Thursday, December 27, 2007
New Years Resolutions (long list, must start early)
1. I shall be as kind as a Benedictine Monk.
2. I shall try to cultivate grace.
3. (again) I shall learn to drive.
4. I shall write two novels in 2008, one erotic, the other one about the beach and the soldier and the tattoo.
5. I shall write a lot more poetry, but not inflict it on people until its good.
6. I shall find a cheap video camera and make films.
7. I shall move out the ghetto.
8. I shall learn grammar better and work out exactly in what context I should ought to use shall will intend to.
9. I shall back up.
10. I shall beam positivity from my arse to my ears so brightly that I dazzle people. Yes, brazenly happy. I shall.
11. I shall be honest.
12. I shall be more curious than certain.
Okay, that's them up there in black and white so you can hold me to these and throw hamsters at me if I welsh on any of them.
Maybe I'll think of more later once I've smoked a hundred fags and finished the last bottle of beer.
Sunday, December 23, 2007
Monday, December 17, 2007
Isy thayt I'vey sypliyt teay on m keyyyyyyyyyboard and now the yyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy keyy iysy gyoinyg absyolutely mental. Christ. How can I write a novel like this?
Pah, I givey up.
HYerye'sy a piycturey of soymey wiyntery treyes. Normal seryviycey wiyll bey reysyumeyd shyortl, I very much yhyopey.
In thyey meantime, to turn thisy gliytchy to m advantagey, perhyapsy I shyall writye an orgasmy sceyney.
Heroiney:"Yyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyeysyy Ohy yyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyeyes, oh yyyyyyyyyyyyyyes"
(Author: "WHyy oh whyyyyyyyy oh why does thisy crap always hyappen to me?")
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Have you been good boys and girls?
I think these pretty condoms are a wonderful idea for a Christmas present. Even better, they are Oxfam condoms and will go to community projects in South Africa along with educational materials. Better yet, tick a little box and you'll get fair trade chocolates too!
(Um, I mean, whomever you choose to give the gift to will get the chocolate. Of course, if you're being so good and charitable, you wouldn't want to go and spoil it by eating a whole box of chocolates all to yourself so that you felt all over indulgent and fat and despaired of ever being able to fit into the pair of corduroys you bought when you first met your boyfriend and were on that newly-in-love-can't-eat-a-thing accidental diet and now can only look at mournfully, thinking of the way your ass used to look with the lovely pocket detail clinging to it and also musing sadly on the exquisite irony of the fact that the damn things are actually chocolate coloured. Would you?)
Lots more great ideas for presents there too - just clickety click right here and whoosh, happy presents, wrapped and delivered ... easy...
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
I've had a farcical week so far.
Set fire to my synopsis (no, not a fit of rage a la Madelynne, just a random cigarette mishap)
And I've got some terrible stabbing pain in my ear. Coaxed boyf into administering warm olive oil. Only he got cavalier and last night I got a dose of not warm, but instead what I'd maybe call hmm .... shall we say fucking scalding oil poured into my ear, a la gruesome medieaval torture practise.
I did not take it well.
Meanwhile, I'm trying to find an agent and am a bit bemused that it seems to require more effort than finding a publisher.
Vastly unprofessional and fairly ill-tempered writer, slightly maimed with partial hearing loss, invites agents to peruse her singed manuscript. It's sold already - all you need to do is explain what 'permissions' means and argue with my publishers on my behalf. Or pretend to argue with them, at least, just to make me feel important. Maybe drop me an email every so often to remind me I'm sposed to be finishing off Chapter
Gotta go hastaluegoallbye x
Thursday, December 06, 2007
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Visit free rice to play an addictive word game. For every word you correctly identify, the sponsors buy 10 grains of rice which goes to people who need it.
In other news - my Indian historical story has been accepted - yay! More on that later. And my washerwoman story got rejected - again...I love that story but it's perpetually homeless!
Swings and roundaboots. Right - I've left Zorro and his dubious moustache in a bandstand, must give him his orgasm and a bittersweet ending before lunch.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
I just got word from Black Lace, and the man from Del Monte says: Rock n Roll.
That's right - less than one year to wait until the smut corners of bookshops everywhere will be graced with my next novel! (So far titled: Bitchbook/The Rakes/Lady Lick/Breaking the Rules - uh, how about a competition for a title? Winner gets a Jesus Christ Superstar album, hardly scratched...or a signed copy of said book.)
Apparently it's very horny. This, I believe, is good. Anyway, I need a filing cabinet and some fishnet stockings, toot suite! Me and my sweaty minion smutting helpers will be hard at work soon to create a wonderful rock opera - no, a sexy novel with a deeply rocking sound track. Yes, that's the idea.
It's about a girl who sings in a band. Her lead guitarist. Her ex music teacher. Arpeggios, rock stars, leather and lipstick and dressing room capers, oh my.
Meanwhile, in completely unrelated news, I'm learning all about Steampunk, Swashbuckling Pirates and The Sweats. La, la, la, the more research I do the more effectively I can forget that -
MUST NOW WRITE NOVEL
- Did you hear something there? No? Me neither.
Eh bien, no rest for the wicked. I'll get back to my Zorro research.
Friday, November 16, 2007
'Under his hand, I blossom' will be appearing in 'Yes, Sir', edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel, and out in March 2008.
I'm never very sure how to describe stories. I think I'd call this one 'intense'. Here's the opening:
'My room is as silent as a theatre before the play starts. Sun slants through the tall windows, sliced into stripes by the blinds, and falls on the pale polished floors. Dust motes dance in the lit spots. I’ve furnished it in exactly the style I prefer - white walls, blue and white sheets on the bed, dark stained furniture, like a Moroccan hotel. It’s my sanctuary - everything arranged according to my wishes, nothing out of place. Which makes the man standing by the door all the more disturbing.'
After that it just gets very, very dirty, very quickly. Wouldn't want to offend my readers' delicate sensibilities, so I'll stop there...
Available for pre-order here! Hoorah!
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
I spent yesterday editing a story. Till my eyes were bleeding. Then I fuckin dreamed about it, woke up shouting 'Peacocks!'
Right here, right now, a resolution:
No historical, not ever again. For somebody as anal as me about the details, it's a nightmare. Boyf looked on in despair as I stayed up past midnight (why yes, that is late for me!) googling the botany of mountainous regions in Uttar Prakesh. And certainly, double never-again, historical set in foreign country/sub-continent.*
Next up I am going to write a story that involves zero research whatsoever. I expect that means memoir. Meh. Scratch that.
Damn, I hope it gets accepted.
Otherwise, did I have anything valuable and meaningful to say? Not today. I'll crawl back into my turps-scented hibernation hole then. Someone give me a shove when it's time for port and wensleydale.
*PS: I reserve the right to contradict myself and write several more historical foreign stories in future. I'm nothing if not inconsistent!
Monday, October 22, 2007
Above, the cover for Best New Erotica 07, which I'm still very chuffed to have a story in. (Undercover, first published at Clean Sheets.) Out later this year, I think.
Meanwhile, forgive the infrequent and taciturn entries here.
I'm struck dumb, lately, more and more. Writing, yes, but it's as though the constant chittering of my head won't spill out my mouth, only my fingers. Only in fiction. I worry at a problem, an issue, an opinion, until I agree with every damn side and any verdict is meaningless. I don't know what I think about anything any more. Apart from that I think PJ Harvey is my favourite musician. Yes. And that I can't stop eating artichokes in oil.
So anyway, instead of thinking I'm writing. I think this is positive. Unfortunate that's there's even less certainty in writing - like stepping on wet stones, slipping and falling every hundred words. I'm training myself to suspend disbelief long enough to finish a story before the swarms of doubt and implication gather and cloud the air and obstruct what I was trying to see (- a ludicrous story about dentists and old ladies with binoculars, for fuck's sake, it's not Tolstoy) or at least ride with the uncertainties. Surfing the tangents. Something.
- includes 'The Art of Fucking', from Sex with Strangers, Black Lace. And the mysterious floating black bra of doom, apparently.
Actually maybe Mark E Smith is my favourite musician. Or Lou Reed. Do you think a jar of artichokes a day could be bad for you?
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Work in progress:
I've been working on a story for the Birth Rites exhibition. It's a story from the point of view of a new father - in three parts. Conception, pregnancy, birth. (In this story the sex is the starter, rather than the main course - it's been an interesting exercise.)
Otherwise, I've been making a lot of false starts. I wonder how many unfinished stories lie around gathering dust in writers' drawers.
I should rephrase that.
In any case, I currently have about half a dozen beginnings and no middles or ends.
Meanwhile, here's a fascinating article about writing by Monica Ali.
And a short excerpt from 'The Elephant in the Room', first draft:
"Hot flesh at her throat. The smell of her like bubblegum and brandy. He held her face in his hands and felt the jaw, the fine, breakable bones. The radio sighed along with them, playing one of a thousand cheap love songs complete with harmonies and heart-aching melody. The word love is just background noise, he thought, as his fingers slid down the dip of her back to where heat collected in a hollow.
Her perfume stung him like the vapour that rises off the pages of a new magazine. Something might have roused his suspicions in the silk and the smiles and the perfume, only it was what he expected, somewhere in the region of his balls and his animal glands, and instead he smiled - a fruit machine coming up suddenly with a full row of cherries.
They sank against the couch. Time got wet and elastic. He put her down onto the leather, felt his body align and his cock straighten out. The needle of the compass swung round this direction again and again. Hormones met hormones, buzzed so loud they drowned out reason. He drank in her mouth. All the flesh of his mind was swollen and the pressure thumped like a bass drum.
Legs scissored. Spread open. He was pulled then, with some sweet and dark force as natural as breathing, closer. Zips and clothes and elbows got pushed aside, these two sweating flowers crushed up against each other, naked together, skin on skin, seeking out the darkest, hottest, wettest spots. His toes scrabbled on the carpet, struggling for purchase, angling him forward so that he was held right at the lip of her.
Driving home, spilling upwards.
- There, she said, and
So he did please her. Fucked her with no such thing as a conscience, only a rising orchestra of blood and breath and electrical impulse. He was thinking nothing beyond friction, knowing nothing in those frantic few minutes other than his body, the point of it, and hers, the hungry raging suck of it. The bullseye, the hidden target that he could hit with his eyes shut. A sweet siren calling to him with a voice he didn’t hear, only smelt somehow with his fingertips."
Copyright me, 2007.
Wednesday, October 03, 2007
My story 'Hair Trigger' gets a lovely mention...
Here's the blurb:
'Nikki Magennis, with Hair Trigger, paints a darkly seductive story of an obsession with hair and its associated rituals. This is a powerful story. Nikki has a gift for saying a hell of a lot with an almost minimalist number of words. Hair Trigger introduces a fetish relationship from its climactic beginning through to its cataclysmic denouement. The description is rich and colourful and the power is superbly strong.'
Bounce! Bounce! Bounce!
Ashley also notes Shanna Germain's wonderful finger fetish story:
'Knuckling Under is no exception to Shanna's stylish fiction and she shows that, in the hands of a skilled erotic fiction writer, the flat tyre on a bicycle can lead to the sauciest sexual shenanigans.'
...click the link to read other good things about this lovely little book!
Monday, October 01, 2007
My word. I've been all tied up with dying computers and holidays lately, so I've had a web-fast for a few weeks. I've missed all the writing chat, but also it's given me some nice head-space to develop stories and other things.
Writing news - I'm delighted to say my story 'Exes and Whys' should* be appearing in J for Jealousy - edited by the lovely Alison Tyler. It's a kind of twisty dark piece about lovers ex-girlfriends, a mix of burny sex and burny hate. *(Subject to the publisher's final say)
Otherwise, I'm working on...
A Kama Sutra story - The Thunderbolt
The Elephant in the Room - a story about conception, pregnancy and birth
The sound of one hand clapping - a kind of zennish spanking story
Plus the usual mix of odd and involved projects, including what will hopefully be a website - soon!
Thursday, August 30, 2007
If one tips single cream at an angle of 120 degrees from a height of around 4 feet, what will be the resulting splash pattern when said cream hits, say, a melon shaped object raised to the level of what would be hip-height were a man kneeling on the floor doggy style?
I feel like Sarah Lucas, only with a much smaller budget. Particularly when I find vegetables like these in the bottom of the bag:
Right, onto next experiment. No 453: aerodynamic swing of soggy teatowel when stretched to a torque of approximately five with horizontal momentum. Oh my!
Monday, August 27, 2007
If I'm in a good mood it's like archaeology, so many abandoned but possibly fertile seams to be explored.
Some days, though, I just think what an awful waste of paper.
At which point its best to do the laundry, make soup, clean the windows and start all over again.
Saturday, August 25, 2007
Friday, August 17, 2007
As it's Friday, here's a funny little film I found when I was, um, faffing about...(perfect for anyone who should be doing something else right now)
Friday, August 10, 2007
- pretty, isn't it? (Poster from 'I'm a Cyborg, but that's okay' - the pretty man is called Rain. I don't know who the girl is, but I would like to be her for a day.*)
Lately, I've been noticing little things more. Small pleasures rise up:
Polka dots on a silk scarf, how family members can insult each other but its an act of love. Scones with jam and cream. Vitamin B. Watching the daily saga of the fruit shop outside my window. Freckles. Gestures. Finally, after a year and a half, learning the name of the woman who sells me a newspaper every day. My best friend passing her driving test (on the 8th attempt).
Life is good, little tiger. Various and good.
As for writing - watch the blue dot on the wordmeter on the sidebar as it grows infinitesimally bigger day by day...I'm starting to think that writing is not about knowing all the answers in advance but that the writer changes with the writing. That work can change you like dreams can change you, subtly, over time, in ways you couldn't imagine.
*And no, not just because she's floating about in a padded room. She has cool hair.
Good Fortune by PJ Harvey
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
Meanwhile: I want to write a heroine who sweats and spits and is a real live farting and fucking human being but despite some hints that this kind of thing is encouraged I have a sneaking suspiction it won't wash. I won't say anymore about my novel, sex-by-numbers and the Reluctant Porn Machine right now because I am So Professional (watch me) and I need the money.
Then I want to do a supermarket sweep of a good bookshop or find some old lady with the best library in Glasgow who will employ me to dust the books, page by page, very slowly, line by line, word by word. She will have Tristam Shandy and the Pop up Karma Sutra and Bukowski and Proust and the latest Murakami and Corey Mesler (who took third prize in Desdmona's comp) and Rabelais and - oh, she'll have all the writers I so desperately want to read but don't know who they are yet. Her library will be full of scented geraniums and cameo portraits and pretty cats and I'll make us tea in a samovar and it will rain and rain and rain for hours, so there'll be nothing to do but read (I mean, dust) each book and occasionally glance up into the green and quiet garden.
Also I want a car. So there.
Monday, August 06, 2007
E is for Exotic and F is for Fetish, edited by Alison Tyler, published by Cleis Press
I'm all behind with the alphabet books. Our postman took an inordinately long time to deliver them, (it must be tricky riding a bicycle in a kilt with a heavy post-bag over one shoulder) but now I have E and F in my hands, and they're just as gorgeous as I thought they'd be!
Weird, too, how once a story's in print it looks totally different. Re-reading, I kept muttering 'I didn't write that,' and checking the original and realising that yes, I did write exactly that. This is a cool thing, because sometimes reading your own work it's like reading someone else's. And you can notice things that stick out, like how much I love the word 'cleave'. Cleave. Obviously, subconsciously my favourite word.
I'm rambling. What I meant to say was - get hold of the alphabet books at Amazon, and check out Alison Tyler's blog for more snips, or lust bites for yet more. If you're wondering which one to get - better just buy the whole alphabet. My stories are in stellar company, rubbing shoulders with gems from Shanna Germain, Jeremy Edwards, Kristina Lloyd, Madelynne Ellis, Mathilde Madden, Rachel Kramer Bussel, Thomas S Roche...and more and more. (And of course, every book contains one of Alison Tyler's delicious stories too). Wowee zowee. I'm truly honoured.
Saturday, August 04, 2007
The Scarlatti Tilt
by Richard Brautigan
‘It's very hard to live in a studio apartment in San Jose with a man who's learning to play the violin.’ That's what she told the police when she handed them the empty revolver.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
(And unlike all the bastardised little dittys I've posted here, it's all my own work!)
I was going to write a whole screed about how poetry is wonderful precisely because there's no money in it, so people just about always write it for love. And about how poems (good poems) can shift my mind into fresh new spaces.
I do believe poems are a mind-altering experience - both to write and to read. They call for a particular state of mind - open, flowing, hard-to-describe. Somewhere rich with words but also wordless.
But today I've woken up with a hangover and don't feel at all poetic, so I'll just leave you the link and crawl off...
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Next step in streamlining the writer's day - I've decided to drop out of lust bites and move on. It's been a blast and I've met some wonderful people, but the time and energy involved have seriously detracted from writing. I've got a few projects on at the moment that I really want to focus on, so it seems like a good time to kiss it goodbye and simplify life!
A sad farewell to all the great writers on there and all the lovely guests. I wish everybody the very best of luck as the good ship lustbites sails off into fresh waters.
Meanwhile, I'll be sitting here on my desert island with a laptop and a sackful of teabags, working on the magnus opus...
PS : I mean magnum opus. Shit. Doesn't bode well if I can't even spell it!
Friday, July 13, 2007
Thursday, July 12, 2007
I am not a 'natural' writer. I have to force myself and it's like herding cats. Sometimes I have to concentrate so fucking hard in order to chase a story I forget to eat anything and I emerge hours later shaking and nauseous.
Charles Bukowski puked a lot though, so maybe it's a good sign.
Writing news: Finished first draft of 'Purple Moon Rocks' for the Sixties Competition and Chapter One of the new, improved Bitchbook. Thank fuck. Can I get drunk now?
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
And in the real world, all my friends are suddenly getting married/having babies. As my other (unmarried, childless) friend remarks - "the patter of tiny feet is getting deafening."
To celebrate all these events in a rather pissy way I've bastardised another poem. This time, it's 'Walking Around', by Pablo Neruda...
It so happens I am sick of being a girl.
And it happens that I walk into hairdressers and movie houses
drenched, sickly, like a lamb on helium,
steering my way in a fuzz of squeals and fakery.
The smell of smalltalk makes me break into hoarse
The only thing I want is to lie still like stones or wool .
The only thing I want is to see no more shops, no
no shoes, no parties, no circuses.
It so happens that I am sick of my heels and my nails
and my hair and not casting a shadow.
It so happens I am sick of being a girl.
Still it would be marvellous
to terrify a batchelor with perfume
or kill a myth with a blow to the ear.
It would be great
to go through the streets with a green stem
letting out yells until I died of the cold.
I don’t want to go on being a pink blur with tits,
insecure, twisted around, shivering with nerves,
going on down, into the crackling guts of the witch,
taking in and not-thinking, eating stale chocolate.
I don’t want so much gleefulness.
I don’t want to go on breaking my back,
surrounded by hens, the living machine of the world,
half drunk, dying of grief.
That’s why Monday, when it sees me coming
with my liar’s face, blazes up like duchesses,
and it shrieks on its way like a wounded wheel,
and leaves tracks full of warm blood leading toward the night.
And it pushes me into certain corners, into some dry
into hospitals where the babies fly out the window,
into shoeshops that smell like tobacco,
and certain streets as hideous as fists.
There are paper birds and cellos with no strings
hanging over the stone walls of places
I’ve never been. There are stirrups and mirrors
that ought to buckle with the lies they’ve told,
there are feathers everywhere, and venoms, and umbilical cords.
I stroll along serenely, with my eyes, my shoes,
my rage, forgetting everything,
I walk by, going through office buildings and orthopaedic
and courtyards with washing hanging from the line:
underwear, towels and shirts from which slow
dirty tears are falling.
(The last stanza is unchanged. You can read the original poem, translated by Robert Bly, here) .
Saturday, June 30, 2007
...An anthology edited by Emily Dubberley and featuring 'Swapping Recipes', my story about a couple who go to a swinger's party, is out now!
Available for instant download at Audible.com.
And in other news, Mandy M Roth interviewed me and fellow Virgin authors Portia Da Costa, Anne Tourney, Gwen Masters, Olivia Knight and Madelynne Ellis as part of a week long focus on Our Glorious Publisher.
Speaking of which, our latest Black Lace Focus Group (Madelynne Ellis, Janine Ashbless, Mathilde Madden et moi) recently stumbled on the Secret Headquarters of Nexus books. As you can see, the staff are on their way to work in full uniform...
Friday, June 22, 2007
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Saturday, June 09, 2007
- is 'Write Sex Week'.
Much excitement backstage, as we'll be having posts daily from various different guests, including Felix Baron of Nexus, Huck Berry and Jeremy Edwards.
It's promising to be a scintillating mass debate (sorry) about gender and sex issues in erotica, including the contentious issue of women-only publishers. We'll be asking questions and making sure everybody observes Queensbury Rules, boys and girls both.
Be sure to stop by and add your two-cents!
PS - I know the hedgehogs aren't relevant. But I love that picture...
Monday, June 04, 2007
Check out lust bites for regular features from me and a host of other erotica writers – updated several times a week. And hopefully you can expect to see a lot more fiction getting published and stuck on the sidebar as I get my act together and start working harder!
See you all round!
Friday, June 01, 2007
Other news - the ever-generous Desdmona is now accepting submissions for the Sixties Short Story competition. Deadline in July - so I'm trying to tune in, turn on and drop out early.
This usually means I'll do a month of random over-the-top research (my second favourite activity) and then not use any of it. Currently I'm learning about the satellite station at Goonhilly. I can't remember why, but its interesting.
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
You know when you start a book and fall instantly in love?
Reading the first chapter of 'Iris and Ruby', and the voice in my head is just going 'Man, this is good... oh, boy, oh wow.'
Just very fluent storytelling, you know? Find it and curl up and enjoy.
Plus, got word yesterday that 'Undercover' will be appearing in next year's 'Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica'. Whoop! I'm tickled pink.
Friday, May 25, 2007
Being of short attention span and greedy, I love it when stories are short and to the point. This lovely book is full of short gems - some just a couple of paragraphs, some a few pages. I've dipped into it and already found some great stories - Saskia Walker, Shanna Germain, Jeremy Edwards, Tsaurah Litzky, Michael Hemmingson, Dayle Dermatis .... on and on!
Alison Tyler, editor extraordinaire, is offering a sneak peek today at Lustbites, and the chance to win a copy.
Quick! No time to lose! Click on the biting lips!
Monday, May 21, 2007
Curry's are no longer going to sell cassette tapes. I know they were crap, and the sound was like sticking your head in a biscuit tin filled with cotton wool. I know I nostalgia ain't what it used to be and I should be grateful for the incredible shuffling iPod with its forty thousand songs.
But awwww... what shall I do with my crate full of cherished cassettes?
Mix tapes from old lovers, the ones you listened to and rewound, listened to and rewound - until it got all stretched and there was more hissing white noise than music. Old recordings of John Peel. Me as a kid making up stories about princesses. Answerphone tapes. The top 40.
Eighties teens everywhere will mourn your passing.
Friday, May 18, 2007
You can listen to Flick's story for free here! (as well as three other stories.) And have a look round the rest of the site - it's gorgeous, sexy and intelligent.
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
- Raymond Chandler
Actually, I've just found that killing off one of my characters will fix my book! Murderous bloody rampage! Fabulous!
Plus I'm delighted to hear that 'Undercover' will be recorded as an audio story by steamy audio. The site's absolutely gorgeous, (even though it's still under construction) and I can't wait to hear the story read out loud!
Live in June, I believe.
Sunday, May 06, 2007
- By Harland Miller.
It seems to have come out very small. Shame. The fine print is hilarious.
Anyway. Stories. Working on 'Starfucker'. I spent yesterday researching the chemicals used to disinfect hot tubs. I learned that 'bromide' comes from a Greek root - meaning 'stinks of he-goat'. I got lost in chat rooms that discuss scum and water odour and shocking the water. I asked boyf for a trip to B&Q to inhale chemicals (refused). I lost the thread of the story and found it again, only to lose the point.
All this for one line - something about her skin smelling of chlorine. Daft job, this.
Today I will fix the imaginary hot tub, and start subjugating the woman in my next story 'Under his hand, I blossom'. I do love that title. As far as research goes, I think it's just heather and sunblock today. Onwards...
Thursday, May 03, 2007
Black Lace's latest 'Wicked Words' anthology is out today!
I'm really stoked to have two stories in this one - I got a bit carried away with the subject. Ahem. Here's a peek:
The Art of Fucking - an artist stuck in her lonely studio has a chance encounter with a life model. This is the pic I used for inspiration:
A Whole New City - I love the mysterious stranger in this story. Here's the description of him:
'His eyes were clear. Green-gold, with a gaze fixed firmly on hers. He was staring like a lion watching prey. A tanned face, with high cheekbones and a hooked nose. Weatherbeaten. When he walked towards the desk Claire noticed his limber way of moving, the easy stride of a man who never stays still for long.
He was wearing the kind of non-descript clothes that would melt into the background anywhere in the world. His shirt and trousers hung off him in shades of black and grey. They said nothing about him and didn’t need to.
His face had such an intensity, his body such disturbing grace, that every nerve in Claire’s body had sparked immediately to attention.'
- want more? Visit lust bites today for tasters of more stories, and tomorrow for a chance to win Sex with Strangers and a mix of other wonderful dirty books. Or click on the book cover to your right to be magically transported to Amazon, where you may buy a copy.
Meanwhile, I've got another anthology in mind. This one got me so buzzing, I've started three stories for it. It's Rachel Kramer Bussel's follow up to 'He's on Top'/'She's on Top', and I've got two weeks to come up with the goods. Nose, grindstone, etc.
P.S. If you're in Scotland and reading this - hie thee to your polling station! This is important! Vote early, vote often!
Sunday, April 15, 2007
I'm delighted that my story Salt has won an honourable mention in the 2007 Titillating Tattoo story contest, and I'm also delighted that the lovely Shanna Germain has won second prize, with her thrilling, edgy story 'To the hilt'.
Here's the judges' blurb for Salt:
'With a nod to O. Henry, this story, presented by Nikki Magennis, transports us with its use of sensory majesty. A reader can hear the screech of rusted chain, see the colors of yellow jackets and wind-burned faces, feel the mist rising from the ocean, taste the lust, and smell the sex. But most importantly, there is love—rooted, passionate, sacrificial—the best kind.'
Congrats to Shanna, and to all the winners. Read all the stories here. There's some phenomenal writing up there and I'm truly honoured that Salt is in such good company.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
My short story 'Hair Trigger' will be appearing in 'F is for Fetish' by Cleis Press, edited by the lovely Alison Tyler and out in July.
This one was a revenge story to get back at a slimeball ex boyfriend. Until I changed the names, situations, plot and characters! So now it's more a story about a woman and a man and his hair fetish.
Available to pre-order here.
In other news - I've got to do some pictures for a film set, which is exciting, for tomorrow, which is frightening. And work on the novel. And I stayed up late watching crappy movies, so I'm owl-eyed and in need of tea.
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
Meine buch auf Deutsch! Ich bin so glucklich! Er is schon, nein?
Wow, I am so inordinately happy. My Erotischer Novel, now available in German.
I so wish I could speak German, beyond 'peanut butter, I love you'.
As it is, I'll just have to content myself with staring at that cover. Love it.
Y'know, April's looking pretty good so far. Summer is a'comin in...LOUD SING CUCKOO! BOUNCE!!!! BOUNCE!!!! +BOUNCE!!!!
Monday, April 02, 2007
- and this book:
- both of which are complicated and beautiful and touching and offbeat. Both of which made me feel very happy, sort of painfully happy, to be alive. I think this is what art is for, isn't it? To make sense of life, to make us feel connected. Make us laugh.
Deadlines met! Pictures in gallery! Story with judges! Sunshine! Tea! Holiday very soon!
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Rainy days to wrap yourself up in and ignore the world. Chatter recedes. Sinking, detach and float.
Watching age creep up your legs, stiffening, slowing.
Story is an alchemical process. Good story, which I don't have right now. I have a needle buzzing above a woman's wrist, a girl in a derelict house with an older man, an inbreath. The set-ups, not the pay-offs.
I need the twist. The moment it all coalesces. That's a gift from the Great Whatever that I have to wait for.
Last night we drove to a house by the beach. Small, empty, beautiful. A garden. But a railway line cutting past it, six feet from the front door. Could we live there? The train horns, the electromagnetic fields. Freight trains. We havered.
Windows over the sea. If life was a story you could wait, and the answer would come, perfect and wry and inevitable.
- which is not really what any reader would want to hear, is it? It's rambling stream of consciousness nothing. Warm up exercises, to be honest, in preparation for the real writing.
Ah well. Sorry.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
The above battered photo is the only one I have of Hallowe'en about ten years ago. You can't see the silver skirt or the body glitter or the hobbling shoes! (You also can't see my best friend in her Oxfam wedding dress sprayed red, red wig and red gloves.) Nobody recognised us, nobody.
We won second prize at the art school ball for our costumes. I'm sure that's a monopoly card...
In other news, I think I'm painted out. Anything I do between now and the weekend will definitely not be dry in time. I've sliced my thumb open (shouldn't be allowed scalpels), wrenched my back and inhaled a few gallons of turpentine. I think I've done enough!
So next, I'm aiming for a couple of deadlines for stories that are gnashing their teeth at me. A tattoo story with no ending and a couple of thousand words of bitchbook. No rest for the wicked.
Monday, March 26, 2007
It's a good sign, really. Means I'm working.
Wait - Hear that? If you listen very very carefully, you can hear a little scraping rustling sniffling noise.
It's the sound of me scribbling and daubing and thinking...
(...and a clock shaving off the seconds till deadlines start to collapse all around me.)
Hasta luego x
Monday, March 19, 2007
I wrote half a story, up until 2am and drowning in metaphors, the images coming thick and fast and the story branching, swerving, growing despite itself. Sucking on a bottle of red wine and forgetting the world, falling into story.
Crashed late, dreamt twisted, woke early, stared mute at the newspaper. A blank morning passed.
When the sun became too hard and the hail smashed against the window I painted pictures full of water and sap yellow grass and thunderous skies.
This seems necessary:
a) insufferable boredom, repetitive tasks, acres of nothingness that sink into ones bones.
b) that itchy, unsettled, almost-angry feeling that means I'm about to start spewing out story/picture.
I'm not sure if this is a healthy schema, the tossing and turning and unsettled sensation of creativity. I'm not sure if there are better, more consistent ways to produce things. I don't know, ever, if I'm doing it right. I suspect the mistakes are part of the work.
I do know I've got 1,500 words and half a dozen small pictures to show for it, this motion sickness of inbalance.
Swings and roundabouts, amen.
Sunday, March 18, 2007
What is your problem? Why do you act so sullen? I've given you not one, not two, but three hot males to choose from, and yet you stomp around looking surly and chewing a day-old piece of what was once strawberry-flavoured bubblegum, fiddling with your belly piercing and refusing to join in.
We've got a plot to develop here, girl! This is your last chance to be the heroine of a nerotic novel!
It pains me to say it, but this is your final written warning. If you don't show a bit of moxie (my favourite new word - from our Violet Blue interview over at lustbites) within the next week you are getting the chop, in favour of a light-hearted paranormal romp featuring witches.
Thin ice, girl, thin ice.
yours in puzzled desperation,
Now it's hailing!!!!
Scotland has a funny sense of humour.
Ah, I love the weather.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
I'd curl up on the sofa with a blanket, in my pyjamas, and read the new Janet Evanovich I just got out the library, with lots of tea and the phone switched off. I might, if I was feeling energetic, put on some music at low volume.
I suspect my fantasies lack a certain degree of excitement...
Monday, March 12, 2007
A weekend of beaches and visiting and phenomenal tea-drinking sessions with family and old friends. Got back with a suitcase full of pebbles, a bunch of snowdrops and a rested-refreshed mind. Perked up for the next round of deadlines!
Found a nice little surprise in the post, too.
Here's the cover of one of the new Black Lace Quickies, which contains 'All I Have To Do' - a wistful warmfuzzy lost-love piece wrapped up in musicality.
It's my first reprint, and it's a cute wee book. They're only three quid! Out in April! Copies are available to preorder here!
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
Friday, March 02, 2007
Thursday, March 01, 2007
Since then there have been more ups and downs than a tart's knickers. But I'm still here, still working, and still trying to make sense of Tax Returns.
Here's my brief and unreliable advice about being self employed:
1. It's terrifying. White knuckle, sleepless night, hair-falling out terrifying. When you're busy, you're very stressed, and when you're not busy you're very very stressed.
2. It's the closest you can come to dropping out of the human race. There is no Boss, and no Payroll Department. (Unless you count the shoebox under the sofa).
3. Everything you achieve, every small little victory, and every bit of money, and every milestone is entirely yours. I think this is what they call a handmade life. It's wonderful, and I don't know if I could live any other way.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Anyway, over at lustbites, we're planning an 'Ask the Writers' session. We're now ready and waiting to answer your questions. Jump over and ask us what you want to know about writing and erotica. We'll be picking some of the best questions and doing our very best to answer them.
Oh, and I'll be there on Friday overseeing the boxing match between Sexy and Beautiful. Just so long as I can remember what the brilliant idea was that I had at half four in the morning.
Plus next week, I'll be Girl Crushing. Not literally, because that would be messy.
It's International Women's Day on Thursday, so to celebrate I'll be revealing which lady is my current pin up...
Right, nose back to the grindstone/handkerchief...
Friday, February 23, 2007
A Scottish author of erotica, erotic romance and other erratic types of writing.
I have lived in Scotland since I was three years old, from the north to the middle and a little to the side.
I'm an art school drop-out, sometime poet and have a typing speed of 80 wpm. Hold on, this isn't a job application, is it?
I had about a hundred jobs before I became an author - from barmaid to life model to tutor to theatre work. Obviously, I much prefer sitting on my arse making up stories all day. *Cough* I mean writing.
My work's usually burrowing about in the connections between people, trying to work out how and why people live and love and fuck. I'm terrible at describing it, but here are what some other people have said about it:
"THE NEW RAKES is a fascinating, sexy and exciting read. Ms. Magennis has written a story with great female characters, sexy males and a plot that doesn’t quit."
5 pixies, Becky Gaede at Dark Angel Reviews
"Nikki Magennis’s Circus Excite – a beautiful and very hot book full of magic and wonder and smut. Literary erotica. In a good way – a really good way."
Mathilde Madden for Reflection's Edge Reviews
“CIRCUS EXCITE by Nikki Magennis is not only a hot read, it’s also full of intriguing detail about this unique erotic circus setting.”
Saskia Walker, author of Reckless and Double Dare
'Glittery, dark and gorgeous'
Alison Tyler on 'Madrid'
'Nikki has a gift for saying a hell of a lot with an almost minimalist number of words. Hair Trigger introduces a fetish relationship from its climactic beginning through to its cataclysmic denouement. The description is rich and colourful and the power is superbly strong.’
Ashley Lister at the ERWA reviews F is for Fetish
"When the short forms are used with éclat and real severity, they are bright and entertaining gems of understatement that create a much larger and more lush sense of authentic pleasure precisely because they excite by inference. The obvious comparison is well-executed haiku, which leave the subtle imprint of nature in a few syllables. Like Haiku, Nikki Magennis’s “Sweets” makes short, but thorough, work of the erotic potential in sucrose."
Steven Hart for Erotica Revealed reviews Frenzy
With a nod to O. Henry, this story, presented by Nikki Magennis, transports us with its use of sensory majesty. A reader can hear the screech of rusted chain, see the colors of yellow jackets and wind-burned faces, feel the mist rising from the ocean, taste the lust, and smell the sex. But most importantly, there is love—rooted, passionate, sacrificial—the best kind.
Desdmona, on ‘Salt’ (honourable mention, Desdmona’s tattoo story comp 2007)
Contact the author: nikki dot magennis at googlemail dot com
Read a full list of publications here.
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
I'm thinking I need one like that for bloggering, only when PMT strikes. Around every 28 days the computer will seize up and stop me from pouring out vitriol and hyperbole into the universe.
Right now I'm having to try and stop myself, and correct me if I'm wrong, but a madwoman with rampant hormones just isn't up to self-censure.
Right, off to chew the radiators. The oestrogen is also compelling me to write an erotic mock-historical paranormal romance, when I should be doing the complete opposite. Automatic writing, yes, fine, but it's tosh. Someone take the notebook out of my hands now, please, before I do something I regret. You can give me it back in 5 to 7 days when I'm feeling less female.
Friday, February 16, 2007
Today it's my turn to pimp my book over at lustbites.
Just for kicks, here's a very small taste of Circus Excite - an early scene with Robert and Julia. This is after Julia's fucked up a dance routine, when Robert takes her into his caravan to show her what the circus is all about.
(I'm sorry it's short and relatively clean - for some reason I get all coy about putting explicit scenes up here. If you want the juicy bits, I'm afraid you'll just have to get the book!)
‘This circus is about arousal, Julia. About getting horny. What I want from you is a mind-fuck. You can’t just wriggle your ass and turn me on.’ Julia felt the white-hot shock of his words, so intimate and direct. Was he still talking about the show? Was he bluntly telling her he didn’t want to fuck her? Robert seemed to read her mind:
‘What you fear is often the source of your most powerful sexuality. What makes you angry, what disgusts you, even. What were you thinking of, this afternoon? What is it you really desire?’
Julia hesitated, her mind racing. How should she react to this? She didn’t know if Robert was offering a challenge or asking a rhetorical question. As she sipped at her wine, playing for time, she remembered the photo of Josephine Baker, curling over on her back with an expression of tense, joyous sensuality. The image of a woman so explosively sexual, so dynamic and vibrant, was what had driven her through dance school.
‘I want to blow everyone away’ she heard herself blurt out.
Robert remained silent, waiting, it seemed, for Julia to elaborate. When she stayed silent, feeling embarrassed, he spoke in a voice so soft Julia wasn’t sure she’d heard him right.
‘Take off the shirt, Julia.’ he repeated, slowly, sitting motionless opposite her.
From Circus Excite, © 2006 Nikki Magennis
Thursday, February 15, 2007
And I also recently discovered hentai - a few centuries after everyone else. This beautiful picture was in Scarlet magazine, but if you put 'hentai' into google then a whole universe of strange and disturbing stuff comes up, a lot of which I'm sure is illegal. Take care when exploring, cosmonauts.
Today I'm thinking Barbarella, Bongwater, music videos and Fabulous Costumes. Psyching myself up to write the first chapter, which keeps eluding me...I think it needs to be darker and wilder. I'm toying with Jack Kerouac's advice on writing just now:
"No pause to think of proper word but the infantile pileup of scatological buildup words till satisfaction is gained, which will turn out to be a great appending rhythm to a thought and be in accordance with Great Law of timing."
Monday, February 12, 2007
I want to use this photo for my beloved's Valentine's card. The skellys were recently found in Italy by archaeologists (Read the story here). I think it's utterly beautiful, that they're still entwined after thousands of years.
This is how I'd like to be laid to rest, eventually.
What d'you think? A little too morbid? Should I stick with hearts and flowers?
Apparently there's a bit of St Valentine's kneecap in Glasgow Cathedral, so maybe relics and Valentines go well together. (And boyf, if you're reading this, then you just ruined your surprise.)
Sunday, February 11, 2007
Apparently it's possible to move forwards in time if you just go very fast.
Something about that statement makes my head hurt. Anyway, I'm planning to attend the Time Traveller's conference, two years ago. Unfortunately nobody from the future attended. Yet.
I think this will be a good way to spend a rainy Sunday.
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
Sometime, I intend to write a book with this title. Here are some small loves:
White washes. The smell of laundry and the crinkled cotton. Particularly - two people folding linen, the little dance they do back and forth.
Letters and parcels from abroad. The stamps and labels and customs declarations, the scars of the journey.
Lime. In vodka and soda, on monkfish, with rum and mint. It makes everything taste promising.
The exact moment of dusk falling, with a pink sky and neon scribbles, streetlights on when its still light.
Light shops - you know, the ones where you go to buy lampshades or candelabras or chandeliers or spotlights, when there's a thousand bulbs burning and crystals hanging elegantly everywhere and you are bathed in dazzling light. I never buy anything, I just wander about like a disco ball junkie, smiling.
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
"What the hell are you up to?"
"So where is this damn book, then?"
"Are you sure about that?"
I was trying to answer her, but in the end I always want to respond to questions like that with
Ah Bobby. Are you not beautiful?
Sunday, February 04, 2007
Friday night the usual mix - beer, vodka, wine, vodka, anything to achieve a pleasant state of oblivion. The city gears up for full moon fever. In Glasgow people lurch from one weekend to another, making as much noise as possible inbetween. Finally at two we fall into bed - and then there's a bang. Outside - a car wrapped round a bollard, actually bent in half. Windscreen smashed to hell. I call the ambulance, but being half drunk and confused end up shouting at the guy in the call centre until boyf has to take over.*
I'm quick in a crisis, but not polite.
Sirens, shouting, flashing lights.
I'm tired of living in the city. The street outside is the man drag for local boyracers, with their nuclear-powered stereos and novelty car horns. Motorways bisect everything here - they're building more. I'm drowning in cars.
I miss the sea, birdsong and open spaces. Soon, very soon, we're making for the wilderness.
But on the good side, I had a kind of spontaneous overview of work this weekend, and realised some long-dithered over plans. I've started a new story that's so close to the bone I'm unsure about writing it - but then, they say if you're scared by your writing you're doing well, right? I've come up with strategies and ideas and forecasts which really excite me. I've enlisted a partner in crime. The daffodils are up, and crocuses too.
Spring is in the air. Ad aspera per astra. Bring it on.
(*Nobody was seriously injured in the smash up. And the local Youth refrained, miraculously, from setting the car on fire. So the picture is a little overdramatic, but you know, poetic license, etc.)
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
From the frozen park - a swan's feather and a leaf skeleton. I love winter, its sparseness and austerity. Time to fall back and make only small movements.
Monochrome and silence.
Meanwhile, I'm writing a story involving the Prime Minister. Is that allowed? AM Homes wrote a fantastic story about the Reagans that terrified and exhilarated me. I wonder about libel and slander.
Of course, I haven't specified which prime minister...
Monday, January 29, 2007
I think I can whoop about this now. Can I? Okay, I'm going to anyway 'cos I feel like a little whoop. My story 'The '76 Revolution' will be featured in 'Love at First Sting', edited by Alison Tyler and published by Cleis sometime this summer. It's the punkish, bondage-esque story that I did all the obsessive Strawberry Switchblade research on. Altogether now, Whoohoop!
(If the final line-up doesn't include my story, you should check the book out anyway. Shanna Germain's got a great story in it about a camping trip, and the cover's lovely!)
Thursday, January 25, 2007
I'm a day late. Apparently the rest of the world takes Burn's day more seriously than we do here in Scotland. The haggis is sitting in the fridge forlorn and forgotten.
Continuing an occasional series of re-worked poems, here's my skewed and smutty version of Burns' Ode to a Haggis. Rab was a joyful carouser in his day, and I think he might approve. Plus, maybe I'm reading this with blue-tinted glasses, but some of it sounds filthy just as it is.
Fair fa’ your honest, sonsie face,
Great chieftain o’ the sex-toy race!
Aboon them a’ ye tak your place,
The dildo or five finger jam,
Weel are ye wordy of a grace worthy
As lang’s my arm.
The groaning trench there ye fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill,
Your pin wad help to mend a mill
In time o’ need,
While thro’ your pores the dews distil
Like amber bead.
Ye powers, wha mak mankind your care,
And dish them oot their thrills so fair,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking tease
That fails tae please
But if ye wish her gratefu prayer,
Gie her a rabbit!
Sonsie - cheerful
Hurdies - buttocks
Pin - skewer
skinking - watery
Monday, January 22, 2007
Back to the witch in the forest, incantation, incubus -
Daylight hour approaches, Siberian temperatures forecast. Batteries low.
Sunday, January 21, 2007
I was very tickled this morning to hear some of my stories being read aloud by a stranger!
Way back last year, I wrote a load of stories for Whispers Audio. Now they're available for your listening pleasure!
Most of the CDs are collections written by different authors, but there's one that was all my own work. I'm delighted to present - Flick's Diaries. Felicity was a great character to write - sort of screwball comedy erotica.
Click for little excerpts from three stories.
Thursday, January 18, 2007
World is suddener than we fancy it.'
And everything turns magical. Which will help with my story - full of moors and hills and rivers and witches.
At my oak desk with a pot of tea brewing, with the fire on next to me and a story that is waiting, waiting...I thank you The Great Whomever for snowy days and time to write.
(with apologies to Lord Rochester)
I rise at eleven, I dine about two,
I get drunk before seven and the next thing I do,
I send for my man-whore, when for fear of a clap,
I get him to eat me and come in his trap;
Then we quarrel and scold, till I fall fast asleep,
When the prick growing bold, to my fanny does creep.
Then slyly he leaves me and to revenge the affront,
At once he bereaves me of filling my cunt.
If by chance then I wake, hot-headed and drunk,
What a coil do I make for the loss of my punk!
I storm and I roar and I fall in a fury,
and missing my judge, I shag the whole jury.
Then crop-sick all morning I rail at my men,
And in bed I lie yawning till eleven again.
Contessa Nikki de Glasgow
(The original version was written in the 17th century. Thought it was time to update it.)
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
I walked to the park yesterday. The sun was yellow and gold everywhere, and the air was so sweet.
I helped a lady find the first crocus shoots, and we smiled at the unexpected day - spring in midwinter. Green shoots and a clear sky.
The best days are those where nothing much happens and you float around listening to the quiet voices in your head.
Sunday, January 14, 2007
Got the cover proofs for 'Sex with Strangers' yesterday. You can see right up the girl's skirt!
The book's out in June, and features two of my stories:
The art of fucking - set in an artist's studio. It gets messy, but in a good way.
A whole new city - the story of an uptight travel agent and the customer who shows her life in a different light.
In other news, I've had two stories accepted for anthologies I'm very excited about (but can't really whoop loudly just yet). And am working on a twisted orchid story for another...busy bee working hard for honey here...