Hi Delilah Fans! Spring has sprung and it’s sending our pulses up. Ready for some fun?

All of us authors who write sexy romance have a problem that you can help solve. It’s all about WORDS! I’m running a little contest right now on my Facebook page. If you enter, you’ll have a chance to win a $10 Amazon gift certificate. How to enter?

Like I said, it’s about words—those pesky scribbles we use to convey our thoughts, emotions, and activities. These essential bits of modern civilization are especially bothersome when you’re a romance writer. How many different ways can you say ‘sex’?

Yes, we’re probably even more tired than you of hearing all those terms for body parts or acts of passion. But what other words are there? Writers are pretty much limited to anatomical terms (clitoris, penis, ejaculate—you get the idea), or common nicknames (pussy, cock, seed)—and yes, I know the clit is not the same as the pussy, a term which describes the vulva and/or vagina. Or your favorite feline.

Flowery terms are also overused: bud, petals, folds, center, arousal, manhood… What’s a writer to do?

So please, give me a hand. Visit my Facebook page [https://www.facebook.com/AuthorLizzieAshworth/ ] and add your vote. What do you prefer—anatomical, nickname, or flowery? Your comment enters you to win that gift certificate and, more importantly, gives me some important feedback. THANKS!

Now for the teaser excerpt from my novel Faint Heart:

Morgan Woods took his time rambling back to his office, sorting through the last of the pink message slips. The phone rang, and he collapsed into his chair before answering. Somebody from the Chamber asking politely but persistently about this year’s dues. He made excuses and let the phone down gently before pulling open the bottom drawer and taking out a bottle of scotch. He poured a generous dose into his well-used tumbler and leaned back.

A familiar anxiety coursed through him. No matter what he did or how hard he worked, he never felt like he’d done enough. And it never was enough. For years, he’d held on believing he could build a successful business, take over for his dad, and support them both so his dad could enjoy retirement. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he even toyed with the idea of finding someone to love and maybe raise a family, his dad’s idea more than his own. When Cara Carson crossed his radar, that thought popped to the surface.

But he wasn’t any closer than he’d ever been in opening himself to a serious relationship. Farther away, really. Maybe he needed to face reality and admit it might never happen. Marriage and family were highly overrated, anyway.

He should know.

The whiskey’s heat warmed his neck and almost immediately began relaxing muscles that had been screaming at him since sometime before lunch. Maybe he was getting old. Maybe sitting at a desk or behind the controls of a big Cat had made him soft. Shoveling mud had put his whole body to work. It almost felt good, in a self-torture kind of way, like a vicious deep massage or a too-hot sauna. He looked through the messages again, sorting them by priority.

The front door slammed. “Back here!” he shouted. He waited to hear the footsteps, one man or another coming in late off a job to unload gear or get the work sheet for the next day. He hadn’t checked the clipboards. He stood up and started out of the office, and came face to face with Ms. Carson.

“Oh!” she began. “What are you doing here?”

Damn, she had a way about her. His jaw pulsed. “What am I…? I work here. What’s your excuse?”

She glared at him and peeked around him toward Dutch’s office. “Is Mr. Woods here?”

“No, he’s out sick. I think Margaret told you that each of the nine times you called. Didn’t she?”

Another glare. Well, let her glare. He was too tired and stressed out to care much about this little princess or her project. Unfortunately, she hadn’t lost any of her appeal since he last saw her. Her dark hair had partly come loose from the tie on the back of her head, and wafted in strands along her cheeks. The same petulant expression on her lips made him instantly crazy. It might not be a good idea that she was here when he was exhausted and rapidly sinking into the cozy glow of good scotch.

In spite of his more honorable intentions, his gaze traveled over her body, the proud jut of her breasts inside that nondescript shirt, the curve of her luscious ass, the long legs that had been draped over his arm… He cleared his throat and brought his stare back to her indignant face, fighting to keep a lascivious grin off his face.

~~~

Visit my blog [ http://lizzieashworth.com/2016/04/02/spring-bargain/] for the rest of this hot excerpt.

SPRING SPECIAL!  I’ve got a discount going until April 9. The regular $2.99 price for Faint Heart is knocked down to 99¢ at Smashwords. []

Thanks for reading!

I live in the wilds of the Ozark Mountains with my cats, hound dogs, and whichever child has taken up temporary residence between grad school and relocation. I’ve been writing my entire life and can’t express how wonderful it is to share stories with readers like you. Every book comes from my heart in the hopes that you’ll find a bit of pleasure within these pages. Thank you for your kind words and appreciation! You make it all worthwhile.

Sign up for my free monthly e-newsletter. Gift certificates, excerpts, pre-release deals, and much more. Sign up at http://eepurl.com/bHOyS9

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So, you know from the title alone that this story’s gonna be hot, right? I had fun brainstorming the series name–Stepbrothers Stepping Out. I knew I wanted to combine not one, but two, taboo themes—Step-siblings and Ménage. I had thought I was out of step scenarios, but then you all came up with a treasure trove of ideas for me to continue with. But I think after I write one more, I’ll take a break. I want to do several step-daddy fantasies too, but have yet to find that perfect series title. Do y’all have any suggestions? 🙂

Shorties are never going to make me rich and famous, but I enjoy writing them so much, I can’t stop. Thank goodness, y’all seem to enjoy reading the bite-sized goodies too! Remember, there are four other step-stories. And I bet you can’t stop at just one…

Answer for your chance to win your pick from among the many short stories I’ve published. I will pick three winners! (Sorry, not this stepbrother story!) You can check out the list here: Short Stories

Which sport’s players do you find the sexiest? Football, soccer, basketball…?

When a college student changes her appearance and follows her brother and his teammates to Spring Break in Mexico, she’s ready for adventure… It’s game on!

Purchase your copy here!

Excerpt from With His Team…

Moisture spilled into the crotch of my panties. I could have him. I could have them all. The ugly sister. The girl they thought only good enough to do their laundry or their homework. I could be the thing they’d fantasized over for weeks. And I was dying to know what exactly they’d dreamed of doing.

Who was I kidding? My decision had been made the minute I’d decided to follow them to Cabo. “Empty the ice bucket. I want all the phones inside it.”

Indrawn breaths sounded all around. Then the guys sprang eagerly into action, doing as I had asked, filling the bucket then walking toward Harry and me. He dropped his hands and stood back, his gaze sliding away as the guys gave me the bucket. I counted the phones, then added my own, making sure they understood how seriously I was taking their precautions.

They had plans. Likely expected to take control and move me around like a doll to be shared. I had other ideas about how this should go down. Starting now.

I balled my fists and placed them on my hips, then gave them a steady stare, touching on each of their faces. Harry’s expression was impossible to read, shuttered, his blue eyes narrowed. Mal’s darkly furred chest was rising and falling swiftly; his cock was already pressing against the front of his trunks. Sam stood, arms akimbo, a cocky grin stretching his lovely mouth. And Karo looked so fierce more moisture wet my folds.

“I’d like to see what I’ll be playing with,” I said softly.

They all quickly reached for their waistbands—all except Harry, whose expression was turning darker by the minute. He was the one who’d sealed the deal. Shouldn’t he be happier?

“Wait,” I blurted.

They halted. Mal groaned.

“Do you have condoms? Foam?”

“A fucking case,” Sam said. “No foam.”

A case? Seriously?

Sam shrugged. “Four guys, five days… We had to be prepared.”

But a case? I shook my head. “All right. You can continue.”

Shorts and trunks dropped to their feet, Harry’s a little more slowly. Not a one of them wore underwear. All their cocks were erect, rising upward. A creamy ball of pre-ejaculate sat on the tip of Mal’s nearly purple cock.

My heart galloped, and I sucked in a deep breath, and then another to calm myself.

“What about you?” Harry said, raising his chin.

“Guess that’s only fair.” Oh fuck! It was time to commit. I could turn tail and run, or I could really do this. Mary the doormat would have quivered in her Converse tennis shoes. Instead, I turned to give Harry my back. “Unzip me.”

His hands moved my hair forward. The zipper eased. I stepped away to face them, holding the fabric against my chest, and then slowly pushed it downward.

Every gaze went right to my breasts. All breathing ceased. I pushed the dress past my hips and let it puddle around my feet. Then I tucked my thumbs into the thin band of elastic riding my hips and shoved my panties down. When I was as nude as they were, I held still, letting them look.

Mal was the first to shake himself from his stupor. He took a step forward, but I wagged a finger. He fell back in line.

I walked to Karo, standing at one end of their lineup. I reached out a hand, surprised it wasn’t shaking, and smoothed it over his chest. His pecs tensed beneath my touch. I glided my fingers lower then wrapped them around his huge, blunt cock.

He eased his feet apart and pulsed his hips. I let him glide his cock through my fingers then dropped my hand and moved down the line.

Sam sucked in a breath that tightened his already ripped abdomen. I gave him a similar caress, this time boldly tugging on his dick.

He lifted on his toes to follow the motion then gave a little moan when I moved away.

The head of Mal’s cock was well-lubricated. I stood in front of him and grasped him with both hands, one cuddling his balls, the other stroking his cock. When I moved my hand upward, I rubbed my thumb in the creamy moisture, smearing it over the cap.

I aimed a glance at Harry whose gaze was smoky. “I think I need more assurances,” I said softly.

“What do you want?”

“We need a secret. One you won’t want breathed to anyone outside this room.”

His gaze hardened. “What do you want?” he repeated, his voice harsher.

I glanced sideways at Sam. “I want you to blow Mal.”

UPDATE: The winner is…Pansy!

* * * * *

When you wish upon a star…

The dream that you wish will come true…

Once upon a time…

These are three phrases I love and that have inspired me over the years. I’ve always loved Disney’s fairy tale movies, and being a romance writer, I’ve always wanted my characters to have their fairy tale romance.

It wasn’t until November or so of last year when I had an idea. Why not write my own fairy tales? If you’ve read my work, you know how I enjoy twisting my stories up until my readers can’t guess the endings. So why not twist fairy tales around and make them more interesting, romantic, and suspenseful?

What is it about fairy tale stories that nearly everyone seems to love? Is it because in real life those types of romances usually don’t happen? Well, what if they do, but you just don’t realize it?

When the idea came to me to write fairy tale stories, but make them seem real (well, as real as could be even though some of the stories have wizards and witches), I decided to give it my all. Thankfully, by the time I’d gotten this idea, I had already started writing a young adult fantasy about three teenagers who were sucked into a book that was from a very early era. That’s when I decided to throw a Hansel & Gretel aspect to the story…and a witch, of course. I called my story, The Witch Hunt.

Once that story was finished, a few more fairy tale ideas came to mind. I had a previously published story that was a modern-day Cinderella romance, so I just added a few more scenes and fixed it up to be more of a Cinderella story. That romantic comedy is titled, Her Own Fairy Godmother, which is book #2 in the series.

The next book in the series was easy to write, especially when I saw the awesome book cover my cover artist had premade to sell. That specific book cover screamed Robin Hood, so naturally, I bought it, and wrote my story, Champion. At that point, I decided to start figuring out what fairy tale stories I wanted to write—and then find book covers for them. Within a week, I had all of my book covers (thanks to my cover artist, Sheri McGathy) and an idea about how I want their stories to flow.

Book #4 was my historical Cinderella story, Keep on Believing, which was released March 20^th, 2016. I’m currently writing book #5, Once Enchanted, which is about Rapunzel. That will be released in April. It’s my goal to have a fairy tale story released nearly every month this year. So far I have eleven book covers. I’m sure I’ll think of more fairy tale stories to write for next year.

Here is the tentative schedule for my other stories in my fairy tale series, “Where Dreams Come True”:

Bella’s Beast (Beauty and the Beast) – May

Cloak of Red (Red Riding Hood – she’s not little anymore) – July

Saving Snow (Snow White) – August

To Love a Mermaid (Mermaid – she’s not little, either. lol) – September

Golden Heart (Rumpelstiltskin) – October

Beyond Imagination (Sleeping Beauty) – November

For those who do not know me, I write more than just fairy tales. The genres I’ve had published are: Colonial, Regency, Victorian, American Western, Titanic Era, contemporary, mystery/suspense, paranormal, time-travel, and romantic comedy.

GIVEAWAY

Leave a comment on this blog and tell me which fairy tale you enjoy reading – and you’ll be entered to win a FREE copy of my latest release, Keep on Believing (either Adobe PDF or Kindle formats).

About the Author

Marie Higgins is a best-selling, multi-published author of Christian and sweet romance novels; from refined bad-boy heroes who make your heart melt to the feisty heroines who somehow manage to love them regardless of their faults. She’s published over 30 heartwarming, on-the-edge-of-your-seat stories. She broadens her readership by writing mystery/suspense, humor, time-travel, paranormal, along with her love for historical romances. Her readers have dubbed her “Queen of Tease”, because of all her twists and turns and unexpected endings.

Visit her website / blog to discover more about her – http://mariehiggins84302.blogspot.com

Find her on Facebook – facebook.com/marie.higgins.7543

And Twitter – @MarieHigginsXOX

I have another short story, and by the end of the week, I’ll have one more ready to go. First, Playing the Field is an LGBT story about two female soccer players. If you read the Cleis anthology, Girls Who Score, then you read the original version before I decided to expand it. Enjoy the excerpt I provide below. And no, I’m not a soccer player myself, but my daughter was, so she helped me with the “choreography” for the scene. Hope you enjoy! By the end of the week, I’ll have the next Stepbrothers Stepping Out story ready! Be watching for the announcement!

And because I love to do it, I have a question for you now. Answer for your chance to win your pic from among the many short stories I’ve published.

You can check out the list here: Short Stories

Do you like to watch or play sports? If so, which one(s)?

Playing the Field

A female soccer player has more at stake than scoring points
on the field. Win or lose, she’s making her move today…

Buy at Amazon

Enjoy the excerpt!

Sweat stung my eyes. I lifted the edge of my blue jersey and wiped my face, never losing sight of the black and white ball flying across the grass field.

“One minute left!” Coach shouted from the sidelines.

It’s just a damn game, I reminded myself, but still my stomach plummeted. We needed one point to enter the penalty phase. One lousy point to tie this game up.

The Sharks were playing like damn minnows, letting the Vipers kick our asses up and down the soccer field—our home field. And from their grim expressions, every one of my team members felt the same urgency. If we didn’t win, this would be the last game of the season.

For me, it was about more than just the game. The last game was also my last chance to work up my courage to do what I’d been fantasizing about since the team had first started training in early spring.

A green jersey bumped past me, the Vipers’ player turning her head to give me a smirk before loping on her coltish legs down the field to follow the ball. Anger flared.

One lousy point. I stretched my shorter legs, heart pumping so hard inside my chest the shouts from the sparse crowd in the bleachers faded away. My focus narrowed to the ball zigzagging from one Viper player to the next, my own blue-jerseyed teammates showing the strain in their grim expressions as their movements lost fluidity and grace, and they clumsily tried to muscle close enough to steal away the ball.

I stretched one last time, edged up to the player dribbling the ball between her clever feet, then swept out my foot, catching her ankle and sending her sprawling, then stole the ball.

I wasn’t the most graceful player, wasn’t the star, but I had the goddamn ball now. I lowered my shoulder and bumped a Viper out of the way, then pivoted on my toes and aimed myself and the ball toward the opposite end of the field.

From the corner of my eye, I saw her, backing up toward the other team’s goalie box.

Vicky Moldina gave me a little wave, and I tipped my chin, but didn’t want anyone catching my intent, so I ran to the right, skirting their players, lowering my shoulders and putting on the bull dog face I’d been told intimidated the hell out of other teams—something that always set my own team laughing, because they knew me better.

However, if they’d read the deadly intent in my heart, the searing determination, they’d have wondered who the hell I was.

My thoughts and heart slowed. I repelled the next player who moved in to steal the ball with a sharp, sly elbow. I charged forward, then zagged to the left, leaving two opponents to tumble over one another, and then headed on a parallel path with their goalie.

Vicky backed up again then shot toward the goalie.

I kept on my parallel path, then tried a move I’d failed more often than I’d completed, kicking the ball with my heel to send it like a bullet to Vicky who was poised in front of the goalie’s box.

Our star striker grinned, swept out her foot to catch it—but something happened.

Usually so graceful, her foot rolled over the top of the ball, her ankle turned. She fell in a heap to her knees, then beat her palms against the grass as a green-shirted bitch gave a whoop and stole the ball away, racing toward the other end of the field.

Three short whistles blew. I bent at the waist, hands braced on my knees as I dragged in deep breaths. My gaze remained on Vicky who pushed up from the ground.

She met my gaze and mouthed, “Fuck.”

I shrugged and forced a smile. “Just a game.”

We shared small smiles while our teammates pulled together, remembered their manners, and gave Vicky half-hearted pats to console her before lining up to run past the other team, slapping hands and offering insincere congratulations.

I ran behind Vicky, wishing I hadn’t passed the ball to her. Not because I was disappointed with the outcome, but because I didn’t want this to be the memory she took away from the game. I didn’t want our friendship tainted even a little bit. Not that it was a deep one. Or even very personal.

After my teammates huddled with the coach and offered each other hugs and promises to meet for lunch or dinner during our break—none of which would happen—I trudged toward the showers in the rec center.

“Dinner at Hooters!” Coach called out.

I grinned. We’d have had Outback if we’d won; the threat of Hooters had been meant to spur us toward victory.

As players headed to their lockers, Vicky limped toward the coach’s wire equipment cage. She dug beneath balls and netting then pulled out the first aid bag.

I didn’t like the little wince she gave and moved toward her. “Did you hurt yourself when you took that tumble?” I asked, my voice a little thick because hell, it was her I was talking to.

She wrinkled her perfectly shaped, narrow nose. “It’s my knee. I felt something pull.”

“Do you need to go to the emergency room?”

She shook her head, sweaty tendrils of dark hair shaking against her cheeks. “It’s probably just a sprain. I’ll wrap it after I shower.” She pulled a rolled ACE bandage from the pack and started to put the bag back into the cage.

I reached for the bag, taking it from her and rummaging inside. I pulled out a small jar of Tiger Balm and held it up. “I’ll massage it before you wrap. It’ll feel better faster.” Lord, my cheeks began to burn. Had I given myself away in my eagerness?

Her brows furrowed—just a subtle motion, almost indiscernible, but the glance that swept my body was less so. Subtle, that is. “All right. After we shower.”

After we shower. I know my jaw sagged just a bit at the way she’d emphasized that one little word. Drool pooled in my mouth. I followed her as she turned away, heading to her locker to pull out a plastic bag with her toiletries and a fluffy white towel. I did the same, hurriedly, a little nervous now.

I was reading too much into her words. Still, when we entered the open shower room, I hesitated before setting my items on the slatted wooden bench beside hers. When she raked her jersey over her head, I followed suit and stripped.

Most of the girls were already finishing up. One by one, spigots turned off, towels slid around nude bodies, and they trailed out the door, leaving us alone.

Good locker room etiquette would have been to choose a spigot on the opposite side of the room, but when she strode to the far corner, out of sight of the open doorway, I followed, choosing one right beside her and trying hard not to let my gaze linger on her gorgeous frame.

A small half-smile kicked up one corner of her mouth before she turned her head, closed her eyes, and let the hot water sluice over her hair and face, giving me the perfect opportunity to ogle her long, lithe body.

Which I did until she opened her eyes. I quickly glanced away.

She squeezed shampoo into her palm then handed me the bottle. Her fingertips glided against mine before dropping away. Swallowing hard, I squeezed shampoo directly onto my hair, then set the bottle on the floor.

With our gazes locked, we began to soap our hair.

Nothing had ever been this hot.

We’d both no doubt showered in open stalls in high school—naked women with slippery bodies—but I, for one, had never been this aware. With her hands raised, massaging her scalp, soap slithered down in long, winding ropes that caressed her shoulders, her small round breasts, and taut belly. Her legs parted, widening her stance a little so that I could admire the small, smooth labia framed so perfectly by her muscular thighs.

“My knee’s throbbing,” she whispered.

My gaze darted up, and soap slid into my eyes. I grimaced and turned my hot face into the spray before blinking back at her. Her lips were pursed in a smile; her eyes wrinkled at the corners with silent laughter.

God, if she was teasing me because she knew I was queer I thought I might never get over the embarrassment. But she turned, showing me her ass, and then glanced over a shoulder, one dark, arched brow raised. “It’s okay for you to wash it. The others are gone.”

“You sprain your hand, too?” I blurted.

Although my voice was gruff, she didn’t seem put off. She squeezed soap from her short hair to trail down her back then faced the white tiles.

UPDATE: The winner is…Armenia!

* * * * *

What’s sexier than a cowboy? How about SEAL who’s also a cowboy? How about a SEAL/Cowboy who also doesn’t give up on love? I had fun writing this story about a woman wooed by her high school sweetheart relentlessly over the years of their separation—due to her stubbornness and his many tours of duty. In the end, what woman could resist such a heady combination?

Comment for a chance to win your choice of one of my Lone Star Lovers books! 

Rules of Engagement

Callie Murphy had never been one to moon over a man. Fairytale romances were best left to novels. After all, she’d seen first-hand how transitory love could be after watching her mother drift in and out of three marriages, only to be left disappointed when “true love” faded. However, the video Callie watched for the thousandth time stirred a wistfulness inside that left her feeling restless and thinking about what might have been.

Just the sight of that warm, steady gaze enveloped her in warmth. The deep timbre of his voice as he sang raised the fine hairs on her arms and caused her nipples to prickle, because she remembered that same voice murmuring in her ear in the darkness.

Knowing she’d never get his approval for security’s sake, she’d snuck this recording of their Skype session using a plug-in installed on her computer because she’d wanted something of him to linger after they’d said their goodbyes. This recording been made before their final breakup. Now, watching and listening to him was a form of self-torture. Wearing desert camouflage pants and a brown tee stretching across a well-muscled chest, his dark hair a little shaggy and his beard scruffy, he was all man. All complication. Those piercing blue eyes stared into the camera at her, steady and determined, and Callie couldn’t help the tears welling in her eyes.

Prickles of dismay swept over her as she imagined some other woman, someone not her, on the receiving end of one of his calls, being serenaded with that husky, smooth-as-silk voice. The last time he’d proposed, she’d been firm, making it clear she had no interest in leaving behind the life she’d built in Two Mule, Texas while he was set on a career in the Navy. Rightfully, he should have moved on. No one here in Two Mule would ever fault him. No one really understood why she kept refusing him, but then they hadn’t walked in her shoes through her childhood.

Her mother had followed that “broken road,” uprooting Callie three times, from the friends she’d made, from the roots she’d tried so desperately to sink deep into every place she’d lived. She’d never make that same mistake. Love faded, turned bitter and dark. When love ended, good people drifted apart, or worse, struck out at each other. She’d lived it, first-hand.

So when Derek had stood on her doorstep that last day before heading back to Little Creek, where no doubt his team would be deployed on more dangerous secret missions in the Middle East, Africa, or whatever foreign hellhole the powers that be scrambled a SEAL team for, she’d shut the door on everything he’d offered, despite the fact he’d been sincere—and despite the fact her own heart had twisted inside her chest at the disappointment darkening his eyes.

Watching the video now, him seated on a narrow cot strumming a guitar while he sang about roads leading him straight to some other woman, Callie couldn’t help sniffling. He’d known even before that last proposal that she’d say no. And yet, here he’d been, reaching out to her, letting her see inside his heart as he strummed out his pain.

Watching him as he’d given her a smile, and then sat back to pull his guitar across his legs, she remembered everything she’d felt—nostalgia for their long-shared past, irritation he’d never give up, and joy, deep inside, that his love had never waned, because she was selfish like that. Although she’d been unwilling to hitch her star along with his, she’d depended on his love. Read the rest of this entry »

UPDATE: The winner is…Dina!

* * * * *

My mornings always start with me opening this blog. Sometimes, I have some author’s interesting content to post. Love those days. I don’t have to do the thinking. If I have a new book out—again, a no–brainer—I talk about the new book. Then there are mornings like this one…

I was supposed to be writing today. My daughter was going to take all the kids to Little Rock (one of them has an appointment), then treat them with a trip to the comic book store. But last night, one of the girls threw up in her hands and the other had a 101-degree fever. So Nina is babysitting. And I’m due across the street in about twenty minutes, so this blog has to be quick! No time to leisurely drink my coffee waiting for inspiration to hit.

So, I glance around my desk—my very cluttered desk—hoping something will jump out at me. And something just did.

I bought this little brainstorming tool years ago at some writers’ conference. I’ve never opened the package! It sits in a corner, kind of buried next to notebooks, and I only notice it when I dust (which isn’t often enough!).

This is perfect really. “Story Cubes” is (that looks wrong, but I promise it’s not) a brainstorming game. You roll the dice, and whatever pictures appear face up are the ones you have to use to riff off a story.

Here’s the roll…

Do any of these symbols tell you anything? You can pick some or use all of them. Tell me a story, or just a glimmer of an idea, for a chance to win a $5 Amazon gift card!  

UPDATE: The winner is…Wulfie!

* * * * *

When I was growing up, vampires weren’t pretty, sparkly-in-the-sun beings. They were dark and evil creatures steeped in European mythology. They were inspired by the Strigoi, Vlad the Impaler and Bram Stoker’s Dracula among others.

The vampires I knew of fed on the blood of hapless victims and slept in coffins. They were walking corpses that preyed on the living intent on death and destruction. Interesting for sure. Lovable? Nope.

I’m picky about what appeals to me when it comes to bloodsuckers. Some of my favorites in modern fiction include Louis and Claudia (Interview with a Vampire), Xan Marcelles (Crooked Fang) and Eli (Let the Right One In). These vampires all represent beautifully that essential struggle in balancing the monster they’ve become with what’s left of their humanity. They’re likable despite what they are. They invoke emotion and feeling which is essential to any good character but is especially effective with vampire characterization where you’re taking something that is inherently bad and making it into something people can relate to and even see a little of themselves in.

My vampires don’t shine like diamonds when exposed to daylight and, in fact, will burn up like a sparkler on the Fourth of July. They fight, love and fuck like humans but are always battling the monster that lurks just below the surface. Sometimes they win that fight and sometimes they don’t.

Some say vampires have had their day and are out of fashion. I call bullshit. In my opinion, vampires will always be relevant in fiction. As an author, you have creative license to build your world however you like. It’s up to you to lay down your lore and make it believable and engaging. At the end of the day, or night, vampires can be written any number of ways as long as their journey is a real one.

For a chance to win a $5 Amazon gift card, subscribe to my newsletter here http://eepurl.com/bPAbOL and then tell me who your favorite vampire is! I’ll pick a random winner from the comments on March 27, 2016.

If you like vampires, check out my new release Love Voodoo.

After a chance tarot card reading in a New Orleans voodoo shop, vampire Luca is intrigued by Collette, an alluring woman with an uncanny intuition. Getting intimately involved with a human is the last thing Luca has in mind, but Collette wins his trust and their friendship grows into something deeper. When Luca’s clan learns that he has asked Collette to perform a spell to bind his psychotic sire, a deadly chain of events unravels that will change their lives.

Love Voodoo is available at Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B01CO27BZI

Alyssa Breck is an award winning author of horror/urban fantasy, paranormal romance and erotic fiction. She grew up reading Stephen King and V.C. Andrews. The Shining changed her life and sparked a love of all things scary, spooky and spine-chilling. Add some romance to that and she found her niche weaving paranormal and erotic romance stories. Alyssa hangs her hat in the South with her family of humans and fur-babies.

You can learn more about Alyssa by visiting her website www.AlyssaBreck.com and by following her on Twitter @AlyssaBreck and Facebook.