everyday erotic moments...

If You Want to Write...

2010-10-20T14:08:00.002-04:00

I've begun reconnecting with area writers and writing groups after a long period of isolation (the reasons why are not relevant here). Something that came to me while fighting insomnia last night is this: if you want to write, you must READ BOOKS.

If you write fiction, you must read widely, both in your genre and out of it. Study styles, how dialogue is crafted, what is said and what is left out, and how the author manages to communicate images and feelings without blatantly spelling them out (i.e., no "She felt sad" sorts of sentences). And that's only a small part of what you need to study, because there are ways characters are formed, how settings are communicated, how the plot is paced, and so on.

I recommend reading best-selling authors, not because their writing is flawless (in my experience, it's workmanlike at times). However, many best-sellers have one strong, compelling aspect, and that is the plot. Now, the plot may not work for you, or it may resolve stupidly and make you throw the book at the wall. But the best-selling author knows how to hook you, knows how to keep you reading page after page after page when you have an early meeting the next morning, and knows how to make the pacing consistent.

I meet so many writers or people who want to write who feel they have stories and characters to share, but a number of these folks don't seem to read much. I'll mention some favorite authors (well-known people, usually, in various genres), and get blank stares. Come on, people! If you want to write a novel but never read novels, it's not terribly likely you'll be able to write one that will eventually be published.

To quote mega-best-seller and consummate storyteller Stephen King***: "If you don't have time to read, you don't have the time (or the tools) to write. Simple as that."

So, if you want to write, find some good books and read, damn it all!

***Disclaimer: I don't like some of King's stuff, but that's mostly because really gory horror is too disturbing for me at bedtime...

Go Ask Alice! (an excerpt to read)

2010-08-26T14:13:00.000-04:00

Friends who have known me for years know that I've been working on a novel entitled "Alice in Shtuppingland" for about seven of those years. This long, complex story, set in Seventies Boston, is in the final edit stages and will be ready to submit very soon.

I am thrilled that I've finally gotten it together enough to revise the story. The original version had some plot and character weaknesses, which I have now (I hope) corrected. I'll have details on publication dates for Alice, I hope, within the month. For now, here's a teensy excerpt that I hope will whet your appetite.

***Excerpt, "Alice in Shtuppingland", by Barrie Abalard. Copyright 2010. All rights reserved. DRAFT--MAY DIFFER FROM FINAL, PUBLISHED VERSION.***

My lust didn’t keep me warm for long. Thirty-five frigid minutes later, I was staring at a street sign, shivering upon feeling the bite of the wind off the Charles River. Neither Todd nor the tasty Doug had said anything about a Brookline Street. I rechecked the map to locate Putnam Ave and, after a short walk, found it. When I turned left, I could see the Cambridgeport Spa two blocks down.

A funky mixture of wet wool, spicy Caribbean food, and smoke of at least one illegal variety assaulted my nose. I'd never need to buy dope again—I could get high just stopping by to pick up my bread and cigarettes here.

The man behind the counter nodded. I nodded back. "I know Todd and Marcus. They want me to call them from here, and they said you'd let me use the phone." More silent nodding—the clerk must have been enjoying a mellow ganja high—while he handed the phone to me.

Todd answered on the first ring, telling me they'll meet me in five minutes. I thanked the clerk, who, of course, nodded. The store, at most ten by twelve, reached capacity when three additional customers walked in, so I went outside to smoke a cigarette. Before I could finish, two men, one short and stocky, one tall and skinny, approached, bundled in bulky parkas that looked like military surplus from the army-navy store I'd seen on Boylston.

Short and Stocky, his curly hair hanging past his shoulders with his face's lower half masked by full mustache and flowing beard, said, "Hi. I'm Todd. He's Marcus. You Just Alice for Now?"

It was my turn to nod. "Hi, how are you?"

Marcus, his Afro so large it obliterated my view of the weak sun, smiled. "We're musicians. That's how we are."

Todd bent over, howling with laughter at Marcus's non sequitur. Okayyyyy. Apparently someone else besides the nodding Rico was one toke over the line.

After his hilarity subsided to intermittent giggles, Todd stroked his mustache as if it were a pet. "Want to see the place? It's a dump, of course, but cheap, and no worse than other dumps around here. At least there’s no cockroaches. Marcus and I are gone most weekends for out-of-town gigs, so we need a roommate who'll be home more than we are. Having the place occupied most of the time scares off the burglars."

"Mmm, is crime a problem?" At the thought of burglars, I dropped my cigarette so I could shove my nervous hands in my pockets. Some big-city woman I was.

"No more than any other part of Cambridge. It's mostly property crime, not muggings."

"Not in the daytime, anyway," Marcus added.

Oh, great. That meant, this far north in January, I'd be housebound from four p.m. to seven a.m. But it was cheaper than the Y. Besides, who said it was any safer after dark near the Y?

"We've got six other calls to return. You're the first applicant, so you have dibs. Want to see it?" Todd pushed.

"Let's go," I said before my inner straight person could freak.

"You working, or a student?" Marcus asked while we three dodged icy patches on the unshoveled sidewalks.

"Working," I said, crossing the fingers hidden in my pockets.

"Your voice sounds southern. What brings you to Boston?"

"Fame, fortune, and men. Hey, why do you guys have an answering machine? They cost big bucks."

"Our manager was tired of us missing calls, so he gave us one." Marcus locked eyes with me, smiling as if he were the cat and I was the delectably-lappable cream. "Find any men you like yet?" he purred.

I was considering my reply when Todd butted in. "You got the money for one month's security deposit and two months' rent in advance? That would be, uh… “

“Two-twenty-five," I said. I’d always been quick with figures. "Yes, I have it."

"Where you working?"

"Shamrock Cab." I’d seen one moments before and I prayed these guys wouldn’t demand pay-stub verification.

"Cut the bullshit," Todd said. "You look fresh from the farm. Cabbing in the city would have eaten you alive by now."

Panic can make you tell strange lies. "I don't drive. I'm the announcer.”

Todd squinted at me. I put on a hard stare and my best tough-bitch expression.

"The 'announcer'? It's called 'dispatcher'. Now I know you're lying."

"Hey, don't hassle the chick," Marcus said. "If she's crazy enough to live with two musicians, I say we believe her."

My boldness faded. Living with two musicians. Were they expecting more than rent? I had to ask, stupid as it might sound. I liked lots of sex, but I wasn’t ready to sell myself for anything, to anyone. "I’ll have my own room, right? And we're talking a roommate situation, nothing more?"

Todd brayed with laughter. "Now I know she's fresh from the farm. Where you from, babe, Kansas? Toto living in your luggage? Shit, you don't look like the type to run out on the rent—the guilt would kill you. Hell, you could be a Combat Zone hooker for all I care, as long as you pay up the first of every month. And yes, we want a roommate, not a piece of—"

"Hey," Marcus interrupted, his voice as sultry as Barry White's. "The lady wants to hang with me, I won't toss her out for eating crackers."

Parts of me were melting under the glare of Marcus's bald flirtation. I liked him better than squat, hairy Todd. Marcus was fine.

"Here we are." Todd pointed to a sagging triple-decker painted baby-poop-yellow. The paint was peeling like skin after too much sun, and the minuscule yard lacked enough snow cover to hide abandoned odds and ends. "We've got the whole third floor," he bragged.

"Oh, goodie," I muttered while climbing the creaking steps. They were so narrow, Todd had to walk in front of me, and Marcus, behind. I could feel the man’s eyes on my ass. Not that I minded much.

"You got a TV?" Marcus asked. I shook my head. I didn’t even have a bed, just a couple of suitcases of stuff that I hauled via Greyhound.

"You can watch mine whenever I'm away,” he offered. “Just don't spill crap in my bed. Late on Saturday nights they show Creature Double Feature, with all that old science fiction shit from the Fifties. Like the giant ants. You know that movie?"

"It's called Them, I think."

"Yeah, that's it. Channel 56. Check it out. Lots of fun if you're high. 'Course, if you're high with a righteous dude, forget the TV. You'll have better things to do."

Wolves--a free short story

2010-05-20T13:34:00.000-04:00

What follows is part of a very short story I wrote a long time ago. It's not kink or erotica, but it might appeal to you if you're into gritty and raw. Email me at barrieabalard [at] gmail [dot] com if you'd like a copy of the entire story. Here's the intro.

"Wolves" by Barrie Abalard

"Homo, Homin, Lupus: Every man is a wolf to every other man."—By Roman playwright Plautus, from his work, Asinaria

Lady Luck was a slut who'd never tumbled for me. The room's tatty furnishings spoke volumes about my inability to score with the universal whore.

Guess she's not into women.

Who would've thought I'd be trapped by a raging blizzard in a North Carolina boarding house? My beater car and I would never make it to the factory tonight. Like I cared. Working in the chicken-processing plant left me slimy, not unlike the time my rat bastard brother threw me in the swamp.

I'd gotten him back good, though. Grampa had whupped his little ass proper for the crime I actually did but framed him for. He still had tear tracks on his face when I vowed to him that I'd do worse next time, if he messed with me again...

You Say You Want a Revolution...

2010-05-04T14:43:00.000-04:00

The Pill is fifty years old, if not today, then soon. (There's some debate about exactly when the birth control pill's birthday is.) And, boy, did it make a difference in the lives of women.

I first took The Pill in college because I wanted birth control, and an acquaintance volunteered to drive me to the nearest Planned Parenthood clinic. This was back in the dark ages when many doctors would not prescribe The Pill for unmarried women. (I recall going to a gyno in the early Seventies where I had to lie and wear a dime-store wedding band to get birth control and sexual health care. Feh!) I'm extremely happy that such experiences in my youth aren't ones that women younger than me have had to deal with. (Now, aren't you glad a bunch of us old farts protested and carried on and forced various sexual issues?) Before that, I wouldn't have intercourse at all because I knew how unreliable pre-Pill birth control was, and I had no intention of getting pregnant and thereby ending my big plans to Have A Life. (This was pre-Roe v. Wade, so abortions were simply not an option unless you wanted to go the illegal and dangerous route. Note that I am not arguing a position on abortion here, so calm down. Facts are facts.) But obtaining reliable birth control changed not only my life, but the lives of many women around the world. The sexual revolution of the Sixties simply wouldn't have happened without birth control. And I also believe that many of the hard-won freedoms we have as women wouldn't have happened if we hadn't been able to control our bodies' procreation.

Birth control for women has always been a political issue. We owe much to pioneers like Margaret Sanger (who I admit could espouse extreme views not always consistent with my own). Did you know distributing information on birth control was illegal at the beginning of the 20th century? Just telling a woman how to prevent conception (and the options were pretty limited and unreliable back then) could get you arrested. And forget sending such information through the mail--to do so meant you broke federal laws, and in fact Sanger was arrested for doing just that with her paper, Woman Rebel, whose motto was, "No Gods, No Masters."

So, today I am remembering my roots, sort of, and counting myself lucky that I hadn't been born even ten years earlier than I was. My life would have been so different if I had been, and I'm thankful that I was able to live my life pretty much the way I wanted to, even with all the pitfalls and problems. The Pill was part of what made that possible. And I believe that the inroads women made after that--careers and so on--would not have been possible without reliable birth control.

If you know a woman who blazed trails, be sure to thank her on Mothers Day, whether or not she's your--or anyone else's--mother.

Romance and Spanking and Delicious Food!

2008-04-06T13:38:00.023-04:00

I've been neglectful in mentioning my latest Discipline and Desire book, a long contemporary spanking romance novel titled "The Baker's Man."

The book is special to me, because it's the first real novel I ever wrote. Years and several edits later, it was ready to be published. I hope you'll find the story of the four main characters--Lena, her younger sister Annie, Lena's catering rival Jackson, and Jackson's main employee, Ricky--as happy and sad and romantic as I do. Below is a description of the book, and the entire first chapter. Happy reading!

THE BAKER'S MAN by Barrie Abalard

"After years of hard work, Lena Korhonen and her sister Annie are finally making it as caterers when rival caterer Jackson Portsmouth appears, threatening their livelihood—and Lena's heart. The two are thrown together when Annie is injured, and Lena's cantankerousness requires Jackson to spank her—more than once—to bring her around. Well-matched in many respects, the two fall in love with each other when they work a job together.

But an overheard phone message after a night with Jackson convinces Lena she's put her trust in the wrong man—again—so she backs out of the catering job she was supposed to work with him. Then someone sabotages Jackson, jeopardizing his reputation and career, forcing Lena to decide if she’ll obey her heart and stand with him rather than against him. Only now, an angry and heartbroken Jackson wants nothing to do with her. Will these two stubborn people, made for each other, ever combine their hearts and lives and find a spanking-ever-after happiness? Read "The Baker's Man" and find out!"

Excerpt from "The Baker's Man", © 2008 Barrie Abalard. All rights reserved.

Karolena Korhonen turned to watch as the man in the old Mercedes sedan pulled away. She narrowed her eyes, automatically memorizing his plate number. At first she'd thought he was a potential buyer for the triple-decker across the street, but the longer he’d parked there, the more she'd wondered about his purpose. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had expressed interest in the dump. The place across the street had been on the market for so long, the metal “FOR SALE” sign was rusting.

She had sensed his eyes on her, so she’d patted her right front pocket to reassure herself that her cell was still there, available for any emergency. Although she liked her new digs, this area of Gainesborough occasionally had problems, and any stranger sitting in a car staring at her rather than going about his business made her wonder exactly what his business was.

Still, she had caught a glimpse of simply styled, jet-black hair, a strong profile, and large, capable-looking hands. She imagined his long, tactile fingers skimming slowly down her torso, trailing fire. She also imagined his hands spanking her bottom with authority, as if he had a perfect right to do so. Then those long fingers of his would explore the hot wetness between her legs…

Looking down, she realized she'd neglected to put on a bra earlier, something that was all too apparent now that her body was responding to her fantasy. Scolding herself for her foolishness, she descended the ladder. She had to go find an undergarment to immobilize her bouncing breasts. Damn it all, she was still tingling, and she had work to do.

A vehicle pulling up behind Lena startled her. A mixture of relief and love replaced nerves as a blue-eyed, pixie-sized woman with burgundy-dyed hair bounced from the car. She was teetering on platform slides, and wearing a skimpy halter and micro shorts that made underwear irrelevant.

"Lena, you won't believe what happened,” the pixie said, dancing around her.

She glared. A couple of bandages would have covered more skin. If she'd been home earlier when her little sister left, Lena would never have allowed her to go out dressed like Paris Hilton.

"Annie, what are you doing, dressing like a slut?" Lena crossed her arms, effectively flattening her chest. Her little sister’s petite stature always made her feel so big and lumpy and ugly.

Annie, ignoring the pointed comment, plowed ahead. "Come with me tonight to Jillian's in Boston to celebrate. We can play a little pool, get a little crazy, maybe meet an interesting man or two, especially if you wear what you've got on—"

"I will not go out in public without a bra, not in this tank top. Besides, you know I'm not interested in attracting men right now. What are we celebrating?"

Annie fluffed her hair. "You simply have got to get over this ridiculous complex about your looks. I don't have half the curves you do, and I do all right."

Lena snorted. "Yeah, I know. Thanks for reminding me what a big, fat-assed loser I am. What a sister, what a pal."

"What you are is gorgeous. You're the kind of woman that men dream of, despite the popularity of rail-thinness." Annie hugged her, and Lena found it impossible not to soften. She'd do anything for her little sister, and had, starting way back when their mother died.

"All right, enough nonsense. What's your big news?" Lena smiled to mitigate her gruffness.

"I found a job. A really good one. I'll be able to earn enough this summer to pay for all of next year's schooling. And I only have to work four nights a week, eight to three, so I can help you out around here."

"Three in the morning? What sort of job is this?"

"It's at, uh…" Annie mumbled, grabbing her purse and heading for the house's entrance. "Got to run, I've got a date with something called fun tonight. You remember what that is, don't you?"

Lena grabbed her sister's ear and immobilized her as she tried to slip past. "Annie, tell me right now. Everything. Or I swear I'll ground you."

"Ouch, let go of my ear! You wouldn't dare."

"Yeah, well, maybe I would. Maybe I should." Lena tugged and Annie squeaked. "Out with it."

"I, um, have a job as a waitress."

"Pray tell, where are you waitressing until nearly dawn?"

Annie toed the sidewalk, not looking Lena in the face. "The Pussycat Lounge. They pay really, really well, and the tips are supposed to be incredible."

"Let me get this straight. You'll be serving drinks four nights a week in a strip joint to a bunch of obnoxious jerks who are going to pinch your butt and paw your breasts while you prance around in four-inch spikes and a second-skin, thong-style teddy."

"And your point is? Ow!" Annie said as her sister tugged her ear again.

"My point is, why not go all the way and strip for the money? I'll bet that pays even better.” Thank heavens she was the one who had been blessed with common sense, even if she didn't have Annie’s looks. Her little sister had both beauty and brains, but less common sense than would fit in her microsized pink purse.

"I just want to pull my share of the load. You haven't had it easy, taking care of me since Papa died. I know how you've worked to make a life for us. Why won't you let me do this? I want to give, not just take," Annie cried. She collapsed against Lena, who enfolded her sister in her arms and let her sob. Poor kid.

Annie had been only twelve when Papa died. It had been August, barely a month before Lena would have started in the Culinary Arts program at Johnson and Wales University. She'd planned her life precisely—first school, then an apprenticeship, then work as a sous chef, and then head chef, capped by establishing and running her own four-star restaurant. Her plans had included wealth, maybe even fame. Instead, Lena had been forced to work two jobs while pretending an adult relative lived with them whenever the social workers investigated, which wasn’t often. Somehow she and Annie had stuck it out together, she the sober ant, toiling for the future with no thought of present pleasures, and Annie, the party-loving grasshopper who landed in trouble a few times. Her kid sister was a sucker for a handsome face. Lena had never disciplined her sister for those mistakes the way Papa would have if he'd been alive, and she was proud of the fact.

Lena hugged her sister tighter, feeling tears sting her own eyes. Here she was, damaged goods at twenty-seven, with a little sister who was twenty-one and living life at one hundred miles per hour. She just wanted Annie to be happy and safe and to have an education in something more than parties and men.

"You’ll never have to worry as long as I'm around, buttercup." Lena stroked her sister's trembling back, wishing Annie had left her hair blonde instead of dying it such a weird red shade.

"But I want to help." The suffering in her sister's face as she lifted her head to look into Lena's eyes almost broke her heart. Annie toiled as much as she did. True, she played as hard as she worked, but she was a good kid. Not to mention she was all the family Lena had left.

She smiled. "Kiddo, just get a job bagging groceries. Or land some temp work. Don't worry about the money. We'll make it. We always do." She pulled her little sister along, left arm entwined around her, a waif protected by an earth mother as they mounted the front steps together.

Annie stopped short, tears not dry on her face, yet grinning when she saw the fruit of her sister's painting labors. "Hey, the house looks bitchin'. I told you mauve and sky blue were the way to go."

Lena shook her head. Her sister's emotions could change faster than a ricocheting bullet. "Yes, you were right, I was wrong, sing the song, all day long."

"Nyah-nyah, nyah-nyah-nyah." Annie finished their private childhood ditty, a bratty smirk on her face.

"Get inside now, girl." She couldn't remember a time when she hadn't played Mama to Annie, she realized, suddenly feeling old. And because Papa had turned harsher and drunker after Mama passed on, Lena had been the protective big sister as well. She lied, claiming her sister's misbehaviors as her own, and took her father's punishments, the nights without supper, and the beatings as her sisterly duty, for she was older and stronger and better able to bear it than fragile Annie. Papa, she knew in retrospect, had been an abusive tyrant. Squeezing her eyes shut, Lena’s breath caught, lost in the recollection of hurts inflicted by the hands and words of a broken, lonely man who vented his anger at his wife's early death on his elder daughter.

"Only if you come with me to Jillian's tonight."

"What?" Lena struggled to come back to the present, away from painful memories. She'd walked down the hall to the kitchen yet had no recollection of it.

"Jillian's! Say we can go, puh-leeze?"

"I can't. In fact, you can't go, either. We've got planning and maybe some shopping to do. I landed a gig for Saturday."

"Who? What?" Annie swept her up in a mock-tango. "Dahling, don't hold back."

Lena ducked her head in amusement while spinning around the enormous first floor kitchen. "The Jakes family, you know, the ones that own half the town? Tiffany is graduating and 'she simply must have my Mocha Coconut Cake.’" Lena’s Mrs. Jakes imitation made Annie giggle. "Enough for one hundred of her closest friends. We're both going to be making precious little tea sandwiches and baking cakes out the wazoo starting early tomorrow morning. Dahling."

Her sister pogoed with delight. "Woohoo! I hope you charged her a pretty penny and a half."

"Of course I did, but it was still less than the other caterer she had lined up, apparently. That's because I have help that works cheap. Dirt cheap."

"Dirt cheap, that's me." Annie shook her upper body as a stripper would.

Lena winced. "Annie, tell me that you don't do things like that in public. Actually, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know."

"Don't you worry, mamakins," Annie cooed, "li'l Annie can take care of herself."

Lena sighed as her sister bounded up the stairs to the second floor and her own little piece of privacy. Annie was a terminal flirt, but love had eluded her. Her seemingly outgoing and bubbly sister kept her own counsel in such matters, but Lena’s heart ached each time Annie's latest golden hope turned to dross.

Love. Only once had Lena thought she was in love, and was loved in return. Betrayal, anger, and hurt surged through her, as did the feelings that made her body wriggle with delight. Lust, that's all it had been, just like the lust she felt earlier after seeing her unknown admirer.

She thought again about the man's hands, imagining them spanking her bare cheeks, then comforting her after the spanking was over. Then those hands would slip under her shirt…

Lena shook her head. Admirer? Who was she kidding? He was spying on her, for God's sake, and who knew what he intended. It didn't matter if you were petite and beautiful like Annie or tall and muscular like her, they all wanted the same thing.

She leaned against the fridge, a quirky half-smile curving her lips. Men might be pigs, but they sure could make you scream with joy. Maybe it was time to go find a sex buddy. She could live without love, but she needed sex, or she’d go bananas. Without sex, she had nothing in her life but work and sleep.

A voice inside her crooned, Imagine getting spanked by a no-nonsense man, the way you were once, last year. Imagine how he’d rip down your cutoffs, bend you over his knee, and crack his palm against your squirming backside. Imagine how much it would sting, imagine the heat you’d feel, and not just in your bottom. Imagine how he’d kiss away your tears, how he’d spread your legs, unzip himself, and slide inside. Imagine how his thick shaft would stroke you, inside and out, until—

She ran herself a glass of water and drank it, determined to banish sexy fantasies from her mind. Still, the heat in her delta lingered as she thought of the dark-haired man in the sedan. Slowly she climbed the stairs, enjoying the sensuous movement of her ripe body.

Excerpt from "The Baker's Man", © 2008 Barrie Abalard. All rights reserved.

The Best Chick Show You're (Possibly) Not Watching

2007-10-30T19:55:00.001-04:00

If you haven't seen Men in Trees yet (ABC, Friday nights at ten), you don't know what you're missing. If you party on Friday night, just tape/TiVo the damned show and enjoy it another night. You can always get the back story and back episodes on ABC's web site.

Anne Heche plays Marin Frist, a relationship coach who flees her cheating fiance back in NYC, ending up in "man-centric" (ABC's term) Elmo, Alaska. The characters are quirkily human and the writing is great (love the dialogue!), so the show is soooo worth watching. (The occasional naked male chest doesn't hurt it any.)

I fell for Men in Trees from the first. (And I don't even like Anne Heche, so the show had one strike against it. But Heche as Marin has won me over.) In fact, now that Ugly Betty has stumbled a bit in its second season (my opinion), Men in Trees is the one show I truly look forward to all week. Well, okay, Boston Legal is the show I most look forward to--I need that weekly Spader fix--but Men in Trees is a close second. It moves me. The voiceover of the Marin Frist character at the end of each show often produces a lump in my throat.

The DH insists that the reasons I like the show (he definitely doesn't) are A, I'm crazy for Alaska, and B, it's "Northern Exposure" done as a chick show. I admit to also loving "NE" when it was on TV. But "MiT" is special. It really, truly is. I suspect it's the writing that keeps me coming back for more.

I'll have to riff on ABC's fabulous new show Dirty Sexy Money another day (Peter Krause!), because, while it is fabulous, it's just not...

Men in Trees.

Barrie

Here's to All Those Who Support Writers

2007-10-26T14:07:00.000-04:00

I've been away or otherwise preoccupied with family for the past ten days. Here's part of a post from my old blog, circa July 2006. I've updated it heavily. Hope you enjoy it!

*****

Being a writer is not one of the easier careers to have. Getting published is damned difficult, requiring lots of work, a boatload of patience, persistence, and a fair dollop of luck.

But working with a writer--as well as living with a writer--can also be damned difficult.

So, here's to the editors, the agents, and the administrative staff who work with writers, helping them publish their works, and to the friends and family, who help the writer in more personal ways.

I live with a husband and a grown child. I know I'm not always the easiest person to get along with. I'm certain some of the things I celebrate--or feel sad about--don't make as much sense to them as they do to me. Yet, my family continues to support me, and celebrates with me when I want to celebrate, as do my friends.

I'm here to say, having people who are in your corner makes a huge difference in a writer's life. I know a number of writers whose families aren't supportive, mostly women whose husbands don't support (or who actively belittle) their career. Not having people in your corner is like trying to swim for shore while weighted down with baggage: it can be done if you try hard enough, but it's also possible you'll sink.

I currently work with two epublishers, and I have nothing but praise for them. (For the record, it's Amber Quill Press's Amber Heat and Loose-id.) These folks catch my mistakes and make me look good. And I am thoroughly grateful! (I admit I don't understand writers who get mad at editors who catch mistakes and make corrections.)

These two publishers stand in marked contrast with the publisher who filed for bankruptcy, screwing hundreds of writers they had under contract, me included. I'm grateful I only have one book in play, as opposed to those who have as many as a dozen books in limbo. As the case is in process, I can't really say much more about it. But I can say this:

There's a special rung in Hell for people like the ones who owned the business in question. Not only did they lie and spend money that wasn't theirs, but by going under the way they did, they managed to cast a pall over epublishers in general.

So I'm going to publicly praise Loose-id for their stated intent to purchase all the author contracts, giving all rights back to all authors. They are offering to spend money they don't have to spend, to help authors that may not even write for them. They don't need to buy contracts to pad their list of published books--they have tons of great writers in their stable already. Now, for various reasons, the purchase may not come to pass--but their intent is worthy of much praise.

Thank you, thank you, Loose-id!

And, while I'm at it, thank you, family, friends, and publishers I work with. Together, we create a little bit of magic that entertains and pleases those who read.

I'm asking you to do the following: if you know a writer, contact them today, to let them know you care. If you're the writer, make sure those around you realize how much you appreciate their support.

Barrie

Gifts for the Senses

2007-10-14T14:43:00.001-04:00

The post below originally appeared on an old blog of mine in January, 2006. Because my senses, and sensual things, please me, I decided to repeat it. Great erotic moments engage all five senses, and the brain, too. Enjoy!

********

Gifts for the Senses

One of my closest friends sent me a present. I received it yesterday. She and her husband are spending nearly four months in Santa Monica [note: they have since moved to southern California permanently], so she sent me her favorite California scents--lavender and sage. The lavender is in a sachet bag; the sage is wrapped in a bundle. (Some people burn the "sage sticks" as a way to purify their home. It's a New Age thing, I think.) She also sent me some hand-made soap that contains both scents.

Our sense of smell is our most primitive sense. Some think it's our most powerful because of the way it stirs our old, reptilian brains. I am in that camp.

Certain smells make me smile. They make me feel better, emotionally and physicially. They help me create.

Smells I dislike make me feel bad physically and unhappy mentally and emotionally. All I want to do is escape them.

Have you ever explored which smells affect you? I tend to like flower/herbal/woodsy smells. I am wild for lavender and pine/evergreen, in particular. Sage isn't far behind. Lemon and rosemary (I have a candle with this combination) seem to help me create. But it all makes me smile and feel good.

If you've never taken the time to explore different smells, I urge you to do so. You might find a scent that makes you feel better when you're down, or that helps you create. Even if you don't consider yourself creative.

If discussions of how our senses interest you, discover Diane Ackerman's A Natural History of the Senses, a well-written and fascinating book.

As for me, I'm off to sniff my lavender again.

Barrie

My Favorite Writing Books

2007-10-12T13:06:00.000-04:00

Apropos of absolutely nothing (except to help other writers), here are the writing-related books that I will always have on my shelf. They are in no particular order.

Fiction Writer's Brainstormer by James V. Smith, Jr. A book chock-full of exercises that will help you brainstorm/get you "unstuck" in a story.

Characters and Viewpoint by Orson Scott Card. Perhaps my favorite book on characterization.

How to Write Science Fiction and Fantasy by Orson Scott Card. I don't write SF/F, but Card has fantastic tips for world-building. Every story must build a world, or there is no setting, so the book is valuable regardless of the genre you write.

Bryson's Dictionary of Troublesome Words: A Writer's Guide to Getting the Words Right by Bill Bryson. Bryson is one of my favorite authors--he's funny as hell--but I mention this book because it's a great resource when it comes to distinctions among similar words, such as imply/infer and practical/practicable. If this sort of thing matters to you (and, if you're a writer, it should!), it's a must-read.

A good paperback thesaurus--I use Roget's 21st Century Thesaurus. You don't use a thesaurus to find synonyms just because you want to pepper your writing with "different" words you think will make you look smart or erudite! You do use a thesaurus when you can't think of exactly the right word, so you look up synonyms. The older and more forgetful I become, the more valuable this book is to me.

Writing a Romance Novel for Dummies by Leslie Wainger. Ms. Wainger is a huge muckety-muck at Harlequin/Silhouette, and knows her stuff--she's spent her entire career as an editor of romance. If you need help constructing your first romance novel, or just need a refresher, this book will do it. My favorite "how to write romance" book.

Well, these should get you started.

Barrie

Woo-Hoo! Cowboys Rule!

2007-10-04T14:17:00.000-04:00

It's a day to celebrate and crow a little!

The results are posted, and LICKED is the #2 best seller at Amber Quill Press two months in a row! (Doggone it, Caitlyn Willows keeps edging me out, LOL.) I don't know what LICKED's position is in the quarterly results yet, but will post them if they're anything to get excited about. I'm hoping they are!

LICKED also received four angels from Donna at Fallen Angel Reviews. She said, "Ms. Abalard gives the readers a spanking story that has more substance than just the heat between these two characters. She shows how these two also share in the love and caring that they have for the horses... With her eleven years of writing spanking stories she's shown she knows what the readers want and just how to deliver them." Thank you, Donna!

My October contest will be run at Author Island. Win an autographed CD of LICKED plus a ginormous bag of lollipops to keep you licking while you read the story. Simply scroll down to find the LICKED contest about two-thirds of the way down, and answer the question posed there.

Let's not forget about my September release: PLAY HARD is available. Don't miss this tale of two wounded people who discover that winning love requires them to play hard.

Finally, a reminder that I added a second poll a couple of days ago. I'd like to know the hot activities you prefer to read about--vote for as many as you like. And, like the first poll on my blog, if you send me an email telling me that you voted (you don't have to tell me how you voted), I'll draw one person's name to select the ebook of their choice from the seven I have available. Send your email to barriea [at] gmail [dot] com. And don't forget to vote in the first poll, if you haven't yet! Scroll down on this blog to see the contests in the right column.

A writer shouldn't rest on her laurels, so I'm off to write some more.

Barrie

Forget the Lusty Month of May--How About October?

2007-10-02T14:12:00.000-04:00

I don't know about you, but for me, October rivals May as the time I'm feeling the, uh, lustiest. Must be the crisp air that makes me feel frisky. So, writing sex scenes at the moment is a natural for me. And I'm writing a lot of them!

And, speaking of sex, I'm excited to announce that Amber Quill Press is compiling six of my stories into a paperback anthology--yep, they'll be together in one paperback book! Release date is mid-December, so remember to ask Santa for a copy of "Sex-Pack," um, I mean, "Six-Pack." Remember, naughty gals need love, too.

More on sex: did you know that New York City has a Museum of Sex? I want to go--it sounds so cool. NYC's about two hours from me, so I could make a day of it, and probably will. After I go, I'll report back what it was like.

The folks over at Slate Magazine must also be feeling frisky--their "sex issue" is now available. Tons of interesting material, including a slide show on the history of the vibrator that is a must-see. I'm not kidding!

Finally, I'm adding another poll. I'd like to know the hot activities you prefer to read about--vote for as many as you like! And, like the first poll on my blog, if you send me an email telling me that you voted (you don't have to tell me how you voted), I'll draw one person's name to select the ebook of their choice from the seven I have available. Send your email to barriea [at] gmail [dot] com. And don't forget to vote in the first poll, if you haven't yet!

Have a super-sexy October!

Barrie

Marry Me, Carey

2007-09-29T13:04:00.000-04:00

I've always had a thing for tubby dorks in glasses. Just ask my husband. So my passion for Drew Carey is no small thing. Yeah, I think he's sexy.

But, seriously.

Drew Carey was someone who caught my eye years ago, just before he hit it big with his own TV show. So, over the intervening years I was pleased to discover that he, like I do, has a "live and let live" philosophy, as well as loathing for the Hollywood celebrity culture. The man has a brain, he's funny, and he likes a good time--in my book, he's batting three for three.

No, I don't want to marry him--I picked the title for this post because the rhyming pleased me. (It takes so little to entertain me some days.) For one thing, I already am. For another, I think he'd be a better drinking buddy and friend with benefits than husband. For a third, marriage would keep me from entertaining James Spader, should he ever appear at my door. Mmm, James Spader...

But I digress.

Carey's involved with something named, natch, "The Drew Carey Project" which is, in Carey's words, "about freedom." If you want to see the advance clip, you'll need the password, which is sizzle.

One of these days, I'm going to start a MySpace page. And when I do, I'm going to friend Carey. Who knows? Maybe he'd agree to do an interview with me, right here on this blog.

In the meantime, Drew, I salute you, you handsome, intelligent devil, you.

Barrie

Tips for Writers Who've Lost the Joy

2007-09-25T14:02:00.000-04:00

(This is a cross-post from my other blog. But I think the information is important enough to justify my duplicating it.)

If you're a beginning writer, you may be thinking, "Lost the joy? I'm bursting with ideas and can't wait for the times when I can write. How could you lose the joy of writing? Why are you still writing, if it's no longer fun?"

Once it becomes a job, with contracts and real deadlines and such, you can lose the joy. For me, when I lose the joy is often when writer's block rears its ugly head.

I took an online course last week all about "block-busting" and recapturing the joy of writing. The presenter, Laurie Schnebly Campbell, presented an interactive workshop that gave me a whole new way to look at things. And, you know what? The joy has come back!

Laurie gives courses on a regular basis at Writer U. The courses are a very reasonable thirty bucks--we're talking month-long courses here. I'm signed up for her October workshop, "Creating Your Hero's Fatal Flaw", and, boy, am I looking forward to it!

I highly recommend her workshops. (Plus, she's a great person.) The one I took came at the problem from a psychological angle, tapping into fears you might not know you even have that are blocking you.

Below is a small amount of information I learned from the course. Happy writing!

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Things that work, or have worked, to jump-start my writing:

--Timed writing.
--Club 100
--Writing every day, because momentum helps me (which is difficult for a number of reasons)
--Establishing personal deadlines (I've always responded well to deadlines, because I procrastinate!)
--If blocked on one WIP, work on another (though this isn't feasible if I have a committment and have to work on WIP #1)
--Going for a solitary walk - sometimes this frees the stuck place in my head. (It used to work like gangbusters when I was a tech writer.)

***

Things that I could do if I weren't blocked:

I could finish my two novels and sell them to a publisher with whom I'd make more money.
I could finish my two novels and land an agent.
I could finish my two novels and land a multi-book print contract.
I could send my current novella to the editor who really likes my work, and make more money.
I could write books faster.
I could become financially successful.
I could make enough money for my husband to retire.
I could be productive and not feel guilty about taking time off when my daughter returns from Egypt in five weeks.

***

As you can see, I have a lot of anxiety around money when it comes to my writing. And worrying about money always blocks me. The workshop reminded me that I need to write, and leave the money worries outside of my little writing sanctuary.

Wishing all writers productivity and happiness (which may be the same thing, who knows?)

Barrie

Writing: Find Your Core Theme(s)

2007-09-22T13:35:00.000-04:00

A few years ago at a writing workshop, the presenter (I believe it was the marvelous author Barbara Samuel) stressed that, as writers, we come back to the same themes over and over in our stories. We need to figure out what those themes are in order to find our voices. Knowing our core themes also helps us write new stories.

I remember the astonishment I felt to discover that my core themes, especially in my longer works, all have to do with family. Questions like, what defines a family? How do we create our own families when our birth families cause us serious pain? How do we get past old wounds? feature in my stories.

I was also surprised to figure out that, duh, I tend to make my characters either orphans, or estranged from family. In fact, the hero/heroine and secondary hero/heroine in my novel, "The Baker's Man" (currently serialized on the internet--scroll down on the site to read a bit of it--only eighteen or older to view this excerpt, please) are all orphans! Their orphanhood and difficult childhoods create a bond among the four.

"Alice in Boogieland," an unpublished novel of mine set in the Seventies, also deals with alienation from birth families--but the core dysfunction in "Alice" is dark despite being partially played for laughs. Alice has a birth-family younger sister whom she does her best to protect, and whom she loves like no one else. Alice works hard to create her own family, because, when she arrives in Boston, she is deeply and fundamentally alone.

The sisters theme reappears in one of my current works-in-progress (or WIPs), tentatively titled "Shirley Goodness and Mercy." In it, two very different sisters who can't stand each other, and who come from a family that is perhaps the darkest one I've ever written, must reconcile in order to reach a common goal--and to achieve a kind of peace between them.

Finally, in my erotic romantic suspense WIP "Burning Questions," (only eighteen or older to view this excerpt, please) the hero and heroine are childhood friends--the man, raised by a single mom, and the woman, raised by her great-aunt after her parents die when she's very young. Of course, the single mom and the great-aunt are both gone now. Orphans again!

In fact, the thirst for connection drives just about every story I write, even though the plots and characters differ.

If you're a writer, take some time to explore what your recurring core themes are. Try to find the common threads among your stories. It will make you a better storyteller--I cannot stress this enough. All you need to do is read your writings, and think about which theme(s) run through most or all of your stories.

And readers, consider which novels and authors are your favorites, and why. I'm betting you'll find the same core themes in the books you enjoy most.

Barrie

Creating Memorable Characters, Part Two

2007-09-20T13:13:00.000-04:00

In my last post, I mentioned two points: A, being curious about lots of different things in the world, and B, studying real people and their lives in order to create characters that are completely, humanly, real, yet still have that larger-than-life characteristic.

Curiosity. If you're not curious about a gajillion things in this world, you need to develop curiosity. For example, I found the TV show Ice Road Truckers by accident back in August, when I wanted to watch something after seeing an installment of a three-parter about the CIA called The Company (and what an interesting drama that was). I saw "Ice Road Truckers" on my cable guide, said what the heck can that be, and watched it. By the end of the hour, I was hooked on the human drama of these drivers and what they dealt with as part of their job's routine.

I have to confess here that extreme climates, and how people cope with them, fascinate me. I love Alaska, want to visit Death Valley (the hottest place in the US), et cetera, so I probably was an easy sell for getting hooked on IRT. But I'm also curious in the extreme--I've been known to watch all varieties of strange (according to my husband) shows and read nonfiction books about obscure matters. I've been known to people-watch and eavesdrop on conversations of strangers. I check the newswires every day for offbeat stories, and save them in an "ideas" file. Everything, as I tell an artist friend of mine, is grist for the mill.

If you write, and want to create memorable characters, first study some real people. I've never written a story with truckers in it, but I suspect that, at some point, I'm going to have ice road truckers in a story, even if it's only a character's background. For something I'm currently working on, I found a bit of backstory for my hero that gives the conflict a neat twist--in a tech news story about the guy who wrote the first-ever computer virus when he was fifteen. This tidbit has become backstory for my hero in my erotic romantic suspense tentatively titled NETWORKED. So, you see, raw material for creating stories and characters can be found everywhere.

Okay, you've observed a lot of human drama and you've come up with a character or two. Now, how to make them larger than life? It's all in the details.

In my latest release, PLAY HARD, the hero, Burt Stone, comes from old money in Philadelphia's Main Line suburbs. He's richer than sin, but can't abide being a playboy, so he works hard to follow his dream of becoming a world-class equestrian. Then, a jumping accident leads to the death of his horse, and his left leg and hip being put back together with pins, so he can't ride any more. The story starts two years after that accident--and he hasn't even touched a horse during that time. But, because he can't bear idleness, he starts his own company, providing custom databases to the equestrian community. He drives a Lexus Hybrid SUV, because he also can't abide wastefulness, but needs a car big enough to accommodate his bad leg. He goes to a charity auction with a childhood friend, and bids on poker lessons on a whim, because it benefits therapeutic riding for special needs kids.

Okay, what do we know about Burt? A, he's rich but hard-working; B, he's had the one thing he loved most taken away from him; C, he's moderately disabled (he needs a cane to walk); D, he's enviromentally-conscientious; E, he has a big heart when it comes to charity; and F, he has a childhood friend with whom he's close. From these we can interpolate that he's loyal, overcame great pain, and generous. You know he's not going to hang out in casinos playing baccarat. He's not going to party with Paris Hilton. He's the real deal, despite his money. And he's not perfect.

It's important to remember that--your characters should not be perfect. They should have some wound or some negative attribute--that will keep them human and believable. But they should also have attributes that push them to take risks, because, remember, characters (especially primary ones) need to change over the course of a story.

Homework: go to Ann Roth's site and download "Getting to Know You". Her character template is fairly complete, and it will force you to answer questions and consider personality characteristics to help you define your characters. Ann's Word document is by no means the only one on the internet--try Googling "character development in writing" or something similar if you wish. But her document will at least get you started.

Barrie

Creating Memorable Characters, Part One

2007-09-18T13:51:00.000-04:00

Yesterday I blogged (at great length) about "Boston Legal," touching on the writing that fuels the show as much as the acting. The writers have created truly different and fascinating characters--fascinating, because their quirks arise from who they are, not from some stuff a writer decided his character should be composed of to make the character "interesting".

For example, Alan Shore's sex addiction arises from specific happenings in his background that push him toward the intimacy of sex, even as he runs from any associated emotional intimacy. In one episode, he describes lovingly--there is no other proper adverb--to a sex therapist how his mother used to have him stand still so that she could hem his clothing. Something about the physical closeness of his mother, combined with her caring for him by fixing his pants--brings great emotional and, yes, sexual longing in him. We get the idea that his mother often was not loving, often did not care for him, and... perhaps was, at times, sexually abusive of him. And Alan loved the abuse, because it meant she touched him, even though it damaged him permanently.

This is powerful stuff.

When you create characters, not only do they need to be grounded in real human attributes, emotions, personal history, and so on, they need to be larger than life, especially if they are primary characters (heroes/heroines) in your story. They have to have some quality that sets them apart from every other character in the story, some quality (or qualities) that enable them to overcome obstacles and change over the course of the story. And a character has to change--a hero/heroine who remained the same, start to finish, would have no dramatic tension. The story would be flat and perhaps even the dreaded "b" word (boring).

Inadequate character development is often what keeps me from enjoying some best-sellers that have a fantastic plot, but cardboard characters. I'm not going to diss any specific book. But, if you can tell an amazing story and have fascinating characters, then you will sell your book (assuming you have mastered the basic skills of writing--spelling, grammar, logical construction, etc.).

I originally started this post with the intention of writing about a television show that has become a guilty pleasure for me: Ice Road Truckers, shown Sundays at 10 PM Eastern on The History Channel. Who knew that there was a road composed of ice in far northern Canada, and who knew that, sixty days every year, truckers race to provide supplies to remote mining operations by driving hundreds of miles across huge lakes covered with ice?

I'll save Ice Road Truckers for my next post, which will address learning how to create better characters and stories by A, being curious about lots of different things in the world, and B, studying real people and their lives in order to create characters that are completely, humanly, real, yet still have that larger-than-life characteristic.

Barrie

The Emmys, Spader, "Boston Legal", Writing, and Sex

2007-09-17T11:12:00.001-04:00

Some years I watch The Emmy Awards. Last night, I was more interested in watching the New England Patriots play football (and win) than The Emmys. Despite not watching, I do care about the results, because I enjoy television. That might not be politically correct to say in some circles, but I like TV. Besides, I've never been one to care about what's PC and what's not.

Therefore, I was thrilled to read that some of my favorites had won--"The Sopranos" for best drama (though its last season was kinda lame), America Ferrera for best comedic actress (plays Betty Suarez on "Ugly Betty", one of the best shows on network TV), and--be still, my heart--James Spader for best dramatic actor on "Boston Legal" (one of the other best shows on network TV). And when I think of Spader, thoughts of sex are never far behind.

I admit to being a Spader fan since the film, "sex, lies, and videotape" in 1989. These days, he may be a little saggier in the jowl and a bit paunchier than his buff Graham character in the aforementioned movie, but, hell, so am I. Saggier and paunchier, that is.

Spader's Alan Shore character, besides being screamingly witty and outrageously funny (part of that is the sparkling writing, part is Spader's acting genius), is also one of the most complex and interesting characters, sexually speaking, on network television. If you watched the last season of "The Practice", you were there, at the birth of this marvelous character. Thank the goddess they spun him off into a new show. It would have been a shame to see Alan Shore's character die in its infancy.

Alan Shore has a bit of a sex addiction, mostly because he's so terrified of intimacy. We are teased with little bits of "how he got that way"--a strange relationship with his mother in a strange family, failed love affairs, trauma in high school. He substitutes in-your-face kinks and industrial-strength sexual come-ons for real love with women--and does surprisingly well in that arena, generally getting to bed every woman he goes after. (And why not? I mean, it's Spader.) But love? Piffle, not for him, though his character has melancholy moments when he admits he's lonely, afraid, and depressed. Alan knows that he substitutes sex for the real deal. And yet, he seems powerless to change that fact about himself.

Alan, however, does have love in his life, and is loved back unconditionally--by the bombatic, blatantly racist/sexist/ultra-homophobic Denny Crane (played to scenery-chewing perfection by William Shatner). Denny would be a two-dimensional buffoon were it not for two facts: he has mad cow disease, so his brain doesn't always work the way it used to, and he loves Alan with his whole heart. Denny, of course, is also a sexoholic, and resists intimacy with women. Yet, these two odd duck males--Alan and Denny--find great comfort and pleasure in each other's company, engaging in "sleepovers" and a ritualistic whiskey and cigar on Denny's balcony at the end of every episode. In other words, real heart is behind the bizarre antics and snappy comebacks that are the trademarks of this wonderful show.

And I haven't even mentioned the other unique, non-stock characters on "Boston Legal", or Candice Bergen's marvelous acting. If I did, I'd work all day on this blog post. But, if you're a writer and want to learn more about your craft, I recommend this show to you. It's made me think about what makes a character interesting, and the bon mots are as delicious and frivolous as a Godiva truffle. Would that my own characters spoke such intelligent, witty, and downright hilarious words!

Yes, I would watch Spader read the phone book, I admit it. But I urge you to give the show a try--ABC, Tuesday at 10 PM Eastern. New episodes begin a week from tomorrow (Sept. 25). If you're a beginning writer, watch, if only for what you'll learn.

Barrie

What Makes a Story Hot?/Vote in the Poll!

2007-09-14T15:33:00.000-04:00

Erotic romance and erotica are interesting literary critters. What floats my boat, satisfaction-wise, may do nothing for you--and the book in question may be a well-written story. But sex, like a sense of humor, is different from person to person.

Of course, books that feature a "kink" that you don't care for won't do it, no matter how great the story or writing is, so let's leave the question of erotic books that stray beyond "vanilla" sex for another time.

Okay. What I find hot about a book usually has to do with description--I don't like overly flowerly description, but I do like sensual reactions--what the hero/heroine are tasting, smelling, touching, feeling, hearing--it's all got to be in there for me. I try to include all the senses I can in each love or sex scene I write. I don't care for abrupt, clinical descriptions and non-sensual words. (That doesn't mean I don't like frank words--I call a cock, a cock--just the words that you tend to see more in male-oriented, hard-core porn.)

What also moves me or excites me is knowing what's going through a character's head as the sex is proceeding. I want to be there, inside the scene, to obtain maximum pleasure--both physical and emotional--from the story.

I know people who won't read a story if it's in first person. I know others who don't care which point-of-view in which the story is told. So, you tell me: Do you prefer first person for your erotic romance/erotica, third person, or does it make no difference to you?

You'll find the poll on the right, if you scroll down past the listings of my books. Please do vote--I'm truly curious. And, as incentive, I'll choose one person at random to receive a free copy of one of my ebooks--winner's choice. So, vote, and then send me an email (barriea [at] gmail [dot] com) telling me that you voted. (You don't have to tell me how you voted unless you want to.) I've started things off by voting for first person.

Barrie

A Revamped Blog

2007-09-11T17:44:00.000-04:00

I'm Barrie Abalard, and I've revamped my blog. I deleted all the old posts and freshened the place up as best I could.

First order of business: check out my Squidoo page!

Ta-ta for now,

Barrie