Kristal Baird Asks the Burning Question: What’s in a Name?

What’s in a name?

Even Shakespeare wondered:Kristal Baird PI HoneytrapMaster Isolated Images

“… that which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet”

But exactly how much thought do writers give to the naming of characters?

Random selections? Personal encounters? Or are they chosen for being rich and meaningful?

Charles Dickens & Henry James, by all accounts, couldn’t even begin to write without establishing a character through naming. They claim their true character only came into focus when gifted the correct name. Both compiled lists of possibilities against future use, gathered from diverse sources such as commercial vehicles, newspapers – and, no doubt, the odd gravestone!

  • Schoolmaster, ‘Wackford Squeers’, beats, starves and terrorises as an alternative to teaching.
  • ‘Gradgrind’, a lacklustre utilitarian imposes his daily tedium of uninspiring education.
  • Jolly, wet-nurse, ‘Polly Toodle’ a “plump, rosy-cheeked, wholesome, apple-faced young woman”.
  • ‘Mr Wopsle’, the church clerk (a frustrated actor) delivers his opinion with such exaggerated dramatics that no-one ever takes him seriously.
  • ‘Mr Bumble’, the power-hungry, status-loving, minor official.
  • ‘Luke Honeythunder’  could be none other than a loud-voiced philanthropist.

Kristal Baird P I Honeytrap imageThese two writers were not alone in their quest.

Edmund Spenser The Faerie Queene created the joyless ‘Sansjoy’; Milton  Paradise Lost ensured ‘Lucifer’ became ‘Satan’ only after his fall from grace and James Joyce Finnegan’s Wake and his satirical efforts would be a whole other post.

Film characters’ names are fascinating too. Picture these apt variations:

  • Arnie Schwarzenegger – Trench,Tasker, Matrix, Conan, Muscleman
  • Jean-Claude Van Damme –  Frenchy, Phillipe Sauvage, Edward Garotte, Chance Boudreaux
  • Steven Seagal – Kane, Steele, Cold, Hunter, Glass and Storm!

Who doesn’t feel they understand a little about characters from well chosen names alone?  Gollum, Luke Skywalker, Sam Spade, Boo Radley, Breathless Mahoney, Cruella De Vil, Holly Golightly, Ratso Rizzo, Gordon Gekko, Plenty O’Toole or Forrest Gump anyone?

A well-chosen name can open the door to a deeper understanding of character and intention; a fact a writer might ignore at their peril. However, it doesn’t do some any harm:   “God, I’m such a lazy writer. I can’t even think up new names.”  Dennis Potter

What do you think?

Just for Fun: Did you know…?

  • Barbie’s full name is Barbara Millicent Roberts, whilst Ken’s is Kenneth Carson.
  • Would you care to refer to The Wizard of Oz as Oscar Zoroaster Phadrig Isaac Norman Henkel Emmannuel  Ambroise Diggs? He stuck to OZ as he considered his other initials to be “a reflection on my intelligence” [PINHEAD]
  • Peppermint Pattie [Peanuts] bears the name Patricia Reichardt.
  • Shaggy [Scoobie Doo] is less well known as Norville Rogers

 

Think what fun writers & readers can have with names (& take a closer look at mine…)

Kristal Baird x

PI Honeytrap Review Details

P I HONEYTRAP

An erotic novel by Kristal Baird

 

Blurb

Hayley doesn’t trust men. She thinks most of them are only good for one thing. And she gets plenty of that honey-trapping cheating husbands or satisfying her own needs with local gym owner, Reuben.

And woe-betide him if he even tries to get emotionally close to her. Because tough girl Hayley is running. From her past. From herself.

Will Reuben ever understand this girl? Will Hayley ever accept exactly who she is and what she needs from a man? Will she learn to trust again?

Kristal Baird PI HOneytrapExcerpt

[Hayley interviews a potential client who thinks her husband is cheating on her, but she’s daydreaming about last night…]

‘Go on.’ Hayley settled back in her chair. She could listen and drift away at the same time.

She drifted straight back to the gym where she’d retreated late last night, to pound a little tension out of her body. Her private arrangement with the owner allowed her to use the place long after his other customers had gone home …

‘Still running, Hayley?’

Hayley knew that Reuben had been standing behind her in the doorway between his office and the main gym hall watching her for some time. She was observant about things like that. And about his choice of words. Perhaps it was time to cancel the arrangement?

‘Still running, Reuben. Are you wanting to lock up or something?’ She kept pounding the treadmill. The angle was at full elevation and it was hard work to keep going at that speed. She didn’t want to break her stride.

‘I did that an hour since. It’s just you and me.’

She knew that tone. He moved closer but the stare was the same. It meant only one thing, and Hayley didn’t mind how she pounded the tension out of her tonight. Particularly with Reuben.

‘I’m kind of busy right now.’ Hayley liked to tease him; to keep things light between them.

He walked over to her machine. ‘Then let me help you with your workload.’ Reuben punched the controls and the incline began to slowly reduce.

Hayley adjusted her body’s forward drive and stared at him as he started to ease the pace she was running too. She’d been on the machine for nearly an hour. That was the reason she suddenly noticed her pulse rate was so high, her heart pounding. The only reason. Sweat dripped off her skin, which glowed with heat. Even between her thighs.

‘I’m a bit of a mess,’ she claimed. She was jogging steadily now, coming down gradually from her peak.

‘I like my women hot, sweaty, and out of breath.’ The tight lift at one side of his mouth told Hayley he liked his own jokes and he was hot too. For her.

She checked out the bulge in his sweats and cocked an eyebrow. Ready to rumble. ‘You’re a lucky guy, then. You’ve got a machine that does most of the work for you, getting them in that condition.’

‘Look around you. I’ve got quite a few.’ Reuben’s eyes were fixed solidly on hers. ‘Machines. Not women.’

Hayley didn’t need to look around to know what was there. Since she’d opened her private investigation office two doors down from Reuben’s Gym, she’d worked out on most of the equipment – with and without Reuben. With was a different kind of workout. And, whatever he said, there were women too. She’d seen their eyes follow Reuben about. But she wasn’t intending to make that her business. This was strictly casual.

‘Machinery? Kind of makes your job a bit too easy. What’s left for you to do?’ Hayley was off the machine and twisting the top off the bottle of water that Reuben had handed her. She tipped her head back and downed the lot in one go, needing the rehydration if she was to keep working out. Making out. And she’d already made up her mind that, tonight, she would be.

Hayley wondered if she liked coming here more for the machine workout or for the other kind of exercise she got at Reuben’s place, and if Reuben wondered too.

He stepped in closer. His body was all muscle. He didn’t just own a gym, he used it on a regular basis. In her line of work, Hayley really appreciated a fit guy. She honeytrapped plenty for her clients, and most were creeps. But Reuben wasn’t work. He was all playtime.

‘I step in for the rub-down.’ He took the empty bottle from her and flipped it across to the bin.

‘Good shot.’

Reuben’s grin told her he wanted to show her another kind of slam dunk. ‘My talents are many.’

They sure were. God, he looked sexy when he smiled. Hot body with all the defined tendons and sinews of an athlete. Great features. The complete package. It was Hayley’s turn for her mouth to twist up into a smile of appreciation. Looking sexy in a white vest and sweatpants was only the start of Reuben’s endowments.

He placed his hands on her forearms and ran them up to her shoulders. She was hot before, but now she began the slow rise to combustion as his firm fingers kneaded the tight muscles at her shoulders and ran up the length of her neck into her hairline.

Hayley reached back and pulled out the elastic that was holding her dark hair back into a tight ponytail. Reuben pushed his fingers through its length, curving around the shape of her skull beneath. She moaned softly.

‘You like that?’

She nodded, eyes half closed.

‘I can do better,’ he promised. He gathered the fabric at the hem of her T-shirt, having given her the expression that she recognised as asking her consent, and peeled it off her damp body. She let him.

The air-conditioning hit her hot, sticky skin and sent shivers dancing across it. Reuben grasped her wrist and towed her behind him towards the massage room. There was an urgency about his movements that told her he’d waited long enough; that he wanted to get her to a place where she would let him fuck her as soon as possible. The guy was hurting.

That’s why she came back to Reuben’s. He worked hard to turn things his way, but it was always her choice in the end. With the hard, muscular size of him, no matter how fit she was he could have her pinned beneath him in seconds flat. But she always knew a simple no would end matters there and then. The guy had self-control.

Unlike some of the jerks she worked with. She’d been involved in some pretty nasty encounters to get the evidence her clients needed. To prove their husbands and boyfriends were cheating, lying scum who would chase any pretty woman who looked their way, irrespective of the fact they were supposedly committed.

She could feel her tension mounting again. Reuben could probably feel it too. He threw a warm, fluffy towel on the massage bench and pressed Hayley face down towards it. She twisted her hair again into a loose knot and fixed it on top of her head.

‘I’m going to unhook your sports bra, Hayley. Is that OK?’

‘Mmm.’ It was only the beginning. The tingle in her nipples told her that tonight she was going all the way. But it wouldn’t hurt to let him wonder.

Reuben unclipped the garment with a practised hand that made Hayley smile. They had an understanding. No ties. Just a little R and R whenever they wanted it; needed it. She liked it that way.

She liked what Reuben was doing to her now too. Her nose told her he had poured warm coconut oil into the palms of his hands, which he slicked across the entire surface of her back. He started palm-circling in small movements, slowly up to her neck on one side of her spine and down to the top of her sweatpants. She could feel the tightness in her muscles soften as he worked.

Time disappeared. Perhaps she drifted off to sleep beneath Reuben’s expert hands as he went through his magic routine; lifting, knuckling, twisting. It was those sexy little thumb strokes that eventually brought her back to consciousness.

Or his gravelly voice.

‘I want to give you a full-body massage, Hayley.’ The gruff tone told her the massage was doing as much for him as it was for her. God, she liked this guy.

He was asking her permission again, to take it up a notch. No point pretending. ‘I want that too.’

They both knew he had been given approval for more than just a rubdown.

Reuben’s fingertips hooked in her waistband and he tugged her sweatpants down over her hips. She heard him moan softly as she raised her hips off the bench to accommodate him. She smiled at the silence as he discovered she wasn’t wearing panties. What was the point under sweatpants? At the gym. With Reuben.

A little more oil swirled between his hands and Reuben’s strong fingers flowed from the arch of her spine, over the rise of her lower back to the firm mounds of her buttocks and down her thighs, not stopping until they reached her lower calves. Without ceasing, they returned on their journey to her bottom again.

Her legs felt long, strong, and lean under his actions. Reuben always made her feel good about herself. So good. She parted her legs minutely.

His fingers hooked softly beneath her hip bone and he alternately pulled and pushed the heel of his hand across the muscle of her buttock, working the tight flesh loose and warm. He walked around to the other side, drawing his hand across her body, keeping contact as he went, and repeated the firm movements on the other side.

Despite the relaxing slide of his hand across her oily flesh, Hayley sensed a moment when the contact between them changed. She grew taut and tense. She felt Reuben harden too, somehow. This was it. His hand lay over the cleft of her bottom. His oily fingers dipping lower and lower between her legs. She relaxed them further apart to ease his way.

****

Thank you for reading. I really hope you enjoyed it. It’s a full-length novel, so there’s plenty more PI HONEYTRAP

BUY LINKS:

http://www.amazon.co.uk/P-I-Honeytrap-ebook/dp/B00AY0XH1A/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1357769259&sr=1-1

http://www.amazon.com/P-I-Honeytrap-ebook/dp/B00AY0XH1A/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1357769341&sr=8-1&keywords=PI+Honeytrap

http://www.kobobooks.com/ebook/P-I-Honeytrap/book-B1cRD48P202mLWLBlwHRmA/page1.html?s=E0rT110LV0Kq3hzAUNOuXA&r=1

http://www.xcitebooks.co.uk/Book/8733/P-I-Honeytrap.html#

Contact Kristal Here:

@kristalbaird

http://kristalbaird.blogspot.co.uk/

https://twitter.com/kristalbaird 

https://www.facebook.com/KristalBairdAuthor

http://www.goodreads.com/goodreadscomuser_kristalbaird

 

 

 

Elemental Fire: Family Photos

IMG00491-20130308-1227Friday morning there was a knock on the door, and a rain-drenched postman delivered a familiar-shaped box. My heart skipped a beat and my feet did a happy-dance. I knew what that box meant. It meant that volume 3 of the Lakeland Heatwave Trilogy, Elemental Fire, was now officially out in print and these were my lovely author copies!

I couldn’t resist. The response is always the same. Right after I take them out and fondle them and look through them and admire them, I get all the kids together for some family photos, and here are the end results!

By the way, we’ll be celebrating the launch of Elemental Fire on 20 April at Sh! Women’s Store. Where else would we be celebrating? And it’s going to be quite a celebration, as Kay Jaybee is going to be giving a sneak preview of The Retreat, book two of her BDSM Trilogy. Also, I’m beside myself for this launch party – literally. In addition to being there as K D, I’ll be there as Grace Marshall too, reading from the second book of my Executive Decisions Trilogy, Identity Crisis. It’ll be an evening of fun, filth, fizz, and maybe some really exciting extra surprises as well. I’ll keep you informed as plans unfold. Be sure to mark April 20 on your calendar and come join the fun.

In the meantime, since you’re already here, would you like to take a look at my family album??? Shameless promotion? You betcha!

IMG00494-20130308-1230Blurb:

Obsessed with revenge, KENNET LUCIAN makes a deal with a demon, a deal he comes to regret when he meets TARA STONE, head of the Elemental Coven, and a powerful witch with a desire for revenge at least as great as his. Even though the attraction between the two is magnetic and the lust combustive, Kennet must betray her to accomplish his goal, which is ultimately her goal as well; to put a final end to the demon, Deacon’s, reign of terror. But can Tara trust the man who has wormed his way into her heart and the heart of the Elemental Coven? Can she trust LUCIA, the demon with whom Kennet is allied, a demon with her own agenda. The path to Deacon’s destruction is far from clear, and the price that must be paid to be free of him forever may be too high, even for Tara Stone.

Excerpt:

It was then Tara noticed the exquisite woman with long golden hair sitting so close that her knees practically touched Tara’s ribs. It came as no surprise to her, though surely it should have, but then this was a dream, wasn’t it? The woman’s robe pooled around her and ebbed and flowed like fire.

IMG00497-20130308-1233‘You feel better now, don’t you my darling, Tara?’ She asked. Her voice made Tara feel like she was melting into warm, delicious nothingness and seeping into the cave floor.

Tara nodded and moaned softly, for some reason unable to speak, for some reason just wanting to remain in the presence of this woman, whoever she was. It brushed her consciousness fleetingly that maybe she should be concerned about the strange woman in her dreams, but the thought passed quickly, and she lay quietly next to her.

‘Good,’ the woman said, stroking Tara’s hair away from her forehead. ‘I need you to feel better. All of us need you to feel better. We have work to do, and we cannot do it when you’re mourning your losses.’ She nodded. ‘Yes, of course I know about your Anderson. And I know that you do not fuck the living. Such a foolish girl you are to deny yourself the very pleasure you so willingly offer the dead. Elemental Cottage is not a nunnery, my darling.’ She leaned down low and kissed Tara on the mouth. Her breath smelled like the fells in high summer. Then she tisk-tisked and gently stroked Tara’s pubic curls. ‘You need more than you can manage with your hand, my sweet girl, no matter how gifted you are in the arts of pleasure. You practice sex magic, surely you know this.’ She brushed slender fingers up Tara’s belly and over the mounds of her breasts. Tara arched up into her heated caresses. ‘Shall I bring you just what you need to make you feel better? Would you like that, my dear?’

Tara could only whimper and nod.

Once again she brushed Tara’s lips with hers adding the slightest flick of her tongue, and for an instant, the kiss felt predatory, devouring. Or had Tara only imagined it? ‘Do not worry, my love,’ the woman said as she pulled away. ‘I shall send you just what you need. Wait here, and rest a little.’ Then she disappeared leaving Tara to writhe and moan on the floor of the cave.

From far away someone shook her arm, someone called to her in distressed tones, trying to bring her back to the Waking World. But she didn’t want to go back. It was safe and warm and happy here. There was nothing but sadness in the Waking World. She just wanted to sleep here in the cave and wait for whoever the beautiful woman would bring to her.

IMG00495-20130308-1231But the shaking and jostling continued. She slapped the hand away but it kept coming back to shake her. She was just ready to tell whoever it was to bugger off, when she opened her eyes and looked up to see the outline of a man leaning over her. Even in the darkness, the energy emanating from him was magnetic. Everything inside her tightened with anticipation, and Goddess, she wanted him. Surely she was still dreaming.

‘Are you alright?’ His voice vibrated through her chest and his touch felt electric, full of magic. ‘I thought you were dead, then I heard you moaning. I guess you were dreaming. I was worried and then …’

They both realized at the same time that her shirt was open and so were her trousers, and one hand still rested on her mons. She could feel the man’s gaze taking in the situation, and he twigged. ‘Oh shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. I thought you were — ’

‘I was! Dreaming, I mean.’ She quickly jerked her hand out of her trousers and tugged her open blouse across her bare breasts. ‘I was dreaming, and she said she’d send someone and …’ She blinked hard and looked around at the night sky. She couldn’t have been asleep long, but everything felt unreal, different. Was she still dreaming? Dreams could be so powerful at times, so confusing. She reached up to touch his face and felt a surge of magic — some new, some old. Some very old. Had she enfleshed a ghost because of her horny dream? When she walked at night, ghosts did sometimes follow her onto the fells in hopes that she would enflesh them and allow them to experience for a little while the pleasures afforded the living. And any other time she would happily oblige. But when she walked at night, she always sent them away. This was her place, her alone time. No one was welcome to disturb her here, and most ghosts knew that. Had she been that out of it? Was she that desperate for a fuck that her unconscious had broken her own rules?’

The man sat back on his haunches and looked down at her. In the darkness she could only make out his silhouette dominated by broad shoulders, but it was enough to make her  own arousal spike. Certainly if she had enfleshed him, she couldn’t leave him in the state he was now, no doubt, in because of her.

He gave a little gasp of surprise when she off-balanced him, pulled him down to her and kissed him. ‘You shouldn’t have come here,’ she managed before she drew him into another kiss.

‘I might say the same about you,’ he replied.

Cheeky ghost, she thought, but she kissed him again. This time he returned the favour. And the power surge she felt went clear from her mouth down to the base of her spine and back again. His eyes fluttered, he gasped against her mouth, clearly feeling what she felt, and there was no disguising the press of his heavy erection against the fly of his walking trousers.

‘What the hell was that?’ She gasped, not entirely sure she wasn’t going to come just from their last kiss.

He pulled back from her with a start, one hand against his lips and the other resting low on his belly. ‘If you do that again, I can’t guarantee what will… If you do that again.’

IMG00503-20130310-1516For a tightly stretched second, they froze in each other’s gaze. Then she forced words up through her throat, struggling to breathe through her arousal. ‘I can’t … I need …’

‘Me too,’ He whispered. She couldn’t see the colour of his eyes in the darkness, but his gaze was baking hot against her.

Focus. Damn it, she needed to be able to focus, to think. She forced a deep breath and then they were both speaking at the same time.

‘I’m sorry … I didn’t … I wouldn’t …’

‘I don’t know what just happened,’ he gasped.

‘Me neither,’ she managed.

Then they were on each other. He yanked the clasp from her hair and clawed it free from the ponytail. She curled her fingers in the front of his shirt and pulled him on top of her, down between her open legs, lifting her hips, wrapping her ankles around his waist and thrusting up to meet him. The sounds coming from his throat were deep-chested, wild, and she wasn’t sure where his grunts and growls left off and hers began as he thrust and ground against her, shoving her arse into the soft moss with his efforts.

 

My Friend Barbara

183I’d like to dedicate this post to my dear, dear friend, Barbara Steel, who died last night at the age of 93. If ever I loved a woman, I loved this woman. She was the first friend I made when we moved to England the first time. I remember her working in the flowerbeds in the grounds of the flats we were considering moving in to. I asked her if the garden got lots of birds visiting it, and she rattled off in quick succession about a half a dozen different species. I as wasn’t familiar with British birds as I am now. She told me much later than when she found out we loved birds, she hoped we’d take the flat because she knew right then and there we’d be friends. I knew it too. I just had no idea how good a friend she would be.

We saw each other for coffee a couple of times a week. She lived in the flat below mine. Which meant our views out the window were similar. We’d quick, ring each other up when we’d see interesting birds outside our window so we could share them. I remember her calling me breathlessly one day to look out the window, and there was a sparrow hawk who had just that second taken a starling. We talked in hushed tones on the phone about how disturbing and how beautiful what’d we’d just seen was, and how life so often turns in a second in ways we could have never imagined.

When we moved away to Moscow for four years, the highlight of our trips back to the UK was time spent with Barbara over one of her famous snack lunches – always homemade soup and maybe quiche or cold ham and sandwich stuff, always lingered over, always delighted in, always finished off with coffee far late in the afternoon after time had flown by with discussions of far away places and past adventures and her life with her husband, John, long dead by then, and my adventures in Russia and my struggles to get published. Then there was the gossip from the flats – who was new and what everyone was up to.

One day I came to see her just before catching a night flight back to Moscow, and she loaded me down with a cheese sandwich an apple and some chocolate just to tide me over. She knew I adored good British cheddar and Cox apples.

Sometimes I called her from Russia just to talk. I missed her. I needed her level-headedness. She never treated me like I was inferior because of our age difference. I never felt mothered or condescended to by her, but I always felt like she was a friend whose opinions mattered to me and who celebrated my successes and my adventures as though they were her own.

Barbara was in her early 80s when I met her. She wasn’t in good health. She had heart problems and bad arthritis, and yet she never complained. She always found something to laugh about, something to celebrate.

corn and stuffWhen we returned to England and we moved into our home, Barbara taught me to garden. Wow, how she taught me to garden! She wasn’t able to do much herself, but a lifetime of experiences were there in her mind, and all I ever had to do was ask, while I sat with her over coffee and biscuits and we watched the birds flit and flutter at the feeder in front of her window.

The first time I grew tomatoes, I didn’t know how to prune them, and they’d grown into a bit of a jungle. Then Barbara came over. She insisted on showing me what to do. I remember her out in my back garden, holding on to my arm with on hand and point and telling me which shoots to pull and which ones to leave and why. That year we had a bumper crop, some of which Barbara made into her yummy tomato soup.

One of the things I treasure most about Barbara was that she read my work – not just the non-erotic stuff, but she insisted upon struggling through the erotica too, even though she laughed and said it wasn’t really her type of reading, but her friend wrote it, so she read it, delighted in my success. And when her legs became ulcered and the nurses were coming several times a week to change the dressings, she passed all my naughty novels around among the nurses and bragged about her friend, the writer.

I have very few pictures of us together. I wish desperately now there were more. What I do have, though, is a million memories of a woman who faced her health problems with courage and grace, more grace than any person I’ve ever known; a woman who loved nature, loved getting her hands in the earth; a woman who could take the most sickly houseplant and nurse it back to health; a woman who did exquisite needlework; a woman who took up watercolour painting at the young age of 84; a woman who periodically took me out to her flowerbeds with a garden fork and let me dig up plants and starts to take home for my own burgeoning beds. I have a million memories of the woman who listened to me moan about not being able to get my writing published, a woman who celebrated with me when I finally did. A woman who laughed and schemed with me about the Italian villa I would buy with my millions from my royalties, the villa that would have a suite especially for her and a very handsome servant to attend her.

The villa never happened. We both knew that it wouldn’t. I never got to give her that, but oh, what the woman gave me! I heard her stories, her wonderful stories about being phone operator during the war and directing the ambulances to the places in London that had been bombed, about her trips to Italy and Greece with her husband, the love of her life, John, about gardens and birds and flowers and insects, about the proper way to make shortbread, about the way we both adored the colour blue.

Barbara Steel was a woman no one could resist. She was kind and generous and always interested, and people were drawn to her because of it. I 181seldom came to her house for coffee without two or three people stopping by just to check in and say hi. Everyone loved Barbara. And me, I adored her. She was the best example I’ve ever known of a life well-lived and well celebrated even when her hands became too sore to paint or do needlework any longer, even when she could no longer walk in the garden or even get out to fill her bird feeders, she still found something to smile about, something to celebrate.

I’ll miss her terribly, but she left no empty space. She filled that space with the friendship and love and laughter and wisdom and sometimes just blunt honesty that only she could give me. She left no empty space. She left me so full of what’s best about being human. I’m a far better person because Barbara Steel was my friend. And I’m so very glad that she was a part of my life.

The Vampire, The Witch & The Werewolf: Mirabella’s Mardi Gras Ménage by Louisa Bacio

Mardi Gras Menage

Constantly under the watchful eye of her Voodoo priestess aunt, Mirabella longs to break free during the events of Mardi Gras. Escapades draw her into the arms of Marguerite, a fiery redhead with a passion for life, and Nick, a familiar vampire who’s haunted by his transformation and past.

What starts as a new experience – a Mardi Gras Ménage – soon turns deadly, and none of their lives will ever be the same.

Available from:
Ravenous Romance
Amazon UK
Amazon US
Barnes & Noble

And all other good eBook retailers.

*****

Excerpt:

“What are you doing living here?” she asked.

He’d asked himself that question many times over in the past few months. Nick had been used to living with others for all of his life. Being alone was quite different.

“After Silver and I broke up, it didn’t feel right to keep living with Lawrence, Trevor, and Lily,” he explained.

She nodded, her eyes clearing as more time passed. “I can understand that, but I’m surprised Lawrence let you go.”

“As my sire, he can pretty much watch me wherever I’m living. I’m sure if I were to go off the deep end, he’d get some type of psychic notice,” Nick explained. “It’s strange. It feels like I don’t have privacy at times, and at others I’m totally alone.”

She cocked her head to the side, studying him. Over the past two years of knowing Mirabella, Nick didn’t quite know what to think of her. She’d always been in the presence of her aunt, who was quite overpowering. Mentally, it was hard to separate memories of the two of them. The one time he had rescued her with Trevor, Mirabella had been totally passed out—under the influence of some other type of drug, or spell, or supernatural creature. In other words, she’d definitely not been herself.

“So how come we keep meeting this way?” Nick teased. “You always seem to be running into trouble.”

“Let’s just say I’m not very street smart,” she said. “Tante Teresa has kept me isolated a bit too much. Don’t know how to make it on my own in such large crowds, but I’m starting to feel like I need to escape the prison of her watchful eye.”

“Well, you picked a hell of a way to experience it,” Nick said. “It’s not full Mardi Gras yet, but these crowds building up to those events are almost as bad. You have to be careful on the streets.”

“I’m learning that. It’s a much different world to be out there than in the store.”

“I can’t believe Teresa let you out either. She’s gotta know what it’s like out there.”

A flush brightened Mirabella’s cheeks, and Nick thought about how gorgeous she looked in his bed, the contrast of her darker skin tone to the pale blue sheets. With all the mixed-breed genetics in New Orleans, both of them looked to be of Creole heritage. True, his coloring was a bit more pale now that he was dead and all. Mirabella’s skin shimmered in the moonlight.

“I might have slipped out while she slept,” she admitted. “The lure of the music drew me out, and I wanted to see what it was like.”

Nick was experiencing a lure all of his own. Her luscious lips drew him in. She caught him watching her, and she licked a droplet of water off her bottom lip. He sat on the edge of the bed, and she leaned toward him, her eyes half-mast.

Her breath smelled sweet, like fresh almonds mixed with vanilla. He shouldn’t kiss her. She was too young and too naïve. But while his head told him to step away, his desire took over, craving the physical connection.

At this moment, though, with her ensconced within his bed, the physical possibilities loomed endless. No one knew she was here. They could do whatever they desired.

Softly, his lips brushed against hers. He slipped his hand around the back of her neck, drawing her in closer and holding her steady. He probed her mouth with his tongue, requesting entrance, and she more than willingly opened beneath him.

She sighed against his mouth. Warmth. Vitality. Life.

All the traits a beautiful young woman possessed and a vampire like him lacked.

“I’d better take you home,” he said, giving one last effort to be a gentleman.

“What if I don’t want to go?”

“I’m trying to do what’s best here,” he said. He made a move to get off the bed, and she followed him, her body curling into his. Her warmth enveloping him.

“Best for whom? Not you or me,” she said. “I want more of your kisses.”

*****

roadkilldress_webBio:

Louisa Bacio is the author of six erotic novels, including the paranormal series The Vampire, The Witch & The Werewolf, the 1Night Stand A Date with Death and numerous steamy short stories.

Bacio enjoys soaking up the sun in Southern California, and spending time with her family. In addition to writing and editing, Bacio teaches college courses in English, journalism, film studies and popular culture.

Drop in for a visit:

http://louisabacio.blogspot.com
http://www.louisabacio.com
http://www.facebook.com/louisabacio
http://www.twitter.com/louisabacio

Finessing Sex Notes: Post Your Exercise on Irregular Voice

I’ve been asked for the notes from my Eroticon writing workshop, Finessing Sex and the In Media Res exercise I used at the end, so here they are. Sadly, the forty-five minute time allotted to us meant that most of the people in the workshop didn’t get the chance to share their work. The lovely Mia Moor has kindly taken it upon herself to solve that problem by allowing anyone who participated or anyone who wasn’t able to attend the workshop but wants to do the exercise to post their creative efforts on her wonderful website, Irregular Voice Thank you SO much, Mia, for sharing your site! You’re the best.

Below are the notes from the hand-out I used, which I’ll also pass on to Ruby for the Eroticon site. I’ve added just enough to clarify where needed. Enjoy!

*****

FINESSING SEX

Notes

Part 1: Creating Characters                           

Create at least two characters, and give yourself five minutes to create a very rough character sketch of each. Feel free to use characters from a story you’re working on and use the scene for your story or simply use the exercise for raw material. Do whatever you want with your characters as long as by the end of your scene at least one character has sex

Number one rule: Write! Keep on writing! Don’t stop!

Setting yourself a limited amount of time in which to brainstorm a topic or a character is a fantastic way to get beyond the internal editor to the good stuff! Allow yourself to play with the words and have fun.

Part 2: Cause some chaos. Ask yourself:

1. How can the sex scene you’re about to create have the most impact in your plot?writing-image-2-225x300

2. What are the consequences of this sex scene?

3. Who is affected by this sex act?

4. What revelation does this sex scene bring about?

5. How can this sex scene be used most affectively to drive your story?

Remember! Sex should NEVER be gratuitous. Sex always serves a purpose.

6. When the sex is over, how will the landscape of the story be changed?

Part 3: Choosing a POV. Ask yourself:

1. From whose POV is the sex in this scene most interesting. Why?

(If you choose to write your scene from the third person objective POV, why is that the best POV?)

2. Whose POV will best move your story forward? Why?

3. Whose POV will result in the most chaos?

4. Whose POV will give the most emotional charge?

5. Who has the most baggage?

Hint: Baggage is one of the best tools for helping choose POV. Baggage is what every person carries from childhood, from traumas, from past sexual experiences or lack thereof, from anything within the emotional place where your character is when you write her/him having sex.

Note: Not all of these questions may be satisfied by one character’s POV. You’ll have to choose which POV will best serve the story. Sometimes the most important thing about the POV character is the insights he/she offers the reader into another character!

Part 4: The ‘Photo Shoot’

Think of the scene you’re writing in terms of a series of snap shots. You, the writer, are now the photographer, and you get to choose the snapshots you believe will give your reader the most vivid experience of the story you’re telling. Remember, the ultimate voyeur in the story will be your reader, so make the scene worth looking at. Think in terms of:

1. The physical attribute of your characters.

2. Using all of the senses.

3. What does the person who’s POV you’re writing from actually think about her/his experience of sex. The running internal commentary can sometimes be the sexiest part of a sex scene, or the most revealing. Remember, this is why you’ve chosen this person’s POV.

4. The language used in the sex scene is also a powerful tool for eliciting emotion, arousal, a sense of who these people shagging are, what matters to them, and how they experience sex.

5. Location can raise the risk factor, raise the discomfort level, raise the heat level and affect the pacing of the scene.

Step 5: Write it!

1. In Media Res. Minimise the setup and start in the middle of the action. Tell the story from the inside out.

2. Remember! Editors are busy folks. They may give you as few as three paragraphs. If you hold their interest for three, then you get a fourth. If you enthral them for four, then you get a fifth …

Your job is to start at the point that grips and make the reader unable to leave until they find out what has happened to put your characters in such a position.

The Exercise: Using the above tools, write for ten minutes. Write without stopping; write without slowing down. Start in the middle of the action and create some chaos as quickly as possible.

Now write like the wind!

And when you’re finished, don’t forget to head on over to Mia’s site, Irregular Voice, and add your results and check out what everyone else came up with.

Helpful Sites:

Erotica Readers and Writers Association: http://www.erotica-readers.com/

Erotica for All: http://eroticaforall.co.uk/

How to Write Erotic Fiction: http://howtowriteeroticfiction.blogspot.co.uk/

The Erotic Literary Salon: http://theeroticsalon.com/

My Websites: https://kdgrace.co.uk/ , http://gracemarshallromance.co.uk/

Helpful Books:                  

Writing Erotica:

How To Write Erotic Fiction and Sex Scenes — Ashley Lister

How to Write a Dirty Story –Susie Bright

Writing Erotic Fiction – Pamela Rochford

Love Writing: How to Make Money Writing Romantic or Erotic Fiction – Sue Moorcroft

Writing Craft and Inspiration:

Writing Down the Bones – Natalie Goldberg

Best book ever on giving yourself permission to write badly in order to get to the good stuff.

Self-Editing for Fiction Writers – Renni Brown and Dave King

Best book on self-editing and honing craft I’ve found.