In December,this Southern girlpacked a 26-foot rental truck with all my worldly possessions,hooked up a car trailer, and left Alabama, my grown children, friends, job (and oh yes, my ex-husband) and pointed the car/truck contraption to a destination 1,300 miles west. To a new life and a new adventure—the physical journey known! The life journey and ultimate outcome, not so much. As I was climbing out of my car through the window,fielding questions from my midnight, dog-walking neighbor inquiring if I was moving, I looked down at my “Follow your Dreams” T-shirt andfor one last timequestioned my decision to move west. That’s another story. Let’s just say reading is a valuable skill and the importance of reading instructions, even on your T-shirt,is underappreciated.
My dog and I left the sultry south for the wild west. We successfully managed to drive and admire the American landscape forthat1,300 miles in the largest, longest vehicle I have ever driven. No one was maimed, no gas pumps blown up, and I didn’t get lost. We even managed to navigate the Dallas traffic without incident. I felt on top of the world. I could do anything. I was invincible.
My string of good fortune continued. The universe had more than just smiled on me. I had the best friends that sheltered me as I settled in and played find-a-house in a hotter than hot market. They fed me local favorites, served me champagne from the local winery, and showed me around town. I fell in love with my new home state of New Mexico. As a curly-haired Southern girl, frizzy hair has been the bane of my existence. No one ever told me about the miracles ofthe moisture-lessair out here. “Come to New Mexico for amazing hair” should be the state motto. The hiking, the Hatch green chilis, themanybountiesof this stateare extra.
Untilthesnow.
It all started last week. The weather forecasters were in a fever pitch. The Super Bowl of weather was coming. They got major airtime. It was going to be cold. The conditions were perfect for accumulation. I lived in the city. I was a veteran of hurricanes. I had boots, gloves, and a long down jacket. I was invincible, have I mentioned that? Winter watches were posted for days. I was excited for snow. It was supposed to start after midnight. I waited up. At midnight, I threw open the doors, the artic blast created instant goosebumps, and the dog and I plunged into the darkness. We gazed up. Nothing. Not even the spectacular universe of stars was present. No precipitation from the sky. Deflated and shivering, I headed to bed.
My alarm roused me from dreams of a winter wonderland. I bounded out of bed, tossing the comforter and three blankets to the floor and threw open the drapes. Nothing. I trudged to the kitchen, started the coffee, and let the dog out. Wait. There was something falling from the sky. It wasn’t perfectly formed works of art. It was more like ugly little ice shards. The weather people lied. Where was my first snow? The fluffy, pristine white miracles of Mother Nature that made you want to curl up by the fire with a hot drink and hotter book? Ice. Hmm. That possibility never entered my mind. How do you drive in that? Luckily, there was nothing on the streets. My commuteto my new job—oh, another story—was without incident. The feeling of being robbed of a milestone event lingered as did the sleet.
Throughout the morning I wandered past the windows, assessing the weather situation. People started leaving around noon. As the parking lot emptied, I noticed there was ice. I heard a passing comment of “Got to get the ice scraper out”. That got me thinking and wondering, “What’s an ice scraper?” and “Why isn’t there a winter storm prepared checklist?” Just then my email dinged with a note from the Safety department. I was supposed to wear my boots to the office then change into regular shoes. Note to self as I looked down at my winter boots. I did not dare venture out for lunch. What was I thinking? Did I not follow that thought through – like I wouldn’t have to drive home? I hunkered down in my jacket and boots working at my desk, apprehension growing.
My trips past the windows grew in frequency. It was bleak outside. The wind was blowing great gusts of ice, and dare I call it snow, around the lot and building. Where was the picturesque,magicalsnow? Where were my co-workers’ cars? How do you drive in ice? Visions of news stories from the great Birmingham ice storm flooded my mind. By three, my excitement for snow was completely extinguished and fear of the commute home made work impossible just as the Director of Safety walked past. She noticed me. “What are you still doing here? Haven’t you seen the roads?” I explained that I was new and this was my first winter storm in town. She stopped and gave me a quick overview of winter driving: go slow especially around corners, leave lots of room between cars, and don’t brake when you slide. And I thought driving cross country in a pseudo tractor trailer was daunting!
I made it the 1.7 uphill miles to my house, again without incident. The invincibility feeling was not coursing through my blood like previously. I was cold, hunkered down in my house looking out wistfully, grateful to be home safe. The pantry was not stocked with hearty foods. Spring mix lettuce ruled the fridge along with a nice bottle of Gruner Veltliner. Apparently, I was stillashopping southern girl. Night fellon the confused Southern girlwith the meteorologists still predicting snow.
The alarm roused me the next morning well before sunrise. I headed to the kitchen for coffee. I didn’t need to turn on the light to see. The moonlight was reflecting off the most exquisite pale powder in my back yard. I ran for my boots and bathrobe. The dog danced at the door. Warm coffee in hand, I opened the door. I didn’t notice the steam coming off my drink or the frigid air blasting. The stars sparkled. It was blissfully still and quiet. Mother Nature had pulled out all the stops. It was all I had imagined. The dog raced through the accumulation like a puppy, barking. Flurries were still falling. It was breathtaking (not just from the temperature). I tossed my head back, twirled, stuck my tongue out to catch snowflakes, and laughed. I threw a snowball at my dog, missed! And, OMG, just missed an attractive, bathrobe clad man, who was peering over the wall at us. I pulled my bathrobe back tight and looked again. No neighbor. My dog didn’t bark. Was there a man or not? The bathrobe had been identical to mine, also loosely tied. I tiptoed over and peeked over the divider. There were definitely tracks, but no handsome man?!? No way I could have imagined that? Could I?
Work had been postponed by several hours. I had a free morning. I turned on the gas fireplace, snuggled into my favorite chair with a steamy novel, and mused about my experience as I finished my second cup of coffee. Yes, there had been a neighbor. No, not possible. But the tracks. Yes. He had been there. I think.
For the first time, the girl felt like a Western girl, the journey wonderfully unpredictable with endless possibilities.
I hope the winter storms that have been ravaging the country find you safe, warm, and reading your favorite authors. I had the most fortunate opportunity to contribute to Passionate Ink’s Falling Hard charity anthology. It’s a collection of seven erotic short stories that benefit Proliteracy.
Check it out if you are looking to discover new authors and stories ranging from historical to paranormal to contemporary. It’s available at Amazon and Kindle Unlimited. Also take a moment to learn about the wonderful work of www.Proliteracy.org.
What are you reading and how are you coping with the winter weather? I would love to hear from you.
Thank you to Delilah Devlin for letting me post on her site and reach her fantastic readers.
XoXo
Candy
About the Author
Candice LaBria is a writer of erotic romance short stories and a member of Passionate Ink. She is on Facebook facebook.com/CandiceLaBria, and Instagram and Twitter @Bria_Writes. Her website is www.CandiceLabria.com.
Plot bunnies—affectionately named because of how fast the little suckers multiply—are persistent bitey jerks that burrow into a writer’s brain and attempt to take over their mind at the expense of jobs, dentist appointments, and laundry—which is fine, because who needs laundry. *wink*
These evil plot bunnies wake me from a dead sleep to scribble illegibly in a little notebook I keep on my nightstand, leaving me to interpret my drowsy jotting in the morning like I’m staring at Rorschach inkblots. Hey, Stephenie Meyer dreamed up sparkly Edward Cullen one night, inspiring the bestselling Twilight Saga, so it’s not totally off-base to get a good one once in a while.
To be fair, it’s not just paid writing that works this way, since I’ve had the same experience with fan fiction ideas; fic that demands it be written right now. Have a sandwich for dinner, family—I’ve got writing to do!
Once a plot bunny has its fangs in you, it’s all over until you give in to its demands like it’s a bank robber with all the leverage.
Plot Bunny: “Hey. Hey.Hey. You know that thing you’re working on right now?”
Author: *guzzles coffee* “You mean the novel I’m finishing because I’m on deadline?”
PB: “Throw that in the trash. I got something for ya. You’re gonna love it.”
A: *groans* “Not again.”
PB: *cracks knuckles* “So, there’s these two hot guys, only one bed in the whole hotel, and wouldn’t you know it, there’s a blizzard…”
This was my experience last year when I got my weekly email with freebies from a stock photo site. I opened it and scanned the selection—probably the usual “woman laughing while eating a salad”.
But one picture caught my eye: two women side-by-side in a yoga studio, doing a stretch that looked like cobra or upward dog. Nothing out of the ordinary, but something about it…
Hmm…I’d never written a story set in a yoga studio. Maybe they’re friends?
Wait. Friends or not, they’re totally gonna get with each other if they haven’t already, if you know what I mean.
*CHOMP*
The plot bunny grinned, it’s teeth glistening with the fresh idea. I had no choice—I needed to write this now now now nownow!
The opening line hit me hard: The first time it happened was between my legs in downward dog.
Oh yeah, I wanted to see where this was going. So, I sat my butt in the chair and feverishly typed while overloading on caffeine and ignoring my eye twitch. Words flowed like a vinyasa, and when it was finished, I knew it would be perfect for an anthology submission.
To celebrate the Big Book of Orgasms Volume 2 release, I’m giving away an ebook of another anthology I was lucky to be a part of last year, Passionate Ink’s Falling Hard: Erotic Romance Anthology. If you haven’t read it, grab it now, since it’s only available for a limited time. All proceeds go to ProLiteracy, too! My story in Falling Hard is Hard Cider Crush, a gay second chance romance full of all the autumn charm of New England and more heat than July in Florida.
Enter below to win an Amazon ebook copy of Falling Hard—U.S. only, 18+. Giveaway will last from February 9th—11th and a random entrant will be drawn on February 12th to win and receive a copy. (Delilah Devlin isn’t associated with this giveaway.)
Question: Tell me about the best book you’ve read recently in one sentence. Or tell me where you’d love to see a romance set!
About the Author
Ryley Banks writes award-winning bestselling sexy romance between the covers, mostly of the LGBTQ+ variety. She’s a connoisseur of tea and gin and loves language, especially creative profanity. When she’s not begging her characters to behave or reading fan fiction, you can find Ryley at: https://ryleybanks.com/ and everywhere at: https://linktr.ee/ryleybanks
Enjoy getting to know Ryley? Then you’ll love her monthly VIP newsletter! Sign up for access to free books, giveaways, sales, and exclusive member extras! https://ryleybanks.com/ryleys-vip-newsletter/
So, I’ve been bingeing all the Star Trek series. I’d never watched Next Generation with Picard, so I started with that. Now, I’m watching Deep Space Nine. There’s an episode where one of my 60s heartthrob, James Darren, plays a Las Vegas lounge singer. If you’re of a certain age, you might remember him as Moondoggie in the Gidget movies or one of the doctors trapped traveling through time in The Time Tunnel.
That episode got me thinking about my favorite sci-fi shows from my childhood. The original Star Trek was, of course, my favorite. I had a major crush on Captain Kirk. Another show I loved was Lost in Space. While I thought the dad was hot (after all, he was Zorro before that!), my favorite character was Dr. Smith. Which got me thinking about my absolute favorite episode of Lost in Space. I did an internet search to find that green girl! I wanted to be her. The trippy song, the way she was so enamored with Dr. Smith. You can watch the Green Girl clips below, although, I think the voices aren’t the original actors because the robot and Dr. Smith don’t sound the same as I remember. Doesn’t matter. I still love this! And now, I’m putting the original Lost in Space on my “Binge Next” list!
Contest
For a chance to win a $5 Amazon gift card, tell me whether you have a favorite “vintage” sci-fi or fantasy show and share the name!
Tagged: TV shows Posted in Contests!|7 People Said|Link
Last 5 people who had something to say: Mary Preston - Debra Guyette - Jennifer Beyer - Nicola O Sullivan - Delilah -
I suspect most of us have pets, right? For those who know me well, I have a Border Collie (Maggie) who’ll be twelve in May and a Parti Yorkie (Henry) who is about 18 months old. So, I know and love dogs.
A few months back, I was asked to participate in a rescue dog anthology, and I thought, “How fun!” Each of the ten participating authors is contributing a new, original book to the collection. These books aren’t linked except by the fact each of them has a rescued dog as a character.
My book is Hot Assets. It’s the story of how my heroine (Andrea Carmichael) agrees to dog-sit her neighbor’s dog while the neighbor is in the hospital, only to have someone kidnap the dog! Why would anyone want to kidnap a rescued mutt dog? Andi has to enlist the help of the cop (Seth Noles) who lives across the street to find the dog and get to the bottom of the mystery. As the mystery heats up, so does Andi and Seth’s relationship.
Now, before I get to the excerpt, this collection is on a PREORDER SPECIAL PRICE OF ONLY $0.99!! The price will go up to $3.99 after release.
Also, the royalties from sales on May 17 and 18 will be donated to a Florida Rescue Animal Organization.
Here is an UNEDITED snippet of the opening…
I sat up, unsure what woke me. Darkness swaddled me, my bedroom so quiet I heard my heartbeat in my ears. Grabbing my cellphone, I checked the time. Two a.m. Then, before I could replace the phone on the bedside table and settle back down for three more hours, the blasted thing began to ring. I sighed. Everyone knows only bad news comes at this hour.
When I look at the screen, I see I’ve missed a previous call, mostly likely what jarred me awake originally. My elderly next door neighbor’s name is flashing on my screen.
“Lillian,” I croaked into the phone. “What’s wrong?”
“I fell and I can’t move.” Her voice is reedy and thin, barely audible. “Help me.”
“Of course,” I said as I slid from my warm sheets. “I’ll be right there.”
I slipped on the jeans and the long-sleeve T-shirt I’d been wearing before bed, unconcerned that the shirt bore a definite stain of spaghetti sauce from last night’s dinner. In the foyer, I thrust my feet into shoes and grabbed Lillian’s housekey from the drawer in my entry hall table. Until recently, Lillian Branson had been a healthy, active senior citizen. She’d given me her housekey so I could water her plants when she was one of her trips, as she’d been last month. She’d returned ten days ago with what she called a bad cold, insisting she didn’t need to see a doctor.
Now, as I rushed out of my house and across our lawns, I feel guilty that I hadn’t pushed her harder. Shoot, my sister’s an ER doctor. I could have—should have—asked Brooke to drop by and take a look at Lillian. That probably would have made Lillian mad, but her only family is a grandson whom I’ve never seen or met in the three years we’ve been neighbors.
I let myself in and deactivate the house alarm. “Lillian?” I called out.
“In here,” she said, followed by a bark from Baxter, her mixed-breed rescue dog. Baxter, who weighed about eight pounds, but believed himself to be closer to eighty pounds, was always at Lillian’s side. Baxter traveled everywhere with Lillian. If Baxter wasn’t invited, Lillian wasn’t going.
I followed the faint voice to the kitchen where I found Lillian sprawled on the floor, a small gash dripping fresh blood down the side of her head. Baxter’s head rested on Lillian’s chest. When I knelt beside her, Baxter’s head lifted.
“What happened?”
“Oh, I feel like such a ninny. I was coughing and came downstairs to get a glass of water. I fell as I was reaching for a glass.”
I could hear my sister in my head warning me to not try to get Lillian up. “You have a small cut on your head. Let me grab a towel for the blood.”
I stood and as I looked for a clean kitchen towel, I noticed the dirty plates and glasses in the sink. Lillian hated dirt and disorder, so dinner dishes in the sink was out of character. I found a clean cloth and rejoined Lillian on her floor. “Here.” I pressed the material to her head. “Where else do you hurt?”
“My left hip. That’s where I landed.” She clucked her tongue. “I’m so clumsy.”
“Is someone else here?” I asked as I pressed on her hip.
She groaned from my touch and her gaze shifted away. “No. I’m here by myself. That’s why I can to call you.” Tears gathered in her eyes.
I knew she was lying to me. I just didn’t know why.
“Yeah, I don’t think I can get you up. My money’s on either a dislocation or broken hip.” I squeezed her shoulder in sympathy. “Sorry, Lillian, I have to call an ambulance.” I expected an argument. Lillian is one of the most independent women I know, and when I only got a head nod in answer, I knew I’d made the right decision.
I called 9-1-1 and explained the situation. Once I knew help was coming, I helped into a sitting position and joined her on the hardwood floor.
“Well, this is a fine mess you’ve gotten us in to,” I said in my best Laurel and Hardy imitation.
She chuckled with a grimace. “I know.”
I heard heavy footfalls in the entry way, which surprised me as I hadn’t heard an ambulance siren. Plus, unless the ambulance had been one block away, there hadn’t been enough time for one to get here.
A man I did not know stepped into the kitchen as I realized that in my haste to get to Lillian, I’d left the front door open. Panic seized my throat and my breath.
I live in a Dallas historical area comprised of craftsman homes, many over a hundred years old. Lillian and I both live in refurbished homes in this classic neighborhood. While many of the houses have gotten the renovation necessary to bring back their stately beauty, others remain in poor conditions with the owners lacking the funding to do the required upkeep. Inside our neighborhood enclave, we feel secure. However, outside our immediate area, crime rates are higher than the average in other Dallas neighborhoods. Was the scruffy-looking man one of crime elements I needed to be worried about?
The stranger in Lillian kitchen was tall and broad-shouldered. His chestnut-colored hair was disheveled, as though he’d run his fingers through it recently. A heavy scruff covered his cheeks and circle a pair of thick lips that were pulled into a tight line.
“Get out,” I ordered in my best don’t-fuck-with-me voice and pointed toward the direction he’d just arrived. I might have been anxious about the stranger, but Baxter wasn’t. He greeted the man with a wiggly tail and excited yips, but of course, Baxter loved everyone.
He ignored me and continued to advance toward Lillian and me. My gaze flew around the kitchen for a weapon of any type, but honestly, our seated positions on the floor left us vulnerable.
I’m thrilled to be on Delilah’s blog today. I loved working with her on the latest Boys Behaving Badly anthology – COWBOYS. Writing my story, THE SCOUNDREL, reawakened my love of writing short stories, and I plan to continue writing short as well as the full novels I write for Entangled Publishing, and the series I self-publish.
Early in my career, I wrote a lot of erotic romances. It was ground-breaking back then (God, I feel so old!) and this was long before Fifty Shades. I’m not kidding when I say discovering erotic romance changed my life. I grew up a “good” girl in a rural area. Before the internet, before erotic romance, I didn’t know other women had sexual fantasies. I didn’t know it was okay to fantasize about blindfolds and handcuffs, or of being scared and aroused at the same time, or that pain and pleasure could be two sides of the same coin. I didn’t know it was okay to dream about sexual situations I’d never want to find myself in. Or that it was okay to dream about some I might want to.
I’m sure as Delilah’s readers, you know all about erotic romance and sexual fantasies, and it’s probably hard to imagine there was a time when you had to get your kicks from magazines like Playboy and Playgirl (and you had to gather enough courage to go up to the man at the register and ask for copies that were kept behind the counter) or maybe you could find erotica books like The Story of O or Anne Rice’s Beauty series, but I never read them until I could get them over the internet. But once I could buy an eBook in the privacy of my own home, it was a revelation. Suddenly, I wasn’t ashamed to explore my fictional fantasies, and I felt free to act on some of them, and I could even begin to write my own (believe it or not, it was a struggle for me to even type words like “cock” and “pussy” when I first started.)
I didn’t intend this post to be a history lesson, but just to explain that I will forever be grateful for the authors of erotic romance, and while I don’t focus my writing exclusively in that direction anymore, I will never stop writing it, never stop sharing my fantasies for other women to enjoy. And that is a long, and hopefully thought-provoking lead-in, to my newest release, one of 69 erotic shorts included in Cleis Press’s The Big Book of Orgasms, Volume 2, releasing on February 8th, and available for pre-order now.
Publisher’s Weekly said “… 69 bite-size stories ideal for a quick, sensual break. Myriad settings—including alien planets, bathrooms, and sex parties—genres, kinks, and sexualities offer a little something for every erotica lover. Standouts include Natasha Moore’s “A Perfect Match,” about a husband who likes to watch his wife with her lover…” My first PW mention! And tons of sexual fantasies to explore.
Contest
Thanks to Delilah for inviting me to share with you today. I’m giving away one digital copy of one of my earlier erotic romance series, Paolo’s Playhouse. Five novellas in one collection that let readers explore several different fantasies.
Comment below for a chance at the giveaway. I’d love to know if you think erotic romance is getting commonplace now. Are readers tiring of it? Do you get enough of the sexy stuff in your other reading? Or do you still look for those stories that focus on sexual fantasies and, through them, give women freedom and power?
It’s O-dark-thirty in the morning as I post this. My quiet time. It being a weekend, my quiet won’t last long. Between COVID and cold house-bound kids and eight indoor animals that need feeding and walking, quiet only happens when everyone’s sleeping. Although, I do have an office in the basement to keep well out of the way of most foot traffic.
I have a puzzle for you! It’s not my usual, and my choice was likely influenced by all the hours of Deep Space Nine I’ve been watching. It will be challenging, so roll up your sleeves and get cracking! I’d love to hear what you think. My first impression was that I was disappointed it wasn’t purple or swamp green. My second was that I wanted the goggles. Finish the puzzle. Share your time if you like. And be sure to enter the CONTESTS below while there’s still time!
After all the prep we did getting ready for the Ice-pocalypse, we only lost power for about forty minutes yesterday. Don’t get me wrong. There’s nothing wrong with being over-prepared, and we did grill those hotdogs over the gas grill. So, we had some fun with it. I know a lot of people weren’t as fortunate, and I hope you aren’t freezing in the cold, but the Devlin house was spared.
Just thought I’d let you know. 🙂
Anyways, today’s contest involves a little effort. Very little effort, really.
Take a good look at the picture. Imagine what his story might be. And tell that story. In a line or a paragraph. Doesn’t have to be long or good. Just have fun. I’ll use a random number generator to choose a winner who’ll get a $5 Amazon gift card!
Posted in General|10 People Said|Link
Last 5 people who had something to say: Reina Torres - Jennifer Beyer - Pamela Reveal - Debra Guyette - Delilah -
Throughout the morning I wandered past the windows, assessing the weather situation. People started leaving around noon. As the parking lot emptied, I noticed there was ice. I heard a passing comment of “Got to get the ice scraper out”. That got me thinking and wondering, “What’s an ice scraper?” and “Why isn’t there a winter storm prepared checklist?” Just then my email dinged with a note from the Safety department. I was supposed to wear my boots to the office then change into regular shoes. Note to self as I looked down at my winter boots. I did not dare venture out for lunch. What was I thinking? Did I not follow that thought through – like I wouldn’t have to drive home? I hunkered down in my jacket and boots working at my desk, apprehension growing. 
