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A Word to My Mother

13 May

What makes me the luckiest erotic romance writer in all the world? My mom.

There’s actually a decent chance I wouldn’t be writing erotic romance right now if it weren’t for Mom. When I was a little girl, she led me by example. Her stash of romance novels took up the whole top shelf of the closet. She never discouraged me from reading anything. She kept Henry Miller on the bottom shelf, where little hands could easily reach it, try to read it, and decide for themselves that Judy Blume was a better read. Then she supplied me with brand new Judy Blume books – in hardcover with their glossy jackets – for years.

Finally, Mom started me reading romance. I was in law school, at a horribly low point in my life, and she sent me a care package with two romance novels in it. Once I was hooked (halfway through the first one), she sent me the copy of Mallory Rush’s Love Game that is on my keeper shelf as I write this.

Thanks, Mom!

Mom sent me a copy of People’s Sexiest Man Alive issue last year, with a sticky note attached: “To help with your writing.”

Mom thinks I can do anything. I know what that sounds like. A couple of Romanticons ago, Mom and I were watching a pole dancer from Cleveland Exotic Dance climb to the top of her pole, almost to the ceiling, and then stretch out from it as if she were a flag, perpendicular to the pole itself. I was really impressed. My mother said, “You can do that!”

I can’t, of course. But what matters is that my mother thinks I can. For whatever reason.

Mom wants to help assemble the little goodie bags I’m bring up for this year’s Romanticon (my first as an author). I kind of think she realizes this is as close as she’ll get to making those little wedding favors, but still, it’s a big job and she wants to help.

Most of all, Mom supports me on every step of my journey as an author. One of my exes asked what my mother would think if she could see what I wrote. I told him, “She would probably tell you it could be hotter. Then she would yell at you for suggesting she ought to be ashamed of me. If you’d like to try that, put the phone on speaker.”

I don’t get to see Mom all that often, but I try to make the visits count. At last year’s Romanticon (it’s our annual mother-daughter trip), Mom won a prize at the pajama bingo game. Alpha Caveman Nick Soto came over to check her numbers, and everyone watched as he stood over her shoulder in all his shirtless glory and read her winning numbers out loud. After he’d left her the prize and I gave her a hug, we all went back to playing. A game or two later, she said, “Oh, Lex! You know what you should have done?”

“What?” I asked.

“You should have gotten a picture of Nick while he was here.”

I don’t get to be a step ahead of Mom very often, but of course I caught her with Nick. And with lots of other new hot male friends. All the not-so-incriminating photos (it’s only incriminating if you feel guilty) are over on my blog.

I hope everyone had a lovely Mother’s Day! Share a story or a memory in the comments.

**Alexa Day’s mom promises it will not take two years to finish the next book (Alexa’s first book, ILLICIT IMPULSE, is available right now!). You can keep Alexa honest by following her on Twitter, liking her on Facebook, or keeping up with her blog at www.alexaday.net. All you have to do is send frequent but gentle reminders that she ought to be working. She’ll take the hint.

Write Like No One Is Reading…

20 Apr

I fully remember when I became self-conscious about my writing. In my sixth grade language arts class, I had penned a murder mystery short. My heroine’s pet bunny was murdered and left for dead…in a bloody heap on her doorstep.

There was mayhem! A rival with a motive! A quasi-love interest who was just as distraught about the dog as the heroine! In the end, the culprit was the neighbor’s rabid dog who was later put down and the story ended with her getting a new pet….a puppy.

Now 11 year old me didn’t think about things like logic — I went with a puppy because I liked dogs more than cats. Upon reading this story, my teacher praised it and encouraged me to layer in more details and string out the tension.

My mother and my sister….both laughed. Not the ha-ha-ha, I love this laughter of joy, but a OMG-cant-stop-chuckle of derision. With a single read through they had both pinpointed the issue with the puppy and brought it to light.

Neither of them knew at the time that they had made a huge impact on my creative works. I no longer had the same freedom, the same confidence in my words.

Though they enjoyed subsequent works, though I later earned a writing recognition in front of the entire school, though I continued to write fiction in secret, I could never recapture that same level of I Am Awesome.

Now it’s something I re-learn every time I write a book. I give myself permission to just write, and let myself know that it’s okay if I don’t get it right the first time — that’s what CPs are for and edits. By the same token, I can admit that some of what I write has merit as is.

It’s a delicate balance and one I wish I didn’t have to navigate. But it’s the only way to get the job done: Write Like No One is Reading.

 

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Sasha

Who wants you to be freeeeeee! If you want to hear more of Sasha’s ramblings, visit her at http://www.sashadevlin.com or follow her on Twitter @SashaDevlin. You can also peep her pins on Pinterest here

John and Grace and Tal and Alexa … and Jamaica?

11 Mar

My first book, ILLICIT IMPULSE, was released a little under a week ago. After spending so much time with the book, I’m having a hard time deciding where I am on the emotional rollercoaster that is the journey to publishing. Sure, I’m happy. But what specific flavor of happiness is this?

It’s a little bittersweet, maybe. To get to this wonderful place, I’m having to get comfortable with the idea that there’s no more writing to be done. You wouldn’t think that would be hard, as many hundreds of times as I wished to just be finished with it, already. Now that I’m actually here, though, I miss spending time with my characters.

Not that we were hanging out watching Scandal or anything. We were just in each other’s headspace a lot. When I was writing, I had to get fully immersed in the world of ILLICIT IMPULSE, and fortunately for me, that meant spending loads of time with my heroine and her two hot male friends.

I miss Grace Foley and her huge wardrobe. I wonder what it’s like to live without asking, “Do I have the appropriate garment for this occasion?” I love that she only uses clear nail polish on her fingers because she always manages to chip her manicure when she uses a color. She’s not really in it for the color anyway; she just likes her nails to be hard enough to leave a mark when she uses them. Her perfume and shampoo smell like freshly cut flowers, but that’s mostly irony on her part. Her personality sort of demands a slightly less innocent fragrance.

John March is nothing if not patient. Most of the time. He doesn’t know how adorable he is, with those dorky glasses and his ever-present horde of sharpened pencils. He says he doesn’t have time for haircuts, so he won’t bother until he has to push it out of his eyes. When he’s concentrating, he’s in his own little science world. His eyebrows come together while he’s struggling to figure something out. He’s one of those people who will actually blush harder if you tell him he’s blushing. When he’s your friend, he’s got your back for life … which can make for unpredictable complications of the sexiest kind.

I had the most fun with Tal Crusoe. Most people think he’s just a pretty boy, a golden-haired all-American with his bright blue eyes, and he knows it. Press yourself into a long, warm hug with Tal, and you’ll find he smells like soap and drugstore shampoo. In his line of work as a personal trainer, he says, people would rather know you’re clean than wonder what product you’re using. On the surface, he’s not terribly complicated. He likes his beer, his burgers, and his ESPN, and he definitely likes his women – as long as they understand his terms. Life according to Tal is pretty easy, but he wonders if John can make it even easier.

*sigh* And now all that’s over. It’s over for me, anyway; it might just be starting for you!

And don’t feel so badly for me. I’ve got a whole new story just waiting .

And this one unfolds in Jamaica. So seriously, don’t feel bad. There’s nothing happening here that a little head trip to Jamaica won’t fix right up.

**Alexa Day’s ILLICIT IMPULSE is now available from Ellora’s Cave. You can catch up with her here on the second Monday of the month, on her blog every Thursday, with the other WiseWenches on the first Wednesday of the month, via Facebook, and on Twitter. She’s working on her second book.

Dinner and a Show — Holiday Flash Fiction

11 Feb

Our plans for Valentine’s Day are simple. We will be spending a quiet evening at home.

I don’t want to make it sound too exciting. You seem so thrilled with your plans to get dressed up for dinner and take in this year’s obligatory date movie. I hate to steal your thunder, and yet I cannot share your enthusiasm.

While you’re covering that backless getup with a coat, I’ll be getting dressed up, too. He likes to help with my garters, his big hands clumsy on the stretchy straps but oh-so-nimble on the middle ground beneath that silken swatch. I have to help him with a necktie, even though we’re staying home. It’s not a working man’s noose tonight. It’s a leash. It’s a blindfold. Maybe later, it’ll be a ziptie.

Tonight, as you struggle with pronouncing the names of pricey wines or using the right fork, he’ll join me on the floor for a real lovers’ meal. In the candlelit darkness, we’ll feast with our fingers. We’ll gorge ourselves on everything hot and wet, sweet and sticky, soft and stiff, all we can eat, all we can stand. We’ll lick delectable juices served over salty skin and finish with bites of firm flesh.

You’ll be squinting into the dark in search of two adjacent seats, but we’re going to turn in early tonight. He’ll get the lights just right, and I’ll slide the mirror into position. We’ll take our places together on our intimate stage, a place where performers and audience are one and the same. He’ll shed his costume for me, and I’ll reveal myself to him. We’ll watch the slide of skin on skin, his hand caressing the contour of my hip, my nails making crescent moons just beneath his shoulder blade. His body will batter mine with strong, sure undulations, and I will demand more with words Hollywood doesn’t approve. Our private show would make you cross your legs tight and hope your date didn’t notice you blushing.

You’ll feel sorry for me on the 15th. You’ll spare me the details of your enchanted evening, not wanting to brag. I pity you a bit, too. We have quiet evenings at home all the time.

**I’m so excited to join the crew at Passionate Reads! You can also catch me on my own blog every Thursday, on Facebook, and on Twitter. In three weeks, Ellora’s Cave will release my first novel, Illicit Impulse, the story of a hot science geek, his best friend, her boy toy, an experimental drug, and lots of hot complications.

Of Candy and Hearts and Candy Hearts

9 Feb

I feel like we’re friends, so I can be completely honest with you. I’m not a huge fan of Valentine’s Day. Sure I love the pink and the glitter and I love that it’s supposed to be a celebration of love. BUT I find most of what is held as the ultimate in Valentine’s and romance just leave me going pfffft.

I loathe conversation hearts. I think they taste like the end of a relationship — chaulky and with a hint of disappointment. And — don’t take my Woman Card — I didn’t even like chocolate candy until a few years ago.

I can’t stand any Katherine Hiegl movie. And you can interchange that with any Jessica Biel movie (save Blade 3) and most Reese Witherspoon movies They all miss their mark.

Clearly, I believe in love and romance, otherwise, why write what I do?

Real love isn’t about glitter or cut out hearts or candy that tastes like sadness or perfect looking people who act like they are made of cardboard. It’s loud, it’s messy, it’s supposed to make you squirm, and in the end it’s all worth it.

And if your Lover brings you candy, a paper heart or takes you to see a romantic movie, I hope you get that loud/messy/squirmy feeling.

Happy Valentine’s Day!

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Sasha

Who wants you to be her Valentine. If you want to hear more of Sasha’s ramblings, visit her at http://www.sashadevlin.com or follow her on Twitter @SashaDevlin. You can also peep her pins on Pinterest here

Who’s My Creampuff?

26 Jan

Confession time: I love endearments and nicknames. I’ve always gone by a shortened version of my real name and I give endearments/nicknames to friends, family and enemies alike. I very rarely have a character that doesn’t end up with one.

But you have to be careful. While  I can get away with calling a friend Bunnymuffins (yes, you read that right) in real life, put it in a story and it’ll throw the reader out every time.  Sugar, baby, honey and sweetheart are all fine. Sugar Lips, not so much. And don’t even get me started on Candy Yams.

My brain conspires against me. It twitches and sprinkles in the endearments while my back is turned. Generally I have to edit most of these out, but I recently had a project where I could go nuts.

And I abused it with glee! Honeypie! Angelfritter! Pumpkin-puss!  There was no endearment too over the top to use and it felt so good. Of course, the whole story is over the top, so it works.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t looking forward to the next time I could do it again, Honeybritches. *sigh* But since the rest of my books are not humorous in nature, I’ve got to know, what’s your favorite endearment?

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Sasha

Who wants you to be her Babycakes. If you want to hear more of Sasha’s ramblings, visit her at http://www.sashadevlin.com or follow her on Twitter @SashaDevlin. You can also peep her pins on Pinterest here

The Ties That Cuddle

14 Jan

Today I’m joining the ladies of Passionate Reads as a regular blogger, about two years after I won a Passionate Reads Pitch Contest with the pitch for my first story, then entitled Project NSA. A couple of months ago, I sold that story to Ellora’s Cave. It’s called Illicit Impulse now, and I’m working on my first round of edits right now. Pretty exciting, right?

My first novel has been a long time in the making. The journey to publication includes at least two rewrites, one terrible day job, one desperate search for employment, and quite a few less than productive days. I also have to blame some of the delay on research. Writing Illicit Impulse required me to learn a thing or two about biochemistry, and that can be a fascinating place to visit, once you get comfortable with it.

Biochemistry is the source of so many things we take for granted. It’s the reason we listen to a new favorite song hundreds of times before we get sick of it. It’s the reason the food we adored in childhood might taste horrendous to us in adulthood. And then there’s oxytocin, a particularly sneaky hormone responsible for bringing people together, whether we want it or not.

Oxytocin is released whenever we touch other people or pet an animal or engage in various other types of other casual contact. But when oxytocin is released in a woman’s brain at the moment of orgasm, it creates an emotional bond between the woman and her sex partner. If the two of them are already together, that bond leads to the deeper intimacy that makes the postcoital buzz so pleasant. But if they’re just two people looking for some no-strings-attached fun, oxytocin starts building that bond anyway. That’s right. Upon orgasm, a woman’s brain chemistry can essentially start creating a relationship where none exists.

The bottom line is that oxytocin is the reason that most women struggle with keeping casual sex casual. So far, society has responded by encouraging women to avoid casual sex altogether. In order to steer clear of the heartache that comes with breaking the oxytocin bond, we women are being told to forgo purely recreational sex and wait for relationships.

Okay, I get that. No one wants the heartache. But the solution, if we must call it that, seems unfair. I’m a child of the 80s. I was taught that women could do anything men could do, even if we ultimately chose not to do it, and so I cringe at the idea that we should just deny ourselves this sort of pleasure because oxytocin might get in the way. Sure, the questions of morality and health might weigh heavily on this decision for each woman in her own way, but I don’t care for the idea that our biology should be making this call for us.

But what if we could just take oxytocin out of the picture? What might happen then? How would it feel to play on a level field?

That’s the tantalizing thought that led me to my first novel.

Illicit Impulse is the story of Grace Foley and John March, two best friends who have wanted more from each other for years but have been hesitant to pursue their desires for the sake of preserving their friendship. While John’s focused on his career and the experimental drug, Impulse, that suppresses oxytocin, Grace spends long, sensual nights with her friend with benefits, Tal Crusoe. John hopes Grace will help him test Impulse’s effectiveness, and she’s thrilled to experiment with oxytocin-free sex. But before long, all three of them discover that the bonding hormone isn’t the only complication they have to deal with.

You can find the first chapter of Illicit Impulse right here on Passionate Reads. The rest of it is coming out soon from Ellora’s Cave. I just need to get those edits done first.

**Alexa Day promises not to spend two years finishing her next book. You can keep her honest by following her on Twitter, liking her on Facebook, or keeping up with her blog at www.alexaday.net. All you have to do is send frequent but gentle reminders that she ought to be working. She’ll take the hint.

 

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