Archive for Uncategorized

Happy Get Fucked Day

This post is similar to my last one, Happy Fuck With People Day, only different. Funny how I got both April Fool’s Day and Tax Day- on April Fool’s you fuck with people and on tax day you get fucked by people. To me, neither day is any fun.

So I’m saying fuck that to both days, and am going to write about fucking yourself. So much more fun.

Some erotica readers share with others, reading with or to someone else, hopefully resulting in a fucking good time. Wow, there is a lot of the word fuck in this post.

But some erotica readers keep their stories to themselves, for a quick, alone, personal read that hopefully, if the author has done their job correctly, leads to the reader reading one-handed. As a writer of such one-handed reads, I definitely want to encourage the practice, so today I am writing about the pros and cons of fucking yourself.

For the men- frequent sessions flush out your pipes, so to speak. It is rumored to help prevent prostate issues, including cancer. So for the health of all men, ’cause we love you guys- flush early and flush often. If your significant other catches ya, just say it’s better for you than flossing, and you are keeping yourself up as a well oiled machine for years of future stress free maintenance.

Actually that goes for everyone- the old adage holds true, use it or lose it. Keep the machinery well maintained and in proper working order. Your muscles, your fluids, all moving and non moving parts need to be maintained. Consider it preventative maintenance- like an oil change, but fun.

Practice makes perfect. How do you get good at anything? Try it. And try again. Especially the women out there. Orgasms feel different with fingers than with toys. They feel different depending on the toy. Or riding in the car with a tight jean seam vibrating just right. Or riding the, umm, arm of the couch. What? I don’t know what you’re talking about, I didn’t say that! Well, I can’t speak for everyone, but ahem, I can speak for myself. So try, see if the same holds true for you. Or prove me wrong, either way. Only one way to find out :)

Orgasms release feel-good hormones, making you healthier. And making you, well…feel good.

Can’t get pregnant or STD’s either, it relieves stress and can help you sleep better. It’s been known to help with menstrual cramps and sometimes if you have a headache, it helps with that too. Except migraines. Nothing helps those bitches.

No waking up the next morning thinking “Oh my God, who are you?” No beer goggle effect, and hey- with masturbation hopefully you like the one you’re with.

And damn it, it’s just fun.

Cons- there aren’t any!

Well except my personal cons, you can pull something. Just see my earlier masturbation injury post. Or not, that’s just embarrassing. And every damn once in a while, it actually gives headaches. So treat it like exercise- don’t hold your breath, maybe do a few stretches first? Warm things up a bit before trying multiple toys in multiple places while hanging from the ceiling? Not that I’ve tried that one, alone. Just saying.

So when tax day gets you all stressed and sleepless… Or when someone tells you to go fuck yourself…Go ahead! And thank them for the suggestion, that will really freak them out.

Any other benefits you can think of? Or masturbation horror stories? I love horror stories!

Oh, to those who like the taboo PI stuff, sampling new authors, great deals and lots of sex really, really cheap-

There is a new box set out you should totally check out. Shameless plug, ’cause it is also the first multi-author set that I’ve personally had the honor to be a part of. But, it is only the first of many, we have another in the works for next month, too.

Twelve authors writing hot, cheap taboo shorts. Find it here:

Clicking should take you to it's Amazon page.

Clicking should take you to it’s Amazon page.

Finales & Whatnot

Last night I finally watched the season finale of How I Met Your Mother.  I rarely watched the show, discovering it later in syndication.  I think it was because I thought it was odd that the mother was never there and finally she was.  The actress was perfectly cast, I think, when we finally meet her, because you had to like her.

But then, what I’d thought all along – the why was the guy telling his kids about his other romantic entanglements and why did they spend so much time on the days leading up to Robin and Barney’s wedding when he was supposed to have found his soul mate in his wife(?) was resolved and I think really beautifully.  I cried.

I love it when a series wraps like that – showing the future as to eliminate the idea of sequels (remember the Brady Wedding? – double wedding – how totally stupid!).  We don’t really need to know what happens to characters after we leave them.  I don’t think a Friends reunion would be wise.  I don’t want to think that Monica and Chandler got divorced or that Joey is a 50 something loser who is living above someone’s garage in the suburbs.

There are shows that I wish had the Mia ending.  I wanted That 70s Show to end with Fez being a prince in his country and Jackie ending up with him because her character always wanted riches and glamour.  Funny how she is currently w/ Ashton Kutcher in real life.

My Big Bang Theory ending is that Penny gets a part in a blockbuster film where she plays a physicist or that she gets the Priceline commercials (as in real life) playing William Shatner’s daughter.  She and Leonard move to a mansion, Amy ends up with Penny’s ex-boyfriend Zack then Sheldon interviews a new roommate and has him (or her) agree to a roommate agreement – the best ending would be that it would be a woman and the agreement would incorporate the relationship agreement and Sheldon would finally find sex appealing – but of course the more logical ending would be Sheldon finding a roommate who looks exactly like Leonard only twenty years younger and the whole thing starts over with new people and Sheldon, his work associates and the comic book store guy.

It’s funny how I spend hours pondering the relationships of other people’s fictional characters when I should be thinking about my own.  I will, eventually.  I will. I will. I know I will.  Eventually.


Happy Fuck With People Day!

Hi, my name is Jamie Klaire, and I am a buzz kill.

Welcome to my least favorite ‘holiday.’ I hate April Fool’s Day, with a passion. I hated it as a kid, when my mom would get me good. I hated it as a teen, when she made my sister cry- all I remember is that it had to do with cats. I hated it as a mom, when my then 6-8 ish year old would spend the day saying things like, “Hey mom, the sky is green. April Fool’s! Hey mom, my arm fell off. April Fools!” She is older now, and has a more mature brain, but I still hate it.

It just seems so mean. Someone posted a five-minute video on Facebook this winter. A guy arrived early to his kid’s school for pick up. It was in a snowy town and where he was parked had a perfect view of an icy spot on the sidewalk, so every single kid who walked over it slid and fell down. He videoed it. image

I watched all of 60 seconds before I turned it off. I wanted to go warn these kids, some of whom looked like they hit their heads on the sidewalk. His commentary could be heard- “Here comes another unsuspecting kid, let’s watch…Oh down he goes!” I’ve slipped on ice, that shit hurts. I’ve comforted my child when she ran inside after busting her ass on the driveway. I get that some people think it’s hilarious, but I couldn’t watch it.

I’m trying to remember the cat one that made my sister cry. All I can think of is both extremes- either telling her that her cat died, April Fools! Or maybe it’s that she could finally have one? Oh wait, April Fools! So mean.

I lack the fuck with people gene that my mom and my daughter have. My daughter loves to fuck with people. Her greatest desire right now is to be an actress on the “What Would You Do?” TV show. And she would be great!

She loves it when the whole family gets together for dinner out, because after we eat she gets to take her toddler cousin outside so his parents can at least finish a meal in peace. She loves, and I mean LOVES IN ALL CAPS to pretend he is hers. She’s 12.

I was behind her once as she handed the baby to his dad saying, “There’s your daddy.” It didn’t register until after I had walked away but I heard the table we were passing mumble, “Well, his mommy doesn’t even look old enough to count!”

I’ve asked her, “Don’t you mind knowing everyone in here thinks you had a baby at 12?” Her answer, “I’ve been told I look 15.” And that’s better? “Why don’t you say, ‘He’s my cousin, you perv?’” “Because I like to mess with people.”

My mom and my sister totally get it, and find it quite funny. I would be yelling as I walked by, “I’m taking MY COUSIN outside now, take your time eating I want to play with him.”

When I was younger my mom was a foster parent, and she specialized in hard to place, special needs babies. 99% were black babies from drug addicts and prostitutes who said they made the most money when hugely pregnant. We are about as white/Polish as you can get. We’d all be at a store and she would be obviously watched by security. When the guy would come over and ask ,”Where’d you get that baby?” I’d think, please mom, just say he’s a foster baby. She’d say instead, “Where do you think? Didn’t your parents ever teach you about sex?”

I get now that it was a funny reaction to rude people, but as a child I was mortified.

So I hate practical jokes, and I hate April Fools Day. But I’m writing a character right now who pulled one on her boyfriend. It’s not out yet, but her boyfriend is trying his hand at growing vegetables in the back yard, and he sprinkled “Miracle Grow” on his garden. So my character went to the grocery store, bought full size versions of all the veggies he had just planted, and she stuck them in the dirt that night.

The next morning, 24 hours after the Miracle Grow application, he looks out back and sees a full, lush garden from the window and rushes out. She laughingly follows behind him and watches as he sees all the grocery store stickers she forgot to take off. She throws her arms out, laughing and saying, “It’s a miracle!” He laughs and they do it right there in the grass.

Where did I get the idea? My mom did that to my dad when he was going through a phase where he would come home from work and go check on the garden before even saying hello to her. There’s another one in the book too, based on real life, but I’m only giving you one right here.

I hate April Fool’s but I adore Halloween, no one really believes you are who you dress up as. I guess that’s the difference? You aren’t really fooling anyone?

One of the things I like about the pen name Jamie Klaire is that the initials are JK. Just Kidding! Fooled you! Jamie Klaire isn’t my really name hahaha!

So maybe I have a little of the fuck with people gene? Just not a mean gene? I can write practical jokes into my character’s personality but not be a joker myself? Makes sense, I write PI and I don’t do my relatives. I write all kinds of stuff I don’t really do. Some things I’ve written I have done though, I’ll leave it up to you to decide which, reader’s choice.

So how about you? Love April Fool’s or hate it? Did the absolute worse author to get April Fool’s day for their blog post day ruin it for you? Or hopefully at least make you laugh a little?


My Cunt’s Been Slashed

cinderellaclub (200x300)So it’s done – and now I wait.  I’ve lowered the prices on my Cinderella series and on A Ghost’s Chance and Putting the Madge in Danna.  The last two are 99 cents and are my highest rated stories so the point of the whole thing is that I just want more people to read and enjoy them.

Cinderella Club, a 450-page novel, is only 99 cents and the follow up stories, Cinderella Thyme and Cinderella Ending, both around 400 pages, are priced at $3.99.  It’s a limited time offer but it’s a marketing strategy play-it-by-ear thingy.

A_Ghost_of_a_Chance_small promo

When I first started writing and I Googled myself, I was so excited to see my presence.  Thought I would be famous in no time, which, just like winning the lottery, is everyone’s dream.  I tend to forget that for some reason – well, the reason is that I’m too wrapped up in my own desires to notice.

So far it’s been jokingly slow, the sales.  A LOL total of 7 books sold on Amazon and none of my two special well-liked gems.  My life is a comedy in the realm of Seinfeld, what can I say? (a narcissistic wonderland) Of course I am not going to be an overnight success or a success at all financially speaking.  If I am the reincarnation of someone else I was probably 1910s fashion designer Paul Poiret, who was never solvent, throwing whatever money came his way on lavish parties and a matching lifestyle.

Madge Final 100x150

It seems to have taken me longer to realize dreams because I haven’t fully conceived them yet.  But today I was thinking about something that happened yesterday that really got under my skin and then I had a conversation with someone whose life is in complete shambles in comparison.  And I realized that I am blessed and/or extremely lucky.

People have all sorts of problems and it’s almost like there is a bubble of goat’s blood around my family because none of that shit ever happens to us.  Yes, we have had some weirdy but maybe it comes with a different outlook towards life.  We are strong and can really handle whatever comes our way.

So buy my erotic literature if you are curious or if you have a few cents of disposable income, and you think it is a good deal.  Buy it if you like the way I write (which is pretty much the way I speak).  Buy it because I am looking you in the virtual eye and shaming you into it.  Ha-ha.  Buy it because you feel sorry for me.  I know you are laughing now.

I have a supercalafragilistic life.  Seriously.


Travoltaization of Mia (call me Mya)

So – John Travolta at the Oscars  - was that dyslexia or a mini stroke?  I can’t decide.  There are no words.  I can’t watch the clip because I’m so embarrassed for him but I think it is so hilarious that there are widgets devoted to him now.  You can have your name Travolta-ized. Mine is Mya Nicheems.

I love how popular culture can materialize before your eyes with something so odd that you still don’t believe it even though you witnessed it.  This is the stuff of legend.  Only a matter of time that an erotic character called Adele Dazeem gets her fucking reward.

Ideas are percolating in my head and I can’t wait until I can devote time to write them down.  I’ve been very busy with other stuff.  When I can devote time to writing, I’m all in.  Hours of quiet time.  No music playing or TV or people bothering me.

I’m not a multi-tasker.  I do a lot of things w/ my life but they are all one at a time with no overlap.  I can’t understand any other way to focus.  I don’t like thinking about something else when I’m supposed to be doing the other thing and I have a hard time maintaining friendships with people who are all over the place.  I was just speaking to someone like that today and it was so apparent how different we were.

I was always the student who studied, although school was relatively easy for me.  I didn’t make excuses for things like this woman who kept trying to justify her sloppy work by suggesting her family was more important to her than meeting the suggested deadline.  I think she wanted me to agree with her – it was so fucked up.

I never take on something I can’t finish or do something for the wrong reasons.  The reason to write is to explore.  Sexuality, adult themes in art, and the surrealistic resolution to dreams and fantasy.  The extra money is a factor as well.  With that said, I think I will bite the bullet and lower some of my prices on my books to see where that takes me.  It seems like it might benefit me because the reader will be more willing to buy the second and third book in my Cinderella series if they liked the first one after so little an investment, but it still bothers me since $7.99 is cheap for a book.  I usually buy hardcover books for over $20 and paperbacks in the $12 range.

I honestly have never met the voracious reader of 99 cent e-books.  Apparently she exists as I’ve discovered through blogging FB and Twitter.  Maybe her name is Adele Dazeem.  It must be someone’s name.






Taboo Erotica- You Are What You Read??

Every time I read in the paper about some teacher getting caught with a student, a parent sexually abusing their child or someone getting caught drugging, videoing or peeping on someone else for their sexual enjoyment, I feel a twinge.

Did I do that? Did my writing Hot For Teacher contribute to that? Did my writing about stepbrother/stepsister relations help push anyone over an edge? Every time my PI (pseudo-incest for the average reader out there) gets pulled from a retailer I wonder if I should stop writing it at all.

It is a small part of my catalog, but it sells oh so well. I have found a nice formula- I write whatever I want, say like Deflowered At The Marine Masquerade Ball, and I publish it everywhere. defloweredstepgooglepict Then I go back and make a few alterations, resulting in something like Deflowered By My Stepbrother At The Marine Masquerade Ball, and I upload it where it is allowed. Two titles for the price of one, plus a choice for my readers. Do you want to read your erotica with or without step relations? Something for everyone.

On Google Play last month, 80% of my sales were PI, which are only 1/3 of my titles. (Google Play is new to me, I just started publishing there last month. All titles were up a month before I woke up to an email informing me that my PI titles are not allowed and are now removed, so that income will dry up to a trickle now since PI was 80% of my sales. Amazon says they don’t allow it, since the Pornocalypse, but they do if you dress it up pretty, use the word ‘taboo’ as code, and you have to ‘peek inside’ the book to get a real description. Nook and Smashwords allow it openly raunchy, and others like apple and kobo don’t allow it at all. That is fine, I abide by the rules, and had been told Google Play was anything goes.)

Here in the states incest is illegal. But pseudo-incestuous, non-blood related sex is not. Meaning sex with your hot stepbrother is technically OK, as long as every other requirement is met, like both are over 18, consenting etc. But it is frowned upon, of course. And everyone who writes PI finds their own limits. I can’t write step dad/ daughter stuff, mainly because I not only have a step child, but my daughter also has a step dad and a step mom.

But for some reason step siblings don’t bother me at all. Maybe because if my daughter ended up in a relationship years from now with one of her step brothers I would be fine with it. They’ve never lived together and they are not related. I wouldn’t recommend her making a grand announcement about how they met, but I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it. Ok, not much anyway, and what sleep I would lose would be more about how they are treated in the world, same as if she told me she was gay. I’d worry about how others treat my baby, not about the person she was with, as long as she was happy.

And did I mention this stuff sells? Like OMG sells. But the tinge of guilt remains. My husband doesn’t even know I write it. But, to be fair, although he does know I write erotica, he has never read a single story of mine, and swears he never will. He says he doesn’t want to know. It’s not a western or a James Patterson novel, so he isn’t interested and prefers to get his porn visually. Plus he is afraid that he won’t like my writing, and prefers to answer with an honest, “I don’t know if she’s any good, I’ve never read her.” The man can not lie, and this keeps him from stating, ‘it’s crap’ if he doesn’t like it, so as odd as it sounds that he has no idea what I’m up to, it is very sweet of him, and it gives my imagination free rein. Whatever, it is what it is.

One of the things that keeps me from leaking this pen name to my family, massagedstep2googlepictbesides the raunch factor, is the fact that they would see titles like Massaged And Shaved By My Stepbrother 1 & 2. Just too weird.

So, if it is too weird for me to share with family, and it is so frowned upon by society, why am I comfortable writing it? I’m not normally one who would sell her soul for the money. And in all honesty, I have prayed about it and am fine where I stand with my God. Why is that?

Maybe because I don’t believe reading or writing about murders makes people murder any more than reading or writing about vampires or trolls makes one a vampire or a troll. I believe books and the imagination are safe places to explore many, many things, and I don’t believe people’s thoughts or reading material should be censored.

My books were never censored when I was growing up, and I read some doozies. Library and bookstore clerks would raise a questioning eyebrow to my mother over my shoulder as they scanned my titles, and she always defended my right to read whatever pleased me. I do the same with my child. We have discussions about why ideas in books, TV or on the radio may be fun to explore in the safety of her bedroom but would be unacceptable acted out in the real world.

Plus, the forbidden is hot. There is something about doing things you’re not supposed to be doing, much less enjoying, that just makes doing it hotter. So do I really believe that my writing about over-aged, consenting, umm…FICTIONAL, made up, not real, imaginary characters doing naughty things with their equally fictional not related hot step siblings are going to be the trigger for someone to act on these taboo thoughts?

No, I don’t. I do think there is a connection, but I think we have it backwards. I don’t think normal law-abiding citizens are going to start shooting people because of a video game, having sex with their students because of a book or doing their relatives because of a short story. BUT, I do believe those already inclined to go nuts and shoot people do gravitate toward those games, adults who like kids way too much do seek out jobs as scout leaders or houses near elementary school playgrounds or parks.

There is good and bad everywhere and in every occupation. There are honest and dirty cops, priests and everything else. Those with the need and/or intent to do wrong will find a way, no matter the song, game or book currently out there, and they have since the dawn of time.

So enjoy your naughty books, secure in the knowledge that the enjoyment of kinks is normal, the pushing of boundaries is human, and the range of things that turn a person on are infinite. Thoughts are hidden and private for a reason. Who hasn’t wished ill of another but would be horrified if something really happened?

Who hasn’t had the occasional naughty thoughts or fantasies we would never act on? There is a difference between thought and action. My daughter has a teacher at school whom I drool over. I would totally understand if she ever mentions a crush. Those are safe, normal thoughts. But actions- if he ever touches her it is a completely different story. I’m really, really good at those shooting games.


imageOther things- There is still time to take part in Smashword’s Annual Read An Ebook week. It is a massive, week-long sale on from March 2 through March 8, and every single one of my titles are on sale over there, most 50% off, some 75% off and a couple freebies. Go check it out.

Also, those of you who read my last post two weeks ago about how I got my idea for a kitchen product- based erotic short- it is out. You can buy it full priced everywhere, half-priced on the above mentioned Smashimage sale, or even better, it is free with the special code I’m giving you right here on OHW. It’s a fun, quick little read called Kitchen Capers by Jamie Klaire and use code JS57M to get it free on Smashwords until April 1st.

Also again, my first and probably only attempt at a choose-your-own-adventure type story is free today on Amazon. Choices- A Choose Your Own Adventure Story is only available on Amazon, due to formatting issues, and is free from now through Saturday March 8.

Choices is also today’s feature on, a new readers site where they’ll send you ebook recommendations tailored to your taste. Thank you eBookSoda!

The Joy Of (Writing) Sex- Turning My Masturbation Injury Into A Story Idea

Ya’ll don’t know me very well yet, (although now you know I’m from somewhere they say ya’ll) but my middle name is ‘Gee, we’ve never seen THAT happen before.’ So, when I found myself with a pinched nerve or something similar from a recent round of ‘entertaining myself,’ I had to laugh, which hurt quite a bit. So I took something, grabbed an ice pack, and planted myself in front of the TV for a day or two.canstockphoto5734074

I caught up on everything in my DVR that was ‘mine,’ and when my husband got home, after making fun of my injury,  we started watching the things that are ‘ours.’ One of ‘our’ shows is Treehouse Masters.

Treehouse Masters always follows the same formula: the treehouse master Pete Nelson is somewhere on his land, doing something, when a family member comes out and tells him they have a new client that needs his services. He asks what they need, how much is their budget, etc, so we find out up front for example that a lady in this state has $80,000 set aside for a writer’s retreat she’s always wanted on her land. Or that a nonprofit in this other state has $120,000 set aside for an autistic kid’s space with reading nooks and a classroom. Or a massage therapist over here has $100,000 for a massage suite in the tress. Whatever.

Then we follow Pete out to scout the location, find the perfect spot and draw up the plans. His workers all show up, and everyone gets started. About halfway through the show he always gets a call to go repair another ailing tree house, so in each episode we watch a new one being built and another get repaired- two cool tree houses for the price of one episode.

He comes back, they finish up the first one, call in a decorator, and then the reveal- a holy crap beautiful, unique, amazing tree house.

Now to me this would get boring after a few episodes, even though I love tree houses and would love to have one.  If anyone else made this show, I may or may not record it, then fast forward through the whole thing to see the finished product. But the beauty of this show, and the reason I’m writing about it, is the pure, childlike joy Pete brings to each and every episode.

He is infectious. Yes the whole thing is kind of corny, but I have yet to watch an episode in which I’m not grinning ear to ear, soaking up his joy in his work. The man brings a whole new definition to the word tree hugger. You can tell by watching him select a location and build a tree house, that he was born to do this. His childlike, pure joy comes out of the TV set in waves. This man has turned his joy into a very well-paying career, and yet it never looks like work. Who else could turn building tree houses into an empire?

Most writers I know write because they find joy in it. It makes them happy, they can’t not write. If they make a little cash, great, but that isn’t the point. Then you have your greats. They find the niche they love and they love it so much, it pours from the pages. They are your empire builders, your Selena Kitts, if you will. There is a passion that pours itself out all over the place.

That’s what I want. I want my joy to pour out. Why else write in my off time, finding stolen hours here and there between real world obligations? For the joy of it. I’m not sure my joy pours off the pages yet, but that is my goal for this year- to release my joy all over the damn place. Maybe one day from a tree house. Oh, or maybe I could write a story that takes place in a tree house. The wheels start to turn…

Ok, back to the TV. I’m still nursing an injury remember? And I haven’t gotten to how I got my next story idea yet, I just couldn’t pass up spreading the joy.

It seems my husband and I share a love for do-it-yourself type building shows, because next up is Rehab Addict. The star of Rehab Addict is Nicole Curtis- and although she does beautiful work, my personal opinion is that she is the wet dream of the house flipping genre. She is a lot of fun to watch, and her personality and her joy also shines though, but the fact that she looks so good on camera in her tight little tank-tops has at least a little to do with it.

I swear we were just watching an episode, and the camera had a close-up on her doing something important to the house, and explaining it in great detail. The camera pulled back, they all went on with their work, and I turned to my husband sheepishly and asked, “I know she was just walking us through something in detail, but do you remember what it was? Because the whole entire time she was speaking all I saw was boobs, and all I remember now, two seconds later, are her boobs. What was she talking about?”

My husband started laughing at me, but when he turned to me, a little red-faced, he had to admit he had no idea what she had been saying either.

We spend half of each episode questioning her work and comparing it to what we’ve learned on other shows, and half of each episode thinking, ‘oh yeah, hammer that nail in tight, baby.’

But I don’t mind watching her at all, even as my husband drools, because I enjoy her too. And her work, although very questionable under the surface, (You are really just going to fix the roof and paint the wall? You’re not going to open that wall up and fix all the water damage that’s on the inside? What about the mold?) turns out visually beautiful, and her sheer joy in flipping houses makes her much more than just another set of boobs.

So in my injured state, even though I can’t write, my mind is processing. Maybe I can do a story in a tree house about a house flipper and her contractor? Or all of her contractors? But before an idea fully forms we are off to the next show.

My husband is an equal opportunity kind of guy, so he winks at me and says, “Your turn” as he turns the TV to my do-it-yourself eye-candy, Mike Holmes. Now this guy is everywhere- Holmes on Homes, Holmes Makes It Right, Holmes Inspection. This is the guy we compare Nicole’s work to, and this is the guy that gets my juices flowing.

Like just now, when I googled his shows to make sure I had them right, I took a moment, clicked images and had to remind myself- “You’re just getting over a masturbation injury, back away from the Holmes. Seriously. Now! Stop it before you pull something else.” Damn, I have dreams about what he has under those overalls.

Anyway, we were watching Holmes, (that man can caulk my seams any day) and he struck a pose that immediately made me think of Mr. Clean. You know- the bald cartoon guy with the white eyebrows that is the face of the Mr. Clean cleaning product company.

And boom- there’s my story idea. Mr. Clean sneaks out from under the kitchen cabinet at night when everyone is asleep, finds Mrs. Butterworth, the woman-shaped syrup bottle character, lifts her very willing skirts and starts having his way with her. Then the Pillsbury dough boy comes out to watch, and before you know it- Count Chocula, the lucky charms leprechaun, Aunt Jemima, the Morton’s salt girl and the Keebler elves are all having themselves a grand ole time in a kitchen themed adult-toy-story. I even saw the ending in my head- the frosted flakes character Tony the Tiger finishing with a “That was greeeaaaattt!”

Then reality came in- the Morton’s salt girl would probably get me in trouble since she’s underage, plus there is the whole tiger/bestiality issue.  Add being sued for violating copyrights and my idea crashed and burned.

But it wouldn’t go away. It made me giggle and I thought it would be a hoot to write- so I jumped onto and ran the idea through their collective common sense. I even had an attorney pop in there, gotta love Kboards. To do the story I’d have to change it all up. Parody is allowed but using their copyrighted names/descriptions are not.

So Mrs. Butterworth would instead have to become Mr. Bitterspurts, the cowboy-shaped honey bottle, or something similar. Written like that the story is a go, and I think it would be a lot of fun to do.

So now you know a little more about me, how my warped mind works and how I go about getting ideas for my stories. And no, none of this was written under the influence of any good drugs for my pinched-nerve, just Tylenol, lots and lots of free time and my twisted imagination. Ah yes, the joys of writing sex, and the perils of a masturbation injury. Now, you must excuse me, I have a story to write. Unless of course any one else has a masturbation injury they’d like to discuss?

The Meaning of Love

I love peanut butter.  I didn’t before but I do now.  I love the taste, of course, but also the color of it, yellow ochre, that when mixed with titanium white makes a buttery yumminess in my oil paintings.  It is the base color of the décor in my home – the color of the hardwoods and of the sofa, and wicker baskets….

I love to say I love you – I love this – I love.

I love things.  Fur and leather – the look and smell, the woodwork in Arts and Crafts furniture and architecture, and the feel of silk on my skin.  And bouquets of multi-colored roses.

I remember the first time I thought I was in love.  I wasn’t really.  I was in love with the idea of being in love but the guy and I had absolutely nothing in common.  Whenever he opened his trap, he said stupid things.  Put downs a lot of the time and yet the idea of having a boyfriend who supposedly wanted me – it was such an alluring desire that I overlooked the obvious.

The thing I love about books is not necessarily the story line or the characters in a plot, but the connection I feel towards the author, that we are of like minds and desires somehow.  I appreciate when people learn enough about an occupation they have incorporated into the storyline that I believe it to be accurate or when they describe a place I would love to see, or create a man with all the attributes that my first lacked so I can pretend that real life is better than it is.

Not better.  I guess the idea that someone else can contrive something that you have dreamed means that anything is really possible.  You can try that sex position you read about.  You can find that soul mate.  You have the permission to believe in yourself and believe you deserve things…deserve the kind of love that should be real.

It goes places.  Many people transfer their love to their kids, to food, to exercise, to drug and alcohol abuse.  Yes, it can even turn malevolent like that magic smoke that killed first-borns in biblical Ancient Egypt.

We don’t actually need another person to enjoy it.  We love our pets.  Ourselves.  It’s so fucking abstract.

What does love mean to you? Do you feel that you deserve love or should you earn it?  Do the characters you read and write about think about love the same way?  What do you love?

I don’t believe in ghosts and yet A Ghost’s Chance is the most romantic story I’ve ever written.  I wonder sometimes if my soul mate really is that guardian angel who has protected me loads of times from almost tragedies and whatnot.  That would be weird.

I Sold Out for a Billion….

Billionaire Guys… that’s Right: Rich, Alpha Males with Green Charisma.

How’d you like my title? Did I, or didn’t I?

Nah, it just might seem like it. Maybe readers would really like to read about two poor people starving together that fall in love (I’m sure there’s a boatload of authors who can do that too!). Authors writing about Big Buckaroos have been given a hard time of late because we’re all writing about millionaires.

But that’s simply not rich enough. Why be constrained by any figure? Billions are not easily quantifiable. A billion bucks is big:


Really? Yeah!

There is something so primal and hot about being in that infinitesimal percentage of peeps who actually fall under that fiscal rarity, that writing about it is intriguing. Just the sheer lack of concern about money as a concept is a perspective shift from our normal mindset that we just have to vicariously know what it’d be like.

THE TOKEN, my newest dark romantic suspense series, falls under this. Though my hot dude actually invented something so fundamentally cool and important that he made his money from his innovation. However, it did change him. He meets my heroine and sees something of what he used to hold precious inside her—and he wants it. But she can’t be bought.


She wants him for different reasons. And—surprise! It’s not his money. Some readers might get angry that we’re using the “rich” formula. It works. It’s been fun to write it because I’m not, and [most] readers like to read about being rich because they’re not either.

What’s really cool about this win-win formula? Besides researching amazing transport, loft penthouses and designer clothing (that’s the really sucky part, let me tell you), is the woman gets to experience it all. The heroine gets to be treated to the unimaginable… the exquisite. And my heroines are hard-working, smart, disadvantaged and artistically gifted (for the most part). They’re not schleps in their own right. They deserve to be noticed by the billionaire because they’re intrinsically valuable in their own right.

So here’s the run-down on a “formula” with heart: billionaire Alpha hunk with porcupine exterior meets fragile, gifted and underprivileged girl, who has been self-reliant and now has a chance at the reward she always deserved, with the man of her dreams.

Cue the white knight with more muscles than a Spartan, the looks of a Greek god, who possesses the eternal river of money. Toss in danger, intrigue and chemistry that sears our eyes when we read it and—that—is the formula that works. Want a few examples? FIFITY SHADES of GREY and TWILIGHT (though the latter were only millionaires), follow the “formula.”


Some of the above precepts have been used over and over again after these successful publications with new stories and done very well, because this formula is buried inside. Nobody can copy—our voices are too unique. It’s actually fun to see all the unique ways authors have repurposed this theme into something different. I have not read many of the “billionaire” reads. I have seen the glut of them in the top 100. As I write this, EX GAMES, an erotic romantic novella trilogy just reached the NYT bestseller list, thanks (in my opinion) to the “softening” of the audience by HM Ward for shorter works. Ward gave us THE ARRANGMENT and with each subsequent installment The Formula was employed, enjoyed and remains successful. Hugely successful. Writers like Cooper and Ward knew that they could release enough of a story sequence, quickly enough, to engage the reader.


And they have.

My first novella serial was 8 volumes deep. Volume one pubbed in September of 2011, with the final installment released in November of 2012. The Druid Series is what gave me the confidence to branch out from my dark paranormal erotics into just “plain” dark romance. I have incorporated some of TF into my own work, but voice, narrative and just regular story telling make it whatever it has become now. These series are organic and morph into something more along the way.

As long as it has our HEA….

What’s not to love?




HELP! I think I’m a stalker…

Have you ever felt it? The urge to find out more? To dig deep on someone until you know everything there is to know about them? What they do, what they say, what they think, what they write, what they look like?  …where they live?

Oh, now that’s sounding bad, isn’t it? 12668167_s

I’d like to think that we’ve all been there. That every one of you reading this article has occasionally done a little online stalking. But I know from asking around my friends that some people just don’t indulge.

“What?” I say, when they mention a long-lost ex. “Haven’t you googled him?”

Met with a blank stare.

“I wonder what my new boss will look like?” they might say.

“Check him out on Google Images,” I say.

Eyebrows raised.

“Or Facebook. Or Twitter.”


Ah – it’s all coming out, isn’t it. My bad habits. And if you’re reading this, the chances are I might have stalked you online. If I read something good you wrote, I’ll have a look at your blog. And maybe follow you on Twitter. Or like you on Facebook. If you pin something from one of my boards on Pinterest, I’ll be checking out your boards. And your Google+ identity. And don’t give me your address. I won’t be able to resist a peek on Google Streetview. Not so I can come and stand on your front lawn in the middle of the night, staring up at your house. Just because I’d like to know what sort of a person you are and seeing where you live or work might give me some clues.

I’m not a deviant. I’m just nosy.

Suddenly the internet has given me the ability to check people out. Track them down like a detective. And I’m a writer, so what do you expect? I’m observing you in case you might inform a future character in one of my books. (Don’t get excited – you won’t find yourself between the pages – my characters are all composites brewed up in my imagination. But her or she might be living in your house, or pinning your favorite image!)

Blame Google. And Facebook. And LinkedIn, Pinterest, Tumblr, Twitter… and wherever else I might find you on the net!

Now. Where can I go for help?