Thursday, January 17, 2013
Ancestral Roots
Thursday, January 3, 2013
Am I a “Real” Writer
By Donna George Storey (Guest Blogger)
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
Anticipation is the Best Part
By Victoria Blisse (Guest Blogger)
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Reader Trivia
I got this from the diet book about blood types and your diet. How many people would even think to remember the history of blood types? This is the type of person I am. I could also tell you about bubonic plague and how black rats and lice and food storage during the Middle Ages caused it.
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Saturday, April 18, 2009
Happy Endings
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When I read a book, I expect the experience to be a positive one. If it isn’t, I don’t finish the book. It usually gets tossed to the bedroom floor with a grand flourish in the hope that husband will notice so I can rail about the disappointment of wasting my time and money. Of course having to get out of bed to mop up water, having knocked over my glass, sort of spoils the moment.
Genre expectations exist for all types of books. Fans of mystery novels expect to see a crime being solved, horror fans want to be scared witless, readers of fantasy require an imaginative challenge and hard core sci fi readers – ah well, I don’t get those weirdoes but that’s probably because I was crap at physics. The requirement for a HEA in romance books has some people rolling their eyes but what’s wrong with romance readers expecting a happy ending? What’s wrong with anyone wanting a happy ending?
I read to be entertained, to be removed for a while from my ordinary life on my mega-yacht drinking champagne and be transported to a fantasy world of good looking guys. I don’t mind if they’re alive or undead, werewolf or gargoyle, prince or pauper, (but not zombies- I have to draw the line somewhere). But I need to know that the world I enter will become ordered and safe and happy by the end of the book.
To be honest, I like HEA or HFN in everything I read, romance or not. That doesn’t mean to say I don’t read books with unhappy endings, I do, though most often by accident. It’s not something authors announce on the back page – oh by the way, I kill off that lovely hero and leave the heroine to take poison on his grave. Strangely enough, it’s books with unhappy endings that have stayed with me longer than the others. Jay McInerney’s Ransom is a case in point – I love it because I became so emotionally involved with the hero. I faithfully read all the brilliant Karin Slaughter’s series and was staggered by what she did to her hero who’d I’d grown to love over several books. I had to go back and read it again because I wondered if I’d made a mistake. She was paranoid about people revealing the end and threatened disembowelment at the very least for those who spoilt it for others. Fearing she might come after me with a knife, I won’t say too much but I still think about that ending and don’t understand WHY she did it. Even if she’d gone as far with that character as she could, why kill him?
Unhappy endings are not common in romance. If I ended up in floods of tears because one of the MCs died or walked away from love, I’d feel cheated and annoyed. I don’t mind crying at their angst part way through and I don’t mind crying with happiness because they end up together, though it doesn’t happen often. The crying I mean. Readers need characters to get what they deserve. I want the villains to receive their comeuppance. I expect the hero and heroine, or heroes, having completed their journey and learned life’s lessons, to be rewarded with happiness. That’s why I read romance. I want the world to be fair and just.
So what’s the attraction of romance books when I know what’s going to happen? If the ending is predictable, why bother reading? Because HEA isn’t straight forward and is only a small part of the whole. We don’t know the journey the MCs will take and if a writer is skilled enough, she or he will make that journey so compelling we feel the happy ending is the perfect finish.
It might be the fairytale ending of marriage, 2.4 kids and a blissful ride into old age. It might be more a HFN, the feeling of satisfaction that having shown characters maturing during the book, the author has given them the hope of a better life in the future. So it’s really what comes before HEA that’s important- the journey, the learning experience, the battling through difficulties and disappointments as the relationship grows so that the readers feels these two or three – ooh, maybe more – characters can’t live without each other.
How about romance books that don’t have the HEA – or at least my view of a HEA. Gone with the Wind – is the one most commonly quoted. Rhett walks away but we don’t know if Scarlet follows. Personally I couldn’t give a damn, my dear. She was horrible! Remains of the Day is a great story but definitely has an unhappy ending. Jude Deveraux’s – A Knight in Shining Armor is a time travel romance where the hero goes back to his own time and leaves the heroine in the present. We get a sort of HEA but the ending still niggles with me that the two main protagonists don’t end up with each other.
I suppose I learnt a lesson from that with my story – Power of Love – to be released by Ellora’s Cave on the 20th May. It’s the story of a woman whose boyfriend has been killed. He returns as an angel. I never plan my stories – so I got towards the end and thought – how am I going to keep them together? It never crossed my mind that Joe would go off to heaven and leave Poppy to find another love. No, they had to stay together so I made it happen. Ah, the power of the pen!
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Barbara Elsborg lives in West Yorkshire in the north of England.
She always wanted to be a spy, but having confessed that to everyone without them even resorting to torture, she decided it was not for her. Vulcanology scorched her feet. A morbid fear of sharks put paid to marine biology. So instead, she spent several years successfully selling cyanide. After dragging up two rotten, ungrateful children and frustrating her sexy, devoted, wonderful husband (who can now stop twisting her arm) she finally has time to conduct an affair with an electrifying plugged-in male, her laptop.
Her books feature quirky heroines and bad boys, and she hopes they are much fun to read as they were to write.
You can find out more about Barbara and all her latest releases with Ellora’s Cave, Loose Id and Ravenous Romance on her blog here.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
The Humor of Sex, or the Gospel According to Rose Nylund
This week's guest blogger for Oh, Get a Grip! is Kathryn Lively, publisher of Phaze Books. Kathryn is here to share with us her wisdom on humor and sex:
The scene replays occasionally in my mind. It comes unbidden, usually when I sit down with the intent to write a serious love scene. In a time before I understood the term cougar to mean something other than a sleek jungle cat, Blanche Devereaux nibbled on cheesecake and waxed nostalgic over her magical first…night…ever under moonlit magnolias with Bobby.
Or was it Billy?
Or Ben?
The name isn't important-even Blanche shrugged off the details of her faulty memory-but the point was that sex could be magical, and in some views funny. Not to be outdone, Rose Nylund related her own tale of innocence lost and capped it with the rhetorical question, "Didn't you think at the time…that was a funny thing to do?" That being putting Tab A into Slot B.
I should insert an aside here: if you are absolutely certain you are never going to have sex again, feel free to read the rest of this post. If not, the risk you take is your own. I'll accept no complaints of how I'm responsible for your mid-coitus snickering.
It's wise not to think too hard about Rose's question, because if you place yourself outside the act, strip away any trappings of high production value porn flick, you just might see that sex is a funny thing to do. It involves our funniest-looking parts, causes parts we wish didn't look so funny to move in funny ways and, if done too quickly or with too much force, it can result in funny noises and cause the mind to wander and think of unsexy things, like what is that fwapping sound and gads, what my ass must look like in this position.
We make funny faces during sex, it can't be helped. Remember that song "Turning Japanese"? You really think so? Apparently it's a term used to describe how a person's face screws up and winces during orgasm. Indeed, in my memory I can see the faces of former partners and how they looked hovering overhead, lips pursed and eyebrows arched. They turned Japanese, Laotian, Armenian…looking as though they should be sucking on Tums instead of…well, you know.
As we write about sex, we tend to bestow funny names on our private parts, because saying, "he put his penis into her vagina" is just too clinical, and is hardly indicative of the vast vocabularies we possess and wish to use so our English degrees don't completely go to waste. Why say vagina when pussy, kitty, quim, muff, channel, box, mound of Venus, weeping lotus, cradle of love, pink palace, nether lips, vertical smile, treasure cove, love-slick core, and font of womanly nectar relays the image with more clarity?
In our quest to breathe more life into this fantasy, a clitoris becomes a love button, and the penis a fleshy, throbbing rod. And, people don't simply orgasm in romance novels. A woman rides the wave of ecstasy until it crests, whereupon she crashes headfirst into the foamy shore and unleashes all pent-up frustration in the form of a glass-shattering howl. Her lover doesn't merely ejaculate, but grunts his release, pumping his sticky seed in or on her (depends on who you're reading), the image not unlike that of a fireman hosing down a burning office building. Thanks to the amazing ability authors display in ending chapters, there's no mess to clean up afterward.
Don't you think this is a funny thing to do? How long till we get to do it again? Hopefully for me, very soon. First, though, I need to prepare my petition to EPIC to add a Humor category to the EPPIE Awards. Got a nice sexy piece waiting for it.
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By day, Kathryn Lively is an editor and publisher. By night, Leigh Ellwood is an author. Visit both halves of the whole at www.KathrynLively.com and www.LeighEllwood.com. If you meet her on the street, it is advised not to make direct eye contact.
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Sticking your toe (or anything else) in the BDSM waters
I have to say that for most of my years, my sex life could be classified as vanilla with a hefty dose of cinnamon—all the things on the vanilla to do list but with a heavy dose of spice. Even when I married Hubby Number Two, my very own cowboy hunk who is the model for alpha males, we added some hot pepper—okay, a lot of hot pepper—but I wasn’t writing erotic romance then. Play, I wasn’t writing anything then!. So those parts of our relationships that fit into BDSM were—just parts of our relationship.
Then, a few years ago, I read my first book by a BDSM author and I thought, OMG! Where have I been all my life? Not only was it a beautiful story about a relationship, it depicted the BDSM lifestyle in such a manner that I became a shopaholic—I combed epublishers for BDSM books.
Okay, okay, call me obsessed. And no, he doesn’t cuff me and spank me naked on the front porch, or decide to put on nipple rings in the middle of the grocery store. And we’ve had to find a balance in our relationship because we are both very, very strong personalities, and submission does not come naturally to me.
But as I began writing BDSM, like everything else I write I wanted to do my research so I would not depict the lifestyle in a manner insulting to those who live it. There are many, many really good sites on the Internet that give you a lot of information about the lifestyle, and really explain the emotional side of it.
Then I took a leap of faith, joined a chat room (using a screen name) and explained who and what I was. I got very lucky. Two people have become my online friends, willingly answering questions for me as long as they have a guarantee of anonymity and respect.
I’ve learned a lot about them—and about myself. I learned that the D/s relationship is all about sharing and caring. That the Dom provides and tremendous sense of emotional security for his sub, and at the same time the sub is as much in control because her submission is the source of his pleasure. I learned how to establish a give and take when there are strong personalities to establish a balance.
And I learned that whether you are totally into the BDSM lifestyle or just enjoy parts of it, those parts can enhance your life beyond anything you can imagine.
I began to reach a point where BDSM is a part of the relationship in ninety percent of the books I write. The extent to which it plays a part really depends on my, characters, but it’s always there. And the more I write about it, the more I understand my own feelings, and realize that in every Dom there is a hint of a submissive, and in every sub there is a hint of the Dom.
It’s one of those things where I want to tell people, who ask me how I can write about it—don’t knock it until you’ve tried it. Any portion of it.
So if you want to try one new thing today, or this week, or this month. Pick up a book by an author who writes about The Life and you’ll discover you’re really in for a treat.
Go on. Stick your toe-or any other part of your body-in the BDSM waters and see what happens.
Come visit me at http://www.desireeholt.com/ www.bookswelove.net/holt.html www.myspace.com/judithdesiree
I love to hear from people.
He settled his hands, big and warm, on her shoulders, the heat from them burning through her t-shirt. While she watched with wide eyes he bent his head and licked her lips. Just a very, very light sweep of the tip of his tongue but she felt it all the way through her breasts to her womb. Heat crept over her skin and the beat of her heart tripped over itself.
“Mmm, good.” He licked his own lips, then slid his hands up to cup her face. “I knew you’d taste delicious.”
His mouth came down on hers again, his lips like rough velvet. She was sure he’d be the kind to attack voraciously but instead he seduced her mouth. He nibbled at each lip, his teeth teasing around the shape of her mouth, his tongue touching each tiny bite. He rubbed his lips against hers, then drew in her bottom lip and sucked on it gently.
Her bones felt like wax and more liquid soaked her panties. She felt as if she was suspended in space, attached only to his wonderful mouth.
When his tongue pressed against the seam of her closed mouth she opened with a sigh and thought how good he tasted. It swept inside, pleasantly shocking her as it stirred the nerves on every inner surface. Not an inch was left untouched—the roof of her mouth, the insides of her teeth and her cheeks, the pebbled surface of her own tongue. Tentatively she stretched it out to touch his and in seconds they were tangled together.
He kissed even better than he looked. She couldn’t breathe. Every bit of air was trapped in her throat. She lifted her hands and wrapped her fingers around his wrists, not to pull him away but to hold him in place. Her brain felt fuzzy, her body weightless and she wanted this kiss to go on forever.
Then a switch snapped on in her head and she tore her mouth away from his. Inbred insecurity reared its head and skittered along her spine.
“Wait,” she gasped. “Wait, wait, wait.”
He lifted his head and took a step back. “For what? What’s wrong, Kari”
“I have to tell you something. Please.”
He frowned at her. “Like what? You’re married?” He lifted her left hand, the ring finger glaringly bare. “No ring, unless you’re one of those liberated women who doesn’t think they’re necessary.”
“No, no.” She yanked her hand back. “It’s not that.”
“So what else could it be? You’re really a man who loves cross-dressing? Hell, I think it would be very hard to fake luscious breasts like those.” He skimmed the palm of one hand over her. “Yup. Real and made for touching.”
She took a step backward, wet her lips and let out a breath. “I’m forty-two.”
Riley stared at her, confused. “And?”
Why is he being so stupid? And why did I come upstairs with a man eleven years younger than me?
“I’m forty-two years old,” she practically shouted. Get it out now and get it over with.
“And that’s a problem how? I’m sorry. I don’t get it.”
She clenched her fists in frustration. Why wouldn’t he understand. “How old are you, Riley? Thirty? Thirty-one?”
He shocked her by bursting out laughing. “Jesus, Kari. For a minute you had me scared there. I thought there was a real problem.”