Friday, June 8, 2012
Another Publication
My short story "Renovation" is available in Readerotica 4. Available HERE for the Kindle/Kindle PC.
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
Published!
My short story, Ice, is available in Readerotica 3. You can download it for the Kindle/Kindle for PC here. It's part of a collection of ten sexy stories to get you in the mood.
Enjoy!
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Long Time, No See
After taking a few months off to deal with RL, I'm back. I continued to write and submit work while I was gone, but time contraints prevented me from keeping up with the blog.
But I'm back now. Hopefully for a good long while.
And with NEWS! My short story (Ice) is being released as part of Readerotica 3. I should have a link for free download within a few days. I'm quite pleased about it.
I'd submitted that story to an antho and then spent almost a year waiting for some response. Even a few polite queries about the status of the story went unanswered. Needless to say, I won't be submitting any further work to that editor.
Readerotica offered me the same monetary compensation as the antho would have and they want non-exclusive electronic rights, leaving me free to continue trying to sell the story as a reprint. Not too shabby.
More updates and previews of W'sIP coming soon.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
:: teaser tuesday - Willa Arch and the King Errant ::
There are very few people I hate in this world but when it comes to Imperials and Spaniards I make an exception. -- Willa Arch and the King Errant
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
:: it's personal ::
Most of the time writing erotica is fun. I get to daydream about attractive and appealing characters who fall in love or fall in lust, then have hot sex. What's not to love?
But writing about sex, even when writing about a character – someone outside myself – who is doing things and saying things I wouldn't or couldn't, is very intimate. Maybe it's because sex itself is such an intimate act. Maybe it's because in order to make a scene work I have to put myself in the characters place, even if only for a few minutes.
That's when writing erotica becomes less fun.
That little voice in the back of my head starts muttering how someone I know will read this and even if strangers read it they'll judge me and think I'm a whore or a tramp or repressed and projecting unnatural appetites into the fictional world as some means of achieving vicarious satisfaction for an unhappy sex life in the real world.
It whispers that I don't have the experience to write about this kind of thing.
It tells me I'm vanilla.
It tells me I'm perverse.
It tells me I suck.
It's difficult to separate what I write from myself, sometimes. Because no matter how different my characters are from me, no matter how far removed their world is from mine, if I'm writing their story well there are a few seconds where I feel what they feel as if it is me. That's scary. That's what makes it difficult to ignore the voice that wants me to censor what I write.
Sometimes I do. Sometimes I cut things out or change the way a character acts or what they want because it quiets that prude sitting in the back of my head judging every word I write.
Then, my writing suffers.
The only way to write anything – erotica, horror, fantasy, chick-lit, mystery, whatever – is to do it honestly. Even when it is uncomfortable. Even when it is personal.
Otherwise it's just words.
But writing about sex, even when writing about a character – someone outside myself – who is doing things and saying things I wouldn't or couldn't, is very intimate. Maybe it's because sex itself is such an intimate act. Maybe it's because in order to make a scene work I have to put myself in the characters place, even if only for a few minutes.
That's when writing erotica becomes less fun.
That little voice in the back of my head starts muttering how someone I know will read this and even if strangers read it they'll judge me and think I'm a whore or a tramp or repressed and projecting unnatural appetites into the fictional world as some means of achieving vicarious satisfaction for an unhappy sex life in the real world.
It whispers that I don't have the experience to write about this kind of thing.
It tells me I'm vanilla.
It tells me I'm perverse.
It tells me I suck.
It's difficult to separate what I write from myself, sometimes. Because no matter how different my characters are from me, no matter how far removed their world is from mine, if I'm writing their story well there are a few seconds where I feel what they feel as if it is me. That's scary. That's what makes it difficult to ignore the voice that wants me to censor what I write.
Sometimes I do. Sometimes I cut things out or change the way a character acts or what they want because it quiets that prude sitting in the back of my head judging every word I write.
Then, my writing suffers.
The only way to write anything – erotica, horror, fantasy, chick-lit, mystery, whatever – is to do it honestly. Even when it is uncomfortable. Even when it is personal.
Otherwise it's just words.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
:: teaser tuesday - The Cupid Booth ::
“I don't want your money.” She sounded cross.
“But on the air-ship...” Ellery paused, considering the wisdom of bringing up her occupation.
“Yes. I'm a thief. But I steal because I'm good at it, not because I'm desperate.”
“The fact remains that I owe you my life. At least twice over.” He straightened as best he could without dislodging them both from the horse. “I am a man who stands by his debts and I would pay you back for all that you have done for me. With money. Or goods. Or whatever you ask.”
Jo shifted, looking over her shoulder at him. “Whatever I ask.”
“Well, whatever you ask that I am capable of granting.”
“If I were to ask you to kiss me...”
“That would be inappropriate.”
“Why?”
“We are barely less than strangers. And it would be ungentlemanly of me to take advantage of our situation in that fashion.”
“Ungentlemanly.” She chuckled. “I guess we'll just have to leave it, then, 'cause I don't want your money.”
They rode in silence for a moment or two. Ellery wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. His heart was hammering fast in his chest and his palms were suddenly clammy. He had to admit the thought of kissing Jo was enticing.
“Is that what you wanted? To ask me for a... kiss?” His voice cracked on the word and he cleared his throat as though he had gotten a wuft of dust in his face.
Jo shrugged. “Actually, I was thinking of things far more intimate.”
“But on the air-ship...” Ellery paused, considering the wisdom of bringing up her occupation.
“Yes. I'm a thief. But I steal because I'm good at it, not because I'm desperate.”
“The fact remains that I owe you my life. At least twice over.” He straightened as best he could without dislodging them both from the horse. “I am a man who stands by his debts and I would pay you back for all that you have done for me. With money. Or goods. Or whatever you ask.”
Jo shifted, looking over her shoulder at him. “Whatever I ask.”
“Well, whatever you ask that I am capable of granting.”
“If I were to ask you to kiss me...”
“That would be inappropriate.”
“Why?”
“We are barely less than strangers. And it would be ungentlemanly of me to take advantage of our situation in that fashion.”
“Ungentlemanly.” She chuckled. “I guess we'll just have to leave it, then, 'cause I don't want your money.”
They rode in silence for a moment or two. Ellery wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. His heart was hammering fast in his chest and his palms were suddenly clammy. He had to admit the thought of kissing Jo was enticing.
“Is that what you wanted? To ask me for a... kiss?” His voice cracked on the word and he cleared his throat as though he had gotten a wuft of dust in his face.
Jo shrugged. “Actually, I was thinking of things far more intimate.”
Saturday, February 26, 2011
:: oh. you write porn. ::
I don't tell many of my friends I write erotica. Not because I'm embarrassed about it, but all too frequently the response is “Oh. So you're writing porn.”
It's true that written pornography and erotica have a lot in common. In fact, so much so that if you try and get a solid definition of what makes one different from the other you will find as many answers as there are people with opinions.
One thing that everyone seems to agree on is that there is a difference.
Everyone except those aforementioned acquaintances who believe erotica = porn. They are entitled to their opinion and I have no judgment for those who feel that way. I have found, though, that those who lump erotica and porn into one messy (and usually distasteful) package neither read nor enjoy either.
You notice I continue to distinguish the one from the other. Perhaps that's just my conservative upbringing trying to put a respectable slant on something many still consider taboo. But to me there is a difference.
Porn is a wonderful thing. It's raunchy. It's hot. It doesn't bother with story or language or style. It is straightforward and to the point, and that point is sex. Porn reminds me of a guy I knew in college. One night I ran into him at a little restaurant bar turned nighttime dance club. He approached me on the miniscule dance floor and opened the conversation with “My girlfriend and I broke up last week and I'm really lonely.”
Erotica, on the other hand, is more like a secret crush. The one that catches your attention with a laugh; the one you tell your friends is totally “not your type” but makes you wobbly around the knees when you bump into him on the street. Erotica is the guy you don't even realize you're falling in love with until one day you head home after getting a cup of coffee together and inside you feel like you've lost something by leaving him behind. Erotica is the heartache of a fight that turns bitter and cruel, the drama of the unexpected and the vulnerability of loving someone because of their faults and not in spite of them.
In short, porn is a one night stand; quick, hot and fun while it lasts, but by morning the thrill is gone.
Erotica is life. With more sex.
It's true that written pornography and erotica have a lot in common. In fact, so much so that if you try and get a solid definition of what makes one different from the other you will find as many answers as there are people with opinions.
One thing that everyone seems to agree on is that there is a difference.
Everyone except those aforementioned acquaintances who believe erotica = porn. They are entitled to their opinion and I have no judgment for those who feel that way. I have found, though, that those who lump erotica and porn into one messy (and usually distasteful) package neither read nor enjoy either.
You notice I continue to distinguish the one from the other. Perhaps that's just my conservative upbringing trying to put a respectable slant on something many still consider taboo. But to me there is a difference.
Porn is a wonderful thing. It's raunchy. It's hot. It doesn't bother with story or language or style. It is straightforward and to the point, and that point is sex. Porn reminds me of a guy I knew in college. One night I ran into him at a little restaurant bar turned nighttime dance club. He approached me on the miniscule dance floor and opened the conversation with “My girlfriend and I broke up last week and I'm really lonely.”
Erotica, on the other hand, is more like a secret crush. The one that catches your attention with a laugh; the one you tell your friends is totally “not your type” but makes you wobbly around the knees when you bump into him on the street. Erotica is the guy you don't even realize you're falling in love with until one day you head home after getting a cup of coffee together and inside you feel like you've lost something by leaving him behind. Erotica is the heartache of a fight that turns bitter and cruel, the drama of the unexpected and the vulnerability of loving someone because of their faults and not in spite of them.
In short, porn is a one night stand; quick, hot and fun while it lasts, but by morning the thrill is gone.
Erotica is life. With more sex.
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