My kids are watching Looney Tunes on Cartoon Network. And laughing. Snorting actually. Now I've never been a big fan of Bugs Bunny. Or the Stooges, or Tom and Jerry. It's my one girl thing I think. But after years of not being tortured by my brother and his love of all things I hate, I'm actually appreciating the humor. So much different than comedy of today, not politically correct, ribald, and down right inappropriate.
Thinking about it, I realize that I learned a great deal from the cast of Looney Tunes.
The culture of the time, especially Hollywood in the 30's, was fair game. The episodes where they skewered the stars of the time was priceless. The styles the dialogue the who's who it didn't matter, Bette Davis, Clark Gable. They were caricatured and ridiculed and it was hilarious. I was probably the only kid in my class who knew who these actors were. I saw them on Looney Tunes and found an encyclopedia, then a biography. Ta Da. I learned something.
Opera and classical music. I grew up in the middle of nowhere Florida. We had no culture. Okay so we had no access to culture that other thing is probably true but I don't want to be tarred and feathered today. Almost all of the Looney Tunes episodes were set to real music, often times it was classical. And really it was my first exposure to the music. Band would make me loathe the music but that was later. And opera, I never would have heard anything operatic without Looney Tunes. The Marriage of Figaro comes to mind and a field of flowers growing Elmer Fudd's head. My favorite was the Kill the Wabbit episode. I can't remember the opera but I remember bugs in breast plates and long blond braids and Elmer hunting him er her. That big fat white horse and Bugs dying in Elmer's arms.
Speaking of blond braids. Lets talk about cross dressing and sexuality. Yep old bugs taught me that too. It's okay for a guy to put on a dress, Bugs loved wearing dresses. He could flirt the pants off...oh wait not too many people wore pants on Looney Tunes. Just Elmer and Sam.
And Yosemite Sam taught me how to cuss. Oh yes he did. That rackin frackin rabbit. I still use frackin. Even Battlestar Galactica used Frack. It's a great faux swear word.
It taught me about gun safety and map reading, if you aren't careful in Albuquerque you could end up in the Himalayas or Scotland. Other cultures popped up regularly, but you know they were probably completely skewered.
Ducks are fowl tempered and jealous, cats have lisps, canaries are sexually ambiguous, women are in short supply except for granny and she ain't all there. Road runners are real and Coyotes have great credit and Acme isn't a great place to buy things from, but they are super speedy.
Bugs Bunny was a cross dressing con artist with a big mouth but he was smarter than everyone on the field.
But the one thing Bugs Bunny taught me, no matter what great comedy will stand the test of time. And nearly a hundred years later he's still funny. He's still cutting edge. And he will forever remind me of my dad.
When my brother and I were watching Justice League of America, my grouchy father stumbled into the TV room and bellowed "why do we have to watch this childish shit, why don't you watch something grown up," and he turned it to Looney Tunes.
Looney Tunes forever became grown up cartoons for me and my brother and you know maybe, just maybe, he was right.
Mercy
Mother of the year award goes to
Not me. I'm pretty sure I am probably ranked somewhere below Kate Gosslinn at this point in time and I have half the amount of kids, and a husband. I'm not casting stones. If I were in her shoes I would have lost my marbles a long time ago. I do not watch reality TV. And you can't prove it if I did so (sticks tongue out) there.
I assure you I have done nothing dire to my little angels. For one I only have one little angel the other three are all my size or bigger. For two I would have had to leave my writer cave to do it and I just don't have that kind of time.
So why am I worrying that I'm a horrible mother? Well, right now I have the two teens who still live at home preparing our meal. And the baby, well, she'll be five in less than a month so I can't keep calling her baby can I, so the baby knows how to set up the video game machine, I don't know what it is it makes lots of noise and I hate it that's all I know about it. Not only can she pop in the disk and turn it on, she can work the auxiliary buttons on the TV to find the right channel for game playing, and she can keep up with her older brother in Lego Star Wars. He's seventeen.
I'm a bad mother. I let my almost five year old sit for hours in front of the TV playing video games just so I can work in peace. There's no quiet. Never quiet. Someone usually the almost five year old is telling the game off for killing her. She has some interesting language. Most of which she learned from me. And believe me when your adorable little angel and she does look like an angel, says a naughty word in public you learn real fast not to laugh and to make up alternate words. She uses alternate words better than I use the real words. She hasn't quite mastered sounds like F and Sh at the beginning of words yet, so I can breathe a sigh of relief that if she did say certain words in public no one would understand her.
As for the older kids, why yes they are cooking dinner. Since when is that a crime? I'll live with burnt food if it means I don't have to cook. It's teaching them to fend for themselves when I throw them out in a couple of years. No of course I would never throw them out. I need them, who else is going to read the baby bedtime stories and get her snacks when I want to hide in my writer's cave...er work, I meant work. I did.
I'm sure one day they will write a tell all book about me. I'm sure it will all be true. And I'm sure I'll be drooling in an institution at the time so it won't really matter will it?
Yes, I love my kids. Why do you ask?
Ahh, the baby just cussed out a storm trooper for killing her. And the boy child agreed with her.
It's going to be a long long summer.
Save me. Please. I'm begging,
Mercy
I assure you I have done nothing dire to my little angels. For one I only have one little angel the other three are all my size or bigger. For two I would have had to leave my writer cave to do it and I just don't have that kind of time.
So why am I worrying that I'm a horrible mother? Well, right now I have the two teens who still live at home preparing our meal. And the baby, well, she'll be five in less than a month so I can't keep calling her baby can I, so the baby knows how to set up the video game machine, I don't know what it is it makes lots of noise and I hate it that's all I know about it. Not only can she pop in the disk and turn it on, she can work the auxiliary buttons on the TV to find the right channel for game playing, and she can keep up with her older brother in Lego Star Wars. He's seventeen.
I'm a bad mother. I let my almost five year old sit for hours in front of the TV playing video games just so I can work in peace. There's no quiet. Never quiet. Someone usually the almost five year old is telling the game off for killing her. She has some interesting language. Most of which she learned from me. And believe me when your adorable little angel and she does look like an angel, says a naughty word in public you learn real fast not to laugh and to make up alternate words. She uses alternate words better than I use the real words. She hasn't quite mastered sounds like F and Sh at the beginning of words yet, so I can breathe a sigh of relief that if she did say certain words in public no one would understand her.
As for the older kids, why yes they are cooking dinner. Since when is that a crime? I'll live with burnt food if it means I don't have to cook. It's teaching them to fend for themselves when I throw them out in a couple of years. No of course I would never throw them out. I need them, who else is going to read the baby bedtime stories and get her snacks when I want to hide in my writer's cave...er work, I meant work. I did.
I'm sure one day they will write a tell all book about me. I'm sure it will all be true. And I'm sure I'll be drooling in an institution at the time so it won't really matter will it?
Yes, I love my kids. Why do you ask?
Ahh, the baby just cussed out a storm trooper for killing her. And the boy child agreed with her.
It's going to be a long long summer.
Save me. Please. I'm begging,
Mercy
I went on a reading bender this week
and there was lots of gore. Okay not really gore. I'm not fond of gore. I can handle some horror but not gore. Scare the hell out of me, don't make me puke. It's why I stick to mostly romance. Okay so back to the reading bender. I'm stuck in edits and trying to finish a WIP that I won't be able to sell. Really. Until I'm sure this mess with one of my publishers is resolved I can't even submit it anywhere. Enough about that. So thanks largely to the week of free reads from Dreamspinner Press this past week and a couple of ill advised purchases I read a great deal. I read fast, very fast. It's more to the point that when I read I don't read I inhale. All of it. At once. By the same token if I can't get into a book I don't finish it. All or nothing. Most of the books offered last week were short reads. A hundred pages maybe one fifty. I read those in about an hour. They were okay. I loved the story of one, but I thought it was very underdeveloped. Two of them I couldn't get past the first two chapters. I'm not fond of intrigue. And one was down right, okay it was bad.
I love the simple two people meet, they are attracted, some crap happens, they hook up a couple of times, some more crap happens and then its HEA time. I know I'm somewhat of a Mary Sue I guess. I just want me a good old fashioned love story, with some smutty sex, or smex as I keep seeing lately. I want more romance than smex, and I want good smex. And not the same scene every time. Come on people I write this stuff I can tell when you have one scene and you plop it in change a detail and call it a sex scene. Uhm no. I give one star reviews on Goodreads for really bad sex. Not under Mercy's name, huh. I don't rate or comment under my pen name. I prefer to adhere to that idea that reviewing your peers is somehow wrong. And no I've never stooped to rating my books under my real name. I've left enough clues to figure out what my real name is so it wouldn't be hard to tell and that would be wrong.
Back to Dreamspinner Press. I have a love hate relationship with them. I'm not published by them so I think I can speak freely. They are as near as I can tell the premiere publisher of gay romance. Their books sell lots and quickly. But they have a bad habit of putting out some stinkers. By stinkers I mean, how in the fucking hell did this book get bought in the first place, do they have any editors at all and oh my god are you writers crazy you can't, that is just, do you know how to use google to research oh my god. That kind of bad. And quite frankly many of their books are just one long usually bad excuse to have sex, not a whole lot of plot. Just some humping and bumping and butt plugs in virgins.....yikes.
I may not be the best person to call the kettle anything. It's all trial and error really, I've written some pretty cliche stuff, made some mistakes, forgot the lube once. I grimace over that. But I tell stories, it's not about condoms and lube and butt plugs for me. It's about the story. Yes I want some smex. I do. I can even handle the butt plugs if done correctly. But in the long run I want me a boy meets boy story that's going to knock my socks off and make me use them to dry my eyes. I want to wake the house because I'm laughing so hard at three in the morning and I can't contain it. I want for the story to end and all I can do is sit and stare into space and sigh. I want to go to bed smiling because someone has a happy ending even if they are fictional.
Now back to Dreamspinner Press. Sometimes DSP has gold hiding in their lists. I've featured two such books on this very blog. Books that knocked me into next week they were so good. And I'm about to do it again...but there's a hitch. I sort of sort of know the author and I feel sort of weird going all fangirly.
As a rule I don't read books by people I know. I don't want to have to answer the inevitable question. "So what did you think of it?" Uhhh. How do you answer that if you thought it was less than stellar. I'm a coward. I know but...okay. I don't really know this author. I don't sit across a room from her once a month, I've never met her, I know her from twitter and blogs. I respect her and honestly I would never have read her book if it hadn't been one of the free books offered last week.
Yeah Marie Sexton, I'm talking about you.
Okay so because when I read a book that knocks my socks off I like to share it with my followers, all three of you. And I see no reason why I shouldn't this time just because I've had personal correspondence with the writer. And just so I cover all the bases:
I am not a reviewer. I procured this book from the publisher as part of their anniversary free promotion week. I do not profit from featuring this book on my blog (And I had a whole paragraph here that blogger cut out completely when I published what's up with that?) yada yada
So okay, on to the book.
I love the simple two people meet, they are attracted, some crap happens, they hook up a couple of times, some more crap happens and then its HEA time. I know I'm somewhat of a Mary Sue I guess. I just want me a good old fashioned love story, with some smutty sex, or smex as I keep seeing lately. I want more romance than smex, and I want good smex. And not the same scene every time. Come on people I write this stuff I can tell when you have one scene and you plop it in change a detail and call it a sex scene. Uhm no. I give one star reviews on Goodreads for really bad sex. Not under Mercy's name, huh. I don't rate or comment under my pen name. I prefer to adhere to that idea that reviewing your peers is somehow wrong. And no I've never stooped to rating my books under my real name. I've left enough clues to figure out what my real name is so it wouldn't be hard to tell and that would be wrong.
Back to Dreamspinner Press. I have a love hate relationship with them. I'm not published by them so I think I can speak freely. They are as near as I can tell the premiere publisher of gay romance. Their books sell lots and quickly. But they have a bad habit of putting out some stinkers. By stinkers I mean, how in the fucking hell did this book get bought in the first place, do they have any editors at all and oh my god are you writers crazy you can't, that is just, do you know how to use google to research oh my god. That kind of bad. And quite frankly many of their books are just one long usually bad excuse to have sex, not a whole lot of plot. Just some humping and bumping and butt plugs in virgins.....yikes.
I may not be the best person to call the kettle anything. It's all trial and error really, I've written some pretty cliche stuff, made some mistakes, forgot the lube once. I grimace over that. But I tell stories, it's not about condoms and lube and butt plugs for me. It's about the story. Yes I want some smex. I do. I can even handle the butt plugs if done correctly. But in the long run I want me a boy meets boy story that's going to knock my socks off and make me use them to dry my eyes. I want to wake the house because I'm laughing so hard at three in the morning and I can't contain it. I want for the story to end and all I can do is sit and stare into space and sigh. I want to go to bed smiling because someone has a happy ending even if they are fictional.
Now back to Dreamspinner Press. Sometimes DSP has gold hiding in their lists. I've featured two such books on this very blog. Books that knocked me into next week they were so good. And I'm about to do it again...but there's a hitch. I sort of sort of know the author and I feel sort of weird going all fangirly.
As a rule I don't read books by people I know. I don't want to have to answer the inevitable question. "So what did you think of it?" Uhhh. How do you answer that if you thought it was less than stellar. I'm a coward. I know but...okay. I don't really know this author. I don't sit across a room from her once a month, I've never met her, I know her from twitter and blogs. I respect her and honestly I would never have read her book if it hadn't been one of the free books offered last week.
Yeah Marie Sexton, I'm talking about you.
Okay so because when I read a book that knocks my socks off I like to share it with my followers, all three of you. And I see no reason why I shouldn't this time just because I've had personal correspondence with the writer. And just so I cover all the bases:
I am not a reviewer. I procured this book from the publisher as part of their anniversary free promotion week. I do not profit from featuring this book on my blog (And I had a whole paragraph here that blogger cut out completely when I published what's up with that?) yada yada
So okay, on to the book.
I read this book in one sitting. Couldn't put it down. Had to. Had to cook for the kids. I rushed to get back.
The story is in first person POV strictly from Jared's POV. I'm not really a fan of first person, mostly because its most often done very badly. In this case. I barely noticed it was first person. Ms. Sexton tells a beautiful story in Jared's voice starting the day Matt walked into his hardware store. Matt is straight, or so he thinks, he's a cop. It's a small town. I grew up in a small town. I feel their pain.
I think that's why I loved this story so much. I could identify with it. Two everyday protags. No larger than life settings. Just small town ordinary people doing and living and being in a small world. Fitting in in a small town is hard. And I don't have to imagine how people who are different are treated. This is a story of finding true love. Having the courage to accept that love. And standing up and being. Just being. I bawled my fricken head off.
This story was beautifully written. The attention to detail. Geo caching, I've never even heard of that. Probably because around here we'd just end up in a swamp somewhere. The lush Colorado scenery. This was a perfect book.
With no butt plugs. Not that there is anything wrong with that.
I linked to the publisher above the photo. Really go buy this book. You will not regret a single word of it.
And just as a heads up and totally unrelated. Marie is going to be my first guest blogger. Next week. So all of you who pop in a read and look at my pretty men. I'm expecting you guys to come in and make Marie feel welcome. And if you want to know more about Marie here's the link to her site. I'd give you the link to her tumbler but she has a tendency to cause mass heart failure.
and you can find her here too
How do you write that?
stream of consciousness
n. pl. streams of consciousness
There has been a lot of talk recently about the various styles of writing in the rom community. The plotter v. pantster. Outline v. muse. You know the old how do you create your masterpiece and what am I doing wrong question of the century.
There is also that whole, tell me how to write a book question, I get upon occasion. How do you write a fifty-thousand a hundred thousand word manuscript and sell it in a month? Well, first, a month? Yeah, good luck with that one. About the first part. You sit and you write, and then you write some more and guess what you write again and again until you get to a point where you can write The End. As to telling a newbie how to write, well, hon, everyone writes differently. What works for me will most likely not work for you. Writing is a trial and error form of art, if you have some basic idea as to how words are put together and where to stick punctuation then you are as set as anyone. How you craft your story, your process, your muse, your voice...see the link there. Your. It's yours. It's not mine. I can't tell you how to write a story anymore than I can tell you how to eat or sleep or where to work. You are not me. I am not you.
1. A literary technique that presents the thoughts and feelings of a character as they occur.
2. Psychology The conscious experience of an individual regarded as a continuous, flowing series of images and ideas running through the mind.
There has been a lot of talk recently about the various styles of writing in the rom community. The plotter v. pantster. Outline v. muse. You know the old how do you create your masterpiece and what am I doing wrong question of the century.
There is also that whole, tell me how to write a book question, I get upon occasion. How do you write a fifty-thousand a hundred thousand word manuscript and sell it in a month? Well, first, a month? Yeah, good luck with that one. About the first part. You sit and you write, and then you write some more and guess what you write again and again until you get to a point where you can write The End. As to telling a newbie how to write, well, hon, everyone writes differently. What works for me will most likely not work for you. Writing is a trial and error form of art, if you have some basic idea as to how words are put together and where to stick punctuation then you are as set as anyone. How you craft your story, your process, your muse, your voice...see the link there. Your. It's yours. It's not mine. I can't tell you how to write a story anymore than I can tell you how to eat or sleep or where to work. You are not me. I am not you.
Crafting a story isn't easy. No, sweet readers, writing is not easy. You can't simply say I'm going to write me a romance novel this month because it's easy. It's not easy. The first one is not easy, the last one is not easy. There is no simple formula. Boy meets Girl (or in my case Boy meets Boy) is as simple as it gets. If they say howya doin? and move on, that's as simple as it gets. They meet they acknowledge each other the end. But there is no story there. The story is what happens after they meet. It isn't all about jumping into bed and having some hot sex. The end. Okay so there is a market for that but even erotica has a plot beyond sex sex sex and more sex. You need a plot, you need conflict, you need a reason to make your reader stay with you after the hot sex. You need to make your reader laugh, to cry, to fall in love with your characters. And that my friends is the hard part. You have to make your characters living, breathing, human beings. You need to make your character's lives more important to your reader than their own mundane life at that moment. You must craft believable people, people you want to know in real life. People you will fight for, will die for....okay that's a bit extreme but you get the gist.
Yes you can sit down at your computer and pound out 200 pages of story. Anyone can sit down and pound out 200 pages if they are determined enough to do it. That's just a habit. Sit type, page one, sit type, page two, and so on until on whatever page you decide is the page the end should be typed upon. The question is, is the story you have in those pages something you can work with. Can you read this from page one to page last and love these people? Can you edit and rewrite this until it's perfect? Will an editor LOVE your story?
It's work, it's not easy, it's damned hard. Sometimes it's impossible.
My crazy brain whirls with story ideas. Most of them are so unbelievably stupid I wouldn't dare submit them. Some are so heartbreaking I can hardly tell the story without needing some serious medication.
I am a pantster, which means I write free form stream of conscious style. I sit, my characters tell me their story, I dictate. When they stop talking I stop writing. I sometimes never write another word in their story. Sure I could plot it out from there. I've tried but it feels forced and terrible to me. I honor my muse and I go with the flow, it's how I roll. But that might not work for you. Sit write and write some more. You might be the type who has to know every detail of every second of your story before you can write it. I have friends who plot out each page down to the last detail, they research before they write, spending hours upon hours on tiny details they may never use. I've seen their outline, my mind is boggled just thinking about it. They wrote an entire book in outline form. It took them weeks and they haven't even sat down to put their story in book format. WTF.
It's not wrong. I can't do it, and I find it silly and time consuming. But it's not wrong. It's their process. And as much as I find their process silly and time consuming, they find mine just as silly and completely irrational.
Of course it's irrational. I mean you do not want to live in my mind. I have conversations with people who are not real. I live in a heightened state of everything when I'm writing. I laugh at improper times because one of my characters just said something hilarious, that he will not repeat when I have my laptop fired up. I cry because one of my characters just revealed a plot point I didn't see coming. I've done things to characters that broke my heart the whole time I wrote it. I argued with the character I did it too, begging him not to make me do this. I didn't want to do what I did to Nathan. I didn't. That scene in In From the Cold was as much of a surprise to me as it was to you. I cried. No I bawled and lay in the fetal position in my bed for hours after that.
Can you do that? Can you write a scene so heinous that you question your own sanity afterward? Can you deal with the ups and downs of entire relationships, from the bliss of a first kiss, through the awful moment when everything falls apart, can you write a bittersweet happy ending?
Can you?
If you can, then do it.
Sit down with whatever form of writing contraption you prefer and write.
It is that simple.
Really.
Oh and you might want to have a good shrink on speed dial.
Good luck.
Mercy
Mercy
Cross genre writing
Recently I sold a book to Liquid Silver Books. Wicked Game. Coming later this summer or early fall. The artist will be the fabulous April Martinez who did the incredibly gorgeous cover for Double Coverage. Wicked Game is a football book. I like football and football players. I refer you back to January and the early days of this blog for my adventures with the high school football team. Get your heads out of the gutter. Or put them in the gutter really, I don't mind, I'm old enough to want a little scandal in my life. Even if it was non-existentent. Okay, really, I have to wonder how I didn't have a reputation. My god I was the only girl with a bunch of boys. I knew all of their secrets. Why is it I kept this sweet girl reputation considering....okay sorry for wool gathering there.
Anyway, as I was saying, Wicked Game is a football romance. Or to be specific it is a boy who happens to be the quarterback of an unnamed Miami team...coughs hmmm hmmm...who's life and career has suddenly blossomed into something he can't handle on his own. He needs a personal assistant. Someone who can keep his workout, charity function, promotion and poster posing schedules under control, and maybe fend off all of the football groupies in the process. What he gets is his high school adversary.
And I don't mean on the field.
Maybe that will be my next boy meets boy book. But Wicked Game is not a boy meets boy book, it's not even a boy meets girl meets boy book. It's a plain old traditional boy meets girl story.
Gasp, I wrote a heterosexual book! Well, yeah, I've written several of them actually. I am a girl, I do still enjoy a good boy meets girl, boy gets his comeuppance at the hands of said girl and they all live happily ever after kind of story. And believe me once you meet Jaime and Pepper you will know what I mean.
But you write menage that is way too close to the m/m/f variety and you write gay romance, why did you write a het romance?
Honestly, I didn't know I wasn't allowed to play for all teams. And believe me, I play for all teams when it comes to my writing. In my private life I am a one man woman. I am not anti any sex or sexual preference. I prefer to write about men, I identify more closely with my heroes than with my heroines, but I can and will write about pussy. And sometimes, there is just so much male posturing you can stand before you need to talk about purses and dresses and lip gloss just to know your girl card is still valid.
So yes. I made the conscious choice to publish Wicked Game as Mercy when I could have published it as Emjai. I wanted to carry on with the football theme I began in DC. I want to be known for my football romances. Forgive me for dipping my toes into the boys only club and back sliding. It will happen again.
I love everyone and I am a slave to my muse. I can't be three different people, the real me gets lost, so right now, it's just me and Mercy and Mercy writes for everyone.
To all of my straight friends, girls and guys. To all of my gay friends, and everyone in between.
Love and kisses,
Mercy
Now go buy one of my books. If it's In From the Cold, you better grab the tissue box, because it's at least a three hankie read.
Anyway, as I was saying, Wicked Game is a football romance. Or to be specific it is a boy who happens to be the quarterback of an unnamed Miami team...coughs hmmm hmmm...who's life and career has suddenly blossomed into something he can't handle on his own. He needs a personal assistant. Someone who can keep his workout, charity function, promotion and poster posing schedules under control, and maybe fend off all of the football groupies in the process. What he gets is his high school adversary.
And I don't mean on the field.
Maybe that will be my next boy meets boy book. But Wicked Game is not a boy meets boy book, it's not even a boy meets girl meets boy book. It's a plain old traditional boy meets girl story.
Gasp, I wrote a heterosexual book! Well, yeah, I've written several of them actually. I am a girl, I do still enjoy a good boy meets girl, boy gets his comeuppance at the hands of said girl and they all live happily ever after kind of story. And believe me once you meet Jaime and Pepper you will know what I mean.
But you write menage that is way too close to the m/m/f variety and you write gay romance, why did you write a het romance?
Honestly, I didn't know I wasn't allowed to play for all teams. And believe me, I play for all teams when it comes to my writing. In my private life I am a one man woman. I am not anti any sex or sexual preference. I prefer to write about men, I identify more closely with my heroes than with my heroines, but I can and will write about pussy. And sometimes, there is just so much male posturing you can stand before you need to talk about purses and dresses and lip gloss just to know your girl card is still valid.
So yes. I made the conscious choice to publish Wicked Game as Mercy when I could have published it as Emjai. I wanted to carry on with the football theme I began in DC. I want to be known for my football romances. Forgive me for dipping my toes into the boys only club and back sliding. It will happen again.
I love everyone and I am a slave to my muse. I can't be three different people, the real me gets lost, so right now, it's just me and Mercy and Mercy writes for everyone.
To all of my straight friends, girls and guys. To all of my gay friends, and everyone in between.
Love and kisses,
Mercy
Now go buy one of my books. If it's In From the Cold, you better grab the tissue box, because it's at least a three hankie read.
The glamorous life of an erotic romance author
If the tons of other glimpses into my personal life has left you begging for more, well, today is your lucky day. I am going to walk you through my day. From my late morning wake-up at the hands of my incredibly hot upstairs man maid. Through the arrival of my personal trainer Fabiano, and my daily massage and facial. Oh the pretty men I employ. I am nothing if not generous. My personal chef knows I do not care for breakfast, so after my morning routine he has an exquisite lunch waiting just for me. My husband has long since left for his high powered job. My exceptionally intelligent not to mention gorgeous children are all away at school making me proud. It's just me, and Julio who holds my feet while I dine. Rubbing them gently, being very careful not to tickle because he knows I am sensitive and that I have a tendency to kick when I am displeased. He was a tough train. But I managed. After lunch I sit behind my state of the art computer and write my requistie ten thousand words in an hour. And I am free for the rest of the day. I lounge by my pool with Enrique, my singing cabana boy. Soon it will be time for my lovely family to return home. And....
Yeah, that's a load of bullshit. But I can dream can't I?
In reality, I am a stay at home mom to one spoiled rotten pre-school girl child who thinks she is a princess. I have three more children, one who left the nest last December, and two more in high school. My days are filled with driving people to their destinations. My car is currently broken so that chore now includes my husband. I spend most of my time trying to keep a 4 year old entertained. My house is most often a disaster zone. Too many kids, and did I mention we have cats? We have two long haired cats and this time of year there is enough fur on the floor to make me wonder if one of them exploded. I cook, I delegate the cleaning, and I deal with petty bickering and horrible television choices.
When do I write?
Insert bitter laughter here....yeah about that...I try to get in four hours a day, usually three to five thousand words. I do a couple of hours after dinner while the kids control the TV and babysit the little one, and then a couple more after I put demon toddler to bed and shut the other two in their caves of solitude. The key word there is 'try'. Some nights I get very little done. I have so many time wasters programmed onto this computer it isn't even funny.
And that's it. My exercise involves chasing kids and shopping for the food that gives them energy for me to chase them. I have never had a massage, and I've pretty much been the only person who can cook in my life since I was eleven years old. Though my son seems to be a natural. He does what I tell him and he doesn't burn things. My daughters, yeah, not so much on the not burning stuff.
Okay, so there you have it, the day to day workings in my oh so glamorous life. In August the demon toddler starts school, and I might go back to work....really buy my books, because I don't want to go back to work, I'm begging you don't make me go I'd rather watch Dora and Barney and Phineas and Ferb and iCarly even if they make my brain hurt.
And now you know the real reason I call this blog Beg for....,
Mercy
oh and speaking of Cabana boys, I still want this one. This one is my favorite. His name is Connor, at least that's what they call him when he's making them very very happy. Yeah, okay, that's my dirty little secret. Shh.
Yeah, that's a load of bullshit. But I can dream can't I?
In reality, I am a stay at home mom to one spoiled rotten pre-school girl child who thinks she is a princess. I have three more children, one who left the nest last December, and two more in high school. My days are filled with driving people to their destinations. My car is currently broken so that chore now includes my husband. I spend most of my time trying to keep a 4 year old entertained. My house is most often a disaster zone. Too many kids, and did I mention we have cats? We have two long haired cats and this time of year there is enough fur on the floor to make me wonder if one of them exploded. I cook, I delegate the cleaning, and I deal with petty bickering and horrible television choices.
When do I write?
Insert bitter laughter here....yeah about that...I try to get in four hours a day, usually three to five thousand words. I do a couple of hours after dinner while the kids control the TV and babysit the little one, and then a couple more after I put demon toddler to bed and shut the other two in their caves of solitude. The key word there is 'try'. Some nights I get very little done. I have so many time wasters programmed onto this computer it isn't even funny.
And that's it. My exercise involves chasing kids and shopping for the food that gives them energy for me to chase them. I have never had a massage, and I've pretty much been the only person who can cook in my life since I was eleven years old. Though my son seems to be a natural. He does what I tell him and he doesn't burn things. My daughters, yeah, not so much on the not burning stuff.
Okay, so there you have it, the day to day workings in my oh so glamorous life. In August the demon toddler starts school, and I might go back to work....really buy my books, because I don't want to go back to work, I'm begging you don't make me go I'd rather watch Dora and Barney and Phineas and Ferb and iCarly even if they make my brain hurt.
And now you know the real reason I call this blog Beg for....,
Mercy
Let's talk about agents
and whether or not as an e-writer I need one.
I don't think I need one.
I made the conscious decision years ago not to pursue print publication because of the hassle of finding an agent. I write outside the mainstream anyway. I write what I choose and when I choose. I do not want to get locked into a three book contract. If I want to write a heterosexual romance this month I know where to submit that book to. If I choose to write a gay romance next month I have entirely different options for publication. If I want to write a mfm menage or a mmm menage I know where to send these as well. I can do this myself. Draft a submission package, read and understand the contracts, (okay the Ellora's Cave contract needed a second set of eyes). I am capable of doing the research on the various publishers. Places like editors and preditors, and Piers Anthony's site are pretty good starting places. I've asked writers I'm familiar with how they feel about their publishers.
Most importantly, I don't want to share 10 or 15 percent of my 35 percent with anyone.
But lately I'm starting to wonder if maybe I should hire an agent to act on my behalf with the various companies. What if I can get a better deal with a publisher I've never heard of? And there is that small little question of an agent acting on my behalf when the publisher fails to hold up their end of the bargain. Would an agent know if publisher x is about to buck their reputation and go incommunicado? Or worse, go out of business all together, with no notice.
Really, I'm asking.
I would just like to write my little stories and get them published. I would like for them to actually make some money, because I really can't do this as a hobby. It takes up a great deal of my time. I want to make people happy, and I want to be happy. Is this such a bad thing to ask?
I've made a couple of bad decisions. I shouldn't have published with Cerridwen Press when they were still new. I should have waited to submit to them, if at all.
It's all trial and error. I've sold six books on my own. I can sell six more. It's not that hard. But as I get further and further into this business my time is less and less. My kids can't bear the brunt of that.
What exactly could an agent do for me as an e-published author?
I'm sighing.
Mercy
I don't think I need one.
I made the conscious decision years ago not to pursue print publication because of the hassle of finding an agent. I write outside the mainstream anyway. I write what I choose and when I choose. I do not want to get locked into a three book contract. If I want to write a heterosexual romance this month I know where to submit that book to. If I choose to write a gay romance next month I have entirely different options for publication. If I want to write a mfm menage or a mmm menage I know where to send these as well. I can do this myself. Draft a submission package, read and understand the contracts, (okay the Ellora's Cave contract needed a second set of eyes). I am capable of doing the research on the various publishers. Places like editors and preditors, and Piers Anthony's site are pretty good starting places. I've asked writers I'm familiar with how they feel about their publishers.
Most importantly, I don't want to share 10 or 15 percent of my 35 percent with anyone.
But lately I'm starting to wonder if maybe I should hire an agent to act on my behalf with the various companies. What if I can get a better deal with a publisher I've never heard of? And there is that small little question of an agent acting on my behalf when the publisher fails to hold up their end of the bargain. Would an agent know if publisher x is about to buck their reputation and go incommunicado? Or worse, go out of business all together, with no notice.
Really, I'm asking.
I would just like to write my little stories and get them published. I would like for them to actually make some money, because I really can't do this as a hobby. It takes up a great deal of my time. I want to make people happy, and I want to be happy. Is this such a bad thing to ask?
I've made a couple of bad decisions. I shouldn't have published with Cerridwen Press when they were still new. I should have waited to submit to them, if at all.
It's all trial and error. I've sold six books on my own. I can sell six more. It's not that hard. But as I get further and further into this business my time is less and less. My kids can't bear the brunt of that.
What exactly could an agent do for me as an e-published author?
I'm sighing.
Mercy
Don't want to blog today
I am a vampire. Okay, so I don't like suck blood or sparkle or anything, dude, please. I am one of those people who works best in the late evening and early morning. It's not unusual for me to still be sitting behind my computer "working" at one or on the rare occasion two in the morning. As a result I do not get up early. In fact, if I can stay in bed until noon I will. Morning people scare me. Seriously, anyone who wakes up before the sun if they do not have to go to work, you people just, just....oh hush and stop being perky. Perky people annoy the crap out of me, especially you morning loving perky people. Just hush, I'm sleeping.
But I have a four year old daughter, so guess how often I get to sleep late? If she sleeps until nine then I count myself lucky. She goes to school in August. That's my new mantra, August, August, August.
This morning not only was I up long before nine, I was out of the house, before nine. I drove a motor vehicle before nine. And nobody died. Praise be to... The kid had potato chips for breakfast. I let her pick what she wanted. I probably should go scramble some eggs or nuke some oatmeal or something else she won't eat. I'm a horrible mother. I planted her in front of Nick Jr. the minute we got home. I'm hiding from Bubble Guppies.
My oldest child is twenty. Yes Twenty and I have a four year old. I shouldn't have to watch baby shows this late in life. It could be worse, it could be Barney, or Blues Clues. Or Teletubbies. OMG did you ever see those Boo Bah things. Most of the time I'm wondering what the creators of these shows were smoking.
Happy Tuesday,
Mercy
But I have a four year old daughter, so guess how often I get to sleep late? If she sleeps until nine then I count myself lucky. She goes to school in August. That's my new mantra, August, August, August.
This morning not only was I up long before nine, I was out of the house, before nine. I drove a motor vehicle before nine. And nobody died. Praise be to... The kid had potato chips for breakfast. I let her pick what she wanted. I probably should go scramble some eggs or nuke some oatmeal or something else she won't eat. I'm a horrible mother. I planted her in front of Nick Jr. the minute we got home. I'm hiding from Bubble Guppies.
My oldest child is twenty. Yes Twenty and I have a four year old. I shouldn't have to watch baby shows this late in life. It could be worse, it could be Barney, or Blues Clues. Or Teletubbies. OMG did you ever see those Boo Bah things. Most of the time I'm wondering what the creators of these shows were smoking.
Happy Tuesday,
Mercy
Why I read gay romance oops Male/Male
I started reading romance when I was 12. I remember exactly when. Sweet Dreams Romance and First Love from Silhouette were brand new lines for teen girls way back in the early 80's. Back then there wasn't a whole lot of genre style fiction for teens. I saw those books at Sears, yes Sears had a book department back then, and I lusted over them. For Christmas in 1981, I got the first ten in each series. It was the greatest gift I ever received. And with the exception of two or three that went missing (borrowed and never returned) I still have those books. Actually, by the time I was 18 I think I had about a hundred and fifty of those books. It was just last year that I went through them and thinned the collection. Nearly broke my heart to part with the ones I didn't consider keepers. But you know I made a pretty penny on Ebay for them, so that was a balm at least. I have around fifty left. All my favorites. All dog eared and well loved.
Of course, in those years I started sneaking the bodice busters into the house. OMG the porn. The rapey, sweeping, epic, romance. And I hid those under my bed. I'd read for the story then go back and read for the dirty parts. I never bought one. Probably never read one that was new. And seriously don't remember the titles. I just remember the heroine was usually poor, virginal. The hero rich and domineering. The first love scenes were some degree of forced sex. And I was repulsed and attracted at the same time. Pitiful. And a far cry from the sweet tender love going on in the teen series.
I bought my first adult romance in 1991. Yes. Really. It was Gentle Rogue by Johanna Lindsey. The Fabio cover screamed at me from the bookshelves of every store that carried books. For two months. I was pregnant with my first child. Avoided it like the plague. And then when I was a new mommy and going out of my mind with need of something to distract me from the HUGE need to run the fucking hell away from the dirty diapers and formula spewing changeling of a baby, I bought the book and devoured it in one sitting while holding the little monster while she slept. She wouldn't sleep in her crib. Just on me. I fell in love with James Mallory. IN LOVE WITH. Yes it was a little too rapey, not quite rapey but close, and yes he could flame just a bit. All of Lindsey's heroes seemed to flame just a bit now that I think about it. Over the next few years I think I read all of her books. Moved on to Woodiwiss, Henley, Quinn. And then to their contemporary counterparts Roberts and Phillips.
I've had a thirty year love affair with romance it would seem. Yes I read other genres. Straight fiction. Some horror. Sci-fi fantasy. The two Anne's: Rice and McCaffrey. I would say that Interview was my first taste of male male romance....GASP that's blasphemy. Oh shut up when Lestat turned Louis it was, well, arousing. Admit it. There might not have been sex but that was hot as fuck and you know it.
But really I haven't loved romance for a long time. Maybe five years now, I've actually loathed the genre. The same books over and over again. The feeling of wading through the same cliches with each new author. The old authors were stuck in the same holding pattern. It was boring me to tears. There were maybe six stories in each genre times a hundred mimics every time I went to the bookstore. Pretty covers. We went from the Fabio style to the nondescript flower or something plain because the Fabio era embarrassed us. To cartoon covers. American romance was no longer welcome in historical. Right at the time I'd finished my western. Highland Rogues were all the rage. The contemporary went out of style. Urban fantasy came into style. vampires took over...again. Weres followed...again. Now American historicals are back in style, between the hundreds of regency era books. And Contemporary is headed back. Notice the cycle. Stick around long enough and it will change again. I promise.
So that's where I've been the past five years. BORED OUT OF MY MIND. I'm not fond of Regency romance. In fact I sort of hate it. I prefer Anne Rice to Twilight. And I'm really not a fan of Urban Fantasy I don't care how kick ass the heroine is.
I like contemporary. No I LOVE contemporary romance. But contemporary romance is filled with girly-girls who only love shoes and shopping. Does not appeal to me. Vapid superficial women who are only arm candy for some rich asswipe....Harlequin please take notes. I want a good strong woman who doesn't need to be rescued. I want a woman like me.
Aha, there's the problem. I'm not like other women. I'm one of those weird unfeminine women who can throw a football or a baseball as well as the hero. I understand cars and how they work and I am adept at using a power saw. I outgrew the TSTL heroine a long time ago.
So color me shocked as fucking hell when I think I can write a gay romance. I mean I'm not a gay man what the hell do I know about it right? But we've covered this issue go back a few pages on the trusty blog for my messed upedness post. Anyway, the old fall back of, if you want to write in the genre you must read in the genre thing was applied. I bought my first all boy sex book. Then another and another and well. Let's just say I'm hooked.
The stories are fresh. Sometimes they are cliched. Sometimes the stronger partner has to save the weaker partner. Sometimes the sex is just plain ridiculous. And sometimes you get stinkers. But it's the story that does it for me. Stories of fitting in, finding love, finding a life, acceptance. Or not. The themes are as varied as straight romance. Historical, fantasy, horror, mystery. But I love the contemporaries. LOVE THEM.
Awhile back I featured a book on this blog. Finding Zach. Go look for the post. Today I'm going to do the same for another book.
I'm not a reviewer. I do not know this author, she does not know me. I bought this book with my money. The only reason I'm even mentioning this book is because I loved it so much that I want to share it with you.
Of course, in those years I started sneaking the bodice busters into the house. OMG the porn. The rapey, sweeping, epic, romance. And I hid those under my bed. I'd read for the story then go back and read for the dirty parts. I never bought one. Probably never read one that was new. And seriously don't remember the titles. I just remember the heroine was usually poor, virginal. The hero rich and domineering. The first love scenes were some degree of forced sex. And I was repulsed and attracted at the same time. Pitiful. And a far cry from the sweet tender love going on in the teen series.
I bought my first adult romance in 1991. Yes. Really. It was Gentle Rogue by Johanna Lindsey. The Fabio cover screamed at me from the bookshelves of every store that carried books. For two months. I was pregnant with my first child. Avoided it like the plague. And then when I was a new mommy and going out of my mind with need of something to distract me from the HUGE need to run the fucking hell away from the dirty diapers and formula spewing changeling of a baby, I bought the book and devoured it in one sitting while holding the little monster while she slept. She wouldn't sleep in her crib. Just on me. I fell in love with James Mallory. IN LOVE WITH. Yes it was a little too rapey, not quite rapey but close, and yes he could flame just a bit. All of Lindsey's heroes seemed to flame just a bit now that I think about it. Over the next few years I think I read all of her books. Moved on to Woodiwiss, Henley, Quinn. And then to their contemporary counterparts Roberts and Phillips.
I've had a thirty year love affair with romance it would seem. Yes I read other genres. Straight fiction. Some horror. Sci-fi fantasy. The two Anne's: Rice and McCaffrey. I would say that Interview was my first taste of male male romance....GASP that's blasphemy. Oh shut up when Lestat turned Louis it was, well, arousing. Admit it. There might not have been sex but that was hot as fuck and you know it.
But really I haven't loved romance for a long time. Maybe five years now, I've actually loathed the genre. The same books over and over again. The feeling of wading through the same cliches with each new author. The old authors were stuck in the same holding pattern. It was boring me to tears. There were maybe six stories in each genre times a hundred mimics every time I went to the bookstore. Pretty covers. We went from the Fabio style to the nondescript flower or something plain because the Fabio era embarrassed us. To cartoon covers. American romance was no longer welcome in historical. Right at the time I'd finished my western. Highland Rogues were all the rage. The contemporary went out of style. Urban fantasy came into style. vampires took over...again. Weres followed...again. Now American historicals are back in style, between the hundreds of regency era books. And Contemporary is headed back. Notice the cycle. Stick around long enough and it will change again. I promise.
So that's where I've been the past five years. BORED OUT OF MY MIND. I'm not fond of Regency romance. In fact I sort of hate it. I prefer Anne Rice to Twilight. And I'm really not a fan of Urban Fantasy I don't care how kick ass the heroine is.
I like contemporary. No I LOVE contemporary romance. But contemporary romance is filled with girly-girls who only love shoes and shopping. Does not appeal to me. Vapid superficial women who are only arm candy for some rich asswipe....Harlequin please take notes. I want a good strong woman who doesn't need to be rescued. I want a woman like me.
Aha, there's the problem. I'm not like other women. I'm one of those weird unfeminine women who can throw a football or a baseball as well as the hero. I understand cars and how they work and I am adept at using a power saw. I outgrew the TSTL heroine a long time ago.
So color me shocked as fucking hell when I think I can write a gay romance. I mean I'm not a gay man what the hell do I know about it right? But we've covered this issue go back a few pages on the trusty blog for my messed upedness post. Anyway, the old fall back of, if you want to write in the genre you must read in the genre thing was applied. I bought my first all boy sex book. Then another and another and well. Let's just say I'm hooked.
The stories are fresh. Sometimes they are cliched. Sometimes the stronger partner has to save the weaker partner. Sometimes the sex is just plain ridiculous. And sometimes you get stinkers. But it's the story that does it for me. Stories of fitting in, finding love, finding a life, acceptance. Or not. The themes are as varied as straight romance. Historical, fantasy, horror, mystery. But I love the contemporaries. LOVE THEM.
Awhile back I featured a book on this blog. Finding Zach. Go look for the post. Today I'm going to do the same for another book.
I'm not a reviewer. I do not know this author, she does not know me. I bought this book with my money. The only reason I'm even mentioning this book is because I loved it so much that I want to share it with you.
I treated myself to this book yesterday. I sat up until two this morning reading it. Could not go to be until I found out what happened to Xander and Christian. At several points in this book I had to wipe away tears I didn't know I was shedding. And there was the instant I snorted somewhere around midnight. Tumbling over in laughter.
Really, if you're on the fence about this book, just jump over and buy it. This is 244 pages of gold.
Miss Lane starts this book while Xander and Christian are 14 telling the story from the day they first met. Through high school, then college, and into the NBA. It is bittersweet. The sex is often times ridiculous, and infrequent. But this isn't a sex book so that's fine. It's a sweet coming of age romance with enough angst to sink the friggen Titanic and I will dare you not to cry, not to laugh and not to call Miss Lane a vile vile name when you read the last word.
And this is why I read gay romance. This book and the ones like it. I am a sucker for the happy ever after. Buy it you won't regret it.
Disclaimer. I do not know the author, I am not a reviewer, this is only my opinion.
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