this manner. The curse is when the physical and mental drives for sex does not fall into sink.

As a healthy male teenager I suffered, as all boys do, from the physical drive popping up without provocation— often. It didn’t matter when or where; in school, riding in the car, going to the bathroom, or watching television, at any time the physical need could rise regardless of my thoughts. This form of imbalance can be embarrassing.

Now that I’m significantly older I have the opposite problem from time to time. The mental drive is there, but the body can’t always keep up for long. I consider my libido intact, after all I still have my fantasies– often, but the physical reaction to such thoughts has lessened.

That’s really interesting Mike, but what does it all mean?

I’m glad you asked. The take away on this is that fictional depiction of sex is healthy for both writer and reader. While reading or writing love scenes may or may not cause a physical response it should promote a mental one. As adults we require an outlet for those impulses even if it is only in our head. Often it can be called upon later for fuel when we do have the opportunity to be intimate. Quality romance or erotica will create characters we can identify with on some level and experience vicariously their exploits, good or bad, moral or not, and they take us on journey of wanton endeavors.

Until next time— happy writing.

Michael Matthews Bingamon

ISN’T IT ROMANTIC?

ISN’T IT ROMANTIC?

Hello. Happy Saturday everyone. Thanks for dropping by. Pull up a chair and get comfy. Today I would like to talk about the many different sub-genres in romance novels.

                The first on my list is contemporary. The contemporary romance novel involves problems and issues we deal with in our modern day to day lives. These can range from jobs, careers, health issues, trouble in our relationships, from friendships, intimate connections, and family difficulties. Contemporaries may also be combined with other elements such as paranormal, erotica, suspense, mystery, and comedy.

                Historical romances take place anywhere from prehistoric times to the 1920s. These novels carry the readers back to times gone by. When writing a historical it is important to show the past as vividly and accurately as you can. Remember, the readers want to know what food was eaten, what the latest fashions were, and the social expectations and restrictions of each unique era. Other elements that may be found in a historical romance are mystery, suspense, comedy, paranormal, etc, etc.

                The time travel romance is a crossbreed between contemporary and historical. This particular sub-genre gives the author a way to combine contemporary ideals and ways of life with those of the past. Time travels have been a favourite of mine to read for years. For me, some of the most heart warming and memorable characters that I have read about came from time travel romance novels. Also some of the funniest.

                Futuristic/fantasy romances are wonderful ways for the author to build interesting worlds, new and exciting characters, and problems. These romances can take place on a spaceship, new planets, in a fairies’ world, or even different dimensions. The possibilities are endless.

                Paranormal romances are my favourites to read and write.  They use mythical creatures such as vampires, werewolves, and shapeshifters, just to name a few. There are so many different creatures that make the paranormal novel not only exciting to write, but to read too. The paranormal can take place in almost any setting. For me, there is nothing like a big strong male vampire who falls completely in love with a human woman. Makes me all a quiver inside, lol.

                Next week I will discuss more on sub-genres of romance novels.

                Until then, happy writing and reading

Using Music As Inspiration

There are some days where I have to drag myself to my desk to plant my butt in my chair. Days when writing a few words seems like an impossible and monumental feat. Granted, those days are few and far between, but they’re still unpleasant. I can only wipe the counter so many times and make sure my black Lab has enough water in her bowl. *g* I need to put my butt in my chair, open my WIP file, (one of them anyway), and write.
Lately I’ve been hooked on all things Historical, particularly movie adaptations of Jane Austen novels. The very popular Pride And Prejudice, (2005 version) and Sense And Sensibility, (1995 version). The musical score can really set the mood and tone for a specific film, or provide inspiration. Either way, there’s much enjoyment to be had.
These film scores, and others, (The Duchess), for example have really given me some wonderful ideas for future stories. I don’t know how this happens. I usually don’t write with music in the background as I find it pretty distracting, particularly music with lyrics. I’ll want to sing along. When that happens, I lose my focus. Oh sure, I get ideas from song lyrics, but I haven’t always listened to classical music. I’ve always found it to be lovely, but until I initially thought of attempting to write while playing something instrumental in the background, it never occurred to me that it could add something truly magical.
Purely instrumental pieces not only keep me focused on what I’m writing, but they add a certain excitement, a richness to my scenes that until recently, to me, weren’t present.
With a waltz playing in the background, my senses are much sharper as I write. In fact, I can’t type fast enough to keep up. I can see the ballroom overflowing with bejeweled ladies and gentlemen dressed in their finest. The skirts of the ladies swirl as they glide in the arms of their handsome partners across the polished floor, the crush, along with the smell of so many bodies crammed into one room can sometimes put me in the thick of things, so vivid is the setting to me. And all this because of music. Mabye this sounds silly, but that’s amazing.
I’m curious to hear from those of you who write with music in the background, what are some of your favorite songs, soundtracks and albums that inspire you? Who are some artists you can’t write without? Whether the mood of your scene is dark, soft, menacing, dangerous, do you put together a playlist or soundtrack for your WIP to match those moods? And if you don’t quite know what song could fit a specific mood, where do you find the perfect music to complement a particular scene? I’m interested in adding to my growing list of film scores, so please don’t be shy in sharing.

MIA

I have to give you all a rain check on my blog this week. My husband has been in the hospital. He is stable, doing fine and hopefully will be home by the end of the week. There has been no time to write on my current novel or figure out a blog. I have spent most of the week at the hospital. I plan to be back into the swing of things by next Thursday. Hope to see you all here next week.

Happy Reading and Writing,

Tabitha Blake

Kidnapped Chapter 5

Mac didn’t have a clue where Terry had gone off to, and he really didn’t give a rat’s ass. Just as long as the guy wasn’t around him, or near Liz. He couldn’t believe the bastard had been close to forcing himself on her. Grabbing the ice pack from the emergency kit, he gave it a snap to start the freezing process as he headed up the stairs for the antiseptic. Unlocking the bedroom door, he heard Liz sniffling and his heart sank. He didn’t say a word as he moved towards her and took a seat in the chair across from her, lifting the ice pack to her mouth. When she jerked back, flinching, he wanted to kill Terry for making her so jittery. Scaring or hurting her hadn’t been part of the plan.

“I’m sorry.” Carefully he laid the bag against her mouth. “This will help the swelling.” His eyes shifted to the open blouse and to the lush pink breasts, and his male hormones came to attention. Berating himself, he lifted his eyes.

“I…have some antiseptic here, to clean the wound to make sure it doesn’t get infected.” Setting the ice pack on the floor, he lifted the bottle, dabbing a cotton tipped swab in the solution. “He won’t touch you again. I’ll make sure of that.” She winced when he touched the swab to her cut and he apologized once more. “Sorry.”

He didn’t blame her for not talking; her lip and jaw probably hurt like a bitch, and beyond that, she was probably utterly terrified. “Um…I’m going to untie you and let you…fix yourself up in the washroom.” He stood, moving in behind her, and got busy untying the knots.

“There you go.” Leaving the ropes on the floor, he took hold of her arm to help her up. He could feel her body shaking. He led her to the adjoining washroom near the window, stopping by the door. “I’ll be waiting right here.”

She caught the warning and entered the tiny washroom, closing the door behind her. She took one look in the mirror and her legs nearly buckled. With shaky hands she quickly did up the buttons on her blouse. She’d nearly been raped.

Feeling ill, she bent over the toilet and vomited until she emptied herself. Standing, she washed her mouth, then sat down and relieved herself. If the big guy hadn’t come in when he had, she might have been—no, she would have been raped. She needed to get out of here, now. Looking around the tiny room, she threw the shower curtain open to see a tiny circular window that looked no bigger than her head. Damn it, so much for thinking she could escape from the bathroom.

She took a deep breath, gathering her strength, then pushed the door open. Seeing him waiting for her, she knew what she needed to do. With a quick lift of her leg, she kicked him hard in the gut, sending him stumbling backwards onto the bed. Dashing for the door, she yanked it open and let out a loud scream when he caught her around the waist. She wasn’t beat yet, so she kept kicking and flailing with her arms.

“Jesus,” he exclaimed as he tried to get a good hold on her. Wrapping his arms around hers, pinning them to her sides, he dragged her to the bed. It was then that he realized the ropes still lay by the chair. “Damn it.”

“Let me go.” Wiggling, trying to break free of his hold, she feared that now he, too, would take his turn with her. She saw the slimy bastard who attacked her enter the room and went completely still.

“What the hell is going on?”

“Get the ropes.”

Her body stiffened momentarily when he climbed on top of her. “No, leave me alone; let me go; let me go.” Liz grunted, fighting, trying to break his hold. The guy didn’t just look big, he was big, and muscular. He felt like a lead weight pinning her down.

“Want me to tie her up?”

“No, just give me the ropes and go.” He responded to Terry, then looked down at Liz with a thin smile. “Nice try, princess, you’ve got balls.”

Relieved when Betty Rubble left the room, Liz let out a long breath. Then she felt her arms yanked above her head. Her pulse raced and her heart thundered as Bart tied her hands to the posts. “What are you going to do to me?” Was he going to punish her for trying to get away? God, please, don’t let him hurt me.

“Tie you to the bed for one. Then I’m going to put some more ice on that lip.”

Her brow furrowed in confusion. “Are you for real?”

“Last time I looked.” He secured the knots, then lifted off of her to grab the ice.

“I just kicked you and tried to get away. I’d think you’d be pretty pissed at that.” What the hell is wrong with you, Liz? Stop egging him on!

“Oh, I am.” He laid the ice on her lip, his eyes meeting hers. “But I’m not going to smack you around for it. What the other guy tried to do to you, what he did do to you, I don’t condone that sort of thing.”

He was being serious, she could tell by the tone of his voice and the look in his eyes. “You’re a baffling man— what’s your name?” The bag of ice slid from her mouth as she spoke.

“Bart,” he said with a smile, lifting the bag, holding it against her mouth.

“Right.” How droll. “Then why are you doing this to me? Why not let me go?”

“I enjoy abuse,” he said comically, as though trying to lighten her mood.

“Yeah, well, I’ll be more than happy to give you all the abuse you like, Bart.” She emphasized his name, her eyes narrowing with just a hint of humor in them.

“Pretty hard to do that, tied to the bed. Let’s take a look at that lip.” Pulling the ice from her lip, he leaned in to get a better look.

When his finger touched her bottom lip, she felt her breath catch.

“We’ll just leave the ice on it a bit more.” He stood, inhaling sharply.

“Where are you going?”

“Getting the lights.”

“Why?” Her voice quivered.

“I told you, princess, I’m not like the other guy. It’s getting late.” He shut the light off and the only form of illumination came from the TV on the dresser.

“I really hate that name.” She watched as he moved to the TV and shut it off. The darkness filled the room and her heart began to hammer. She felt the darkness surround her, smothering her with its greedy fingers.

“Yeah, why is that?” Clicking on the washroom light, he closed the door so that only a sliver of light could be seen.

She focused on the light, however small, and reminded herself there was nothing in the dark that could harm her. “I’m not royalty for one. What are you doing?”

With the light knitted blanket in hand, he draped it over her legs. “Covering you up?”

“Why?”

“In case you’re cold during the night.” Grabbing a pillow from beside her, he saw her eyes as they watched his every move. “Do you snore, princess?”

Her teeth gnashed again to the silly nickname. “No, I most certainly do not snore.”

“We’ll see. Sleep tight now.” He carried the pillow to the arm chair in the corner beside the bed and tucked it behind his head as he sat down.

“You’re sleeping here?”

“Yep. Don’t let the bed bugs bite.”

Rolling her eyes, she thought how childish that statement had been. She lay there tied to the bed fighting the sleep. She wanted to be on alert at all times, just to be safe, and every time he moved in the chair beside her, she waited, worrying, wondering. But inevitably sleep took hold and she dozed off.

Chapter 6

Her eyes shot open as the alarm clock buzzed beside her. “Shit.” Her heart hammering, she watched as he reached over and shut it off.

“’Morning.”

“It’s only six o’clock.” She yawned, her lip cracking and creating a ripple of burning pain. “Damn it.”

“I’m an early riser. Hmmm, you opened it up some last night. Hurt much?”

“No, it feels wonderful, you idiot.” She paused, shocked that she had said such a thing to him, and waited for any response, however brutal it might be.

“Well, someone’s not very chipper in the morning.”

She cocked her head to the side, baffled by his response.

“I guess I wouldn’t be too chipper either if my lip was killing me. I’ll clean it up for you, then grab some Advil for the pain.”

She watched in complete astonishment as he walked to the washroom—he wasn’t even disturbed with her? Okay, what’s up with this guy? She needed to test the waters. “You try sleeping with your arms tied to the bed and see how happy you are in the morning.”

He stepped from the washroom with a damp cloth, moving towards her. “I wasn’t exactly comfortable either, princess.”

Hmmm. “You could have slept in your bed. I didn’t have a choice as to how or where I slept.” She snarled her response, feeling rather brave now.

“Sweetie, you are in my bed.” Leaning over her, he dabbed the blood on her chin.

Her pulse fluttered beneath her skin and as her eyes lifted to meet his, it fluttered even more. Sweet God, what the hell was wrong with her? How could she be feeling arousal from this man holding her captive?

“Liz?”

“What?” She jumped, her response quick.

“I asked if I let you go to the washroom to clean your lip, do you promise not to kick me again?”

She told her pulse to slow down, calmed her rapid breathing and nodded. She couldn’t be feeling something for him, that was just…wrong.

“I can manage from here,” she insisted as he hoisted her to her feet, trying to pull her hands from his. Her pulse fluttered again, and it pissed her off.

“I’m sure you can.” But he helped her to the washroom just to be sure.

She closed the door in his face and turned to the mirror. Her face looked pale, her lip swollen and bloody, and her jaw hurt like a son-of-a-bitch. Her mind swirled with the arousal she felt being near him. She needed psychiatric help for lusting after her abductor. Splashing water on her face, washing her eyes, then carefully wiping her sore lip, she continued to think how idiotic it was to even think she could feel desire for him.

She did her business, ran her fingers through her hair trying to smooth it out as best she could without a brush, and opened the bathroom door. She saw Mac standing to the side, the ropes dangling in his hand. Her eyes lifted to his, then down to the ropes.

“Don’t even think about it.”

Making a break for it, she jutted to her right, then, faking him out, she bolted off to the left. She climbed over the bed, the blanket nearly tripping her up, then jumping off the bed, she ran for the door. She grabbed the door knob just as he came up behind her. She let out a squeal as he grabbed her left hand and pulled it behind her back, pinning her body to the door.

“Man, you just don’t give up.”

“Of course I’m not going to give up, you jackass. Do you think I’m just going to sit by and let you keep me tied up, for God sakes?” She jerked her body, trying to break free. He pinned her good and tight against the door. Her pulse began to flutter again, making her curse under her breath. When he reached in front of her to grab her right hand, she fought to keep him from taking it. Quicker than she was, he managed to grab it and pulled it behind her.

“And how did you expect to get out of here when the door is locked?”

“You didn’t lock it last night when you came up to bed.” He spun her around and pressed her against the door, holding her in place with his body. This time her pulse didn’t just flutter, it hammered.

“Fine, so you would have made it out the door, then what? You wouldn’t have gotten far, princess, with Betty Rubble keeping watch downstairs.”

“At this hour, only a crazy person would be awake.” She jerked her body once more, trying to get away from him. She felt pretty damn hot and it was getting very uncomfortable.

“Check it out, princess, you happen to be awake. Does that make you crazy?”

She knew she was panting but couldn’t control herself. Being so near to him was making her pulse throb and her chest ache with need. “I didn’t have a choice; your stupid alarm clock woke me.” She lifted her knee, ready to strike.

Faster than she, he blocked her attempt with his hand. “I like the mornings.”

“I like to sleep in.”

Lost for words, they stared into each other’s eyes, breathless. Moments passed before Mac shifted away, pulling her from the door. He didn’t say a word to her as he led her to the chair. Knowing what he had planned for her now, she refused to allow it to happen. When he pushed her down into the chair, she stood right back up.

“Get a grip.”

It shocked her when he lifted his leg and planted his knee on her chest. And when he leaned in closer to tie her up, she could smell his cologne, and it tickled her arousal. His hair beneath the mask brushed against her cheek as he bent near her ear to tie the ropes around her and it felt like satin. Turning her head, she saw the tufts of dark curly hair, and she nearly sighed.

“There, that should do it.”

Liz sat in her chair as he left the room, her chest rising and falling with each heavy breath she took. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.” Letting her head fall back, she wasn’t quite sure what to think. The man abducted her and was holding her captive, for God sakes, and she lusted after him. She didn’t even know what he looked like, yet she wanted him. God, Liz, get a grip.

Coming to her senses, she realized she needed to get out, she just didn’t know how. She’d tried to make a break for it, twice, only to be dragged back. The window, it was still her best chance, and the brief glances the night before led her to believe it would be plenty big enough for her to squeeze through. All she needed to do is break free of the ropes and she was set.

Shifting her body, she ignored the burning sensation the ropes caused as they rubbed against her skin. There would be plenty of time to sooth them when she broke free.

~

Feeling more himself after the cold shower, Mac headed for the kitchen to make some breakfast. Seeing Terry sitting at the table eating a plate of fluffy eggs soured his mood. Saying nothing to him, he moved to the fridge, grabbing the butter and jam. Setting them on the counter, he was pleased to see the coffee ready. Pouring himself a cup, adding a spoon of sugar, he pulled out the toaster and added four slices of bread, pressing the lever down.

“He called last night.”

“What?” Mac turned sharply, the coffee in the cup sloshing over the rim to scald his fingers. Setting the cup on the counter, he put his fingers in his mouth. “Why didn’t you come get me?”

Terry shrugged, lifting his own coffee cup to his lips, taking a sip before speaking. “Didn’t want to disturb you.”

“I’m in charge, Terry, you should have called me to the phone.” He turned when the toast popped, annoyed. “What did he want?”

“He was checking in, making sure everything went smoothly. I told him everything went according to plan.”

He buttered the toast then slopped jam on it. “What else?”

“That’s it. Said he would be in touch.”

Great, Mac thought, he’d be in touch. He had the easy part, while Mac put everything on the line. Not like he had much of a choice now, did he, and the guy knew that. Rock and a hard place, that’s where he sat. Pouring another cup of coffee, he set both cups as well as the plate of toast on a tray then turned to the fridge and grabbed a bowl of strawberries, fresh from his own garden. “Tidy up for me while I’m upstairs okay.”

“I’m not your bitch, Mac.” Terry snarled into his cup.

“I didn’t make the eggs, and thank you for sharing by the way.”

“Whatever.”

Clenching his jaw, Mac carried the tray up the stairs, wishing he didn’t have to be stuck with the creep. But he’d had no choice in the matter, so he just had to put up with him.

Setting the tray on the floor, he pulled the key from his pocket, unlocked the door, then, pulling the mask from his back pocket, he slipped it over his head before opening the door. “Room service.”

Her head shifted in his direction and her eyes focused on the tray in his hand. “Cheap restaurant if you call that breakfast.”

“My, what a smart mouth we have, princess.” Smiling, he set the tray on the bed and moved in behind her. “Right handed, right?” The scent of her hair tickled his nose and stirred his pulse.

“Yes.”

Shaking it off, he untied her left hand then tied the right to the ropes around her body.

“I said I was right handed.”

“I know.” He took the plate of toast, lifted two pieces off the plate for himself, put a few strawberries beside hers then set the plate on her lap. “Here you go.”

Liz looked down at the food before her, then back up at Mac. “You must have broken a sweat cooking for me. You shouldn’t have.”

Ooh, he loved her sarcasm. “All the more reason for you to enjoy it.” He took a seat across from her, the tray on his lap with his toast and coffee.

“Where’s my cup?”

“Over there.” He motioned to the night stand, taking a bite of his toast.

She glanced to her left and saw the cup sitting there. “May I have it?”

“In time.”

Her eyes shifted to his as her left eyebrow shot up. “Now what could I possibly do with a cup of coffee, aside from drinking it?”

“You strike me as the inventive type; you’d find other uses for it.”

Her lip curled up but not enough to open the wound. “Like throwing it at you?”

“Bingo, princess.”

“Afraid of me, big guy?” She bit into a strawberry, licking the juices that trickled from her mouth.

He watched her tongue as it lapped up the juices and felt his loins tighten. “Wary.”

“Then why bring me a cup?”

His eyes were glued to the way she ate that luscious red juicy strawberry and the way her lips molded its form, the way her tongue lapped up the juices. “Why do you think it’s sitting over there and not in your hands right now?”

Smiling, she licked the strawberry juice from her fingers. “And you think giving me a cooled cup of coffee is any better?”

He imagined his fingers in her mouth. “Cool coffee doesn’t hurt as much.”

“Ever had a cup smashed over your head?”

Shaking his mind clear, his eyes lifted to hers. “See, now that is exactly why I’m guarded.” He stood now, knowing that if he didn’t leave the room soon, he wasn’t going to be able to. “Finished?”

“No.”

“Then no coffee.”

“Fine, I’m finished.” She’d give up the last pieces of the overly sweet toast and juicy strawberries for the coffee any day.

“Here you go.” Taking the plate, he set it on the tray with his coffee cup then walked to the door. “I’ll be right back.”

He closed the door behind him, locking it.

Paranormal gibberish. Please use sparingly.

Louis

Whether you are writing historical, fantasy, science fiction or paranormal, when it comes to world building I much prefer to be drawn into a new or strange domain by being introduced to fascinating characters/creatures or reading evocative, visceral narrative description. I dislike having to puzzle out a lot of made up words and language or worse,  read through awkward exposition or backstory to explain to me what these new words mean.

The very best example of this sort of world building gibberish can be found in the scene in Ghostbusters, when Louis (possessed by Vinz Clortho, Gozer the Gozerain) is brought into Ghostbuster headquarters:

“Louis, who is Gozer?”

“He will come in one of the prechosen forms. During the rectification of the Vuldranii, he came as large and moving Torb. Then, during the third reconciliation of the Mekertix supplicant, they chose a new form–that of a giant Slor! Many shubbs and zuuls knew what is was to be roasted in the depths of the Sloar that day I can tell you.”

Okay, that was satire. Hilarious satire. But how often have you read a fellow writer’s manuscript and had one of those eye-roll experiences as you slog through an overdose of this very kind of vernacular?  I’m sorry, I have zero tolerance for gibberish of any sort. Techobabble, sci-fi slang, ghost patter, demonese, angel idioms, Greco-myth-speak.  All of it.  And the historical writers can be just as bad, especially when they get esoteric and show-offy pointless.

On the other hand. If you can do it will style, then you may get away with it. I believe that’s called pulling it off. And, I grant you a certain amount of odd-speak is not only expected, it is probably even necessary, but this made up jargon should be sprinkled about in the story. Sparingly, I think, is the operative word here.

Give me your Gozer in moderation, please.

Honestly, to suck me into an ancient or futuristic world I need layers of information.
The writer must use all the senses, sight, sound, taste, touch, smell. I need facts, the rules of the world. All of these things help to ground me, the reader, in the story. But I have to be……beguiled. Drawn into the mystery of this new world, whether it’s by a creeping fog slowly drifting over a dark lane in late Victorian London or the triple moon sky of an alien planet. These kinds of thrilling sights and eerie descriptions help create an emotional connection. Too much gibberish (especially up front) makes it hard for the reader to immerse themselves in the time-space continuum, so to speak.

No matter how extraordinary your field of dreams is, try to keep it real. No amount of comic book lingo will ever supplant the wonder of creating and experiencing a living breathing world filled with whatever kind of fire-breathing dragons you wish to thrill me with.

G. Jillian Stone
There are fields in time that burn with desire. Meet me there.
Jillian is a recent Golden Heart finalist for THE YARD MAN, the first story in The Yard Men Series. Set in late Victorian London, Scotland Yard detectives have never been as wickedly sexy or as brilliantly clever. To read more about her latest work in progress, THE SEDUCTION OF PHAETON BLACK, please drop by her website: http://www.gjillianstone.com

ONE MAN’S THOUGHTS: Anatomy of a Love Scene

One day I would love the opportunity to sit down with a group of romance or erotica writers and hear the creative process that each goes through to develop a sex scene. Whether the story uses graphic or suggestive styles the art of novel writing doesn’t get any more personal than the subject of lovemaking. Everything from the details chosen to depict, the acts the characters engage in, and the level of description utilized all says a lot about the author. The love sequence is always a challenge to craft and that’s why I want to share my experience with you.

In the rough draft of my novel Savage Worlds I handled the consummation of the relationship between Jaron and Sheri, the principle two characters, with a short paragraph that simply noted that they indulged each other’s desire throughout the night. When I reread the draft I decided that something was definitely missing. After all there were nearly two hundred pages of how Jaron wanted her and how Sheri realized that there was more to this dangerous, uncultured man than she thought. The two overcame not only their own preconceived notions about each other’s race and culture, but also a myriad of external pressures that kept them apart. Now stranded on a harsh world, their survival in question, I decide to represent their expression of love by jotting a couple of sentences about how they pleased one another.

Weak!

The process of writing an appropriate scene began immediately. Though nervous about my first attempt at a sexual encounter, I opted to emulate the same method I use for developing a violent scene. I clearly described the mindset of the character; why they were at this heightened state and how it affect them. In a conflict I will use key details to relate the physical interaction while blending in emotional changes to the stimulus. In this scene I did the same thing.

The first time a couple gets nude together is a monumental experience. By concentrating on that identifiable experience the reader can feel the same anticipation as the characters with the aim of creating a level of believability. Also, instead of Jaron and Sheri having a practiced perfect performance they have a moment where they bungle their attempts to undress one another. They giggle at their clumsy efforts and continue with great enthusiasm.

The sequence then broke up into three general parts.

The first was a foreplay section where they both explore each other’s bodies. Though the races in Savage Worlds are all ‘near’ human, they possess physical differences and there was a mild curiosity factor as they learn about the other. The second was the initial lovemaking that reflected the emotional satisfaction that their being together brought them. This spotlighted the awareness one gets when first with someone new— the Oh my God, I can’t believe this happening factor. The last part of the love scene was the animalistic stage. When the lust is so great a person forgets his or her own name. At this point Jaron and Sheri become so enthralled with the act that they are no longer aware of where they are. Making that point was critical because in my estimation it is the goal of a sexual encounter to reach the inner basic instincts and let go of whom we pretend to be.

As it turned out this template became my formula for writing such interaction. While there are variations to each, it is the heart of every sex sequence I write.

If anyone else would care to share their thoughts I’d like to hear them. Drop me a line at m.bingamon@att.com and I’ll write a summary of these comments for my next blog.

If you are new to writing then I hope you found this inspirational and don’t balk at letting loose on your own love scenes. Be honest. That will be your greatest tool to pull the reader into the passion shared between your characters.

Until next time, happy writing.

Michael Matthews Bingamon

Author Spotlight – ?

HAPPINESS

 

Happiness

Hello. Today I would like to take a break from discussing writing rules and talk about something wonderful that happened to me.

This particular day started out as most days, but as it wore on, it progressively got worse and worse. At the end of this rotten day, I sat down at my computer to read my emails and check out the goings on in the two critique groups I belong to–see if I received any crits on my chapters. On one site I had received two critiques, but I noticed I also had a message in my in box. I checked the name, believing it to be from one of my regular critters, but I didn’t recognize the it. Curious, I opened it. As I read the message, my heart beat faster and my lips curled into a wide silly grin. Though this member had never critted for me, she unbeknown to me had been following my story.

In this specific critique group, each Wednesday we post a new chapter of our WIP. This member—I will call her Laura—wrote to tell me that she looks forward to Wednesdays because she knows there will be another chapter of my MS. She went on to tell me how much she loves my characters and is enjoying my story immensely. Went so far as to say if my novel ends up published, she would be the first in line to buy.

I was speechless. I stared at the computer screen, my mind and body numb with delight. Sure my regular critters have given me a few compliments on my writing and my story, but their job is to help me strengthen my MS, pointing out what needs work, not to give praise. So when another member—a stranger—told me she had been following my story and loves it, well, I can’t even describe to you the joy I felt.

At that moment I realized all my hard work and struggles seemed worth it! To know that someone likes it is the best feeling.

I copied her message and placed it in a little frame. It sits beside my computer, and on days when I’m struggling, days when my inner cynic is yapping her mouth off, I read this little note. I smile and remember that wondering feeling of knowing someone loves my story as much as I.

Interview And New Release With Jane Beckenham

Today’s chat is with New Zealand author Jane Beckenham. Jane writes both contemporary and historical romance and next week (Tuesday May 25th) sees her 10th book released. HE’S THE ONE is being released by
http://www.samhainpublishing.com

Abbey: Jane. Tell us a bit about He’s the One.

Jane: Well, HTO is set here in New Zealand, actually in Auckland where I live, a city known as City of Sails, because we’re surrounded by harbor on both sides, the Tasman Sea on one side and the Mankau Harbour on the other. I wanted to write about a heroine who was a wedding planner, I think because secretly it’s a job I would love to do. And my hero, well he is just pure hunk material. He owns vintage cars, and in particular a red Mustang. When I was out ‘doing lunch’ with authors Eve Summers and Melody Knight one day, this guy drove up and parked beside us in his red mustang. He walked right by. Oh it was drool heaven!

Reviews so far have been great….

Review from Single Titles…. “Jane Beckenham scripts
a beautiful tale woven with remarkable insight to
the emotions of a new couple finding their way. He’s
the One reminded me a lot of the emotions you feel
when you find someone special you’re attracted to.
I thought it believable and felt like I had stepped into the
story with Taylor and Cade. Curl up with a festive drink
and spend the day enjoying this remarkable story.”
Read more….

And from Romance Junkies… HE’S THE ONE by Jane Beckenham is a unique story. So many parts of the plot had this reviewer laughing out loud. The chemistry between the characters is strong enough to keep the reader turning the pages. I would recommend this book for the romantics out there that are looking for a fun, simple read to relax with.

Here’s the blurb: Taylor Sullivan doesn’t trust Cupid, but she plays one for a living. As a successful wedding consultant, she creates a couple’s ultimate fantasy—even though she’s never managed to create her own. And when her clients start asking her for wedding night advice, she’s sensible enough to know when to enlist help.
Cade Harper knows two things about women. They either abandon him, or use him as a walking bank. He doesn’t do commitment, and marriage is a dirty word—witness the string of broken hearts he’s left in his wake
Warning: Contains explicit, straight-to-the-heart sex between a hopeless romantic heroine and an abandon-all-hope hero. No need to dress up for this party—just curl up with a glass of bubbly and a box of tissues!

Abbey: He's The One is quite quirky, I mean the opening line is out there.

Jane: The opening line Virginity is overrated came to me one night while I couldn't sleep. My poor heroine is a virgin and her clients (the brides) keep asking her questions about sex she can't answer. Like a sensible business gal she decides she's going to learn a new skill!

Abbey: What do you think books set in New Zealand bring to your work.

Jane: Well I'd like to think I can bring a sense of NZ life and culture. I mean we're upside down and when the northern hemisphere is deep in snow for Christmas, it's summer here and all about bbqs and the beach. I think that is why I tend to set a lot of my stories around summer time, so I can showcase our different worlds. New Zealand has some spectacular native plans one of which is the Pohutukawa and is our 'NZ Christmas tree” For example my book Always a Bridesmaid was set in Rotorua and the Ureweras – in the very heart of Nzs North Island, an area steeped in Maori culture and myth and legend which featured in the book. It's also an area my husband and I lived in over 25 years ago.

Abbey: Do you write every day?

Jane: This is where I cough and splutter and hang my head. I should be, in fact I usually do, but at the moment I’ve been a tad slack and had some time off. I’ve even discovered the joys of window cleaning – which is incredibly sad and pathetic. But I’m slowly getting back into it, now the writing well is getting refilled with some down time, not something I do easily!

Abbey: Since you set a lot of your books in New Zealand, tell us a bit about life there.

Jane: Well NZ is a special place and of course if you saw the Lord of the Rings movies, you will have noticed a lot of our landscape. We’re 2 islands, (the North Island and South Island – not very original I know) though there is a tiny third one way at the bottom called Stewart island. Our native language is Maori and we’re officially part of Polynesia. We have a sub-tropical climate and a population of only 4 million. A nation for outdoor activities, anything from surfing and sailing to bungee jumping and skiing. Plus of course Rugby which is our national sport.

Abbey: What's next on the writing front?

Jane: He's The One is being released on 25th May from Samhain, then in the coming months I have a Regency, A Traitor's Heart and a sheikh story – In Love With the Sheikh being released from Red Rose Publishing.
I have a couple of other contemporaries I’m fine tuning, plus an historical set in the late 1600s (in France/England) which is in edit mode too. No rest for the wicked.

Abbey: Thanks Jane for popping in to chat to us. How can readers find you?

Jane: Thanks for having me Abbey. You can check out my web site at Jane Beckenham.com and I am on twitter

It's Abbey again. So Jane's been kind enough to gift to one lucky commenter a pre-released copy of He's The One. So if you'd like a chance to win, leave a comment. I'll draw the winner on Sunday.

To Outline or Not To Outline

That is the big question…do you or don’t you outline. I started my first novel without an outline. Flying by the seat of my pants, was my idea of being creative. I thought an outline would box my creativity in, I refused to stifle myself with guidelines. That was a big mistake. Constantly wondering in the dark and lost, no idea where the story was going or how it was going to get there. I became frustrated and started to think it was my writing that was lacking but it was not the writing it was my method. I wanted to sit at my computer and hope for the best with no planning. I was writing blindly. This caused me to want to quit many times. Talking to a friend about my frustrations, she asked me where my book was going and maybe she could help me. My answer was I have no clue. In a years time I had about thirteen chapters and my story had changed a millions times. Every time it changed, I went back to the beginning and rewrote the previous chapters. It was an endless cycle; I became frustrated with the story. It wasn’t really the story but the fact that I had no bones to my story and you need the bones of the story to move it forward. You can’t just fly along on a wish and a pray.

Currently I have put that story on the back burner and started a new one. I outlined the whole thing and amazingly have written seven chapters on two weeks. The outline keeps me grounded. Knowing what should be in each chapter and where the story is going has taken all the stress out of writing. I know what needs to be in each chapter and when those key points are there, the chapter is done. There is no guessing anymore and my confidence is back. I will eventually go back to my pervious story and finish it but I will most definitely outline it and think it though before I start on it again. The outline actually gave me more freedom in my writing and didn’t box me in as I had thought it would. I still veer from the out line at times but I also know what ever I add will progress the story. I think of it like a map, if you don’t have a map how do you get from point A to point B? Never again will I try to write a story without one. The outline is an amazing tool that a writer should never take for granted.

Do you use an outline or are you a panster? If your a panster do you find yourself frustrated a lot? I would love to hear about your methods and ideas on making the writing process easier.

Happy Reading and Writing,

Tabitha Blake

Let’s Be Frank

Though to be honest, I’d rather be Karenna…

Okay, bad joke. Seriously, I’m talking today about frank language in an erotic romance story. You know, the terms that might make your grandma blush, if she’s alive and reads erotic romance. Though actually, if a grandma read erotic romance, she probably wouldn’t blush.

In some romance novels, the type that might be sold in your local supermarket or corner store, the language isn’t so blunt. There may be mention of genitalia, possibly even being inserted into other genitalia, but the descriptions are relatively vague. The scene may be glossed over entirely, the so-called “closed curtain” version of a sex scene, where you know darn well what the characters are doing but don’t get to see it.

Even if the author follows the character into the bedroom, slightly euphemistic terms may be used. “His hardness”, “her softness”, that sort of thing. Now, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that. Some romance publishers require things to be couched in tamer terms, and some readers prefer reading them.

In erotic romance, however, things have to be a bit more in-your-face. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be erotic romance.

One thing authors have to be careful of when writing a sex scene, whether it’s the vague version or the explicit, is purple prose. Even though purple is a pretty color, purple prose is not so attractive. Such sentences as “He sheathed his fleshly sword deep within the warm folds of her” live within the purple prose story. (Disclaimer: I have no idea whether that particular sentence is in any book. I made it up, though it definitely fits “purple prose”.) While that sort of writing may have its place, that place is not in an erotic romance novel.

Different publishers have different requirements for language in an erotic romance, so as an author, it’s important to keep up with the guidelines. As a reader, it’s helpful to know which publisher uses terms that won’t offend you personally. For example, a friend of mine told me that a publisher I’m submitting to prefers the “C” word for female anatomy. A lot of people are very offended by that word, and at least two other publishers I’ve worked with won’t allow it in their books. Personally, I prefer it; the other frequently used word for that genitalia sounds silly to me. I can understand it bothering people, though.

When writing a romance, particularly an erotic romance, it’s sometimes hard to write the sex scenes without being repetitive.  After all, there are a finite number of words that can be used to describe anatomy and acts, and some of those words aren’t allowed at some publishers. Some words are too “purple”. Some just plain aren’t even used in this century.  As an erotic romance author, I want the sex scenes I write to be realistic. I want them to be frank, because that’s what erotic romance is.

I just probably ought to buy a sex thesaurus. And yes, those do exist.

Kidnapped Chapter 4/adult

Here is the next chapter in my Contemporary Comedy, Kidnapped. A bit of interesting information about Kidnapped. The book you are reading is not the original. For the most part its the same as the first draft I wrote but after submitting it I was asked to make some major changes. One of which was the scene below with the Betty Rubble character. Originally he was a meek, mild-mannered lady’s man who was a little…well to put it bluntly, dimwitted. To add some suspense and to make it seem more like a real life situation, my editor suggested I add in a rape scene. I refused but did add in him assaulting her. Do I regret changing so much of my book? Yes. But at the time I was a new author and I thought by arguing my point that the publisher would terminate my contract. Word of advice to all those newbies out there. yes, editors can suggest making changes to your books but if you don’t feel comfortable in the direction they want you to take it, speak up. It is after all, your book.

Now, on to Chapter 4.

**************

Tossing his mask on the counter, Mac set the plate in the dishwasher, then grabbed the towel hanging by the sink. Walking to the fridge, he grabbed the bag of ice from the freezer, set it on the counter, then grabbed a knife to open it.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting some ice.” His jaw began to throb now. Who would have thought the woman could pack such a hardy punch?

“Why?”

Grabbing a handful of ice, Mac wrapped it in a towel then laid it on his chin. “She clipped me.”

“What?” His blue eyes lifted to Mac’s with surprise.

“She clipped me, right in the jaw. It wasn’t much of a punch, but enough that I think it might bruise.”

“She punched you?”

“I think I said yes.”

“Shit. What did you do to her for that?”

Lifting his brow, Mac responded calmly. “I tied her up and left her sitting in the chair.”

“You didn’t hit her back?”

“No,” Mac said, aghast. “Jesus, I don’t hit women.”

“Oh come on, you’re telling me you’ve never hit a woman, not even once?”

“No, I have never hit a woman.” And it didn’t surprise him in the least that Terry condoned it. The guy was slime. He may look meek with his perfectly styled blonde hair and pretty boy face, but he’d heard stories about Terry’s temper that worried Mac. That was why he didn’t want him watching over Liz; he didn’t trust the guy.

Terry made snorting noises as he waved his hands in disgust. “You’re a wimp then. You gotta let the woman know who’s in charge.”

“You’re unbelievable, Terry, you know that?” Leaving, Mac wandered outside with the ice on his chin.

He didn’t hit women, and any man that did wasn’t a real man in his opinion.

~

She might be glad he left the TV on for her, breaking the mundane silence, if he’d left it on something other than the sports channel. The sun had begun to set; she could tell that by the lighting in the room. She’d been here nearly an entire day so far and no one had come looking for her, which meant, she was stuck here.

Yeah, Liz, that’s great, give up. Since when do you give up on anything? Struggling once more, she could feel the ropes around her body shifting, loosening. She was going to break free even if it meant skinning her wrists in the meantime.

She heard the door rattle and her heart skipped a beat. She hadn’t heard anyone on the stairs, and when the door creaked open, her worst fears confirmed, as she watched Betty Rubble enter the room.

“Thought you might want some company.”

He closed the door behind him, and she felt her heart hammering in her chest. She didn’t trust him, didn’t like him. He was the thinner of the two, yet he was the one that worried her the most.

“Cat got your tongue?” he said with a chuckle as he pulled a chair up right in front of her.

“What do you expect me to say?” She didn’t want to say anything to him.

He shrugged thin shoulders, leaning forward to run his finger along her knee. “I don’t know, you could tell me how much you want to get out of here.”

Her skin crawled beneath the fabric of her slacks, and as his fingers slid higher on her thigh, she felt the nausea rolling in her gut. “I could pay you anything you like, just name the price.” His eyes met hers and she saw beneath the mask that they were blue. She saw something else in his eyes and it sickened her. She knew just what he wanted and it had nothing to do with money, and when he ran his fingers along her thigh, up her hip, she felt the acid rise in her gut.

“The money sounds good, but I think we both know what I want from you.”

She gulped hard, swallowing back the vomit rising in her throat as his hand cruised up and along her breast. “Please, don’t do this.”

“Oh, you know you want this as much as I do. I’ve read up on you, and I know just how many men you’ve let touch you.” His hand slid to the buttons on her shirt, swiftly flicked one open, then the next.

Her entire body shaking, she knew she was going to be raped and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Your legs are free, Liz, use them, fight, don’t let him take you. She felt his fingers skim over the swell of her breasts and she knew she needed to make her move. Lifting her leg, she rammed her foot right into his crotch.

“Fucking Christ.” He buckled.

She saw the evil in his eyes through the mask when he lifted his head and the fear cut into her like a sharp knife. Keep fighting, Liz, keep fighting. “Keep away from me, you bastard.” Kicking her feet, she caught him in the shins several times. When his fist came up, she wasn’t quick enough to dodge it and felt the blow as it connected with her jaw. Liz saw stars before her eyes, felt the pain spear into her jaw and the nausea build in her belly.

“Stupid bitch, well, let’s see how feisty you’ll be while I’m pounding my dick into you.”

She screamed when he yanked her slacks zipper down, screamed as he began to work the ropes to gain access to her. The next thing she knew the door flew open and Bart came charging into the room. For a brief moment she thought he, too, would have his turn with her, but then he grabbed the slime attacking her and threw him against the wall.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“The stupid bitch kicked me in the fucking dick, man.”

“Get your ass downstairs, now.” To insure he listened, Mac grabbed his shoulder and yanked him from the room.

The door slammed shut behind them, and Liz shook with the thought of what might have just happened. She could hear their voices through the closed door, heard the deep voiced one yelling. She didn’t need to try to listen; his voice rang loud and clear through the closed door.

“You fucking bastard, you were going to rape her.”

“I just wanted a little taste. She kicked me in the nuts, man.”

“You fucking deserved that and more. You touch her again and I swear to God I will make damn sure you regret it. Got it?”

“Whatever.”

She heard a hard thud against the wall and jumped.

“You lay one finger on her again and I’ll make sure you never use that dick of yours again. Get out of my sight.”

The door opened and Liz sucked in a breath, her body still shaking. He simply stood by the door, looking down at her. She heard him mumble something under his breath, then shake his head as he turned to the door and left.

Her lip quivered once, then once more before the tears fell from her eyes. She could taste the bile in her throat and swallowed several times to settle it back down. Her jaw throbbing, she knew her lip bled because she could taste the blood. Looking down at her opened clothing, the tears slid silently from her eyes.

Oceans of Wonder

The sea, once it castes its spell, holds one in its net of wonder forever. –Jacques Yves Cousteau

Big fish eat little fish. It is a universal axiom understood by almost everyone without having to experience a documentary film like OCEANS. BUT. If you have a spare  afternoon or evening this week you might go see a real movie. (Wait for the DVD to come out only if you have HD and a home theater.)

It has become a rare experience to see a film that actually evokes a sense of awe or wonder. But this one does it with the aid of some amazing, digital cinematography, brought to you by Disneynature.

Nearly three quarters of the Earth’s surface is covered by water and OCEANS chronicles an assortment of mysteries that lie beneath. Directors Jacques Perrin and Jacques Cluzaud (Frenchmen, of course) explore the harsh reality and rare beauty of the amazing creatures that swim, crawl, waddle and soar through 84 minutes of wonderful storytelling and unforgettable images.

So rarely do films inspire me anymore, that when I experience one that does I actually sit through the credits. The names scrolling by never mean much to me. I think it has more to do with wanting to pay homage to a long list of filmmakers who brought something worth while into the world.

In the same way an excellent book inspires, so does a very good film. I’m not sure exactly what takes place in my imagination but watching a shrimp rip the claws off a crab or seeing a giant white shark swim gently beside a scuba diver sends my thoughts whirling into all kinds of fantastic scenarios. I think  of a particular scene I am writing and realize how flat it is compared to real life survival.  And I don’t mean the reality TV kind of survivor, either.

I always find myself in awe of the innocent nobility of wild life, and that includes all of the odd sea creatures of OCEANS as they struggle to survive and still find time for play. Like, do dolphins leap out of the waves to spin and twirl in the air just for the sheer joy of it? Anthropomorphically speaking, I hope so.

And the concept of writing tension into every scene has suddenly become vividly real for me. I realize these saltwater vignettes are, in essence, reminding me to take a look at my work with a more critical eye. The muse returns to wallop me over the head. I swear I will write with more emotional honesty, push scenes further, fresher, higher, darker. Reach for something more–maybe even a little wonder.

I tried to set up a link but WordPress wasn’t cooperating, so you and Google are on your own. Try: Oceans movie trailer

G. Jillian Stone

There are fields in time that burn with desire. Meet me there.

Jillian is a recent Golden Heart finalist for THE YARD MAN, the first story in The Yard Men Series. Set in late Victorian London, Scotland Yard detectives have never been as wickedly sexy or as brilliantly clever. To read more about her latest work in progress, THE SEDUCTION OF PHAETON BLACK, please drop by her website: www.gjillianstone.com