Blogspit on the Blogspot…

To have a spit or spit the dummy – is to get angry, to stamp your feet and to let someone know they have pissed you off. I believe it’s good to let it out. Some well know Ellora’s Cave and Cerridwen Press writers recently vented their spleen….

What pisses me off is when people refer to my writing as a 'nice hobby'. Does that shoot anyone else’s blood pressure up?

Mine, mine, mine! I want to do evil things to them. Really, really evil. I’d like to see these people sit down and sweat through a manuscript,. Then bust their ass trying to sell it and kill themselves promoting it. Hobby? Kiss my grits!

Totally! If you count a hobby which consumes your waking thoughts, absorbs your free time and no so free time, requires promotion, and personal credibility.

Here’s another one, mate.
“Oh e-books? That’s nice. When are you actually going to get something published.”

or "When are you going to publish a REAL book?"

My personal favorite -- when I showed my father the cover for my first mystery, he said, quote, very nice. Did you do it myself or did you have to pay someone to make it?

Or my second favorite, when my mother gave one of her books -- a Harlequin regency -- to a man who lived across the alley from her, he said. "Oh, thanks. My wife loves these crummy little books."

My favorite... "What's taking so long? It's just a bunch of sex scenes..."

Don’t be messing with writers. We may be working quietly away but we can turn on you the minute if you ask us an inane question about what we are doing. Writing is work. So whatever you were going to say re-think it and back away or you may just be the character in the next book that meets a ghastly end. Is it really worth it?

Something pissing you off? Send me an email and I’ll put it on the blog – amarinda_jones@yahoo.com.au

Last time on the blog serial, Kelly on www.kkirch.blogspot.com left us with cryptic mumblings of a dragon….

"To the West if doom is your quest. To the East if you value life least," the dragon answered cryptically.

"Well isn't that just peachy? What about north or south genius?"

"It's a two dimensional choice, Emmeline. Chose wisely for once you have chosen your path, your path has chosen you. There is no turning back." The dragon faded into the myst leaving Emmeline alone. Left or right? And assuming she actually could tell which way was east and west, did she want doom or death? Was there a difference?

And I’m not in the mood for being cryptic so my turn…

“Well, fuck it.” Emmeline murmured. She wasn’t about to listen to mystical psycho-babble from a dragon. She looked down at the ring on her left thumb. The emerald flashed green fire. Should she use the power it contained to get her out of Faeryland? She knew the risks of calling on this power. But who would know? Zoltan was in another dimension hanging out with naked pixies. “Bugger it, I’ll use it. What’s the worst that can happen?”

“What are you talking about?” The dragon asked querulously. He had given his best inscrutable, riddle of the sands speech and this woman had dismissed it with a swear word.

“I’m out of here dragon breath.” Emmeline closed her eyes, put the ring to her mouth and kissed the stone. “Take me to somewhere where riches flow, people are happy and the colours shine brightly.” Within the blink of an eye she disappeared.

* * * * *

“Whoa head spin!” Emmeline staggered to a nearby wall to clear her head. She had never used the ring to travel though dimensions before and now she knew why. It made her feel pukeable. “Where am I?”

“You’re in Vegas, baby,” a passing Elvis impersonator told her in his best King-like voice.

Emmeline looked down at the ring and swore. “Dumb ring. I wanted real riches not possible riches.” She looked around her. A gaudy sign caught her eye. Her mouth dropped open in shock.

“Holy snapping ducks!” Rafe and Rinalda’s smiling faces beamed out at her. “What the hell are they doing here?

What will the ever zen-ful Anny do tomorrow on www.annycook.blogspot.com? Your guess is as good as mine.

Looking for a great book to read? Well of course you are. Check out - On Your Knees – by Brynn Paulin – click on the cover and buy the book

Jessica needed sex and she needed it now.

She barely registered being dressed in the most transparent pink baby doll top she’d ever seen. Three tiny ties held the front closed between her breasts, but left her belly totally bare. Coupled with a miniscule thong that tied on the sides, she was hardly clothed. The fabric chafed her clit and she tried to push it away.

Fin pulled her hands away and lifted her from the table. He guided her toward the secret door. “Come with me,” he instructed.

“No. I can’t. I need—”

“Your needs will soon be filled,” he assured her.

Leaving Bobby in the room, he took her down a flight of stone steps that lead to a long dimly lit hallway. They passed several iron-studded doors before Fin stopped in front of one near the end of the hallway. Moans punctuated the cool air around them.

Lucky people.

She had to join a party. No sex for her. Could she just peek in, say hi and dash home to her vibrator? She frowned, knowing she should be more concerned about joining the party dressed in a transparent scrap of lace and drenched panties.

Fin opened the door, revealing a deserted torch-lit chamber. She turned frantically as he shoved her inside. Now her freaking senses decided to return? Chains, cuffs, and various whips lined the upper half of one wall, along with several other items she was hesitant to identify. The lower half was a bank of drawers. Hastily sizing up her situation she scanned the rest of the room. An odd bench stood to one side of the room near another iron-studded door. A set of manacles dangled on a thick chain from the center of the ceiling.

Her knees buckled.

A dungeon!

“Wait! There’s been a mistake!” she protested.

“It’s no mistake, miss.” He pulled her toward the chain. She was no match for his strength as he fastened each cuff around her slim wrists. She yanked on them trying to get free. The increased movement served only to amplify the ache throbbing in her cleft and breasts.

“Let me go!”

“You can voice your complaints to the dungeon master.”

The who?

“What! Let me go!” she demanded. Finn shook his head, wishing her a good night, and strolled from the room. The heavy door closed with an echoing thud behind him.

What had she walked right into? She closed her eyes as horrible, scary as hell images filled her head.

Madam Curie had better be right about that happily-ever-after part or I’m hunting her down. Somehow, Jessica couldn’t imagine her happy new future beginning in a dungeon.

Ryan almost lost himself—again—when he entered the dungeon. Damn he was getting soft. Surveying his woman, he was anything but soft. His cock throbbed against the thick leather pants containing it.

Jessica, unattainable Jessica, whom he’d wanted for months, stood in the middle of the room, her hands bound above her head. Her thighs flexed as she pressed and released them, fighting her arousal.

She turned when she heard the door shut, her sparkling green eyes narrowed with anger. “You must be the dungeon master,” she spat out derisively.

Yes, this would be difficult.

“Let me go, you prick! I swear if you don’t release me, I’m suing all your asses off. This place will be toast.”

“Oh, I highly doubt that.”

Her anger sent strength through him. Disciplining her would be a pleasure. He crossed his arms over his chest, knowing the muscle beneath the tribal tattoo banding his right biceps would bulge making it more prominent. She wouldn’t know the mark was a symbol of his power.

“Try me.”

He smiled at the phrase she’d picked up from him. “I intend to.”

For a smile and the chance to go in the draw for a great Halloween competition check out http://sandracox.blogspot.com/


www.freewebs.com/amarindajones/


Go ahead: Live with abandon. Be outrageous at any age. What are you saving your best self for?