Author Cindy Jacks--Mom, EX-wife, writer and all around hot mess
Non-practicing alcoholic and domestic violence escapee who lives with her lovely young boyfriend, snarky teenage son, ex-husband (the nice one of course), 2 large neurotic dogs and 2 indifferent kitties. Trying to get my sh*t together for the umpteenth time. Pretty sure it's never gonna happen, but hey, no f@#ks given, right?
Non-practicing alcoholic and domestic violence escapee who lives with her lovely young boyfriend, snarky teenage son, ex-husband (the nice one of course), 2 large neurotic dogs and 2 indifferent kitties. Trying to get my sh*t together for the umpteenth time. Pretty sure it's never gonna happen, but hey, no f@#ks given, right?
The Brat started life with my heroine, Gina Williams’ unexpected arrival.
“How would you handle a story that pivots around incidents that happened a quarter of a century ago?” she asked.
“I’m not sure,” I replied, and pondered my options.
How naïve was that? It turned out I had few options while writing The Brat.
The meeting of two mothers determines the destinies of their children a quarter of a century later.
Ben and Gina both experienced childhood rejection and betrayals that shaped their lives, so when they finally meet there’s little chance they will ever trust each other.
It takes the actions of Ben’s father, Theo, to bring them together. But will the consequences destroy the one thing he’s striving to secure?
Without giving away too much of the plot, that in a nutshell is the seed that creates the tension between Gina and Ben.
There are various secondary characters that muddy the waters and hike up the tension between them, and it all plays out on an extended time line which spikes the aggravations still further.
Both Gina and Ben have major issues to deal with, and the chemistry between them grows when they are forced to work together to present a united front to the outside world.
So, to answer your question, I did not sit down and map out each move for the characters. It was more a case of the story unfolding as it progressed.
Sure I had some major re-writing to do to tighten up each scene and ensure the time-line flowed accurately. But at the end of the day this was a magical experience where I found myself ‘in the zone’ more often than not while writing The Brat.
Gina Williams is a 35-year-old famous children’s author, who also writes detective mysteries under the name of George Williamson.
She was robbed of her childhood when aged ten by the late mother of the hero, Ben Kouvaris.
When he was ten-years-old his mother sent him to her ex Theo Kouvaris, multi-millionaire, who lives in Greece. When he returns to her funeral he is haunted by the beautiful woman who organised the funeral.
When his father orders him to marry he thinks of Gina Williams.
They have to overcome the horrors of the past and forgive their parents for their betrayals. Will their past destroy their future?
Excerpt:
A voice from the grave filled her mind to the exclusion of everything else. “No one cares about a guttersnipe like you. You’re nothing but a snivelling little brat. You have no past and no future. You are no one and never will be. Your place is here, for you have nothing else to aspire to, and nowhere else to go.”
More than two decades later the words still fuelled her ambitions to achieve. They still goaded her into proving to herself and others that she could succeed. Her aspirations and dreams propelled her need to prove herself.
“Watch it, luv!” A hand yanked her back from the curb. “You got a death wish or som’it?” The blast of a car horn jerked her back against her rescuer.
“Oh!” Gina gasped. “I wasn’t paying attention…”
Her voice trailed off. Her memories stole her concentration. “Thank you.” She eased her arm from within his grasp and held out her hand. “Your quick actions saved my life.”
“Think nothing of it.” The man touched his cap, stepped back, and soon disappeared in the crowds. Shaken more than she cared to admit, she looked around and entered a nearby coffee shop.
She fought the ghosts from her past and wrestled them back into that black box in her mind she’d kept locked for almost two decades. With the exception of her agent and best friend, Liz, she’d never shared her secrets, and Liz didn’t know the half of them, just enough for Liz to realize her children’s adventure stories evolved from her childhood fantasies.
Sherry's Links
Buy The Brat at The Wild Rose Press http://bit.ly/d5nVDC
Amazon = http://amzn.to/bclDhY
Website = www. sherrygloag.com/
Blog = http://bit.ly/bnuELA
Book Trailer = http://bit.ly/9O6j6C
Facebook = http://bit.ly/daeGN7
Goodreads = http://bit.ly/bTOzHC
Non-practicing alcoholic and domestic violence escapee who lives with her lovely young boyfriend, snarky teenage son, ex-husband (the nice one of course), 2 large neurotic dogs and 2 indifferent kitties. Trying to get my sh*t together for the umpteenth time. Pretty sure it's never gonna happen, but hey, no f@#ks given, right?
Please welcome my guest today, Nana Malone. She's talking about her latest release--Game, Set, Match at The Wild Rose Press--and what it's like to write about a heroine who's also a mother. Take it away, Nana!All the Single Ladies...Or Not So Much by Nana Malone
First, I’d like to thank Cindy for hosting me on the blog today and giving me the opportunity to meet your fabulous readers.
As Beyonce said “All the single ladies, All the single ladies, All the single ladies…” Somehow the summer anthem wouldn’t have been nearly the same if she’d swapped married ladies for single ladies. Writing the carefree single gal is a whole different ballgame than writing about a wife or mother.
I remember my single days. Ahh, the days of not answering to anyone but myself. I remember when the only responsibility I had was worrying about paying rent, grabbing the latest hot duds from H&M, and where happy hour was going to be that night. I lived for Sex and the City and I was fabulous. Or at least I thought I was. How I miss those days. Or do I? Writing the single heroine is a raucous fast passed adventure. Her life is about exploration and finding love. Every scene is an opportunity to show her growing into the woman she’s supposed to become. But those single days were sometimes lonely and hard and often filled with heartbreak. My mother called them growing pains.
Writing a mother is a whole different world. In Game, Set, Match, Izzy is your classic caretaker. As is the way of mothers, she thinks of everyone before she thinks of herself. She’d love to give herself over to a torrid affair with Jason and just have a good time. But she knows the consequences. She has more than just herself to think about. She knows Jason can not only break her heart but her son’s as well.
Do I have a preference for the kind of heroine I like to write? No. I love them all. As a new mother. I now understand what it means to have your whole life revolve around someone else entirely. It’s a whole new perspective. Because I’m at this point in my life, it’s great to be able to explore it with the feelings that are so fresh.
But boy do I love my single heroine. It reminds me a little bit of who I used to be. Though I doubt I was ever quite so fabulous.
Blurb:
Off the court, tennis star Jason Cartwright’s playboy image is taking a public beating. On the court, he’s down forty-love. A knee injury is shutting down his game, and the paparazzi are splashing his love life on every magazine. A comeback is in order, but the makeover he needs to save his faltering career is in the hands of the woman he loved and left fifteen years ago.
While single-mom, Izzy Connors, sees people for who they really are through the lens of and good looks haven’t dimmed since he broke her heart, all she sees is his wasted talent and playboy lifestyle.
Can Izzy put the past behind her and help Jason get his game, and his image, back on track? Or will the click of her camera shatter his world as well as his heart?
Excerpt:
Dark glasses masked his eyes, but Izzy knew behind them, she’d find intense heat able to strip her to the soul. His tousled blond hair just as she remembered it, a little unkempt, as if he hadn’t bothered with it. He was every bit the Hollywood playboy portrayed in the press. And that devil-may-care sexiness was going to be the death of her.
Before she could say anything else, his strong arms and a warm musky scent enveloped her. Involuntarily, her body stilled like an ice sculpture as her breasts came into contact with the hard planes of his chest. Unable to process the situation, she heard a faint clatter as his sunglasses fell to the floor. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried not to think of the last time she’d seen him, the last time he’d abandoned her for Sabrina.
“Damn, Izzy, you look amazing.” He set her down, but kept hold of one of her hands. Whiskey eyes poured warm amber over every inch of her body. “How’ve you been?”
The source of her greatest humiliation wanted to know how she’d been, as if they were old buddies. She reminded herself they, for all intents and purposes, were old buddies, until she’d made the mistake of pegging him as her first lover.
Behind Jason, his companion, with his rugged dark good looks and infectious smile, saved her from having to speak. Not that she could have. “Did I miss something, Jase? You two know each other?”
Jason’s smile flashed, making her want to do all manner of inappropriate things. Smash his head in with a frying pan? Strip him bare and see if he still looked as good as he promised? Launch a full TET offensive on him with her lips?
Not necessarily in that order.
Nana's links:
Get your copy of Game, Set, Match today at Amazon!
http://tinyurl.com/GameSetMatchAmazon
or at The Wild Rose Press
Non-practicing alcoholic and domestic violence escapee who lives with her lovely young boyfriend, snarky teenage son, ex-husband (the nice one of course), 2 large neurotic dogs and 2 indifferent kitties. Trying to get my sh*t together for the umpteenth time. Pretty sure it's never gonna happen, but hey, no f@#ks given, right?
She Thinks My Uniform Is Sexy
by Mysti Holiday
The hero in my short story, “Blue Light Special” is a cop. Karin, the heroine, calls him a walking wet dream and she wants him physically, from the moment they meet.
Why a cop? I’ll be honest ... I’d read a short erotic story some time ago where one of the heroes is a cop (yes, it was a ménage :::fans self:::) and, although that story didn’t have him pulling anyone over and getting .. hmmm.... physical, it really put my imagination into overdrive. Deserted street. Man in uniform. Woman in micro-mini ... oh, the possibilities were endless.
“Blue Light Special” started out as a thousand word story for a site that published flash fiction erotic romance, and all it was (then) was a sex scene. But, I fell in love with my hero, and decided to flesh it out and make it a real story with conflict, more sex (of course!) and a happy ever after (though technically, this one has a “HFN” – Happy For Now).
My cop doesn’t do a lot of cop stuff, so it didn’t take a lot of research. Mostly I just wanted him to have that air of authority, that confidence, that strut and smirk and arrogance that I envision the real alpha cops having.
I know, not all cops are like that. But for a girl who grew up with the TV show CHiPs’ smug, arrogant, confident and suave Eric Estrada as a stereotype, what else would be expected of me? Men in uniform, whether they are policemen, firemen, military or others, make me want to lick my lips and take a big, juicy bite.
So, let me ask you something? Men in uniform – yes or no? Do they get you hot or leave you cold? Why or why not?
Blurb:
When Karin Lattimer moves across the country and her over-
protective brother asks his friend Caleb Hawkes to keep an eye on her, she’s more than annoyed…she’s turned on. The attentive cop is a walking wet dream, but Karin knows he’s only hanging around out of a sense of duty. Acting on her crazy attraction would reveal more than the man’s buff body—it would also reveal her heart.
Caleb is well aware that Karin is all woman. He can’t keep his eyes off her and his hands itch to touch her. But she’s not one-night-stand material, and he firmly believes cops make lousy partners for long-term relationships.
Still, thinking clearly isn’t a top priority when Karin and Caleb finally touch. Sparks fly and barriers melt away as easily as their inhibitions, but can she convince him there's more to life than playing it safe?
Excerpt:
Caleb grinned and tapped his watch. “Time for last call.”
“Who died and made you my boss?” Karin sauntered to the other end of the bar, purposely adding a little more swing than usual to her hips as she walked away, sure in the knowledge his gaze was locked on her ass. So what if he was a jerk who was “babysitting” her as a favor to her brother. Just because she was miles away from her home town in Missouri didn’t mean she needed a keeper. No matter why he was there, fact was he stirred her up in the worst way and she didn’t figure it was right she should be the only one feeling all het up.
“Hey, baby!” The shout was followed by a fair number of cat calls from the pile of barely legal boys hanging on the far end of the bar.
Karin turned and smiled at them, then took three slow steps to where they stood.
“The name’s Karin, honey. Not Baby.” She knew exactly how to piss off Caleb and took great pleasure in leaning over the bar, her breasts all but falling out of her low cut tank. She made eye contact with the boy closest to her, walked her fingertips up his chest, and ended with a tweak of his cheek with her perfectly manicured nails. “But, with the right incentive, I’ll answer to just about anything.” She purred the words and touched the tip of her tongue to her upper lip. She’d need to give the boy a napkin for his drool pretty soon, but hell, the tips should be good.
When he didn’t say anything else, she shook her head. “Last call, boys. Can I get you one final drink?” She trailed a finger down her throat to the V-neck of her shirt before she continued. “A Slippery Nipple, maybe? A Piece of Ass or a Bald Pussy?” She licked her lips again and kept them parted, warm and moist, for a heartbeat before continuing. “Or, my personal favorite—a Sloe...Comfortable...Screw?”
Non-practicing alcoholic and domestic violence escapee who lives with her lovely young boyfriend, snarky teenage son, ex-husband (the nice one of course), 2 large neurotic dogs and 2 indifferent kitties. Trying to get my sh*t together for the umpteenth time. Pretty sure it's never gonna happen, but hey, no f@#ks given, right?
Please welcome my guest today, Anne Marsh.
She's blogging about paranormal romance and she brought goodies. One lucky tour commenter will win a gift basket that includes a print copy of Bond with Me. Take it away, Anne!I began writing paranormal romances for the alpha heroes. Christine Feehan’s Carpathian Adrian was my first; by the time he’d rescued his heroine from the vampire’s salty semi-underwater cavern, I was hooked. Kresley Cole’s rough-and-tough Lykae and Angela Knight’s Mageverse warriors cemented my love of paranormals for me. The heroes were strong, sexy—and endlessly inventive in finding new ways to show their eternal love for their chosen mates. Although, when I sat down to write my first paranormal romance, I knew it wasn’t going to be easy, the biggest challenge was a shocker. Writing sex scenes is a challenge. Writing sex scenes starring a paranormal hero is an even bigger challenge. Three things I’ve learned since that first book came out:
I wrote cat sex. Whoops. And announced it in the middle of a train car full of commuters. Sometimes, when you’re in the heat of the moment (and you’re, let’s face it, the new writer on the block), you forget to check the continuity of the scene. The hero of THE HUNT, my first book, is a very sexy, very alpha cat shifter. Sure, he enjoys his erotic games. What I didn’t realize, until I got the copy edits back from my editor, was that I’d begun a scene with Jafar in his shifted form—and then went on to have some really hot sex with his heroine. Without shifting him back. Shockingly, my editor was completely good with it. And PETA hasn’t landed on my doorstep yet. But it’s definitely a challenge learning to keep your timeline straight and remember when your hero is furry—and when he’s not.
Paranormals get themselves into some interesting bedroom scenes. Dungeons. Caverns. Mountaintops. Icy prisons. Fiery prisons. The setting can—literally—reflect the emotional issues the hero and heroine are working through. One of the aspects of writing paranormal romance that drew me to the genre was the fantasy aspect—there are no rules, other than the rules of the world I choose to create. THE HUNT is set in a fantasy wor
ld with Egyptian overtones—my hero chases the heroine through a pyramid-like temple in an erotic hunt. BOND WITH ME, on the other hand, is set in a dystopian Moscow in the near future. This world is dark, grim—and exotic. One of my Fallen angels seduces his mate in a bath house, a hot, steamy world where any fantasy is possible.
Sex isn't just about inserting tab A into slot B. Sex in a paranormal romance frequently deals with accepting an inner beast. Exhibit A: Kresley Cole’s Lykae. Angela Knight’s Mageverse warriors frequently resort to sex magic. And you certainly can’t ignore the inner wolf in Lora Leigh’s Breeds. The hero of my second book, BOND WITH ME, is a fallen angel. Part of his punishment is to live in exile on earth—with a Goblin trapped inside his body. He’s spent millennia fighting to keep that Goblin under control, to keep its appetites in check. When Brends meets Mischka, however, all bets are off—she’s awakening all sorts of long lost, dormant emotions in him. And his Goblin is starting to make a guest appearance in their bedroom… so her accepting this side of him, too, plays an important role in the book.
What draws you to the paranormal genre? Do you believe the sex scenes are different from those of, say, a historical or a contemporary romance?
Blurb:
They rule Moscow’s seedy underworld, promising untold pleasure to the females who dare to mate them. That promise – and Brends Duranov’s own raw sexual power – has hopefuls mobbing the velvet rope outside his elite club G2’s.
But Mischka Baran has no intention of hooking up with one of the Fallen. Not even after Brends gives her an unforgettable taste of the sin and seduction he can deliver with those wicked lips. She’s after information, not a stint as some Goblin’s toy of the month. What she doesn’t know is that with a sadistic killer carving up his brethren, Brends is playing for keeps, hunting the one woman whose bloodline can end the mayhem, whose bond can restore his lost wings.
Excerpt:
“You let me in,” he promised, “and I’ll make it good. I’ll give you whatever you want, dushka. No questions. No explanations.” He trailed the sword-roughened pads of his fingers down the bare skin of her arm and leaned forward. The hair she’d unbound slid around them, sealing them into a dark, decadent world of pleasure. The spicy scent of male and sex surrounded them
“For a price,” she said, desperate to shake off his erotic spell.
“Everything has its price, dushka,” Brends whispered against her ear.
She needed this. She needed him. She wasn’t going to find her cousin on her own, not before the killer did. Brends, on the other hand, could. She wished she wasn’t so attracted to him. If they bonded, he’d have an inside track straight into her head. He’d be able to connect to her. Communicate with her.
“And?” Her voice sounded dry. As if her throat was closing up.
“If the killer were to come for you,” he eyed her closely, “I’d know. I’d be right there.”
“You want to use me as bait.”
To give him credit, he didn’t hesitate. He gave her the truth, although she supposed it only helped his cause. “Yes.”
She might be able to help stop this. And stopping this was the right thing to do. Before she could rethink her decision, she said it. “Yes. Bond with me, Brends.”
Excerpted from Bond with Me. Copyright © 2010 by Anne Marsh. All rights reserved.
Links:
Anne Marsh's blog: http://annemarsh.wordpress.com/
Bond with Me buy-it-now: http://www.amazon.com/Anne-Marsh/e/B002BOFV6G/
Non-practicing alcoholic and domestic violence escapee who lives with her lovely young boyfriend, snarky teenage son, ex-husband (the nice one of course), 2 large neurotic dogs and 2 indifferent kitties. Trying to get my sh*t together for the umpteenth time. Pretty sure it's never gonna happen, but hey, no f@#ks given, right?
Okay…interesting topic! I’m game. A ménage sex scene as opposed to just a couple scene.
Pronouns. I know, I know, it’s rather mundane but it’s the truth. Too many he’s or her’s and it’s confusing. Who’s doing what to whom?
Keeping all 3 occupied at once. Can’t have anyone getting bored. *wink*
Keeping in the forefront of the reader’s
mind the exotic-ness of the situation. Even if this isn’t a new experience, it isn’t of the norm in today’s society. It’s about the passion, the pleasure, and yes, even the love. But it’s not a threesome you see walking down the street, it’s a couple. Or at
least that’s how most people perceive it.
Placement of hands: Unless they aren’t human, humans aren’t contortionists or plastic man. They can’t wrap a hand around a bunch of times or touch you just there from across the bed.
I guess if you’re comfortable enough writing a couple sex scene (m/f, m/m, f/f) you’re comfortable enough writing more. As long as you remember everyone involved, that is. And if you’re comfortable—or adventurous—enough to try a ménage, then don’t balk. Don’t stop half way, don’t chicken out, go for it! (In any way you so desire *G*)
The topic really got me thinking!
Thanks for having me today. I have a free Dark Desires of the Druids: Choose Your Own Adventure (link: http://isabelroman.com/choose-your-own-adventure/druids)
Readers find a copy of Dark Desires of the Druids: Sex & Subterfuge here (http://search.barnesandnoble.com/Dark-Desires-of-the-Druids/Isabel-Roman/e/9781590032008/?itm=1&USRI=Dark+Desires+of+the+Druids%3a+Sex+%26+Subterfuge)! Or here (http://www.amazon.com/Dark-Desires-Druids-Subterfuge-Ravenous/dp/1590032004/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1279842669&sr=1-1)
And thanks for being here! Now let's get to that sexy book of yours :)
Blurb:
A master magicker, Morgana Blackthorne has a tenuous hold on her following. When a strange Englishman arrives on her doorstep with news of other druidic magickers, and magicker problems, she’s intrigued but suspicious. There hasn’t been contact between the American and European druids in over a hundred years. Plus she has her own worries and doesn’t need the handsome earl adding to them.
Lucien, Earl of Granville, left England to seek out the Blackthorne Druid line and discover what they’ve been up to since contact was lost. Once he and Morgana meet, their mutual attraction distracts him from his purpose. Embroiled in her problems, he finds himself more concerned with her welfare than is practical for a passing affair.
When I invited you into my bed, it never occurred to me I wouldn’t want you to leave.
There are darker forces at work and the hunger of a weak magicker desperate for power. Will Lucien convince Morgana of his true feelings before things spiral out of control? Or will the surrounding subterfuge tear them apart?
Excerpt:
[After Lucien and Morgana return from intimidating a French smuggler into handing over a case of dangerous and illegal venom used in making potions.]
“I need to speak with him,” Morgana said. “I’ll send him along later.”
James’s eyes narrowed at her, but he nodded. Even in company he barely tolerated, he’d never question her. Especially in company he barely tolerated.
Lucien watched her with a quizzical expression and she smiled. The parlor door closed silently behind her. They wouldn’t be interrupted by servants. Now was the time.
“Since we met,” she said confidently and closed the distance between them. “I’ve been attracted to you.”
He nodded, caressing her cheek with the knuckles of one hand. “I’ve felt the same way.”
“Good,” she whispered, voice husky, lips a breath from his. “Come upstairs with me.”
Lucien tried to recall a time when a woman was bold enough to seduce him, and could not. Morgana was different from his previous lovers and far, far more daring. His entire being was focused on her, on her body. Thoughts of their night, the venom, and André’s mysterious buyer swept from his head the instant she kissed him.
Now, both half naked, his lips trailed down her thigh, over her knee, to her delicate ankle. Up the other leg, over the delicate swell of her hip. He looked at her in the dimness of the room. And in the shifting shadows, her eyes were a deep recess that drew Lucien in and captured him. In those interminable minutes before their lips touched again, he felt himself drowning in her; her taste, her scent, her very essence.
Their lips touched softly, gently at first. Flesh on flesh. Then she opened her mouth under his and drew him in. He watched her eyes flutter shut as she gave herself over and he pulled her closer, determined to have all of her this night.
Tiny, invisible tendrils wound around them, drawing them to each other, into each other and together they crossed that final barrier. He felt her hands move up his sides, over his shoulders to caress his neck, only to wind themselves around and pull him even closer, molding her body to his – perfectly.
Lucien thought he knew what it was to give into lust. To know that rush, and revel in it for as long as it lasted. Thought he’d experienced everything there was to experience when it came to matters of the flesh. As her hands tugged off his shirt, slowly roaming the bare flesh underneath, he discovered he was wrong.
Morgana sighed his name. “Lucien.”
Non-practicing alcoholic and domestic violence escapee who lives with her lovely young boyfriend, snarky teenage son, ex-husband (the nice one of course), 2 large neurotic dogs and 2 indifferent kitties. Trying to get my sh*t together for the umpteenth time. Pretty sure it's never gonna happen, but hey, no f@#ks given, right?
Blurb:
Desperate and young, Jillian Moore did something she knew would one day come back to bite her in the ass. She’d posed nude. For money. Years later, and on the fast track to a successful career, she’s still haunted by her mistake. She can’t help but wonder when her past will catch up with her.
Samuel Steele is not short on female attention, but the women who warm his bed pale in comparison to the fantasy he’s created of the seductive temptress in the painting hanging prominently in his bedroom. A fantasy that has ruined his once satisfying sex life. When he discovers that her exact likeness works in his building—for him—things get…interesting.
Excerpt:
Oh my God, Samuel Steele was a walking, talking wet dream.
She’d drooled from afar plenty, but up close he was downright gorgeous. Every woman in the place, and even some of the guys, had checked out his tight butt, flat abs and broad shoulders, and although he’d never worn anything but a suit to the office, that didn’t stop imaginations from running riot. His hair was dark and thick, his skin tanned, and regardless of the time of day, his jaw always seemed darkened with at least a day’s beard growth. And his eyes. She’d never been close enough to make out their color before, but they were a dark, piercing gray. They should have looked cold, but the way he was looking at her made her wonder if someone had turned off the air-conditioning.
****
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Non-practicing alcoholic and domestic violence escapee who lives with her lovely young boyfriend, snarky teenage son, ex-husband (the nice one of course), 2 large neurotic dogs and 2 indifferent kitties. Trying to get my sh*t together for the umpteenth time. Pretty sure it's never gonna happen, but hey, no f@#ks given, right?
