Psst! Rhonda, you won the Venetian mask! Please contact Lexi at lexi.post@yahoo.com to arrange delivery of your prize!

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Wherefore art thou, Inspiration?

Writers find their inspiration in many places.  For some of my friends, they have a dream and ta-da, the beginnings of a story. All they need to do is get to the computer and write it down.  For my critique partner, EVERYTHING is inspiring.  She sees two people interacting in the park and she gets idea. She takes a tour and she gets another idea.  An item in a gift shop, a page on an historical website, a song on the radio, an old John Wayne movie and she’s got four more stories! For me, it is a lot more controlled, but no less exciting.  For my erotic stories, I find inspiration in the classics.

Yup, I do. Now before you shake your head, let me explain. For example, my debut release with Ellora’s Cave is called MASQUE. This story was inspired by Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Masque of the Red Death,” first published in 1842. In Poe’s story, Prince Prospero seeks to escape the Red Death by gathering his aristocratic friends and sealing them off from the rest of the town in a great abbey, leaving his other subjects to live or die as fate decrees. On the night of the prince’s Masque, which is held in his seven colored entertainment rooms, when the great clock in the Black Room strikes midnight, a figure enters the party in a mask resembling a victim of the Red Death. When the prince attempts to kill the intruder for such audacity as to remind them all of the sad state of affairs outside, the prince falls dead, as does everyone else in the abbey, and the clock ceases.

So my thought was, what if the intruder had been a friend who hoped to sway the prince to do what was right by his people, only to have everything go wrong? How would that friend feel when everyone dropped dead around him? I’m thinking he might feel just a tad bit of guilt. But what if it was made worse by the fact that 73 inhabitants, all except the Prince, weren’t able to cross over and continued to exist in a ghostlike state becoming more solid with the full moon and disappearing all together with the waning moon.

And don’t forget that the Prince, in Poe’s story, had seven entertainment rooms, each of which was a different color. I couldn’t ignore that, because to me, it appeared that those rooms were made specifically for a different sexual experience that a live woman, let’s call her Rena, would need to experience to complete the Masque which would allow the trapped souls to cross over.  See where I’m going here? But that might make it too easy. I mean, who wouldn’t want to complete the Masque with the hero, Synn, a Mr. Darcy with more muscles and longer hair? So I thought, what if Rena must turn the abbey into a haunted bed-and-breakfast to prove to herself she can and to solidify her income.  Ah, now here we have a problem.

So you see, there really can be inspiration in classic literature. My current, almost ready-to-go, WIP is based on Nathaniel Hawthorne’s “Rappaccini’s Daughter.” What is fun for my readers is that they can read my erotic romance knowing nothing (except what is in the author’s note) about the classic piece and still enjoy it.  And for those readers interested in reading the original, they will find another whole level of meaning in the happily ever after.  So you see, finding inspiration in the classics really isn’t that strange, is it?

For a chance to win this beautiful Venetian mask made in Italy, leave a comment.

I’ve included a short excerpt from MASQUE. Enjoy. Lexi

Rena Mills plans to turn an abandoned abbey into a haunted bed-and-breakfast to prove she can be successful without her ex-fiancé. What she finds inside is Synn MacAllistair, the distinguished, self-proclaimed Ghost Keeper. Her dreams soon fill with sexual cravings for him. But are they dreams?

Synn, born in 1828, is determined to free the souls of the resident spirits, blaming himself for bringing the Red Death that killed them. When Rena steps into the old Pleasure Palace, he’s sure he can take her through the after-midnight Pleasure Rooms and stoke her passion to complete the Masque so the souls can cross over. Her innocent fire makes him crave more, but it’s far too late for him.

As Rena begins her erotic journey, her heart becomes more involved with every sensual caress until she discovers by completing the Masque she would lose her ghosts. Synn’s betrayal wars with her compassion for her ghostly friends. Torn, she must make a choice between her financial security and freeing seventy-three trapped souls. Either way, she could lose her Synn.

Buy Links: Amazon | Ellora’s Cave | Goodreads

An image of the lone man standing on the battlements crowded her head. “Do you mind if I run upstairs? I really want to see the sunset.”

Valerie took three loaves of bread from the first bag. “Yeah, yeah, go. But don’t expect me to make dinner.”

“That’s a deal.” Spinning around, Rena ran up the stairs to her wing of the Abbey. Striding through the hallway toward the back, she found another set of stairs leading to the floor above, which had a similar hall. By the time she reached the end of that hall, she was at the front of the Abbey again, only here there was a stone spiral staircase. Carefully, she ascended.

At the top, a wooden door stood open and she stepped outside into the fading light of day, but it wasn’t the sunset that arrested her attention. Synn stood, one foot braced on an embrasure, one hand resting on the crenellated stone of the battlement. The breeze lifted his long brown hair away from his face and off his shoulders…his very bare shoulders.

Oh shit. She hadn’t expected his back to be so broad and muscular. His biceps stood in stark relief as if he worked construction. Below his narrow waist, his firm ass and muscular thighs were outlined by his tight gray pantaloons, if she had the term right. She’d bet the boots he wore were Hessians because those were the only nineteenth-century boots she’d heard of that rose to the knee. To call the man handsome would be to belittle his sculpted perfection, and her heart increased its beat as raw, sexual attraction rifled through her limbs.

He brought his arm down, causing the muscles in his back to ripple before he turned to catch her staring.

Her gaze shifted to his eyes and for a moment they revealed such heartbreaking anguish that all sexual heat fled and her stomach tightened into a sorrowful knot. He shuttered his gaze and smirked. “Were you looking for something?”

Confused, and more than a little distracted by the man’s emotions and his highly defined pectoral muscles, one of which had a fist-sized dark spot, she grasped for logic. “Yes, the sunset.”

“Ah, then you are just in time.” He stepped to the side, bowed and swept his hand toward the battlement. “It’s ready for you, my lady.”

She searched his eyes for any sign that he made fun of her, but found only sincerity. “Thank you.”

She stepped up to the place next to him as indicated and gazed across the town. As she suspected, the ocean was a few blocks past the shops and it glittered red as the setting sun shimmered off its dark surface, its waves lifting and lowering the dazzling color as it moved.

“This is breathtaking.”

“Yes, it is.”

His tone made her glance up, and she found him staring at her. She swallowed.

He released her hair from its clip and the breeze swept it from her face. She couldn’t have looked away from his eyes even if the sun had turned green.

He cupped her jaw with his hand. “You are exquisite.”

Her breath hitched at his words, but her mouth parted as his face drew closer to hers. When their lips were but a breath away, he spoke again. “You are made for passion, Rena.”

She let her eyes close, his words shooting pure desire through her, and then his full lips were upon hers. It was not a gentle kiss, but neither was it harsh or demanding, simply controlled. The hand holding her face encouraged her to open her lips and she did.

She grasped his biceps as his tongue swept into her mouth to explore. He tasted like cinnamon spice but not sweet. When his arm snaked around her waist and pulled her closer, she entwined her arms around his neck, her body tight against his hard one. Unable to stem the growing need building inside her, she pressed her hips into his. A long, hard cock greeted her. She wanted him.

Synn groaned and released her, stepping away.

She grabbed at the embrasure to keep herself from falling on her ass. What the hell was that?

He turned toward the sunset again, his body in perfect profile, his hands clenched at his sides.

Not sure if she was upset because he stopped the kiss or because he started it in the first place, she gritted her teeth. Her body ached for release and she wanted him to provide it, no matter what her mind said. Her sexual frustration gave her a bravery she rarely had. “Why did you stop kissing me?” She had hoped to sound matter-of-fact, but hurt crept into her voice. Did he find her beneath him?

He remained motionless, speaking to the horizon. “If I didn’t stop now, I wouldn’t be able to. You are not ready for me yet.”

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Bio of Lexi Post

Lexi Post spent years in higher education taking and teaching courses about classical literature. From the Medieval work “The Pearl” to the 20th century American epic The Grapes of Wrath, from War and Peace to the Bhagavad Gita, she’s read, studied, and taught great classic literature.

But Lexi’s first love is romance novels. In an effort to marry her two first loves, she started writing erotic romance inspired by the classics and found she loved it.  Lexi feels there is no end to the romantic inspiration she can find in great classic literature.

Lexi lives with her husband and cat in the Caribbean where gorgeous sunsets, warm weather, and driving on the left are the norm.

Website |  Blog | twitter | Facebook

Thank you very much for having me today, Delilah!

I would like to share with the world, my VERY FIRST book, Sword’s Call (King’s Rider’s Book 1).

This story is very close to my heart because I literally had a dream about it about thirteen years ago. I have been writing since I was a teenager, but over the years I would go back and forth, not really writing consistently. Until a few years ago when I decided to “get serious” about it and got back to this story, wrote, re-wrote, edited and finished it. Ultimately, I sold it to my AWESOME publisher, Gypsy Shadow Publishing.

Post a comment today and one lucky winner will win their choice of a swag pack (including a tee or totebag) or a copy of my book, in e-book format.

For generations, the Ryhans, ruling family of the Province of Greenwald have been keepers of a sword rumored to possess enough magic to defeat kings. Lord Varthan, a former archduke and betrayer of the king, covets the sword and invades Greenwald.

Lady Ceralda Ryhan, daughter of the murdered duke, gains the sword and flees, trusting only her white wolf, Trikser—magically bonded to her. Cera needs nothing more to aid in her fight.

Jorrin Aldern, half elfin and half human, left his home in the mountains of Aramour to find his human father who disappeared twenty turns before, but finds Cera with Varthan and his shades on her tail instead. His dual heritage and empathic magic will tempt Cera in ways she never thought she’d desire. But can he convince her trust and love can pave the path to redemption or will the epic battle end in tragedy and evil conquer them all?

“Tell me about it,” Jorrin encouraged.

“I pictured our magic as a rope and wrapped it around us. I stepped into him, making us one. I concentrated and I saw you. But then I saw me, too. My eyes were closed, and I felt like I was sitting beside myself. It was…unsettling, at first. But then Trik must have moved his head, because I saw into the woods…he turned, right?”

He grinned at her. “Yes, he did. You did do it.”

“His eyesight is so sharp. It was a wonder to see.” Their eyes locked and held. Air ruffled her hair, causing gooseflesh to rise on her neck as a substantial breeze kicked up.

Trikser made a noise in his throat but she ignored him.

Jorrin looked so wild and beautiful with the wind in his dark hair, his high cheekbones flushed with color to the tips of his slender tapered ears. Her heart skipped as his blue eyes darkened and she read intense heat there.

Last night he’d been in her dreams. Try as she might, Cera could no longer deny that she was attracted to him. That she’d liked that kiss he stole what seemed ages ago.

Would he kiss her again? Heat crept up her neck and burned her cheeks.

The way he was looking at her right then made her lose her train of thought and her worries.

“Tell Trikser to move.”

“What?” But Cera already sent the mental command. Her bond slipped off her lap with little encouragement. He’d caught sight of a rabbit, and took off after it.

Jorrin grabbed her hand and tugged forward. She fell onto his lap, moving to him instead of away, ignoring mental cautions that this wasn’t a good idea, despite her dreams, her admitted attraction.

Their lips met in heated rushed. Cera’s arms shot around his neck and she pressed closer. His body was hard against hers and a tremor shot down her spine.

Her breasts pressed into his chest as he pinned her against him. Jorrin shoved his tongue into her mouth and groaned. She clung to him, moving her mouth under his

When she touched her tongue to his, he moaned, his hands shooting down to cup her bottom.

Cera wiggled in his arms as an unfamiliar warmth enveloped her like an embrace. Jorrin’s erection pressed into her hip and she clutched his tunic with both hands.

When he kissed her harder, her head spun. Feeling his urgency, confusion rushed her. She moaned, fighting the sensation of his warmth, his strength as he squeezed her against him. Her desire for more. Her desire for him. She couldn’t lose control.

Yanking back, she panted against him.

Jorrin’s chest heaved into her breasts as they both struggled for breath. “What’s wrong?” he croaked.

WHERE YOU CAN FIND IT!

Gypsy Shadow | Barnes and Noble | Amazon |Amazon UK | ARe|Smashwords

About me:

Sword’s Call is C.A.’s first book, and is the first in the King’s Riders Series. C.A. also has a Romanic suspense, Collision Force, published by Total-E-Bound Publishing and will be released July 1, 2013.

C.A. is originally from Ohio, but got to Texas as soon as she could. She is married and has a bachelor’s degree in Criminal Justice.
She works with kids when she’s not writing.
She’s always wanted to be a writer and is overjoyed to share her stories with the world.

Where to find ME online:
Blog: www.caszarekwriter.blogspot.com
Facebook: www.facebook.com/caszarek
Twitter: @caszarek
I LOVE to hear from readers: caszarekauthor@gmail.com

This Republic of Suffering: Civil War fiction in a twenty-first century world

I’m a history girl with a writing problem.  Or, maybe a writing girl with a history problem; regardless, I have an out of control passion for the American Civil War.  I am a Civil War reenactor.  I like Civil War trivia.  I like running around Civil War battlefields.  My blog, The Rambling Jour, is actually named after an obscure firsthand account of the clerk of the provost marshal’s office in Harper’s Ferry during the war.

And I like writing about the Civil War.

Don’t get me wrong, there are things about the Civil War I don’t like.  I’ve never read Gone with the Wind.  Tactics and strategies put me to sleep.  I thrive in the effect the war had on civilians and medical procedures.  I’d rather read about the role of women and how that role changed as the war changed.

My recently completed novel, Anything You Ask of Me, is about all three of those key elements.  In 1862, a society girl turned spy must decide which is more important: the married general who asks her to risk everything for him, or the man tasked to stop her at any cost.

There is a monument in Gettysburg, near the copse of trees on the third day’s portion of the battlefield, inscribed with a few simple words: Double canister at twenty yards.

Canister shot.  Canister shot is basically a tin can full of golf ball sized steel balls; it turns an artillery piece into a giant shot-gun.  Double canister is two rounds of canister shot jammed into the barrel of the piece.

The effect of the human body is devastating.  These are the men listed in the ominous “missing” column in the ranks of casualties.  These are the men who simply disappear in a pink mist.

We have a nasty habit of referring to the Civil War as “the last gentleman’s war” or the last war before the initiation of modern warfare.  But this is so far from the truth.  Soft lead bullets, like the Minié ball, enter the body the size of a quarter but come out the size of a pancake.  If a soldier survives his wound, it is more than likely he will die of infection.  In the 1860s, we could see bacteria under microscopes—we knew it was there—but we didn’t understand how it impacted the human body.  This was the cusp of medical breakthroughs.  The war forced us to understand.

This is why I write historical fiction.

I’m a twenty-first century girl.  I drive an SUV to work.  I sit in front of a computer all day long.  I listen to Swedish Death Metal (I know, this actually surprised me too) on my iPhone while I edit my novel on my laptop.  I talk on a cell phone and wear jeans and eyeliner and take for granted all of our modern conveniences.

But I’ve also been cinched into a corset.  I’ve ridden in the back of a temperance wagon and marched in a temperance parade.  I’ve sat in a dry goods store and hand sewn a quilt by kerosene lamp and sewn on a period treadle sewing machine.  I’ve felt the rumble in my chest when a 12 pound light gun howitzer artillery piece was fired near me.  I’ve done archaeology of an antebellum house and held shattered pottery in my hand, textiles not handled by a human since, in one moment one hundred and fifty years ago, it broke and was discarded.  I’ve been touched by the past and it haunts me.  I refuse to forget the sacrifices of those who came before us and stared death in the face—and chose to march forward anyway.

This is why I write historical fiction.  Because those who are remembered, never die.

Heather Hambel Curley is just a hot momma writing a novel about (what else?) the Civil War and the brutally hot men who fought it.  And she likes cupcakes.  For more, she can be found at https://heatherhambelcurley.wordpress.com or https://www.facebook.com/heatherhambelcurley

A Canadian Holiday

Worth the Risk was written in response to a submission call looking for stories with a Canadian theme.  Since, I’m a Canadian, I figured, hey, I can do that.  I can even throw in a few “eh’s” and “aboot’s” (just kidding, we actually say “about” like everyone else 😀 ).

The underlying premise of my story was inspired by something that happened to me more than a few years ago. But, no spoilers are being given away here, so instead I thought I’d provide a little history lesson around the Canadian weekend during which Worth the Risk takes place.

Origins

May 24^th, or the Monday before May 25 is officially known as Victoria Day.

The holiday, named after British monarch – Queen Victoria – gave royal assent to Confederation. She was born on May 24, 1819, ascended to the throne in 1837 and ruled until 1901 – holding the longest reign in British history. This is also how the term Victorian era was coined, a period of significant change in many areas for the British Empire.  Parliament declared her birthday a statutory holiday in 1845.

When Victoria died in 1901, the day officially became known as Victoria Day. Through the years, however, the birthdays for the reigning King or Queen was also celebrated. That’s a lot of cake!  Apparently, continuous improvement and process efficiency are not new ideas, for in 1952 a decision was made, and proclamation passed, to declare the Monday before May 25^th as the official day to celebrate both Victoria’s and the current reigning sovereign’s birthdays.  Party poopers.

Today in Canada, May 24 signifies a few things. Winter is over, and summer is just around the corner. We can start planting our veggies and flowers without the risk of frost.  More importantly, it’s the traditional long weekend when we open camps and cottages, and for those in the north, it signifies the start of summer Blackfly season. Believe me, they are horrible little bugs that get in your hair, your eyes and they love to feast on little children.

The reference to ‘two-four’ rather than ‘twenty-fourth’ is a Canadian inside joke referring to the obligatory case of 24 bottles of beer.  Provincial parks and camp grounds begin officially accepting visitors, and community parks and outdoor patios are thriving. You’ll see fireworks in all major cities, and many small communities.  The barbeques are hot, friends and family are near, and the pool is being prepped.

We’ve got nicknames for it: May Two-Four, May long weekend, May Long or even Firecracker Day.  But for most Canadians, this particular weekend starts things rolling for the next few months.  And regardless of the weather (cause quite often it’s cold and wet), WE DON’T CARE! It’s time to party!

So, here’s Worth the Risk. I hope you enjoy your weekend!

Even the hottest sex might not be enough to ease the pain of the past…

Molly Simpson arrives at a beautiful provincial park, ready to spend the May Two-Four holiday camping with friends. This weekend is the highlight of her year—or it was, until Tanner Daivies showed up. Her high school crush is all grown up, sexy as sin, and he’s demanding answers—answers Molly isn’t sure she can give him. She had her reasons for leaving him all those years ago, but now, sex with Tanner is scorching, and when they’re together, it’s clear they were never meant to be apart. But the past doesn’t want to stay buried, and Molly isn’t sure reliving it is worth the risk…

Excerpt: (if you’d prefer – just use the hyper link which goes back to my site)

It was really him. Curiosity got the better of her, and she glanced back over her shoulder. Memories assaulted her as he removed his six-foot-plus frame from the car to stand in the center of the welcome circle. Her friends were all talking at him, their voices filled with excitement. Judging by his glazed expression, their reaction left him a little overwhelmed.

Ten years. She rubbed her chest, thinking back to the invisible ache that had bothered her earlier on the drive here. She’d struggled the entire two hours to keep her focus on the road and not on painful memories from her past. Read the rest of this entry »

Writing a Sex Scene With the Lights Off

I have always loved to read. I lean towards the suspense genre, but I love a good erotic story. Who doesn’t? But I found out fast that reading and writing a sex scene are two different things, and I suck at writing them.

In my first book I have one sex scene. I swear I wrote it with the lights off. You see I grew up in a strict Irish Catholic home and went to a catholic school. My mother never mentioned that word in the house and the nuns would send us to confession if they even thought we had those ideas in our head. I will admit I spent many hours in confession.  🙂   I just felt guilty, but once I got older I realized god was not reading over my shoulder.

Now I want a story to grab me, pull me in, and make me feel like I’m part of the scene. That’s what I want from a book I write. When I was younger I would blush and skim over the parts that described the anatomy.  So when I made an attempt at a short erotic story it was like an anatomy lesson. Part A touches part B Then puts C into D and so on. I had 2300 words written when I stopped to read it. I laughed for hours at how funny I sounded. It was like I was in confession trying to explain my sins. Boy do I need a support group.  I decided to scrap that attempt. I’m not going to quit trying. I am determined to get one hot, sweaty sex scene that will pull you in and make you wish you were the one tied to the bed.

Like I said, in my first full length novel I have one sweet love scene. There is heavy petting, even with the description of body parts, yah me. But towards the end we fade to black and I let your imagination finish the rest. Sounds like a copout but it was the best I could do at the time. I decided it was time to come, (no pun intended), to terms with my past and take a class in erotic writing and BDSM. I know, I’m jumping in pretty deep and there is a reason. My character, Davis, is a by the book FBI agent with a secret and it has to do with a lot of bondage and an undercover assignment that will take him to the dark areas of a life no one knows he has. I know, you’re all laughing thinking I will need a ghost writer for that one.  It was not my idea, it was his. We all know our characters write their own story, or do they?

Did you ever have a problem writing a scene, and if so what was it and what did you do to work past it?

I think someone should write a book called…Writing erotic for dummies. I learn better with a little guidance and a lots of pictures.

My new release, Rescued from the Dark, published through Black Opal Books.

FBI agent, Jason Michaels goes undercover with the Irish Mob to get information on their gun smuggling ring. While on assignment he realizes they have joined forces with a known terrorist group manufacturing drugs. He searches for information to tie the two together when he finds out they have kidnapped a fellow agent, and the only girl he has ever loved. Jason soon realizes their using Mercy to perfect their dosage and that his cover has been blown. He knows he has to save her so takes off on a  journey that will take him up against his enemies, peers and the Agency that he loves, but willing to give up to bring Mercy back to him.

She has no memory of their love…

Kidnapped by terrorists and sent into a drug-induced coma, FBI intern Mercedes Kingsley awakes with no memory of her ordeal—or the intimate interlude that left her pregnant. Convinced her child was fathered by her fiancé, she walks away from the only man she has ever loved, determined to make things work with her ex, a man the FBI suspects is implicated in her abduction.

He knows the truth, but no one will listen…

FBI undercover agent Jason Michaels remembers what Mercy can’t and those memories are breaking his heart. Forced to keep his distance from his lover and their unborn child, Jason risks his life to protect Mercy from a cell of international terrorists who have vowed to get the secrets locked in her memory, no matter the cost. Can Jason convince Mercy to trust him until she remembers their past, or will he lose her to a man who will trap her in a nightmare world of darkness for which there is no escape?

An explosion ricocheted behind Jason Michael’s eyes as the pressure mounted in his head. The rush of panic consumed him. He struggled to move, tried to swallow, but nothing. His throat burned as the flames engulfed his lungs. He needed to breathe but couldn’t. Shit. He strained to make out the muffled voice, but the pounding in his ears erased all hope. His head started to spin and he succumbed to the realization, this was it, the end. He won. The flames dampened and his heartbeat slowed as the drums subsided, then the voice became clear.

“Give it to him now you son of a bitch. What were you thinking? We still need him.” Read the rest of this entry »

Self-Fulfilling Prophecies

 The older I get, the more I believe we live a life of self-fulfilling prophecies.

I grew up with grandparents who used to quote from the old version of the King James Bible (Proverbs 23:7):  “As you think, so shall ye be.” I thought the idea was a bunch of hooey at the time. More and more, I find I use goal visualization as an essential part of daily living. Visualization is how I stay focused while writing and marketing.

Here’s how I do it. I create in my mind’s eye the result I want to accomplish. I then decide on the “baby” steps needed to get to the goal. I’ve learned to be patient and wait for the process to work itself out. I use these visualizations to keep stress off my shoulders. With specific goals in mind and taking the steps needed to reach the goal, I can’t ask more of myself. No need to stress out.

At some point, I started wondering how I could use “self-fulfilling prophecy” in a love story where my heroine wants to find an ideal mate. One thing I decided right off was that, if she is what she thinks, she can’t obsess over all the wrongs done to her by men. To obsess would fill her mind with everything she doesn’t want to happen. According to the self-fulfilling prophecy, those obsessions would come true.

She’d instead have to look for all the things she loves about men and decide which of those she’d like rolled into one “ideal” male. My heroine’s biggest challenge would be to stay focused on that “ideal” male package and not let contradictory, negative thoughts interfere—whether from her past, her friends and family or from the media. Negativity would bounce her out of her vision. Her eyes would be blinded so she wouldn’t be able to recognize her ideal man if he was in front of her nose.

Years ago I read that it takes ten positive thoughts to wipe out one negative thought. I made a commitment to be as optimistic about my writing goals as I can be and not have waste time overcoming those negative thoughts.

In the novel, despite the passage of time, staying positive and focused on what she wants would be my character’s biggest challenge. Sadly, I never wrote the novel, but I did start using visualization in my own life.

For example, if I’m giving a talk on writing techniques, I don’t think of all the things that can go wrong. I think instead of what I want the audience to get out of the talk. If I assign a writing goal to myself as I go to bed, I don’t wake up in the morning and go over a list of things in my head that could go wrong and get in the way of accomplishing that goal. I wake up focused on the goal and believing I can accomplish it. In most cases, this turns out to be true.

Of course, sometimes life gets in the way. I then re-align the goal and re-focus. What I don’t do is whine about how something always gets in the way. That’s self-defeating. If I did that while believing in a self-fulfilling prophecy, that’s how my day would end up–something would always be getting in the way. Instead, I focus on my adjusted goal and keep striving ahead, not fretting that there is still a lot of road to travel.

Optimism must work. I have a contract in hand on my fifth manuscript. With this sale, I will have sold every manuscript I’ve ever written.

I recommend optimism, visualization and staying focused on the goal no matter what you do in life.

What about you? How do you achieve your goals?

JoAnn Smith Ainsworth

MATILDA’S SONG (ISBN: 978-1-60504-195-7)
OUT OF THE DARK (ISBN: 978-1-60504-277-0)
POLITE ENEMIES (ebook ISBN: 978-1-61160-636-2) release Sept. 2013
THE FARMER AND THE WOOD NYMPH (ebook ISBN: 978-1-61160-660-7) release Dec. 2013
https://www.joannsmithainsworth.com/

Visit JoAnn Ainsworth on Facebook and Twitter.

Duty requires sacrifice…but the heart will not be denied.

At the time, pretending marriage to her middle-aged widower cousin seemed like the best way to escape a politically motivated betrothal to a brutal knight. Now, her journey toward a new life has landed her in hot water—she’s been waylaid by a local Norman baron who’s mistaken her for a real bride. And he demands First Night rights.

Hot water turns to steam in a scalding night of passion…passion she has never known. And now must live without.

Lord Geoffrey is entranced at first sight of the Anglo-Saxon beauty and finds that one night in her arms is not nearly enough. But all he can offer the low-born Matilda is a life in the shadows—as his mistress.

Her head warring with her heart, Matilda resigns herself to her duty in a masquerade of a marriage. It’s a choice that could cost her life.

For the knight who first sought her hand is back with murder on his mind. Now it’s Geoff who’s faced with the ultimate choice: which is more precious…his estates or the love of the one woman who can heal his soul?

Warning:  Warning, this title contains the following: a Norman baron who teaches an Anglo-Saxon beauty the medieval mambo in the bedroom. Men fight to the death for this lady’s honor. Read the rest of this entry »

My first novel, ILLICIT IMPULSE, comes out this week from Ellora’s Cave. It’s the story of a neuroscientist, his best friend, her friend with benefits, and some no-strings-attached fun. I had the devil’s own time getting the book finished, but I finally got The Call (in my case, actually, it was The Email) just before Thanksgiving. The journey from The Call to release has been surprisingly brief.

It’s amazing how quickly things move once you finish the book.

My trip to publication really began when I won the Passionate Reads Pitch Contest in February 2011. When I got my first chapters ready to enter in late 2010, I was coming off a tough breakup and really just needed to occupy my time between boyfriends. I didn’t have the whole manuscript ready, but that didn’t worry me very much. The contest didn’t require entrants to have the entire manuscript, and honestly, I was in it mostly for the experience.

I received lots of advice to have the manuscript complete anyway. None of those people would explain to me *why* the manuscript had to be finished, though, especially when the contest didn’t require it. I can be a stubborn person. I am open to advice, as long as it comes with an explanation. Otherwise it looks a lot like direction. I resist direction.

Now I understand why the manuscript has to be finished first, so I can offer you the same advice, along with an explanation.

After I won the contest, the judge, who is now my editor, requested the full manuscript. I explained that I didn’t have much more than she’d already seen. She said she understood – the contest had not required a complete manuscript anyway – and she said she’d wait to see the whole thing. She also specifically told me to take as long as I needed to get the rest of the book ready to submit.

That took just short of two years. I thank my editor for her endless patience in the acknowledgments. She waited for a long time and had to tell me more than once to take as much time as I needed.

But it didn’t have to end this way. Sure, there’s the obvious possibility that your editor might not be as patient as mine is, but there are at least three other excellent reasons not to wait to get your book submitted.

First, there’s that sick feeling of not being finished. Even knowing that someone was willing to wait as long as I needed, I had to face the reality that I wasn’t finished every single day for a pretty long time. That’s just not a pleasant feeling. The oppressive weight of the unfinished project lifts, well, as soon as you finish.

Then, there’s the reality that change is the only constant in the universe. I knew that my publishing house probably wasn’t going anywhere, but there was nothing to stop my editor from leaving. (Not that she would. But she *could.*) If the only person waiting for my manuscript changed jobs or retired or for whatever reason became unavailable, I’d have big problems! There wasn’t any guarantee that any of her successors would be enthusiastic about my book or that my editor would be able to take it with her to her next job. I’d have ended up in limbo, and worse, it would have been my fault.

Finally, let’s say that the publishing house is stable and my editor stays put … but someone with a completed manuscript similar to mine gets her submission in first. There’s no sound business reason for a publisher to hang on to the promise of a book when a real book is available, all other things being equal. The safest alternative was to secure my place with a finished product.

Having said all this, I won that contest with just the three chapters and now I’m an author with my first choice of publishing houses despite the fact that my editor had to wait for years to see my completed manuscript. So I imagine you can take my substantiated advice with a grain of salt.

I just wouldn’t use the whole shaker.

Years of research have led neuroscientist John March to the creation of Impulse, an experimental drug that suppresses the bonding hormone, oxytocin, and would allow women to enjoy sex without commitment. Now he just needs a test subject who’s willing to put Impulse through its paces, a woman who’s not afraid to indulge all her sexual desires and then go on record with her experiences. He needs a woman like his best friend, Grace. She and her boy toy could solve all John’s problems. If only he didn’t want her for himself …

Grace Foley’s dreams have just come true. Her sex-without-strings arrangement with Tal Crusoe has started to feel a bit complicated. Thanks to Impulse, Grace can keep things friendly while making the most of Tal’s abundant benefits. Too bad she can’t have John, too. She’s aching for a little experimentation of her own with the sexy scientist. But once it’s over, could they ever go back to being friends?

How far will two best friends go under the influence of Impulse?

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