Tuesday, 30 September 2014
Monday, 29 September 2014
Thursday, 25 September 2014
*This post was originally published at The Erotica Readers & Writers Association blog.
It's a sad fact of my life that in terms of work, my writing comes last. Not because I want it that way, but for the time being, because it has to be. Running my own business means I can work from home and have flexibility in my schedule. In turn, this allows me to squeeze writing in wherever I possibly can. But of course, paying clients (as opposed to writing books that may or may not be contracted, and may or may not sell), must come first for me to survive.
Therefore, distractions from my writing, when I get to do it, are not welcome. I'm not talking about the emails-coming-in, social-media type stuff, as they're distractions that can be avoided, or at least ignored until you've written so many words. I mean the unavoidable distractions; personal ones, health ones, family ones, and so on. Stuff that demands your time, with no exceptions or workarounds.
It can be very hard to stay focussed on creativity when there's something on your mind. Or it is for me, anyway. If I'm not in the right frame of mind then I tend to just stare at the screen with not much going onto the page. It's frustrating, but it can't be forced.
So, what to do when distractions are around? Well, that's easy, isn't it? I'll do client work, I'll do my freelance editing, I'll shout about the books I already have out there - there are lots of tasks that make up my average day, and for that I'm grateful. I'm not sure how I'd cope with being a full-time writer, as when distractions come along, I'd be achieving very little. At least this way, I'm still crossing things off a to-do list.
What about you? Can you write through certain types of distractions? How do you cope with them?
Monday, 22 September 2014
Victoria and I met because we were both young (well, at least younger than we are now by near a decade) and involved in penning erotica in the wider world of some of the popular places online back then.
We started chatting on a forum especially for Authors at one particular site--and a place like that was not common in my experience back then. I'd found many places for the fans and the scribblers, but few for people that actually wanted to talk more seriously about it all. And in the midst of the arguments and agreements and challenges and writing contests amongst a core 20 of us or so, Victoria and I started just sharing our opinions more and eventually became close as friends from either side of a big broad ocean. You know, as these things do.
Now, we couldn't have been more different in many respects. A woman with a family, living in England, thinking hard about whether she wanted to take her writing to that next level of actually pushing for career work in it (lots of responsibility there, anyone whose done it can agree it is a very special place you have to be in just in your own head to try)... ...and me, a young shifty college fella' who spent most of his time drinking and womanizing and trying to live a life reminscient of what popular culture would have thought of Dean Martin's younger years (and penning stories about my "exploits"). (And, yes, that's how I thought of them--what morons we can be when we're young, wonderful silly morons)
But, from talking about stories and sharing appreciation for each others' writing, we grew to share stories about our daily lives. My time was usually spent lamenting the madness of the latest girl I was dating (and graphically describing what we'd get up to in story form) or the worries I'd have about school or my family. Hers was spent sharing some of the lovely notions of what its like to have children, what married life was like, the struggles those come with and the social-politics of being a smut-author in a normal English community (one of those ones where everyone seemingly knows everyone).
Over the years, messaging became email and while the site and the community changed and went away (as they do), we still wrote to each other--pen pal style--near daily. She'd send me treats from her favorite vacations in the post and I'd fail to remember birthdays in comparison but always make it up afterward. She became my conscience, like Jimminy Cricket--could forecast my bad decisions, could tell when I was elusively sad about something. I suspect I simply remained amusing, but through it all we became extraordinary friends.
I've seen her family grow up. I've seen her develop as a writer and a businesswoman from the uncertain and unsure to the brilliant and driving. Through it all, there is not a human being in my life--any that I consider serious to my life--that doesn't know of her or isn't aware of how important she is to me. Because she's talented. Because she's genuine. Because as human beings go, she's accomplished what so few do... ...to have their life of love and joy, and get to work and win at their passion.
Aw, isn't he sweet? And I can tell you he's far more than amusing. He's always there to mop me up when I'm a blubbering wreck and he's a fabulous procrastination pal. I'll also let you into a secret, he's pretty good story inspiration too!
Check out Making it Real or Tempting Rendezvous to read all about my fictional imaginings of Flannel.
Isn't the internet brilliant? Have you got any stories to tell about friendships made online?
Friday, 19 September 2014
Hi All, Victoria Blisse here to bring you news of the latest Smut for Good project. Have any of you read anything by Sommer Marsden? She's very good you should definitely check out her books. Sommer and family are also going through tough times at the moment as he husband fights Pancreatic cancer. It's a tough thing to do and Smut for Good is aiming to take a little of the strain off by offering a little financial aid.
A Snog for Sommer has 69 blogs from authors, publishers and even Mr Blisse including kisses, some prizes and lots and lots of love. It's touching to see such an outpouring of generosity. This community of dirty minded and erotically worded authors have come together (ooh er) to do good for someone who really needs it. I'm completely bowled over by it, I really am.
You can make a donation to Sommer and family on Smut for Good via paypal. Any donation is really, really, REALLY appreciated. We've currently got £690.45 will you help us to £700 and beyond? I'll be sending all the dosh to Sommer on Sunday. On Saturday we're having a big' ol Facebook party to celebrate, announce prize winners and generally have a ball. Please come on over and join the fun.
Now onto a Brit Babes Snog for Sommer, from Sexy Just Walked into Town and my Story in it, Read Rag to A Bull.
Now a prize! How about a copy of My Getting Together Series, three books all set at a gym. Just comment on this post by 9am GMT on Saturday 20th September. And I'll announce the winner at the Snog for Sommer Celebration Facebook party.
I’ve not had sex in four years. I was miserable for one of them and I’ve taken Zumba classes for the past three. You’re probably thinking that doesn’t make sense, but believe you me, it does. I will be forever thankful for the day that Sharon, my workmate, told me about her dance class.
I laughed her down at first. I am not terribly well co-ordinated and I’m a big woman, I love my curves and I didn’t want to lose them. But she explained it was just exercise, it wasn’t a serious dance class and I could eat extra chocolate and cake to maintain my luscious body if I wanted to. The extra chocolate tipped the balance so I decided to try it out with her one night. It was fun. The first lesson I spent most of the time trying to not trip over my own feet or stand on anybody else’s, but I enjoyed it. The upbeat music, the laughter and the sociability of it all.
I also loved the ache, the dull pain that told me my muscles had been used, the twinges that reminded me so much of the after effects of really good sex. I got into a routine, a routine I still follow. I’d go to my Zumba class, dance around like a fool, get sweaty, laugh, sing and work my big sexy butt off then I’d go home and masturbate.
I’d never stop to eat, drink or wash, I’d just get onto my bed and wank whilst the sweat was still beading on my skin and my muscles were on fire with exertion and I’d come. I’d come so hard it was just like having sex but without the messy bit. The other person and the emotional attachment you form to them. Perfection.
So Zumba and sex became one and the same to me. I shimmied and shook each week and wiggled my hips and imagined I was writhing against a man. A hot, sexy man with just enough muscle and a smile to melt my heart. In fact, when I saw him there a few weeks ago I thought I was having a really vivid daydream. It wasn’t until we took a break that I realised he was a real true life man.
“Hi,” I gasped between gulps of my water, “you’re new.”
“Yes,” he replied. “I am.”
“Enjoying it?” I asked.
“Not sure yet.” He gripped a sports bottle in his huge, tanned hand. I wanted those fingers to grip me. “I’ll tell you when I’m capable of thought again.”
“Fair enough,” I smiled. “It does get easier, I promise. I’ve been at it for three years now.”
“That’s why you look so confident up the front then.”
“No, that’s just because you’re viewing me from behind, you can’t see the funny faces I’m pulling.”He chuckled. The velvet force of the sound rumbled in my chest, arousing my nipples and making me think of my post-Zumba session a little earlier than usual.
“I’m Dean, nice to meet you.” He held out his hand and I grasped it, hoping my palm wasn’t too sweaty.
“Grace,” I replied. “Lovely to meet you too.”
His fingers enfolded mine, exerted pressure but didn’t crush me. I imagined it would be the same if we had sex, a bit rough but nothing I couldn’t handle and give back in equal measure. I let his hand go reluctantly as the instructor’s words pulled us back into positions for the next dance.
I was energised. I swung my hips powerfully, followed the steps with a precision that I didn’t normally achieve, all because I knew his eyes were on me. We didn’t get to speak again until the end because every woman in the class wanted to talk to him. That was clearly the bonus of being the only man in the room.
I changed my shoes and picked up my bag and slipped in beside him as he left the hall.
“So, will you be back next week, Dean?” I asked, much to the chagrin of the woman who I’d just slipped in next to, though she had a wedding ring on so she shouldn’t have been flirting in the first place.
“Oh, definitely,” he nodded. “Great work out, great company and I really would like to get some of the steps right eventually.”
I put my hand on his bicep, noting its pleasant bulge, nothing fancy, just strongly sprung male muscle. I wanted to test it to its limits but in a much more private setting.
“You’ll manage that next week,” I said confidently, even though my stomach was churning with lust and nerves. “See you then?”
“Sure,” he replied, “you couldn’t keep me away.”
I wouldn’t want to.
There’s no big cash prize for guessing who was on my mind when I jumped into bed that night. I imagined us dancing alone, no instructor and face-to-face. I could see the sweat on his brow, the flex of his muscles, the sweep of his hips. He devoured me visually too, taking in my bouncing breasts, which even in a sports bra wobbled impressively with each movement. He dropped his gaze to my ample hips and long, curved legs as I cucaracha-ed side-to-side.
When the music stopped the fantasy continued. We hurried towards one another, crushed together in a mass of passion, lip-to-lip, crotch-to-crotch, burning with need and ripping off clothes.
I gripped my naked breast, plucked the nipple as I imagined him doing it. I ran my finger up and down my slit, gathering and spreading moisture and caressing my clit, bringing myself closer to the brink. I hurried my mental masturbation material on. We were completely naked and my back and buttocks were chilled by the wooden floor beneath me. He pressed his hard cock between my plump wet lips and I wrapped my legs around his long, lithe body, feeling the bounce of his taut buttocks with every thrust.
I came with a loud grunt, the visual dissipating as the orgasm bloomed and soon after withered away. I was left hungry, sweaty and wanting more. Zumba and masturbation were no longer enough, I needed a man between my thighs. I needed Dean.
Thursday, 18 September 2014
Monday, 15 September 2014
Monday, 8 September 2014
Rev Dave is a monk (a punk monk at that), a great hugger and one of the kindest, most generous people you'll ever meet. Here he recalls his walk with the Pride parade this year (check this post here for previous Pride memories) where he spoke up for Christians who do love everyone equally:
Photo by Rev Fie Lancaster.
Good people of Manchester … the people here who have come to spread a message of hate that denies the personhood of others are not bad people. Misguided and damaged as they are to speak so vilely in the name of the Prince of Peace, they are simply making the same mistake that Judas made in thinking they know how to herald in the kingdom by forcing God’s hand – but they place themselves in a very poor light by seeking to harm his little ones with their ego centered, hate fueled messages.
Every child here today was born with a right to the personhood with which they came into the world. Let us stand together and say:
No more bullying!
No more attacks on human identity in the name of any man made god!
No more cowering in hiding!
Let us banish the hell these people have made for themselves and have tried to force on others by remembering that the one they persecuted long ago and seek to persecute still told us the truth:
“The kingdom of heaven is within us”.
It is ours to claim now – it is yours and it is mine. We alone can claim the way to the kingdom.
Repeat after me:
“I Am the way, the truth and the life!”
They do not recognise the Christ within themselves so cannot see the Christ looking back at them from the eyes of others. They don’t understand themselves, so how can they understand you?
You were born with a right to be clean. God is love, not condemnation – so see the Christ within you and then open your eyes to the divine spark in everyone else so that through you the human race can at last grow up and cease its vain squabbling.
May you see goodness in yourself and may you see goodness in others that you may be kind to yourselves and kind to each other.
Let us bless each other in the name of the Father and of the Son and of our Holy Mother Spirit – AMEN.
We met so many people celebrating personhood, some having been through so much persecution - like the Nigerian women waiting in vain for The Archbishop of Canterbury to speak out against hateful and murderous deeds by the Anglican church in Africa - knowing what he knows and doing nothing, he should be charged with crimes against humanity.
One bold child called Shane who we met had written his heart on his T-Shirt. "I Am a BOY because I say I Am!" ... let's close on his positive wisdom: "Smile and change the world - but never let the world change your smile!"
Thursday, 4 September 2014
Hi everyone! It's Kay Jaybee here, and today I'm talking song lyrics!
I just love the way lyrics can be woven together to tell a story. You only have to pay close attention to the words someone like Adele sings, to hear how beautifully they can be linked to tell short musical stories that we can all relate to.
The first erotic poem I ever wrote, Regrets, illustrates how lyrics can set off my imagination. The opening line of this poem is ‘Regrets, I’ve had a few...’
I’m not sure whether Frank Sinatra would have approved of my borrowing of 5 words from My Way, but then again, as Mr Sinatra wasn’t exactly “Mr Shrinking Violet”, he might have loved my rhyming words of desperate eroticism!!
“Regrets, I’ve had a few.
So, what music do I play while writing my erotica; which let’s face it, tends to feature the rougher side of sex?
Over the years I have put together a few playlists to urge my work frazzled brain into writing mode. Each is varied, and is fashioned to whether I’m writing down and dirty BDSM, or slightly milder calmer S&M kink. Two songs however, appear on every one of my playlists, for there is something deeply erotic and edgy about each of them.
Despite not being a big fan of David Bowie, the first track is his classic ‘Let’s Dance.’ Just the rasping way he sings the introductory line, (Let's dance put on your red shoes and dance the blues), is enough to make all the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. The lyrics are both romantic and sexy, and yet hopelessly so. You just know that whoever the song is being aimed at isn’t going to get the happy ending they yearn for. Such is the lot for so many of my poor characters! (Just check out my Fem Dom anthology Yes Ma’am to find some hot sexy encounters, but without the happy ever afters!)
The second song that always features on my playlists is Underwear by Britpop group Pulp. I’ve lost count of how many individual stories that song has kick started. Nearly everything Pulp’s lead singer, Jarvis Cocker, sings has a heady kinky edge to it, but Underwear is the cream on the cake for me. If you’ve never heard it- then you must find it on You Tube or treat yourself to the mega sexy album Different Class! I promise that inspiration will soon follow.
Alongside the confessions of my local couriers, the entire manuscript of Not Her Type: Erotic Adventures With A Delivery Man (1001 Nights Press) was sparked by the concept the song presents. Why might someone feel compelled to keep meeting someone secretly for sex? Are they really helpless to fight that compulsion, despite the wrestling they do with their conscience?
“Why don't you close the door and shut the curtains
'cos you're not going anywhere.
He's coming up the stairs and in a moment he'll want to see your underwear.
You couldn't stop it now. There's no way to get out.
He's standing far too near. How the hell did you get here.
Semi-naked in somebody else's room.
I'd give my whole life to see it.
Just you stood there only in your underwear...”
So, do you see a pattern building in my song choices? Need more clues? Other tracks on my erotica writing playlist include Love is a Stranger by The Eurythmics, Human by The Killers, Big Mistake by Natalie Imbruglia, I Want Your Love by Transvision Vamp...and so on...They are compulsion songs. All about power, control, and simmering sexual tension; and if you have never read any of my work, then just a quick listen to that lot would give you a big clue as to what you can expect!!
Happy reading- and listening!