Just FYI! I’m participating in a Studio Art Tour this weekend with my mom, aunt, and daughter. We’ve spent months getting things ready to display and sell. Wish us luck! If you’d like to see what we’re doing, be sure to check out my Facebook page this weekend. We’ll be posting pics and giving updates. Should be fun! ~DD

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What’s Your Pet Peeve?

One of my pet peeves when I read is character names popping up all the time, even when it’s perfectly clear who is talking or thinking.

Of course every character has to have a name, and I’ve nothing against them. Most of the time. When they’re used so often they whack me over the head while I’m reading an otherwise dynamite story is when I want to remind the author there are such little words as personal pronouns. And there are words of address other than people’s given names.

Whoever heard real conversations like this one?

“Mark, I’m gonna kill you.”
“Oh yeah? Go ahead and try, Sal.”

More likely it would sound more like this:

“Motherfucker, I’m gonna kill you,” Sal said.
“Oh yeah, asshole? Go ahead and try.”

Or this, as a hot sex scene’s coming to a close?

“Oh, Susie, I’m gonna come.”
“David, don’t stop!”

Try, “Oh, baby, I’m gonna come.”
“God yes.. Don’t stop!”

My point is that people don’t usually address each other by name. In fight scenes, they’re more likely to toss in the occasional epithet, and in sex scenes they’ll use pet names or endearments—or nothing at all.

Now I’m not totally prejudiced against using names—occasionally in one-on-one scenes, to remind the reader what the characters’ names are. It’s necessary to use them more often in scenes where there are more than two characters, or where the two characters in the scene are of the same sex. More often, when the character’s voice is strong enough, it isn’t necessary to identify him or her by name more than once or twice during a two-person scene.

Overusing character names when they aren’t necessary for identification purposes sounds unnatural in dialogue and reeks of “telling” instead of “showing” in narrative. It pulls me straight out of stories I’d otherwise be devouring and makes me want to toss the books they’re in—into the nearest wall or at the author, if only he or she were handy.

He, she, him, her, his, her—these are short, sweet stand-ins for names. Authors should use these personal pronouns often, whenever there’s not the least doubt as to who the POV character is thinking about. That’s pretty darn often in scenes where the hero and heroine are alone together. I recently read a sex scene—an otherwise very steamy, yummy sex scene—where my guess is that the two participants said or thought each other’s names at least several hundred times. Those names got me where I was ready to scream for mercy before the scene was done.

Unnecessary use of character names is one of my pet peeves. Tell me what jumps off the pages of books and knocks you out of the scene when you’re reading in a comment, and I’ll put your name in the hopper for a free download of my latest Caden Kink book, SHOTGUN RELATIONS, as soon as it’s released on September 21.

Ann Jacobs
https://annjacobs.net

Like me on Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/AnnJacobsAuthor
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Hello Everyone!

Thanks so much to Delilah Devlin for allowing me to invade her space today.

I would like to share a little bit about my new Ellora’s Cave release, Just for Tonight.

I know that most of us enjoy slipping into the fantasy worlds of our books, but every once in awhile I like to visit middle class American people in their own day to day lives to create real life like romance. This story does that.

Kelly Devers has a crush on her co-worker Thomas Brigs. For a year he’s been the object of her fantasies, but she hasn’t dared to make a move on him. But when Kelly finds out Thomas is leaving town, she throws caution into the wind and gives into the yearning she’s suppressed for far too long.

Passion ignites as their bodies come together and Kelly is determined to enjoy the steamy loving. Even if it can’t last forever.

By   reading any further, you are stating that you are at least 18 years of age.
If you are under the age of 18, it is necessary to exit this site.

An Excerpt From: JUST FOR TONIGHT
Copyright © VIRGINIA CAVANAUGH, 2012
All Rights Reserved, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.

Kelly turned her head and the skin of her cheek brushed against his. Heat spread across her flesh, radiating from the point of contact. “Th-that’s okay. I really don’t like the stuff anyway.”

His head moved and her gaze went to his mouth as he raised the bottle to his lips, taking a long drink as he sidestepped, coming around to face her. Her heart hammered as she struggled to find something to say. He’d caught her off guard standing so close to her. Never had he entered what she’d call her personal space.

“Nice party.” She wanted to cringe as the words left her mouth. Why couldn’t she have come up with something sexy to say?

His hand lowered as one side of his sensual mouth tipped up. “Yeah. I think it turned out nice.”

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other as she turned and looked outside at the other employees and their plus-ones conversing and dancing on the patio. Never had she been attacked by a case of nerves this bad.

“Looks like Tammy got lucky on the weather holding.”

Kelly smiled as she thought of her boss’ wife. “That she did.” August usually meant monsoon season in these parts, but the storms hadn’t begun as of yet. Although she had noticed a few clouds skating in as the sun had set on her way over to the party.

“I’m glad you got to come.”

She cast him a questioning glance before returning her attention to the other guests.

“I overheard you say something to Gina last week about having to babysit your nephew, Alex.”

Understanding washed through her. She’d actually made an offhanded comment to Gina, saying that she had a feeling she had to babysit this weekend, but really she was meaning more like she’d volunteer to babysit her oldest brother Kyle’s child, in hopes of skipping out on this party. But being from a small town didn’t work to her advantage. Tammy had graduated with Kyle and his wife Starla, so when she had mentioned it as an excuse, Tammy picked up the phone. It had been fun explaining to Kyle later why he had to let her off the babysitting hook he’d never put her on. Oh well, at least her brother got a laugh at her expense. “Yeah. I got lucky and Kyle didn’t need me after all.” Too bad she wasn’t sure if that plan falling through was a curse or blessing yet.

“Is there something bothering you, Kelly?”

She spun, focusing on Thomas. Boy was there. But it wasn’t as if she could spell it out for him. Fortifying smile in place, she responded, “Why would you think that?”

He reached out and ran his index finger along her jaw, slowly tracing a line down her neck and across her shoulder. “You seem tense.”

She inhaled a shaky breath as the tip of his finger ignited a fire beneath her skin. And she’d worried about trying to start a casual conversation with him. It seemed as if things were swiftly going past casual. Maybe she should have fed him alcohol sooner.

His hand dropped and he clenched it into a fist at his side. “Sorry.”

She swallowed and shook her head, as much as to naysay his apology as to clear her mind of the sensual fog that had descended. “No. It’s fine. You have nothing to be sorry about.” Another smile from him that made her nipples draw up tight as the low buzz of desire ran through her.

“Would you like to dance?”

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Best wishes, Virginia Cavanaugh

I Hate Blogging

First, allow me to thank and apologize to my gracious house Delilah for hosting my ramblings because I’m really, really bad at blogging. Like, seriously awful. Every time I sit down to blog about something, I either allow myself to get distracted or struggle to think of a topic. There are a lot of incredibly talented bloggers out there who are able to creatively spin any subject matter into pure internet gold. Not me. When I am actually able to come up with a post, I generally end up rambling about nothing and end with an awkwardly-placed “well, what do you think?”

Case in point, the potential subjects for this particular blog post were:

• My Cat Is Sitting On My Keyboard.
• I Just Reorganized My MP3s!
• Where Did That Stain On My Wall Come From?
• Minesweeper Marathons Are Incredibly Fulfilling.
• Masterchef Australia Is The Best Show Ever.
• I’m Going To Make Cookies To Help Me Decide On A Blog Subject. Oh, Crap, I’m Out of Flour. Well, Good Thing I Needed To Go Grocery Shopping Anyway. I’ll Just Think Up My Blog Post Later.
• The Internet Is Distracting (And Also For Porn).

I’ll sort of sit, frozen at my keyboard, struggling to find something to say until finally conceding defeat and tabbing over to Firefox to lose ungodly amounts of time on TVTropes.

It seems odd to me that this has become such an issue. I love writing. And generally I have an opinion about everything. The two should go hand in hand. It’s a formula for a successful blog (or nearly successful, since I think you actually need to be talented to have a successful blog, but don’t quote me on that). I think I put myself under too much pressure to be clever and/or insightful and end up somewhere in the confused middle where most people start banging their heads against their desks and beg for the pain to stop. I don’t have this problem with fiction (well, except for the Minesweeper thing, because marathoning back-to-back advanced games is actually pretty fulfilling). Take my new release, Half Blind. The first draft was written in less than a month, because once an idea grabs me I focus on it to the exclusion of all other things. But blog posts in general? Well… let’s just say there’s a reason I don’t have a ‘blog’ section on my website. People who enjoy watching train wrecks just have to get their jollies elsewhere.

There’s all sorts of fretful things besides subject to consider when writing a blog. How long should it be? Should I include a giveaway? Embedded links? Will anyone really appreciate it if I link it to a Youtube video of baby sloths? Google offers differing opinions.

This is where I’d usually try to come to a thoughtful conclusion, ask some rhetorical questions (see above) and request your opinion. I’m not going to do that this time (though your comments are certainly welcome) because I don’t think I’ve come to any stunning conclusions about blogging. Unless you’ve got a surefire way of coming up with stunningly witty subject matter. In which case, bottle it, ‘cause I’d buy it by the caseful.

(Oh, by the way, the answer to the sloth question is yes. Everyone appreciates baby sloths. Here you go: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q1mAGQAw3Oc)

Half Blind is available for purchase now!

About the Author:

Christine Price lives with her family Edmonton, AB. Her fascination with the written word began at a young age with a one-page story titled “My Mother is a Werewolf” and took off from there. In her spare time, she enjoys unfortunate puns, good books, borderline decent wine and making contingency plans for a zombie apocalypse. (Believe it or not, this used to be an unusual pastime!)

Christine loves hearing from her readers and can be reached at priceiswrite@christinepricewrites.com via email or on the Web at www.christinepricewrites.com.

You can also follow her on Twitter at
www.twitter.com/CPriceIsWrite.
Sometimes, she’s interesting!

Hello everyone, and thank you Delilah for lending me your blog. I’m so happy to be back!

Last time, we talked women. Today, I thought we’d talk men. OK, women all over again, as well. You see, I got into a heated debate I mean civilized discussion, with a guy, about the type of men romance authors write. You know, the type all women secretly or rather not-so-secretly covet. We have, after all, devoted an entire genre to the man of every woman’s dreams. A Man, with a capital M.

A Man who is strong yet vulnerable, emotional even. A Man who is confident but sensitive and understanding when need be. Dependable, loyal and intelligent with a great sense of humor. A Man who is kind and courageous, who is endlessly creative and attentive in bed, successful in all his endeavors but never afraid to admit, even if sometimes begrudgingly, that they were wrong, and who, after acknowledging the error of their ways, will bend over backwards to make their loved ones happy for as long as they both shall live.

Not only is that hopelessly unrealistic, he said, the guy I was debating I mean having a civilized discussion with, it puts real men under pressure and it generates performance anxiety and it’s just not fair, pitting men against something that doesn’t even exist. He went on to say the species most likely to become extinct next was the Average Joe and complained how no one wants Joe and no one wants to be Joe, everyone wants to be and bed The Man.

I let him talk while a light bulb slowly lit up in my head. If The Man is not true to life, it’s not true to fiction, either, not anymore. The description of The Man fits every heroine as well, and The Man lives inside every real woman. Women are proactive in the family, their communities and the workplace. And they are agents of change, movers and shakers, independent in their choices in books, as well.

I submit to you that The Man is the type of person not only would we love to have as a lover and/or a friend, it’s the type of person each and every one of us aspires to be. The heroic journey we love to write and read about, the dream of the hero saving the day against all odds and finding their happy ending is the search for the champion in all of us. Not just the story we’d love to experience for ourselves and the kind of man we’d want by our side but the type of woman, human being, we’d like to be.

I admire The Man, or The Woman, because I aspire to be just like him/her. I write about them because I suspect you admire them too, and it’s a sweet dream, one worth cherishing, isn’t it? And I don’t believe in the battle of the sexes, that women are from Venus and men from Mars. I think we’re just earthlings with the same hopes and dreams, fears and desires. We face the same challenges and we want the same things. To be happy. To make someone happy. To love and be loved. To do the right thing.

Different costume. Same core. Truce?

Dita Parker is the author of a death-defying love and lust triangle set in the Big Easy titled Alex Rising, and Perpetual Pleasure, a hot and heavy novel starring a commitment phobic immortal and a stunt performer bent on showing her everything she’s missing out on (Ellora’s Cave Publishing). Dita lives in Scandinavia with her striking Viking and their children. She believes that sex is a positive life force, that love can last a lifetime, and that in 2014 Brazil will once again win the World Cup. To see how it all plays out, visit Dita’s Den.

One of the perks of being a romance writer is the opportunity to daydream about handsome, sexy men. I have the perfect excuse to sit at my desk, close my eyes, and envision candidates to star in a new story and fill the role of my heroine’s soulmate. Short or tall, light or dark, I know they’ll have muscles in all the right places and be a man I would fall for in a big way – if I wasn’t already happily married to my own Prince Charming.

But when I was writing my latest book, Deadly Memories, I didn’t have to stretch my imagination far to discover the identity of Trish’s dream man. Her college sweetheart was always the man destined to complete her life.

Her former lover, Greg Erickson is no ordinary hero. I write romantic suspense, so most of the men I write about fight for justice and morally or physically struggle with villains. But Greg fights a different kind of struggle. He is a modern hero, fighting cybercrime using his sharp mind and exceptional computer skills, not his fists.

The last time I wrote about Greg, he appeared in Beyond Paradise (Samhain Publishing, 2010) as a teenager smitten with Trish. Between the time of that story and the beginning of Deadly Memories, he went to college, made millions building and selling a computer security company, broke up with Trish, and married another woman. His marriage was typical of the poor choices we all make when we’re young. We know he should have married Trish, but until he was able to star in his own story, he couldn’t see the light.

I loved both Greg and Trish when I wrote about them before and wanted them to have a second shot at happiness. Trish believes her one chance for true love has passed her by and is resigned to a life spent alone. She’s been guarding her heart and focusing on her career. But when she meets Greg again, he’s a mature man, gorgeous and even more of a temptation than in college. The old spark re-ignites, and nature takes its course. If one of them doesn’t get killed as the story progresses, love may have a new chance to flourish.

I enjoyed writing Deadly Memories and bringing Greg and Trish back together, because I’m a hopeless romantic. I firmly believe there is someone in this world for everyone, and when two people are meant to be together, neither time nor past mistakes should keep them apart. He was her perfect mate. And putting them together gave me an opportunity to create a happy ending.

Writing romance has a lot pf perks. The warm feeling I get knowing I’ve told a story about love triumphing despite all odds and two people finding each other despite monumental conflicts, is worth all the hours of hard work that go into the writing of a book.

And now that my characters are happy, I can go back to that other perk. Daydreaming about hunky men I might want to meet in my next story.

Thanks to Delilah for inviting me to be her guest.

Kathleen Mix is the author of six novels of romance and romantic suspense. To read more about her books, or buy a copy of Deadly Memories, visit her website at https://www.kathleenmix.com.

 Short Excerpt:

A millimeter at a time, his fingers moved to her nape, lightly toyed with her hair.

The interior of the car became totally devoid of oxygen.

His hand cupped her cheek, his thumb slowly caressed her jaw, and his eyes took a long, lazy trip over her body. “You’ve matured into a beautiful woman. That dress, and the body in it, drew a lot of male attention tonight.”

Fire licked through her bloodstream. Goose flesh tingled on her arms.

She knew she should bolt for the house, but her feet were cemented to the floor mat. She held her breath. Waited.

His gaze locked with hers. Smoldering. sexy. He was remembering making love in the past. She could see it in the way his pupils glazed, darkened, and dilated.

Her mind flew in a similar direction. That little voice inside her whispered. I still want you.

As if she’d said the words aloud, he smiled devilishly, then leaned over and ever so slowly claimed her mouth.

The rush of sensations brought tears to her eyes. His taste, his warmth, the electric thrill of his lips touching hers. His firm mouth pressing, his tongue probing, her body melting. She clung to him as if their last kiss had been yesterday, as if he was still hers to savor forever.

She wanted to weep for the pleasure, weep for the memories of loss.

He broke the kiss, drew back a bare millimeter. His breath was hot on her skin. He whispered in a voice like dark honey, “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

Sometimes The Story Practically Writes Itself

Maybe this isn’t true for all authors, but I find that each of my stories has a story of its own, and they’re all different. Of course, the stories we write are all different, but they’re different in more ways than that. Certainly some of the things we write are better than others, but authors are rarely the best judge of the quality of their own works. That isn’t really what I mean, anyway. Some stories are more popular and sell better than others, it’s true, but almost no one can ever figure out all the factors that go into that. That’s not what I mean either.

I’m talking about the actual process of creating the work. Some stories are easy to write and some aren’t. Some of them I sort of zip through, and some of them I agonize over.

Most stories start when a couple of the thoughts, feelings, trivial facts, and odd conceptions floating around in an author’s head meet, rub against each other, and start giving off sparks. A few of them begin to coalesce into a situation that has story potential.

I like to open a story at a point where the main character has either just discovered she has a problem or when that problem has reached a crisis point. Frequently my protagonist has to make a life-changing decision, take a big risk, or do something questionable to solve a problem.

When I begin writing, I generally know what that opening scene will be, and what the major problem or crisis faces the main character is. I usually have an idea of the setting, the other main characters, and how I want the whole thing to resolve. What I don’t always know is all the stuff that happens between beginning and end.

That can be a major issue when I hit a roadblock or reach a point where I just don’t know what to do next.  Generally in those cases I take a walk, go to the gym, brainstorm, let it sit a while. Sometimes one or more of those will work, but often I just have to press on with little idea of what comes next, or retire from the story temporarily and work on something else.

But every now and again I get a gift—a story that just flows from one scene to the next, laying out a plot that moves in the classic rising action, climax, aftermath, rising action, etc. routine.

My upcoming release from Ellora’s Cave, SECRET SANTA SIR, is one of those stories. The idea occurred to me just after last Christmas when my daughter was talking about their office Secret Santa gift exchange and how some gifts had been deemed inappropriate. That proverbial little light bulb went off in my head. Suppose a young woman with secret, kinky yearnings gets a surprise gift from an unexpected Secret Santa—an offer to help her explore those kinky desires in a reasonably safe way? Would she go for it? And where might it lead?

I knew I had twelve days to take my heroine from a dubious and frustrated to accepting and on the way to being in love with the man behind the Secret Santa identity.  When I began to write, it just seemed to pour out onto the screen. I always seemed to know what the next scene would bring, when the major events would happen and how it would move from one scene to another until it got the end.  It’s a short novel and I wrote the entire thing in just a couple of months.

It doesn’t happen that way for me very often, but I’m thrilled when it does.

Blurb for Secret Santa Sir (Available November 23^rd): When Maggie Marino gets a note from a very unofficial Secret Santa during the office’s holiday gift exchange, she’s surprised to be tempted by it. This Secret Santa offers to help fulfill her wilder sexual fantasies, those fantasies she’s never admitted to anyone else. Normally the very professional, uptight Maggie wouldn’t consider doing anything so risky. But she’s at a crossroads in her life. She wants a husband and family, but she also has kinky sexual fantasies and none of the nice guys she’s dated so far have moved her. She agrees to her Secret Santa’s proposal, and her first few anonymous encounters with him are a revelation, showing her levels of sensuality she’s never experienced before. But when she meets the man behind the gifts and the glorious kisses, her life gets seriously complicated. As she begins to fall in love with him, she’s faced with having to make a decision between her longing for husband and family, and continuing a relationship that fulfills her in ways she never believed possible.

About Katherine Kingston:

Katherine Kingston has written somewhere around two dozen erotic novels, novellas, and short stories.  Most of her novels and novellas are currently published by Ellora’s Cave, but she has one novella with Whispers Publishing, and has had stories in a number of print publications. Her stories cover a range of genres from historical to paranormal to science fiction and contemporary. Most of them include hot, kinky sex, particularly BDSM.  Learn more about Katherine and her books at her website: https://www.katherinekingston.com .

Book Clubs and “Dirty” Books

Delilah, thanks so much for inviting me here in my new incarnation as Savanna Fox (also writing as Susan Fox and Susan Lyons).

Do you belong to a book club? I always wanted to, and so, years ago, I started one. I invited three friends and we each invited one more friend, so we started with eight members. We’ve gone through a few evolutions, but we’re still going strong. I love my book club! We take turns choosing books and there are NO RULES!! The books can be literary fiction, commercial fiction, non-fiction. We discuss them over dinner, and look for a restaurant that suits the theme of the book – e.g., when we read “The Paris Wife,” of course we had to eat delicious French food. (And drink French wine. Can’t forget about the wine part of the club!)

I’ve heard that many book clubs are a little, shall we say, stuffy and pretentious. If a book isn’t literary fiction – preferably a prize winner or an Oprah Book Club selection – then it’s beneath consideration. It’s really interesting to me that a lot of clubs are now choosing “Fifty Shades of Gray,” I think because of the huge buzz about the book. Seems to me, it’s not typical of what most clubs have chosen in the past.

However, that choice fits perfectly with an idea I had two or three years ago, when clubs were mostly reading literary fiction. Nothing against those books, but they aren’t always a lot of fun. And we deserve to have fun sometimes, right? That’s the idea that got me thinking about the Dirty Girls Book Club. Imagine a group of women sitting around, discussing the latest weighty, yawn-worthy tome, and one asks, “Is there a rule that says a book club can’t ever read anything fun?” Another chimes in with, “Or sexy? What’s wrong with sexy?”

That’s my premise, and of course the club in my book votes to read a sexy book, in this case “The Sexual Education of Lady Emma Whitehead.” Now comes the second part of my premise. Each time the club chooses a sexy book, one of the members has a personal sexual – and romantic! – journey that in some ways parallels that in the book.

In the first book, “The Dirty Girls Book Club” (Berkley Heat), Georgia Malone is a widow like Lady Emma. Emma was in an arranged marriage to a much older man who, to put it bluntly, sucked in bed. She has no idea that sex could be pleasurable. Georgia’s marriage was a love match and she and her husband adored each other. For her, sex was transcendent because it was a joining of bodies and souls – and yet, she never actually had an orgasm.

Lady Emma allows herself to be seduced by a suave, sexy French count. The only new man in Georgia’s life is the figurehead for her new marketing campaign – hockey star, Woody Hanrahan. He’s totally masculine and rough around the edges, and somehow she has to transform him, to make him more suave without erasing his sexy masculine edge.

Complicating matters is the fact that she has an inexplicable, unprecedented reaction to him: arousal. Though he’s certainly no sophisticated seducer like Lady Emma’s count, Georgia can’t resist the opportunity to experience the kind of physical pleasure she never believed she was capable of. And Woody is more than happy to take on her sexual education!

But of course, it’s never that simple, is it? It turns out, there’s more to Woody than meets the eye, and soon it’s not only Georgia’s body that’s turned on, it’s her heart. Do they get their happy ending? Well, I do write romance, after all!

If you’ve read my books before, you know that my mind tends to work in series, and so of course it’s my plan that the other club members will have their own sexy, romantic journeys as the club chooses more erotic selections.

I’d love to hear your thoughts about book clubs. Do you belong to one? What kinds of books do you read and how do you choose them? What type is your favorite? What do you get out of belonging to your book club? And if you don’t belong to one but would like to, why don’t you start one of your own?

I’m giving away an autographed copy of “The Dirty Girls Book Club” to someone who comments.

You can find an excerpt and purchase links on my website:  https://www.susanlyons.ca I’m also on Facebook: www.facebook.com/SusanLyonsFox

Savanna Fox