Archive for October 2011
so….here are my thoughts on this Oh So Busy Weekend for yours truly since I own a bar.
and this
or of course, this
plus this…
ooooo… and this!
something to be said for “minimalism”
here’s another…
and this
Not QUITE sure what this but don’t care…
and this
Why YES officer I WAS speeding…
and this
hello. Bite me.
and this
Drill me.
and now this
WINNER
and another
Hans! or Franz. I forget. who cares?
and one more….
NO really… one more
Now that is my kinda cowboy!
Have a GREAT weekend! don’t eat too much…..candy.
Love
Liz
It’s been a rough week for yours truly.
Me mum had knee replacement surgery Wednesday which meant I was there, with her from 7:30 a.m., until it was done and they moved her to a hospital room. I’m here to tell you, this whole hospital stay thing these days is cushy. The pretty radical process of removing an entire knee joint and replacing it with a metal one takes about 2 hours, but the whole pre-op, post-op, whatever crap stretches on for hours. However, I could have availed myself of a massage or mani/pedi in their spa (I didn’t as I had work to do), eaten in one of the new and improved restaurant style cafeterias, or strolled around the beautiful gardens had the weather not been quite so shitty, or if I hadn’t had so much editing and promotions to do for my books.
But no matter how much you mask that pile of dog poop, that sucker is still a hospital. And by the time I left there late Wednesday night, with me mum still hooked up to a self administering pain machine that she kept pressing and with my latest MS edited and back to the publisher the smell had permeated my hair, clothes and psyche to the point I was ready to scream–but I drank an entire bottle of delicious Old Vine Zinfindel instead.
Oh and in this hospital? There are internet police! I couldn’t access all Romance Ebooks at all—it was “not in keeping with the hospital’s philosophy.” Funny really.
Guess they are not into this sort of thing at St. Joseph Mercy…
I’m approaching the un-enviable moment in life where I will be caught between caring for kids (teenagers) and aging parents. This week has given me a crystal clear view of just how that will go down. Me mum is strong and healthy mostly. But seeing her down, vulnerable, in pain and really really whiney is making me dread the coming years. I’m a good daughter. I owe her. I will do everything in my power to make the coming 2 weeks of intense rehab and recovery as smooth as possible.
But I’m not looking forward to it.
Off to the hospital…again. Be sure and check The Tap Room! My choose your romance novel from Breathless Press! It’s hot, fun, sexy, naughty, and nary a hospital in sight!
cheers
Liz
Rivalries!
I love ‘em
Eric v. Bill
Jacob v. Edward
Ron v. Harry…well, you get my meaning….
It’s a Big Week in football in the Deuce…a.k.a. A-squared….also known as Ann Arbor. Our 5-0 Wolverines travel down the road a ways to East Lansing to visit “Little Brother” . We have been beat down by Sparty for a few years now but are on a serious roll. I’m as busy as one armed paper hanging headless chicken as you might imagine what with a couple of offsite events at other bars plus all the stuff at my Tap Room. It’s gonna be a great day.
Even if you aren’t a sports fan you likely have a favorite rivalry be it between fictional characters, fiction writers, TV characters, technology, drinks or simply cat v. dog.
It’s human nature to get off on healthy competition. It’s why all the sports stars are so bloody rich, no?
So excuse me while I scurry off and attend a Michigan beats Michigan State Eve Party!
Oh, speaking of rivalries, the ones Erin Brady faces in my new Choose your Romance Novel, The Tap Room are left to you, the reader to sort out!
Here’s a recent glowing review:
http://www.a2beerwench.com/2011/10/some-words-on-rivalries-or-hey-little.html
Here’s the line that keeps running through my head:
cheers kids. have a great weekend. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t….oh, never mind.
Go Blue!
Go Lions!
Go Tigers!
Liz
Once upon a time I wrote a serialized book on my blog. It was the story of a woman who owned a very successful brewery, had a couple of male business partners whom she considered good friends, a very sexy young man brewer and whose life was falling apart before her eyes.
It was heading down a fairly predictable trajectory. Finding love in the arms of a man who was once “just a friend.” This after dalliances with the hot brewer, and a “reconnection” with her soon to be ex husband which turns into a fiasco.
You know how it is…you typically start a book with the HEA/HFN firmly in mind, with just the middle bits of the journey to relay. I had that. But somehow, in that middle journey I discovered two other very compelling secondary characters, one of which WAS the hunky brewer boy. Our Fearless Leader, the fabulous and talented Justyn The Publisher (see how I slid the sucking up in there?) asked me a question about it once he had the kernel of the story in his hot little hands.
“What about alternate endings?”
Okay..each of these 3 men could form a lovely HEA with my heroine, sure but did I WANT them to? Hmmm…went back to proverbial drawing board and fleshed each of them out a bit, gave them a few POV scenes and to my simultaneous horror and delight discovered I loved them just as much as the Original Hero I had concocted for Ms. Erin Brady. I like them ALL but I’m not a huge fan of the F/M/M/M/M ultimate fantasy nonsense….so a choice had to be made. I was not about to make it.
Whom should she choose? How the F$#@ should I know? I like ‘em all!
The Tap Room: Choose your Romance was born!
It was not your usual creation either. It started as a 30k-ish word longish short story and ended life as an 85k word novel. It’s NOT a “quick read” but it’s a fun one…one I hope you will undertake, make your choice and let me know who and why you chose him?
Thanks again to the creative crew at Breathless Press! publisher, editor, artist, and everyone in between!
Dirty, Flirty Fun
What makes flirting fun? Is it the response we get from our intended ‘victim’? I say victim because very few men take being flirted with as their due. Instead they’re usually caught off guard and flattered, which is so sweet of them. Perhaps it’s the rush we get from being naughty. Face it, we all love sex, and flirting is the dance we engage in before pleasures of the flesh. There is no denying that whether you are the flirt or the recipient, it’s a game we all love to play.
Women hone their skills at attracting a mate through learning to bat our eyelashes at men, or a simple touch on the arm when he’s talking. Ever look a man up and down real slow? Watch him stay perfectly still and watch us back. Yes, we’ve got that ‘mysterious woman’ look to us, but more importantly they know we’re in huntress mood. Even if all we’re hunting for is a little sexy fun.
I’ve heard some women say that they’re bad a flirting. I say watch an old movie and you’ll learn how to be sassy and seductive. Mae West was the queen of all ways flirty and naughty. My Little Chickadee is a must watch movie to learn sassy flirting. What other movies have great flirtation to them? What are some of your favorite ways to flirt?
In my short contemporary suspense story, Dangerous Moves, Coreen Evans is no shy kitten when it comes to showing off her craving for her instructor, Rob Larsen. In the sequel, Clandestine Eyes, Rob must choose between his professionalism and his desire for Coreen. See where the flirting leads.
Mary Corrales is a multi-published author who writes sexy, salacious stories for that reader who likes hot sex and a little teasing in between. Visit her website at http://www.authormaryc.com, or chat with her on twitter at www.twitter.com/MaryCorrales_A1.
Interview with Marv of Sex-O-Matic Fame
by: Greta Comeback for Lovely Lifestyles Magazine
When I got the assignment to interview Marv, the delivery guy, about the Sex-O-Matic I was skeptical. After all, Marv wasn’t the one hired to do the actual product testing. He was merely present when the testing occurred. Yet global curiosity over the Sex-O-Matic has endured, so here we are.
I met Marv at his two-story brick cape cod house located on a tree-lined residential neighborhood. When he opened the door and I saw his rugged good looks with the muscular body to match, I understood why Holly had fainted in his arms. I refused to swoon. Anyway, this story is not about me, it’s about Marv, so I’ll get on with it.
His living room, I was surprised to find, was tidy (Had Holly moved in?) and painted in rich hues of yellows and reds. A bookshelf lined an entire wall. A leather black couch was flanked by matching leather armchairs. (How much money did a UPS guy make?)
The question must have been on my face, because Marv said. “I remodeled the house and recovered the furniture.”
“Wow. You’re handy with your hands.” The vision of his hands on my skin flitted across my mind. I looked away hoping he didn’t pick up on it. Where was this even coming from?
He offered a drink and I accepted not because I was thirsty, but because I felt it was my journalistic duty to see how he looked walking away from me. (Come on ladies, you’d have done the same!)
I was not disappointed. With every step his glutes flexed into perfectly rounded…but again I digressed. Forcing myself to stop ogling Marv before I was caught, I pretended interest in a poster-sized abstract painting.
He returned with a glass of amber liquid I hoped was beer, and we settled into the chairs. I turned on my recording device. What follows is our conversation verbatim. For you to better understand Marv, I’ve added parenthetical comments.
Me: So, I have to admit. You’re not what I expected.
Marv: Oh? In what way?
Me: You’re just so…civilized. (I meant it as a compliment.)
Marv: You expected me to be uncivilized? (He cocked an eyebrow.)
Me: No I didn’t mean that. I, uh… (I glanced at my notes and cleared my throat. I preferred the seat-of-your-pants method of interviewing, but if things went south, I used my prepared questions.)
Marv: You thought I’d be more like a caveman?
Me: (Uncomfortable, I picked a random question from my list.) The Sex-O-Matic is designed for women. I’m wondering from a male point-of-view, how do you feel when Holly is using it? (I delivered the question Diane-Sawyer style.)
Marv: How do I feel? (He rearranged himself on the chair.) Um…happy?
Me: Happy? Not…something else? (I wasn’t sure why I was probing, maybe because I’d rather have him be uncomfortable rather than me.)
Marv: I’m happy when she’s, uh, aroused. What man wouldn’t be?
(He smiled in a devilishly shy way. Vulnerable yet strong and I was mesmerized. I thought about Holly’s description of the way he’d teased her and felt myself…oh nevermind.)
Marv: Is that it then?
Me: Uh! No. (I chuckle to cover the fact I’d been staring then look at my list of questions.) Do you ever use the Sex-O-Matic for your own pleasure?
Marv: Me? On myself?
Me: Yes.
Marv: No. I, I’m it’s assistant I guess. (He has the decency to cover his face with one hand as he says this. He looks emabarrassed.)
Me: It’s assistant? In what way?
Marv: Isn’t that kind of…personal?
Me: I’m interviewing you about the Sex-O-Matic, it has to get personal.
Marv: Oh. I caress Holly. You know, fondle her while it’s going. She likes that.
(My mouth went dry.)
Me: Is, uh, Holly here now? (What the hell? Was I hitting on him?)
Marv: She’ll be here soon if she doesn’t get caught up with her editing. Her book is on deadline. (He grins.) She’s being published.
Me: That’s right, she’s a writer.
Marv: Yep. Her book is coming out–
Me: This interview is about you. No shameless plugs. I’m a writer too. (What the heck, I was acting jealous. I looked at my questions and saw a passage from the Sex-O-Matic story. It made me think of Marv naked. Jeez.)
Marv: Do you own one?
Me: One what?
Marv: A Sex-O-Matic.
Me: Oh! (My face heated and I took a long drink. Damn, it was only iced tea and unsweetened at that. My Sex-O-Matic had doubled my electric bill.) Well I think I have enough for the article. (I stood up.)
Marv: I have one here if you’d like to try it. I can’t assist of course, but we do have the manual.
Me: No. I’ll be okay.
Marv: Don’t you need to research it for your story?
Me: (I hurried to the door before I changed my mind and stay.) I’ve tried one.
Marv: Oh. Okay. That’s good.
Me: Good? It was great, fantastic. I mean… (Belatedly, I realize he meant it was good for my article and wasn’t commenting on my personal pleasure.) Thanks again.
Marv: Don’t you need your recorder?
Me: !@&XX!
And folks, that was it. I can see reading through the transcript that it wasn’t my best interview. Who am I kidding? It was a horrible interview. But I did learn one thing, it’s hard to focus when Marv is around.
After the interview I reread Sex-O-Matic with a new appreciation for Holly’s plight. I suggest you do the same. You can purchase a copy of Sex-O-Matic at Breathless Press. Ms. Michaels also has the bestselling story Toy Training about a prude who ends up in a sex toys class.
To see Vee Michaels entire collection of published works, please visit her website at www.veemichaels.com
Love’s Delectable Dance
I breathe in the scent of him, familiar yet somehow always exotic, spiced with the subtle cologne he knows I love, and arousal. Sweat slicks the heated skin under my touch. Sweat beads his forehead. I taste it on his lips. A tremor passes through the body covering mine as my fingers explore well known pathways. I apply pressure here, knowing where to tickle, drawing the breathless groans I revel in…
So, you might ask how a happily married, mostly straight woman such as myself would write M/M erotic? It began as a writing challenge, but quickly became something fascinating. Writing about love is easy. We’ve all known happiness and joy, pain, moments of ecstasy and deepest grief. And really! Men’s bodies are delicious. It wasn’t that hard to take my imagination one step further.
But what did I know about men loving other men? Being married to one of those yummy creatures for twenty-five years, I know a little about how their bodies work. But I also knew it was time for some serious research.
I started with the prostate. The one time I did a little exploring into the subject, my husband asked me very kindly to never do that again. I don’t think he quite knows what he’s missing! I mean, really? Who’d want to deny themselves that pleasure?
Invariably, my search led me to the M/M Romance group on Goodreads. Which, by the way, if you haven’t visited, you should head that way soon. The conversations alone can make my heart pound. And the sensual, lovely stories… Anyway, the conversation there on the prostate was particularly enlightening, with one commenter stating ‘Prostate play WILL always send you over the top, and yes, comparing it to a clit is a good analogy.’ –Mark. I thought that summed it up nicely.
All this led to the next logical step- the toys. Oh my! They were easy to find, and the product descriptions were often funny and titillating in themselves. Though I’m still not quite sure how some them could fit…But anyway, my stories are mostly about the emotions behind the act, so I didn’t have to delve too deeply into the subject. I just did that for fun.
Okay, enough about me. I’ll leave you with a scene from ‘Shelton’s Goodbye’. The story is still in the editing stages, but slips into this topic quite nicely.
Excerpt:
“Please,” he panted when he thought his nerves would shatter. Nevil laughed, sounding pleased as he began to undress him. Shelton’s body screamed for Nevil to grab his cock, but he kept silent, knowing their lovemaking was better when Nevil had his way.
He moaned when fingers brushed along the shaft of his twitching penis and tickled his balls, and then light exploded in his head as Nevil began to knead him. Nevil kissed him and Shelton hungrily pulled him closer, but Nevil eased away.
“None of that. In fact…” Nevil put a hand on his chest and gently pushed back. “On the bed, love.”
Shelton felt the edge of the bed against his knees and sat down. The satin sheets were slick and cool against his skin and he lay back, finding the pillows. Goose pumps covered his body as Nevil joined him and he shivered slightly, the anticipation driving him to distraction.
He frowned when Nevil placed his arms over his head and wound a second cloth around his wrists. “I don’t think…”
“I won’t hurt you,” Nevil assured him as he secured Shelton’s wrists to the headboard. “Quite the opposite, in fact.”
What was Nevil planning? He felt vulnerable, even more so when Nevil slipped the pillow from under his head to his lower back, lifting his butt off the mattress.
“What’s that?” he asked sharply when a soft burr filled the room, then bit his lip. He knew that sound. He’s been mesmerized the times he’d watched Nevil use one. He’d even participated a time or two, holding Nevil’s shuddering body in his arms as Nevil came with a shout of abandoned pleasure.
He’d been hesitant to try it himself, though. A sigh escaped him, embarrassed by his timidity. Nevil caressed his hot face and leaned close for a sweet kiss.
‘You’re such a delight to make love to,” Nevil murmured as if reading his thoughts. “Trust me. This’ll blow your mind.”
Shelton drew in a lungful of air and let it out slowly, relaxing his muscles. He heard a click and the humming of the vibrator stopped. Nevil’s quick breathing filled the room and Shelton smiled at the sound of his excitement.
“Now where did I put the lube…oh yes.”
Nevil moved on the bed and fumbled in the nightstand. Shelton felt the mattress sag again and held his breath as Nevil blew cool air over his penis, hard and ready for their games.
“God, Nevil,” he groaned as Nevil continued to tease him, flicking his tongue along his aching shaft. He cried out in surprise as Nevil licked the tip. Slippery fingers pushed against his hole and slid inside him. Shelton squirmed blissfully as Nevil stroked the sensitive tissue.
The fingers withdrew and Shelton caught his bottom lip with his teeth as he felt a strange pressure against his hole, not unpleasant, just different. Nevil must have used plenty of lubricant because there was little resistance as the head was carefully inserted. A tingle spread through him as Nevil pushed the vibrator in deeper, creating little ripples of pleasure.
Nevil slid the device in and out of him several times, then rotated it…God! “Nevil! I can’t…”
“I think we found the spot,” Nevil murmured gleefully. “Do you like it there?”
“I don’t…”
Shelton groaned loudly, arching his back as Nevil nudged the vibrator in further then turned it on. Intense pleasure instantly swamped Shelton’s senses.
“A little faster?” Nevil urged, his voice sounding thick. Shelton helplessly tossed his head. “I don’t know.”
Nevil did something and a feeling bordering on ecstasy burst in Shelton’s brain. He couldn’t think as waves of bliss danced along his nerves.
“Nevil…” he whimpered as his balls tightened; the pressure building towards climax. His body twitched and he thrust his hips downwards against the hand holding the vibrator. He cried out, on the verge of coming, the exquisite pleasure of the vibrator almost painful against his prostate.
Then Nevil’s hot mouth engulfed his penis and it was all over. He came in one quick thrust, his hips rising off the pillow. The orgasm went on and on, shattering him. He panicked slightly as a buzzing grew in his head. His lips tingled then went numb.
“Take a breath, dear.”
Shelton let go of a held breath and drew delicious air into his lungs. He grinned as Nevil untied his hands. He felt amazing and settled into the mattress with a sigh, his body twitching slightly as it recovered from the intense orgasm.
Shelton in Love http://www.breathlesspress.org/Book/291
Shelton’s Promise http://www.breathlesspress.org/Book/345
Dianne Hartsock
Blog http://diannehartsock.wordpress.com/
Maturity
My first car was a 1987 Chevette. It was cherry red, had four doors and an AM radio. It wasn’t wholly mine; it was one of two used family cars we siblings shared. I used it to deliver newspapers and to get back and forth from school my senior year. As I got older I ventured further and further from home. On lonely Friday nights I would drive up rural routes, roiling with angst. Eventually I had a tape deck/FM radio and a couple of cheap speakers installed. As I would cruise I’d sing along with Alice Cooper: “I’m eighteen and I don’t know what I want.”
My favorite place became Braley Pond. Finding it was an issue. I had been there with my parents on a day trip and I remember liking the place. I drove out where I thought it was but I headed back after turning down a couple of gravel roads in a vain search. I couldn’t imagine it being so far away. It hadn’t seemed so remote the first time. After more attempts than I am proud of, I found it. It’s only about a thirty minute drive from town. Then, it felt like a major trip when everywhere I drove was five minutes away in our small town. I spent many evenings and summer days fishing there, mostly alone. Anytime I felt depressed I could get away and be awkward by myself.
To this day I go there when I need to be alone with my thoughts. I went there today to think about this blog. The difference is now I have a more mature appreciation for the place. I have a photo log of the butterflies, dragonflies and damselflies of the pond and the surrounding woods. I have mapped out the trails that crawl about the national forest in the area. I have become enamored by the variety of mushrooms and other fungi that thrive there. I care for the place. I even run a Facebook page for Braley Pond. What was once merely a refuge is now a place of study and personal reflection.
I feel the same way about my writing. Passion for the printed word did not boil in me at a young age, driving me to learn the craft. Far from it. I was a good student, but not because I studied and worked hard. I have a good memory. History was my best class. It combined my inherit interest in the subject matter with my ability to recall facts. I won my schools Daughter’s of the American Revolution award for American History as a Junior. I wasn’t in AP classes, I didn’t advance beyond community college. I simply love history. On my own I have read and studied for innumerable hours, focusing on the ancient and dark age eras in Europe.
Like millions of Americans, I lost my job (bookkeeping) in 2008. I filled in my time listening to/watching college level courses from The Teaching Company that I borrowed from my public library. I read voraciously. I like to say Robert E. Howard saved my life. I started reading Conan novels and I have yet to stop. I am just a little over halfway through the nearly fifty paperbacks. I also made sure I watched all the documentaries I wanted, setting reminders and waking up early to catch just the right ones. Without a place to go everyday, I was driving myself mad to keep my mind occupied. It was not only an economically devastating time; it was an emotional rollercoaster, a real blast to my ego.
I started writing in earnest. In previous years I had flirted with the idea. Stories had come to me and I had attempted to put them on paper with little to show for the effort. My work improved when I got the idea to scribe certain sexual fantasies. I had been a fan of erotic fiction for some time. My first exposure was the “letters” section of men’s magazines. Then the advent of the internet made erotica much more accessible. You can find any sort of dirty story you like, but not necessarily a good one. For the longest time it was a matter of searching sites for an author you liked and reading their work. That is what inspired me to write my own. I wanted to create the sort of stories I wanted to read. I shared them with people I had chatted with online and they enjoyed them as well.
I wrote a couple of very poor manuscripts while unemployed and submitted them to publishers. Suffice to say they were not picked up. They were Viking adventure stories and while they had elements I still like, my ability to relate the tale in a professional and aesthetically pleasing manner was lacking. But I was in luck. I found a job. Writing took a back seat. Normalcy returned to my life. Then I picked up a copy of Ravished by a Viking by Delilah Devlin at a local book fair. I emailed her and let her know just how much I enjoyed her work. She responded. We corresponded a bit and she encouraged me to try to get published. Not used to receiving such positive reinforcement, I took her kind words to heart. I took some of the best elements of prior stories and wrote a piece that I submitted all over the place. Again, she helped me by finding a listing of interested publishers.
Breathless Press and one other party offered on my manuscript. Two out of forty something wasn’t bad for a first try! I thank my editor Jackie Moore for seeing potential in my first draft and working with me to make my piece the best it can be. Crimson & Steel will be released on October 14th. It is my first published work of any kind. Set in the Noricum province of ancient Rome, it follows the lives of two girls. One is a trained pleasure slave from the eastern desert, the other a naïve Germanic servant. A second part entitled Scarlet Sands will be released on a date yet to be determined.
I am deliriously happy to be published. Marrying my love of history and erotic romance is a pleasure. But I am far from done. Just as I matured and ventured further and further from home and found a deeper and more profound appreciation for my private sanctuary, so too will I find a more complex understanding of the writing process. I want my storytelling skills to sharpen. I need my writing style to become more succinct and my characters point of view to suck the reader in so that they can’t stop reading. To do that I must write and practice. I hope that I continue my streak of luck and have more of my stories published.
Please give Crimson & Steel and me a shot. I thank you.
Ric Bern
A Variation of Rejections Writers Face
Writers go through their share of rejection responses from either editors or agents. Some are merely form letter/one sentence emails while others are 
actually snail mail responses. I have some memorable rejections I’ll talk about…without giving names, of course.
FAMOUS QUERY REJECTIONS: I’d sent a query to a NY publisher after carefully writing a book for one of their lines. I’d read their guidelines before sending in the query. I received a standard form rejection letter that had some personal sentences written on it. I was told this particular line didn’t want children in it although that fact wasn’t specified in their guidelines. Not only that, but this editor didn’t think the book would fit any of their lines…so that was it for me. I couldn’t send a query to a different editor in this publishing house for a different line.
I met a well-known agent at an RWA conference. She requested (and was sent) a query detailing our talk and my book. I received a phone call from her weeks later. My initial excitement over receiving an actual call was quickly squashed when she informed me she wasn’t really looking for romance books at that time. Huh? Why was she at a romance conference? And why did she waste my time (I did a pitch appointment) and then ask for a query?
FAMOUS PARTIAL REJECTION: I’d send a query to a well-known agent and a partial was requested. I sent in the partial and waited. A personal rejection letter, unsigned, was sent to me. I was thanked for sending in a full manuscript but I hadn’t followed the plot line through the story. I wrote back and advised the agent I’d only sent in a partial…and wondered if she was talking about my partial or someone else’s full manuscript. I received a very short reply stating that once the agent sends feedback about a submission, no further response would be given. Was she commenting about my submission? I’ll never know.
FAMOUS FULL REJECTION: An agent asked for a full submission. Months later, she called me on a Saturday and spent thirty minutes telling me she was almost done reading it, liked what she read, asked me what else I was working on, etc. She said she’d get back to me on Monday or the latest, by the following Friday. A month later, I got another call from her. She proceeded to tell me all that was wrong with the book, how I needed to rewrite it, and gave me the names of four books on writing I should buy and read. I politely thanked her for her time and never sent her anything else. She is no longer in business.
Thankfully, not all agents and editors are as unprofessional as the ones I encountered and mentioned above.
Marianne Stephens/April Ash