Tis that time of year when pumpkins light our doors and children gather in the streets begging for sugary treats.
I love this time of year. The fall foliage is beautiful both clinging to the trees and crumpled around my ankles. The nip in the air is enough to motivate me for just about anything.
I also take devious pleasure in handing out candy and sending kids home. Regrettably, or maybe fortunately, I don't get trick or treators. However, I'm paranoid that I'll get one and not have candy. So, we buy the good stuff and hope no one shows up—that way we get the candy for ourselves.
Evilness can come in innocuous packages.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Friday, October 20, 2006
We're an odd bunch.
Unless my perspective is wrong, most of the writers and readers of m/m erotic romance are women. I think men may take up the bulk of the short-short stories, but for the e-books it seems like women dominate.
At first, I didn't think much about this. Then, I started meeting people (heterosexual women) who were not only pro m/m, but anti-het. They will actually leave a story if there is a het element. Which means, there is an aversion to reading their sexuality.
What does that say about the bedrooms and intimate relationships of these types of readers? The sociologist and anthropologist in me wants to find a problem here, but I can't quite put my finger on it.
I find m/m fiction a lot hotter than most het fiction. That's why I write m/m and not het. I have no problems in my bedroom, so maybe I'm drawing a connection that doesn't exist.
Does one's choices in fiction reflect anything about their real lives? What do you think?
At first, I didn't think much about this. Then, I started meeting people (heterosexual women) who were not only pro m/m, but anti-het. They will actually leave a story if there is a het element. Which means, there is an aversion to reading their sexuality.
What does that say about the bedrooms and intimate relationships of these types of readers? The sociologist and anthropologist in me wants to find a problem here, but I can't quite put my finger on it.
I find m/m fiction a lot hotter than most het fiction. That's why I write m/m and not het. I have no problems in my bedroom, so maybe I'm drawing a connection that doesn't exist.
Does one's choices in fiction reflect anything about their real lives? What do you think?
Sunday, October 15, 2006
Musical Muse
When I'm writing, I like to set the tone within myself with music. I organize my files by the type of scene they'd match not by genre of music. That works great for me, but it's a major pain for my friends who look for a specific song.
"Full Circle" was written with a lot of Depeche Mode in my ears and I think it shows. I can't remember the last time I wrote a masturbation scene without listening to "I Touch Myself" and a sex scene without NIN "Closer."
Music helps me set the tone and maintain it, what do you guys do?
Sorry about a lack of Word of the Post or Scene of the Post…I couldn't think of anything.
"Full Circle" was written with a lot of Depeche Mode in my ears and I think it shows. I can't remember the last time I wrote a masturbation scene without listening to "I Touch Myself" and a sex scene without NIN "Closer."
Music helps me set the tone and maintain it, what do you guys do?
Sorry about a lack of Word of the Post or Scene of the Post…I couldn't think of anything.
Saturday, October 07, 2006
Learn from My Mistakes
For those of you who don't follow my LJ, you may not be familiar with this. These are the posts where I invite you to laugh at me as I describe an idiotic moment. Essentially, this is stuff you don't want to do.
My first one was about the Rotary Sander for The Legs. The next one was my moment with the Waxing Kit of Leg Death.
This one is about pancakes.
I have a serious love affair with pancakes. They're quick, easy, cheap and filling. My mother can't stand them for some strange reason, but I love them. A friend gave me a box of pancake mix. I normally use BisQuick, but I decided to give this a try.
You cannot make crappy pancake mix better. I mixed the batter and water as directed and it came out so thin I felt like I was stirring water. After deciding that dumping the entire box of mix without adding more water, didn't make it better, I figured it would thicken while cooking.
Nope.
These things were so thin light came through them. I'm not exaggerating. These were transparent pancakes.
I headed off to the pantry to figure out what, if anything, I had on hand might salvage these pitiful things. I'm not sure when I bought this can, but I had a can of blueberries. Score! If the pancakes were going to be thin, they at least could be blueberry. I promptly dumped the can into the batter and realized I just added more liquid. Now, my batter was grey—not blue—and even thinner.
Fine! I sprinkled in some flour that proved worthless and decided I was, simply, going to eat my transparent blueberry pancakes and be happy about it. Do you have any idea how hard it is to flip a pancake that's thinner than the spatula? After a few failed attempts and one pancake wearing cat, I finally ended up with a plate of things that looked more like grey-blue crepes than anything else.
I've never made crepes, but it was an idea. I hit the net and found a recipe for the filling of crepes. It had more than three ingredients so I decided to modify it. Easy cooking is the only cooking for me.
After getting back from the grocery store, I mixed cream cheese, cottage cheese, and too little sugar to make a difference in a huge bowl and ate some pancakes turned crepes with a little apple sauce and sour cream.
Oddly it was good. Now, if only I can remember what I did to make this something not to do so I can do it again when I want crepes.
In the mean time, I learned that muffin mix makes for great pancakes!
My first one was about the Rotary Sander for The Legs. The next one was my moment with the Waxing Kit of Leg Death.
This one is about pancakes.
I have a serious love affair with pancakes. They're quick, easy, cheap and filling. My mother can't stand them for some strange reason, but I love them. A friend gave me a box of pancake mix. I normally use BisQuick, but I decided to give this a try.
You cannot make crappy pancake mix better. I mixed the batter and water as directed and it came out so thin I felt like I was stirring water. After deciding that dumping the entire box of mix without adding more water, didn't make it better, I figured it would thicken while cooking.
Nope.
These things were so thin light came through them. I'm not exaggerating. These were transparent pancakes.
I headed off to the pantry to figure out what, if anything, I had on hand might salvage these pitiful things. I'm not sure when I bought this can, but I had a can of blueberries. Score! If the pancakes were going to be thin, they at least could be blueberry. I promptly dumped the can into the batter and realized I just added more liquid. Now, my batter was grey—not blue—and even thinner.
Fine! I sprinkled in some flour that proved worthless and decided I was, simply, going to eat my transparent blueberry pancakes and be happy about it. Do you have any idea how hard it is to flip a pancake that's thinner than the spatula? After a few failed attempts and one pancake wearing cat, I finally ended up with a plate of things that looked more like grey-blue crepes than anything else.
I've never made crepes, but it was an idea. I hit the net and found a recipe for the filling of crepes. It had more than three ingredients so I decided to modify it. Easy cooking is the only cooking for me.
After getting back from the grocery store, I mixed cream cheese, cottage cheese, and too little sugar to make a difference in a huge bowl and ate some pancakes turned crepes with a little apple sauce and sour cream.
Oddly it was good. Now, if only I can remember what I did to make this something not to do so I can do it again when I want crepes.
In the mean time, I learned that muffin mix makes for great pancakes!
Thursday, October 05, 2006
Time to Celebrate!
AWESOME NEWS!
I’ve been given permission to announce…
“Selling Foxx” was picked up by Lady Aibell Print.
Woo-hoo!
*happy dance over here*
*happy dance over there*
I’m beginning to think I just might cut it as a writer. XD
Today’s Word of the Post comes from Hutchinson’s Dictionary of Difficult Words and is rated M for Mature. Adults only please.
http://dictionary.reference.com/search?q=gamic
This was the second word I selected to check. It must be a lucky day.
gamic Adj 1) sexual 2) Of or requiring fertilization to reproduce; sexual. 3) requiring fertilization.
I’m pretty sure this word is more scientific than I want it to be, but let’s try a little “artistic license.”
Where were we when we last visited with Mark…
~~~
Mark’s chattering and shaking subsided under the unnamed man’s watch. Comfort soaked into the lacerations in his back and heat from the fire penetrated his muscles. He no longer felt the floor or blanket beneath him. His breath effortlessly entered and exited his lungs. He, simply, was. In a state of existence with only one befitting title – being.
The man above him, however, bore proof of more gamic desires. A firm cock pressed between the halves of Mark’s ass. As his punisher turned lover massaged, kissed and tended to him, the state of the man’s arousal became more and more evident.
A soft kiss brushed Mark’s cheek. He needed to know the name his enigma. “May I know the name of my caregiver?”
“You may call me, Sir, until I tell you otherwise.” Sir’s voice deep baritone voice rumbled through Mark’s chest.
“That seems a bit formal, would you not agree?”
Sir shifted back on Mark’s hips lifting his fingers from the injured man’s shoulders.
Mark smirked. “Sir, it is.” The man could be called anything he wanted as long as those fingers didn’t stop. The touch returned and Mark softly moaned. Being tied to the post and vapulated had pulled at his shoulders. Sir’s persistent fingers found and erased all the strain and any lingering ache.
Mark wasn’t one to question a blessing or favor, but one thing niggled at his mind. Why would someone turn from punisher to lover? “Sir, why are you doing this?”
“I knew,” Sir leaned to the side and started draping bandages over Mark’s back, “your reaction come the third lash.”
Mark hiked an eyebrow. That was odd, because Mark didn’t know his reaction until much later.
“There was a look in your eyes that begged me to stop while pleading for me to continue.” Sir teethed Mark’s earlobe and whispered, “A look that I could not disregard.”
“And yet you still…” Mark let his voice trail off. He’d rather be disregarded than have his skin split open.
Sir laughed and it almost felt condescending. “Do you really think you felt the full brunt of my whip?” He draped a cloth over Mark’s back and titled onto the floor. “If it didn’t seem earnest, I would have been replaced.” He ran his fingers through Mark’s hair long dark hair. “Such a thing would be unacceptable.”
I’ve been given permission to announce…
“Selling Foxx” was picked up by Lady Aibell Print.
Woo-hoo!
*happy dance over here*
*happy dance over there*
I’m beginning to think I just might cut it as a writer. XD
Today’s Word of the Post comes from Hutchinson’s Dictionary of Difficult Words and is rated M for Mature. Adults only please.
http://dictionary.reference.com/search?q=gamic
This was the second word I selected to check. It must be a lucky day.
gamic Adj 1) sexual 2) Of or requiring fertilization to reproduce; sexual. 3) requiring fertilization.
I’m pretty sure this word is more scientific than I want it to be, but let’s try a little “artistic license.”
Where were we when we last visited with Mark…
~~~
Mark’s chattering and shaking subsided under the unnamed man’s watch. Comfort soaked into the lacerations in his back and heat from the fire penetrated his muscles. He no longer felt the floor or blanket beneath him. His breath effortlessly entered and exited his lungs. He, simply, was. In a state of existence with only one befitting title – being.
The man above him, however, bore proof of more gamic desires. A firm cock pressed between the halves of Mark’s ass. As his punisher turned lover massaged, kissed and tended to him, the state of the man’s arousal became more and more evident.
A soft kiss brushed Mark’s cheek. He needed to know the name his enigma. “May I know the name of my caregiver?”
“You may call me, Sir, until I tell you otherwise.” Sir’s voice deep baritone voice rumbled through Mark’s chest.
“That seems a bit formal, would you not agree?”
Sir shifted back on Mark’s hips lifting his fingers from the injured man’s shoulders.
Mark smirked. “Sir, it is.” The man could be called anything he wanted as long as those fingers didn’t stop. The touch returned and Mark softly moaned. Being tied to the post and vapulated had pulled at his shoulders. Sir’s persistent fingers found and erased all the strain and any lingering ache.
Mark wasn’t one to question a blessing or favor, but one thing niggled at his mind. Why would someone turn from punisher to lover? “Sir, why are you doing this?”
“I knew,” Sir leaned to the side and started draping bandages over Mark’s back, “your reaction come the third lash.”
Mark hiked an eyebrow. That was odd, because Mark didn’t know his reaction until much later.
“There was a look in your eyes that begged me to stop while pleading for me to continue.” Sir teethed Mark’s earlobe and whispered, “A look that I could not disregard.”
“And yet you still…” Mark let his voice trail off. He’d rather be disregarded than have his skin split open.
Sir laughed and it almost felt condescending. “Do you really think you felt the full brunt of my whip?” He draped a cloth over Mark’s back and titled onto the floor. “If it didn’t seem earnest, I would have been replaced.” He ran his fingers through Mark’s hair long dark hair. “Such a thing would be unacceptable.”
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