Saturday's Hunk of the day!

My erotic sci-fi romance genre is a fun one to write--and hopefully to read!--but books like mine just aren't everyone's cup of tea, and usually don't sell in the millions of copies. I do have one new admirer, however. My son, Sam, who is mildly autistic, doesn't read very much--and certainly not my novels!--but he loves science fiction. He's probably watched the original Star Wars trilogy a thousand times, but never realized that I was writing science fiction until a few days ago.

Our Internet wasn't working very well that day, so instead of online research, I had gotten out our book of Reptiles and Amphibians to look for some ideas for alien life forms, and he asked me why I was looking at it. When I told him, he got this incredibly pleased look on his face and said, "Aliens? You mean you write science fiction?"

Silly me, I thought he knew, but apparently, he didn't. When I confirmed this, he gave me the biggest smile I've seen in a long time. I think he was actually proud of me!

Yesterday, he asked me if there was anything in my books about "hot girls." Of course he keeled over in his usual dramatic fashion when I told him that they were mostly about hot men!

So, in keeping with that theme, here's another hot man for your enjoyment!

Chicken Little grows up

While I was out yesterday, I went into Barnes & Noble and signed their copies of Warrior, so no, Marie, you won't need to bitch slap me when we finally meet face to face at the RWA Nationals! No sweaty palms or palpitations this time--though it probably helped that the guy at the service desk was cute--so maybe I'm finally growing up and getting over some of my fears. I even registered for the RWA conference, filled out the hotel room request, and almost booked a flight, but figured that could wait a while. I've never gone off on a plane by myself before. Usually, someone is with me, and though I did ask some friends if they'd like to go, just this once, I think I need to go it alone. It isn't that I'm not capable, it's just a basic reticence about doing new things all by my lonesome. Most people don't like change, and I'm no exception, but that's what I need to do in order to get where I want to be.

I'd also like to cut back on nursing hours so I'd have more time to write, but when I mentioned to my husband that I was thinking about cutting back to two 12hr shifts a week, I could see the panic in his eyes, so I backed down. In our current economic climate, it probably isn't a good idea to give up one well-paid job for one that, while it might have that potential, it would be a long time coming. I guess my early retirement will have to wait for better economic times. Unfortunately, something tells me this won't be the year.

Determination

Pretty, isn't it? I'll have to say, if your truck is sitting at home all covered in snow, having a Honda Accord to drive is a wonderful thing. I've had three of them, and have loved every one. They've always gotten me home.

Tuesday night, I was at work, first watching it rain, then snow, and was actually glad for a little freezing rain for a change. If that had all been snow, I'd still be at the hospital--which is about thirty miles from my house. As it was, we had 12 inches of combined snow and ice over twenty-four hours, which is the largest snowfall in this area since the '70's.

I didn't pass too many people on the way home, most people had sense enough to stay put, but with everyone telling me I wouldn't make it, I felt like my little car and I had something to prove. When a coworker called the unit right before I left and said: "Well, YOU'RE not going home!" it kinda got my Irish up--and, yes, I do have a little in me. I think I feel the same way about the books I've written, and just about everything else I've ever set out to do. Don't tell me I can't, because I will.




















I could have stayed with a friend who lives just a few blocks from the hospital, but I just wanted to go home. If I have to be snowed in, I want it to be at home with my sweetie. I had called him and told him not to try going to work (it was closed, anyway) and I was very glad he was home, and not just because I needed him to help me get my car out of the road(I got to the foot of my driveway and no further). However, my neighbor plowed out the driveway a little while ago, so my car is now in the garage. I have a doctor's appointment on Thursday, and when the office called to confirm my appointment, I had to laugh, but I'll give it a shot. The snowplows have done their thing and it was sunny today, so we'll see.




















I think writing a book takes that kind of determination. Most people say they could never do it, but I know plenty of people who have, and there are undoubtedly more who could. I'm proud to say I'm one of them.

And the rest is history. . .

I finished Fugitive Monday night and sent it off Tuesday morning. Now I wait to hear from my Sourcebooks editor, Deb Werksman.

This is probably the hardest time for a writer. My son has read some of the non-sexy parts, and my friend Marie Force has read one scene, but, other than that, no one else has read any of it. I haven't got the first clue as to what Deb will think of it because every time I think, "Oh, she'll like this," or "she won't like that," I've been wrong.

My husband tells me to write it the way I want it and then go from there, but it's hard not to think about these things as you write. I try to learn from my mistakes, but when you aren't sure just what makes something a mistake, you're probably doomed to repeat it. I've taken Deb's comments on previous books and applied them to this one, but I'm sure there will still be parts of it that she'll want changed. I've already deleted one scene, and there are two more that could easily be removed, but on the outside chance that she will like them, I left them in.

I'll have to say, it was much easier when I wrote things primarily for myself and didn't have to consider what anyone else thought about them. I didn't have deadlines, either, but one thing I have learned is that deadlines are not carved in stone. There is such a thing as an extension, and when it comes to writing books, I think it pays a publisher to be flexible. Things happen in our lives that prevent us from writing as much as we ordinarily could, and others that keep us from writing well. A lousy book written under duress is no good to anyone. I have to remind myself of that when furiously writing and trying to finish something on time.

I'm actually a little ahead of my 1/31 deadline for Fugitive, but the original one was 11/30, which was impossible to meet. I finally had to say, "No, I can't write more than two books a year and have time to revise them, promote them, work a full-time nursing job, look after my home and family, and try to have a life." It was hard admitting that I'm not superwoman. I've always been one to get things done quickly and efficiently, but times have changed. I am, as the saying goes, "older, shorter of breath, and one day closer to death." Sad, but true.

I might be finished with Fugitive, but I know from experience that it won't really be done until it's on the shelf at Barnes & Noble. I looked on Amazon and B & N just now regarding Rogue, and B & N already has a five-star review written by someone who had only read the excerpt that was included in Warrior. Whoever you are, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. Amazon claims to have a new copy of Rogue for sale. Not sure if it's an advance copy or what, but they're still showing the old cover--which, by the way, I hated. The new one is so much nicer, don't you think?

There's no rest for the weary, however, because now I have to start the sixth book in the series which is currently titled Hero. I'm leaning toward calling it Renegade, but that's a decision someone else will make. In the meantime, I have guest blogs to write for Rogue, and Outcast will be coming out in June, so there will still be deadlines and such. The funny thing is, when I tried not to write this past weekend, all I did was watch Food Network, which, of course, made me want to cook and eat. Guess sitting at my computer is better for my health than I thought. . . .

Just tired....

My Internet connection has been very spotty today, so if this comes up as a partial post, you know the reason why.

I wanted to post the link to the article I referred to yesterday. It's pretty long, but well worth taking the time to read. http://www.nytimes.com/2009/01/25/magazine/25desire-t.html?pagewanted=1

Looks like we'll be snowed in here in the next day or so. I'd love to truly be snowed in and not be able to go to work, but that rarely happens. All the snow does is make the drive really scary.

In the meantime, it's late, and I'm tired. I've been editing Fugitive all day and don't have much brain power left, so I'm letting this nice man say 1000 words for me. How do you like those external obliques, Kendra?

So, what DOES turn women on?

I just read a very interesting article in the NYT about research into the differences in masculine versus feminine desire. Seems that women will experience an increase in pelvic blood flow when viewing sex of any kind--could be two women, could be a man and a woman, could be two men, could be two monkeys--but the majority will only admit to being aroused by heterosexual intercourse or a masturbating male.

Men, on the other hand, were very straightforward about what they liked; if it turned them on, their dicks got hard and they admitted to it. Men were not the slightest bit excited by watching two men together, unless they happened to be gay, and the monkeys didn't do anything for them, either.

The other interesting thing is that the women in the study were aroused by a man's desire; a masturbating male, or two men together would cause a reaction, while a naked man with a flaccid penis had very little effect. Therefore, it seems that if the guy is interested, the woman probably will be, too. They had an evolutionary explanation for that; women who didn't respond to an aroused male were possibly injured by penile penetration and died or became infertile as a result of the trauma and subsequent infection, and this trait died out.

This makes a great deal of sense, but while it might explain why women can be aroused by just about anything, it doesn't explain why they won't admit to it. I think there's a simple reason for the disparity; most women won't admit to being excited by things outside the norm--or even within the norm--because of cultural restraints that have been imposed upon them. Their bodies may be screaming "YES!!!" but they have been taught to repress that and to automatically say no.

The fact that the sight of an aroused male--or two of them together--affects me more strongly than one who is not is something that I have always known about myself, I just wasn't sure if I was normal or not. Apparently, I am, except for the part that I'll admit to it. It doesn't take much to get my mind going in that direction, though I'm not sure about the monkey thing.

My husband frequently quotes the sentiment that a woman has to be in the mood while a man just has to be in the room. However, based on this research, I'm not sure that's true because if a woman needs to know that a man wants her in order to feel desire herself, a man who is merely present won't do it for her. On the other hand, a guy with a hard dick, well, that's something we just can't resist because it's part of our programing.

So, why do some women enjoy reading erotica while others don't? Those that accept the fact that a big, hard cock turns them on will like the more erotic books, and those who don't will prefer those stories that focus more on the romance than the sex. I happen to like both, so I write erotic romance. My heroes are sweet, but when it comes to letting a girl know what they're thinking, there's nothing that says "I want you" quite as eloquently as a hard cock. I write them that way because I like them that way. And no, a man is not just a dick life support system. There's a lot more to them than that, but it is my favorite part--and I'm willing to admit it.

Sunday's Hunk of the Day

I used a variation of this picture on the excerpt from How I Spent My Summer Vacation. Better this way, isn't it? Funny how pictures get edited. . . The beach looks nice, too.

Saturday's Hunk of the Day!

Ah, the joys of hunk hunting! He's not only cute, but treasure trails like that don't grow on trees, you know.
Hmmm, there seems to be a trend here. . . Obviously, I'm in the mood for a trip to the beach. *sigh* It's gonna be a long wait until June. . . .

Inspirations and Influences

It's warmer today, thank goodness, but I'm still looking forward to Myrtle Beach in June.
Wonderful place, that: The endless beach, the great shopping, loads of good fun, and especially, the knights of Medieval Times--where the inspiration for the Cat Star Chronicles first began.
Someone was talking about inspiration on the Casablanca blog yesterday, and I think we authors find it everywhere we go, and are influenced at least a little bit by everyone we meet and everything we've ever witnessed, whether in person or via the movies or television. We are the product of our environments, and the product of our times.
Funny thing about that, though, is that when it comes to "our times" anymore, most of what I experience is not on TV. I rarely watch it anymore, because for one thing, I don't have the time, but partly it's because what I want to watch just isn't out there. I like the idea of fun, but steamy, romantic comedies--and that's something that is very difficult to find. Offhand, I can only think of a handful of TV shows or movies that fit that description. My mission is to change that!

Hot Hands

Not feeling the slightest bit like blogging today.

We finished up the Casablanca Authors story yesterday. It was great fun, and I feel sort of let down now that it's over. Right now, it's colder than a witch's tit here in Indiana, and I'm getting the winter blues. I'll give Fugitive one more run-through before I send it off to the lions next week, then I've got to get started on the next one. No rest for the weary.

In the meantime, grab hold of something nice and toasty and keep warm!

A little something for those cold winter nights...

Here it is, as promised! The guys in my family get all dreamy-eyed when I serve this stuff.

White Chicken Chili

4 cups water
4 tsp instant chicken broth
2 cans Great Northern Beans
2 boneless, skinless chicken breast halves
3 tsp ground cumin
1/4 tsp ground cloves
1/2 tsp red pepper flakes
1 cup chopped sweet pepper
3 cloves chopped garlic
1 large onion
2 tbsp olive oil
1/2 tsp ground cayenne
1 cup uncooked pasta shells or macaroni
1/2 cup sour cream
2 cups grated Monterey Jack cheese

In a large soup pot, saute onions in olive oil until soft. Add remaining ingredients except for sour cream, pasta, and cheese. Put chicken breasts in whole. Bring to a boil and then cover and reduce to simmer for about an hour until chicken is tender. Remove chicken and shred it using two forks. Return chicken to pot and add pasta. Cook for another fifteen minutes. Add one cup of cheese and stir until it melts. Serve topped with a dollop of sour cream and more grated cheese. Sprinkle with chives to make it look pretty and enjoy!

If that doesn't warm you up, guess you'll just have to snuggle up with this guy.

Another hot excerpt from Warrior!

Tisana has rescued Leo from a snow drift after he escaped, and now that she has explained the situation, he's ready for some nooky in her cozy little cottage. She is hesitant, but Leo is a persistent fellow, you've got to give him credit for that.
Enjoy!


Fortunately, I was finished making the stew and had only to hang the pot over the fireplace, or we wouldn’t have gotten anything to eat that night, because Leo’s scent, or aura, or presence—or whatever it was about him that made him so irresistible—threatened to overcome me. He wasn’t holding anything back or being coy about it. He wanted to mate, as he put it, and it was becoming perfectly obvious that he wasn’t going to leave me be until he did just that.

“If this is your way of trying to send me into another stupor so you can escape again,” I muttered as I hung the stew pot above the flames, “you can forget about me coming to your rescue. I’ve pulled you out of a snowdrift for the last time.”

“I will not attempt to escape again,” he said, with a slow, sensuous sweep of his tongue on my neck. “Now that I know I have time to be with you, I will stay to—” He paused, letting out a long, loud purr. “—enjoy it.”

The feel of his hot, wet tongue on my skin sent waves of desire flaming down into the depths of my body to boil there until I simply gave up, leaning back into him, feeling the warmth of his body against my back, letting it envelop me with the need for him.

And I did need him! Though I hadn’t had a lover in quite some time, the need was still there; I hadn’t lost it, I’d only forgotten what it was.

I let him take me then, sweeping me down onto the pallet by the fire. Leo’s long tresses lured my hands to them, seeking only to delve into their soft, swirling mass. I heard his purr getting closer as he leaned down to pull at my lips. I still felt myself to be falling, for the floor seemed to move away from me as I sank further into it. Leo’s purr was roaring in my ears; I could feel the vibrations in my chest, almost as though I were the one purring myself.

I felt his hands on me. What was he doing? Oh, yes, I thought feebly. My clothes. He was taking them off. Perhaps I should have stopped him, but I didn’t care. His lips were soft and wet against my own, melting into me, and I didn’t care—about anything. Except him.

I knew what he could do to me, had at least some small inkling of how he could make me feel, but he was right, because I was afraid—if only just a little—that nothing in the rest of my whole life would even begin to compare with what I could have with him. It seemed as though I was standing at the edge of a cliff, waiting to take the plunge and knowing that beyond this point, everything—all that I knew, and all that I would ever know—would change.

Leo had nothing to lose and nothing to gain by it. He was a slave, and would undoubtedly remain so whether he did this with me or not. He was simply responding to a drive inherent within him. It may have meant nothing more to him than pleasure, but it was also possible that he might be able to remember these moments someday when faced with the horrors of slavery. He could remember and it would help him to endure those times—as it would help me to endure my own isolation. This could be a memory to review with fondness when loneliness threatened to overwhelm me—and there was also the possibility that he could be the one . . .

My mother had once told me about finding my father. He’d been a stranger, she said, and had a lame horse he’d brought to her for treatment on the advice of someone in the town. She told me that the moment she laid eyes on him, she knew he was the one. I wasn’t quite so sure with Leo, but I did know that I felt a stronger attraction to him than I ever had with anyone else. Perhaps that was why. Of course, there was only one way to find out for sure . . .

I don’t know if Leo felt it or not, that moment when I relinquished control, but he seemed to accept it for what it was. Consent. That moment when a woman decides that, yes, this one—out of perhaps a dozen men clamoring for her attention or her hand—this one, I will choose. The reasons didn’t matter in the slightest, what mattered was the choice—and I made it.

Leo might have been the first alien being I’d ever lain with—and I had no idea whether or not he’d ever had a human female before—but he seemed to know exactly what he was doing.

Purring softly, he delved inside my mouth, stroking my tongue in a sensuous dance, swirling his fingertips on my skin, heating me with his touch. Something in the way he held me made me feel rare and precious, as though he felt privileged to be able to lay a hand on me. The deep, sensual massage I’d given him before was repeated, but this time, I was the recipient, and I felt beautiful, alive, and heated to the point of combustion with passionate desire. Suckling at my breasts as if he would draw strength from them, as if the taste of me was something he craved, he brought me teetering to the edge of ecstasy, and then with one last, solid swipe of his tongue, sent me soaring off into infinity.

His cock was in full bloom, dripping moisture from the points of the corona as he nudged my thighs apart and began to caress me with it. The fluid he produced worked every bit as well there as it had in my mouth—sending a piercing note of sensation driving in full force to penetrate me to the core, drawing my womb into a tight, burning mass which then burst forth into flame.

Teasing me with the head of his cock, I found out something else about that fluid; it made me more sensitive, for my clitoris swelled forcefully as though it, too, might burst into bloom, just as his cock had done. Using both chemical and manual stimulation, he drove me to near insanity with it, and for what came next, there is no adequate description—ecstasy is too weak, orgasm imprecise, and climax seems, well, anti-climactic—but, whatever you choose to call it, it built steadily to a peak deep inside me before erupting from my lips with a piercing cry. Leo’s purr softened to become a self-satisfied sigh. Rubbing his face against my neck, I felt his hair, teasingly soft against my skin, and his weight on me began to increase, as though he were somehow melting and becoming a part of me. Pushing, pulsing, penetrating, he came inside, opening me with the blunt head, slowly pulling back to fan out the corona and rake my inner walls, making me delirious with pleasure.

That it was bringing him joy, as well, was clearly evident. I looked up at him, his feline features illuminated by the fire, and saw that his softly glowing pupils were now huge and completely round, and his purr had become a soft groan which coincided with each thrust. His cockhead was flexible, but the shaft was as thick and strong as the trunk of a tree, and from time to time he paused, pushing in deeply to swirl the passion within as he rotated it inside me, much as you would use a wooden spoon to stir a pot of stew.

Though my orgasms continued without any sign of abatement, after a while, they seemed to become purely mental, as though huge doses of erotic sensation were pulsing through my mind.

Picking up speed, he drove into me with a force that I was surprised I was able to tolerate, given the size of him, but it didn’t hurt in the slightest, and, instead, raked a place inside me to a fever pitch before slowly ramping back down only to be pushed upward once more. At last, with a deep, guttural growl, he lurched forward, spilling his semen into me with a force that seemed to focus on my deepest, most sensitive spot, hitting it with a spurt of fluid which had me crying out once again.

With a deep, purring sigh, Leo relaxed on me, but that penis of his never seemed to stop. I could still feel something moving deep inside and realized that it was the coronal points, moving in a slow, undulating wave, continuing to stimulate me until I couldn’t even think anymore, was just one big, raw nerve ending—fully exposed and stimulated to the maximum level.

Then, just when I’d thought it was over, I felt something else welling up inside me. It wasn’t an ecstatic burst this time, but was, instead, a soothing warmth which suffused my entire body, reaching steadily outward from my center toward the tips of my fingers and toes, making my scalp feel for all the world as though my hair were curling into spirals as tight as his own.

What was it he had said? That he would give me joy unlike any I had ever known? He had put it far too mildly, but I’d been right about one thing, for I was definitely changed by it. I can’t explain how, but it was as though I’d been altered in some way, and at a level so deep, so basic, that the change would be both elemental and everlasting. Just what that change would mean, however, remained to be seen.

Writing Contest on Casablanca Authors!

Break Up the Winter Doldrums With A Contest from the Casablanca Authors and our Acquiring Editor Deb Werksman!

Deb will make her monthly visit to the Casablanca Authors' blog http://casablancaau thors.blogspot. com/ on Thursday, January 29. The Casa Authors invite you to submit a 50-word pitch for your book in the comment section of Deb's blog. If we like yours the best, Deb will request your full manuscript and provide feedback. Two runners up will be asked to submit a synopsis to Deb. As an added extra, several of the Casa Authors have offered critiques of a first chapter and synopsis (up to 50 pages) to selected runners-up!

What is Deb Looking For?

Single title romance (series/trilogies too!) in all sub-genres:

*paranormal

*historical

*contemporary

*romantic suspense

*erotic romance

minimum 90,000 words, please

*a heroine the reader can identify with

*a hero she can fall in love with

*a world is created

*a "hook" Deb can use to sell the book in 2-3 sentences

Contest Rules

--The contest will run from 12:01 a.m. on January 29 and end at noon on January 30. All pitches must be entered into the comments section of Deb's blog by noon on Jan. 30. http://casablancaau thors.blogspot. com/ No pitches may be emailed to the blog, to individual authors or to Deb. Emailed pitches will be automatically disqualified.

--Please enter pitches ONLY for finished, polished manuscripts that are at least 90,000 words in length. No works in progress please.

--Winners will be announced on Saturday, February 14 on the Casablanca Authors blog. No individual messages will be sent to winners. The winner and runners up have until 5 p.m. on Monday, February 16 to send the full manuscript/and or requested synopsis to Deb's assistant Lisa Acosta at lisa.acosta@ sourcebooks. com. If the winning MS is not received by the deadline, a runner up will be chosen. Deb will respond within three to four weeks. Critique runners up will be notified as to how to proceed.

--Decisions of the judges (Deb, our publicist Danielle, and the Casa Authors) are final.

--Winning this contest does not in any way constitute a guarantee of publication or further consideration by Sourcebooks Casablanca.

---

Sunday's Hunk of the Day!

Believe it or not, this guy is actually a friend of a friend who did some modeling at one point.

*sigh* I've never had any friends who looked like that. . . .

Saturday's Hunk of the Day!

*sigh* Doesn't he look hot?


Wish I was there. At least my feet wouldn't be so cold.

Cuteness

Not much time to blog. I'm working tonight and the deadline for Fugitive is bearing down on me. A few more edits to go and I'll send it off. It's a little bit like sending your child to school for the first time. You just never know how the other kids will get along with your precious baby.

Picked this guy out of my vast collection for today--guess I'm in the mood for cute. Maybe it's the eyes, or it could be the hair, but all in all, he's just plain cute.

Enjoy him while you can. He probably won't stay that way.

They hardly ever do.

Cold Days and Red Hot Chili Peppers

It's cold and snowy here. My feet are cold and the trip to the barn to feed the horses left my face numb. Sounds like a great day for some nice, hot chili!

And no, I don't mean those guys there to the left.

Now I know everyone has their own favorite way to make chili, and most people are very firm in their beliefs about what should or should not be included in the recipe. That being said, if you're a non-pasta chili person, I just might convert you.

Cheryl's Tummy-warming Chili

1 lb lean ground beef
1 medium onion, chopped
2 tbsp butter
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 bay leaf
3 tbsp chili powder of your choice (I use Mexene)
1 tsp salt
1 tsp sugar
30 oz can light red kidney beans (undrained)
28 oz can diced tomatoes (pureed)
3 to 4 oz uncooked pasta of your choice

In a big soup pot, saute the onion in the butter, then add garlic and ground beef. Use the leanest beef you can find so you don't have to drain it. When the meat is browned, add remaining ingredients except pasta. My husband doesn't like chunks of tomato in his chili, so I run the tomatoes through the blender first. Bring to a boil then cover and reduce to simmer for 45 min, stirring occasionally. Then add pasta and cover; cook another 15 min, stirring frequently until pasta is done and chili is thick. If you use spaghetti, break it into thirds before you add it. Pasta shells work well, too. Serve with grated Colby Jack cheese on top. If you want it hotter, you can always add the hot sauce of your choice!



















Next week I'll post my recipe for White Chicken Chili. In the meantime, keep warm!

At last, the end is in sight!

OMG I'm tired. So tired that I'm not even sure I could work up a good slobber over a hot man with a terrific smile. It's cold and snowy today and all I really want to do is sleep, but I must write.

I'm getting some early reviews on Rogue, and so far, they've been favorable, which is great news. From now until the end of June, though, things will be getting wild. I've got two books coming out this spring and a manuscript due the end of June that I haven't even started on. After that, there's the RWA conference in July. Then I think I may disappear for a while.

Yesterday I was trying to think of all the things I did with my time before I began writing, and I honestly couldn't remember. So what did I do? I cleaned the house.

But today was a better day. I'm exhausted, but Fugitive is written, even though there will be numerous edits before I'm truly finished with it. If I've learned one thing this past year, it's that the book isn't done until it's on the shelf at Barnes & Noble.

I think it's high time for some tequila & lime.

Overcoming the block

I'm writing fast and furiously on Fugitive, but hit a slight snag about 2AM last night. Some people write notes and diagrams, but I tend to do my plotting in my head, and my head is tired! My friend Marie tells me I should do something mindless to stimulate my muse. She vacuums her house to find inspiration; I shovel manure. It's amazing the way wonderful ideas will pop into my mind while I'm worming the horses and throwing out hay. We all have our methods, but stuff like this helps, too. See the way the light plays over his chest while the shadows highlight his terrific buns and thighs? Stuff like that inspires me.
















*sigh* Must get back to work, now. Have a nice day.

Where have all the good books gone?

I went to my local Barnes & Noble a few days ago and it was downright scary. Where two months ago there was a rack crammed with romance novels with their spines facing out, there are now comparatively few books with all of the covers facing out. Thankfully, Warrior was one of them, and on the opposite side, they still had one copy of Slave. I had heard about the mass returns of books this past November, but hadn't seen it with my own eyes. Three of our other Casablanca authors had books on that rack, which is great, but, my God, the number they had to have sent back to make that much room!

It might be a boon to those of us lucky enough to have books on that shelf, but it gives the reader so much less to choose from. Maybe it's easier to make a choice now, but it also means that there are many good books that the average bookstore browser will never lay eyes on.

Amazon is a great place to buy books, but there is something about walking into a bookstore that makes you feel . . . I don't know . . . educated, somehow? I'm not sure that's the word I'm looking for, but it comes close. The smell of books and now, in most stores, coffee fills the air. There's a hush bordering on reverence. So many books, so many categories to choose from, so much potential for finding just the right book for whatever mood you happen to be in . . . I sure hope we don't lose that.

I know a lot of buyers are going online for books, and that's great. It's the wave of the future, and we should move forward with it, but when you're strolling through a bookstore, so many things will catch your eye that you wouldn't see if you only did an online search for a specific book. The cool bookmarks and booklights and that book of vegan recipes you wish you'd found when you decided to try being vegan--and failed. The books on humor that make you smile when you pick one up. And the people you see there are sometimes even more fascinating than the books.

Seems I entered the publishing world at a very uncertain time, but then, nothing is certain these days. I suppose it's a reflection of that uncertainty, but here I am, longing for the good old days. Makes me feel kinda old, but I have a strange feeling I'm not alone.

Sunday's Hunk of the Day!

Kinda makes you want to go buy a surf board, doesn't it?

Saturday's Hunk of the Day!

Nice hands, don't you think?

OMG, it's a Threesome!

To set up this scene, Terri is a secretary to the boss from hell. The boss's estranged husband has invited himself to come along when the boss goes to a convention in Myrtle Beach, and Terri has been dragged along to keep things from becoming intimate between husband and wife. So far, Terri hasn't gotten along with the husband and is having a miserable time. To her rescue come Joey and Chris, two adorable young guys who take a vacation together every summer and look for a woman who isn't having fun and do their best to change that. Terri is not only single, but a virgin who has never been very interested in men, but Joey and Chris are about to change that, too, and they do it together . . . both of them . . . at the same time. They've had her in the shower with them and are now about to do what they do best.

I hope you'll enjoy this excerpt from How I Spent My Summer Vacation, by Cheryl Brooks

Chris finished drying my hair and began kissing me on the neck, moving lower and lower until he was kissing a nipple, as well. Under this dual assault on my senses, my knees gave way completely, but the two of them managed to catch me before I hit the floor and they carried me into the other room, laying me carefully on the bed.

They'd said I was ready, but still, they didn't do it right away. Joey began kissing me again while Chris nudged my legs apart. Okay, I thought. Here we go, he's going to do it now.

But Chris, as we all know, was a patient fellow, and had apparently decided that I required further preparation, and began licking me, evoking even more previously unexperienced sensations from my body. My mind might not have known how to react to any of it, but my body certainly did; it had just been waiting until my brain figured out what I'd been missing for all of those years. I mean, I knew I had a clitoris and I knew it was supposed to be sensitive, but it had always seemed to me to be a rather superfluous organ, much like my appendix. But, my God, I knew what it was for now! What he was doing to me was taking me somewhere I'd never been before, and never even dreamed of going. Intense, overwhelming and—whoa, shit! What the guys had referred to before as an orgasm was nothing compared with this! You know how the Death Star explodes at the end of Star Wars? Well, that's what this felt like, only much, much better. I could almost hear Han Solo shouting: “Great shot, kid! That was one in a million!”

Or maybe Joey said it to Chris. You know, I'm still not sure about that. . . .

Joey got up on his knees and moved over to where Chris had been. I heard the sound of someone tearing open a package—and I'll swear to this part—Chris put a condom on Joey. He had to have, because Joey never stopped kissing me, and he had both arms around me, too. Talk about teamwork!

“Go for it, big guy!” Chris said, and slapped Joey on the butt.

Walking forward on his knees and raising my legs as he went, Joey pressed his cock against me and pushed. I knew just exactly how thick he was, and I'll admit to having been a bit apprehensive, but with just a slight pang, he slid right in. My eyes flew open in surprise, and I nearly choked on the sharp intake of air into my lungs.

Joey smoothed a hand back over my hair. “Okay, baby?”

“Yeah,” I replied breathlessly. “I think so.”

“Doesn't hurt, does it?”

“Well, maybe just a little,” I admitted, “but not too much.”

“You tell me if you want me to stop or slow down or whatever, okay?”

“Mm-hm,” I replied, nodding vigorously.

“Okay then, here goes.”

With that, he began moving, sliding that big cock in and out of me like a piston. Slowly at first and then with increasing speed and depth, he plunged into me. It felt . . . good. Just plain good. The whole thing—his penis inside me, his balls tickling my bottom, my legs wrapped around his warm body—there wasn't any part of it I didn't like. Until he slowed down and stopped, that is.

“Oh, don't stop,” I groaned. “That feels so good.”

“But it'll be even better in a minute,” he said. “Just hold on.”

I don't know how he did it, but a second or two later, he flipped us over and I was now on top of him, sitting on him like a horse. Then he opened his thighs and Chris came up from behind, putting his hands on my shoulders.

“Get settled on him good,” he said in my ear, “and then lean forward.”

I did as he instructed and lay face down on Joey's chest. I felt something cold and wet on my backside and then what was probably his finger, probing me very gently, teasing the opening until I relaxed enough to admit him. I know it sounds gross, but, believe it or not, it felt fabulous. Pretty soon he had me moaning even more than Joey had.

More cold wet stuff and then something much larger in place of his finger. A slight push forward, and then back, over and over again; not going far, just a push, a stretch and then out. It went on for several minutes, and then something else happened. Something let go, gave way, or relaxed, I'm not sure which.

“Okay, Joey,” Chris said. “Now.”

Joey took my head in his hands and aimed my face toward his own. “Look at me,” he said.

And then Chris came in all the way.

As facial expressions go, I'm sure it must have been a dilly. My jaw dropped and my eyes widened until it felt like they were about to pop out of my head. Joey didn't seem the least bit disappointed, either, and a huge grin spread across his face.

“Oh, yeah!” he breathed. “That's the best ever!”

“Breathe, Terri,” Chris reminded me. “Don't hold your breath.”

I let out a huge, pent-up breath on command and then took another. It didn't hurt, but, my God, the sensation was overwhelming!

“Come on,” he urged, rubbing my back. “Relax and keep breathing. That's it. In and out. In and out. Good girl, keep going. Ready Joey?”

“You bet.”

“One . . . two . . . three . . . go.”

Once they got going, I felt like I was on a see-saw with some highly specialized attachments, and it felt so good I thought I would cry. And it kept getting better and better and better and then the Death Star exploded again, only this time it was more like the Special Edition version. I believe I screamed or yelled or something—or maybe it was Joey, because just then he stiffened and thrust upward inside me several times before relaxing completely.

Chris took a few more strokes and then clutched me by the hips, making some sort of inarticulate choking sound as he pushed in even further. He held me there for a few breathless moments, and then let go, gradually ramping down his speed until he finally stopped altogether.

I vaguely remember them both withdrawing very carefully, and then one of them wiped me off with a towel, but I have no idea which. Rolling over onto my side, it occurred to me that I probably couldn't have gotten out of bed at that point if the hotel had been on fire. I was thirsty, too, but I know I never mentioned it.

“Here, sweetheart,” Chris said, holding me up in his arms. “Drink this.”

More cranberry juice, I noted. He made sure I got up to use the potty, too. I was in good hands, it seemed. Which was nice, because I wanted to do it again. And again, and again, and again. . . .

How Science Fiction Works

In addition to creating new worlds and alien species, writing science fiction requires adhering to a certain logic about how things work. Interstellar travel has already been introduced by other writers, but I am firm in the belief that intergalactic space travel will never be possible; the distances are simply too vast to contemplate being able to flit from one galaxy to another. Aside from that limitation, the imagination has no bounds. Strange animals can be created, plants can have virtually any effect on those who ingest them, minerals from alien worlds can have amazing and unexplained properties, and aliens species can have abilities far beyond those of human beings. Devices can come from worlds willing to sell their technological marvels, but not give away the secrets of their origin or development, even to the reader.

Adding romance to science fiction opens up even more possibilities. Can the different species be genetically compatible? If so, which ones? Can reptiles cross with mammals, or do you stick to the basic rules that apply to our own world? If mating is possible, what characteristics will the children of such matings possess? What cultural and biological changes might develop on a world where the females have no interest whatsoever in sex? How would such a species ensure its own survival? In the case of Zetith, it was the gradual increase in the sexual attractiveness and abilities of the males. This resulted in a species that is not only compatible with humans, but is intensely attractive to them as well.

Once I introduced the concept of the irresistible male, it raised the question of who they wind up with, and why. Will the first female they encounter be bound to them for life, or is there a selective process that might occur? Given a choice between two of them, will a human female choose one over the other, or be unable to decide? Is it possible that a Zetithian male might not find human women appealing?

In the first five books of the Cat Star Chronicles, the pairings are between human females and Zetithian males. However, in the sixth book, you'll get a peek at the other Zetithian gender, and she's going to give readers a better understanding of why the males have to be so damned hot!

Cruising for Love

Be sure to check out Cruising for Love, the romantic suspense story we're writing on Casablanca Authors Blogspot!

Wouldn't you love to go on a cruise and find this waiting for you in your cabin?

What did you say?

It's an odd feeling when you find out just who has been reading your blog. People I never would have envisioned boldly passing the warning page have been here and have described what they saw in unmistakable terms. The Internet is an odd little beast; anyone can go anywhere and read anything.

When I think of the potential this medium has for bringing the people of the world together, it boggles the mind. Granted, not everyone has access to it, but so many people do, and the only limiting factor is the language it's written in. Wouldn't it be great if we had a common language? Wouldn't it be fabulous to talk directly to people around the world without the government filters and media spins on what we should and shouldn't know about?

In my Cat Star Chronicles series, I took this concept a step further and gave the galaxy a common language; the Standard Tongue, or Stantongue as it is often called. Other science fiction writers have come up with their own methods for people from other planets to understand one another: universal translators, translator microbes, or just the suspension of disbelief that inhabitants of planet A can automatically understand those from planet B. I chose to create the idea of a common language that was composed of words and phrases taken from other languages throughout the galaxy. This language developed over centuries as space travel became more commonplace, and most cultures have contributed at least a few words of their own.

Granted, there are regional dialects, but in the time period that this series takes place, Stantongue is understood by many and has been adopted by the more progressive planets as their official language. Still, there are idioms and expressions which make little sense to those who first hear them, which is part of the fun.

In Slave, Jacinth is fluent in Stantongue, but is fascinated by the language of old Earth, and studies ancient texts and films in search of interesting expressions, figures of speech, and above all, curse words. It's an odd hobby, and some readers didn't appreciate the humor in explaining to an alien what a slimeball was, but others got as much of a kick out of it as I did, and it's a running gag throughout the series.

Accents are another way to distinguish between one species and another. Some are very stilted and correct, while others use more contractions and slang. I've introduced a few alien terms, but, realizing that the average romance reader might not be interested in learning a new language, I've tried to keep these to a minimum, and they are used throughout the series.

As the series continues, readers will notice that even among the Zetithians there are slight differences. Zetith was too remote a world to contribute to the universal language, and Cat was enslaved on backward planets that didn't speak Stantongue, so his accent is more pronounced, while some of the others seem to have no accent at all. I've tried to be consistent in this respect, but as the series progresses, some of them begin to lose their accents slightly, picking up speech patterns of those they encounter, just as immigrants to any country will do over time.

When I'm writing alien dialog, I listen to their accents and then try to write it the way I hear it. Sometimes it works, and sometimes it doesn't, but that's my method and I'm sticking to it!

Why Aliens?

So, what is it about aliens that human women find so intriguing? Perhaps it's the fact that they've never heard of football, don't know that being masculine doesn't necessarily mean being tough all the time, might not understand our humor, and might, just might, have something that we've all been looking for.

Not amazing sex. Not a fancy dick, but rather a different attitude toward women. Someone not brought up on the concepts of dumb blondes and plastic bimbos. It's similar to the feeling American women have about foreign men. I'll admit, it's partly the romantic accents and the hot-blooded way they look at women, but there's also the possibility that they think differently, too.

My husband is a nice guy. He's sweet, he's attractive, he's smart, but above all, he's not a cocky, belligerent prick, which is a variation on the male that I simply cannot abide. If it weren't for him, I'd probably be single because I've yet to meet a man that I liked even half as well, or had all of his qualities. He's at the heart of all my alien heroes simply because he's the best man I know. He is proof that such men do exist, even in America, but they're rare, like my Zetithians.

Superman was an alien. Think back now, did he ever act like a chauvinistic asshole? If he did--in any version you'd care to mention--I certainly can't remember it. He was always very sweet to Lois, and she, poor girl, didn't know what to make of him. He was the ultimate alpha, but without the attitude. That's what I look for in my heroes. A strong guy with a heart.

Sunday's Hunk of the Day

Don't think I need to say much about this one. His intentions are pretty clear.

Have a nice day!

Saturday's Hunk of the Day

Shh! He's sleeping! Let me see if I can reach in there and push that bedspread out of the way. . . . Nope, can't do it . . . sorry . . .

Excerpt from Warrior

To set up the scene, Leo, a badly injured Zetithian slave has been brought to Tisana, the local witch, for healing by her former lover, Rafe. Tisana has been bathing the unconscious man, who, as it turned out, wasn't quite as unconscious as she thought!

Enjoy!

Leo turned just then, and suddenly my fingers were massaging not his back side, but his front side, instead. That remarkable cock of his snapped up, bumping into my hand in what seemed to be a random movement—until he began to stroke my arm with it. He seemed to have amazing control—never once touching it with his hand—but seemed to be moving it with a set of highly specialized muscles which, normally, only a four-legged animal might have possessed.

I stared at it, suddenly stricken with an astonishing hunger. It was clean—I knew it was because I’d just washed it myself—and there was no infection there, for the fluid pouring forth from it was as clear as spring water. I could taste him and suffer no ill effects—I was certain of that. Reminding myself that I could take any lover I wished, I was sorely tempted, for I knew that while not one of my lovers would conceive a child in me unless he was the one chosen for me by the gods, for all I knew, this man might have been the one. The gods may have brought him here from a world that only they would know of—and for this sole purpose. There was no way to be sure, but I also knew that there were many things that must simply be taken on faith.

He didn’t smell bad anymore—and it wasn’t only due to the soap. There was something else about him, an aura that seemed to fill the air about him like a cloud. Whatever it was, it was intoxicating and pervasive, sending my senses reeling. This time, when I touched his cock, it wasn’t to wash it, but to caress it. Thick and hard in my grasp, it felt hot and slick, and I could no more have ignored it than I could ignore the way I wanted to devour it—or the way his purring intensified with my touch. He wanted it every bit as much as I. . .

When I leaned down and took him in my mouth, he tasted delightful, but it was a flavor with which I was unfamiliar. Warm and creamy, I sucked him for perhaps thirty seconds before an orgasm hit me, flooring me with its intensity.

I let go of him, gasping, “Gods alive! What was that?”

Leo smiled and pushed my head back down. “It will get even better,” he promised. “Continue, Tisana, my lovely witch, and I will give you joy unlike any you have ever known.”

My head was spinning, but all I could think of was that if this wasn’t already joy, then joy would probably be the death of me, for he was certainly more potent than any drug or potion I had ever conjured up. Delirious with need, I went down on him again.

My orgasms were so strong, so continuous, I could barely tell where one ended and another began. It was terrifying to lose control in such a manner—he could have throttled me and I wouldn’t have known the difference, would never have fought back or lifted so much as a finger to save myself.

Then I realized that his goal would not be murder, but escape. He would simply leave me lying there on the floor sleeping it off and disappear into the woods. I could explain to Rafe that he’d died of his wounds, but I had a sneaking suspicion that I would probably die without him, could almost feel my body becoming addicted to him and whatever drug it was that he was pumping into my system. It had to be that coronal fluid, I thought wildly. There was something in it, some chemical whose sole purpose was to drive women insane . . .

He pumped against me, sliding that big cock in and out of my mouth—I couldn’t stop him, and didn’t want to. Finally, I just lay there with my head on his stomach and let him do as he pleased, since I was helpless to prevent him. His hands were tangled in my hair, and my body was tied up in knots of helpless ecstasy. When at last he groaned and erupted, filling my mouth with his warm, sweet cream, I understood what he’d meant when he said he would give me joy unlike any I had ever known, for there was simply no other way to describe the feeling of unbelievable euphoria—and all I’d done was suck him!

Then, with a satisfied purr, he withdrew himself and darkness took me.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!

Champagne, anyone?

This should be an interesting year for me, with Rogue and Outcast due out in the spring, and Fugitive in the fall. Guess this is the year we'll find out if the economy and my writing career will fly.

I think people will keep buying books and reading since it's one of the less costly forms of escapist entertainment, but I don't think anyone is going to get rich. Not that anyone really needs to get rich; we should all be happy with the necessities plus a few perks now and then, but greed is one of those nasty things that rears its ugly head all too often. Bank bailout money quietly disappearing, other big corporations putting employees out of work while the bigwigs vacation in Tahiti. Makes me kinda sick sometimes.

But we can hope for better times ahead, and perhaps that's reason enough to celebrate. We have a new president, a vast number of citizens clamoring for change, and some of them actually willing to work for it. Still, it won't be easy, and it will probably get a lot worse before it gets better.

Better hold onto your hats, boys and girls. Looks like 2009 is gonna be a bumpy ride.