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Author interview with Queenie Black @queenieblackwr1 #topfive #amreading #romance

What is your favourite and worst part of the writing process?

I love the initial discovery, putting the story down in its first raw form. It’s an exhilarating and beautiful journey of discovery. I don’t know where it’ll go, and I love every minute of the process. The part that kills me, exhausts me and feels like walking through syrup is the rewriting, editing and polishing process. I can write the first draft in a few weeks, but the other stages can sometimes take years because I keep putting them off.

 

What are common pitfalls for aspiring writers? 

  • Waiting for inspiration. Too many aspiring writers think they can only write when the mood is upon them when really, it’s about discipline.
  • Thinking they can circumvent the process, cut corners and not do the learning. The end result is putting their work out there before it’s ready.
  • Giving up on a WIP because of rejection.
  • Trusting friends and family to critique their work and then believing it over professional feedback.

 

You use a pseudonym. Why is that? 

In my professional life I teach adults English as a Foreign Language and I also teach people how to teach English. I really don’t want my erotic writing to become common knowledge because I teach a lot of people from countries where things like this might be scandalous. I like to keep the two completely separate.

 

What do you think about writer’s block?

I’m in two minds about it. I believe people sometimes struggle to write but that’s often because they haven’t taken the time to fill the creative well, or because things in their life are emotionally challenging. Some situations can suck out the emotional resilience you need to be able to write. Time, self-nurturing and being kind to yourself should help. I’m not sure if I’d label that as writer’s block though.

 

Where did the inspiration from Hard-Pressed come from? 

Rose Dainty popped up in my mind. Dainty name versus big muscled woman and I started thinking about what would make this woman afraid to reach out and be who she needs to be sexually. After that I needed to find a partner for her who would be able to handle her strength, the work she does and her penchant for MMA and competitive contact fighting. Lucien was the perfect foil. A man confident with who he is, and well able to support Rose, be the partner she needs without stopping her from being her.

 

What are your three favourite books?

I never get tired of reading Edge of the Enforcer by Cherise Sinclair, Agnes and the Hitman by Jennifer Cruise and Bob Mayer, and What I did for a Duke by Julie Anne Long.

The last two are hilarious and the authors manage to twist the tropes so that the stories don’t pan out in the way you think they will. The first one is just stunning in terms of the characters and the way two people with hang ups and very different needs find a way to have their Happy Ever After.

*****

Excerpt:

I mounted the six shallow steps and faced the double front doors. Twin carriage lights cast a soft gleam over the brass plaque with its discrete lettering:

Club Hard

Private Members Only

I desperately wanted to run back down the steps, leap into my car, and drive home, but if I did, nothing would change, and I’d go back to dividing my time between working out, Candy Crush Saga, and the occasional night out with my friends. I might miss out on learning something about myself, something that could make a difference in my sex life. Worse, I might miss a chance at love.

I stayed, my feet rooted to the floor, but the insides of my hands were so damp, my finger slipped on the brass bell, setting off a short, discordant jangling. I winced as I rang it again properly this time. That certainly wouldn’t endear me to anyone.

Shifting from foot to foot, trying to keep the blood circulating in my toes, I looked around. Behind me, the gravel drive snaked away to a discreet carpark, and trees and shrubs created shadows within shadows. Autumn had finally reached London and in this exclusive part of it, crisp, clean air and earthy leaf mulch replaced the smell of fast food and exhaust.

I shifted again, starting to get irritated. If you were going to demand a woman wear nothing but a skirt that barely covered her butt, and a top that was little more than a bit of elastic bandage—on me it was ridiculous, if I sneezed, I’d pop out over the top—then you should damn well open the door promptly. Now, despite wearing my warmest coat over the absurd ensemble, there was a distinct draught zipping under my hem and freezing my exposed butt cheeks.

I lifted my finger to stab the bell again, and the door swung open.

Bloody hell. A real butler. I was no stranger to mansions with staff. Working as a bodyguard meant I saw the inside of a lot of wealthy homes, but so far, a liveried butler was a new one to me.

“Can I help you?”

I cleared my throat, wondering if there was any etiquette for addressing a butler, aware that my finger was still lurking in the vicinity of his eye. “Umm, I’m, ah, it’s Ms. Dainty. To see Mr. Dufort. I’m expected.”

He waved me through into a large marble-floored hall with a fire burning at one side. A wide, elegant staircase at the back curved away to the upper floors.

“I’ll inform Mr. Dufort that you’re here, if you’d like to take a seat.” He indicated a collection of sofas and easy chairs huddled as if for warmth around the fireplace. I made a beeline for the heat.

“May I take your coat?”

I crossed my arms tightly. No way was I exposing my scantily clad self. “Ah, thanks, but I’m a bit cold.”

“I see my guest has arrived, Henry.”

I turned away from the fire to see Lucien Dufort crossing the hall toward me. The floor seemed to drop a few inches and I had to grab the back of a chair to steady myself as his delicious, rich chocolate voice with its faint French accent wound around me, setting my heart hammering.

A tall, elegant man, he moved toward me with predatory intent, covering the floor in loose, confident strides, but it was his eyes that held my gaze, dark eyes, sharp with intelligence and power. He wasn’t a handsome man. His narrow-bladed Gallic nose, inherited from his mother, was slightly overlarge for that, but his lips were sensual, and the mix of tenderness and lust in his expression as he looked at me sent electric tingles charging down my spine.

“Rose, welcome to Club Hard.” He lifted my hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it, his tongue flickering into the little hollow between my two smallest fingers, mimicking the act of sex. Normally, that would be an instant turn-off, but when Lucien did it, everything inside me melted. I tugged my hand free and shoved it into my coat pocket. This was bad. We hadn’t even started yet and my hormones were doing a happy dance.

“Your coat, ma petite.”

I undid the buttons reluctantly and he stripped it off my shoulders, giving it to Henry before indicating my feet. “Barefoot, please.”

I obeyed, steadying myself with one hand on Lucien’s forearm. I could have rested it there all day, enjoying the feel of thick bone and the flex of hard muscles, but I quickly unzipped my boots and gave them to Henry, who took them as solemnly as if I was handing him the crown jewels for safekeeping. He disappeared, taking my things with him, and I stood shivering, waiting for Lucien to say or do something. I shouldn’t have felt vulnerable. I fought with this amount of flesh on display, so it shouldn’t have bothered me, yet insecurity and apprehension crept hand-in-hand up my spine. “Lucien?”

He cupped my chin, his palm warm and sure, his thumb stroking my cheekbone in a gesture I found calming. “Tonight, you will address me as Monsieur, or Sir.” His words sank deep inside me, reaching a place I wasn’t aware existed. A place I didn’t want to believe existed. I stepped back, dislodging his hand.

Lucien’s cheek creased in amusement. “So, ma belle perle, the challenge begins. Are you ready?”

*****

Buy links:

Amazon USA: https://amzn.to/2lXpCSP    

Amazon UK: https://amzn.to/2kswibm  

Evernight:  https://www.evernightpublishing.com/hard-pressed-by-queenie-black/    

Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/958783  

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/gb/en/ebook/hard-pressed-18  

iBooks: https://books.apple.com/gb/book/hard-pressed/id1480423303

 

Blurb:

Master Lucien has one night at Club Hard.

One night…to show bodyguard Rose Dainty that he can be the Dom she needs,

One night…to show her that submitting to him doesn’t make her weak, that true submission requires strength and trust.

Will pushing Rose to her limits prove to her she can trust him with her body and heart, and can she let go of her deepest fears long enough to enjoy her surrender? `

They both have everything to prove and everything to lose.

*****

Author bio:

I’ve always loved writing and I won my first prize for a short story when I was still at primary school. I’m an avid reader of romance and erotic romance and can usually be found with my nose in a book. The dynamics and sheer variety of human relationships fascinate me, and this is what I like to explore in my writing. I live in North Yorkshire with my husband and cat where I enjoy running and Tai Chi.

social media links:

Twitter: https://twitter.com/queenieblackwr1

Website: http://www.queenieblackauthor.com/

Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/queenieblackauthor/

*****

GIVEAWAY!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

 

Slaves to Desire by Eli Gilić (@GilicEli), published by Sinful Press (@SinfulPress)—Just 99c/p Throughout October!

Slaves to Desire by Eli Gilić is a unique, beautifully written erotic short story collection that deftly weaves fact and fiction. Originally published in Serbian, Sinful Press is over the moon to present the English language version of this amazing collection in both digital and print. To celebrate, we are making the ebook version available for just 99p/99c throughout October.

Blurb:

Charles Baudelaire, Rasputin, Anna Karenina, Romeo and Juliet, Hamlet and Ophelia, Fyodor Dostoevsky, George Sand, Frederic Chopin, Vincent Van Gogh, Antonin Artaud, Maria Izquierdo, James Joyce, Federico Garcia Lorka, Salvador Dali.

Can Rasputin find redemption through the sins of others? What awaits Anna Karenina on the other side? Does passion still flow through the veins of the lovers from Verona? Can Hamlet and Ophelia escape their fate? Is Van Gogh’s loneliness a blessing or a curse? And can Dali dispel Lorca’s fear.

Eli Gilić deftly weaves fact and fiction to bring some of the world’s great writers, literary characters, artists and composers to life as they reach the heights of passion and the depths of despair in this mesmerising erotic short story collection.

Sales links:

Amazon

Apple iBooks

Google Play

Kobo

Barnes and Noble

*****

Excerpt from ‘Lovers in the Land of Peyote’ (María Izquierdo and Antonin Artaud), Slaves to Desire:

They brought him half-dead on a donkey, took him to his room, laid his feverish body on the bed and left me alone with him. I was terror-stricken as I listened to his frantic screams and incoherent ravings about virgins and donkeys. I wiped his burning forehead for hours and tried to reach him. He writhed, flailed his arms and legs, and I had to avoid blows carefully.

My strength was dissolving when Antonin suddenly stilled. I feared the worst, but he opened his eyes. Delirium had passed. His eyes were bright and curious. Such relief overcame me that I kissed him without thinking. I poured all the love that was burning in my heart into that kiss. I realised what I had done only when he returned my kiss. But there was no reason for anxiety because Antonin was overcome by desire just like me. He kissed me feverishly, as if to compensate for all the months of restraint. A surge of happiness flooded me. I quickly took off my robe and pulled Antonin’s pants down his legs.

Antonin just looked at me with mild disbelief. Fearing that he would pull away and say that we shouldn’t, I quickly settled above him before he had a chance to object. I had to feel him at least once. I think my heart would have broken if I didn’t manoeuvre him into me.

I looked him in the eye as I slowly descended on his hard manhood, choking from inexplicable joy. It seemed like I was becoming whole because he was filling me. I lacked something essential before Antonin entered my life just as my body had missed something vital before I felt him inside me. When I came down completely, I stilled to interpret his look. But I saw nothing except great love and total abandonment. As if to encourage me, Antonin grabbed me by the hips and began lifting and lowering me. I started moving and together we found the rhythm of lovers. Our bodies moved as if of their own will, as if saying something to each other with those feverish movements. Movements as old as the world, yet completely new, full of mysterious meaning known only to us. Faster, feverishly, marvellously coordinated as if our bodies had already done that in another world and time and we were only repeating what was carved in our hearts and bodies.

Antonin was moaning uncontrollably while rapidly raising his pelvis to meet my frenzied descents. Strangled sounds were escaping my throat, my insides were tightening from pleasure. The pressure was becoming unbearable, almost agonising. And then a miraculous burst, spasms that brought immense delight. The relief was so strong that I collapsed on him. Antonin hugged me tightly and jerked a few more times before freezing and crying out.

I sat up and showered his face with kisses, crying and laughing at the same time, mad from the rush of giddy joy.

*****

Author Bio:

Eli Gilić is a writer and translator from Serbia who has spent much of her career translating best-selling novels for the Serbian market. She has also penned an erotic cookbook called Eat, Tease and Please.

Eli lives near a forest in Serbia with her three four-legged friends, and she spends her free time growing organic food, climbing mountains and jumping from waterfalls.

Slaves to Desire is her first short story collection, and it was originally published by Laguna, the biggest publisher in Serbia, before being translated into English for Sinful Press.

Sale blitz organised by Writer Marketing Services.

 

In Pursuit of Mr Sands – Free Read

As most of you know, I brought Elise North into A Demon’s Tale because she so intrigued me in her encounters with Mr. Sands, which I plan to revisit at a later date. We haven’t seen the last of him yet. But this little story, first published in Cosmo, gives a glimpse into PI, Elise North’s life before a certain demon turned it upside down.

As you know, from previous Medusa Consortium stories, in Magda Gardener’s world, nothing is ever simple where relationships and sex are concerned. And Elise is no exception. There are always complications. I hope you enjoy Elise’s pursuit of Mr. Sands, and I bet you can guess who has hired her for this little task.

 

In Pursuit of Mr. Sands

Five hot summer nights, I followed Mr. Sands in and out of clubs and bars in Soho. Sometimes it took him the better part of the night to pick up a woman, though he could have had his choice. Sometimes he found the one he wanted in the very first bar. There was no pattern, no rhyme or reason, no similarity that I could see in his choices. He never took them home. He never told them his name. He never fucked them. But he always made them come. Their response was unanimously a mix of ecstatic release and surprise, as though they hadn’t expected it.

He took them in alleys, in stairwells, even once on a crowded dance floor. It was always quick, always intense and it always felt a bit dangerous. He didn’t mind if the women bit or clawed or howled like wolves. They always came, but Mr. Sands never did. I wondered if he practiced some form of eastern discipline that enhanced male pleasure through refraining from ejaculation.

I’m a PI, and monitoring Mr. Sands’ nightly wanderings is my job. The woman who hired me to tail him isn’t his ex or a psycho lover. She claims she’s never met the man. But hey, everyone’s kink is different. If she gets off on my reports, then who am I to judge, as long as she pays me. And she pays me well. In fact she set me up in a posh flat with a view across the street right into Mr. Sands’ posh flat. Though it hasn’t helped much. He keeps his curtains drawn.

Every night Mr. Sands goes out at exactly ten, and every night I follow him. Every night I watch as women flirt and eyeball him longingly until he finally makes his choice. Some nights he wines and dines the lucky girl. Some nights, he simply takes her hand and leads her off to do the deed. Last night, his choice was a porcelain-skinned woman with ginger hair. He led her from the bar without so much as a word. She was breathless, wide-eyed, her full breasts bouncing in her scanty bronze sheath as she struggled to keep up with him in stilettos she was none to steady on. I could almost feel the sense of urgency that might have been hers, might have been his. The dress was tight enough that the lack of panties was evident, a bit too tight for a woman so well curved. But Mr. Sands didn’t seem interested in fashion or conventional beauty.

He pressed her up against a small loading dock in the ally, taking her mouth as though she were his favourite dish, slapping her hands away from his fly, though even I could see his bulge through my binoculars. There beneath the streetlight, he freed her breasts into his hands, thumbing and raking peach gumdrop nipples and heavily stippled areolae.

She sounded like a kitten mewing for its mother as he scrunched her dress until her Brazilian was as bare as her breasts. She gave a little yelp as he hoisted her up onto the loading dock and palmed her thighs wide apart forcing her back onto her elbows. One shoe dropped to the pavement with a muted thud as he cupped his hands behind her knees and pulled her closer to his face. Then he fingered her, studied her, caressed her as though he’d never seen a pussy before. All the while, she moaned and whimpered and squirmed against the hard concrete. “Please,” she begged. “Oh please.” But he ignored her keening.

When, at last, he spoke, his voice was velvet against bare skin, “You’ve been pretending. But you don’t need to for me.” Then he buried his face between her thighs, and she bucked and gyrated against him tugging and pulling at her breasts. Once again, he slapped her hands away and reached up to knead her almost as though he were raising his arms in an act of worship. He pinched and thumbed while never slacking in his efforts between her thighs. Her cries became guttural, like he’d awakened something feral in her, something that could now no longer be caged. He slid his hands down to cup her bum and drew her closer, as though he might crawl up inside her right next to that feral thing he’d awakened. She came with an animal howl that sent shivers up my spine and made the view from the binoculars shudder with the hammering of my pulse. At last he pulled away and wiped his face on the back of his arm. Then he mantled her close, covering her lips with kisses, she all but sobbing into his mouth.

Finally she spoke in little gasps of effort. “I’ve never had an orgasm before.”

“I know,” was all he said, as he bent to retrieve her shoe and gently slipped it onto her foot.

I stood in shock at her revelation, at his. The woman had never had an orgasm? Did he choose his women that way? But then how the hell would he know? I was so lost in my speculations that I had to scramble back into an alcove in front of a service entrance to keep from being seen as Mr. Sands escorted her back to the bar.

And just like that it was over. I knew the drill by now. The woman would return to her friends with a smile on her face, and Mr. Sands would go home.

I followed him, as I always did, then took the lift to my flat. Inside I stripped to tank and panties, wilted from the relentless heat. It was one of the few summer days each year when it hadn’t cooled down much at night. I poured myself a glass of cab. Usually unwinding from a night of tailing Mr. Sands meant a little hands-on. I had a vibrator, but there was something about our nightly rendezvous that gave me the urge to touch myself. Maybe the total lack of penetrative sex in those steamy encounters made me empathetic. My last task every working day was to open my curtains and make sure Mr. Sands was at home. He always was. Though his curtains were perpetually drawn, I could make out the cinnamon glow of lamplight inside. Occasionally I could see the shadow of movement back and forth beyond the drawn drapes. That was my cue for some ‘me time,’ as I fantasized about what he did after he came home late at night unsatisfied.

With wine glass in hand and my mind on the night’s intriguing discoveries, the curtain was completely open before I turned to find that Mr. Sands, for once, had followed suit. He stood looking right at me, wearing only grey track bottoms slung low around his hips, his chest glistening from the heat. I froze gaping, as he sipped a whiskey and brazenly looked me up and down. I’d been compromised. My client had warned me to make sure he never saw me. But I was confident, maybe a little arrogant. I was good at my job. I should have shut the curtains and left. But I just stood there like a rabbit in the headlights, my nipples stiffening beneath my tank top as surely as if he’d stroked them as he had the redhead’s. The quirk of his lips, the trailing of his gaze over my body sent shockwaves of heat core deep. The clench between my thighs, the subtle shifting of my hips wouldn’t have been noticeable by anyone. Hell, I could make myself come on a crowded bus and no one was the wiser. But he knew. I was certain he knew.

I raised my glass for a much-needed drink and miscalculated, dribbling red wine across white cotton and a distended nipple. His gaze was not subtle as he nodded to my breasts. I knew exactly what he wanted. Slowly, I lifted the glass and drizzled the cab across my breasts – all of it, gasping at the shock of it, biting my lip, closing my eyes just long enough to savor the sensation. When I opened them, he slid a hand inside the front of his track bottoms. It wasn’t difficult to tell he was hard, nor that he was substantial. I took in the shape of him as brazenly as he had me, giving my own little nod. But he only shook his head and raised an eyebrow making it clear that it was tit for tat.

Caught in his gaze, I could scarcely breathe, I could scarcely believe the risk I was taking. He knew where I was. He knew what I’d done. And yet I lifted my wet shirt  off over my head, the AC tightening my nipples still further. As he watched, I slid a hand into my panties mirroring his movements. I fingered my way down between my thighs, gasping at the slick swell of me, my tide pool scent filling the room as I began to stroke.

His own stroking had exposed the base of his cock in its nest of dark curls, and my mouth watered. I nodded again, wanting to see that tool he’d kept hidden all these nights, desperate to see him lose that cast iron control.

He gulped the rest of his whiskey and set the glass aside. Then he slid the other hand beneath his waistband to scoop and cup his sac, and I moaned my approval as his efforts revealed just a little more. And then it was a stand-off, neither of us blinking, neither of us flinching, we rubbed and stroked and flaunted ourselves, each in an effort to will the other into that final reveal. He shifted and pumped and moved in such a way that I could make out almost every detail of his heavy package from beneath the tease of fabric. The lust in his eyes was laced with something slightly wicked. Strange I’d never realized fear could be such a turn-on. I wanted to run and hide even as I wanted him to fuck me with his eyes.

I pulled my fingers from my panties and raised them to my mouth, giving him a hungry stare as I tasted my own slickness, then I sucked. He bit his lip and his body jerked. For a horrible moment I thought he’d come without me. But he took a deep breath and nodded. It was time. I slid a thumb into the edge of my panties and, with the other hand, counted down. Three…two…one. We both dropped our drawers. After that things got serious. He stepped closer to the window, as close as he could get to me. One hand cupped, the other stroked and tugged the heavy length of him as though it were seriously in need of taming.

Without looking away, I reached behind me and pulled the Queen Anne chair close. Then I plopped down splaying my legs over the arms so that he could see my efforts, fingers darting and circling, dipping and scissoring, butt raised high to give him a better view. The look on his face was utter concentration. I imagine mine was the same. As his orgasm burst in heavy spurts against the windowpane, I convulsed my own release, nearly upsetting the chair.

Afterwards we just stared at each other, still cupping ourselves, too stunned to think, too spent to move. But at last, he bent, pulled up his track bottoms and tucked his cock. He studied me for a long moment, the hunger in his eyes making me squirm in that place between arousal and fear. Then he waved a finger at me as though I’d been a naughty girl. Finally, he blew me a kiss and drew the curtains. The next morning, to my relief, and my disappointment, Mr. Sands was gone. But I’ll track him down. He has secrets I want. It is my job, after all. And I’m good at what I do.

 

Out Now—Sapphic Seduction by Lucy Felthouse (@cw1985) #sapphic #lesfic #erotica #lesbian

Sapphic SeductionBlurb:

If you enjoy short tales of ladies loving each other, then get your hands on this collection from the pen of award-winning author Lucy Felthouse.

From Zumba classes to army basic training, surfer chicks to mechanics, and even a lost dog, this book has variety galore. There’s something for everyone, and will have you eager to turn just one more page.

Enjoy twelve titillating tales, over 45,000 words of Sapphic delight.

Please note: The stories in this anthology have been previously published.

Buy links:

Amazon: http://mybook.to/sapphicseduction

Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/books/1130012655

Google: https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Lucy_Felthouse_Sapphic_Seduction?id=uwV_DwAAQBAJ

iBooks: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/sapphic-seduction/id1446922785?mt=11

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/sapphic-seduction

Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/912552?ref=cw1985

*****

Excerpt:

Verity’s phone buzzed in her pocket, reminding her of an angry—and insistent—bee. Sighing, she pulled the device out and looked at the screen. Rolling her eyes, she rejected the call, then pressed the off button. Fuck her family and their petty dramas—she did enough for them, and they never appreciated it. Let them deal with their own shit for a change. She’d come here for some peace and solitude, and that was what she was damn well going to get.

After showing her membership card to the kindly old lady at the kiosk, Verity passed through the gate and into the gardens of Biddulph Grange. The beautiful stately home, sadly, was private, but the stunning landscaped gardens were open to the public. The place was already off the beaten track—nestled as it was, deep in the Staffordshire countryside—but once Verity stepped inside the huge gardens, she felt a million miles from anywhere.

Closing her eyes momentarily, she pulled in a deep breath through her nostrils, and released it from her mouth. Already she felt better, the stress and irritation seeping out of her and disappearing into the gravelled path beneath her feet. This place was her refuge, her sanctuary. She never told anyone where she went when she disappeared off for a few hours every couple of weeks—more often if her family was being more difficult than usual—and that was the beauty of it. No one knew where she was, no one could bother her. All she had was herself and the cacophony of nature within the garden walls, and that was precisely how she wanted it.

Letting out a contented sigh this time, she shut out all the unpleasant thoughts, emptying her mind, and concentrated only on what was around her. What she could see, what she could hear, what she could smell.

Her favourite thing about the gardens—aside from their being her escape—was the fact they seemed to look different every time she visited. Nature took its course: trees and bushes grew, plants flowered, leaves turned and dropped. New plants were introduced, old or diseased ones were removed.

The wildlife was wonderful, too. A huge variety of birds fluttered, swooped and hopped around, tweeting, twittering and singing. Butterflies and squirrels also made frequent appearances. They never failed to make Verity smile, and today was no exception. A further weight was lifted from her as her lips curved into a grin, and she breathed in deeply through her nostrils. The air smelled fresh, yet something lingered, hinting at something to come.

Verity tilted her head back and looked up at the sky. Hmm, that could be it. There was a thick covering of cloud, not particularly ominous-looking, but then that was British weather for you. It could, and did, change in the blink of an eye.

Shrugging, Verity carried on walking. She was here now—she wasn’t going to leave just in case it rained. Even if it did, so what? A little rain never killed anyone. It could actually be kind of refreshing.

Putting one foot in front of the other, she followed her nose through the landscape, admiring everything she saw, and exchanging polite nods and smiles with the handful of people she met. And it was only a handful. Perhaps others had checked the weather forecast before coming out and had been deterred. More fool them.

On the other hand, though, she thanked them. It meant she had the place pretty much to herself. Smiling, she allowed her imagination to run away with itself, painting a picture of a scenario where Verity owned the stately home currently hidden from view, and was wandering in her own private gardens. Every tree, every bush, every flower, every blade of grass was on her land, and she loved it. Having such an amazing place to call her own… well, she knew how lucky she was.

She was snapped out of her grand and wonderful fantasy by something that didn’t look quite right. Blinking, she focussed on whatever it was over to her left-hand side that seemed to stand out like a sore thumb. She frowned and stepped closer, still not entirely sure what she was seeing. Though it definitely wasn’t a thumb, sore or otherwise.

*****

Author Bio:

Lucy Felthouse is the award-winning author of erotic romance novels Stately Pleasures (named in the top 5 of Cliterati.co.uk’s 100 Modern Erotic Classics That You’ve Never Heard Of, and an Amazon bestseller), Eyes Wide Open (winner of the Love Romances Café’s Best Ménage Book 2015 award, and an Amazon bestseller), The Persecution of the Wolves, Hiding in Plain Sight and The Heiress’s Harem series. Including novels, short stories and novellas, she has over 170 publications to her name. Find out more about her writing at http://lucyfelthouse.co.uk, or on Twitter or Facebook. Join her Facebook group for exclusive cover reveals, sneak peeks and more! Sign up for automatic updates on Amazon or BookBub. Subscribe to her newsletter here: http://www.subscribepage.com/lfnewsletter

Release blitz organised by Writer Marketing Services.

 

Success or Love of Writing? by Akinyi Prinzessin von K’Orinda-Yimbo (A P von K’Ory)

I often get asked to reveal to the source of my achievements, even my “success” in writing. This is of course very flattering and good for my scribe’s ego. But I’m just as unsure of where I am or going to, same as the next writer. I don’t really see myself as such a success, but I’ve succeeded in improving my writing and finding my “Voice”. I believe we writers always need to have some reassurance or at least another person we can turn to as a sounding board to either confirm or dispel our insecurities about ourselves and our work.

My “weakness” is my British English, my mother tongue. But that does not say I wouldn’t put my le Carré aside when I grab a good Grisham or Dan Brown. Romance fascinate me, followed by the psychological thriller and Grip Lit genres. Therefore my addiction to writing romance with thriller elements worked in them, and sex scenes involving psychological games.

My own romance books involve interracial love relationships. The Bound to Tradition trilogy, which won me the Writer of the Year Achiever Award 2013 in the Netherlands, is one good such an example. This is an aspect of writing that often plagues me – I prefer to write about what I know and what I’d personally read. I do bring the famous “What if…” into play in the male/female/intercultural negations.

The novels I write tend to be opulent because I’m acquainted with that world and can move around it with ease.  But I can also put the billionaire right in the middle of a poor shack in India or the African jungle and do a mix of dialogue because I love the mind games of cultural differences. We all have cultural spectacles and earphones so that one and the same words are interpreted differently using these cultural spectacles and earphones.

Writers might have a facility for writing, or telling stories, or coming up with brilliant characters, or dialogue. But what should a writer write about? I need to have at least one of the above in place to even start thinking of a story. Writing is the hardest work I’ll ever do and probably the least remunerative of any profession in today’s market of commercial writing, where art seem to have been abandoned.

I have found my particular voice and subject matter plus medium, and stick to them in all I write, fiction and nonfiction. I know in my belly when those passages flow and I write easily with a smile twitching at the corner of my mouth.

And yes, I have writers I admire and analyse why I admire them, what draws me to their writing or their Message or their Voice.

BUY LINKS IN KINDLE – Please note that the books are also available in paperbacks:

UK Kindle: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Golden-Shana-Chase-von-KOry-ebook/dp/B00WA7M3OC/

UK Kindle: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Golden-Shana-Capture-von-KOry-ebook/dp/B06X1DGGMZ/

UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Golden-Shana-Untouchable-von-KOry-ebook/dp/B07H1YY28C#reader_1725967073

US Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/Golden-Shana-Capture-von-KOry-ebook/dp/B06X1DGGMZ/

US Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/Golden-Shana-Untouchable-von-KOry-ebook/dp/B07H1YY28C/

UK Untouchable PB: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Golden-Shana-Untouchable-von-KOry/dp/1725967073

Website http://www.Akinyi-princess.de

Twitter  https://www.twitter.com/Apky11162

Facebook

Facebook Author Page:          https://www.facebook.com/AuthorAPVonKOry/

Facebook Timeline:                https://www.facebook.com/apvonkory

FB Golden Shana Series:       https://www.facebook.com/Goshanaliterotic/

FB Editor/Services:                https://www.facebook.com/KOrindaYimbo/

FB AuthorMePro Press:         https://www.facebook.com/Professionaless62bloggerP/

FB Readers & Reviewers:     https://www.facebook.com/AkinyiReadersReviews/

Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.co.uk/A-P-Von-KOry/e/B00MDHD7ZS

*****

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The Romance Reviews

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