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Wednesday, June 30, 2010


My first typed word of the very first book I wrote was the hardest one I ever had to put on paper. As I made the commitment to put pen to paper, or more accurately – finger to keyboard – and finally took the leap of faith and become an author, there were several questions I had answer. The first question was “why”. Why was I going to write this story and put it out there for others to read and potentially criticize? The second question was “how.” How does one write passion, desire, and love into a story and convey all the things that readers need and want in a story? It was more than just the basics of character names, location, descriptions, and story line. It was not only the typical scenes of kissing and sensual touching, with the words on paper detailing every soft touch of lips, each whispered word of love and desire. More than ever, I now had to struggle with communicating the emotions and feeling of the characters and building a connection between two people with words alone.

Every book I write attempts to express this one universal…love conquers all. With that single premise as the basis for the overall story, the universe within the story then begins to form and build. One then has to tackle the challenge of how to bring the primary characters together in such as way that the attraction between them can no longer be avoided. As the story builds, the desire to be with one another should become a force so strong that the hero and heroine are unable to resist. Differences no longer matter, be it race, socio-economic status, location, age, or another determining factor, and at the end of the day, nothing else matters but the love they feel for one another. Because after all, love conquers all…

As I writer, I struggle to express all of these things, love, emotions, and unfiltered need and desire with my words. As I look back at the stories I have published, and the ones that are not quite finished, the characters that have come through on paper have taken on a life of their own. They have individual personalities, needs, and wants, and I hope the reader can find something within each character that connects them and makes it personal. If I can create a story that generates a strong response, be it laughter, tears, or anger, then I have done my job well and pulled the reader into my imagination, my world, even if only for a few hours.

Reana Malori is a pseudonym for a chick with dreams of world domination. However, if that’s not possible, I’m willing to settle for being one of the best interracial romance / erotica writers on the market. As a true believer in romantic, my stories will always have a “happily ever after” even when hot and steamy bedroom scenes are included. I am first and foremost a fan of romance and erotica and have been an avid reader since the age of fourteen. As I continue to write, my ultimate goal is to provide the reader with a way to live vicariously through my characters and escape into my universe, if only for a few hours.

I enjoy hearing from friends, so please feel free to email me at

Reana Malori

Monday, June 28, 2010


Paying for Ish You want…Paying for Ish You didn’t do by Jeanie and Jayha

Things you need to know before you read this blog:

North Carolina (NC) is on Eastern Standard Time (EST); New Zealand (NZ) is on New Zealand Standard Time (NZST).

Depending upon where we are in the Daylight Savings Time cycle, New Zealand is 16-18 hours ahead of North Carolina meaning today in North Carolina is yesterday in New Zealand


6:30 am Wednesday in North Carolina/10:30 pm Thursday evening in New Zealand

Jayha clocks out at work and rushes home to get Mr. Jayha so she can take him to work. They have one vehicle that they share.


7:22 am Wednesday in NC/11:22 pm Thursday evening in NZ

Rrring. Rrring.

Stirred from sleep, Jayha attempts to ignore that ringing sound. Well, actually, it’s not a ringing sound but the theme song from Warner Brothers’ Pinky and the Brain. It’s fitting being that Jayha has grandiose plans for her and the universe involving a religious official, a treaty, a line of demarcation, and a benevolent despot.

Rrring. Rrring.
Realizing that that noise is the phone and that it probably won’t stop ringing anytime soon, a sleepy Jayha picks it up and croaks out a greeting. “I’m up. I’m up.”

“No, you’re not,” the New Zealand accented voice belonging to The Jeanie disagrees…albeit with great respect because Jayha’s the momma.

“Am too,” Jayha says. She is awake…now…kinda…sorta even though her eyes are closed.

“Mmm hmm,” The Jeanie says all disapproving-like. “Where are you? I rang the house and you’re not there.”

“Parking lot,” Jayha says as she stretches in the driver’s seat of her SUV trying to ignore the fact that she feels like she spent the night engaged in “Fight Club” and the fact that her stomach is trying to claw its way out of her body. Momentarily distracted by thirst, she considers her options for the official drink of the Empire—sweet iced tea. Every restaurant in all of North Carolina has iced tea but only Bojangles has Jayha’s favorite seasoned fries. Yum. Bojangles it is.

“Momma, are you listening to me?” Jeanie asked.

“Yep,” Jayha answers.

“What’d I say?”

“You said: “What’d I say?” Jayha says in an attempt to cute her way out of answering.

“How was work?”

“Work was like that line in Napoleon Dynamite—but since I don’t want a intellectual property right violation, I’ll simply say, that it freaking sucks every night I go there,” Jayha says as she turns into the drive-thru.

7:36 am EST Wednesday/11:36 pm Thursday New Zealand time

Jayha orders her fries, slams a 32 ounce sweet tea and starts in on her reserve cup. Jeanie is telling off Jayha. Jayha deflects the telling off with a question: “When am I going to get some grandbabies?”

“Da h*ll?” Jeanie asks.


7:48 am EST Wednesday in NC/11:48pm Thursday in NZ

Jayha walks in the door of her house, makes a beeline for her laptop, and fires it up. “Okay, home bambina. Hang up, I’ll call you from my landline.”


One minute later.

Jayha scans the email with the part of the book The Jeanie worked on yesterday while Jayha was at work. Jeanie has been on a writing roll and has pumped out over a chapter in text.

“Wow, that kicks all kind of literary a*s,” Jayha says before she and Jeanie launch into a discussion on the direction of the book and outline what each other needs to do today in order to stay on track for the book to be finished.

“’Kay, night. I’m going to bed now because I have to get up early for work, but I’ll call and wake you up so you won’t be late for class.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Jayha begins.

“La la la la la” [Jeanie ignoring her momma sound]

“Fine. Night.”



8:09 am EST Wednesday in NC/12:09 am Friday in NZ

Jayha’s alarm clock goes off. Jayha finds it and throws it across the room. Jayha’s phone rings. It’s Mr. Jayha calling to wake her up for class. Jayha mumbles that she’s up. This time, she’s lying through her teeth. Jayha hasn’t even rolled over.

Jayha’s landline rings again. “I’m up!” she screams.

“No, you’re not,” Jeanie says tiredly as she’s set her alarm for an hour later to wake her momma up from the nap Jayha will take in her car in the school parking lot in between class.”

The Jeanie doesn’t like her momma sleeping in the parking lot. Obviously, it’s cold in winter and hot in summer and depending on where her momma parks it could be unsafe.

Now, Jayha’s really up and feels like sh*t for having her bambina have to get up an hour into her sleep to call her to wake her tired a*s up.


8:29 am EST Wednesday in NC/12:29 am Friday morning NZ

Jayha cranks up her SUV, puts it in gear and drops the hammer all the way to class. When she arrives on campus she drives around for ten minutes not able to find a parking space despite paying $500.00 fee for parking.


9:00 am-9:50 am EST Wednesday in NC/1:00 am-1:50 am Friday morning in NZ

Jayha’s first class, which she’s five minutes late to, which is like on time for Jayha. The whole campus is a hotspot and for most classes students log on to their laptops and take notes. In between taking notes, Jayha responds to email dealing with their books and their boards. To stay awake she sucks back her iced tea.

After class, Jayha stays put. Her next class is in the same room. She lays her head down on her laptop and sleeps for eight minutes.


2:00 pm EST Wednesday in NC/6:00 am Friday morning in NZ

Jayha is on her way home. One of the inner posse (in another time zone) talks her all the way there so she won’t fall asleep. She loves those chicks.

Jeanie’s alarm goes off. Jeanie cusses it out, throws it across the room. Jayha calls Jeanie. “Rise and shine, bambina!” she says all perky because that’s what momma’s do to their children.

“Aghr, sunlight!” Jeanie roars.

“You can’t even see it. You have black out film on your windows, your blinds are down; your curtains are over your blinds.” Jayha says.

“Light can still get in. You don’t know,” Jeanie says.

“Burglars would have an easier time of getting into Ft. Knox than light getting into your room. The only light that could possibly get into your room would occur if God walked into your room and said: “Let there be light.”

“Wow, over the line, Momma.”

“What’s over the line is you thinking light is going to get into your room.”

“Yeah, but I know it’s out there…lurking just waiting to get me.”

“Wow, get up chica so you can get to work. I wrote ten pages in between class. I sent them to you already. I’ve got to do some errands, go pick your daddy up, get some grub and do some homework before I can crawl my tired a*s into bed. I’ll call you tonight at your lunch break.”

“Okay. Love you bye,” Jeanie says.


8:00 pm EST Wednesday in NC/12:00 pm Friday afternoon in NZ

Jayha calls Jeanie during her lunch break. Jeanie works on the book during her lunch. They discuss the progress of the book and swap notes and decide what has to be done tomorrow. Jeanie wishes Jayha “good night;” Jayha wishes Jeanie a good afternoon, bids her to not cuss anyone out at work, make sure she walks out with colleagues when her shift is over; and drive carefully.


8:40 pm EST Wednesday in NC/12:40 pm Friday afternoon in NZ

Jayha finally goes to bed; the Jeanie is back at her desk.


10:00 pm EST Wednesday night/2:00pm Friday morning New Zealand time

Jayha gets in her car and cusses all the way to work (she takes forty minutes of unpaid leave every day the front part of her shift so she can grab enough sleep to work with). Jeanie is at work, working on notes, etc. for the story in between calls.


Four months later:

Jeanie and Jayha share an internet toast of iced tea as their book that they’ve spent six months working on is finally out.

“Yay, us!" Jeanie says.”

“Damn skippy,” Jayha says back.


A day later

Some a**hole puts the book on a pirate website. The book is downloaded over two thousand times. Jeanie and Jayha don’t even sell 100 copies of the book.

“You okay, momma?”

Sigh. “Yeah, all good? You, bambina?”

“Yeah. Do you want to write anymore of the series, momma or just let it go?” Jeanie asks. “That’s a lot of time and resources to throw at a book to get so little return.”

“Don’t know, Jeanie. Right now, I’m not feeling it. Like you said, that’s a lot to put into a book just to have someone take it all away. I don’t know if my heart’s really in it.”

“But what about the books we already wrote?”

“They’re going to have to sit there for a minute. Maybe we can offer them in print. Maybe we won’t offer them at all,” Jayha says with a touch of regret.

Jeanie looks at the email she just received: “Oh, my goodness! I love this book! When’s the next one coming out?” a reader asks.

Jeanie clicks on her other window and reads the book request on a pirate website: “I love these authors. Looking for any of their books.”

Jeanie looks at the list of their titles that have already been illegally uploaded on the pirate website. Clicking on the other window, she responds to the reader: “I don’t know…maybe never.”

“I’ve got to go, chica. I’ve got class,” her momma says.

“But you didn’t even get a nap,” Jeanie protests.

“Doesn’t matter. Someone’s got to make the doughnuts.”

Jeanie can hear the fatigue in her momma’s voice. She worries about her working all night knowing how bad her momma hurts. She worried about her driving sixty miles to college knowing how tired her momma is. She keeps quiet knowing her momma has to do what she has to do. She needs a better education if she wants to get a better job where she doesn’t have to work nights…standing eight hours on concrete. Sighing, she sets her clock. “I’ll call you to make sure you’re up,” she says.

“You don’t have to,” Jayha begins. Jayha stops knowing Jeanie is going to call her anyway. Jayha worries about Jeanie knowing she works long hours at her full time job and taking care of her family obligations. She worries as Jeanie’s sleep is always interrupted…by requests of others and obligations. She feels guilty because she is one of those obligations. If she didn’t go to school, she could get more sleep and Jeanie wouldn’t have to wake up in the middle of the night to call and wake her up and to talk her to school and back home. Jeanie needs to sleep. Maybe then she’d have time to play more but alas, Jeanie’s always writing. They’re both always writing…always. She looks around at the sea of paper on her table…post-it notes, backs of envelopes, backs of receipts that represent the births of many books. She loves these stories…wants to tell these stories. Sighing, she clicks the link to the pirate website and copies and pastes the link into the letter of her and Jeanie’s takedown request. They write so many, they’ve got a pre-printed form for them. All they have to do is change the date and insert the link because part of Jeanie’s routine is searching these pirated websites out; part of Jayha’s routine is writing these letters…always searching and writing…wondering how readers who gush about how much they love them not only steal from them and other authors but preemptively steal from them every day.

“I’m getting at the man,” one reader said.

“Me and Jeanie aren’t 'the man.' We’re just two chicks writing stories we love trying to make it.”

‘I’m only trying to pay some bills,’ Jayha thinks as she sends a payment to the cover artist…and another payment to the editor…and another payment to the proofreader…and another payment to the website guy.

Half a world away, Jeanie thinks, ‘I’m only trying to get money to pay bills…and to get back home to my momma.’

Somewhere, a pirate posts another link to one of their books prompting a thank you from a reader…and more take down requests that Jeanie and Jayha will have to tend to tomorrow.

It feels like the blues when you see evidence of people stealing from you. It’s not just the words that get pirated…it’s everything: your time, your energy, your talent, the editing, the cover art, the formatting, your love…everything that goes into creating a book. It feels like the blues when you see evidence that they know they’re stealing and don’t care.

-Jeanie and Jayha

A kickass tag-team bound together by the pen, Jeanie (the shagalicious wordslinger) and Jayha (the ninja master of h*ll no’s) are forces of nature that will either leave you begging for mercy or begging for more.

We are women who have brains we aren't afraid to use; feelings we aren't afraid to express; and, middle fingers that we aren’t afraid to extend. We pen stories that push all kinds of boundaries and we don’t apologize for it. Our heroines are feisty; our heroes are hot, and our stories are one-of-a-kind adventures. Come visit us at

Praises, compliments, adulation, and the like for Jeanie and Jayha can be sent to:

Jeanie Johnson and Jayha Leigh links:

our website:

our yahoogroup:

our Empire:

Wednesday, June 23, 2010


My name is Serenity King and I am a new author of interracial/multicultural erotica and contemporary romance. My first short story Let’s Ride was published through Beautiful Trouble Publishing in early May, 2010. I have three new titles coming soon from Beautiful Trouble Publishing: Diamond’s Seduction, You Are My Lady, and Simply Beautiful.

This is my first guest blog and I have no clue as to what to talk about. Well, here we go! I absolutely love writing romance. I do not write romance that demeans women in any way, nor do I write the kind of romance where there is a lot of baby momma drama, or the heroine and hero do not stay together. I try to write about intelligent individuals that show mutual respect for one another. It is ironic to me that many readers want to read a romance novel where the hero and heroine do not end up together with a happy ending. Well, to me that is not romance. Romance is just that-- romance. There is already too much disrespect in the world to be writing about it in fictional romance novels. Besides if men and women respected each other more, there would be less divorce and more staying power in relationships. I absolutely will not read something knowingly where the hero and/or the heroine demean one another, unless it is nonfiction. My heroes and heroines can take care of business in a boardroom as well as the bedroom.

I am fiercely devoted to my characters and have a strong passion for Alpha males. My males are Alpha family-oriented men who Live, Love, and Fight for their women.

I absolutely love Beautiful Trouble Publishing, they have authors that write about characters you can love, respect, and admire. BTP Rocks!

Let’s Ride
Serenity King
Description: contemporary, erotic romance, IR (WM/BF)
ISBN: 978-1-936271-64-1
Available at:
Download: Adobe PDF, HTML, MobiPocket PDA (with DRM

Serenity King is a new author of interracial/multicultural erotica and contemporary romance who has been reading romance novels since her auntie placed a Harlequin in her hands at the age of sixteen.

Serenity is fiercely devoted to her characters and has a strong passion for Alpha males. Her males are Alpha family-oriented men who Live, Love, and Fight for their women. She lives in the New York area with her husband and children.

Be on the lookout for more of Serenity’s works for your reading pleasure. She loves feedback from her readers, so she’d welcome your e-mails to



Group email:

Yahoo Group homepage:


Monday, June 21, 2010


We all have different facets in our personalities. They combine to make us who we are. Some parts struggle with others, which bring about our internal conflicts. Eric, one of the Omegas, was a secondary character in Book 1of The Vanguard series but since his triumph over the Ayumu life has changed and now he has too as well.

Eric never found it difficult to embrace his inner geek but ever since he’d been made a werewolf, he struggled with the alpha nature of his beast. With the help of the resident Nosferatu, Daedalus, Eric inherited the Ayumu pack and now he must figure out how to unite his old pack, the Omegas, to his new one.

Then his past knocks on the door, literally.

Someone is about to get some Spice in his life.

Spice has nothing but the clothes on her back when she returns to Chicago. She's looking for a better life, and that means reuniting with her estranged twin sister, Sugar. She isn't thrilled to find out Sugar's boyfriend is a vampire. But then she meets Eric, once the bottle-cap-glasses wearing nerd next door - now grown into the kind of man she'd love to snuggle with on this cold winter night...and he’s offered her his room in Sugar’s house.

Eric can’t believe Spice has returned. He’d given up hope of ever seeing her again, let alone having her stare at him as if he’s sex on a stick. But now that all of his fantasies for them are coming true, reality rears her ugly head and Eric must tell Spice his intimate secret; he’s actually an Alpha werewolf looking for his mate and he thinks he’s found her.


No one could call Spice Monroe weak, at least not to her face, yet she returned to Chicago with nothing but the clothes on her back. If only the strong survived, then why did she feel like such a loser?

Narrow, box-like homes lined the street as she peered at the addresses in the dark. The bus driver dropped her off a block away with directions. Cold winter wind blew through her thin trench coat. She pulled it closer, but her teeth started to chatter anyway. If she didn’t find it soon, she’d turn into a Spicesicle.

She must have taken a wrong turn. Maybe she was supposed to take a left instead of a right? The wealthy, established neighborhood screamed of money and when she abandoned Sugar neither of them had any.

The street sign matched what she looked for and the number on the house appeared right. She gazed up at the three-story building and swallowed around a hard lump in her throat.

Her sister lived here? She pulled an envelope from her pocket and checked the return address once more. It was correct. Maybe Sugar rented, Spice doubted a librarian’s salary was enough to afford a house in the northwest side of Chicago.

The dark brick brownstone sat close to the curb. A wide set of granite stairs led to the front door. Christmas lights still hung from the window and around a tiny evergreen tree struggling to live in the small front yard.

She could relate to it.

It was February. Sugar should have brought those decorations in a while ago.

Spice sighed and stared at her feet. They hadn’t spoken in years. Things in Vegas went from bad to worse for her during that time. She never wanted her twin sister to know but now she didn’t have anywhere else to go.

She knocked. The wind picked up, and she shuffled her sneaker clad feet to keep numbness at bay. No one answered, but she could see a light in the window.

Bad idea. Sugar shouldn’t care about her. Not after the way they parted. Spice hadn’t written or called once since she left, and her little sister never had any way to contact her, yet managed to figure out where to send this letter. The envelope crinkled in her hand. Inside, the note didn’t say much except Sugar missed her.

She spun around and took a step away from the house. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d cried, but shame burned bright in her soul.

Warm yellow light streamed from behind her. “Forget your keys, Sugar?” a male voice asked from the doorway.

She stopped and glanced over her shoulder but saw only his silhouette.

“Oh my God, you cut your hair. Daedalus is going to freak.” The laughter in his comforting voice disappeared and he moved closer. “Don’t cry.” He wiped a tear from her face. “It looks great.” With a grin, he ruffled her short blond curls.

She couldn’t help but smile back.

He thought she was Sugar, her twin sister. Something in his voice sounded familiar. The face didn’t ring a bell though, but shaggy brown hair fell around most of it. He had a nice, easy-going smile. It would be wonderful to come home to a smile like that every night, but it belonged to her sister.

Her grin faded.

He wrapped his strong, thick arm around her shoulders and pulled her inside. Laughter drifted from the living room where three men and an oriental woman were setting up a board game.

One of the men, who had short cropped red hair, looked up. “Where’s the food? You were supposed to grab some grub on the way home from work.”

“We’ll order pizza.” The guy next to her squeezed one more time before walking into the next room, a huge kitchen.

“You cut your hair.” The woman spoke with a thick accent and sprung across the room to run her fingers through her hair.

Spice retreated and bumped against the entrance wall. This game of pretending to be Sugar used to be fun as kids but not anymore. With her hands raised, she kept the strangers at bay as they surrounded her like a pack of wolves. None of them looked dangerous, but what were they doing in her sister’s house while she was at work?

The way they grinned at her and each other, she concluded they were all good friends.

Sugar had everything she wanted; a loving man, friends, and a home.

“Daedalus let you cut your hair?” A short man built like a bodybuilder approached her.

The awe in his voice snapped Spice out of her self-pity and the protector inside reared its head. This was the second reference to someone allowing her little sister to do something. “What do you mean ‘let me’?”

What kind of relationship did Sugar have? She needed permission to cut her hair? Maybe destiny brought her back to Chicago to save her little sister from some monster. Again. All those bad things happening to drive her here couldn’t be coincidental.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Where is my sister, and what are you doing in her house?”

They glanced at each other, confusion apparent on their faces. “What?”

The man in the kitchen stuck his head out of the door, chocolate brown eyes wide as he stared at her. “Spice?” The smile he’d given to her when he thought she was Sugar returned but wider.

Her heart skipped a beat. In the light his face seemed familiar as well. “I know you.”

“You should, we were only neighbors forever as kids.”

For an excerpt in Eric’s point of view follow this link:

I am running a week long contest at my blog, , leave a comment there and e-mail to win a copy of The Alpha.

Annie Nicholas hibernates in the rural, green mountains of Vermont where she dreams of different worlds, heroes, and heroines. When spring arrives the stories pour from her, in hopes to share them with the masses one day. Mother, daughter, wife are some of the hats she happily wears while trudging after her cubs through the hills and dales. The four seasons an inspiration and muse.

Annie Nicholas

Wednesday, June 16, 2010



Why are so many people fascinated by them? Why are they so popular in romance novels?

I read somewhere that women can experience dangerous, yet safe, sex when reading vampire romance. They also provide reason for lots of drama.

Often vampires come from another, more chivalrous age. They’re visceral, sexy, dangerous, and totally free of moral restraints…that’s one hell of an exciting bad boy. Top that off with an old world charm packaged in an eternal youthful, beautiful body, we melt. At least I do.

But vampires aren’t always heroes. Heroes or not, they’re not always men.

Although the majority of vampire books feature male vampires, some feature female vampires.

Unlike the original female vampires who were victims of their vampire lovers, the modern vampires are usually kick-ass, bad girls. Women who know who they are and what they want.

Many of us admire strong women. We want to be like them: confident, sexy, powerful. Like them, we want to find our soul mate to spend eternity with. We want to be a femme fatale that men can’t resist. We long to let loose our inner vixens.

My erotic vampire romance “Carnal Lust” was released last month at

Kes, the heroine, is a female vampire. She’s an intense, kick-ass woman on an important mission. She’s obsessed with killing a man, making a wrong a right. Before she’s through, however, her world turned upside down and she doesn’t know what to think or feel.

Kes is obsessed with killing Nikolai – to prevent him from destroying Earth 900 years into the future.

Kes is obsessed with eliminating Nikolai before he's reborn as the evil vampire who destroys Earth and propels her family into the past.

Once she finds the Nikolai of her present is a good and kind man she's not sure she can hold the very sexy human accountable for something he hasn't yet done.


Kes languished in the arms of her lover, a man she knew not by name but by his deep, sexy voice and his intoxicating kisses. She bade the sun not to set so she could steal more time in his arms, for when the moon chased the sun out of the sky, her lover would evaporate and she would be thrust back into the real world. And the real world was hell.

But this was heaven, if a vampire could be in heaven. She writhed and twisted in his arms, pressing her naked flesh to his. He was lithe and strong for a human, and he never failed to pleasure her.

“Are you in the mood to play, milady?” her lover murmured against her flesh.

She tilted her lips into a smile and nodded. “Wild and rough.”

He beamed at her with a sparkle in his eyes. “Whatever milady wishes.”

When he shackled her to the bed posts, her stomach pressed to the mattress, her legs spread wide, she didn’t demur. She squirmed with anticipation, her pussy clenching.
She turned her head and watched as he spread oil over his beautiful cock and then climbed aboard the bed. She lay there helpless, swaying with the motion as he approached stealthily. Her ass clenched, too, yearning for his touch. When he delivered a stinging slap to her bare buttocks, she screamed in a mixture of pain and pleasure. Never before had anyone spanked her, and she tingled.

Titillated, she rubbed her breasts against the bed, cajoling him to unite with her. But he sat beside her and ran the tips of his fingers across her back, to the edges of her breasts then pulled back. He walked them to the small of her back and withdrew again.

“Do you not wish to make love to me? To fuck me?”

“Are you that anxious to feel my cock move inside you? To be one with me?” He drew himself up to his knees and drew the tip of his cock along her side.

He bent by her ear and dipped his tongue inside. Then he whispered huskily, “Does that feel good? How bad do you want it?”

Her rear throbbed with an exquisite ache but not enough. She yearned for much more.

“I crave your cock. I want you to fill me, to be inside me. Now.”


Monday, June 14, 2010


This post is part of Cindy's Virtual Book Tour, organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. By leaving a comment on this post, you will be entered into a random drawing for a signed print copy of her book All the Good Men and a branded "Fiction for the Bad Girl in Every Woman" book bag. Her other tour stops can be found here:

The Pumpkins, the Pumpkins

By Cindy Jacks

My family worries about me when I talk about fictional people as if they really exist. And I won't even go into looks they give me when I say my characters talk to me. I think they've got the funny farm on speed dial in case I start running through the house wearing only a tiara shouting, "The pumpkins, the pumpkins! The pumpkins are after me!" But I assure them, I'm no crazier than any other author--yes, I know, that gives me a lot of wiggle room--and the things that go on in my head are vital to the production of quality work. Hey, don't hate me because the voices like me best...kidding, kidding. But take last night for example.

I went to bed feeling pretty good about myself as a writer. I finally finished a 65K+ novel I've been working on for months. Though I know a first draft is a long way from a finished product, I allowed myself to bask in the glow of the accomplishment. Desire is a tale of the Greek god Bacchus, his fall from grace and return to glory. All deities grow up, all but one. Until now. Bacchus, the god of intoxication and ecstasy, lives an existence that makes Peter Pan's look like that of a middle-aged soccer mom. When the Council of Deities grows tired of his irresponsible ways and strips him of his divine status, he's cast him down as a mortal to the earthly plane. Now, he'll have to mend his immature ways. But even exile doesn't inspire the god to straighten up and fly right until he finds the proper motivation in the form of troubled beauty named Arianna. Bacchus must prove he's up to the task and, in saving Arianna, also save himself.

I drifted off to sleep with that warm, fuzzy feeling only a completed first draft can give. And then the rudest thing happened!

My characters tore me from slumber to start telling me all sorts of things about themselves that I didn't know. What? How could this be? The manuscript took me months to write in the first place because these stubborn characters wouldn't open up. And they pick 2am to get chatty? Begrudgingly, I staggered out to the living room and jotted a few notes in my journal, then stumbled back to bed. But there Bacchus and Arianna were again making suggestions for backstory I could add, popping up in my dreams and opening up to me about the laughter and tears that would round them out with some depth.

About 5 this morning, I gave up on sleeping and pulled out the laptop. Now I have at least another 10k - 15K to write, which on one hand is good. The more layers of personality and meaning I put into the book, the more enjoyable a read it'll be. On the other hand, I want to beat Bacchus and Arianna. I'm serious, WTH? They could've told me all these things months ago when I was begging them to...or at least have waited until a decent time to propel me out of bed. Characters can be so inconsiderate sometimes. I suppose I shouldn't complain. They could've kept mute and left me with a fluffy romantic comedy instead of one with real roadblocks, desires, and insecurities.

So this morning I took Desire out of my finished draft folder and put it back in the WIP file. Speaking of which, I best get back to work while my muse, Brighid, is all hopped up on caffeine. I always say, a muse in the hand is worth two in the bush. Okay, I never say that. Not even sure what the original version of that adage means. Anyhoo, back to the grindstone. Quick, Brighid, before the pumpkins come after us again! Now, where did I put that tiara....?

Prior to becoming a writer of romantic and erotic fiction, Cindy was a 'jacks' of all trades. Besides obtaining a BFA in sculpture, interning as a pastry-chef, and learning the art of furniture restoration, she worked for ten years in the corporate arena, but now happily spends her days as a full time author. Her first published work--"The Point of Distraction Series"--was inspired by a collection of short stories she wrote to entertain her best friend. Since then she's explored her inner bad girl and penchant for love stories by producing books full of humor and packed with real emotion. When not chained to her laptop, she enjoys belly dancing, international cooking, and making jewelry. She and her family call the Washington, DC area home.

Monday, June 7, 2010


Character Creation

One of the most important aspects in writing a great story is having great characters. Having a believable, likeable heroine is a must, and sometimes that can be very tricky. There are many books I’ve read where the heroine has annoyed me to the point that I want to put the book down, and to a writer’s career this could be a death sentence. Because if you have a heroine that no one likes, then the reader most likely will be hesitant to buy something else you’ve written.

Most romance stories are written from the point of view of the heroine, either in first or third person. Some writers shift POV to the hero but this can be tricky to maintain within the chapter or scene, and might be a quick reason that editors will turn down a manuscript. My first book, Black Leather Pants, was written completely from the heroine, Penny’s, point of view. It was a challenge to convey all the emotions of the hero, Kiley, so I looked for inspiration from my old Harlequin Presents novels. Authors like Carole Mortimer and Yvonne Whittle are true experts in wonderful POV structure.

To develop my heroine, Kaori, in Spirals, I stepped outside my box and wondered how I would have handled a world devastated by plague and natural disaster. But then I had to take it one step further and find her voice. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve read the works of friends and the voices of all their characters are the same. Voice can either be catch phrases or ticks, or even just a habit that is indicative to one character. Kaori is immature, in a way, since she’s been alone for years. I wrote her brash with a tough mouth to hide just how lonely she is. Over the course of the story she grows up and her voice changes, thus giving her an arc.

Also be believable in your character’s background. My heroes in Spirals, Tobias and Orion, are military recon men, and though I don’t know much about recon missions, weapons or ammunition, I interviewed people who did and then constructed these tough men through their eyes. One of my good friends and fellow writer, Julia Rachel Barrett, wrote a wonderful book titled Beauty and the Feast, whose heroine was a chef. The way Julia wrote about food will leave you salivating through the whole book! Whether or not Julia is a chef herself is immaterial; her writing style and the way she presented the story had you believing in the heroine.

And the last thing to remember when creating characters is the setting you’re putting them in. My historical romance, An Innocent Heart, is set in London in 1820. My heroine, Louisa, is a woman hiding herself by being a pickpocket, and the hero, Harry, loves to put thieves behind bars. When writing character descriptions, keep in mind the time frame they are in. Some things are obvious, like not putting a punk hairdo in 1820, but then some things aren’t so obvious. For instance, men of the peerage in that era usually didn’t have much muscle because they wouldn’t have worked all that much, so if your hero is going to have a tight and tone physique then there’s going to have to be an acceptable reason why.

Just remember to make characters unique. Let them breathe, and in some cases, let them guide you in telling their story. Sometimes that takes you on a journey far more interesting than what you’ve outlined.

I been pretty fortunate in life to experience some amazing things. After a short marriage in my early twenties, I moved to Los Angeles and got a job working for an editorial company. Through them I was able to attend the Emmy Awards one year, meet a slew of actors and musicians, and mingle at some Hollywood parties. I’ve lived in France, traveled throughout Europe, Australia and New Zealand. I found a wonderful partner in life who encourages me to reach for whatever dream I aim for. I went back to school and graduated at the top of my class. I am a mom to an amazing little boy named Hadrian. And I’ve managed to fulfill my life long dream of being published. I can’t imagine not creating stories and becoming obsessed with characters I create. I am constantly trying to better my craft and each book is something near and dear to my heart. Presently I live in Baton Rouge, Louisiana and work for a skin cancer surgeon, and I love to hear from readers and writers at:

Wednesday, June 2, 2010


Do you want to quit writing?

How times have people asked you that? More times than I can count I can tell you. Throughout my life, I’ve had people ask me that, especially one of my engineering school instructors. He told me more than few times I wasn’t any good at engineering and I should quit and look for something else, like hairdressing. Please! I’m no hairdresser! Anyone who has encountered me KNOWS that isn’t my forte. To give you an image (I know I’m dating myself here), I sort of look like Roseanne Rosannadana from Saturday Night Live (a very old Gilda Radner character). All kidding aside, I told him what he could do with his advice and graduated at the top of my class. He of course only finished half a year due to personal issues…I showed him.

The same thing applies to writing. I’ve always wanted to be writer and I must admit in the beginning it was rough. I didn’t know what I was doing and there wasn’t exactly all the help and support there is online like there was twelve years ago. I had to slog through and learn stuff THE HARD WAY…which sucked I tell you. Did I give up? No. Did I want to give up? A thousand times. I kept thinking my writing sucked and no one wanted to read my schlock. But you know what? I joined several critique groups and got some great advice. Some of those ladies are well known authors such as Phyllis Campbell, Sydney Somers, Gail Delaney and Jaycee Clark. These are some wonderful women in addition to being outstanding authors. Whenever I’ve wanted to give up and stop, they wouldn’t let me. They could see the potential locked away within myself and wanted me to smash the wall of self doubt blocking it.

I managed to finally take their advice and had my first book published in 2000 and since then, it’s been an upward climb. For me, there’s no other way but up. I’ve had a multitude of books published with more to come! In March of this year, I become PAN (Published Authors Network) eligible within Romance Writers of America. That means I had to sell so many books in order to reach this status if you’re unfamiliar with this designation. All of that is due to my wonderful fans who bought THE WARLORD’S WOMAN. That single titled pushed me up to that eligibility. Would I have gotten that if I quit? No, I wouldn’t have and I’d have cheated a world out of a great story. I don’t have an agent or a NY publisher yet but that’s not going to stop me from striving for one. Sure, I’m still full of self-doubt but I manage to curb that through the online love and support of the writing community not to mention the love and support from my real life hero husband who does look like he walked off the cover of a hot romance novel. He is my constant inspiration for everything.

No matter how bad things get or someone tells you to quit. Do what I did. Tell them NEVER! I do and look where it’s gotten me. If nothing else, show who is dragging you down it can be done and done the best by you. Here is my favorite quote that I live by:

If the dream is big enough, the facts don’t matter—Dexter Yager of Yager Group International.

So if it’s your dream to become a NY Bestselling author, then do it. The hell with everyone else. It’s your dream and you’re the only one who can nurture it and make it grow. Always keep taking workshops and learning because you can’t know everything about your craft. If you’ve only gotten one thing out of this post make it this: You are the weaver of tales and the spinner of dreams. Fill the world with your words and make it a better place.

Thanks for reading!

Tracy L. Ranson

I’ve been an avid fan of history all my life. That love started in my childhood. Instead of reading us fairy tales, my father would read to us from history books that he had, on all different subjects and levels. Intrigued by the past, I hungered to read more…

As I child, I would re-write the endings of all my books if I didn’t like the way they ended. My mother thought it was cute but she had no idea then what would happen today. It was only natural that later I would go onto writing.

I earned an engineering degree before I started writing, focusing all of my time and energy on it. After a while an opportunity to change careers came into play and I took it. My passion for writing came to the forefront.

With the love and support of my husband I am able to live the dream of being a writer. He is my inspiration for romance and what true love really is.

We live in a quite little neighborhood about two minutes from where I grew up. Our house is filled with 3 tails and sets of paws. Thomas, Pavel and Victor our beloved felines. Weird names you ask? My husband is a hockey fanatic and decided to name all the pets with the names of current hockey players.

My dream in life has always been to mold ideas and bring stories to life that are near and dear to everyone’s heart. I am very fortunate to be living my dream now. Continuing to hone my craft with each new book, I hope I am able to touch upon my readers and inspire them.