Noble Romance Authors' Blog

Putting My Big Girl Panties On

noreply@blogger.com (Kimber An) — Sat, 04 Feb 2012 14:43:00 +0000

by Kimber An

I just pottytrained my fourth and last child. It was easy because she has three older siblings to look up to and desperately wants to be a ‘big girl.’ Soon afterwards she had an accident. The poor little drama princess smacked hands over her eyes and wailed, “I can’t do it!” Of course, I said she could because Elmo said so and Elmo is her bestest hero after Daddy. And she did.

http://www.sesamestreet.org/muppets/elmo

The point is…um… Okay, I got it. The point is learning to be a big girl can be easy, but, seriously, there’s no hurry and you can always go back.

‘Cause Elmo said so.

Yeah, yeah, that’s it. I’m a Young Adult author, coming off my first Noble YA book, Sweet Bytes, released October 2011. Doesn't Noble Publishing have the most awesome cover artists?

But, I’m here today to tell you all about putting my big girl panties on with the release of my first adult story this Monday, February 6^th, Drive-By Valentine.

It’s a Sweet Romance, so I’m sharing it with my younger friends too. The heroine, Eve, is thirty, but she’s still struggling with an issue which hits teens hard as soon as they get out of school. They usually nail it by college graduation though. Eve is trying to find her own path in life, but without the usual support of family and friends. She’s been bullied most of her life. She's determined to find her self-confidence and live Happily Ever After though, and it helps her take a big risk.

Here’s the blurb-

Pushing thirty on Valentine’s Day, Eve realizes her desperate search for love has led to nothing but misery. Then, she takes a chance on a little old lady who’s famous for finding the perfect guy for every girl just by looking at his truck.

So, there you have it, my very first growed-up story. Will there be more? Oh, yes, it seems most of the adult stories I have logged away in my imagination are Short Stories. But, I gotta tell you, I have a lot more Young Adult stories, as well as a few Middle Grade. So, you'll probably still have better luck finding me hanging out at Fabulously Young ePubs

There’s no hurry growing up.

Elmo said so.

http://www.kimberan.com/

Something About A Woman... By J.S. Wayne

noreply@blogger.com (J.S. Wayne) — Fri, 20 Jan 2012 08:38:00 +0000

If you haven't figured it out by now, I'm a BIG fan of the female species. Yes, you ladies have your things that drive me just a little bit (more) insane: your ability to cry over anything, everything, or absolutely nothing; the silent treatment, otherwise known as "if you don't know why I'm mad, I'm not telling you"; and Glee and just about every show on Bravo.

Confounding as I sometimes find women, and the broad-stroke portrait I just painted notwithstanding, I do have a great deal of admiration for them. The fact is, most women of my acquaintance are strong-willed, dauntingly intelligent, and perfectly capable of taking what they want from life. I don't know many fifties housewives or demure, retiring women. The women I hang out with can match their men drink for drink, argue philosophy and football play calls with equal facility, and have no qualms whatsoever about dropping the occasional F-bomb to emphasize a point.

Now, this doesn't mean I don't admire a woman who behaves like a "lady," whatever that means in modern society. What it does mean is I don't think the less of a woman who doesn't keep her legs demurely crossed and never speaks unless spoken to. The fact is, I've always preferred women who said what they had to say, even if I don't always appreciate what they're saying.
We've all heard the old Victorian saw about what a man wants: A lady in the parlor and a whore in the bedchamber. Personally, I disagree. This, I believe, is the crux of my love affair with erotic romance. Nearly without exception, the women I create in my writing are women I would like to meet (and bed) in real life. They bring the elements I most admire in womankind to life in all their chaotic, confusing, contradictory glory. They're women who know which fork goes with what course and the proper way to place a napkin in their lap at an elegant restaurant, but will, with vindictive fervor, scream "Shit!" if they happen to drop cocktail sauce on their white linen sheath. They don't really care what society thinks of them or their choices. They see what they want, and they go for it.

This also extends to my female characters' choices in lovers. To hell with Emily Post and Dear Abby: These are real women with real desires and real emotions. If they decide they want the man or woman I've paired them with on the first date (and they almost always do, heh heh heh), then the rules be damned, they'll spend the night.
Frankly, I love writing about women. I enjoy digging deep into my memory and conjuring the peculiar scent of an old lover's perfume, the curve of her hip as she rolls over in the morning, or her drooping eyelids after a particularly energetic interlude. Writing about women is a very sensual experience for me, in the fuller sense of the word, not merely the erotic one. When I do so, I find myself smelling the perfume I wish to evoke, feeling the warm silken firmness of her skin yielding beneath my fingertips, tasting the slight salt tang at the curve of her neck, and hearing the tiny sounds of pleasure she makes.
I've said before on this blog that for me to find the stories I create arousing to the reader, they first have to arouse me. And nothing stirs my creativity or my libido like that mysterious and elusive creature I try to fix on paper with words, like a butterfly pinned to a entomologist's collection card.
It all comes back to that mysterious something about a woman.

Until next time,

Best,

J.S. Wayne

What They Want - by R. Renee Vickers

noreply@blogger.com (R. Renee Vickers) — Wed, 18 Jan 2012 09:00:00 +0000

The modern writer must, at some point, come to grips that there likely has been no stone left unturned. All story lines, modes and methods have been explored, written about and exploited. And yet, authors are still able to write stories that are both interesting and compelling. How? How is it possible when there are only so many story lines and only so many different personality types to explore?

It all comes down to the characters. You don't pick up that famous so-and-so's book to read about the awesomely fantastic scenery, and you certainly don't read eight-hundred or more pages of the latest release because the local wizarding school has interesting tapestries. No, you spend gobs of time, your precious time reading those books, holding your breath for the next issue of that series, and swoon because of the author's unique delivery of their characters. Do you remember what book number five's title was, or do you remember the scandal of what that leading lady had the nerve to do?

Kurt Vonnegut said, "Every character should want something, even if it is only a glass of water."

(Bagombo Snuff Box: Uncollected Short Fiction, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kurt_Vonnegut)

There are no fancy tricks authors use to come up with these characters. There are no gimmicks. No slight of hand. What every author learns to do to make you swoon, and gasp and fall in love (or hate) is very basic. They create a personality (either off the top of their head or by researching if they want to get really creative) and then give them a want, desire or need. The more believable the want, the more believable the character will be.

On the TvTropes Wiki, they write, "Most people don't care to read about Flat Characters. They want to read about characters who seem like people. People have desires and fears, strengths and flaws; they are sometimes unpredictable, sometimes act on whim, but they usually have reasons for everything they do, consciously or unconsciously."

(http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/SoYouWantTo/WriteAStory)

You can do a web search on what characters want and find a plethora of great resources but they'll all say pretty much the same thing, that character should want something. Every superhero wants, no needs to save the damsel in distress. Every super-villain wants said superhero to leave her where she lays, and ever damsel wants the aforementioned superhero to give the villain a good wallop. Every child wants to feel safe, every housewife wants to feel sexy, every husband wants to feel needed.

Have you ever read something or watched a movie where someone didn't want something at some point? Or, even more basic, do you know anyone who hasn't wanted something?

The more complex the desire, the more opportunities for conflict. Even if on onset of the story, the character doesn't seem to want anything, the dastardly author will make something happen that will force the character realize that either they do want something, or they really don't want something to happen.

This isn't just with the Main Character either. Every character (with the exception of the super-minor, filler/background characters) has to have something to desire. The protagonist(s) and antagonist(s) may fight over the same desire, both sides wanting the same thing. Or they could want to prevent each other from gaining something. Either way, it boils down to someone wanting something, even if it's as simple as a glass of water.

Where there is a desire there is an opportunity for the author to put obstacles in the way, to create drama, to leave the reader wanting more.

In my book, Sly's Surrender, I was sure to give each of the characters something to want. Sly wanted to relinquish her control, Jake wanted to take control, and Tony wanted to be a royal pain in the behind. Did it work? Did they convince you to keep reading to find out if they were successful? I'll let you be the judge.

Blurb: By day Sly is a take-charge, no-nonsense restaurateur, and at night she plays her hand as a demanding mistress. Sly has everything her heart desires: a successful business with loyal patrons, a gorgeous boyfriend and a flair for dominating in the bedroom. Everything she’s ever tried has gone her way, every decision followed to success, every goal achieved, and yet she yearns for more.

One night she decides to try something new, giving up her customary control to the tall, dark, and sexy Jake. Jake is put in a position to prove to his lover just what he’s capable of, and Sly experiences the new pleasures to be found in letting someone else handle her reins.

Need to satisfy your curiosity? Purchase Sly's Surrender here.

Thank you all for reading.

About R. Renee Vickers:

Born in Florida but raised in various towns in New England, R. Renée Vickers now lives in a small town just outside of Charleston, South Carolina, with her husband and children. And although work and family life leave her little free time, she spends every available moment indulging in her favorite passion, writing.

Find me on my blog: http://museampoule.wordpress.com/

The 3 Way Dilemma

noreply@blogger.com (steph beck) — Mon, 16 Jan 2012 01:11:00 +0000

I asked my husband to give me a topic, any topic at all. He smirked and said 'three way'.

Is it sad that the first thing I thought was 3 way stop signs in traffic?

What does a romance author do when the smut isn't flowing like the glistening juices of female anatomy? When the well of sensuality and places to kiss and suck dries up, what is next?

I can only speak for me, but when I run out of sexy story ideas I turn to one place: yarn.

That's right, I break out a ball of yarn, knitting needles and a new pattern. My mom has even been brought into my smut scene dry spells because she taught me how to crochet over Christmas. Now instead of being just a chick with sticks, I'm also a happy hooker.

After a few small projects (usually less than a week's worth of yarn work) I end up with some adorable projects and a fresh mind that is ready to wrap around dirty things. I wrote Between Elves after finishing up my first sweater...lets just say the twisted yarns and stitches led to one naughty story!

Moral of this blog? I guess there's not a huge one, just maybe that romance and erotica are people too, and while we are sexier than most mortals (I said I burned out in writing, not in the bedroom, rraaaaaawwwwrrr) we each have things that boost our writing stamina.

Writers--do you have a passion besides writing that helps clear the writing pallet?

Readers--what's your favorite creative outlet?

Between Elves

When Blake Toximmo lost her husband and infant son she nearly lost herself as well. But she’s back among the living, fighting to start her life again and find happiness. Her plans for reconstructing her world are drastically changed when she is abducted by Arden Woods, a sexy, sweet climber who she befriending during a mountain climb. In a whole new world, Blake finds herself not only surrounded by new things, but also by people who aren’t quite human.Arden and Quin are elves living in a world that’s not giving them everything they need.They are happy as a couple, but they are missing something and long for a family only a human woman can give. Even with the best intentions at heart, Arden and Quin don’t quite know how to make Blake happy. To make them the family all three need, they’ll have to learn what exactly that means to each of them.

https://www.nobleromance.com/Books/188/Between-Elves

http://www.amazon.com/Between-Elves-ebook/dp/B004AYDGXK/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1326676988&sr=8-1

And keep your eyes open for "More Than an Elf" due out in January from Noble Romance. A southern belle taken from her time, Jessica is ready to fight her new reality. Joshua's half elf-half fairy heritage gives him more magic than he probably should have. Because of the magic he spends much of his time alone. When he meets Jessica his world changes, but to convince her to stay and to be happy, it'll take more than patience, more than magic, it'll take More Than an Elf.

Stephanie Beck

www.stephaniebeck.net

Everybody Meet Natalie Baum, No! Everybody Meet Callie Mallory

noreply@blogger.com (NatalieBaumSexy) — Sat, 14 Jan 2012 17:49:00 +0000

Hey Everybody,

Natalie Baum here…I know, I know, Natalie who? Give me one minute I think you'll understand the whole deal…the real deal too, none of that fake crap that men in dark nightclubs try to pass off as real. Like their rock-hard chest, or extra fat wallet or really thick fingers…not right making false claims to unsuspecting, trusting women just because we're—THEY—are curious! But I digress…

Although I'm not new to writing I am new to writing romance and erotica stories. My latest title, Chicago Adventure, is the first book in the Callie Mallory series, was released on December 22,2011 and is available here @ Noble Romance Publishing.

Enough with the nuts and bolts of the situation though…boring…I want to take a few minutes and completely introduce myself. I like to think I have a fun, interesting life, even if only when seeing the world through my characters' eyes. Thankfully, my characters scream pretty loudly making it impossible for me to avoid their desires and demands.

Not very nice, the way you're talking about me like I’m not here!

Case in point, my spirited, opinionated, adventurous current leading lady, Callie Mallory.

A little better…but hello! You forgot beautiful, sexy and savvy-smart!

Savvy-smart? I don't even know what that is.

Exactly, but I do.

Did I forget to mention that Chef Mallory is also mouthy, excessively independent and a bit neurotic?

If that isn't the pot calling the kettle black? You wrote me.

Indeed I did, and with that in mind I will now once again take charge of this interview.

I have to take my ham out of the oven, anyway.

Perfect timing, Chef Mallory. But before you go why don't you tell our readers what type of glaze you used on your holiday ham?

I love glaze! It's the perfect texture to rub all over your partner's body. Start by instructing your lover to take off his shirt and roll over on his stomach. Use your fingertips to gently massage the glaze into his shoulders and then lean forward, your lace-covered breasts hovering inches above his bare skin, and take your time licking him clean inch by inch.

Chef Mallory! How does all that sex have anything to do with the recipe?

Clearly, your kitchen isn't half as hot as mine, Ms. Baum, if you have to ask that.

Well, one of us has to work to keep the heater running in our apartment in the winter.

I create my own heat.

Yes, I know, all those sexy suitors you meet on your travel adventures. They all want you and can't control themselves when around you. Can we just move on to the ingredients, please?

As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted, you only need a few ingredients to make a delicious ham glaze.

1 cup apple butter
1/2 cup orange juice
1 tablespoon dried onion flakes
1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce

And once you return from the market with your edible goodies, just do this:

** Whisk together the apple butter, orange juice, dried onion flakes, and Worcestershire sauce in a small saucepan.

One of my favorite things about this recipe is that after you've turned your stovetop burner to low, the sauce needs to simmer until it thickens. This wait period offers the perfect chance to baste another part of your lover's body with left-over apple butter and suck it off—

Inch by inch…yes, I think we've got it Chef Mallory. Thanks for the unsolicited tip! Off you go.

So bossy…

No! You just don't listen unless I completely cut you off.

Bossy, bossy, bossy…

Listen up readers: DO NOT listen to Chef Callie Mallory. Natalie Baum is not bossy!!!

And you talk about yourself. Who talks about herself in third person?

If you want to hear more from this sassy vixen, pick up a copy here at my page, https://www.nobleromance.com/Books/378/Callie-Mallory-Chicago-Adventure or visit my fucking website, www.nataliebaum.com, or go to my blog, Natalie Baum Romance, nataliebaumsexy.blogspot.com/ and check out Callie Mallory Chicago Adventure.

Ooohhh! You said fuck, maybe we're making progress, after all?

Is that your sauce burning, Chef Mallory? I think I see it bubbling.

What? No. Burnt glaze doesn't coat cock properly.

"Happy New Year" everybody! I hope I get the opportunity to know each and every one of you more personally in 2012.

Hugs and Kisses,

Natalie (And Callie!!)

364 Days Later . . . By J.S. Wayne

noreply@blogger.com (J.S. Wayne) — Fri, 06 Jan 2012 08:01:00 +0000

Twenty-four hours from now marks the one-year anniversary of the email that started this wild ride you and I have shared this year. It was from Rebecca Dampier, Noble's acquisitions editor, and started with the word "Congratulations!" Looking back, it's hard to believe that in just one short year, I've gone from a hopeful writer to a multi-published author with a small but fiercely loyal following.

Like most writers, I've had my moments of doubt about the wisdom of my chosen path. I've had stories I thought were sure things come to naught, and stories I didn't give a chance in Hell of doing anything receive amazing reviews and praise from all sides.

I've explored my boundaries, and so far, the only thing that has proven to be utterly beyond me is "sweet" romance. I have been fortunate to win fans, make some new and wonderful friends, and had many people entrust me with their secrets, fears, and confidences. For this, I am profoundly and deeply grateful.

So, let's talk about the year ahead, rather than the one just behind us.

First up: On February 13th, my entry for the Lesbians Vs. Zombies line, "Dead Means Dead," will be available from Noble. This dark, apocalyptic tale is an exploration of the resilience of the human heart and our need for love, perhaps most of all when all hope seems to be lost. I'm particularly excited about this because once again, I'm getting to share stage time with the infamous KevaD. Joining us on this jaunt are XCognito, Jadette Paige, Amber Green, Dana Dye, and a host of other great authors, so I hope you'll check them out!

Second: I'm currently putting the finishing touches on the second book in The Wildsworn series. I was shocked by the wonderful response "Dancing On Flames" achieved;" as I write this, "DOF" remains in the Top 10 Noble Romance offerings on All Romance Ebooks, making it by far the best-selling work I've ever written. Not bad for a work I honestly didn't expect to go anywhere at all! So I'm hoping to have Silver and Air, a full-length novel following the aftermath of Russell and Ion's forbidden passion, sent out to beta readers by the weekend and submitted by the end of next week. Cross your fingers, folks, and keep watching for updates!

Third: I'm very proud to say that one of my "side projects" is coming to fruition. Although I don't make a point of "plugging" those projects here, this is one I think my readers will be particularly interested in. As of this writing, three of a projected seven stories for a forthcoming anthology to benefit Writing Out Child Abuse have been completed, and I expect to have the last four shortly. Again, this is in no way associated or affiliated with Noble Romance, so I hope y'all don't mind me bragging this up a little. :)

If you like this button, PLEASE post it on your blog or website, and show that YOU believe children everywhere have the right to feel and be safe.

Amber Green, R. Renee Vickers, Gillian Colbert, and a couple of others (whose names I don't know yet or I'd shout them out too!) have all contributed tales to this anthology. ALL proceeds from this anthology are going to benefit charities to provide hope, aid, safety, and comfort to survivors of child abuse all over the world. So far, the stories are looking wonderful, and I'm both very proud and deeply humbled at the number and quality of the authors who've answered this call. If you'd like to know more about WOCA or our work, simply go to http://wix.com/writingoutchildabuse/intro, and PLEASE follow us on Twitter @WOCH2. And, just in case you didn't know: I'm donating 20% of all author profits from my ENTIRE backlist to the cause as well.

I've gotta say, folks, it's been a wild ride. I've done things I never expected to do, learned a lot about myself, and all in all, I'm looking at this coming year with a lot of hope and a very strong feeling it's going to be a great year. And I owe a lot of that to my friends at Noble and to you, my readers and fans.

Let's give 2012 Hell, y'all.

Until next time,

Best,

J.S. Wayne

Brenda and Steve, Authors of Erotica: Author Interview - Margie Church Dec 20

noreply@blogger.com (Margie Church) — Tue, 20 Dec 2011 12:00:00 +0000

Brenda and Steve, Authors of Erotica: Author Interview - Margie Church Dec 20: We are very excited to complete our Author Interviews for 2011 with the very talented Margie Church. Margie is here today to chat on how she...

Thirteen Hour Cookies

noreply@blogger.com (Sarah) — Tue, 13 Dec 2011 08:01:00 +0000

Brought to you by Sarah Ballance, Survivor of Good Deeds and Cookie Walks

Cell phone photo of Sarah's cookies

Last week someone from church called asking me to make cookies for the cookie walk. (A cookie walk, for those of you unfamiliar, is a type of bake sale.) I said sure, no problem. (Famous last words.) Then I found out I needed to make ten dozen. Now, I'm all for charity, but do you have any idea how hard it is to accomplish 120 cookies in my house? I have a husband and six children. Even when my husband is at work, I've got at least five sets of hands reaching for anything fresh from the oven, and—lucky me—my kids are generous enough to grab double for the baby.

One hundred and twenty cookies. GAH!

But the news wasn't all bad. There happened to be a recipe in my inbox that was unbelievably simple and inexpensive. I read the whole recipe just like I learned to do in elementary school (remember those worksheets with directions to read the whole thing before you begin, and at the bottom of the page is the directive not to answer any of the questions?) and, convinced, declared it "the one." Preheated the oven, made a big batch, lined them on cookie sheets.

Then read the baking time. TWO HOURS! For one batch! I realize this may come as a surprise to you considering the size of my brood, but I do not have a commercial kitchen; my oven has its limitations. I lost track of how many batches I made, but I spent ELEVEN HOURS baking cookies, y'all. (This includes the batch I forgot to put peppermint extract in, rendering them useless.) But it doesn't end there! After losing a day of my life to these cookies, I wasn't even finished. They needed to be garnished with a ganache, and by 9:00pm I wasn't in a ganaching mood. I decided it could wait until morning.

HA!

Did I learn a lesson with my eleven hour cookie debacle? No, I did not. The next morning, I noticed the ganache required two hours of pampering before it was ready. I believe this was the (second) point at which I started firing off some unprintable e-mails to a couple of friends who were kind enough to share my outrage. (Or so they typed. In reality, they were probably peeing on themselves from laughter, and if that's the case I say they richly deserve their soaking. Hmph!)

Oh, but it gets better. Two hours later, my ganache wasn't setting. If ever a batch of Christmas cookies has been cussed, ladies and gentlemen, this was it. I finally gave up and just started dipping my little peppermints in chocolate and sticking them together, and for the most part they stayed. A few slid to one side or the other, but I corrected them as I went and, last I saw them on their tray, all was well. One hundred and twenty peppermint twisty cookies with a chocolate ganache, all Christmassy and DONE.

Sort of.

The cookies were such a hit, I now need to try them in orange. And maybe raspberry. And they didn't really look like cookies, but no matter. When it came to the bake sale, there wasn't a crumb left.

Cookies or not, they totally walked.

If you enjoyed Sarah's latest release, FAMILIAR LIGHT, you might be happy to know the sequel, TIDE OF LIES, is coming soon from Noble Romance. And if you like money, you'll definitely be glad to learn you can have a chance to win it every week. How? Simply subscribe to Sarah's blog **by email** and you're automatically eligible as long as you remain a subscriber. For full details, click here.

That's What Friends Are For by Lucy Felthouse

noreply@blogger.com (Lucy Felthouse) — Wed, 07 Dec 2011 09:42:00 +0000

My story ideas come from here, there and everywhere. It could be an overheard conversation, a person, a place, a book, a film – literally anything could just give me a spark of an idea to be turned into a full story. However, I do also have a few friends who will occasionally send me an email or text message, and say "You should totally write this as a story!" Sometimes, of course, the ideas aren't brilliant and get dismissed. Occasionally, though, there's a gem which I can turn into an erotic or erotic romance tale.

A Menu with a Difference was one of these. A buddy of mine, who shall remain nameless, mentioned that he had a fantasy about going with his girlfriend to a bar or restaurant and picking up a waitress to take home for a threesome. To be honest, I think his main aim was to get his girlfriend into bed with another woman so he could watch them play together! As far as I'm aware, it's only ever remained a fantasy for him, but it was certainly good enough an idea for me to weave up into an erotic story.

Of course, I gave the characters a little more back story so it made the whole situation more feasible. The couple in the story, Jed and Annette have an open relationship, and Annette has always fantasised about having sex with another girl, so them picking up a hot waitress was a lot more realistic than the whole thing being completely random and instigated by Jed with no prior mention of it to Annette. In reality, I suspect most guys would get a slap if they tried that!

Once I'd figured this part of the plot out, everything else just came together. The restaurant, the chatting up of the sexy waitress, the ploy to get her to the hotel... and then the really naughty bits ;) It was a great story to write, and I'm glad it's out there with its damn sexy cover.

And all that from a friend's fantasy. Is that what friends are really for? ;) Speaking of which, I must send my buddy the link so he can see the fruits of my labour and his utilised idea!

*****

Will a weekend in a luxury hotel make Annette’s deepest fantasies come true?

When Jed and Annette spend a weekend in a luxury hotel, they’re planning to take full advantage of the hot tub and large bed – preferably with a third party. Annette’s never been with another woman before, but she’s eager to experience some Sapphic delight. When the couple meets waitress Tamara at the restaurant they’re lunching at, they agree she’s perfect in many ways; but is she on the menu?

More info, excerpt and buy links: http://lucyfelthouse.co.uk/published-works/a-menu-with-a-difference/

*****

Lucy is a graduate of the University of Derby, where she studied Creative Writing. During her first year, she was dared to write an erotic story - so she did. It went down a storm and she's never looked back. Lucy has had stories published by Cleis Press, Constable and Robinson, Noble Romance, Ravenous Romance, Summerhouse Publishing, Sweetmeats Press and Xcite Books. She is also the editor of Uniform Behaviour and Seducing the Myth. Find out more at http://www.lucyfelthouse.co.uk. You can also find her on Facebook and Twitter.

Thank You!!! By J.S. Wayne

noreply@blogger.com (J.S. Wayne) — Tue, 06 Dec 2011 08:00:00 +0000

There are moments a writer lives for.
I've become addicted to the adrenaline rush of fighting against impossible deadlines until all hours of the day and night, sending off a story and praying it would past muster. The consecutively bigger thrills of getting the contract, the advance check, release days, and the sweet joy of hearing from people who've enjoyed my writing enough to tell others about it. I've even come to enjoy the excitement of parlaying my romance writing career into other endeavors and causes, such as my contributing author status for the weekly arts and poetry blog http://theriverjournal.org and my work with Writing Out Child Abuse. For me, it all comes back to the sweet agony of never knowing whether you're going to sink or swim, and for someone who's always been a bit of a gambler, there is no greater rush.

Oh yeah. It's like THAT.

But, as exciting as all this is, one thrill had always eluded me.
The highest any of my work has ever made it at Noble to date was #9. While I was proud of that achievement, I confess I had higher hopes for Angels Cry and "Ancient Magic." Neither of which, to date, has seen the Top 10.
I did mention I'm kind of an addict, right? Add to that, I'm also the competitive sort. Not the kind who'd run someone I was racing off the road, but when I commit myself to something, I refuse to settle for anything less than my absolute best effort. Ask anyone who's ever played chess with me more than once.

Anyway, I was taking a break from "Silver and Air," the next Wildsworn story, and a title-TBD story for the forthcoming Lesbians Versus Zombies line to take a swing at a comedy story about a ghost who's into BDSM and his new, sexy roommate. I'd gotten about two thousand words in when I noticed a flashing orange light in the bottom right of my screen. It was an email alert, and I clicked on it just to see what was going on.
"EEEEEEE You're #1!!!!!"

*What the hell?!?!?!*
So I bounced over and clicked on the message. It was from H.C. Brown.
I didn't get any further than "Hey, you're number 1 at Noble this week!" before I opened a new tab. I set a land speed record and probably did some permanent damage to my clicking hand getting over to see for myself. As soon as the page loaded, a lump rose in my throat, my jaw dropped, and a perfectly idiotic grin spread over my face. (Say what you will about impossible simultaneous actions, that's how it went down.)
I never learn. For some reason, it seems the less I expect from a story, the more it actually does. So it has gone with:
"Angels Would Fall" (No one's going to pay good money for a story this short. First Noble contract.);
"Espiritu Sancti," from Red Roses and Shattered Glass (Is this even really romance? Second contracted story; released ahead of "Angels Would Fall" by exactly two weeks.);
"Angel of the Morning" (Fun, throwaway story. #9 at Noble Romance. Twice, in two non-sequential months.);
and "Dancing On Flames" (What the hell do I bring to the gay romance table that H.C. Brown, Bryl Tyne, Amber Green, Margie Church, and KevaD haven't already done a LOT better? #1 at Noble Romance.)
The point is, maybe someday I'll learn. But I wouldn't put any serious money on it.
In the meantime, I owe some profound and heartfelt thank-yous:
To Bryl, Margie, KevaD, H.C., Renee Vickers, and everyone else who believed enough in Russell and Ion's story and my ability to tell it to put up with my, let's be honest, whining, and keep me going long enough to finish it.
To the people who've reviewed it, including H.C. Brown and Mandy Rosko, clamoring for MORE! More's on the way. Promise. :)
And, last but by no means least, to the readers, who took a chance on "Dancing On Flames," and in the process helped me achieve a dream I've cherished ever since I started writing for Noble. I'm so proud to see so many people reading and hopefully enjoying my work. If any of you are new readers, I hope you'll take a look at some of my other work!
Thank you all. From the bottom of my heart.
Now . . . to see what new worlds I can conquer!

Until next time,

Best,

J.S. Wayne

Come on, now. You didn't seriously think I was going to leave without breaking you off a taste, did you? ;)

~Blurb~

In the aftermath of a raid on a band of child slavers, Russell and Ion of the Chosen of Fenrir find themselves baring their hearts and souls—and their bodies—to one another. In doing so, they violate one of their clan's most sacred laws: Look not to your own kind for love.

Now, one will lay his life on the line on the Path of the Flame Dance, where the Earth Mother will judge whether the love they have is worthy—or a betrayal of their own blood. The other must watch as his lover walks the fire, or perishes in the attempt.

Stand or fall, the two warriors will never be the same . . . .

~Excerpt~

The camp was a tightly huddled affair, well concealed among the trees and hard against the leeward side of a hill. Around the fire echoed the coarse laughter of men and the weeping of children from inside the tents.

Guards stood at regular intervals around the camp's perimeter, holding torches to give light. From atop the hill, the outer ring of torches clearly defined the size and shape of the camp, which featured a blazing bonfire at its center. The men's voices rang out as they told vile jokes, each planning what he would do with his cut of the take from the latest group of child slaves they had "acquired."

As remote as the area was, well away from any roads or paths in the rugged foothills, the men thought themselves to be alone and safe from observation. Though as with so many other things humans believe, they were wrong.

Had any of them troubled to look up, they might have seen the sleek outlines of two immense wolves silhouetted against the three-quarter moon rising just over the top of the high hill. If the watcher had been particularly observant, he might have noticed that these wolves did not behave precisely as wolves should.

For now, however, the two wolves went unnoticed.

For now . . . .

* * * * *

The silver wolf stole a glance at his larger, black cohort. What do you think, Ion?

The black wolf gave a low growl and shook his flanks, the hair along the ridge of his spine bristling with disgust. His posture and bearing spoke of barely-restrained fury, even as his blue eyes glinted with an intelligence far beyond that which might be observed in his smaller brethren. Slaver scum, came the ominous mental retort. Looks like our information was right.

When do you want to attack?

The black wolf swiveled its muzzle up and studied the rising moon. After a long moment, he replied, No time like the present. You up for this?

Russell chuffed, the canid equivalent of a mirthless laugh. Give me a moment, and then we can go.
He looked down on the camp and focused all his will on a plea to the Mighty Mother. Bring forth your breath, Mother, that it may shroud our attack. In his mind, he began a low chant that built quickly in power and volume.

Below, thin ribbons of mist crept into the camp. In moments more followed, until a billowing cloud of fog enveloped the tiny enclave. The merrymaking in the camp cut off, to be replaced by cries of consternation and alarm at the unnaturally fast-rolling fog.

Russell looked at Ion, who stood proudly, head erect as he glowered down at the camp. No matter what form Ion wore, he looked every inch the warrior he was. Will that cover our entry adequately?

Ion's jaw lolled open in a wolfish grin. Well done, Brings-The-Sign. Let's make an end of these fools.
I thought you'd never ask. Let's dance.

Silently, the two wolves stole down from the hilltop, picking their way cautiously. Russell placed his paws gingerly on the hard ground, feeling the textures and shapes beneath him and mentally cataloguing everything he touched. Granite here gave way to soil there, which in turn melted into soft grass and a blanket of tiny ferns. A field of pebbles about halfway down altered his course, for he feared dislodging one and sending it tumbling down the hill. Might as well bang a drum to let them know we're coming if we're going to be that clumsy, Russell grunted in his head.

This was not Russell's first raid. Far from it. Back in the Caves of the Chosen, he had a belt festooned with trinkets and trophies of the many battles he'd fought since finding his way to the Chosen enclave a year earlier in the traumatic aftermath of his first transformation. He had earned his clan name honestly and early when he'd stolen two letters from a neon sign that advertised a massage parlor where many of the "employees" were children. After seeing them all safely out, he had set the place ablaze with cleansing fire. Although the moniker "Brings-The-Sign" was originally intended as a small mockery, he carried the name with sincere pride.

Tonight was the first time that he'd ever gone out on patrol with Ion, though. The black wolf was a legend within the Chosen of Fenrir, frequently vanishing for weeks at a time from the borders of the Chosen lands. When he returned, he did so with fascinating tales to tell. But he always backed up his tales by the macabre souvenirs he carried in his pack; at any moment, he could pluck any item from a vampire fang to a crow's feather out of his collection and give a detailed accounting of how, when, where, and under what conditions he came by it.

As a living legend, Ion was often predicted by the Elders not to return from whatever errand he'd been sent on. Legends among the Chosen tended to have longevity or glory, rarely both, and Ion had a talent for getting himself into scrapes that an average wolf could only hope to survive. Time and again, Ion had demonstrated his resourcefulness and cunning; thus far, these qualities had kept him alive where a lesser Scion of Fenrir would surely have fallen.

Russell entertained a brief moment of pity for the men whose camp they were about to invade, earning him a hard, sidelong glare from Ion. He shook his head hastily. Don't make the mistake of thinking I have any sympathy for them. I'm just thinking that between you and me, this isn't even a fair fight.

Ion snorted. Perhaps not. They are unlikely to carry silver ammo, but at least half of them have firearms.

Russell almost missed a step in surprise. But you're immune to silver! It was a well-known part of Ion's myth. He had actually seen the Head Elder, Speaks-To-The-Wind, cut open Ion's palm with a silver blade. Where almost any other Chosen would have borne an angry scar for the rest of their days, Ion had healed from the without so much as a blemish.

One blue eye rolled around to study him. You're not, came Ion's silent retort.

There was more emotion in those two simple words than Russell would've expected from this grizzled veteran. You almost sound like you care.

Without warning, the black wolf wheeled in front of him and barred Russell's way. His lips curled back in a snarl, and he revealed long, sharp, white teeth. I do care, you fool! I've had to bury more than my share of Chosen who got careless or cocky. It fell to me to sing their souls to the Moon. I was the one who had to tell their kin what had befallen them. I was the one who had to carve their names in the Glade of the Fallen. You cannot even imagine how that feels; I bear their loss with me with every step I take.

Russell's stupid impulsiveness had inadvertently gained him invaluable insight into the warrior's mind, but at a terrible cost. Ion had always been one to keep his feelings close to the vest; it was one of many reasons most of the Chosen steered well clear of him. Ion had made a science of keeping people at arm's length. I'm sorry. I spoke without thinking. Is that why you go places that even other Chosen would think twice about treading without the full might of the Clan behind them?

Ion stared at him for a long, brittle moment before nodding. It is. My way of atoning for failing my brothers and sisters.

A very human lump rose in Russell's throat. I think I understand.

With a derisive shake of his head, Ion turned away and flicked his tail angrily, heading back to the task of getting to the camp. No you don't, whelp. And I pray to the Mother and the Moon that you never do.

There was nothing more to say, and the night was wearing on. Although the confrontation had occurred literally at the speed of thought, even thoughts takes time.

Head in the game, Russell, Ion growled. We're almost there.

CALLING HOME (A Destiny's Child Book): What it's all about!

noreply@blogger.com (Zee Monodee) — Mon, 05 Dec 2011 13:49:00 +0000

Hey beautiful people

My name is Zee Monodee, and I've been a Noble Romance author for some 8-9 months now (my first release, Walking The Edge - Corpus Brides: Book One, allowed me to score a Hot New Talent slot with Noble, for which I'll be eternally grateful!) ...

... and today, my second book with Noble came out, titled Calling Home (A Destiny's Child Book), and it's a sweet romance novel about an uptight forensic pathologist, a young and handsome village doctor, and the tween girl who brings them together.

There's so much I can tell you about this story, but let me ask you a question:

Have you ever desired something, more than your own life?

Now what if you got that something, loved it, cherished it, built your life around it ... to then have it snatched out of your grasp?

Your world is dark, bleak, without meaning ... so you shatter inside, but keep a strong front going on, because you need the world to believe you are bucking up and holding on...

And then, through a twist of Fate, when your life never looked bleaker, when you have convinced everyone, including yourself, that your strong front is unbreachable...

You get that something back...!

Wouldn't that spin you on your axis, take the world you've carefully crafted and crash it to shards? What becomes of you in this whole maelstrom? How do you cope?

All these questions, my heroine, Margo Nolan, faces them. All Margo ever wanted was to care for Emma, the baby she was bringing up like her own. But Fate snatched the child away, and Margo made do. She built her life, threw herself into her job, became a force to be reckoned with in her field. Aligning herself upon her job protocol helped - as a forensic pathologist, she knows that "...emotion is something foreign; cold, rational facts and proof guide everything. Brain over heart, always ..."

And then emotion slams home, the day Margo lands custody of the daughter of heart, the one she had to give up!

But hasn't she moved to an irreversible point now, squelching her heart so much that she doesn't know the meaning of 'feeling' any longer?

What about the woman in her, the one she also never allowed to the fore? What if she decides to make a play for existence... when Margo meets the handsome, sexy - and much younger! - village doctor, Jamie Gillespie?

Thankfully for Margo, Jamie steps into her and Emma's lives, and starts them on the path to a true, 'feeling' mother and daughter relationship. And it appears the cute doctor is also smitten with Margo...

Will she give in... trust in her heart... finally be calling home?

Catch the answer to all these questions in a copy of the book, available here on the Noble Romance website!

Here's a snippet from Chapter 1:

Chapter One

Emotion is something foreign; cold, rational facts and proof drive everything. Brain over heart, always.

Every forensic pathologist knew his or her work boiled down to that line of conduct, and Margo Nolan lived her life by the principles of her job. Emotion used to be an unfamiliar concept most of the time, except for the rare occasions when the pain would tear through her, when she was unable to tamp the suffering into submission. Pain, the sharp, visceral, abject torture that gripped her every time she thought of Emma, during all those years she was away from the daughter of her heart. Lately, pain sliced through her every time her gaze landed on the pretty girl, fast blossoming into a beautiful young woman.

How many years we've lost . . . . If only I'd sought her out . . . .

But she couldn't—shouldn't—think of that then. No—there were more pressing matters at hand.

Margo's feet slowed in the lobby that also served as Dr. Gillespie's waiting room. He was the only doctor in the little village, Camberry, just outside London in the county of Surrey, where Emma, and lately Margo, too, lived. Like most country doctors, he operated his practice from his house. Emma had been sick at school that day, and had been sent to see him.

Under Margo's stilettos, the wood planks of the big Victorian manor didn't even creak or groan—strange, as old houses always had a telltale creak or two in the parquet. Or maybe her step remained light enough not to evoke any sound from the dark surface, worn smooth from years of foot traffic in that very lobby. No place echoed the click-clack of high heels louder than a morgue. Margo had learned how to keep her tread soft under any circumstance. Despite the high-gleam polish on the wood, her feet didn't skid on the glossy surface as she glided, more than walked, across the boards. Whiffs of beeswax and lemon wood polish tickled her nostrils—a completely different scent from the usual sterile tang and formaldehyde-permeated atmosphere at the morgue.

Margo stopped at the doorway that led into the anteroom to the doctor's office. Her gaze lingered on Emma, asleep on a high-backed, plush sofa. In slumber, the girl's dainty features still showed the sweetness of childhood. So very much the likeness of the chubby-cheeked cherub with corkscrew, auburn curls Margo had had to leave seven years ago—
Don't!

Today she was back with Emma, trying her damndest to bridge the gap between ages four and eleven, the time she hadn't been there for the girl. Not by choice—

Stop!

Margo straightened when a dark, looming shadow crept up on the tween. All her senses shot on high alert; she bristled, and her hands closed into fists.

The man, tall and imposing in the semi-darkness, bent and placed a hand on Emma's forehead.

Who on Earth is he? And why is he touching her?

"What do you think you're doing?" Margo crossed the distance to stand between her daughter and the stranger. She shouldered him aside, before folding her body protectively over the top of the armchair.

Her gaze raked over him, taking in the faded, threadbare-at-the-knees jeans, the hint of a dark T-shirt under the baggy, slate-grey jumper with a hoodie that obscured his face.

Who is this hooligan? What's he doing here?

*** End of excerpt ***

Catch the rest of Chapter 1, and your very own copy of the book, on the Noble website!

Thanks for having allowed me to share my big day with you today!

From Mauritius with love,

Zee

Getting Started by R. Renee Vickers

noreply@blogger.com (R. Renee Vickers) — Thu, 01 Dec 2011 08:01:00 +0000

Hello! I’m newbie Noble Romance author, R. Renee Vickers. It’s a pleasure to be here amongst such talented writers and dedicated readers, so thanks for having me today.

I’d like to take this opportunity to talk about beginnings. Every author has a story about how they got started down the long, winding, bumpy path of publication. I’m no different. I’ve been writing off and on for half of my life but got serious about it about two years ago, and really only began pursuing publication this year. It’s been quite a year.

There are hundreds if not thousands of books out there dedicated to teaching you the methodology and techniques of writing and many more that can tell you what to do after the story is done. Most inexperienced people who have tackled their first draft and primary edits think the hard part is done, but it’s really only the beginning.

Having a story you believe in is the very first step. No one really tells you why this part is so crucial, but you find out quickly once you’ve waited weeks or months for a response. Or worse, once you’ve received your first rejection. If you don’t believe in what you’re presenting, a rejection can be devastating. For some, it’s fatal (figuratively speaking).

I had a friend who was published before me and showed me all of what he was going through. So I had second hand knowledge of what I getting myself into before I started down this path. (call me a glutton for punishment). For those who don’t know, writing is the easy part. It’s only once you get the shining, glittery email saying that you’ve been accepted that the real work begins. And not just the physical toil of hitting the keys, but the emotional work too. Yeah, it’s work.

I know where I rate in my writing skills so my confidence and ego are kept in check. But part of becoming published is telling the world that not only is your work great, but you’re great too! So while I’m shouting to the world “Read me, you won’t regret it,” my squeaky inner voice is saying, “Excuse me, but I don’t think so missy!”

This causes a problem that’s difficult to get past, but for me there has been one constant and overwhelming solution, my friends. Every step of the way I’ve been lucky to have some extraordinary and kind friends who keep my going with their unwavering support. When I didn’t believe in myself they’d tell me I was worthy. It’s because of them that I’m here today.

And because of the enthusiasm and support of one friend in particular I had the courage to submit my book, Sly’s Surrender to Noble Romance Publication, who, to my delight, picked it up. It was released on November 21^st.

Sly’s Surrender

By day, Sly is a take-charge, no-nonsense restaurateur, and at night she plays her hand as a demanding mistress. Sly has everything her heart desires: a successful business with loyal patrons, a gorgeous boyfriend and a flare for dominating in the bedroom. Everything she’s ever tried has gone her way, every decision followed to success, every goal achieved, and yet she yearns for more.

One night, she decides to try something new, giving up her customary control to the tall, dark, and sexy Jake. Jake is put in a position to prove to his lover just what he’s capable of, and Sly experiences the new pleasures to be found in letting someone else handle her reins.

Buy Link and Excerpt

Stop by my blog to find out more about me and to stay up to date with what’s happening in my world: MuseAmpoule.WordPress.com

Just Coz We're Aussie, Doesn't Mean We Can't Understand Each Other

noreply@blogger.com (Jess Anastasi) — Tue, 29 Nov 2011 01:32:00 +0000

As usual, my extreme un-organization (is that even a word? well, it is now) has left me sitting here racking my brain, trying to come up with something to post about today. I nearly forgot I was meant to be here, so you're all lucky I even turned up.

When I was preparing today's guest post to go up on my own blog (check out my interview with HC Brown on the tour loop), I found myself slipping into Aussie slang, as I sometimes do on my blog. More than once I've sent an email to someone in America and gotten a confused reply, or had a person comment on my blog asking me what on earth I'm talking about.

So instead of talking about my Timeless Desire novella, Savior, I've decided to share some Aussie-ism with you all. Because surely we're not talking a totally different language…?

So to start off, here's some basic facts. Downunder, we call our kids ankle biters. Do they actually bite our ankles? Maybe sometimes yes. Still, most children 'round these parts are pretty harmless, so don't think if you come to Australia you'll be set on my a bunch of toddlers determined to chew your boots off.

We don't have prom or homecoming. No, we have a B&S ball. Now, this might sound all nice and civilized. And you might see young men and women dressed up in after five formal wear. But the mode of transport to arrive will be a beat-up Ute (or pickup truck, I believe they're called in America), the venue will be a shearing shed (large shed where sheep have their wool shorn off) decked out with a few balloons and streamers, and the drink of choice is beer, beer, or more beer. By the end of the night, many couples will end up naked and/or passed out in the back of the aforementioned Ute.

In Australia, when we call you a bastard, we don't mean it as an insult, it's actually a term of endearment. If we ask you about bathers, we're talking about a swim-suit and if we talk about the big smoke, we don't mean a giant cigar, we mean a city like Melbourne or Sydney.

When we go for a leisurely drive in a national park, its called a bush bash, usually out in whoop whoop (the middle of nowhere). To do this we might have chucked a sickie — called in sick to work even though we're perfectly healthy. In fact, chucking a sickie has become a national institution. Often this will be done the day after a big night out, when one has rocked up (arrived) to a party that was going off (in full swing, everyone having a good time). If you're a two pot screamer, then it doesn't take much to get you drunk. You could drink a stubbie of beer, and any other alcohol is called grog or piss. Once you've had a couple, then you're off your face. If you're not careful, you might come a gutser (have an accident) or get picked up in the divvy van (police car). If you do, your mates will help you out by singing "you're going home in the back of a divvy van." Accompanied by clapping.

Want some insults? Easy, we've got all kinds:

Bludger - someone who is lazy. You might also hear of a dole bludger, a person who has no job and lives of government payments. These people also often fall into the category of bogans. They wear ugg boots (slippers) out in public with trackie-daks (a tracksuit) and spend the money they do get on their souped-up cars (usually a Holden Commodore with extra accessories added.), which they refer to as fully sick (really cool). In their cars, we call them hoons and you can find them outside Maccas (McDonalds) at 2am doing doughnuts and illegal drag racing.

Drongo - someone lacking intelligence.

No hoper - someone not likely to get very far in life

Ratbag - someone constantly up to no good.

Dropkick - someone not very smart, always getting into trouble and not likely to get far in life.

And just for your references, you also may need to know the following:

Rack-off - you're being asked to leave.

Hoo roo - we're telling you goodbye. If you don't go, we might get into a blue (argument) and you'll get an earbashing (yelled at).

Cactus - dead, as in, "she's cactus."

Cark it - to die as in, "she carked it and now she's cactus."

Ropeable - very angry. May also be referred to as spewin'.

Shonky - something not reliable.

…after reviewing the above, I've come to the conclusion that maybe we are talking a different language. Now I've finished this post, I'm off to veg out (relax). Hope my Aussie-ism come in handy next time you can't understand what the heck an Australian person is talking about!

Cadmiel, the Angel of Destiny, knows better than anyone what a bitch fate can be. Five hundred years ago, the only woman he ever loved was killed, shredding his soul and leaving a void in place of his heart. Now Archangel Michael comes to him with a shocking and forbidden proposal. He wants Cadmiel to travel back in time and save Emilyn. Though Cadmiel wishes beyond all reasoning to do as the archangel asks, messing with time goes against his own beliefs and the very foundations of angel lore. But Michael doesn't give Cadmiel a choice and thrusts him through time and space, back to 2012.
The first time Emilyn saw the gorgeous man, she was affected on a level she couldn't comprehend. Cadmiel isn't like any other guy she's ever met, and he makes her wish love at first sight were true. But there are forces at work she never dreamed real. In the space of a day, she goes from normal, every-day college student, to a pawn in an apocalyptic war between angels and demons.
Emilyn's very life is in Cadmiel's hands. Will he risk the future of the entire universe to save her, or let her die and destroy himself in the process?

Find me:

www.jessanastasi.blogspot.com

www.jessanastasi.com

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Jess-Anastasi/129441077081452

Twitter: @JessAnastasi

A Research Heavy Novella by Lucy Felthouse

noreply@blogger.com (Lucy Felthouse) — Wed, 23 Nov 2011 09:00:00 +0000

My Timeless Desire novella, Love Through Time was a first for me in a couple of ways. One, it's my first novella. I started out writing short stories and am building up to longer pieces, and this was my first. Two, the tale turned out to be quite research heavy. As a contemporary short story writer, I don't have to do much research at all for my stories. Love Through Time, however, was determined to be different.

My novella is a veritable smorgasbord (I've always wanted to use that word) of genres. It's a contemporary, historical, paranormal, erotic romance. If you're wondering how it can be contemporary and historical, perhaps I should explain. There are historical elements to the piece, with references back to the past, which is where much, but not all, of my research came in.

The main character in the story, Emily, is a book conservator. This is where some of my research came in. I needed to know enough about what book conservators to do to clean and protect books to talk convincingly about it in my book. After Google didn't come up with much of help, I turned to Twitter, and also sent an email off to The National Trust (a charity in the UK that looks after stately homes, historical sites, archives, etc). Luckily for me, the answers that I needed came through pretty quickly and I was able to continue writing.

Another element of my research was to do with the historical elements of the piece. Without giving too much away, World War II is mentioned – so I had to do some fact checking before I mentioned certain events. Also, I needed information on photography, i.e. what sort of photographs were taken and when, and when colour photography was introduced in the UK. Google, Wikipedia and Twitter again helped me out here. What would we do without them?

Add in the visits I make to country houses for pleasure (Love Through Time is set in a country house) and you have yourself quite a lot of research there. But I enjoyed every minute of it, and I hope that the resulting story gives as much enjoyment to readers as it did to this writer.

*****

Westbury Manor is a stately home with a fascinating past, and when book conservator Emily Stone starts uncovering it, she's startled by what she finds . . . .

Emily arrives at Westbury Manor with a job to do. She's to clean and conserve all of the books in their impressive library, preserving them for future generations. Not long into her stay at the house, she bumps into the night guard, George. She'd expected an old, balding guy with a comb over, so the hunky chap she actually meets is a very pleasant surprise. The introductions complete, George leaves Emily in peace to get on with her job. But when a falling photograph sets off a chain reaction of ghostly events, Emily and George are thrown together in order to find out who—or what—is causing them. Their investigation uncovers a tragic past, a lost love, and a stunning secret.

Excerpt:

Emily received some strange looks and frowns from the people she passed as she walked across the graveled drive toward the front entrance of Westbury Hall. She could appreciate their confusion. It was closing time for the stately home, and the last of the visitors were being politely ushered out of the building, yet she was heading inside. She'd been invited. She had a job to do.

An elderly lady stood in the porch, smiling and nodding as she held the door open for those departing the hall. Most of them seemed in no hurry to leave, stopping to make comments to the woman at the door, thanking her for a lovely visit and so on. Emily waited patiently to the side, allowing the patrons to leave before attempting to enter. When the staff member—most likely a volunteer, Emily thought—caught sight of her, she gave her a polite nod of acknowledgment.

Finally, the last of Westbury Hall's visitors moved out, leaving Emily free to enter. Climbing the single, stone step to the threshold, she took the hand already offered her.

Shaking Emily's hand with a surprising firmness, the woman said, "You must be Miss Stone." Her smart appearance and the intelligence in her eyes indicated that despite her age, she was far from past it. "I'm Mrs. Thompson, house supervisor."

"I am," Emily replied, dropping her hand back to her side, "but please, call me Emily. It's lovely to meet you. So, house supervisor? Do you live on site?"

Indicating Emily should step inside the entrance hall, Mrs. Thompson proceeded to close and lock the porch and front doors of the house, securing them in.

"I do," the older woman said, turning back to face Emily, "I have rooms in a separate building just off the back of this one. So you needn't worry about me disturbing you."

"Oh no," Emily said, worried she'd inadvertently rubbed Mrs. Thompson the wrong way. "I didn't mean that. I was just curious. You're more than welcome to see me at work, Mrs. Thompson; although, I'm afraid you won't see anything terribly exciting."

Mrs. Thompson smiled now, the warmth reaching her eyes. Emily sighed silently with relief. She'd yet to see the extent of the work she had to do, but she'd been told it was no easy task, so she could be here for some time. The last thing she needed was to upset any of the staff.

"Oh, you'd be surprised, my dear. This is a fascinating old place. Of course, all these old houses have history, but Westbury Hall's is particularly rich."

Emily smiled. The woman's enthusiasm was infectious. "Well then," she replied, "I can't wait to learn more about it. I hope you'll feed me full of historical tidbits while I'm here?"

Mrs. Thompson gave an enigmatic smile. Then, startling Emily somewhat, she turned smartly on her heel and walked deeper into the house. "Come, my dear, I won't hold you up any longer. I'll show you to the library, where you'll soon start uncovering Westbury's illustrious history for yourself."

Buy link: http://www.nobleromance.com/Books/348

*****

Lucy is a graduate of the University of Derby, where she studied Creative Writing. During her first year, she was dared to write an erotic story - so she did. It went down a storm and she's never looked back. Lucy has had stories published by Cleis Press, Noble Romance, Ravenous Romance, Summerhouse Publishing, Sweetmeats Press and Xcite Books. She is also the editor of Uniform Behaviour and Seducing the Myth. Find out more at http://www.lucyfelthouse.co.uk. You can also find her on Facebook and Twitter.

Worldbuilding – by KevaD

noreply@blogger.com (David Kentner -- KevaD) — Tue, 22 Nov 2011 12:38:00 +0000

Worldbuilding, world building, or world-building is the current overused term finding its way into nearly every conversation on writing. But what exactly is worldbuilding?

In truth, worldbuilding is nothing more than the construction of an imaginary world or setting. The geography can encompass an entire universe, or be as small as a back roads community where gossip heats the coffee. However, I've been seeing the term used more and more in conjunction with paranormal and fantasy stories, to the point in fact that a degree of ownership seems to have become improperly attached to it.

The term "worldbuilding" gained acceptance and popularity during the 1970s science fiction writers' workshops. Maps, history, geology, genealogy, ecology, language, and entire races were created for the writers' stories, plots, and characters to thrive in. Dungeon and Dragons role players specialized in creating fantasy worlds from the outside-in and inside-out where the science fiction enthusiasts worked from the bottom-up or top-down.

How a writer chooses to create the world for their story is entirely up to him or her. There is no right or wrong method. What is important is that the writer understands the importance of consistency and accuracy within the world/setting being created. Expectations of conduct for vampires and werewolves have become the norm. Full moons, silver bullets, garlic, and wooden stakes are as ingrained in readers' minds as hamburgers are to golden arches. If your vampire doesn't sleep on the dirt of his birth or death, the writer better have an immediate, solid argument the reader can reluctantly accept. In other words, a world parallel to the readers' level of acceptance has to have been constructed, or be prepared for a load cry of "Foul!".

Minutia matters, no matter what world the writer is building. In the 1950s, "running shoes" didn't exist. Sherlock Holmes never requested a crime scene technician. And, Neanderthals didn't know they were Neanderthals, unless the writer built the right world around them.

Which brings us to my novella "Desire Damned."

What could "Desire Damned," an MM erotic tale that takes place on the battlefields of Gettysburg, possibly have to do with Neanderthals? I hope you'll read the story and find out.

Noble Romance Buy Link

KevaD's Web Site

Be sure to leave a comment in order to be eligible for the end of tour prizes including a Kindle. Then click the Timeless Desire logo to advance to your next stop on the tour.

Thanks so much for stopping by!

Where's this story going?

noreply@blogger.com (J.S. Wayne) — Wed, 16 Nov 2011 05:01:00 +0000

Not many people realize it, but I don’t unilaterally fall in love with my stories. Don’t believe me? My hard drive is riddled with fragments and false starts that have never seen daylight, simply because they weren’t up to my standards or something was inherently wrong with them.

Take, as a case in point, “Ancient Magic.” I started this story back in June, with pure intentions and what I thought was a good idea. The problem was — it involved vampires.

There’s nothing inherently wrong with vampires. Check out my backlist, both here at Noble and elsewhere, and you’ll see vampires are a big part of my writing. But that was part of the problem: I’ve already got an established vampire mythos I use. (No, they don’t sparkle.) To create a vampire who would work within the framework of the world I was in the process of constructing, I would have had to go back to the drawing board, so to speak. Besides, I’d already done vampires for the Red Roses and Shattered Glass anthology, so I wanted to try something unique.

So what did that leave?

Angels? Nope. As much as I love them and exploring their erotic potential, I’ve already got plenty of those in my backlist, thanks just the same. Werewolves? Heh. I’m holding off on doing any more of those until I see how “Dancing On Flames” performs. Ghosts? Been there, done that, also in the Red Roses and Shattered Glass anthology.

I winced, cursed, swore, damned my absolute stupidity, questioned whether or not I was worth my keyboard, poked, prodded, and generally freaked out. Every combination I could come up with that seemed to fit with the “Timeless Desire” theme opened up whole new vistas of suckitude, and for the first time in my professional writing career I started to seriously consider the idea I might not be as immune to writers’ block as I’d like to believe. For me, this simple statement is an admission tantamount to a deathbed conversion.

Then the answer occurred to me. So simple and laughably obvious that I’d managed to completely ignore it.

Why not make the main characters human?

*Gasp.*

Sure, in most of my stories, there’s a human or quasi-human protagonist. But they almost invariably have some special talent or capability that removes them from the average press of humanity. In the case of “Ancient Magic,” I decided to go a different route and make my characters fully human, devoid of special or unique talents. No telepathy, no fangs, no magic. Just two people who were intended to be something more than what fate made them, but nevertheless capable of amazing but not supernatural deeds.

In fact, the only things I kept from the original three and a half thousand words of what started as “Night Eternal” were the setting and Varath’s name. The setting was inspired by the image of a ruined Greek temple; antiquity has always fascinated me, so Hell or high water, that element of the story wasn’t to be touched. Varath had a perfectly good name, so why waste time seeking something better?

While I was having my mental slugfest with my muse over the whys and wherefores of the story, my time to finish the story was inexorably running out. The contract had already been inked; the clock was ticking, and lost in the fog of battle with my recalcitrant plot, I didn’t notice until an email arrived in my inbox.

“When are you going to have the story done?”

Sometimes, you just need a good, sharp poke with a long stick. So I sat down and started to work. In two days, “Ancient Magic” was completed. I fired it off and anticipated a scathing email which boiled down to “WTF do you think you’re trying to pull?”

You’d think I would’ve known better; after all, Bryl hasn’t kicked back one single story I’ve subbed for Noble yet, so it would stand to reason after five accepted submissions it probably wouldn’t happen now either. But the first few days after I put in a submission are always characterized with a slightly panicky air of “Oh, shit. This is where everyone’s finally going to realize I’m a living monument to ineptitude and shouldn’t be permitted anywhere near the company of real authors.”

It’s admittedly a little melodramatic, but it’s part of my mojo. The stress over whether or not my work will be judged worthy inspires me to work all the harder, and some of my best writing has come out of post-submission jitters. And frankly, I fear the day when I don’t get that gut-clenching shrieking fear when I send out a manuscript, because that will be the day I lose my edge altogether.

Did I succeed with “Ancient Magic?”

You tell me.

Until next time,

Best,

J.S. Wayne

Don’t forget to leave a comment for your chance to win some great prizes, and then click the Special Blogs button to continue on the “Timeless Desire” blog tour!

Timeless Desire- Brita Addams

noreply@blogger.com (H.C. Brown) — Tue, 15 Nov 2011 11:38:00 +0000

When I was asked to participate in the Timeless Desire blog tour, I was intrigued by the topic. It was sentimental, which is right up my alley.

I mulled over various ways to go with the stories, one m/m and one m/f, and came up with the m/f story first. In my own family tree, I have a story that is sweet and sad at once. My great Uncle Roy married Dorothy and in 1945, Roy died in a freak flood, leaving Dorothy and four small children.

I met Dorothy in 1997, and she still mourned Roy's death, telling me about the day he died and how she asked him not to go to work. At 82, she was frail and held the only picture she ever had of her beloved husband, saying, "I told him not to go."

Their story, while much changed, inspired An Evening at the Starlight. With only a couple of references to sex (it was unseemly to have all out sex in this story), a man relates the story of love and Timeless Desire, in the hopes it will help a young man recover what seems to be slipping through his fingers. Royal and Doe's story is one of the stories I've wanted to write for a long time. I'm very proud of this one.

The story is contemporary with a very noir feel, harkening back to the 1940's and World War II, when the bulk of the related story takes place.

The other story, A Minute After Midnight, is the story of Reid Wright and Logan Chalmers, two men who, because of circumstances right after college, were forced to separate. While each made lives for themselves in the interim, their Timeless Desire is realized when they see each other again at a high school reunion.

I love sentiment about as much as I love love. Loves lost and found again or lessons learned from loss make the romance genre thrive. These two stories are ones I enjoyed writing and even in the re-reading, I'm pleased with them.

Starlight's cover is also special to me. In the story, a corner booth in an old 1940's bar plays a part in the story. The booth belonged to Doe and Royal. Fiona Jayde tried very hard to represent that. The young man who listens to Doe and Royal's story is portrayed perfectly, sad and hopeless.

The portrait that hangs on the wall over the table is special to the story and on the cover, I asked Fi to use a picture of my mother to represent Doe. Mom was just a teenager in the 1940's and so beautiful.

In the portrait, Mom was nineteen years old and newly engaged. That portrait was her engagement picture, taken by my father.

There are many ways to portray Timeless Desire and I chose the sentimental approach. What's your Timeless Desire?

Email address: britaaddams@gmail.com

Website/Blog

Twitter: @britaaddams

Facebook

Goodreads Page

To one commenter, I'm giving away a backlist book of the winner's choice (new releases – A Minute After Midnight, An Evening at the Starlight, and Romeo Club not included)

The Timeless Desire Collection

noreply@blogger.com (Sarah) — Sun, 13 Nov 2011 08:01:00 +0000

Noble Romance's new Timeless Desire collection turns up the heat with a selection of fantastic new titles for every taste. Here's a quick look at what this exciting new line has to offer.

A DANCE WITH BOGIE AND BACALL
by KevaD (sensual romance, ghosts, spirits)

Radio DJ Scott Kincaid's first caller of the night is a lady who died forty-nine years ago. The second wants to knock his head off. And he thought falling in love would be easy.

Maureen and Frank Johnson shared the kind of romance most people believe only exists in movies. Until a ballroom fire took Maureen's life.

Franci Johnson grew up hearing her grandparents' love story a thousand times and wishes to find the kind of undying love Frank and Maureen had once upon a time.

DJ Scott Kincaid just wants the ghost following him to go away. But Maureen thinks the hunky DJ might be just the answer to her granddaughter's dreams.

A DANCE WITH BOGIE AND BACALL: BUY LINK & EXCERPT

A MINUTE AFTER MIDNIGHT
Brita Addams (erotic romance, LGBT, m/m, same sex romance)

A fateful decision haunted Logan Chalmers for years. A high school reunion brings Reid Wright back to the old hometown, but will Reid even remember Logan or has he moved on to the bright future they were to share?

Following the rejection of the man he'd loved for most of his life, Reid moved away to seek his fortune. The hurt and anger allowed him to move on, but years later, only thoughts of Logan could bring him back for the reunion – that, and timeless desire.

A MINUTE AFTER MIDNIGHT: BUY LINK & EXCERPT

AN EVENING AT THE STARLIGHT
Brita Addams (sensual romance, second chances)

John has a hard time forgiving and forgetting, and his wife Christie's tired of trying.

Doe and Royal's love story reaches through the years and gives hope to a young man who's lost hope in his relationship. An Evening at the Starlight and a tale of a once in a lifetime love that wouldn't die might be exactly what John needs to move past the hurt and cherish the love he has.

AN EVENING AT THE STARLIGHT: BUY LINK & EXCERPT

ANCIENT MAGIC
J.S. Wayne (erotic romance, magic)

More than two decades have passed since the Hodans invaded the peaceful kingdom of Jurav. In their zeal for conquest, they have mercilessly rent the Juravian national character asunder, starting with the temples of their gods.

Varath's uncle raised him to one day assume his father's mantle—command warden of the Temple of Noradi, the most beloved goddess of the Juravian pantheon and the deity of heart, hearth, and the fires which burn in both.

Melody would have been High Priestess to Noradi, and her own family has groomed her with equal care against the day when the Hodan hordes will be expelled and she can assume her rightful place as the most powerful figure in the entire nation . . . and as Varath's bride.

When Varath departed to serve in the Hodan army, Melody saw it as an unconscionable betrayal. Now Varath has returned to take his father's place as the sole guardian of a temple where no one dares enter, and he has made overtures to claim the other half of his bequest: Melody herself. But can Melody see past the deceptions and lies his rebellion has forced and learn to love the man who seems to have turned his back on his own people?

ANCIENT MAGIC: BUY LINK & EXCERPT

DESIRE DAMNED
KevaD (erotic romance, m/m, military, same sex romance)

Satan wants the warrior Taka to bow before him. But Taka bows to no one except his gentle lover Har.

For thousands of years the two men have been doomed to a life of torment. While one walks the earth, the other suffers under the devil's lash. Their only respite is an occasional night; a random, beautiful, love-filled night, knowing that with the dawn one of them must die in battle and return to Satan's wrath.

On the war-torn fields of Gettysburg, the two lovers are reunited once again. But this time something beyond Hell's reach has happened. Something so wondrous, Satan may finally get his wish.

DESIRE DAMNED: BUY LINK & EXCERPT

FAMILIAR LIGHT
Sarah Ballance (sensual romance, second chances, thriller)

Seven years of longing comes down to just one night.

Laney Kent returns to Barrier Shoals hoping to reunite with her first love, Bridger. She anticipates his reception might be chilly, but what she doesn't expect is to become the victim of a deadly obsession … or that this night with Bridger could be her last.

Bridger Jansen tangled a lot of sheets trying to forget about Laney, but his heart knew what the rest of him refused to admit: he could love no one else. He's determined not to forgive her for leaving him without explanation, but when he fails to protect her from a viscous attack, the person he can't forgive just might be himself.

FAMILIAR LIGH T: BUY LINK & EXCERPT

IMMORTAL
Bryl R. Tyne (erotic romance, LGBT, m/m, same sex relationships)

Found abandoned as a child and taken in by the Nevsky clan, the man Ivis now feels the call of the water, the sea, but Sefton and his family, one of the most influential vampire bloodlines in Russia, isn't about to let Ivis go. As Ivis' powers grow stronger—powers unknown to him—Sefton's instructed to detain Ivis at all costs to tilt in his clan's favor the balance of power in an endless struggle between the Bogdanov water gods and Nevsky vampires. Sefton's left with a choice: power or love. Which is the greater desire?

IMMORTAL: BUY LINK & EXCERPT

LOVE THROUGH TIME
Lucy Felthouse (erotic romance, ghosts, spirits)

Westbury Manor is a stately home with a fascinating past, and when book conservator Emily Stone starts uncovering it, she's startled by what she finds . . . .

Emily arrives at Westbury Manor with a job to do. She's to clean and conserve all of the books in their impressive library, preserving them for future generations. Not long into her stay at the house, she bumps into the night guard, George. She'd expected an old, balding guy with a comb over, so the hunky chap she actually meets is a very pleasant surprise. The introductions complete, George leaves Emily in peace to get on with her job. But when a falling photograph sets off a chain reaction of ghostly events, Emily and George are thrown together in order to find out who—or what—is causing them. Their investigation uncovers a tragic past, a lost love, and a stunning secret.

LOVE THROUGH TIME: BUY LINK & EXCERPT

SAVIOR
Jess Anastasi (sensual romance, angels/demons)

Cadmiel, the Angel of Destiny, knows better than anyone does what a bitch fate can be. Five hundred years ago, the only woman he ever loved was killed, shredding his soul and leaving a void in place of his heart. Now Archangel Michael comes to him with a shocking and forbidden proposal. He wants Cadmiel to travel back in time and save Emilyn. Though Cadmiel wishes beyond all reasoning to do as the archangel asks, messing with time goes against his own beliefs and the very foundations of angel lore. But Michael doesn't give Cadmiel a choice and thrusts him through time and space, back to 2012.

The first time Emilyn saw the gorgeous man, she was affected on a level she couldn't comprehend. Cadmiel isn't like any other guy she's ever met, and he makes her wish love at first sight were true. But there are forces at work she never dreamed real. In the space of a day, she goes from normal, every-day college student, to a pawn in an apocalyptic war between angels and demons.

Emilyn's very life is in Cadmiel's hands. Will he risk the future of the entire universe to save her, or let her die and destroy himself in the process?

SAVIOR: BUY LINK & EXCERPT

TIME TO LIVE
H.C. Brown (erotic romance, BDSM, m/m, same sex relationships)

Seth Bannock is living a lie. Nothing in his life is working out. He likes women . . . he respects women . . . but when he tries to kiss a woman and she does that tongue thing, he wants to spew.

Confused by his body's reaction to the men at his gym, Seth seeks help from the only gay club he knows—Floggers. Is the man crazy? Seeking answers, the sweet, vanilla virgin marches into the BDSM club to speak to the owner Rio Knight.

Realization that he has been on the wrong team all his life comes in the form of a six-foot-seven Adonis by the name of Matt Duffey. Instantly attracted to the leather-clad alpha male, Seth must leave his old life behind and embrace his newfound sexuality.

Seth thought his life had complications before he met Matt, but nothing comes close to the rollercoaster ride in the big dom's arms.

TIME TO LIVE: BUY LINK & EXCERPT

Can't decide? Check out the whole collection by clicking here.

Posted by Sarah Ballance, who cordially invites you to subscribe to her blog for a weekly shot at a $10 gift certificate to Noble Romance. To subscribe or for full details, click here.

Timeless Desire Tour: Bryl R. Tyne

noreply@blogger.com (Bryl R. Tyne) — Wed, 09 Nov 2011 08:30:00 +0000

IMMORTAL by Bryl R. Tyne
Genre: paranormal/fantasy/m/m
Noble Romance Publishing
(c) 2011 Bryl R. Tyne

Blurb: Found abandoned as a child and taken in by the Nevsky clan, the man Ivis now feels the call of the water, the sea, but Sefton and his family, one of the most influential vampire bloodlines in Russia, isn’t about to let Ivis go. As Ivis’s powers grow stronger—powers unknown to him—Sefton’s instructed to detain Ivis at all costs to tilt in his clan’s favor the balance of power in an endless struggle between the Bogdanov water gods and Nevsky vampires. Sefton’s left with a choice: power or love. Which is the greater desire?

(unedited) Excerpt:
At the edge of the great forest, wild fields stretched to the south and to the east, ending as they tapered into a great sea. Though I could see only long grasses to the horizon, rumor spoke of such a place, the place where the Nevsky hunters had found me as a child of four seasons, with not a stitch of clothing or clan to lay claim and the letters IVIS scored across the point where my left collarbone met my shoulder. Few from the nearby village had dared venture out that far since, and those with a will to try had never returned. I dreamt of returning there someday. Though to what, or to whom, or precisely where, I had yet to learn.
“Again, I fear I am losing you, Ivis.” Sefton’s breaths cut cold and hard across the dampness between my shoulders.
Tepid skin graced my lips as I kissed the back of his hand. “Unfortunately, glimpses of my past remain with me to this day, as they should. Should they not?” I asked but got no reply at my back. “I can no more forget them than the sight of my own face in the water.”
But no matter how often I uttered those words, in truth, my past reached no farther than the tip of my nose, for how was it possible a child, no taller than waist high, should remember such places or events . . . or names? It was vain for me to try, but even now, as a young man, I continued to do so. More so, the closer Sefton drew to me for the power, though I knew not this power he claimed to seek . . . but his seeking me out for yet another romp in the forests happened more often than not of late.
“When I am with you, I am alive as never before.” Sefton tugged me against his chest, as he had done each night and many a carefree afternoon for as far back as I could recall. His lips found the juncture at my neck and shoulder, while he fondled me with the most skilled of touches. “You are the very air I breathe.” His words danced across my skin, graceful and confident. With his other hand, he found and teased my entrance, and pushed into me with a whisper, “You are mine, now and for always.”
“Yes.” I barely recognized my own voice under his assault. Yet, I wanted him as totally as he claimed to want me. “Always.”
He stroked my manhood and plowed into me relentlessly, over and again. “Tell me you are mine.”
By the goddess, I wanted to. I wanted nothing more than to accept his invitation to stay forever. But to do so would be a lie.
“Do not speak, my love,” he said, entering me again and again, working himself, faster and faster, until I could not tell where his body ended and mine began. “My love is enough to carry us both.” And he sank his sharp bite into my neck, took from me as much as he gave me elsewhere, and sending me into the bright abyss that only a lover can do.
“Sefton . . . .”
He withdrew his fangs, sealed the tiny wounds with a loving touch of his tongue. My body quivered in his embrace as he brought me back to earth with his sure caress. Yet, I lay there in his arms, fully aware of my plans to leave. How could I tell him that I could not stay, no matter how promising, how tempting . . . how pleasurable his touch.
“I am troubled, not understanding how each time can be better than the last, yet it is a truth I cannot deny,” he said and kissed the top of my head, then my shoulder; his hips pressed firmly to my backside. “Ivis? Promise me. Tell me that every day will be like today only better. Promise to never leave my side.”
His words were at once as a thick plume of smoke, suffocating, no matter how quickly I maneuvered through them. How could he promise me what was not his to give? I removed his less than reassuring arm and pulled myself up to stand. The rocky ground outside our grassy circle of body-warmed foliage stung the soles of my feet. “For the Lady’s sake, I am no Nevsky, and I belong to no one in your villages. To this day, I know not even my family name.” I leaned, one hand clinging, toying with a low-hanging branch. “Until I know who I am, I cannot make such promises. You know that I would die for you if I could.”
I turned and found the ever-present doubt his gaze increasingly held.
“I love you, Sefton Nevsky, like no other. Is knowing that not enough for you?”
For the briefest of seconds, his eyes flashed the color of fresh-spilled blood, and I looked away. He shot to his feet and with a firm grip, carried my face nose to nose with his own in a move that left me panting with fright. Yet I did not retreat, nor show the fear he had instigated and likely craved. Instead, I met his sternness with my own. “You are neither my keeper nor my brother.”
“I am a Nevsky and you—a bastard son found amongst the reeds. Do not push me, lower than low.” He pounded his chest with a knuckled fist. “You will not defy my wishes.”
Against my knotted gut, I stepped around him and retrieved my tunic and breeches. Oxen more stubborn, I had never witnessed in my supposed twenty-some years—I kept that knowledge loosely, also, for I had as much recollection of my true age as I had of the day I was born. Despite Sefton’s stance and his curses to the contrary, I dressed, slipping my tunic over my head. “Your proclaimed ‘two years’ on me makes you no wiser than I, though, with each passing day, you do resemble more and more a donkey’s behind.”
His reaction came swift and sure as he backed me against the nearest stone birch; Sefton tightened his grasp on my tunic with a shove surely meant to meld his fist to my chest. My still-naked buttocks encountered rough bark. His gaze remained locked with mine. “One day”—he wiped the spittle from his bottom lip—”one day I will make you know how infuriating a man you can be, Ivis Bogdanov.”
Sefton’s mouth covered mine, leaving me forgotten moments better used for breathing, but I could no more deny his needs for all the talk in the forest. He pulled away, as breathless as I. “Curse our lives,” he said, grimacing in obvious disgust. “Were I not born the ass that I am—were you . . . had we met under different circumstances—”
“But we have not. That is the hand the Fates have dealt us.”
Sefton pulled me into his arms. “Do not do this. No good can come of your curiosity. Are you so unhappy that I cannot expect you to share this life we have?”
“Life?” I wrenched free, backed out of his embrace. “You call this a life? I roam your fathers’ countryside by day and your castle by night as if in search of something, though I know not what.”
The look Sefton bore frustrated me further.
“You do not understand. I am a man. Do you not see that I have no need to be by your side both day and night? Can you not see your constant concern is smothering? I turn a corner; you are there. I close my eyes only to open them to your face. Is it I you do not trust, or is it yourself?”
Sefton’s steely eyes flared to deep crimson, and in that flash of color, he stood a hair’s breadth before me. “Rue the day I found you among the marshes bordering the eastern fields.” His nostrils flared as he turned away. “I need you beside me, or you would not remain . . . .” His stance turned aloof, and his stare grew cold. “You are no one special. No one would have you but I; no man is as accoutered as I to keep a—a man, such as yourself.”
Heat pooled in my chest, and a chill, the likes of which I had never experienced, consumed my shaking limbs. “A burden you claim, then I fear a burden I shall become.”
“Do not speak the words, Bogdanov”—he bore his elongated teeth in anger, a rarity in my presence—”or feel my wrath!”
In a move unseen, he was upon me, the sting of his bite upon my flesh, and I hardened instantly, despite my struggle.
“Damn you, son of Nevsky.”
But my words came on a fleeting breath, for my body could not mask my desire, and I pressed into his touch, his bite . . . his embrace, wanting him near with the same ferocity I wanted him to stay away, the same longing I had felt the first time we had coupled. And he reciprocated, penetrating my flesh deeper as he rolled his hips, revealing his desire, even as he assuaged his anger with the blood drawn from my shoulder.
“Damn you.”
He pulled away, withdrawing his fangs. His gaze, obscured by a haze of lust, met mine, and it was my blood that trickled from his lips as he said, “Too late.”
His expression told of his pain—decades, centuries, an eternity—for how long, I had no knowledge. So much had passed between us, years of growing—more, I’d grown from boy to man; Sefton had remained as youthful and handsome as ever—still, I knew few details of his life or circumstance. Uneasiness swallowed me whole with one look into his eyes. In spite of his protests to the contrary, I could never be what he desired. It hurt to love him as I did, but it hurt more to know not who I was, where I had come from, to whom I might belong.
“You belong with me, Ivis.” His voice was but a whisper as he wiped the blood from his chin.
“Get out of my head.”
“Your own thoughts betray you, for freely they gave themselves to me. I had no need to pry my way in.”
“You are an insatiable and arrogant man.”
“I’m no more a man than you—” He stopped abruptly and turned his back to me.
“What is this you once again allude to?” He removed himself from my reach. No man could keep one such as me . . . . Had he not meant riches, for admittedly, I had wants, and Sefton seemed always to have the need to fulfill each and every one of them? Before my next breath, Sefton had dressed.
“Son of Nevsky, what are you hiding from—?” But before I could finish my question, he was gone. And hence, so was I.

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NRA BLOG TOUR- H.C. Brown-Living With The Faeries

noreply@blogger.com (H.C. Brown) — Tue, 08 Nov 2011 09:39:00 +0000

As an author, I believe I see things a little different to most people. On the beach, most would see blue sky, sand, and waves. I see the retreating waves leaving a wash of gold in their wake, the rainbows in the bubbles of wash and the seagull hovering on an updraft of air. I believe authors collect and store such images deep inside their subconscious.

I have no doubt an active imagination begins in childhood. I find myself delving into my childhood memories many times during the creation of a story. Those images never leave us, or those wonderful times when we truly believed anything was possible. I'm sure if you asked one hundred people if they believed in faeries, you would be surprised at the result. I sure do . . . come on now ' fess up . . . do you believe in faeries?

I had the fortune to have a mother who told me wonderful bedtime stories. If ever I fell ill, she would send me little handmade cards signed 'Faerie Blue Eyes.' My fondest memory is pushing a doll's pram around the garden at three years old. The grounds of the Victorian three-story house had many pathways that weaved around rose gardens. Toward the back fence, blackberry bushes sat in clumps with spiky tendrils waiting to snag the clothes or pull the hair of each passerby. Beneath the ancient oak trees, acorns littered the ground and pointed brown toadstools rose from patches of bright, green moss.

"Don't disturb the faeries." Mother pointed at the toadstools. "That is a faerie circle. At night the faeries come out and dance in the moonlight."

I would walk by, then pause and look over my shoulder, in the hope of glimpsing an ethereal being. At night, I would often press my nose to the window and peer at the garden. How different the night is to a child. The moonlight diffuses colors to every shade of gray; long shadows change the familiar rose bushes to gargoyles ready to pounce with each passing breeze. Trees blackened by night, reach up to the sky waving in silent devotion. The sounds of insects echo through the night, or could that be the sweet voices of faerie song? An owl hoots, and then appears, wings spread wide against the full moon. Across the lawn, moonbeams bathe the grass transforming each drop of dew into a myriad of diamonds. Is it any wonder the faeries dance at night?

Those of you that read my books know my faeries are a little different to most. Human in size they feature in stories of love, and always finish with happy ever after.

I enjoy living with the faeries, and now I can share my stories with you, I love it even more.

Now when it comes to BDSM......

My book in the Timeless Desire Collection is Time to Live

Blurb

Seth Bannock is living a lie. Nothing in his life is working out. He likes women . . . he respects women . . . but when he tries to kiss a woman and she does that tongue thing, he wants to spew.

Confused by his body's reaction to the men at his gym, Seth seeks help from the only gay club he knows—Floggers. Is the man crazy? Seeking answers, the sweet, vanilla virgin marches into the BDSM club to speak to the owner Rio Knight.

Realization that he has been on the wrong team all his life comes in the form of a six-foot-seven Adonis by the name of Matt Duffey. Instantly attracted to the leather-clad alpha male, Seth must leave his old life behind and embrace his newfound sexuality

Seth thought his life had complications before he met Matt, but nothing comes close to the rollercoaster ride in the big dom's arms.

Buy link; www.nobleromance.com

Leave a comment with your email address and go into the draw for an autographed cover of my latest release Time to Live for your e-reader.

NEXT BLOG

"Timeless Desire" Blog Tour!

noreply@blogger.com (J.S. Wayne) — Sun, 06 Nov 2011 11:44:00 +0000

If you saw Sarah Ballance's post the other day, you already know about the "Timeless Desire" blog tour. But, just in case you missed it, we're doing it again, folks! More great prizes and a new lineup, plus not ONE but TWO sexy collections of stories for your reading pleasure, are on tap this month, so be sure to go to http://nobleromanceauthorsblogtour.blogspot.com/ and check out who's in the mix and what the prizes on offer are! Then start following the blog tour on Tuesday; my first guest will be the lovely and talented Brita Addams, and the guest list and the prizes on offer are sure to please every taste and style.

All the stories from the "Timeless Desire" line will be represented, including my latest release, "Ancient Magic," and each of the authors involved is bringing their own unique spins on how we write, what our off hours look like, and how we keep the stories YOU want to read coming. I'm really looking forward to this, and I can tell y'all one thing:

November's never been hotter!

Noble November Blog Tour - FAQ and $25 Giveaway TODAY!

noreply@blogger.com (Sarah) — Mon, 31 Oct 2011 07:01:00 +0000

posted by Sarah Ballance

Sizzling new content. Hot new releases. Eight Noble Romance authors. Nearly 90 chances to win. One month: November. You in?

Leave food for the cat and bar the door. I am IN! (Er, into what, exactly?)

Um, unlock the door. Pack your bikini or your swim trunks (er, you can leave the speedo at home) because November has NEVER been so hot! Yes, folks, it's time for the Noble Authors Blog Tour, November 2011 edition, and you are in for a TREAT. Eight Noble Romance authors, with the help of a few special guest hosts, will bring to you nearly NINETY interviews, guest blogs, and riotous encounters on Tuesdays and Wednesdays throughout the month of November. With many chances to win prizes every day of the tour, you'll want to catch every post. You're about to take one CRAZY ride!

You've got my attention. Who, exactly, am I riding?

Here's a list of participating authors (only some bite, but I won't say which ones):

Bryl R. Tyne | H.C. Brown | Brita Addams

KevaD | J.S. Wayne

Lucy Felthouse | Jess Anastasi | Sarah Ballance

HA! Nice try. You can't scare me away that easily. What do I win?

Prizes include e-books, gift certificates to Noble Romance and Amazon, a VERY desirable donation from SexToys.co.uk, e-book vouchers, and the grand prize of a Kindle (yes-I-said-Kindle) courtesy of Noble Romance. Every blog offers a chance to comment for a shot at any one of these fantastic prizes, so whether you can make every stop or just one, YOU CAN WIN, and win BIG!

I'm there, I'm there! When do we start?

The tour officially starts Tuesday, November 8 but we're going to kick things off with a pretty awesome giveaway right now. The Tour features 10 brand new "Timeless Desire" novellas, and here's your chance to grab them all! Leave a comment with your e-mail address, and you'll be entered to win a Noble Romance gift certificate in the amount of $25.00—enough to buy a complete set of Timeless Desire titles! (You may, of course, buy anything from Noble you'd like with the gift certificate. I won't look. Promise.)

Okay, I'm sold. How do I play?

Following the tour is easy—you can kick off each day with any author and the loop will bring you right back to where you started, with bonus blog buttons to ensure you don't miss a single moment. Nothing fancy and no gimmicks—just comment on tour posts with your email address and you're automatically eligible for several INCREDIBLE prizes. For more entries, comment on more blogs. Could that be any easier? Yuh, you know you dig it!

I dig, I dig! Where, where, where do I hop this ride?

For the full tour schedule and details, head on over to the Noble Authors Blog Tour official blog. You can also keep up with the tour page on Facebook, or start at your favorite tour author's personal blog to follow the loop. Bottom line, we want to woo you with our romantic (and in many cases, erotic) tendencies, cajole you into staying a while, then reward you immensely for the pleasure of your company.

And truly, the pleasure is all ours! (Well, wait. There are prizes. The pleasure is all SHARED!)

About that $25 gift card ….?

Just leave a comment to *this* post with your e-mail address and you're entered for the prize! Winner will be chosen via random.org and announced November 1, so get those comments in TODAY, Halloween, to ensure your entry! (Contest will remain open until a winner is announced in the comment section.)

Any questions about the blog tour? Ask them now! Leave your email address and you can enter to win the $25** at the same time. (Multitasking. Yessss!)

**Delivery of the $25 gift card is the sole responsibility of Sarah Ballance, who is also bribing you to subscribe to her blog with a weekly giveaway. To enter, you must subscribe to her personal blog by **email.** Be sure to confirm your subscription, and you are automatically entered to win a weekly prize of $10 to Noble Romance or $5 to Amazon, winner's choice, so long as you remain a subscriber.

Keeping It Real By J.S. Wayne

noreply@blogger.com (J.S. Wayne) — Thu, 20 Oct 2011 07:01:00 +0000

One of the biggest challenges to a writer is authenticity. Writing a story set in modern times or our own hometown should be cake: we live there. But when you want to write about a different plane of existence or another time, you have to be able to put yourself in the moment.

Some people do this by performing exhaustive research.

The upside: They can tell you every fact, figure, and statistic you'd ever want to know about ______. They've made it their business to know everything relevant there is to know about their topics of interest, and are determined to keep their stories accurate and true-to-life.
The downside: Hard-core researchers can get so tied up in keeping the story factually accurate that they forget to put in the nuances of character and setting that separate a good story from a great one. We've all read at least one: that novel that was technically solid and factually flawless, but read more like a history book with dialogue than the escape from reality it's supposed to be.

Some people do this by putting themselves into the scene.

The upside: These are the people who are most likely to be able to put you fully into a scene and help you suspend disbelief. They have a great imagination and a sense for the immediacy of any scene they happen to be writing.
The downside: These authors tend to get extremely wordy. Stephen King and Anne Rice, I'm looking at you. Thirteen pages on the pleats in a pair of corduroy pants or a page and a half about the exact color of Spanish moss. Really?!

Some people blend the two.

The upside: A solid factual command of the subject matter. The timeframe, vocabulary, dress and cultural mores are all faithfully rendered, but you also get the feeling of being there.
The downside: Creative license and anachronism run rife in these works. The clothing may be meticulously and accurately described, but that hauberk might actually have been plate mail at the time in question. Similarly, the weapons and language may be precisely rendered, but the singlet the main character's wearing probably should have been a jerkin.

Some people say "The hell with it" and just write whatever sounds good.

There's nothing inherently wrong with this. Particularly in the fantasy and sci-fi realms, readers tend to be willing to forgive a lot that would never fly in a contemporary or historical context without a lot of extraneous explanation about whys and wherefores. So anachronistic language or behaviors tend to be less noticeable in these stories, especially when the author intends them to be anachronistic in nature (ie, a fantasy spoof a la Monte Python). The downside is that if it's not done right, the result can be completely unreadable.

With "Ancient Magic," my novella releasing on Monday, I combined elements of all these. I covered a great deal of factual ground to lay the groundwork and set the proper historical context. At the same time, I had to imagine the feel of a crude blacksmith's hammer or a beaked battle-axe, the smell of mutton roasting over a spit, or the kinds of perfumes that might have been worn in a quasi-medieval setting by ladies. And, perhaps most important of all, I had to be able to channel an air of suspicion and mistrust, where every word and gesture has layers of meanings and even an innocent glance can appear sinister.

Keeping it real is important, but so is telling a good story. So my question today is, Which is more important to you as a reader? Factual accuracy, or a story that draws you in to the point you don't notice if some of the dialogue or the weapons seem out of place?

To celebrate the impending release of "Ancient Magic," I made a trailer for your viewing pleasure!

In the meantime, I'm over at http://tabithablake.blogspot.com today. I'll be guesting at Black Velvet Seductions on Tuesday, talking about putting the visceral elements of a story together. And I'll be there again a week from Saturday, sharing one of my favorite recipes! I hope you'll come by and say hi. In the meantime, happy reading!

Until next time,

Best,

J.S. Wayne

Can Cliches Save the Day?

noreply@blogger.com (Jess Anastasi) — Tue, 18 Oct 2011 21:57:00 +0000

Occasionally my characters lead me into a writing trap, an impossible situation where it seems like there's no escape. Or a boring conversation where I'm sitting there thinking "is this going somewhere, do you have a point or are you just blabbing about nothing?" Or sometimes I'll land in a scene where they're literally standing there looking at each other with nothing to say… which leads to frustrated bashing of the computer keyboard, tearing out copious amount of hair, and stomping off to make my fifth cup of tea for the day (I'm Aussie and a few generations back, my ancestors came from England. I'll take tea before coffee any day. And no tea bags for me! It better be made in a pot or I don't want to know about it.)

Anyway, my beverage addictions aside, this often ends with me staring blankly at the computer, wondering how to get out of the snare. I don't want to call it writer's block, because that just scares the bejesus out of me. Like, the day I admit I might have a little bit of writer's block, it will turn into a rampaging virus and melt my brain until I can't even string a coherent sentence together anymore.

So, one day I thought about some of those old clichés they teach you that are supposed to get you out of the vortex of sucky, boring writing.

1) The phone rings. Problem A with this? I mostly write sci-fi paranormal romance. My characters don't have phones. Okay, they have like these comm devices, so I suppose someone could call them on that. But who? And why? I can't come up with anything that wouldn't seem contrived. "Yay! Archangel Michael called just in the nick of time to save this scene from withering into acute dullness. What a coincidence!"

2) Someone pulls out a gun. This solution isn't impossible right off because alleluia, my characters do have guns. But since there isn't anyone in need of shooting nearby, I can't see how this will help, because ultimately it leads to two more bad clichés:

3a) Is that a gun in your hand, or are you just happy to see me? Soooo not going there.

3b) One of the good guys suddenly turns into a bad guy. Didn’t see that coming? Neither did I! Because that character was a good guy. Let's just turn him into a bad guy because the plot has gone stale and I accidentally killed all my bad guys in the last scene. Whoops! Get me the casting agent, we need to turn good characters bad, pronto.

4) Someone unexpected walks into the room. Right off, we have another problem. My characters spend most of their time on a spaceship. It is pretty much impossible for anyone to walk in unexpectedly. "How did you get here?" — "I was drifting aimlessly through space and you just happened to be passing by. Lucky, huh?"

5) It was a dark and stormy night. Wait. That one isn't a plot filler, it’s the exact wrong way to start your book. But still, for argument's sake… hello? Space? Its always dark and night. Although, I suppose I could have them fly through a electro-magnetic storm that would screw with their navigational data causing them to get lost for a while. Then they land on the wrong planet and it happens to be populated by newly conscripted bad guys…. Hey looks like my plot hole has been filled after all!

Check out my Sanctuary series. New out this week, the third book, Singularity.

Marc Andros saved the life of an angel. Now he's mystically bound to her until she can repay the act in kind. To make things more complicated, he's working for Archangel Michael. Not the kind of guy he thought would end up being his boss back when he was spending his days hunting the demons and angels plaguing the universe. And just because fate hasn't quite finished twisting him up, with the bond in place he and his angel can't be separated by too great a distance before they both experience an excruciating level of pain. They are literally. Stuck. Together.

Charmeine thought being bound to a human and forced to interact with him on a daily basis would be about the most tedious thing that had ever happened to her. But instead she finds herself fascinated by her apparent savior and constant companion. On a mission to retrieve a valuable sacred relic, Charmeine risks her life, drawing on a considerable amount of her supernatural energies to save Marc. That single act drains her powers to the point of turning her human and thrusts her into a position of doubt and uncertainty.
With enemies all over the universe and the demon king stepping up his offensive to systematically wipe out humans, Charmeine doesn't know who to trust. Will Marc help her if he knows the truth, or will he use her mortality against her to find a way out of their mystical bond? It's an impossible situation, and the wrong choice could mean death for both of them.

H.C. Brown- Why BDSM?

noreply@blogger.com (H.C. Brown) — Mon, 17 Oct 2011 16:30:00 +0000

I had the notion at one time that BDSM was a fetish found in underground dungeons hidden down dark alleyways. Okay, so maybe out there somewhere this holds a grain of truth. My insight as it were came from some hard research. I was brainstorming an idea with Stormy Glenn to do an anthology for Noble Romance. I wanted to try something our fans would enjoy but with a little difference. Stormy came up with a slave auction and I came up with Floggers BDSM Club.

We gave each other a brief outline of our main characters and the interior of the club with the Flogger's VIP bar for the doms, and the house subs, so we could blend both stories together. I spend a whole lot of time speaking with people in the BDSM scene. I purchased a few recommended BDSM manuals and went to work.

Surprisingly the characters for Dominate Me grew out of the attitude of the people in the scene I had spoken to about this subject. The scents and smells of a dungeon, the setting of a BDSM scene all gave life to my characters. The trust needed between the participants, the diversity of people who indulge and most of all the range of pleasure sought and given. I think I can sum it up in one word—respect.

I finished Dominate Me before Stormy had completed her story and although we had very little input into each other's work the stories blended very well.

My latest release for the Timeless Desire Blog Tour is Time to Live. I go back to Floggers in this story and you will find old favorites Nash, Paul and Rio in cameo appearances. Time to Live is a story about sexual discovery and fulfillment. I hope you will enjoy reading this book as much as I enjoyed writing it for you.

Blurb.

Seth Bannock is living a lie. Nothing in his life is working out. He likes women . . . he respects women . . . but when he tries to kiss a woman and she does that tongue thing, he wants to spew.

Seth thought his life had complications before he met Matt, but nothing comes close to the rollercoaster ride in the big dom's arms.

Excerpt:

Chapter One

Seth Bannock stared at the front door. A yellow glow seeped thought the glass panels forming a pool of light around his feet. The street buzzed with the noise of a normal Saturday night. Teenagers spilled out from a loud party two doors up, and moved in small groups along the sidewalk in a constant stream of chatter. Cars spun their wheels and, horns blasting with young men hanging out of the windows, roared up the road.

With a sigh, Seth pushed his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. What had just happened? His friend of the past six months, Rose McCarthy, had given him the finger, sworn colorfully, and slammed the front door in his face. He gazed at her neat two-story brick house, his mind frazzled. Okay, so he had tried to kiss her, he wanted to be nice, and she had asked him for the kiss—no, she'd pleaded for it. It wasn't his fucking idea. In truth, he had no inclination to kiss anyone. Perhaps he could have handled a straight kiss, but then the woman stuck her tongue into his mouth, tasted like stale beer, and he nearly spewed his guts out. Christ, she'd gone feral, insisting he wasn't normal, that he kissed like a girl. How the fuck did she know how girls kissed anyway?

Seth rubbed the back of his neck. Not again.

He had—had being the operative word here—liked Rose. He'd met her at his gym. True, he appreciated her slim body, enjoyed their long chats, and her companionship. The trouble with Rose and all the other women he had dated over the past three years was moving beyond being friends. Not that he wanted to, but he always made things worse by rejecting their advances. He happened to prefer being friends. He liked women, well, at least until they did that thing with their eyes and expected him to fondle their tits. Hell, he even enjoyed going to the mall with them—but kissing them and the tongue thing—fuck, it made him uncomfortable. The eventuality of finding the right girl had become a personal nightmare.

He had to face facts—he didn't like girls in that way.

Rose's words would haunt him forever. You're gay and can't admit it to yourself. Normal men like women to touch them—you move away. Do you look at girlie magazines to jerk off? Or are you thinking about the hot jocks sweating at the gym? The worse thing was, he hadn't given her a reply—he had no excuse. In fact, he had never bought a girlie magazine in his life.

The look of disgust on her face burned into his mind, to join the list of other horror-date memories. Matt turned away from the house and walked to his car. The woman had a point. He had never dated during high school or college, keeping to himself or hanging out with the other jocks. In truth, he liked the smell of men, the gloss of sweat on hard muscle, damp hair curling on a broad, muscular neck. To admit this even to himself—fuck! His head throbbed with the implication.

Swinging into his car, Seth thought over the strange messages his body gave him whenever he noticed men looking at him in that way. It happened all the time at the gym. As a personal trainer, he had clients of both sexes and kept things on a very professional level, but a couple of guys had brushed his leg and given him the look. His stomach had clenched as if in anticipation; his heart rate had quickened. Why? The thought of sliding his hands over a man's hot, sweaty body did not repel him. Should it? Who would know? Hell, he couldn't just walk up to someone and ask a question like that, he valued his teeth too much. What should he do? He had to discuss his problem with someone who would not laugh at him. I gotta know if watching two men together turns me on . . . yeah . . . I'll pick up a couple of pornos. If the movies turn me on, I'll need to discuss my problem with someone. I'll go online, and do a search, there must be someone in this town I can speak to.

Buy link