New Release: Naked (Phoenix Rising #1)

Happy weekend! So I can finally say that the “Cage book” is now free in the wild. Though I really hope it isn’t going to be overshadowed by April the Giraffe FINALLY giving birth. On this momentous occasion, I thought I’d post a little excerpt and then compel you (in the words of John Hartness) to BUY MY SHIT! Seriously, though. I’m so excited for you guys to read this book. It’s been fighting its way to publication for more than four years now and to finally see the light of day— that’s so special. So here. Enjoy!!

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“Hey…” she sighed, taking the curve of his jaw in the palm of her hand and raising his eyes to meet hers. “I’m okay. You saved my life. For like… the millionth time.” He didn’t move, so she didn’t pull away, finally able to observe him. His jaw was set, tense as he stared at her with those dusky, changeable eyes. But Phoe could feel a tremble there. A fear lurking underneath that she would never have expected a man like Cage to possess. “I’m fine.”

“And what in hell were you doing?” he said, snapping his head up to glare at her. “I told you to run away and you did exactly the opposite of what I said! You could have been killed! Or worse, bitten! You just… you don’t understand, Phoe. I’m supposed to protect you, and I didn’t protect you. I can’t lose another…” His words trailed off. She could tell he wanted to say more but wouldn’t. She held his gaze, but he looked away, as if he were hiding some weakness he couldn’t stand for her to see. There was some trauma lurking there.

“What are you talking about?” she said. “Help me understand.”

“I can’t,” he said, pulling back and shaking his head as if to clear it. “I won’t.”

“But why…”

He rolled back on his heels and rose quickly, his shoulder brushing against the bedside table and nearly toppling the glass of tea, an uncharacteristically clumsy movement. “Just leave it alone, Phoe. My demons are my own.” The weakness was gone, and now that hard-edged, barely contained anger returned. She knew if she pressed him that he would lash out. She was starting to understand, to be able to read his moods that had seemed so random and mysterious when they’d first met. There was a scab, healed over but still burning. “Rest up,” he said, turning to walk away. “We’ll leave at sunset.”


So wanna read more? I thought you might. *whispers* It gets sexier from there… Anyway, here’s where you can find it–

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Naked-Phoenix-Rising-Book-1-ebook/dp/B071CRSKV2/ref=sr_1_3?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1492262731&sr=1-3&keywords=naked

Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/718364

Boroughs Publishing Group: http://www.boroughspublishinggroup.com/books/naked

Others will be added soon (print, Kobo, iBooks, etc.)

In the Shadow of Death: Chapter One

In The Shadow

TRIGGER WARNING:  Drug abuse and mentions of sexual assault.

ICYMI:  In the Shadow of Death: Prologue

Chapter One

“Scarlett!  Open the door!”   David Bradford shouted through the door, this time loud enough to attract attention from the old lady waiting for the elevator.  This was not how he had planned to spend this morning, but he’d been trying to reach Scarlett for several days and nothing.  Not that it was unusual.  Like most of his clients, Scarlett was a free spirit and would often just go off the grid for days or weeks at a time.  Of course, unlike most of his clients, Scarlett was a loose cannon.  Behind the door, it was just as likely that she would be lying in a pool of her own vomit having overdosed on pills as it was that she was standing in front of a canvas with her iPod blasting in her ears.

“She keeps a key under the mat, son,” the old lady finally said, the annoyance clear in her jagged voice.  “Why don’t you use it instead of disturbing the whole building?”

David smirked, bending down and retrieving the key.  When he pushed it into the doorknob and opened the door, there was a discouraging silence.  He peered inside a little, but the chain was still latched.  He had to push his shoulder against it a few times to break the chain lock and heave it open. “Goddamnit, Scarlett.  Gay boys shouldn’t have to break into women’s apartments,” he called into the room.  No response.

He could smell the scent of alcohol all over the ruined apartment.  Empty wine bottles, newspapers, books and food dishes were strewn everywhere and the air was thick.  David shook his head, stepping carefully around the debris as he made his way into the living area.  Stacks of canvases, some painted, some still white, blocked the windows making it dark in the room despite the early morning sun.  Her obsession was evident everywhere.  She was surrendering to her own madness, it seemed.  The dark angel, staring down at the world below.  Even if he wasn’t the subject, he was always there.  The paintings had grown in scale and twisted beauty in the last couple of months.  And though they were like nothing he’d ever seen, David began to fear that the art world would be disturbed by them.  And that meant that she would be written off as a kook and never sell another piece. Not while she was alive, at least. He walked around the couch and saw Scarlett lying on the floor at the foot of an unfinished canvas.  “Scarlett!” he exclaimed, rushing around the clutter to kneel beside her.  He touched her face, feeling that it was still warm and seeing the gentle rise and fall of her chest calmed him somewhat.  “Scarlett, honey, wake up,” he sighed, hooking his arms under hers and trying to pull her to a sitting position.

“Leave me…” she slurred, her head lolling to one side as David propped her against the front of the couch.  Her eyes opened and focused on him briefly and he could see that her pupils were shrunken and unresponsive.  “David…” she said before closing her eyes again.  He slapped her lightly on each cheek, trying to get her awake enough to stand on her own, but she only groaned.  He sighed again, pulling her into his arms and lifting her body.  “Bitch, if you puke on this suit…” he murmured.  Sadly, this was not uncommon in his dealings with Scarlett.

Carrying her through a maze of wine bottles, he finally made it to the bathroom.  Setting her down in the large porcelain tub, he turned the shower on, letting the cool water rain down on her, uncaring that she was still fully clothed.  When she got like this it was the only thing that would work.  With a heavy sigh he sat down beside the tub.  He could only hope that the cold water from the shower would bring her around and he wouldn’t have to resort to the emergency room.  Scarlett Munro was an up and coming artist—the last thing he needed right now was her unconscious face slapped on newsprint.

A cough and sputter broke David’s reverie and he sat up to see Scarlett shaking the water droplets from her hair and face.  “What the fuck, David?” she growled.

“Well look who’s awake?” he replied, pulling a towel from the rack behind his head.  “I thought I was going to have to call an ambulance this time.”

“You should have just let me be,” she replied, wiping the rough terrycloth across her face.  “I’d have woken up eventually.”

“Jimi Hendrix said that too, I think,” David mused, putting a hand on her arm to pull her forward a bit.  “Come on.  Let’s get you out of these clothes and wash you off a little bit.  You look like hell.”  Scarlett stared at him, her eyes still bleary with the after-effects of her latest bender.  He pulled his suit jacket from around his shoulders and threw it over the toilet.  “Don’t look at me like that.  It’s ok.  I’m gay,” he said as he rolled up his sleeves.  After a few moments, she allowed him to help her out of the soaked tee-shirt and jeans.

David knelt by the tub, using a washcloth to rinse warm water over her body, washing it clean of what was at least a few days’ worth of stink.  Scarlett was silent, letting her friend cleanse her as the effects of the alcohol and pills slipped from her brain, leaving only a dull ache behind.  “How long was I out?”

“No idea, darling.  But I’ve been trying to reach you for three days.”  Leaning over her, he pulled the shower nozzle down and began running warm water over her hair.  “When your voicemail box was full, I decided I’d better come check on you.”  He nudged her shoulder, pushing her forward and scrubbing her shoulders and neck with the loofah.  “So when were you planning on stopping this?”

“Stopping what?” Scarlett asked.  Her voice sounded tired and disinterested.

“Doing this to yourself.  I mean, I get the whole ‘I must suffer for my art,’ bullshit, but honey this is a bit extreme.  Even for you.  One of these days you aren’t going to wake up from this.”

“That’s the idea,” she replied, picking up the shampoo and squirting a pile into the palm of her hand.  “Maybe I’m just wanting to see how far I can go.”

“Don’t talk like that,” David said, picking up her hand and holding it in his.  He tried to smile, but he caught sight of something strange.  Thin streaks of red snaked over the top of her thigh.  Some of the scars were fresher than others and some were quite deep.  When Scarlett noticed him looking, she pulled away, trying to hide.  “What happened?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about…” she started, but he dropped her arm and gripped her knee, holding it in place as he examined the thin cuts.

“The hell you don’t,” he said angrily.  “You’ve been cutting yourself too, huh?  Is this something new in your repertoire of self-destruction or is this just the first time I’ve seen it?”

“Look, David… you’re my agent.  I don’t see why you even care,” she sighed, pulling away and standing up.  “It’s my body. I’ll do whatever I damn well want.”  As she stepped over the side of the tub, she stumbled, nearly falling to the tile floor before David caught her.

“I’m also your friend, Scarlett.  I hate seeing you like this.”

“I hate being like this.”  She looked up at him, her eyes glistening with tears.  “You think I like feeling this way?”  Suddenly her façade of stoic indifference melted and the tears tumbled over her cheeks.  David embraced her tightly, letting her cry against his shoulder.  She had cried many times.  It seemed to be a symptom of her addiction, but never had she felt so cold.

“Alright, sweetie,” he said, pulling a towel down off of the rack and wrapping it around her.  David walked her clumsily into the next room, sitting down beside her on the bed and holding her tightly against him as her sobs came in shaking heaves.  He rocked her back and forth, letting her tears wet the light cotton of his shirt.

“Scarlett, maybe it’s time that you go and see that doctor I found…”

“No,” she barked, sitting up quickly and backing away, wiping her tears with the back of her hand.  “They can’t help me.  Nothing will help me.”  He stared down at her silently, his heart feeling heavy and sore.  Scarlett obviously believed that she was just a damaged person and that nothing would ever make her right again.  Her art, which had always seemed to work as some kind of salve for her mind, had become dark, reflecting the storm of unstable emotions going on in her head.  He just didn’t know what to say to her anymore.

David had been Scarlett’s friend when she was still scribbling graffiti on the sides of buildings.  It was rare that she ever opened up about her childhood traumas.  A few details here and there about a drunken mother and a handsy stepfather were as far as she ever went.  He’d always been able to talk her down from the ledge but these days it was getting harder and harder.  Worse yet, lately her behavior had become erratic.  At first he’d just assumed that she was high, and being an art agent, he was used to dealing with cokeheads, meth-addicts and junkies, but this was very different.  Her actions were self-destructive and near-suicidal.  As if she were just waiting for someone to show up and save her.

After a few moments, she spoke again.  “Did I ever tell you about the angel in my paintings?”

“No.”

“I saw him when I was twenty-one.  I overdosed on morphine and heroin at a party…”

“What the hell kinds of parties did you go to?” David asked, the corner of his mouth quirking in a sarcastic grin.

Scarlett chuckled.  “The kind where twenty-one year old girls are hopped up on drugs and date raped in the corner.”

“Oh.”

“Anyway.  I guess I was looking for an escape.  Maybe I wanted to die.  Whatever it was, I had been drinking wine laced with morphine or something and then some guy gave me a syringe full of heroin.”  Scarlett pulled the towel tight around her body as she lay down across the bed.  “It was first and last time I ever shot up.  Have you ever done it, David?”

“Never.”

She smiled.  “At first it feels so good.  Like you’ll never be sad or hurt again.  God, I remember that feeling.  I was floating, a spirit looking down on my physical body.  I didn’t want to go back, I just wanted to stay there.  Floating high above and watching.  The world was just this beautiful thing, all colors and wonder and light.  And then I saw him.  This form appeared,   shadow and smoke in front of me.  At first I thought it was just a hallucination or a dream.  There was a man kind of just… floating in the air above me.  At least, I thought he was a man.  He had these wings… God I know it sounds crazy, but he had these wings that just furled out behind him, kind of ghost-like.  He was all dressed in black, even his blonde hair seemed completely devoid of color, but his eyes.  His eyes had this silvery light.  I thought he probably just knew everything about me in that split second that our eyes met.  And I felt so sad that he was seeing me this way, this broken little girl, and I wanted to cry and beg his forgiveness.  But he looked at me and sort of smiled and I knew then he was an angel.”

Her eyes looked past him, her voice trailing off, over David’s head, and away to something unseen.  “So what happened?” he asked.

“He kissed me.  And then he was gone.  Next thing I remember I was waking up in a hospital bed.  My mom was standing over me crying.  I didn’t even care, I just kept looking for the angel.  Praying he hadn’t been a dream.  Of course, he wasn’t, but I kept waiting.  Peeking around corners, staring at the ceiling at night.  I thought that maybe after seeing what I’d done, he’d just decided not to bother.  So I tried to make up for it.  I thought that maybe if I was a better person that the angel would come back.  He’d save me this time.  I quit using, I actually went to school, I tried to play the part of the perfect daughter.  Hell, my pervert of a stepdad even left us.  And for a while everything was better and I just knew my prayers had been answered.  But my mother went back to the bottle.  My stepfather came back and was the worst he’d ever been.  So then I thought, maybe if I was bad, really bad and put myself in situations like before, that he’d come back.  I mean, that’s how he came before, right?”  She paused and pulled the blanket over her shoulder, snuggling against the pillow sleepily.  “But he never did.”

“Scarlett… I think you need some help.”

“No doctors, David.  Please…”

“We’ll find somebody that can help you, I promise.  You can’t just keep this up…”

“A doctor will just give me pills.  Make me numb.  Maybe I’d lose him.”

“Maybe you need to,” David sighed, standing up with an exasperated sigh.  “If you’ve got a guardian angel that’s standing by and watching you kill yourself with drugs, booze and cutting, then he’s not a very good one.”  Scarlett rolled over, turning her back on David and the conversation.

Spying her cell phone sitting on the nightstand, he grabbed it and programmed an alarm. “Look, I’m setting your alarm to wake you up in a few hours.  I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for the last three days to tell you that I’ve found a rather unusual patron.  Assuming my continued procrastination at setting up a meeting hasn’t scared him away.”

Scarlett sat up and stared at David, her stringy wet hair going in all directions.  “A patron?”

“Yes.  You remember what that is.  Someone who pays you to create a specific work of art.”

“I know what it is, dumbass.  Who is it?”

“Raze Constantine.”  He raised his eyebrow, waiting for her reaction.

“You’re kidding,” she said, her mouth hanging agape.  “The billionaire, Raze Constantine?”

“Well I haven’t seen his bank statement, but I’m going to assume yes.  No one else would have a name like that…”

Scarlett leaped out of bed, nearly losing her towel in a comic fashion.  “Raze Constantine is probably the richest guy in Europe, nay the entire world!  What in hell does he want with me?”

“I would think he wants you to do some kind of painting for him.  All I know is that he tracked me down and called me personally to find you.  His exact words were, ‘Miss Munro or no one’.”  David went into his breast pocket and pulled out a plane ticket.  “He also sent this for you.” Scarlett jerked it out of his hand and examined it carefully.  David braced himself for the exclamation that was surely coming.

“David!  This ticket is for this afternoon!”

“I said I’d been trying to reach you for days…”

“I can’t possibly go to…”  She paused, looking for the destination on the ticket.  “Does this say London?  As in London, England?  Like… in Europe?”

“That’s the one.”  David wandered over to the closet and began pulling things out.  He pulled out a dark sweater and threw it aside, wrinkling his nose.  “Everything in your closet is so dark.  You need some color.”

“Thanks, Mom,” she replied with just enough sarcasm to elicit an exaggerated sigh.  “I can’t go to Europe this afternoon.”

“Why not?  It’s not as if you have some pressing engagement.  You’re an artist for God’s sake.”  He pulled a suitcase out of her closet and began tossing things into it carelessly.

“Well… I’m…” She stammered.  “I just don’t think I’m up for this, David.”  He turned to see her reach for a small pill bottle on her nightstand. “And I’m in the middle of a project right now.  You know I don’t like to stop in the middle of a painting.”

With a lunge, he knocked the bottle from her hand, scattering tiny white pills over the hardwood floor beneath her bed.  “You don’t like to stop when you’re in the middle of a bender,” David snapped.  “I’m your friend, Scarlett, but I’m also your agent.  And if you keep going on like this you won’t sell anymore paintings…”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that if you don’t get your ass on that plane this afternoon and leave all this…”  He indicated the mess in which they currently stood. “I just can’t represent you anymore, Scarlett.  It’s too much of a risk.”

Scarlett sighed.  “Look, David… if this is some kind of tough love thing…”

“I can assure you that I’m quite serious, love.”  He picked up the wastebasket in the corner of the room and swept the amateur pharmacy off of her nightstand into it.  She followed him around the apartment, watching him pitch pill boxes, wine and liquor bottles into the trash.

“You win, David. You always win.”  Scarlett sighed, leaning heavily against the wall.

“I know.  By my watch you have about four hours to get packed and to the airport.  Do something with your hair.  You look like hell. Oh…” He reached into his pocket again and found a slip of paper with the address of a hotel in London. “I’ve already made your reservation and paid in advance.  Just go in and tell them your name.”

“You aren’t going with me?”  Her eyes widened and for a moment Scarlett looked utterly terrified.

“I’m afraid I can’t go on such short notice. I do have other clients.”  He bent down and continued picking up trash, holding it carefully between two fingertips as if it were a disgusting bug.  “I don’t have time to go running off to London playing nursemaid to you.”

“You’re such a pain in my ass.”

David looked at her with a comic twist of his lip.  “It’s my lot in life.  I’ll be back in a few hours to take you to the airport,” he said, making his way to the door with his load of garbage.

#COVERREVEAL: NAKED, Phoenix Rising 1

ICYMI, this winter I became part of the #BoroughsPublishingGroup family! After so many years of trying desperately to find a home for my paranormal espionage series, Phoenix Rising, the folks at Boroughs decided to give it a chance! I’m oh-so-excited for you guys to meet shapeshifting superspy Cage St. John and his partner and librarian Phoebe Addison. This book is a cross-genre adventure that combines elements of romance, suspense, espionage, and the paranormal. I’ve described it as James Bond meets Romancing the Stone… with vampires.  And zombies. And dragons.  You just have to read it to believe it!

Following a brutal act of vengeance, MI:6 agent Macijah St. John is left grieving for his slaughtered family and agrees to participate in a secret government experiment that gives him a magnificent and terrible power.  Now he’s a mercenary spy that solves problems for the right price.  His latest job puts him in the path of the greatest catastrophe yet—a librarian.

 Phoebe Addison’s life is a disaster. Crippling debt, a non-existent social life, and being the town librarian is hardly the glamorous existence she’d always dreamed of. But when her sister Jessica, an interplanetary archeologist, gets herself involved with a psychotic billionaire bent on world domination, Phoe is about to get more excitement than she bargained for. They’re on the run with no one but each other. Totally NAKED.

COMING TO AN ONLINE BOOKSELLER NEAR YOU ON APRIL 13, 2017!! Pre-order it 3/3o!!

 

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Available on 4-13-17!!

What’s Wrong with Romance?

Click me for more info!

Click me for more info!

No one could possibly be as surprised as I was the first time I wrote a romance novel.  Given my track record as a reader, I’m probably the most unlikely romance novelist that you’re ever going to meet.  While I believe in true love, I don’t believe in being stupid and the problem with most romance novels is stupidity.  Stupid people in stupid situations making stupid decisions with stupid dialogue.  Now, I know some writer folk are going to get all up in arms about that statement thinking that I’m insulting their work.  Look, if you’re that insulted that means you got some stupid goin’ on in your book.  If you’re a reader, then use this little vignette as a primer on how to choose a good romance novel.

Don’t think that I don’t believe in the genre.  I do.  I think writing good romance is damn hard work and is an art form in and of itself.  The problem is, it has a shit reputation because there are so many people out there who think it’s a quick path to fame and fortune.  Therefore, the market is flooded and it has gotten nigh on to impossible for good writers to get their work in front of readers.  In a sea of $0.99 dinosaur porn and incest fantasies, good books are drowning.  So as a reader, you have to consider what you’re looking for:  a satisfying story with believable characters and interesting plot OR shower nozzle masturbation material.   Don’t get me wrong, both are worthy endeavors.  But if you’re going to spend the money, you may as well get the good stuff.

I offer, for your convenience and pleasure, the biggest mistakes going on in the romance industry:

1.  Underestimating the intelligence of the reader.  There seems to be this idea in publishing that every romance reader is a mouth-breathing, undersexed soccer mom who can’t understand big words or shifts in POV.  I like to think that the folks reading my books are smart people who are looking for a good story and perhaps a little erotic inspiration.  I refuse to dumb down my plots or use smaller words to “make the story accessible.” I also refuse to believe that my readers are incapable of following a third person omniscient point of view.  To me, limited POV is well… limiting.  I want to see the whole picture.  “Head-hopping” is a fan fiction term that has no place in the literary world.  Word choice is part of what makes erotica so appealing and so sexy.  And in my opinion there is nothing sexy about crude language and degradation.

2.  Sacrificing story for more sex.  I admit it– sex sells.  But I hate reading books where interesting plot points are ignored in favor of having another poorly executed sex scene.  For real people, how many different ways can you say “insert tab A into slot B.  Repeat.  Repeat.  Repeat.”.  I’d rather have a good story with lots of action that shows our hero and heroine working together as equals and in turn growing their relationship instead of a sex scene every few pages.

3.  Same shit, different day.  Think back to when Fifty Shades of Gray became such a hit.  Remember how for the next year, every romance novel had the same cover?  They were all BDSM romances and they all had young nitwits falling in love with billionaires?  Yeah, we have this problem in romance where if one dwarf with a foot fetish fairy tale romance is good, then a million is better!  We jump on bandwagons and flood the market with a billion copycat stories.  I even watched my friends, desperate for sales, jump on the Pervy Billionaire Romance train.  Of course it didn’t work because there were a million other people with the same idea.

So what’s the answer?   Where is a smart, sassy gal (or guy) to find a great romance novel?  Well, the folks over at Seventh Star Press have decided to help us all out.  On Friday, they announced the launch of a brand new imprint, Seventh Starlight, that will showcase unique speculative fiction with a romance twist.  Seventh Starlight will literally be romance novels for folks who don’t like romance novels. The imprint embraces cross-genre adventures with a strong romantic element.  It looks to be extremely promising.  Already they have publishing vet Jessica Glanville as the managing editor of the imprint and three incredibly talented authors ready to launch:  Siobhan Kinkade, Crymsyn Hart and YOURS TRULY– Alexandra Christian.   In keeping with the Seventh Star brand, each book will also have hand painted cover art done by Anne Rosario.  If history is any clue, then Seventh Starlight will be romance of the finest quality.  Watch this space for more details on release dates and launch parties.

So take heart, kittens.  It’s an exciting time to be a romance reader, writer and lover!

 

 

 

NEW RELEASE DAY!! Hellsong is LIVE!

Hello kittens!  It’s my release day and I’ve had way too much coffee already.  So I thought I’d start by posting a little blurb about Hellsong, just to give you a taste of my madness.  There’s also a link to the Ellora’s Cave store AND the Hellsong_ECAmazon page so that you can go forth and purchase, share or just LIKE if you’re short of funds and time.  Maybe later I’ll even post a picture of myself in a dog collar suckin’ a riding crop…

*****

Theo is a child of the storm, found wandering after the hurricane that devastated New Orleans, with no memory of her past. She’s made a quiet, contented existence for herself. But all that changes when two very different but equally compelling men come into her life.

Dantalion and Saraqael both want her body, and her soul. But there’s a much greater prize at stake. If she chooses right, she’ll find Heaven in the arms of an angel. If she chooses wrong, all Hell will be let loose on Earth.

A Romantica® horror erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave 

Buy Links:

Ellora’s Cave:  http://www.ellorascave.com/hellsong.html

Amazon Kindle:  http://www.amazon.com/Hellsong-Alexandra-Christian-ebook/dp/B00J2XAC2C/ref=sr_1_3?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1395160055&sr=1-3&keywords=Hellsong

#newrelease #novel #erotic #romance #paranormal #angels #demons

Just Sluts with Pens

me and amy (2)Hello, denizens of the Interwebs!  It’s been a while since we chatted and I know you’ve been waiting with bated breath to see what I had to say next.  Well wait no more, here I am!  Well, it’s going to be an exciting Springtime for the old girl. Why, you ask?  Well, tomorrow 3/19/2014, I have a new release coming from Ellora’s Cave and, wonder of wonders, it’s my first novel length work with them!  It’s also my first foray into erotic horror with them, so we’ll see what happens.  So keep watch tomorrow for excerpts, blurbs and just general squee-ing.  I’ve also written a little article called “Velocirapture, the Rise of Crypto Porn” that will be featured in Jamais Vu– Journal of the Strange Among the Familiar, Issue 2.  It’s snarky and fun and I do hope that you’ll like it.

Well, with all that in the works, you’re probably wondering about the title of my little blog today.  Yes, I’m afraid another rant is coming your way.  I know you’ve missed them.  At any rate, yesterday I heard that some romance authors in my area were approached about a reality show that is set to focus on romance writers.  Now, I’m sure that what’s being pitched is a show that would feature “The Writer’s Life.”  But think about it, people.  Many of you reading this blog right now know that “the writer’s life” in actuality would probably not make a good reality show.  Watching me go to my day job, trying to write a sex scene in between answering the phone to say things like “no, I cannot excuse you from jury duty because you have an infected toenail.”  Sitting for hours on the couch with my dog, trying to write but instead succumbing to the swansong of Pinterest and Facebook.  Knowing that I need to write the next chapter of my novel when really all I want to do is write more Sherlock fanfiction.  Staring at a blank piece of paper while I sip yet another cup of tea.  These things would not be intriguing to the general public.  This is not glamorous.  Which makes me wonder– what is the show really going to be about?  I don’t know, but I have some guesses.

It may be because I’m jaded or because I’ve gotten the “oh, you write romance” look far too often.  You know the one.  The one that says 1) Romance novels… that’s not like real writing and 2) You must be a freak in bed!  But I’m very skeptical. I have visions of romance novelists being represented as desperate housewives who are writing up their sexual misadventures with the plumber.  I’m seeing camera crews following authors to conventions where they only manage to catch the parts where we’re sitting in the bar after a day of panels, knocking back some margaritas.  Maybe producers encouraging said authors to dance on tables while having lipstick lesbian encounters with other members of their caste.  Or worse, romance novelists being portrayed as frustrated librarians who can’t get boyfriends writing about their fantasies of watching homosexual couples whipping each other with riding crops.

Hellsong_EC

NEW RELEASE!

In short, I’m afraid that reality television would perpetuate the myth that romance authors are “just sluts with pens.” Reality television isn’t solely to blame, of course.   After all, I have no idea if the show has even been greenlit.  I do spend an awful lot of time on Twitter and Facebook and see an awful lot of authors that, while talented, are so desperate to be noticed that they’re glad to project that slutty image (by the way, if you’re an author and my Facebook friend– I’m not referring to you) just to get attention.  Here’s a pro tip:  if your profile picture on Facebook shows you either A:  half dressed with your tits jacked to Jesus, or B:  wearing a collar and sucking a riding crop,  chances are folks aren’t interested in you for your books. And you’re degrading yourself and the rest of us who consider ourselves artists.  Those of us who work hard every day to craft a story that we can be proud of.  A story that is worthy of our readers.

Just a thought.

Coming up tomorrow:  A new release!  And a blog post entitled:  “If the words “dripping wet love hole” appear in your book, it’s probably not erotica.”

 

COMING SOON: Beast of Burden

I don’t know if I’ve made a big deal about this or not, but I have some GREAT news.  Ya know that little Beauty and the Beast retelling I did a while back?  Well it’s coming back out in a spanking new edition.  It’s romantic, it’s kinky… it’s got werewolves and D/s and good and evil and spanking and sex and its just… uggh…  its just too much.  It’s coming soon from Purple Sword Publications…………

beastofburden_originalWhy yes, yes that is a bit of man-titty.  And isn’t it beautiful?  I thought so.  So yeah, this one will be comin’ at you in the next couple of weeks.  Stay tuned for more news….