Today I’m going to discuss ‘this or that’ writers.

If someone is referred to only as a ‘lesbian erotica writer’ or ‘science fiction writer’, they have unfortunately let themselves be stamped as a ‘this or that’ writer.

Such writers should immediately do whatever is necessary to shirk that potentially income-limiting label. Of course, there are writers who choose to focus on a specific niche, m/m romance or pet mysteries, for example, and in that case, it is very, very good to be a ‘this or that’ writer, only you are now a specialty writer with high income potential. You have established yourself as an expert; people will seek out your work.

Since I’m discussing ‘this or that’ writers, I’m leaving specialty writers out of this, except to say that SPs write for one genre (and sometimes that genre’s subgenres), usually one they personally enjoy reading or found they have a knack for, and they have mastered their craft. An SP is like a neurologist or orthopedic surgeon. I am talking about the advantages of being a general practitioner.

A writer with skill, talent, and experience, can write almost any type of material. And unless you choose to be known as a genre writer, say romance or fantasy, you should make a concerted effort to write stories of all kinds and submit, submit, submit. Like an investor, you should build up a diversified portfolio, only instead of investments; your portfolio consists of writing samples.

Diversification makes it harder to attain a certain level of success, but it is worth it in the long run. And while it will probably take longer to become a ‘famous mystery writer’ or a ‘bestselling romance author’ if you diversify, the truth is that you will make more short-term money by not pigeonholing yourself. And I do believe that making a living from their art is the ultimate goal of most writers.

I have not penned any bestsellers as of yet, but I do make a living as a writer and have so for the past six years. The key to that being that I do not categorize myself and try to avoid letting others do so. I am a writer, period. Whether it’s advertising copy, web copy, screenplays, brochures, newsletters, newspaper and magazine articles, or fiction, I am available and experienced and ready to write. Potential employers do not look at my resume and think, ‘She only has experience writing comedy. We can’t hire her for this.’ Instead they think, ‘She has experience with all kinds of writing.’

An added bonus of exercising your writing talent is just that – you get some exercise! Play around with types of characters, plots and subplots, genres, styles, tones, and of course, words. you will only be a better writer for it. Making your brain twist and turn, overcome obstacles, and think – will make you a better specialty writer as well, if that’s your chosen path.

If you do decide to stick to a certain genre, one that really tickles, draws, and titillates you, all this exercise will just make your specialty that much stronger. And if you decide to write, write, write – everything from magazine features to op-ed pieces to BDSM erotica to cookbooks, you’ll find that there is nothing you can’t do.

Ily Goyanes is a journalist, editor, publisher, and widely published erotica author. She writes about food and culture for the Miami New Times (Village Voice Media) and the Fuming Foodie, her columnist alter ego, has been known to cause a bit of controversy. Her erotica appears in Best Lesbian Erotica 2012, Lesbian Cops: Erotic Investigations, Spankalicious: Erotic Adventures in Spanking, and Power Plays: Kinkster Erotica, as well as the upcoming Smokin’ Hot Firemen.  Her first full-length anthology, Girls Who Score: Hot Lesbian Erotica, has been nominated for a Lambda Literary Award. She has been interviewed by PBS, The Miami Herald, The Sun-Sentinel, South Florida Gay News, and numerous other media outlets, as well as serving as a panelist at the 2012 Miami Book Fair International. Write her at ily.goyanes@gmail.com.

Writing Sex: Making Readers Feel It

I write erotic romance with BDSM and spanking.  I’ve been doing it for a long time, since well before Ellora’s Cave was born.  I was doing it so long ago that my first sales were to some of the many small press erotic publications common before the advent of the Internet and the World Wide Web, and at the time I’d never even talked to another author writing erotic romance. In fact, other than the writers in those magazines, I didn’t know of any others. I had no critique groups or partners and I pretty much taught myself how to do it.  I learned mostly by imitating others.

Since then, I’ve sold a lot more stories and read a lot of erotic romance stories for contests and on free sites. Many of them didn’t really work for me and usually for the same reasons.  Here are three of the most common mistakes I’ve run into.

–          Describing the action with no emotion. Spanking and bondage stories lend themselves to this shortcut and I see it quite a bit. After a nice bit of dialogue to build up to the scene, one character begins spanking the other. How does the author describe the action? “Smack. Smack. Smack. Smack.” Or “Spank, spank, spank, SPANK, spank, etc.” And the spankee shrieks “Ouch, ouch, ouch.” And that’s it until the spanking is over. Other than sort of describing the sound, this really shows me nothing. What I really want to know is what it feels like—either to the spanker or the spankee or, preferably to me, both. I’ll bet you’ve read some of those bondage stories that lovingly describe every twist and turn of the rope, every knot, but not what it feels like to be so bound, to be helpless and at someone else’s mercy.

–          Describing just the physical sensation. Yes, I want to know how it feels. I want the author to make me experience the burn of a spanking as well as the heat and arousal, the glorious pleasure when the beloved touches you just there, the helplessness when your movement is restricted by loving bonds. But I also want to know what’s going on in the characters’ heads as well as their bodies. I want to know why they’re in this position, why they’re letting the other do this to them, what they’re risking, and what they want from it.

–          Detailing a sex scene that doesn’t change anything between the main characters. In an erotic romance, every scene, including every sex scene, has to serve the plot and the development of the characters. It’s all about the story. Even when the story is super-sexy, if there’s no plot, no emotion, no risk, no danger, nothing to make us care about the characters or worry about what will happen to them, then it doesn’t work as a romance or even as good fiction.

The principles of good story-telling apply even to erotic romance. Show, don’t tell. Give us interesting characters and make us care about them. Build the tension between the characters. Don’t make it easy on them. Make them earn their happily ever after or at least their happily for now. And most of all entertain the reader. Grab her attention and keep it until the very last word.

Bio: As the author of more than a dozen novels, novellas and short stories for Ellora’s Cave and other publishers, Katherine Kingston makes her characters work hard for their happily-ever-afters. She writes erotic romances in a variety of genres including contemporary, medieval historical, fantasy, futuristic and paranormal. Most of her stories include kinky elements, especially BDSM and spanking. She invites you to visit her home on the web at http://www.katherinekingston.com.

 Secret Santa Sir: When Maggie 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. She wants a husband and family, but she also has kinky sexual fantasies and no man has ever moved her. Maggie agrees to 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 Maggie begins to fall in love with him, she faces two choices—longing for husband and family, and continuing a relationship that fulfills her in ways she never believed possible.

Kyle’s Bargain: In a desperate attempt to save the small strip shopping center that houses her own bookstore and a few other small retailers, Meg Travis tries to blackmail developer Kyle Harrison into going with her to talk to the people his project is about to displace. He offers her a bargain.  He’ll give her two hours of his time if she’ll agree to spend a night with him in his bed, and he won’t press charges if she’ll accept the punishment he proposes. He refuses to tell her what that penalty would be. Both honor their promises, but neither is prepared for the attraction that blazes between them in the process, turning duty into joy and punishment into pleasure.

This past Saturday, I took a watercolor class. I know that doesn’t sound edgy or exciting, and you certainly wouldn’t automatically think, “Danger, Will Robinson!” stepping into class, but I had butterflies. What if I sucked?

It was last year about this time I accepted a challenge to join the Art Guild and participate in a Studio Tour. The tour was set for October. What would I have for people to look at or possibly purchase if they came out to see the studio my mom, daughter, and I shared? I learned how to make some simple jewelry. It was a hit! I still experiment with that, make pieces when I’m trying to relax, and play with color and composition a lot. But I really wanted to see what else I might be able to do. When a class was offered in town with a well-respected artist, I said, why not? Then went on a shopping spree. Who knew you needed so much “stuff” to paint?

The class was an all-day workshop. Every level of experience welcome. I’ve never painted in my entire life, so I was the bottom of the rung. I chose a simple shape. I wanted to paint a single pear. The instruction told me to add two more. Said I’d done a good contour drawing. He probably said it to build me up, but hey, I glowed!

Then I had to apply paint. He was teaching us to paint “loose.” And we only had an hour to complete our piece once we wet the paper. Literally. I used a paint brush and wet the areas of the watercolor paper I wanted to have the paint run—which was all around the pears. Then I went to work. I placed the paint where I wanted it, shaded the areas I thought should be shaded, added the reds and purples at the sides because I liked the way they made the yellow pop. He showed me how to drag the paint down. See the streaks underneath the pears? Yeah, I did that on purpose. 🙂

I don’t think my pears are half-bad. I’m getting them framed. And I’ve signed up to take an oil painting class.

So what have you done lately that took you out of your comfort zone?

Hi, everyone! I want to thank Delilah for being the ever-gracious host and allowing me to be on her blog. If you don’t know me, my name is Melissa Schroeder and I write sensual to erotic and historical to futuristic romance.

I just released the reissue of my futuristic action adventure erotic Telepathic Cravings which includes three interrelated stories featuring three different couples.

I love writing futuristic books and it started with the first book in this anthology, Voices Carry. The publisher I wrote for at the time wanted books with 80’s song titles and I came up with an idea of a world where anyone with paranormal abilities was considered dangerous and it took off from there. I love to invent the world from the ground up and let’s be honest, I like to blow shit up. I seem to do that a lot in my futuristics. I have an inordinate amount of women who like to shoot at things and ask questions later. It probably goes back to my love of Star Wars, The Fifth Element and of course, my favorite, Serenity. The space opera is one of my favorite escapes in movies. Doesn’t matter how bad I feel, I can always lose myself in the world and I hope I give that to my readers.

TELEPATHIC CRAVINGS

ALL ORDERING OPTIONS    READ THE FIRST CHAPTER

A Federation under siege. A Counter-Terrorism Department overworked. Paranormal abilities outlawed. But when no one suspects what you can do, criminal Voices Carry. Called by lust and longing, three telepaths risk their lives to put their skills to work for the Federation Counter-Terrorism Department.

VOICES CARRY

When a criminal organization stealing secrets jeopardizes her boss’ life, secret telempath Shana Adams risks everything to uncover the truth and save Marcus. Draws into a dangerous web of passion and suspicion, she’ll offer Marcus more than her body to survive.

LOST IN EMOTION

Alien Gorgons, Federation enemies? No contest. Telemphatic anti-terrorist agent David Adams can fight anything. Anything, that is, but his feelings for Genoa, the sassy, sexy spy he’s been charged with protecting.

HARD HABIT TO BREAK

Once a powerful paranormal, psychically crippled Drug Enforcement office,  Nolete Ashford has rebuilt her life from ashes. Now she’s on a mission to stop a drug that is killing paranormals. Nothing to it, no problem-until she’s assigned to work with Drake, the one man she could never forget.

~~~~~~~~

Catch up with Mel all over the web:

WEBSITE | BLOG | FACEBOOK FAN PAGE | HARMLESS ADDICTS | HARMLESS SERIES PAGE | CURSED CLAN PAGE | TWITTER

Don’t forget to like For the Love of Military Romance and THE SANTNIS!

Melissa Schroeder is a national bestselling author of over 50 books. She is best known for her Harmless series, a BDSM series mainly set in Hawaii.  She is a military wife and brat, now counting down the days until she can say she is a retired dependent. She loves to cook, read, and avoid the killer bugs of the south. (they are real…they will eat your children). She loves to hear from readers!

Before I wrote my first romance novels, I imagined that realistic contemporaries with characters rooted in the everyday might be “easier” to create than paranormals, historical, or romantic suspense. (I can hear Delilah laughing now!) Since I’d been writing short fiction for years, I knew that writing isn’t easy, no matter what the genre, but it did seem like contemporaries might have advantages. If you don’t have to create a world from scratch, or vividly recreate an unfamiliar setting or time period, it should leave you more brain-space for the other aspects of writing a good book. Right?

Still, my first solo books were paranormals and fantasy romances, and I found, when I wrote my Duals and Donovans paranormals for Samhain and the Seasons of Sorania Cycle for Phaze that world-building is one of my favorite parts of writing otherworldly romances. What’s more, paranormal worlds and heroes and heroines with unusual powers offer all sorts of opportunities for angst and conflict. If the couple (or triad) are different species, they automatically have issues to work out. If they’re trying to cement a relationship while saving the world from super-powered evil, they’ll be too distracted to believe that love will conquer all or have the talk that lets them realize they’re on the same page.

Knowing the Ropes, my first solo full-length contemporary (I’ve co-authored several with Dayle A. Dermatis under the name Sophie Mouette) offered me new challenges. I’d chosen a setting I knew well, Boston, and a milieu I also knew well, the BDSM community, so only a small amount of research was needed. Developing quirky, interesting characters who clicked emotionally and sexually is always a fun challenge, no matter what the setting. But I’d made my hero and heroine click too well! In the first draft, Nick and Selene, without demons or government conspiracies to distract them from their smoking sexual connection and shared values, fell in love way too easily. They struggled a bit with integrating love and BDSM, but because I’d created bright, mature characters, they were able to talk through their problems readily. Great in a real relationship, boring in a novel.

Despite good advice from beta readers, I set this book aside for longer than I should have and went back to paranormals, thinking I didn’t have the knack for contemporaries. Then a conversation with an editor (not the one who ultimately bought the book) at a conference prompted me to revisit the draft. With time away from the work, I was able to see how to deepen the conflict, create areas of self-doubt that Nick and Selene couldn’t articulate because they didn’t fully understand them, make Nick’s misguided ex both more human and more a real threat to the relationship.

I’m at work on another kinky contemporary right now, as well as the next Duals and Donovans paranormal. The kinky contemporary is going well, but I may add an element of romantic suspense or a truly evil ex to future works in that sub-genre. I learned a lot from Knowing the Ropes, but I still find it easier to put characters into a juicy conflict with each other if they’re also uniting against an outside enemy.

Or maybe I just like inventing magical rituals and blowing things up.

Teresa Noelle Roberts writes erotica and romance—“doing what comes (super)naturally.” She loves writing slightly more than gardening, but can’t survive without either. Learn more at www.teresanoelleroberts.com or follow her on Twitter, where she’s @TeresNoeRoberts

They’ve got the sex factor in spades. But can love survive the “ex” factor?

Selene has harbored kinky, submissive fantasies most of her life, but her experience as a domestic abuse counselor leaves her leery of giving up that much control. Case in point: the ex-fiancé she didn’t love quite enough to test the limits of trust.

At a BDSM meet and greet, she sets out to learn how far is too far. Nick seems like the ideal dom to show her the ins and outs of ropes, floggers, and paddles—with no commitment clause.

After losing a sub he loved too much, Selene’s country girl common sense and smoking sensuality is like a dream that Nick never dared to have—a perfect blend of kink and long-term domestic bliss.

Yet it’s tough to figure out just how far they can push their limits when they’ve both agreed to a no-strings affair. Especially when an ex needs Nick’s muscle and Selene’s newly discovered skills to get out of a dangerous situation. And it may be too late for love to survive all the things they’re afraid to say.

Warning:  Sexy, kinky, geeky dominant guy. Smart submissive woman. Crazy ex. A little experimentation between girlfriends. And lots and lots of kinky sex.

Buy links:
Samhain|  Amazon| Barnes and Noble | Kobo
Excerpt at Samhain and here.

A Slice of Southern Gothic Pie

Thanks so much for hosting me on your blog, today, Delilah! (I’m looking forward to the release of our next joint venture in Femme Noir Series – Possessed in the Big Easy!)

Having been born and raised in the Deep South, it’s hard to escape the influence of some of the greatest female authors of our time. Eudora Welty, Flannery O’Connor, Margaret Mitchell, Carson McCullers, and of course Harper Lee.

These authors captured the land of cavaliers and cotton fields at a time when the Old Guard struggled against modernization which not only brought electricity and other conveniences we take for granted to Southern cities and rural areas alike, but ushered in racial and gender equality. These books are set against a backdrop of red clay and stifling humidity, of respites in the shade of Spanish moss laden live oaks, and dark nights where Bourbon is one’s only companion.

Southern literature is also rife with secrets held onto to for generations, taboos risked, and tragedies suppressed. While most readers of Gone With the Wind think of Scarlett O’Hara as a bitch, she is the consummate Southern heroine who drags her loved ones out of a way of life that no longer works and into the dramatically changing world of Reconstruction Era Georgia. She sacrifices to protect her own. Harper Lee’s honorable Atticus Finch parents by quiet but larger-than-life example when he champions Tom Robinson, an innocent man accused of rape because of his race.

And while these Southern authors make us laugh and cry (and often want to strangle their characters), many of these classic tomes have tragic endings.

Though I penned my Southern Gothic romance, Every Waking Hour, nearly twenty years ago, I only recently submitted it for publication. On some levels, the book was too personal, the heroine, Grayson Garland, too edgy, too tragic. Romance readers wanted to sigh when the characters came together and Every Waking Hour isn’t that kind of story.

Inspired by the bastions of Southern literature, by stories told to me by my grandmother about how times had changed, and by my own skeletons in the cupboard, Every Waking Hour is the story of two women whose lives have been mapped out by their pasts, who struggle to find happiness in their present when secrets are imperative, and who don’t know if they’ll be able to share a future.

English professor Della Boyd has worked hard to carve out a career for herself in the male-dominated 1950s South. Having escaped an unpleasant childhood, she resolves to keep her nose to the grindstone and work her way up the university ladder. All that changes, however, when she meets her favorite author, Grayson Garland, whose androgynous beauty and taboo kisses cause Della to question everything she’s always believed.

When Grayson Garland returns to bury her father, the world renowned, eccentric Southern author sets the small town of Rome, Alabama on its ear. But the old antebellum mansion she once called home is haunted with dark secrets Gray is reluctant to face. Sultry nights in the arms of a pretty, oh-so-feminine professor provide ample distraction, but unless Gray can summon the courage to confront her demons, even Della’s love won’t be able to save her from herself.

It didn’t make sense that this would upset her.

Lesbian…

She swallowed thickly.

No. She wasn’t a lesbian. That was ludicrous. Lesbians were women like…like Gray. Women who dressed and acted like men.

“Della?” Gray’s voice startled her.

She looked over her shoulder as Gray quietly slipped out the screen door and then dropped heavily and somewhat unsteadily onto the step, balancing her glass to keep the bourbon from spilling. “Have you been crying? Is something wrong?”

Della dried her eyes and shook her head.

Gray gestured back toward the house. “I saw them, too.” She pursed her lips sympathetically. “Sorry.”

Della heaved a sigh. “I was never seriously involved with him.”

“You were involved enough to let him make you cry.”

It’s not that, Della wanted to confess. She couldn’t. It was so much more than that. Her whole world seemed out of tune, her whole way of thinking about herself. She didn’t know who she was or what she wanted any longer.

Gray waved her hand in dismissal. “To hell with ‘em.”

Della dabbed at her tears. “I’m just being silly.”

“Hey,” Gray said as she placed her glass on the step, drawing her hands back cautiously as if it might topple at any second. “Which car is his?”

“Why? What are you going to do?” Della asked.

Gray grinned, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief. “Which one?”

Della pointed. “That blue Ford. Why?”

Gray eased off the steps and stole across the lawn like a secret agent, looking back and forth to make sure no one was watching.

Della shot to her feet. “Grayson,” she whispered loudly. “Grayson, don’t.”

Gray reached inside the open window and switched on Will’s headlights.

Eyes widening, Della checked the door to make sure no one was looking out. She couldn’t help but laugh at this woman who’d won a Pulitzer Prize, playing a childish prank. If Will hadn’t deserved it, Della would have been appalled.

Triumphant, Gray returned to the steps, pride illuminating her face. “That’ll take the piss out of him.”

She’s beautiful, Della thought as if she’d just realized it for the first time. She’s really very pretty.

“It’ll most certainly put a kink in his plans to go home with little Miss Allie,” Della said and smiled, resting her hands behind her back against the screen door.

Gray’s own smile faded into something somber and thoughtful. She climbed the steps slowly, deliberately, her hand skimming the rusted iron handrail. Her eyes shimmered from laughing and from the booze she’d consumed. Della’s heart drummed. She felt like a rabbit under the spell of a fox, and when Gray’s languid gaze moved from her eyes to her toes and then slowly back up again, Della’s stomach clenched.

Gray didn’t stop her ascent until she’d closed the distance between them, until her face was only inches away. Her gaze dropped to Della’s parted lips. A delicious chill washed over her and her mouth went dry.

She stopped smiling. Her entire being filled with anticipation and expectation. She knew Gray was going to kiss her. It was something that only fifteen minutes ago, Della couldn’t allow herself to imagine, but now it was about to happen and she wanted it more than she’d wanted anything in her life.

Gray wet her lips with the tip of her tongue and then gingerly brushed her mouth across Della’s. She opened her lips to the softness, meeting the whiskey flavored tongue that tested and then retreated. So soft. The kiss was so soft and yet so devastating.

A husky moan tore from Gray’s throat and she deepened the kiss, cupping Della’s face in her hand, pressing her warm body close. The faint fragrance of Gray’s androgynous cologne wafted in the sultry night air.

Gray’s arm snaked around Della’s waist, drawing her impossibly close, crushing her dress against the hard thigh that pressed between her knees. Helpless, Della yielded to the incompatible softness of feminine lips that vied with powerful passion. She responded, meeting the invading tongue, tilting her head to give and receive more. She entwined her arms around Gray’s neck and held her head captive.

This was madness. It was fire and ice and Della dissolved in the embrace, the kiss. And, merciful heavens, the way Gray held her. So tightly. So closely. As if they could become one.

Desire unfurled and snapped like a standard in the wind, leaving Della powerless to do anything but submit. Dampness trickled inside her panties and she moved restlessly against the thigh pushing tight between her legs.

Gray groaned and her arms tightened, her kiss ever deepening. Her tantalizingly chilled fingers slipped from Della’s cheek, downward to where they worked inside the bodice of her dress, inching possessively under the laced edge of her bra. Sweltering passion contrasted the cool touch, pooling between her legs and when Gray cupped her breast and pinched her already hardened nipple, Della all but melted.

A little moan escaped her mouth as Gray’s lips moved to her neck, then to her ear where she raked her teeth against the earring there, then finally back to Della’s lips again. Della wanted this moment to last forever. This fervid passion. This recklessness.

Heat rolled up her spine and all the taboos and warning bells sounding in her head evaporated, leaving desperate physical need in its wake.

Without warning, Gray’s fingers fell away. The kiss ended. Della searched her eyes, shocked by the bleak darkness in the deep blue pools.

Gray turned away and sank back down onto the steps. She took her drink in her hands and stared into it.

Buy it now!

Loose Id | Amazon | B&N | ARE

About Paisley Smith

Paisley Smith is a full time freelance writer and can usually be found in front of the computer either writing, chatting, promoting or plotting. It’s a glamorous life…working in one’s pajamas.

She attended college in the Deep South where she obtained a slew of totally useless degrees and developed an unrelenting sense of humor.

Her books can be found at Ellora’s Cave , Loose Id, and Cleis Press!

www.Paisley-Smith.com

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

* * * * *

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.”

* * * * *

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.

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