Saturday, December 31, 2016

In Response to the Events of the Past Week




Many of you might have heard about the abrupt closing of All Romance eBooks, announced just this past week. Plenty of authors have had a lot to say about the stunning development. The fallout will be felt for some time. Hearts are broken, authors and readers alike are angry, and many are hurting both emotionally and financially from what’s happened.

This is not a post about being wronged. I’m not going to rail against this specific situation. This is to tell you where I will be in relation to this, the latest painful situation to be visited on authors. You see, I’ve heard that some authors have had enough. They feel that writing has become too much of a minefield. They’re tired of getting their hopes and hard work blown away…not to mention their financial well-being.

I understand. It’s frustrating – no, it’s heartbreaking – to spend months or years pouring your soul into a story (or many stories) only to be met with books being banned by large don’t-give-a-fuck corporations. To have publishers screwing you out of rights and/or money. To be faced with book sellers who up and tell you they aren’t going to pay the royalties you earned. These are the worst of a thousand irritants that dog an author. So when we yet again suffer a major setback, there will be those who can’t invest another word, another page, or another teardrop into the effort.

I get it. I respect it. I wish those who have had it with this business all the very best on their future endeavors. I thank them with all of my heart for hanging in as long as they did. Only they could create their unique and lovely worlds for the rest of us to visit.

As for me, I’ll continue to plug along. I have to. Writing is my therapy. See, I don’t much like the real world. It’s always been a fearsome place to me. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I have seen plenty of good in it. I’ve known people who are heroes. I have a husband who loves me in spite of all the crazy I throw his way. I have a son who is the center of my universe. I have plenty of terrific things to be thankful for.

But some of us are built to register the bad on an epic scale. Where some people can shrug off natural disasters, armed conflicts, and general selfish ignorance perpetrated against others, I feel it on a personal level. I always have. Therefore, the world does not seem to be a kind or caring place to me.

My refuge has always been the written word. I started as a reader. In a childhood full of personal upheaval, I retreated into books that took me away from the scary events of my life. I hid in them. Hell, I lived in them. I found sanctuary with heroes and heroines who were as much friends and parents and protectors as the real things. I could count on them to be there for me when things turned dark. While the world went to hell outside, I huddled over and over again within well-worn pages.

As I got older, my fortress of books grew to include my own writings. Now I had the keys to heaven itself. No longer did I have to depend on someone else to find the right words to transport me away. I built my own exit from a world that held more monsters and mayhem and evil than my battered copies centered in Pern, Middle Earth, Dune, and Narnia combined.

I could be the master of my own escape. The older I got, the wider the Pandora’s Box of the real world opened. So I wrote. And I wrote. And I wrote. Writing was that ray of hope that mitigated the hurts. I could take the misfortune I saw around me and prevail against it in the pages I created. Writing reminded me that there was good all around, that courage and strength could win out.

I was around long before the technology-infused world we live in today. When I started writing, self-publishing was not considered a viable option. Certainly, it didn’t allow access to many sales venues as it does today. I tried to get published for almost twenty-five years with no luck. With each rejection, my heart broke. I felt physically wounded that I couldn’t share my worlds with whatever audience might be out there for me. I even reached a point where I said, “This is the last book I’m going to try to get published. I won’t bother after that.”

But at no time did I plan to stop writing. I couldn’t. I knew that I would never stop building my fortress against the ugliness I perceived. Book-block by book-block, the walls would continue to be erected, the defenses strengthened.

It remains so to this day. I felt the betrayal this past week of yet another entity turning on us authors for its own gain. I was angry and hurt like all the rest. I clutched at my wounds and nursed another round of despair for the way writers keep getting shit on by the publishing world.

I also wrote more than usual, forging yet another block to hold the tyrant legions at bay. They could take the money my work had earned and they had agreed to pay me. They could have gotten the opportunity to take the rights to my books had I signed with them (I did not and dodged that arrow). They could take my trust in what I thought was a solid, respectable company and stomp it into pieces.

But they couldn’t take away my ability to write. I proved it day after day following ARe’s announcement. I escaped their assault by running off to Kalquor and other beloved places. I even found the ability to laugh, giving them the middle-finger salute as I wandered friendlier lands and lived with my character friends. I laughed at the attacking forces, sneered in their faces by writing, and they could not stop me.


Bilbo's got my back on this.



Though fortune may turn against me, though some day the bottom might drop out and I’m no longer allowed to pursue writing as my sole career, I will always write. I can’t not write. It saves my soul every day. So rest assured, though I might have to slow down to meet other obligations should things go south, I’ll still be building my fortress of words, one block at a time. I’m not going anywhere.

I'll see you all in the new year!

Friday, December 30, 2016

Weekend Wake-up Call – Netherworld II: Blood Potion No. 9





Dan’s clothes vanished too. If his body was ‘stating his case’ he was making it with an exclamation mark. He pulled me into his very eager lap, and I slipped him inside with a happy sigh. It was like a homecoming.

“Ride me, cowgirl,” he growled before getting himself a mouthful of breast. I rose and fell over him, my insides clenching around the girth moving inside me. Have I mentioned how thick Dan is, how he fills me tight so that all the good parts get stimulated? Oh heavens to mergatroid, having that delicious cock in my pussy is so very, very fine.

I achieved and maintained a steady pace, stabbing myself with Dan’s stave over and over. I was wet and sloppy, making his passage easy, like a well-oiled machine with perfectly fitted parts and plenty of lubrication. While I moved up and down, he mauled my breasts, sucking and nipping, pinching, and slapping. He knew just how rough to be. The tiny darts of pain were enough to let me know he was in control, and I gasped to be his to do with as he pleased. It made my insides tumble as he displayed only a hint of his strength, of his power. 

“Who do you belong to, baby girl?” Dan gasped.

“You, Sir.”

His hands clamped down on my buttocks, moving me faster, his hips bucking upwards to shove deep inside. My lower parts seized with agonized delight, moving me towards the sweetest sensation of all. My head fell back and I unleashed a long groan.

“Feel good, baby?”

“Yes, Sir. Always, Sir.”

“You feel good to me too. I love you, Brandilynn.”

“I love you too, Sir,” I warbled at the ceiling as pleasure cascaded through my body.

Dan ceased moving. “Up, baby. Change of positions.”

Nothing feels emptier than an aroused pussy deprived of a nice cock. Fortunately, Dan was eager to get back inside me. Moments later found me bent over the arm of the couch. My face pressed against the cool leather seat, and Dan pushed his way into my sleeve once more.

His hands gripped my hips as he plunged in and out, pulling me onto him with force that made me gasp. Oh, I wasn’t going to last long, not with him thrusting so hard and fast. The friction felt hot against my G-spot, lighting me on fire from within until the heat licked all the way up to my hair. I shook all over like I was at the epicenter of an earthquake. My fingernails clawed smooth leather. My mouth hung wide open as if the pressure could escape through that route. 

“Please Sir, may I come?” I fairly shrieked. I knew whatever the answer, I would be doing so anyway.

“Come, baby, come right now!” Dan yelled, his rhythm going bad as climax roared down on him.

Friday, December 23, 2016

Weekend Wake-up Call – Clans of Kalquor 5: Alien Slave





“Easy, Nobek,” Gelan reminded him.

Wynhod swallowed hard. “I know. I will be very gentle,” he vowed, opening the formsuit to set his swollen cocks free.

And he was. The care with which he pressed into Dani made her feel as if she was made of glass. The Nobek eased in and out in small increments, watching her closely all the while. The other two lay next to her, stroking her body as they watched his cocks disappear into her a bit at a time. From time to time Wynhod growled, but he held onto his control.

Dani looked down her body, enjoying the sight of the Kalquorian’s dark flesh piercing her. Seeing the glistening lengths parting her folds was every bit as enticing as the feel of him inside her. And those gorgeous wet sounds of lovemaking had returned, making her guts tremble.

Wynhod grasped her ankles, propping them on his shoulders. The position made her tighter around him. His body at last met hers as he embedded himself fully within her hearth. Dani moaned at the intense sensations, but he wasn’t done delighting her. The Nobek, still moving oh so slowly, ground himself against her in slow circles, hitting the most sensitive spots in her sleeves. She warbled a high cry.

In and out, around and around. Her insides heated until Dani thought they must glow. Wynhod’s occasional bumps against her cervix sent bladed shards of pleasure stabbing throughout. Every exhalation came out with a note of pleasure.

Krijero and Gelan added to the symphony of delight. The Dramok teased her nipples, his hand darting between the two to rub, pinch, and pull gently. They swelled in response, growing rosy and pebbly under his attentions. Darts of brightness zinged from her breasts to her clit in lightning flashes.

Krijero’s palm warmed her mound as he rubbed the flesh in slow circles to match Wynhod’s movements. With each downstroke he brushed fingertips against her throbbing nub, making Dani clench hard around the Nobek. Her continuous sighs grew into moans, the pressure in her loins building steadily towards crescendo.

Wynhod shifted her legs again, moving her feet so they rested side by side against his chest, bending and closing her legs together. Dani’s breath caught as the position tightened her sheaths around him. She felt she might burst from the increased sensation of fullness and shuddered in helpless reaction. Her insides somersaulted, edging ever closer to fulfillment but not quite able to reach.

“Please,” she whispered. 

Wynhod growled again, quickening his pace just a bit. His muscles stood out in stark relief as tension built. His pelvis thudded softly against her. Dani’s passion climbed another notch in response, the warm cascade of arousal growing into a torrent. 

The three men held her in a thrall with their touches. Gelan continued to tease her jutting nipples, bending over her to occasionally lick the aching tips. Krijero’s rubbing hand kept pace with Wynhod’s thrusts, his fingers circling her clit continuously and intermittently tapping the engorged peak to make her cry out. And Wynhod…

The Nobek drew in and out, working her sheaths with his thick cocks, still grinding circles each time he buried his full lengths inside her pussy and anus. He hit the sweet spot deep within more often than not, spiraling her ever higher, ever closer to climax. Her womb had gone molten lava, seething and bubbling, burning ever hotter.


Returning soon outside the U.S. and to print.