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In The Flesh FREE!

 

Fun and Freebies with a Paranormal Flavour

It’s time for FREEBIES! Lots of freebies! And if that’s not exciting enough, I’m especially excited that in the run-up to the 29th September release of Blindsided, book 2 of the Medusa’s Consortium Series, In The Flesh, book 1, is included in the freebies. All you have to do is follow the link and click on the book.

And I don’t want any of you to miss out on any of the fabulous free paranormal reads, so here are all the deets.

Love Paranormal Romance? You’ll Love this PNR Freebies Promo!

The fab folks at Instafreebie have rounded up twenty-one (count ‘em) authors of Paranormal Romance, who are each offering a FREE book. That’s 21 (count ‘em) amazing PNR books for FREE! August 28th until September 1st.

As I said, I’m very happy that my novel, In The Flesh, is included in the fabulous list. FREE for this limited time only. This is book one of the Medusa’s Consortium Series.

Now’s the time to nab all these fabulous books and read till your little paranormal-loving heart is content.

Go grab your free here:

http://www.thearielmarie.com/freepnrbooks

 

 

Landscapes is Still FREE!

And if you want to get the full experience of Medusa’s Consortium before the upcoming launch of Blindsided, be sure to take advantage of the free download of my exciting M/M novella, Landscapes. Landscapes is the very first of the Medusa’s Consortium stories.

 

 

 

Olfactory Poetry

Every once in awhile I get inspired and write a poem. I don’t do it often, though I wish I did. It’s a different kind of creativity that touches me in a different way. But it’s also very difficult and requires more patience the I can usually muster. I came across this poem this morning and thought I’d share it with you. It was first published in Coming Together in Verse, an anthology of erotic poetry edited by Ashley Lister, novelist, teacher, poet extraordinaire and an all around fabulous person.

I’ve always been captivated by scent. I’ve written poems and short stories centred around the sense of smell. In fact my novel, To Rome with Lust, is entirely driven by the sense of smell. We humans are mammals after all, and while we don’t live in a world where the sense of smell is essential to keeping us alive, and while we try to cover up the natural smells of our bodies and our lives, our sense of smell is still there, still powerful, still a huge part of our sexuality, if very much underused.

One of the things I have the strongest memories of in the early days of dating my husband is coming into his arms and taking in his scent, closing my eyes and recognising him through his scent, connecting with him through his scent as the one I wanted to be with. That hasn’t changed. The scent of attraction, of want and need and lust, still fascinates me, and the proof is in the poetry. Enjoy.

Stalking Your Scent

I stalk your scent, the wolf at midnight, mouth open to enticing aromas as you writhe beneath me in the dark, as you
kiss me and embrace me at your rising from tangled sheets and carelessly tossed clothing unaware that I sniff, that I breathe, that I test you like my unsuspecting next meal.

I stalk your scent day in, day out, my own scent driven by obsession, heightened by lust. I eat from you, sneak from you, steal from you what makes me want inside, need inside, burn inside.

I stalk your scent and mark you with mine, your throat, your heart, your cock. I possess you in the blending of spice and earth, of tide pool and storm, until I recognize myself only in the context of you, until I am contained only by the boundaries of your redolence.

I stalk your scent in the sleepless hours, riding you to exhaustion, thieving the perfume of your lust, to wear in secret, to flaunt in public. I crave your smell each time I touch you, each time I fuck you, each time I eat you, ruthlessly eat you, tasting and sniffing and lifting my hips to tease you.

I stalk your scent through the years, taking you in like the breath I breathe, no longer remembering a time when the smell of you didn’t move me, arouse me, quicken me.

I stalk your scent on the written page, olfactory after-images elusive and defiant, words lacking bouquet and base note for the depth of my obsession, for the heart of my need for the smell of you against my skin, you in my embrace, you replete in the sweat of sleep and the ozone of dreams and the promise of waking to take me again.

 

Marissa Honeycutt Releases Master of My Body

 

Master of My Body Blurb:

Sabrina Mansfield is compelled to be a professional ballerina for reasons she can’t explain. Ballet grounds her, completes her like no other activity, and attending dance camp in Boston is more than a dream come true. Her summer is full of amazing experiences, dancing, and laughter.

 

She didn’t expect to fall in love…

 

When Christopher “Chase” Ralston graduates at the top of his class from West Point, his only aspiration is to follow in his late father’s footsteps and join the elite Green Berets. He expects to spend his summer leave visiting with family and friends before heading off for training.

 

Love is the last thing on his mind, but a glimpse of a young woman has him questioning his desire to remain single.

 

Banished because he dared to become more than human, Vamar Thilduri has been waiting, plotting his revenge against Kronos, the father of the Immortals, for two thousand years.

 

Nothing and no one will stand in the way of what he wants.

 

And he wants Sabrina.

 

 

Book Links Books2Read: books2read.com/MasterOfMyBody

Amazon US: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B072V1FWLZ

Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B072V1FWLZ

Amazon DE: https://www.amazon.de/dp/B072V1FWLZ

Amazon CA: https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B072V1FWLZ

Amazon AU: https://www.amazon.com.au/dp/B072V1FWLZ

iBooks: http://apple.co/2tNdlC1

Nook: http://bit.ly/2vgIHif

Kobo: http://bit.ly/2tiUCuJ

Smashwords: http://bit.ly/2uVw50z

 

 

Book Trailer

https://vimeo.com/marissahoneycutt/masterofmybody

Goodreads

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/35490623-master-of-my-body

 

 

About Marissa: 

 

“If Stephen King got together with Tom Clancy and wrote an erotica book…,”
…is how Marissa describes her books when asked. She doesn’t seek to write any particular genre, style, or length, only following her gut instincts and the lead of her characters. The Life of Anna crosses many genre lines including erotica, suspense, psychological thriller, horror, political conspiracy, paranormal, and romance. Marissa’s story of Anna began with a dream about being kidnapped with Adam Savage from Mythbusters (Yes, really). Over the next year and a half, it morphed into the story that is now known as “The Life of Anna.” She has also published Distorted Hope, which is based on her kidnapped dream. Abandoned Grace was published last year as a side story to The Life of Anna.
Marissa stays busy running her household, fending off two adorable kittens, and interacting with her readers on social media. She is a self-proclaimed geek and is striving to learn the basics of graphic design. She is also actively pursuing a more natural lifestyle, which includes essential oils, natural cleaning products, and whole, organic foods. Marissa’s addictions include the Science and History Channels, anything chocolate mint, vintage books, cute kitty cats, and laughter.

 

 

 

Pursue Mr. Sands in Cosmopolitan Magazine!

 

I’m very excited to announce that a brand new Mr. Sands story is in the UK online version of Cosmopolitan Magazine today in the LOVE & SEX section! For those of you who have been “in pursuit of Mr. Sands” with my blog short snippets of him and Elise North, the PI who is being paid by Magda Gardener to pursue him, I hope you’ll pursue them right on over to Cosmo and enjoy the read. While the title is the same, In pursuit of Mr. Sands, the content entirely new.

 

I’m even more excited that Cosmo has taken this story because it’s only slightly more than a month before Blindsided, the second novel in the Medusa’s Consortium series comes out. (29 September) If you’ve been following those sketches, then you know that Mr. Sands is a Medusa’s Consortium story. While I have had several snippets on my blog, I have viewed those stories, and the one appearing in Cosmo today, as an artist might view sketches on her sketchpad in preparation to do a painting or a sculpture. Elise and Mr. Sands are a work in progress, and their story has come to me
in bits and pieces, including the encounter you will find in Cosmo today. All of these snippets and sketches are leading to a novella, or possibly even a novel, in the Consortium series. I’m chuffed to bits that I’ve been able to get a little of their story on Cosmo for everyone to read, so please do go on over to Cosmo’s LOVE & Sex section and read the latest Mr. Sands sketch. I think you’ll like it.

 

Permission to Write Badly

 

(From the Archives)

I’ve done NaNoWriMo often enough now and finished it that I know the value of giving myself permission to write badly. Permission to write badly is permission to FINISH a project and not get bogged down in the first four chapters. Right now I’m working on the rewrite of Piloting Fury, last November’s NaNoWriMo project, and my first ever scifi. I don’t mind saying I’m rather proud of it, but I wouldn’t have finished the first draft if I hadn’t given myself permission to just loosen my collar and let the words flow. Below is a post I wrote several years ago that seems very relevant every time I begin a final draft. Permission to write badly is always the reason I have a final draft to finish.

 

 

I’ve been thinking a lot about the process of writing lately and what makes it work. Why is it that sometimes it flows and other times it just doesn’t? The first time I realised I might be able to exert some control over that flow, that I might be able to do more than sit in front of a keyboard and hope the Muse would take pity on me, was when I read Natalie Goldberg’s classic book, Writing Down the Bones. There I discovered the timed writing. It’s simple really. You write non-stop for a given amount of time. You write against the clock, and you don’t stop writing until time runs out. No matter what! You write whatever comes without fretting over whether it’ll be good. And when you’re done, some of the end result – even a good bit of the end result – might be crap. But mixed in with that crap might just be the seeds of something wonderful.

At the time I felt like I’d been asked to write with my left hand. Even writing for five minutes seemed like a daunting task when I made my first attempts. But Natalie Goldberg knew what she was talking about. I was amazed at what came out of the abyss between my ears! It was only after I read Writing Down the Bones that I began to write real stories. So why did one book make such a difference?

I finally had something I lacked in the past, something very important. I had permission to write badly. Every writer needs permission to write badly. Later Julia Cameron, in her book, The Artist Way, called those off-the-cuff, devil-may-care writings morning pages, and she prescribed three morning pages every day – written without forethought; written in haste. From a fiction writer’s perspective, she didn’t give them the weight that Natalie Goldberg did. They were only a part of a plan to open the reader to the artist within. To her, they were more about venting, sort of a daily house-cleaning for the brain. In addition to morning pages, Cameron insisted that every creative person should give themselves what she called an artist date once a week. An artist date was a date with oneself away from writing.

I can’t count the number of times I stood myself up for my artist dates. I would have broken up with me long ago if I were actually dating me. But then I realised that an artist date didn’t have to be dinner and dancing or shopping or even visiting a museum. An artist date was a change of pace. It could even be ironing or weeding the garden. In fact the whole point of the artist date was to create space in which I could disengage the internal editor and give myself permission to write badly.

 

 

So many of us are under the impression that every word we write must be precious and worth its weight in gold. What I’ve learned since I discovered the pleasure of writing badly is that on the first draft, every word is most definitely not precious. On the first draft, every word is a crazy frivolous experiment. Every word is a chance to test the waters, to play in the mud, to let my hair loose and run dancing and screaming through the literary streets. Every word is a game and an adventure. Every word is eating ice cream with sprinkles for the main course. Every word is shit; every word is compost, and every word is the ground out of which the next draft will grow. I never know what’ll work until I try it. I never know what my unconscious will come up with while I’m writing like a wild crazy person, grabbing words and cramming them in and rushing on to the next ones – just after I’ve pulled the weeds in the garden. Without that bold and daring first draft, without opening the floodgates and letting the words spill onto the page, there’s nothing to work with when the next draft comes. And when the next draft comes, the words do get precious. Every single one becomes weighty and irritable and reluctant to fit anywhere but the place it belongs, the place where I feel it just below my sternum like the point of an accusing finger.

But by the time I get to the second draft, by the time I get to that place where every word has to be perfect, I’m up for it. I’m ready to slow down and feel what every word means. I’m ready to find all the nuance and all the cracks and crevices of meaning in between the words. I’m ready for it because I’ve been playing up until now, and I’ve been allowing the words to play. And now, recess is over!

The longer I write, the more I realise what else, besides Natalie Goldberg’s timed writings and Julia Cameron’s reluctant artist dates, get me there. And what gets me there is often totally being somewhere else, somewhere other than writing. Sometimes it’s playing the piano badly, or sweating at the gym, or weeding the veg patch. Sometimes it’s walking through the woodland not thinking about anything, Sometimes it’s reading something frivolous. Sometimes it’s reading something profound. All the space that taking time not to write opens up inside me makes room for that wild ride of the first draft. And when that first draft is finished, I have what I need to pick and choose, to sort through and sift, to change and rearrange until I find the best way to tell my tale. But up until then, it’s child’s play. It’s dancing naked. It’s shameless abandon and multiple verbal orgasms.

Writing badly? Permission granted.

 
© 2017 K D Grace
The Romance Reviews

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