Thursday, May 26, 2011

It's an excoiypt extravaganza!

Say that in a Brooklyn accent, will you?

Anyway, I just noticed (while reading a little delicious snippet of Alison Tyler's gorgeous novella) that you can read the start of my story 'Now or Forever' on the eHarlequin site! Squeaky cool!

Here it is!

Monday, May 23, 2011

Playing old songs

I spent all weekend listening to old tracks and feeling nostalgic. It seems like forever since I went out to hear a band, got messy drunk and did something stupid.

Here, for those romantics who can't forget how their favourite song feels: an excerpt from the first chapter of 'The New Rakes' for your reading pleasure:

'Hot?' Tam said, standing right at her shoulder. 'Allow me.' Before she could stop him, he had pressed the ice-cold bottle of beer to her neck. The shock made Kara gasp, and she felt her nipples pinch as Tam rolled the chilled glass down over her chest, his fingers brushing her skin as he did so.
Kara gave him a crooked little smile. That was the trouble with Tam. He was moody, unpredictable and frequently obnoxious, but he knew how to make a girl feel good. And Kara still remembered how he tasted.
'I bet you're wet right now,' he whispered in her ear, his breath tickling her. His mouth connected with her skin and Kara fought to keep herself steady. She should push him off, she thought, only the feel of his lips against her neck was delicious. His tongue flickered over her pulse point, sending jolts right through her bloodstream and making her knees weak. Kara closed her eyes. Tam held the bottle against her breast, rolled it over her nipple. The cold and the pressure was such exquisite torture she couldn't bring herself to move. Behind them, Kara heard a clink that was unmistakably a belt buckle being undone, and remembered Jon and Ruby on the couch.
She flinched and pulled away.
'We agreed, Tam,' she said struggling to breathe normally.
'One fuck can't hurt,' he said, leaning in to kiss her. Kara's eyes fixed on the twist of his smile and she allowed herself to imagine how it would feel to have that mouth against hers for just one moment. His lips, she remembered, were lithe and quick. His tongue was skilled. Then she shook her head.
'Bad idea.'
‘Worried you might like it?’ Tam said, slipping his free hand round to grip hold of her arse. He gave a squeeze, and Kara arched her spine before she could stop herself.
‘More worried about the aftermath,’ she murmured, but her hands were slipping around his hips and she was pulling him into her so that his belt buckle and the bulge of his cock under his jeans bumped up against her stomach. She let their bodies press against each other so that she could feel his heartbeat against her chest. ‘Get out here,’ she said finally, throwing open the door and pulling Tam into the corridor.
She shoved him up against the white-painted breezeblocks with a force that made him raise an eyebrow and smile at her, even as she was slipping a hand inside the waistband of his trousers. 

Want more? read the whole chapter

Wednesday, May 18, 2011

How to work

Does anybody blog any more? Everybody seems to be hanging out on facebox and twitter. Things are faster there. I've been trying to focus more lately and leave the peripherals be for the moment. By which to say, I'm doing prioritisation.

I want to be bringing up my son primarily and just working a little when I can, without letting it stress me out. As most of you will know if you're writers or work in the creative field, this sounds sort of easy but is not.

The ideas can scare me. So much to write. It's like hunting, with a forest full of strange and remarkable creatures. You're the only hunter and they will tend to slip away if you don't find them quickly and kill them. Leaving a story half done feels like maiming an animal. Maybe that's overdramatic. Still, I hunt stories like trophies, nail them on the wall, forget about them. It's not necessarily a healthy way to work.

Some people talk about being born writers. I am not one of them. I don't believe in talent - only desire and hard work and luck. I believe everyone has innate creative energy and that we can pour it into many things - work, art, life. Lately I've been thinking how good it might be to just be what I need to be - a mother - and let the other stresses fall back a little. I want to keep house, too.

Why is one kind of work seen as more valuable? What do I really hope to achieve, where do I think I will get with one but not the other? Either and all work can be healthy or unhealthy, depending on how we approach it.

This is turning into a ramble. Still, that's okay, because everyone is elsewhere, somewhere faster. I'll keep sweeping the floor in an empty house, see what I find.

Tuesday, May 10, 2011

Dream Lover

Yeah, well, I thought this picture would come out differently. That's probably obvious. Wow. I have a lot of split ends.

ANYWAY - hooray, for Dream Lover has arrived in the UK! At least, I got my copies, and anybody else who didn't can try to prise them out of my cold, dead hands!

The book includes 'Old Fashioned Glamour', an excerpt from an unwritten trilogy of paranormal romantic erotic something novels. About witches. And sheep. And motorcars.

Here's a snip:

' ... there’s no difference between a glamour and a haze and a love spell as far as I’m concerned. And because if I have you, I’ll have you naked.’
He kept his eyes locked on mine even as the blush rose to my cheeks. He lifted his wrists and started to unbutton his shirt. Underneath, his skin was the alabaster smooth, taut pallor that I remembered. Like a polished sculpture. A drift of freckles was strewn over his shoulders, and his nipples were as pale as rose quartz.
‘Without adornment.’ He walked to me, close enough that I could smell the milk and wool of his sweat. He lifted my hair and laid it behind my shoulders. Such a small gesture, but I felt so exposed. Between us, the locket lay heavy on my collarbone.
‘Let history be left behind,’ he said softly. ‘Trust me, Amy.’
I wet my lips. Scott was asking me to let go of everything I’d carried with me for all these years.
To be free of it, to lay down all the enchantments and the regret and the hidden weaponry and meet him as just a woman again, oh, how the thought of it made my bones ache with weary longing. Up above us a violet sunset seeped into the clouds, and somewhere in the forest a woodpigeon sang. 
Without speaking, I pulled down the zip on my dress. I didn’t turn away from him as I removed my clothes. This was only half a striptease, and half a promise. A way to show him that I was willing to lay myself bare for him.

Thursday, May 05, 2011

Steam, punks, and lust

I'm delighted to announce (I love annnouncing things) that my story 'Make Your Own Miracles' will be appearing in Steamlust this October! Hoorah.

Meanwhile, fairly dull looking but useful work continues, including making frames for the animation and contemplating how to put together a collection of short stories. Should I self publish or start the long haul to find a publisher willing to take a chance on a fabulous but unusual project?

My heart sinks at the thought of working out the fine points that publishers do such a wonderful job of, such as distribution, but equally, I am thinking more and more that I don't want to be tied to the restraints of a publisher's requirements.

We'll see. Either way, adventures await.