Flawless

Yeah, the turkey wasn't the only thing stuffed yesterday. I'm gonna wax poetic about that later on down the line, but for now...

Watch this flawlessly beautiful video about love: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_TBd-UCwVAY&list=FLpuYfTgAjxqi6heW0qAw5_Q&feature=mh_lolz

Fire & Ice #11

Woo-Hoo!

Time for another fabulous Fire & Ice flash.

Simeon’s body hummed with more power than he’d ever felt before. JC had poured sunshine and—something warm, sweeter than a whole package of Little Debbie’s Swiss Rolls, and as energizing as a triple shot cappuccino—through the three of them. The little frost elemental licked his lips nervously.

“Just what exactly what does being tied to both Heaven and Hell entail?”

Josh sat up. Stretching out a well muscled arm to reach around Simeon, he scooped the smaller man towards the cozy knot he and Ryan had tangled their limbs up in.

“Come here baby. I want you touching both of us while we tell you what we know, and try to figure out a decent answer to that question.”

Simeon allowed Josh to manhandle him into the central position. Plastered against Ryan, with Josh pressed firmly against his backside Simeon sighed in contentment. He felt like the sugar-high-happy-filling of a celestial two-toned-shortbread cookie. Devil’s food flavor on one side, Angel cake on the other with a very happy little cream filled peppermint cool center. Hmm. Now there was a thought. He could try to make some of those when they got this whole linked to Heaven and Hell/Scavenger hunt for Satan thing figured out.

Josh cleared his throat.

“First of all I think we’d better make a list of all the things we need to get for the scavenger hunt and make sure we all have copies in case we need to separate.”

A wimpy little whining noise escaped Simeon.

“We—ah, we should probably stick together. I know I’d feel a lot better if we did.”

Ryan placed a soft kiss on Simeon’s forehead. As he began to speak, the deep rumble of his voice sent vibrations through Simeon.

“Josh, I’m with Simeon on this one. I think we need to stick together no matter what.”

Josh’s arms tightened around Simeon until the smaller man squeaked in distress. Ryan spoke over Simeon’s shoulder.

“Josh, please don’t break Simeon’s ribs. Aside from just being a very bad idea on general principle, it would seriously slow down our progress toward the goal of becoming the celestial triad with the highest number of joint orgasms.”

Simeon gasped.

He tilted his head back to stare in shock at Ryan. The big angel gave him a conspiratorial wink. Simeon’s fledgling kernel of anger subsided at the sweetly inclusive gesture. A snicker escaped him.

“Oh, for sure. I don’t think I could—’

Simeon blushed, the tips of his pointed ears growing hot. His face was surely cherry red. He ducked forward and buried his face in Ryan’s chest.

Josh eased his grip.

“Okay, okay. Point taken.”

Simeon continued to hide his face. How did they just talk about such things with the same ease he would exhibit when talking about his latest baking project? Sheesh. He could only hope discussing their sex life was either something he got used to or that he got over this crippling shyness fairly soon. There was no way the two gorgeous men currently in bed with him would stay interested in someone who had no practical in “doing it”. Just thinking those words increased the heat in his face by several degrees. He didn’t want them to get bored with him.

“I like  doing it.”  

******************************************

Hope you enjoyed it. :)

Tuesday...Triumph???

Today I got a STELLAR review.
http://www.mizlovelovesbooks.com/2011/11/soldier-and-state-trooper-by-cherie.html
Amazing and wonderful. Tickled me pink.

And then I opened a few more emails and found one that told me all about where I could go to download my book for free.

WTF??

Yep. My first publication has been pirated. I guess I've arrived.
Or something.
I did notice that my sales dropped off sharply right around the time this pirated copy of my work went up. And to the pirate, whomever you are, I just want to say...thanks for the free advertising.
I know a lot of folks out there won't care that this--writing--IS my job.
I know scads of people will continue to download the book I worked for nearly a half a year to perfect often putting in ten-fourteen hour days for weeks on end, and that it won't matter to them that this--writing--is what I do to put decent food on the table for my kid. Because, ya know, as a disabled veteran, I'm not exactly hauling in the big bucks from the VA.
There are many who simply won't give a rip that my kid has clothes that fit only because someone GAVE them to us, nor that getting published and being paid for my work means the difference between some pretty basic stuff for us. Like having milk that's not reconstituted. Like being able to pay the bills on time. Like being able to buy bus passes for myself, the kidlet, and my adopted brother...or buying one pass per month because three are too expensive. And doing a lot of walking. Like to the VA for doctor's appointments. Which is a two hour walk for me with my bad back. I know this because I've had to do it.

So.

This Tuesday Triumph?
Is dedicated to all the decent folks out there who don't steal my work. Who give a rip because they know that they'd be really pissed if someone decided they didn't need to be paid for over six months worth of work.
It's for the ones who have a little integrity.
Who aren't overflowing with that nasty disease called Self-Entitlement.

Thank you, readers who have purchased my book through a legitimate bookseller.
Thank you to those who will continue to do so.
Thanks to those who will hear about my book from someone who stole it, and will turn around an buy a legit copy.
I'm sure the others will continue to steal and feel okay about it.
I'm sure they won't worry about how I'm going to pay for medicine that my daughter's health insurance doesn't pay for, but that she needs.
I'm sure that Karma is a sly bitch, and she will sneak up on them someday.

In the meantime, I'll be writing.

Six Sentence Sunday: Christmas Rum Balls

Neil reached up to trace the line of Tony's cheek, stopping at each dot of paint, counting them like tiny, temporary freckles.

Tony's eyes crinkled at the corners again.

"Youse didn't hear a word I just said, did ya, Neil?"

Neil grinned back at Tony.

"Nope. Even once I get the image of you screwing Kevin senseless over the kitchen table out of my brain, you know I can never concentrate when you come in here half dressed and covered in paint, Tony, you look—"

http://www.sixsunday.com/

Friday's Fire & Ice Flash: coming soon to a Blog near you.

In the meantime...

*giggle*

Check out my post on the writing the M/M Orgasm as a female author. It's over at Chicks & Dicks today.
Sorry about the late notification.
I thought the damn thing was going up tomorrow.

*shakes head at self*

http://chicksndicks.blogspot.com/

Check it out bay-bee.
You'll never think of meditation the same way again.

What happened to Monday?

Erk.
Been busy here in the household folks.
Sorry to have been slow keeping y'all up to date my lovelies.
The kidlet has been home waaaay tooo much this week.
Kidlet awake and at home = NO WRITING

AAAAAAAAAAAACCCCCKKKKKK!!!!!!

She's back to school tomorrow though, and I'm back to the writing cave.

I'm glad Thanksgiving is coming up though. I've got a lot to be thankful for right now. Oh, yeah.
A beautiful kid. A fabulous family, both of blood and adopted. A job I love and some kick-ass fellow writers to bounce ideas off, get critiques and encouragement from.

Yep. Pretty damn thankful.

Thursday Think Tank: Pen Names and other Affectations

Good Afternoon, gentle readers.

Er, or whatever time it is when you finally see this post.

I have a few things to say today that may piss some of you off. That's the warning. I do try to keep things light here, because...well, this is entertainment. Not therapy. Except today it's a fairly irritated rant.

In light of that, and some other supposed "scandals" going on I just need to get some stuff off my chest.

First of all, my readers are welcome and even encouraged to get off on my CHARACTERS. Hell, yes, get stroke happy with Christie and Robert, or Neil, Kevin and Tony, or any of the others I write about.

But do not confuse authors with their characters. Leave them the fuck out of it, unless you know them personally. And by that I mean you've actually met in RL and have a close personal relationship. 

Just sayin.

And, heh. 

I know it's shocking, but just for a moment imagine that authors want to make a living. Are you actually suggesting there's something wrong with that? I'm pretty sure that all of us have a need to eat, have shelter, etc. So we need to have a way to make money to buy those things...some of us have Evil Day Jobs, and some of us don't, and some of those day jobs are ones that would be DESTROYED if our real life names got linked to our pen names. It's not new for authors to use pen names for exactly this reason. Look at George Sands...who couldn't get published as a woman so she pubbed as a man.
I know for a fact that some authors practice law, or work as education specialists...and they could lose their jobs if they went public...hell, some of them HAVE lost their jobs when what they write got made public knowledge. Some authors have had to either stop writing or hide behind different gender pseudonyms to protect themselves from Real Life scary-ass stalkers, and I'm talking the kind with guns and knives and "moral certitude".


Should we dig into the lives of these people? Is it our right to prove or disprove he/she/they have an authentic knowledge of law/education/whatever if they choose to write about law/education/whatever? Cause them to lose their jobs because the rabid and misguided or whomever chose to expose them for *gasp*writing a fictional account of something?


How very shocking.


How duplicitious!

I don't know. Do you want the entirety of your life held up to a microscope? Am I, as a woman writing M/M romance about soldiers (as a former soldier) somehow less authentic than a gay man (never been a soldier) writing about the same trope? I don't think so. If we both do good research and write well, that's all that matters, cause seriously people, this stuff is FICTION.

Frankly?

I don't think I owe my fans a damn thing except my best attempt at a ripping good read. They don't get automatic rights to my personal life, and whom I do or do not fuck, nor which body part I use to do so. I'm not writing an autobiography. I'm writing fiction, and my family and friends? Are unequivocally off limits.

Real deal there, babies. Fuck with my family and I'll eat your liver with a nice Chianti and some flipping Fava beans.

*come on peeps. Silence of the Lambs? Anybody? Bueller?*

Hemmingway didn't know shit about being female. Nobody says don't buy his books because he wrote female characters. They may say he doesn't write women well, and that's valid. If you think I got the M/M sex wrong, or the M/F sex, feel free to say I screwed the pooch *figure of speech there* as an author...But don't you dare say something can't have happened just because it never happened to you. If I wrote it you can be damn certain I researched it, either through personal experience or through a first person interview. Or else it's something totally made up like shifters, and even then I likely researched the body parts and the animal counterparts.

If you don't like my writing, don't buy it. 

Easy, Peasy, Lemon Squeezy.

If you like it, buy it.

Remember, before you go prying into authors personal lives, that you are culpable for the fruits of that prying. There are people who may lose their jobs, the jobs that have nothing to do with writing because of your "need" to have them live under a microscope. There are authors out there who live in countries where they can be put into prison for writing erotica at all, let alone M/M erotica/romance. There are authors who have Real Life issues crashing down on them to the point that they become depressed, even suicidal. And if you chose to dig into their lives, poke around with the sticks of your belief that you have some sort of right to be privy to their personal life? You are culpable in what happens.

There are professions that will fire someone for writing what we write. There are countries that will jail us. If we want to write this stuff without becoming martyrs, who are you to tell us that's wrong?

Yeah, I said it.

So...

If you don't like the economy bitch about that.

But don't say that I as a writer am not allowed to make a decent living because you as a reader are feeling strapped for cash. Shit, my grocery bill went up too. And serving my country has left me unable to get an Evil Day Job. This is it for me.

Yeah, random ranting now.

But, maybe?

Some stuff to think about.

Saturday Snark: Escaping MommyLand

So...

here I am Saturday nearly gone, working at one of my weekly Mommy tasks. Getting the kidlet's school clothes clean for the week.

Woo-hoo, right?

Great fun. 

*Oh, you can see me rolling my eyes? Er, sorry.*

I get the whole Mommy thing. 

No, really, I get it. 

It's cool to have a little lump of clay that one can mold and shape into a future leader of the world...or, say, a highly thought of McDonald's employee. 

But in the midst of the rush to line up the perfect schedule of activities to help the cute little parasite transform into a productive member of society who is sucking anyone else's blood but mine, I have lost nearly FOUR DAYS.

During NaNoWriMo at that. 

Grr. 

Yeah, yeah, love being a mom, yada, yada, yah.

Love the kidlet.

She's too damn cute to kill.

So, the important thing to focus on here becomes how the hell do I escape form Mommy Land long enough to flipping writing done? 

I mean, really?

Well...

I'm writing in the Laundromat. 

I'm writing on the toilet.

Er, hopefully my writing will smell more of the former and less of the latter. 

And, if not?

Well, I can always just flush the shitty words and keep the good ones.

Yeah?

While You Wait...

Here's something luscious to look at.

This is ***well, prolly better to name no names, right?***

Er, we'll call him the Lollipop Man for obvious reasons...Lick at will.

Regarding the Friday Flash

Keep your damn pants on!

I'm having technical difficulties.

You know, like I'm a wildly disorganized ***bleep*** and I haven't gotten around to writing it yet, so I have to get on the dick...er, stick, and churn.

*shakes head*

Get your minds out of the freaking gutter.

I mean churn out the WORDS!

Heh.

That's my story.

I'm sticking to it too.

I'll be back later today to Flash you.

*smooches*

Thursday Think Tank: Write, for the Night is Coming

Write, for the night is coming, babies.

Write, for the life you uplift may be your own.

Write, for the joy you give may never be known to you,  yet may be the world to another lost soul.

Write, write, write.

The words may never mean a thing.

They may touch the hearts of a thousand generations.

Write because you must, and write because you can.

Write about what you know and write about what you long to learn.

And babies?

Take a kiss from me, and know you have shelter here in my Writing Cave.
If you stop in and I'm not home?
Relax.
Light the fire.
Make yourself a drink *I have top shelf of all your favorite brands, lol* or brew up a little gourmet java.

I only ever ask that you play nicely.
If you don't?
I'll be disappointed.
I'll wonder why you waste your time being mean.
I'll reach out to those you seek to harm and drawn them into my fold of friends, and baby, we are legion.

So write a rainbow for yourself today.
Write a bird on the wing.
Write a happy ending to your own sad story.

And laugh, babies, laugh for joy.

It's what I'm going to do.

Work in Progress Wednesday-An Excerpt from My French Quarter Quartet

An unedited Excerpt from the first of my French Quarter Quartet:

Angel Baby

When Angel walked into the bar the very first thing he saw was the bear of a man standing behind three feet of wood while he slung drinks. He had nearly a foot on Angel, shoulders that looked about a mile wide and a broad, furry chest visible through the vee of his tee shirt’s neck. Angel could easily envision snuggling into lovely that rug on a cold northern night. Hell, he could easily envision melting all over those big muscles on a steamy hot New Orleans night exactly like tonight.

The bartender glanced up. Still slinging drinks to customers on every side of the roughly triangular bar with a rapid fire accuracy which could only stem from what had to be many years in the business, he flashed a smile of surprising sweetness Angel’s way and growled out a generic welcome to the bar.

Entranced by both the gravelly voice and the sure, strong motions of the man’s broad palms and meaty, square tipped fingers, Angel failed to notice him moving closer. When the man spoke right next to Angel’s ear, therefore, it was quite a shock.

“Hey there gorgeous, what can I get for you?”

Angel jerked back, heart hammering. He glanced to his left and then to his right. Everyone around him had drinks already, so this man, this big cuddly bear who surely looked like every one of Angel’s teenaged wet dreams brought to living, breathing, oh mama-pulsating life was talking to him.

Shit.

Angel had no idea where the friends he’d come out with had wandered off to, or he’d take off with a muttered apology. He wasn’t shy. Not exactly. In fits and startsyes, of course he knew he was wonderful…just. No one else ever seemed to get that. Especially men that looked like this.

“Sweetheart, do you want something to drink?”

A glint of mischief had entered the big bartender’s pale blue eyes. His glance roved across Angel’s body, skating over his collarbones like a physical touch, ghosting across his pecs to barely scrape his nipples.

Angel sucked in a breath.

“I w-want. Um.”

Angel cleared his throat.

“I’ll take a cosmopolitan. That sounds good.”

The sweet grin stretched a little wider across the burly man’s stubble covered face. He winked at Angel and didn’t say another word. Angel knew he was thinking a lot of things might sound good falling from Angel’s lips. His gaze had zeroed in on Angel’s lips, flitted up to his eyes and then—

Shit.

His eyes.

Why had he let Sam talk him into wearing eyeliner? That girl got him into more trouble. Here he was, wandering around the French Quarter on his own, and probably doing it looking like a high priced rent-boy.

No wonder the hot bartender—

“Here’s your drink, baby.”

Angel’s eyes jerked up from where they’d been stuck on those thick fingers.

He could almost feel them trailing down his back.

And heaven above they felt good, but—

“Angel. My name is Angel.”

The bartender tipped his head to one side, his eyes sliding half-shut. A smirk tipped one corner of his mouth up.

“Pull up a stool then, Angel, baby. I’m Gem.”

Angel bit his lip.

Baby?

Not a moniker he liked applied to him.

Just because he was a little short they all wanted to call him baby.

“Listen, Jim.”

Angel realized he was talking with his hands again when Jim’s eyes dropped to the top of the bar. The bartender started shaking his head.

“No. Not J-i-m.”

He finger spelled slowly.

“It’s G-e-m. Now, don’t you go laughing at my momma. She said I was too precious for an ordinary name, and that I wasn’t common like gold, so she named me Gem.”

Gem’s deep voice resonated right into Angel’s chest, slipping in like shards of sunfire, melting in through his flesh and winding round his bones, branding him from the inside out. A shiver grabbed the base of his spine, shaking until it felt as if his vertebrae clacked against one another. Angel squeezed his eyes shut.

“Angel, baby, are you okay?”

One big finger tapped gently against the back of Angel’s right hand. His eyes eased open, and he fell into the cool blue depths of his future.

“Yeah, Gem, I’m okay. It’s just been awhile since anyone knew what I was saying with my hands. You caught me off guard there.”

A shout from across the bar tore Gem’s attention away. A sweet faced brunet with the most pinchable cheeks Angel had seen in some time was waving his glass at Gem. His big brown eyes were limpdly imploring as he mouthed the words “another round” while discreetly pointing to his companions nearly empty glass.

Angel smiled. His girl Sam had pushed those two together a few minutes ago, if he wasn’t mistaken. Yep. There was her curly blond mass of hair bobbing out of the back of the bar, a cheesy grin on her face as she made a hooking motion with her fingers. The grin faltered for a moment as she wobbled on her tall heels.

Angel snorted.

He’d told her not to wear those shoes. Sam caught him making a face and shook her finger at him as she rounded the corner of the bar.

“No making fun of my shoes mister!”

Angel rolled his eyes.

“Sam. Honey. Why would anyone mock you for wearing four inch heels out for a night of drinking in the French Quarter—with their famously uneven streets and sidewalks?”

Angel asked the question in his very best deadpan voice. He could not, however, prevent the corners of his eyes from crinkling up. Sam sniffed.

“Fine. Be that way. I was going to invite you upstairs to lick the yummy strippers with me, but if you’re going to make fun of my beautiful red pumps…”

They both paused to glance down at what they affectionately referred to as Sam’s “fuck-me” pumps. Fire engine red with ridiculously high stiletto heels, they were truly works of art.

“If you’re gonna be like that—I’ll lick them all on my own!”

Sam winked at him, and pretended to flounce off in a huff. Angel saw Gem approaching just as she made her faux wickedly mad exit, so he knew what she was up to.

Hussy.

She really was trouble on two legs. And had undoubtedly caught him drooling over Gem. Wait a minute. Sam had come here last night. She. Oh, she really was a hussy, and she was in a very deep pot of boiling water. She’d seen Gem and picked him out for Angel.

Angel ground his teeth together.

If that didn’t make him feel pathetic, he didn’t know what would.

He was perfectly capable of finding a man on his own.

Sam stepped onto the first stair leading up to the level where the strippers were performing. She winked at him over her shoulder, gave a little finger wave and scampered upwards on her tip-toes, disappearing in a matter of seconds.

She was a dead woman.

“Angel, baby, what’s put that frown on your pretty face?”

A wave of pure longing swept through Angel at the sound of Gem’s gravel filled growl. Heat pooled low in his groin, and his cock firmed enough to begin pressing against the zipper of his stylish black jeans. Gem turned the heat up farther by reaching out to run a finger along the bike chain necklace around Angel’s neck.

All moisture left Angel’s mouth between one beat of his heart and the next. He raised his martini glass quickly, and slammed back the remainder of his sweet pink drink. Gem raised one eyebrow in an eloquent silent query.

“Ah. My friend is being…difficult.”

Gem’s face pinched up.

“You’re here with someone?”

Angel sighed. This was the other thing that always happened. They always thought he was bi-sexual, and trying to cheat on Sam. Or that Sam was a guy. Well, not when she dressed up, but in normal clothes? With her slim hips and square chin she looked like a really beautiful boy.

“Yeah, I’m here with my best friend Sam. She just went upstairs to lick strippers.”

Angel’s voice couldn’t be any flatter. Sam would be lucky if he ever went out with her again.

Well, okay, that was a lie.

But he might make her suffer for at least two weeks by herself.

Once they got back home to New York.

There had to be some kind of rule about how long you could ignore a bff when they wouldn’t stop screwing with your love life.

Gem shook his head.

“I—I’m not sure I even want to know what just went through your head, but based on that expression it was a doozy of a thought. Do you need another drink?”

A wry smile slid across Angel’s face.

“Yeah, that would be great.”

Gem grinned, a dimple popping up in his left cheek.

Angel’s heart skipped, stuttered and then slammed back into motion. Gem raised his eyebrows high, laughter dancing in the blue depths of his eyes. Angel’s cheeks heated.

“You know exactly what I was just thinking, don’t you?”

Gem’s smile went mega-watt bright for a second, then eased back down into the gentle sweetness that had drawn Angel at first.

“I think I have a pretty good idea.”

Angel’s stomach drew into a tight ball at his center. Damn his expressive face. He felt like a clown among the hearing, and yet somehow always too wooden and closed off at home and with his friends from home. Except Sam.

“Yeah, I bet you do.”

Gem laid his big hand over Angel’s dancing fingers.

“It all looked very good to me.”

Angel glanced up to find Gem leaning in toward him. His stubbled cheek brushed against Angel’s smooth jaw.

“You’re something else Angel, baby. I just met you and I can already tell.”

This close Angel could smell every nuance of Gem’s scent, something sweet, vanilla, and a spicy musk. He clenched his teeth to keep from standing on the rungs of his barstool and biting the big bartenders shoulder. Gem’s voice continued to rumble in his ear.

“God. You make me wish I wasn’t married.”

A beat of time passed where everything seemed frozen, then time crashed around Angel like a tidal wave.

“Married?”

Angel’s gaze narrowed in on Gem’s mouth.

Not only had the sound seemed to go away, but the shapes the big bartender’s mouth was making didn’t seem to make any sense either. Angel half fell off his bar stool. He scrambled for a plausible excuse to leave right then. Then he remembered. He’d just met this man. He didn’t owe him a damn thing except to pay his tab and leave a decent tip.

Right.

“Thanks for the Cosmo. It was great. Can I settle the tab up?”

Stupid.

He was so stupid.

He didn’t know this man.

There was no reason to feel as though his chest had a huge hole in it, no reason to feel like he was bleeding all over the fucking floor. Sure the guy was hot. So were at least twenty other guys Angel had seen tonight.

Gem gave him a puzzled look along with his credit card slip.

Angel smiled.

Coolly.

Politely.

And then he hauled his ass up the stairs to Sam as fast as his legs would carry him.

For fuck’s sake, did he have slice on the side tattooed on his forehead?

At the top of the stairs Angel paused to gather his overwrought emotions into a tidy bundle before he crushed them into a tiny box at the back of his mind. If he raced over to Sam all flustered she’d go into protective mode and fly back down the stairs to rip Gem a new asshole.

From the way their encounter had ended, Angel would guess that Gem already had plenty of asshole to go around.

Tuesday...a tease and a triumph

Well, hell, if that's not inspirational, I don't know what is. And you see the little white ball at the base of the photo? Yeah, there's a reason this pic inspired one of the novels in my upcoming French Quarter Quartet. Book number three will be based on this pic and all the twisty, smexy places that it took me. 

Heh. 

Stay tuned babies. More will be forthcoming regarding: The Ghost Who Shagged Me.

*giggle*

*giggle*

****************************************

So there's your teaser. And now, for the triumph...

****************************************

I've entered NaNoWriMo...and I'll be finishing at least the first novel of the French Quarter Quartet by the end of the month...though, nut that I am, I'm of course aiming for all four...O.O 

Yeah, yeah, koo-koo for Coco Puffs and all that, LOL. 

Gotta run babies. Words to write, furniture to move, coffee to drink. 

Smooches, and babies? 

Do something EXTARORDINARY  today. 

Live and Love loud and proud, dance for joy, cause babies, the night is coming.