Tuesday, 18 June 2013

About Mary's Naughty Whispers

Mary has a new blog. She's also Canadian, French-Canadian, and I read her reviews often. She challenged me to write a menage with four men, one woman. I can't write four men-there is always a part left out somehow. I didn't think I wanted to write three men. But I woke up done day with this sci fi romance in my head, a menage, and have hammered out just over 20K on the thing.

Can three dominant males make a feisty woman submissive? Particulary when she ended up with them hardly of her own accord. They are mighty persuasive, and bossy too. She doesn't have a lot of alternatives seeing as she was won in a poker game and her brother will go to prison if she doesn't comply...do you see her dilemma?

And I have to add in the planetary travel because I'm a Trekkie and you know...plus my fascination with BDSM. So it'll be harsh and readers are gonna be cross with me for not giving her a safe word etc. You can't please all the critics all of the time! 

There's also a prophecy being filled here. Too bad they didn't tell her about it right from the get go. Somebodies are going to get their asses kicked by one little subbie. My heroines always come out on top.

So, if I get it done and submitted, and accepted, Mary may yet see her challenge met. With three, not four men.

Later. Ally

Thursday, 13 June 2013

RAGT 2013

I'm still recovering from RAGT 2013. What an amazing event put together by Lori Foster, Duffy Brown, Linda Keller, Joni Anderson and countless others. A nice blend of authors and readers and a showcase of talent on either side.

I met Lorelei James in the elevator - a true artist and a lovely woman with the best taste in boots.

I'm a voracious reader and met so many new authors to sample (their wares). I have to find some time to write too. Plan to polish my latest effort, an epic for me, seeing as I like novellas, but want to make it perfect. It feels right, you know?

Spent a couple of days with my girl, Lydia Michaels and her husband, such a treat, before heading to RAGT and that was the highlight, in truth. Altogether an amazing week. Met another author I've been corresponding with and we are critique buddies too. It's wonderful to meet people you've connected with on line.

Anyhow, off to bed to try and catch up on my sleep and get back to tackling life again. Ally

Sunday, 14 April 2013

I'm a terrible blogger.

I love to write, so why am I such a terrible blogger? People tell me they want to know more about me and my "voice". I don't know why.

I write dark romance with a message. I think I do. Love definitely doesn't come easy to most of us and the path is filled with pitfalls, some of our own making. And keeping love, maintaining the relationship is the hardest part of all, although some of it just comes naturally. Communication, however, not so much. I'm not great at reading minds. So talk to  me. (I'm telling the man in my life that btw.)

I have faith in love. I do. But it's a fragile thing, if deep and abiding, so a contradiction in terms. And there's all kinds of love besides romantic love, as many as there are different kinds of kisses.

I recently wrote a novel in a style much different than my usual. The publisher didn't like the style so I obligingly changed it but felt like they'd pulled my writing heart out. I was scared it would make my fans dislike me and turn away. But it was okay for some and the others, while not pleased, cut me some slack and indicated they can't wait for my next book. I love my fans. A different kind of love.

I love my kids. And my husband. I love my friends. I love to write. I love my pets. How fortunate I am to be able to feel so deeply. But I'm still a terrible blogger!

Here's an excerpt from Club Pleasure 7:

Only her rage, the basest form of survival, the absolute of last resort provided the strength. That fury, fuelled by abject despair and crushing emotional pain perversely saw her through.

“Are we done?” She shaped and fit the comment as one to signify the end of a discussion, perhaps a negotiation, even a meal.

The words dropped into the tiny gap between them. She ignored her vulnerability, her naked, open self before his complacent, fully clothed form. He’d  opened only his fly during the entire event. Event? Yes, that sounded right. An event, something to attend, to go to, to take part in. She’d been the event, truth to be told. He’d opened his fly and pulled his cock out, long and hard and thick, the plum sized head weeping for her. He’d fed it to her in slow, velvety, delicious increments to the very back of her throat and she sucked and drank from it with blind appetite, past caring about their audience or the previous audience participation, needing the taste and texture of him to supplement her sexual satisfaction, no, to fulfill it. To take and to give. From this day forward, and she was destroyed.