Here’s a new snippet from my upcoming IR romance The Hick and the Hippie

…just so ya’ll know I’m working.

In this scene Xander and Lee met again after almost 15 years apart in an airport. He’s made his intentions clear: he wants her back. Period. She wants that too, but the pain of the past hasn’t healed completely for either of them…

“Still won’t talk about it?” He teased.

Lee glared at him and moved away. No, she didn’t talk about it. She hadn’t really done their type of sexual play with anyone else. Only Xander brought out her need to be submissive. Other men didn’t.

Well, one had. A tall, beautiful black man named Lance. He was Jamaican, but his dominance, while natural and wonderfully sexual, extended too far outside of the bedroom. It drove her nuts because unlike with Xander there was no love to make it tolerable.

“You don’t have to,” he whispered. “As long as you let me love you, you don’t have to say a word.” He pulled her close. “I want to see you tomorrow.”

Lee frowned, confused. “Are you asking me out?”

“Yes. I’ll pick you up at 7:30. We’ll go have a drink and get something to eat.”

She stared at him, smiling when he raised his brow at her.

“Alright,” she said mildly.

“Wear a dress.”

“OK.”

He drove her home then, riding the whole way with his hand on her thigh, absently stroking her soft skin as though it comforted him. He walked her to the door and saw her inside, then kissed her against a wall in the foyer until she begged him to go. Even then he only complied when she yawned and admitted the journey that had taken her to the airport had been a quick overnight trip, and she was exhausted.

“Alright,” he said reluctantly. “See you tomorrow. I can’t wait to see your house when it’s light out,” he grinned, and was gone.

Lee stood with her back against the front door for awhile, working up the strength to walk upstairs to bed. She felt like she’d been run over. She’d just rediscovered an old lover, the old lover, who had, in the space of a few hours, given her multiple orgasms, two spankings, and a head full of confusion. And she would see him again tomorrow.

Washing her face and cleaning her teeth she told herself she couldn’t fall back under Xander’s spell. She’d let him take one bite, and he’d suck away her spirit like an incubus.

She wouldn’t care one bit either. She would revel in being constantly on her back, in his bed, soaking up the pleasure and the gentle bullying that was his special offering. The sexual games would start. Her will and independence would fade until the old, tattered threads that held her apart from him were so thin and transparent, a good yank would snap them into dust.

Patting her face dry she shivered. She had little control over Xander. If he got his hooks into her again, the battle between her body and her head would take over until she forgot all the time they’d spent apart, until she forgot that he had yet to explain why he’d abandoned her all those years ago. She’d be like a puppet dancing on a string because the fight between his rampant sexuality and her own feeble resistance was a battle she had never, ever won.

Once Xander had wanted every piece of her, and nothing had changed. She still had an insatiable need to give him whatever he asked. He’d consume her, and the pain. She shuddered.

The pain when they’d parted in Gatlin had been like a physical wound, open, gaping, and it had healed so slowly. She couldn’t face it again. She’d ached for him, longed for him, had even tried to fuck him from her system a few times. Sadly she found that sex only turned off her mind for so long, and Xander had played with her mind most of all.

She was like a baby in a thin blanket, set outside to fend for itself in the rain, totally vulnerable. She was going to try and stop him, but he was going to get her, and he wasn’t going to get much of a fight.

Madonna’s W.E. Was Good, But …

…I saw a few cracks. Not to say that I didn’t enjoy it. I did. I adore the subject matter. I’ve been absorbing information about Wallis Simpson for years, learning about her style prowess and enjoying the story of a woman with no particular looks to speak of, who made a King fall in love with her so hard he abdicated his throne.

W.E. starred Abbie Cornish and Oscar Isaac (pictured here) as the modern day lovers to Andrea Riseborough and James D’Arcy’s historic representation of Wallis and the King. They were many similarities between the couples, the smoking and drinking and lifestyle, as well as the limitations. The King wasn’t terribly bright, and he was a bit weak willed. Oscar, who played Evgeni, a Russian security guard, was limited by class and to a lesser degree by money.

The original Wallis (Riseborough) and modern day version (Cornish) also had similar problems with their respective first husbands. The storyline was there. The dialogue wasn’t a problem, and the actors gave strong performances, but the direction was flawed. That’s what I mean by cracks. Madonna seemed to cut scenes awkwardly or too quickly, focusing on odd things, and kind of, I don’t know, teasing the viewer.

For instance, during a flashback modern Wallis recalls a bout of lovemaking with Evgeni. They’re kissing and she takes his cap and puts it on her head, but it wasn’t enough, and I felt that way more than once. If only she’d lingered here or there… And it had nothing to do with nudity, although there was some, but it wasn’t gratuitious. It was more about me wanting her to enhance the flavor of the romance. To allow the sensuality between the lovers to blossom leisurely as opposed to a rushed flash here and there.

Maybe Madonna was leery of depicting too much sensuality, or she meant the choppiness to reflect on the different Wallis’ state of mind. But it came off as amatuerish. I blame her direction for the occasional stiltedness in Cornish’ performance as well. But I’m done being critical. It’s still worth seeing. Riseborough and Isaac were fabulous. I may have to stalk him now. Cinematically, of course.

Taylor Kitsch – Nuff Said

I wonder will there be any shots like this one (with model Jessica White) in Battleship? You know, half naked but with Taylor in a crew cut? Probably not. Too bad, no?

The movie would seriously be a huge hit if there were. The trailer wouldn’t even need words. They could just show our boy lounging on a sandy beach with his hands in the water. Actually he could probably just blink soulfully into the camera and that would be enough…lol.

After Battleship we have Savages to look forward too. He and some other cutey are gonna share Blake Lively. Should be interesting…

Free is good for whales, for love, for grocery store samples, but writers?

I’m not entirely convinced. I ask the questions because Kindle offers you the option to have your book for free for a few days if you enroll in one of their services. Notice how vague I am on the details. Can you tell I’m not that interested?

Which I suppose is a bit hypcritical of me since I download free books all the time. And they do serve one great purpose – to introduce me to writers that I might not have tried otherwise, risk free. That’s the only real benefit I can see, to get people to try you out. Then if they like you, they’ll come back and spend a few sheckles, which I often do.

So, I guess I answered my own question. Free is good for writers, in certain circumstances. It’s like a debate I took part in on Facebook recently. The lady was asking, at least I think she was asking, about ebook pricing. There was something in there about attracting young audiences, quality, indie vs. established, yack, yack, yack.

My contribution? Price yourself according to the market – meaning if you’re an indie author it might not be smart to price yourself in the same bracket as E L James. Focus on quality, and do your thing with marketing. It’s not rocket science. I was actually scratching my head over the purpose of the post.

Currently, both of the books I have out are $1.99, as will be my third release The Hick and The Hippie, which comes out next week. Do I think I’m worth more, of course. Could I have charged more, sure. $2.99 would have been entirely reasonable.

But I have to think about the length of the books and the fact that while in my own mind I’m a star, to everyone else, it’s like, huh? When that changes you better believe fat kids gonna boost her fees accordingly. So I guess that means you should scoop up Fiona Love and A Willing Slave while they’re still a bargain. You can say you were one of my early fans and that you got my first books for a song * slips away in fantasy involving huge Borders-like book store with self sitting at a desk wearing a fedora cocked over one eye and a huge smile while signing books for a huge line of equally smiley people. *

Still, people who find out I’m a writer and immediately want me to do lengthy projects for them, gratis, forget it. This indie ain’t free!

The Hick and the Hippie

I’m doing final edits on my next book about a man, Xander, and a woman, Lee, who meet in an airport more than a decade after they first fell in love. Here’s a lil’ snippet. This scene is a flashback to when they were 18, the first time they made love:

“Come on in,” he told her, throwing down his bag. “My brother won’t be home ‘til late.” He immediately cracked open a bottle of root beer and took a big swig.
Not one to stand on ceremony, Lee flopped down on the couch as he unpacked his things and ate a few of the soda crackers someone had left on the table.
He sat next to her and leaned back with a math book on his lap. He saluted her with the bottle. “You wanna beer?” He teased, knowing she’d been watching to see if he had real liquor.
Lee shook her head. She knew he drank. She’d heard the jokes about him from other players, Wanda’s friends, even teachers, but Lee didn’t judge. City girl she might be, but her roots were in the south. She knew all about starting on booze young, and Xander’s easy handed drinking didn’t compare to the kindness she’d observed. The way he’d grin while playing with a teammate’s nosy, troublesome little sister, or roll his eyes and stoically take a ribbing from his sharp-tongued ex-girlfriend Sheena. And he was a doll with the pee-wee team, all of whom worshiped him.
Since they’d begun working together she was also drawn by his warmth and laughter, had found herself empathizing with the pain lurking behind his crystal green eyes. She even liked that he tried to hide that pain behind a smile and a kind word. The combination of sex and sweetness was potent.
He felt it too. He often touched her, a hand on her shoulder to fix her attention or at her back as he guided her here or there. He liked to open doors and do things that required he be close enough to brush against her. Lately, wherever she was, he was too, not close enough to crowd, but enough to share his heat and make her feel protected.
Lee had her share of pride, so she tried to hide the way his touch made her feel. They both did, especially in school. For instance, rather than stare obviously at his face, she looked down at her papers or at his body so as not to draw attention when they spoke in the hallways.
Now, as she lounged on the couch beside him she leaned back to better watch one of her favorite body parts, his hands. She loved to watch him handle things. They were big with long fingers and neatly trimmed nails. She’d always had a thing for big hands on a man. And he had such an elegant way about him. She could stare at that one facet of his masculinity all day.
“Quit,” he said, and she withheld a grin and enjoyed the unknown pleasure of watching his sculpted cheeks turn pink with embarrassment.
Routed, next she admired the line of his jaw and the way he bit his lower lip because she was still staring.
Lee took his root beer and put it down on the table. “No,” she said, and felt him jerk when their lips touched. She stopped, wondering if she was too forward for a conservative Gatlin boy. But Xander’s hesitation, a mere pause while his warm, spicy breath washed her lips, was momentary. The math book thumped to the floor, and she found herself hauled gently over to sit astride his lap while he ate at her mouth.
She sighed and settled into his arms. He had a plush, pink kiss. His lips were supple and skilled, firm and faintly dangerous when his teeth got into it. His mouth was blood red when he finally broke away, and they stared at each other.
She struggled to control her breathing, and the urge to rub herself against him like a cat, but Lee met his gaze coolly. She waited for him to start mumbling about mistakes and offering apologies, but her bravado faded as Xander stared back and for the longest moment they just looked at each other. Lee wasn’t thinking anything in particular, just how gorgeous he was with his mouth plump from hers. She’d have been gratified to know his thoughts were just as scattered as hot eyes ran over her face and hair. Her heart kicked up its beat as those long-fingered hands traveled her neck and shoulders, and she grew damp as they wrapped around her upper arms.
He made her feel tiny as he pulled her tight against his body, and she burrowed close, nuzzling, her nostrils flaring wide to drink in his scent.
Xander rose from the couch, guiding her long legs to circle his waist. He rubbed his nose in her cleavage and left damp, well sucked marks behind as he made his way toward the back of the house. They stumbled half way, and Lee laughed as he bumped her against a wall to keep from falling.
“You okay?” he rasped.
Lee nodded. Her tummy fluttered as green eyes narrowed, and the sexiest look she’d ever seen lasered in on her décolletage. She looked down and saw most of one lace covered breast was exposed by the tear in her collar. He looked like he wanted to take a bite out of her, and as the air touched her damp bosom she shivered realizing he already had.
“This is gon’ be fun,” he told her, leaning close to steal her breath with a wet, luxurious kiss. “You ready, city girl?”

Get Money

The only thing that would make this image better would be if the lady was wearing a fedora cocked down over one eye, some tight bell bottom jeans and a t-shirt that read ‘Granddaughter of a field slave’ (I have one, so I know they make ‘em).

Liz Taylor and a Riding Crop

I watched Reflections in a Golden Eye last night with Elizabeth Taylor and Marlon Brando. He plays a repressed homosexual in a high ranking position in the Army. Dame Taylor plays his feisty wife who just happens to be having an affair with one of their neighbors.

Crazy film. All eerie music and unspoken neurosis. She does a nice line as a beautiful harpy, one who has good reasons for what she’s become – a neglectful and deceitful husband, for instance – yet whose character is not particularly sympathetic.

Her character was actually quite simple. She was stealing little bits of happiness wherever she could, making the best of a bad situation, and unlike the other female character in the film, she was strong. Life had dealt her a blow with the gay husband, but she managed to get a few of her own licks in too.

Love stories like that.

Frank Ocean’s Thinking About You

This might be up there with Robin Thicke’s Lost Without You. I’ve been posting it everywhere…the boy’s blog is kinda cool too: http://frankocean.com/

A Fan of the Opera

I saw Manon this past Saturday. It was broadcast live in a movie theater as it was playing at the Met in New York. It was my first taste of the Opera – a wonderful treat from my friends Vince and Joe - and Anna Netrebko brought tears to my eyes.

It is now my goal to see opera live in New York, at the Met, at night. I can’t imagine what the experience must be like.

I didn’t know if I would like opera, but I wanted to try it, and I was surprised by how relaxing it is. The music lulls you into this place where you’re there in your seat, but you’re also floating closer and closer to the stage, being pulled toward the characters and their struggle and passion as if by gravity. Netrebkos voice was amazing, and the interview they did with her backstage – she had a chocolate Easter bunny tucked between her breasts! – so much personality and humor. She emoted, yes, I’m fabulous, but I’m going to have fun with this thing, and you will too! And I did.

Prioritizing

Any writer working a full-time a job and a full-time dream has a lot to do. A LOT.

There’s working, living, marketing, social networking, editing, and let’s not forget the actual writing. I’m sure I forgot at least a dozen other viable ings from that little list. But my point is, how in the h – e – double hockey sticks do you figure out what to do first, second and third?

I ask because I’ve written a decent chunk of work the past three nights. But I haven’t done any editing on a story that’s close to being ready for publication. I’ve been inspired to write – my YA characters are up to all sorts of shenanigans. I’m thinking snippet next week, kids – and I am not stupid enough to ignore the muse when she strikes.

I suppose inspiration is the deciding factor. I’ve been inspired to create on a fresh piece, rather than chip away potential issues with an old one. That said, fat kids gotta get some work done on that other book this weekend. Like so many good questions, the answer here is not cut and dried or even singular.

So, f&*! it! Follow the muse. LOL