Something thrilling! I’m the Guest Author for the whole month of August on the Erotica Readers & Writers Association website! They’ve posted my bio and three FREE stories of mine! So be sure to head over there to check those out! Look at the panel on the left side where it says “Guest Author.”
I’ve been so busy with the Cleis Press books, I haven’t had a chance to talk about the book Paisley Smith and I put together. First, don’t you love the cover? Especially that big fat tongue? Mm-mmm.
I write a lot of short stories. Usually too short to publish on their own. While most are picked up for collections, I don’t like the thought that some of my readers can’t enjoy them if they don’t want to read an anthology of random authors. Last winter I put together a collection of hetero tales, called Strokes.  Readers seemed to enjoy that.
I still had all these lesbian shorts doing nothing on my computer. Not enough to fill out a collection all my myself, but then I have friends. One in particular—Paisley Smith—is a fantastic lesbian fiction author. I asked her if she’d like to join me. She was all over it, and in fact wrote never-before-published stories just for this book!
And if you think LGBT fiction isn’t your cup of tea, well take a look…
From Paisley’s “Riding Bitch”:
After my third call went to voicemail, I flipped closed my cell phone and peered down the dark street. No sign of my boyfriend, Garrett. I couldn’t imagine why he’d forgotten to pick me up from my job at the Giggling Grouper.
Thunder rumbled and I turned toward the gulf. Soft lightning illuminated the sky in the distance. But beach storms rolled in fast. Apprehension gnawed at my stomach.
I’d sensed Garrett pulling away, but since my job was seasonal, and I’d probably be moving back to my hometown in Georgia after Labor Day, I really hadn’t bothered to end things with him.
Tonight, it seemed, he’d beaten me to the punch.
I glanced at my watch. Half past two. He was thirty minutes late and everybody I knew was either in bed or lived an hour away in Foley. No sense calling a cab. The fee to make the hour-and-a-half drive from Orange Beach to my place in Bay Minette would cost every dollar I’d earned for the night.
The parking lot was desolate except for one empty car and a motorcycle.
Lindsey’s motorcycle. Read the rest of this entry »
