Wednesday, 31 March 2010

Timely reminders…

When I got home from work I found a letter from the Breast Screen Queensland reminding me I had to go again once more to have my boobs squashed flat. For a split second I was ready to go into whining mode at the thought of a mammogram but then I stopped. Last time it had been a production. I had lumps and I had to have all these additional tests and have strangers prod and poke my boobs - but I also remember the one young lady who sat and cried after her test. My test was okay but I’ll never forget the devastation on her face. Yeah, mammograms are a pain in the arse – well, the boobs – but what is a moment of pain when it comes to your health?

If you have never had a mammogram – go – get it done. Don’t mess with your health. Take care of it.
Be an Amarinda book

Tuesday, 30 March 2010


I was at the lights turning right onto Rode Road…yes, in Brisbane, we have a road called Rode (rodee)…anyway the car in front of me had a big sticker on the back windscreen – “Terminator on Board. Approach at your own risk.” It was written in fake dripping blood, gothic script. Yeah, uh huh…a canary yellow, beat up 1970’s era car that looked like an overgrown sewing machine on wheels. I was trembling in my Doc Martens. The light changed. I waited for the terminator to move – because I was terrified to approach too close – and the terminator stalled his car. I don’t know…the whole thing lost the glamour for me then…more so when he managed to get the car started and he waved back at me. But, attitude is everything I guess.
Be an Amarinda book

Monday, 29 March 2010

Do As I Say alter ego – Penn Halligan’s story - is released to today at Noble Publishing. You can click on the cover to buy – or – go in the running to win a copy. I’m giving away two. For a chance to win simply email me at I will randomly choose two entries. The contest closes Saturday April 3rd at midnight (USA EST).

What’s the story about? Well, it’s about a woman who isn’t really sure what she wants out of life. She meets this man. She’s attracted then irritated at his insistence she must do what he says. She wants to fight him but can’t. Why? Because he knows more about her in a heartbeat than those who have know her in forever – and her needs? Yeah, he understands those too. Ever met a man who just got you straight away? That’s golden.

The blurb…

Mae Southall is an independent woman who is not above breaking the rules if it suits her. She relies on no one but herself. Sex is fine but on her terms. When she meets the darkly handsome and mysterious Rob, Mae learns that sexual submission has its benefits.

Robert Parker is Mae’s new boss. She just doesn’t realize it yet. He has a few rules of his own. The first one is that he’s in control when it comes to sex. Her mind may be her own but her body is his to do with as he wishes. He requires her total surrender to him.
Be an Amarinda book

Sunday, 28 March 2010

Seriously Reviewed: Hard Man by Amarinda Jones

I love hotels…

…always have…always will. I think this love affair with hotels started when I was 10 and my mother picked up this secondhand copy of Eloise. It’s the 1957 edition. I would have gotten it in the 70’s. Yes, it has been knocked around some by me and whomever had it before me. I love Eloise. The minute I read it at 10, I knew she was a being I was simpatico with. She's annoying, opportunistic, endearing to the point of irritating, precocious and smart as a whip. I also like that she is excessively confident and doesn’t care what anyone else thinks. In essence, I believe she is the perfect adult to be.

Back to hotels, I love ‘em. I love being able to walk in, dump my bag and then wander off without a care in the world. I like knowing someone else has to clean and produce fresh towels every day. I like the sundry toiletries that are stacked in the bathroom. I never use ‘em. I take ‘em home. Why? Because I can. I like the free tea and coffee and hot chocolate. I smile at the pointy corners on the toilet paper as I remember doing that in another time in my life. I like knowing when I wander back in, knackered and sweaty after a day of rambling, everything is clean and cool and calm. I like air con I don’t have to pay for. I like throwing myself in the pool and floating aimlessly instead of diligently doing laps for exercise. I like wandering down to breakfast and eating whatever I like because I didn’t have to prepare it. In essence, I like to going into hotel-sloth-mode. God, I can hardly wait to do it all again…
Be an Amarinda book

Saturday, 27 March 2010

Knackered...but some random photos....

My tattooed feet and feeding the fish in Darwin

I just liked this picture from the Wildlife other reason

This is one of the whip rays - like a sting ray - I hand fed - most fun - you get in the water - bury your toes so they don't think they're food and they eat out of your hand

Burt the crocodile - he was in Crocodile Dundee - I think he looks very intelligent

A jumping croc...why do they jump? Because they can and who's going to stop 'em?

Me - hot and sweaty but sun smart...

The Gingerbread Tryst...

I unashamedly love the controversy around this book. You wanna’ check out why – click on the cover to buy.

The excerpt...

Meet Marisa, a restless homemaker who spends her time baking, masturbating and dabbling in magic. Happily married, Marisa only wishes her husband Don could keep up with her insatiable need for sex. She craves orgasms daily and her sex drive has become a sore spot in an otherwise happy marriage.

Determined to find a solution to ramp up Don’s libido, Marisa has turned to magic. After trying magical amulets and oils, Marisa discovers a book that contains wish spells. Throwing caution to the wind, Marisa experiments with a magical spell with the intention of making her naughty gingerbread cookie a real flesh and blood man!

Taken by surprise…literally, Marisa indulges in a delicious sexual rendezvous that ends up going further than she could have ever imagined. A Gingerbread Tryst is a delightfully sexy tale with naughty thrills and sweet surprises!

Looking around her kitchen, Marisa tried to think of something harmless she could cast a wish spell on. She was curious and anxious to try the incantation, but she needed to test the spell on something first before using the magic on Don. Her gaze fell on the gingerbread cookie dough.


She hurried back to the dough, rolling the softening ball flat with her wooden rolling pin as a delightfully naughty idea popped into her head. Grinning, she used her knife to carve out the biggest gingerbread man shape she had ever made. She placed raisins on the crown of the cookie for his hair, milk chocolate pieces for the eyes and nose, and added red hot candies for his mouth. She carefully piped blue frosting on the cookie for the shirt before standing back to look at her handiwork.

Giggling, she carefully placed a cinnamon stick between the legs of the gingerbread man. With the cinnamon stick standing vertically, her aroused cookie looked like he had a very long cock. She added more raisins for his balls and used her knife to carve muscles into the arms of her cookie man.

Marisa shook her head. If Don saw her now, standing here gawking at such a freaky creation, he’d be disgusted. Grabbing the book, she studied the incantation for the wish spell. The bookstore owner’s warning replayed in her head, but Marisa wondered what harm could come from wishing the cookie was a man . . . a real flesh and blood insatiable man. He would be just like the mischievous cookie in the classic fairytale from her childhood except he’d chase after her and . . . .

Pound my pussy until I can’t take it anymore. Marisa laughed out loud at her dirty thoughts.

She stared at the fragrant brown dough in front of her again, taking in a deep breath. What was she waiting for? The spell couldn’t possibly work. Exhaling, she quickly spoke the words of the wish spell before she could change her mind.

For a few seconds, nothing happened. Marisa was just about to turn away when she noticed a twitch. The little gingerbread man had moved!

Screaming, she backed away from the island until her bottom hit the wood cabinets behind her. She watched the cookie dough flutter and shake as it rolled back into a ball, then it traveled to the edge of the island and fell onto the floor.

Breathing heavily, Marie stared in shock as a figure began to rise from behind the marble island. Her gingerbread man continued growing in height and thickness as she gripped the counter behind her, transfixed by the magical sight. She couldn’t take her eyes off the flesh and blood man now standing before her. He had sexy brown skin the color of molasses, soft black curls on the crown of his head, warm brown eyes and a full mouth turned up into the teasing smile she had designed. His muscles looked huge beneath the thin cotton blue shirt she had piped on just moments ago.

She watched him walk toward her with slow, unsteady steps. He came from around the island, moving more rapidly as he gained his balance. A gasped escaped from her lips as her gaze traveled down over his flat, muscular stomach to the enormous erect cock bobbing in front him. The taut flesh was so big and long that despite her disbelief and fear, Marisa’s pussy began to tingle.

“No, no, no! This isn’t happening!” she cried, moving away from her delectable fantasy turned flesh.

“Run, run, run as fast as you can; I’m going to catch you . . . I’m your gingerbread man!” He called after her as she raced around the island.

Angela Nichelle ~ Romance that touches your heart...

Friday, 26 March 2010

If I Were a Lady....

IF I WERE A LADY... by Bryl R. Tyne

Contemporary Comedy Novella out now from Noble Romance Publishing - click on the cover to buy

The Excerpt...

"Last chance, Kendra. If a neighbor reports the disturbance and the law is called on your boss--"

"You wouldn't--"

"Thank you."

Of course, he wouldn't have, but his threat had me opening my door. He handed me my cap as he marched past, tossed his jacket on the back of my sofa, stopped, and turned to face me. Without hesitation, he pried off each shoe and loosened his tie. He unbuckled his belt, popped the clasp of his pants, and slid the zipper. Then tilting his head to the side, he unfastened the button on his shirt. "Mind closing the door?"

He's nuts! "W-What are you doing?" Three shirt buttons to go, his open pants trapped at his hips, he moved one knee forward adding a jiggle from his ass. When he followed the same action with his other leg, his pants pooled at his feet. He stood in his open shirt, boxers, and socks.

I shut and locked the door.

If he thought for one second I'd give into his wishes, he had another thing coming. If sex were all I wanted, I'd gladly drive the ten miles to the truck stop off EXIT 22. "Put your clothes back on. Now!"

"Why? Isn't this--" He gestured to his groin. "All you want from me?"

"What? How could you say that?"

He shrugged out of his shirt, lifted up a foot, and slipped his thumb under the sock at his calf. His other sock followed. "Well, you don't want to talk, I'm only to assume." He hooked his thumbs in his boxer's waistband.

"Keep your shorts on." I threw my cap over the bar. Where it landed, I didn't care. "We'll talk."

He parked his ass on the back of my sofa, arms crossed over his fur-bearing, naked chest. Jesus . . . . I leaned on the wall opposite him, mirroring his stance. "So, talk."

"I want you."

Exasperated, I threw my hands in the air and began pacing. "That's it?" If he thought that'd solve the problems between us, he was sadly mistaken. Hell, I wanted things too, like--a dog. Didn't mean a damned thing, now. Did it? "Well?"

"What are you afraid of, Kendra?"

"Me?" I stopped in front of his smug ass. There he was, leaning on my sofa, thinking he was funny for taunting me, in my place. "I'm not scared of anyone or anything. You're the one who's scared. Of me." Like a baseball player, I grabbed the crotch of my jeans and shook it at him. "Of this!"

Damn him. I was back against the wall, only this time, not on my own volition. Val had my arms pinned at my sides and one leg between mine. "Keep talking," he said.

Easy for him to say. My heart slammed against my chest. Ebony eyes and wetted lips inches above me, defined shoulders stressed from holding me, coarse, black hair covering his forearms and chest, flowing toward the center like tributaries into a great river, he held me in thrall.

My eyes trailed that mighty river to his waistband. I forced myself to look at his face. "Why? I want to know why? Are you fucking queer? You want to experiment with a tranny? Is that it? Are you curious? Why? Why me, Val? 'Cause it sure in hell can't be because you're in love."

"I've never believed in love at first sight, no. But . . . I really do think I love you, Kendra." His grip lessened.

My face in one hand, his thumb caressing my cheek, he unbuttoned and unzipped my jeans. "I've always liked women like this--like you." He wriggled his fingers inside. "I've no idea if that means I'm queer, gay, or full of shit." His hand slid around to give my ass a firm squeeze. "Personally, I don't care."

Byrl Tyne

Thursday, 25 March 2010

Berengaria's back on the blog...

Hi everyone

The last time Amarinda invited me here to play I was hoping to hear back about my book “Intensity”, and I shared an excerpt from it. (You can scroll back to 4 January if you want to reread a scene with Keziah, Amos and Wesley in a hot tub.) I am thrilled to tell you that “Intensity” will be coming from Siren BookStrand in June.

Since then I have also contracted another MMF contemporary ménage with Whiskey Creek Torrid, “Huldah’s Two Hikers”.

Huldah is a tall woman whose hobby is hiking. She belongs to a Hiking Club and enjoys their walks. She loves the casual companionship, the solitude while walking, and the outdoors. She arranges time off work to do a physically demanding three-day hike for experienced walkers with her club. On arriving at the departure point, Huldah is surprised that only Derek and Corey, two very yummy men, are doing the trail.
For Huldah completing this walk is the challenge. But for Derek and Corey the challenge is to conquer Huldah’s independent spirit and to tie her to them. Outdoor sex seems to be a good place to start.

Huldah’s Two Hikers by Berengaria Brown. Coming soon from Whiskey Creek Torrid. Unedited excerpt © Berengaria Brown 2010.

When they rounded the last bend and saw her sitting nonchalantly on the rock, Corey laughed.
“What an actress. You did that deliberately didn’t you?”
“You damn idiot. Don’t you realize you could have broken your neck rushing down that path? Woman, you’re driving me mad,” yelled Derek grabbing her shoulders and hauling her to her feet.
Then his lips crashed on hers in a passionate medley of lust and frustration. He pulled her tight against his body grinding his cock into her pelvis letting her know just how aroused he was.
His lips still locked to hers he unsnapped her jeans and wrenched the zipper down, then did the same with his own.
Corey dropped his pack and rummaged in the side pocket for condoms handing one to Derek and quickly releasing his own cock and rolling the latex down it.
Derek backed Huldah over to a nearby tree, pushed her against it, and lifted her legs up around his waist. “Gods I can’t wait to have you,” he whispered, and slid into her hungry hot cunt.
Huldah sighed at the feeling of fullness. She knew Derek was only angry from fear and concern and she accepted his need for her with no foreplay. Besides, the minute she saw them she was wet for them. Somehow just seeing that look in his eyes was enough to make her belly clench with need and her cream drip from her pussy.
Then Corey was behind Derek, squirting lube into his ass and scissoring his fingers inside the other man’s hole. Huldah’s breath caught at the raw passion of Corey’s movements and she knew Corey understood what had motivated Derek, too. This was Corey’s way of soothing Derek’s anguish.
Very quickly Derek’s ass was prepared and Corey pushed inside him. Then together the two men fucked. Huldah rested her long legs higher on Derek’s hips and managed to dig her ankles into Corey’s back, thus uniting the three of them and enabling her to feel every rippling muscle in both men.


Wednesday, 24 March 2010

Two different authors – two great styles…

Larkspur by Anny Cook – click on the cover to read this a free book and while your there check out Anny's other books.

The excerpt...

Soaring over the far reaches of the Avalon Sea north of Hieney’s Hamlet, Rajah spied a dull glint in the rocky spires spearing up from the glittering waves. His heavy silver wings beat the air as he flew closer, curious about the strange flash. Then as he approached the spires, three pirate ships slipped from their hiding place, sailing into the open sea.

Rajah wheeled to the east in pursuit. Another flash of light in the rocks captured his attention. Reluctantly he turned away, allowing the ships to escape. As one of the dragon patrol, even if he was temporarily banished, it was imperative he investigate that odd light.

He approached the spires, his sharp eyes catching the furtive movements of a slight young woman awkwardly clambering up the wall of the tallest spire with two men in determined pursuit. The sun reflected from the swords slung over their backs as they picked their way upward. The woman was near the summit, but he judged that they would catch her before she could reach the dubious safety of the top. Swooping in close, he snatched her from the rock seconds before the man in the lead grasped her ankle.

And this M/M romance…Tricky by Clancy Nacht – click on the cover to buy...

The excerpt...

We were two steps into my professional bedroom when John slammed the door behind us. He flung me against the mirrored closet doors in the entry hall, forcing me to look at myself. My face was flattened against the glass, distorting my high cheekbones. My breath steamed the surface. I was flushed, wild-eyed, even a bit scared. I heard John tugging at his pants, the telltale zip and clang of metal. I reached for my own pants, pushing them off my hips. As I felt him against me again, I moaned. I couldn't help it. It was heaven to have him so close.

His smell. His boyish smell was now the expensive cologne of a man, but this close, the layers of scent could be distinguished. He still used the same soap, the same toothpaste. I hadn't been this close to him since that night we had almost completed the circle; that night where I could've had him and kept him instead of it all ending in tears. His movements were rougher than before but also more practiced. I heard the crinkle of a condom wrapper and the smell of a flavored lubricant permeated the air. I wondered if fruity lubricant was what she preferred. I closed my eyes like they could shut out the thoughts. That was unnecessary, because I lost all sense of fear as he pushed into me. He didn't wait for me to relax, but made room for himself inside by steadily feeding me the blunt head of his cock. It wasn't polite, but it was good. Sex with John was different, more real. I could feel my body respond to him, open for him and welcome him. It still hurt; even after all those I'd been with, there was always that physical twinge of pain until we were both so turned on that pain and pleasure were hard to tell apart. But I wanted this to hurt. I needed to be hyper-aware of who was fucking me.

I'd played enough rape scenes to know that you don't turn for a kiss, but the urge to taste him overwhelmed my professionalism. Our lips met and he held me so tightly, I was sure he was going to break my ribs. I loved it. I loved being held so close, like he'd never, ever let go.

I'd never wanted him to let go. I wanted to go with him, to wherever his father would send him to be a straight boy. I would be there, sharing every minute of his life, because he had the other half of my heart and without him I was only half of a person. I couldn't bear being parted. I thought we both felt that way.

He'd had three kids with some woman he met at Jesus camp. I didn't even know her name or the children’s names. I'd gotten past the hope of being with him long ago, but now he was pushing inside me, pressing my chest against the closet door. I saw the steamy reflection of myself and his face darkening with lust. There was no doubt who this was, who was in me.

Tears broke free. Was this affecting him the same way? I turned to look; his eyes were closed like he was trying not to see his reflection. It turned my stomach. What was the point? Would fucking me help him on some level? It was killing me.

Killing me to fuck. Great. Now it's not only a job, but one that's crushing my soul. Grandpa's words echoed in my head. If you love what you do, you never work a day in your life. He left out the part about the possibility of being broken.

Tuesday, 23 March 2010

Grounded by Sandra Cox...

From Grounded by Sandra Cox - click on the cover and check it out...

Be careful what you wish for.

While I’m dropping pearls of wisdom let me add, read the fine print.

Why am I wasting my time offering warnings that no one is going to listen to? Because as humans we all have this unconquerable urge to try to help others learn from our mistakes. Or in this case my great, great, great, great grandmother’s mistakes.

She came from a very poor background and consequently wanted it all, riches beyond measure, beauty. Need I say more?

Great-great-plus Grams stumbled onto a genie’s lamp and made her wish.
You don’t believe in genies?

Trust me. They’re real all right. Unfortunately, when my ancient relative made her wish she didn’t bother to listen to the genie’s warning of strings attached. This lack of foresight has a direct bearing on the first born daughter of each generation, i.e. me.

To put it mildly, my life is complicated. I am literally grounded forever.

I live on a lavish estate in the mountains of North Carolina. Between sunset and dawn, my life is my own. But during the day I’m grounded in several hundred pounds of marble. If you happen to wander by the Stone estate and peep through the fence, you’ll hear the rippling sounds of water from a lovely manmade pool surrounded by lush fragrant flowers. Beside it stands a life size statue of a young woman, with long flowing hair and classic bone structure, draped in a Greek toga a cat at her feet.

The young woman is me.

The cat is Merrick.

Sandra Cox
Vampire Island,

Monday, 22 March 2010

This week on the blog...

Last year I saw a great flight special to Darwin so I thought I’m going to nab that and go check out the capital city of Australia’s Northern Territory. So that’s where I am for the week…checking out the Never Never. Where is Darwin? It’s about 3.5 hours by plane from where I live in Brizzie. What’s in Darwin other than myself? Click here and here

And no, the blog won’t be empty so wander on by and check it out. This is what you can look forward to while I’m away…

Handling Gwen by Allure Van Sanshuge warning – this is an adult except. Click on the cover to buy…
The excerpt…

“Look at you,” she taunted. “Straining against your underwear—boxers maybe?” When he nodded she laughed and began to stroke him. “With just a little work, I can make your cock fall through the hole. Then you’ll be one layer closer to feeling your shaft against my soft hand. You’d like that, wouldn’t you Mr. Pierce?”
Hell, yes! “No,” he grunted instead, wanting her to push things further.
He wasn’t disappointed.
“You’re a liar!” She laughed, and he heard the rustle of fabric.
Yes! Knowing the pussy he needed so badly would soon be his made his dick throb. She’d lift her skirt, take his cock out of his pants and mount him right there against the chalkboard.
Taking a deep breath through his nostrils, he leaned his head back, waiting.
Click, click!
What the fuck?
His eyes popped open, focusing first on Gwen’s face and next on the phone she'd just used to snap photos of him. Explicit photos . . . the kind he wouldn’t be able to explain to the school board.
Her lips were parted, and her tongue was millimeters away from his chin. He had practically posed for the picture with his head leaned back and his eyes blissfully closed.
“You bitch,” he sneered, and made a grab for the phone. But her hand on his cock tightened painfully.
“You try to stop this and I push ‘send-to-all’. You try to take my phone I’ll get twitchy and push the button.”
The moist tip of her tongue traced up from his chin to his bottom lip where she lapped over the swell. “I think you understand me, don’t you, Mr. Pierce?”
Well, so much for making it hard for her. She had blackmail now and if he didn’t want the picture sent out to all her schoolmates, he'd have to play Gwen’s bitch boy.
For the moment.
Already there were retributive thoughts running through his head he promised to implement later. For now, he’d make sure little Gwen got the fucking of a lifetime, just in case this was his only opportunity.
“I understand you, Gwen.”
“Good, now get on your knees.”
He nearly choked. “What?”
“I don’t want to keep repeating myself. I said get on your knees.”
Glaring at her, he lowered to his knees. She maneuvered his chair close and propped one of her legs up on the seat. Her plaid skirt lifted, glancing off her tanned flesh and showing him the soft pink petals of her sex. The smell of her arousal wafted like a home-cooked meal to a starving man and he was oh-so-ready to dine.
“As I was saying, Mr. Pierce, I will tell you what I want once. If I have to tell you a second time, I push send.”
“Gwen,” he feebly protested, “I don’t think now is the time to—”
“Are you testing me?!”
Shit. Hastily, he shook his head.
“Then shut up and eat my pussy.”
Fuck! Her sharp command sent a shiver of happy down to his pants, tightening his erection to its full. He wasn’t usually the kind of man who liked to give over control. He was a dominator, taking what he wanted or manipulating until what he wanted fell in his lap.
Perhaps this time his technique was a little too effective. Instead of pushing her to perform acts he couldn’t initiate, he gave her the opportunity to take over and turn the situation into The Gwen Show.
“Now!” she demanded. She grabbed the back of his head and shoved his mouth directly onto her soaked cunt.

Allure Van Sanz

Saturday, 20 March 2010

Seeing double…

Someone said to me ‘did you notice a lot of the Ellora’s Cave covers were starting to look alike?’ I hadn’t because it’s no longer a site I’m interested in but I went and took a squiz and these – OMG – made me laugh my arse off. Starting to look alike? Well ya…the thing is – yes, everyone knows that pictures and models get re-used but in the same month? Screams slap-dash-let’s-throw-it-together-and-hope-for-the-best. Good luck with that EC.
Be an Amarinda book

Wake up!!!!

It’s been a week of wake up calls for me. From a sweet, sexy man who the universe allows to be thrust into my path every so often to make me realize that some stuff is okay to admit to and believe in, to misplaced trust in another I knew in my heart was not worth my loyalty and then to sitting and reading a letter from an 8 year old boy in Uganda who is just thrilled to be able to go to school and write to someone in Australia. Life – it’s just always smacking you in the face ain’t it?
Be an Amarinda book

Friday, 19 March 2010

Paint it black….

I was talking to a newbie writer last night. She said she would do whatever she had to in order to get published. Okay – fair enough – your choice. Then she added no matter what the publisher said or did she would go along with it. Um no, not fair enough. How far do you compromise to get ahead? What if you don’t agree with something that may not be agreeable to you? Is the threat of blacklisting worth your own soul? Your own principles? Your own beliefs? My opinion? Nope. If I have to change who I am then put me on the black list as incorrigible as I will not accept being anyone but me. I’m not an author clone.
Be an Amarinda book

Thursday, 18 March 2010

Coverage is thin…

It seems to me that less and less e-pubs are using in-house models. How do I figure that out? Well, I was wandering through stock photos for images to use on some book trailers and I came across lots of pictures I have seen on many upcoming e-book covers from publishers who I thought used only a stable of models. No, not conclusive evidence but it did surprise me how little work would be required in banging out a cheapie cover using a stock photo than relying on a studly pool of talent employed to be cover models – and a lot of e-pubs do…or did. I expect it's a sign of the financial times and that it would be cheaper to buy a bunch of stock photos in bulk then employ in-house models. I have to wonder though if patch and paste and obvious computer generated covers, while cheap, do more harm than good for an author and the company.

Another thing that interested me about covers was when I heard, from a couple of different sources, that some cover models aren’t interested in posing as gay on a MM cover. I can understand that. Now I don’t care if you’re black, white or brindle, who you love or worship or if you think red nail polish is better than blue – blue is actually better – but to my mind if a male cover model has a certain time frame where he can utilize his physical assets to make money, then it’s completely up to him to represent what he wants and can make a living from without being tagged as any one thing or the other. I think that’s fair. You have to do what’s right for you and maybe that’s another reason some e-pubs have moved away from in-house models to patch and paste floating torsos and body parts slapped on a front cover.

People do judge books by their covers. We’re human. We do that. If the cover is cheap is the company the same?
Be an Amarinda book

Tuesday, 16 March 2010

Some men...

…are just so lovely….thank you Maverick. I hope I get to say ‘no’ to you many more times…


Maverick is in town. That's always fun...
Be an Amarinda book

Monday, 15 March 2010

Catching hell…

Do As I Say comes out at the end of March. It has been pointed out to me that I could ‘catch hell’ for it. Maybe. Possibly. Why that warning to me? Well, no condoms are used in the book. Yes, yes, safe sex is imperative in real life. There is no question of that. But I also know readers are not silly enough to believe what happens in a romance story is real life nor a real life recommendation.

I’ve actually taken on advice from readers about the whole use of latex. One of top 5 questions from readers to me in emails is ‘why so many condoms in your books?’ Well, I believe in safe sex so that’s the reason. Several readers responded that they did too but they knew romance stories were fantasy and not real life so the need for fictitious characters to use condoms was not important. Interesting point. So I have been thinking on that some and decided with the detour to Penn Halligan – a wilder, raunchier side of me – I would go condomless because those readers are right. They’re not silly. They know real life from fantasy.

So, there it is. Will I catch hell? I expect so but I have caught hell before and pitched it back so I’m not too worried and writing wild is fun.
Be an Amarinda book

Sunday, 14 March 2010

Erotica Versus Porn…


- pornography: creative activity (writing or pictures or films etc.) of no literary or artistic value other than to stimulate sexual desire

- Pornography or porn is the depiction of explicit sexual subject matter for the purposes of sexual excitement.


- erotic - giving sexual pleasure; sexually arousing

- Erotic - Eroticism is an aesthetic focus on sexual desire, especially the feelings of anticipation of sexual activity. It is not only the state of arousal and anticipation, but also the attempt through various means to incite those feelings.

And this - I particularly like and believe the last two lines…

Chris Power ~

"I've always had a problem defining Porn vs erotica vs romance. Maybe I'm being too simplistic, but if it's wall-to-wall [or floor*g*] sex, with no real attempt at plot or multi-dimensional characterizations, then it's porn. But if it has all the plottiness etc, then it's whatever you want to call it. Either way, you pay your money and take your choice. I don't much like labels, anyhow."

The answer? There is no answer. Its personal perception and belief.
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Saturday, 13 March 2010

Nailing jelly to a wall…

…been reminding myself a lot lately about the futility of nailing jelly to a wall. Some things and people are just too damn hard to pin down. It’s actually been a very good lesson for me…in a pukeably annoying way. I like to be in control. Always. Actually, I insist upon it. When I am thrust into personal situations when I’m not in control, I struggle not to fight for control…hence trying to do the whole acceptance thing about jelly, walls and nails. How’s that working out for me? Hmmm…I think some people are better at acceptance than others…

Do As I Say – check out my purty new cover – is about a woman who also has similar issues about control and lust and a man who thinks he’s the boss of her. He’s sort of a big, sexy meanie.

Released end of March...
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Friday, 12 March 2010

Classic romance.... of my faves….shrew? You say that like it's a bad thing.
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Thursday, 11 March 2010

Riddle me this Batman…

If a business cuts cheques all on the same day and all people are equal in a fiscal, monetary sense then why would you stagger payments over a month? Wouldn’t it be easier to send Flossie-Lou to the post office with a bunch of envelopes than have her hoofing it there over several weeks in the Manolo Blahnik’s she got on sale?
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Wednesday, 10 March 2010


I was wandering through stock photos looking for certain images for my series of Penn Halligan – I’m not bad, it’s just my thoughts that are – books and I came across these two images.

I absolutely defy any real woman to put on spiked heels, lie on her stomach and aim said spiked heel directly into the back of a g-string without pulling a hamstring or shoving that heel somewhere it shouldn’t go. And who the hell would even find this sexy? How is it sexy? The only time I’ve shoved my heel in my knickers was when I’ve been in a rush to dress and get somewhere.

And speaking of men – what is it with this photo? Oh sure, it may be as artistic as all get out but where is the rest of the woman or is this some growth attached to his groin or is it some new do-it-yourself sexual gratification handset you can purchase for $19.95 with a free bottle of lube thrown in?

Ain’t it funny what people think is sexy.
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Monday, 8 March 2010

Most interesting…

…this made me smile...

It’s always fun in romance land…
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You’ve got mail because I got the receipt….

When I send important emails that I want to know have been received and read, I tag them for that purpose so I know the reader has it. Pretty obvious, logical stuff right? I even like to forward on the reader’s read receipt to them if they are too pig ignorant to respond to my first email to let them know that I know they have read that email. These are the same people who cannot pay my royalties on time and correctly. A polite where is my cheque email is always greeted with the plethora of silence.

So, reasons why people – usually those in a position of power - do not respond to email…

- Pig ignorance – pretend you don’t have the email and therefore you cannot know anything about it.
- You know you are doing the wrong thing but it’s easier to avoid a response than tell the truth
- Hope that the author will forget and go away. Nuh-uh. Where’s my goddamn money?
- Tell everyone there is a dreadful spam problem at head office with emails and therefore you cannot respond to emails because you’re supposedly are not getting them even though you are reading them. Uh huh…not a great story that one.

Here’s what I think and do. I acknowledge every email even if the sender irritates the crap out of me. It’s the polite and businesslike thing to do. If you are doing the wrong thing then silence makes you look even more guilty. Suggestions for the email responses– please feel free to use them when you get my next email…

Dear Amarinda

Your cheque was sent on X date. If you don’t have it by Y date, please get back to me straight away as we do not want to screw you over when it comes to your money.


Dear Amarinda

The carrier pigeons we use to send cheques overseas are sick. We are awaiting their full recovery before they can have post satchels attached to their tiny, little legs.


Dear Amarinda

The entire office staff was taken over by aliens last week and the green goo they left behind got on our cheque books. We have asked the bank to print more.

See? It’s not hard to write a bullshit excuse to cover ineptitude.
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Sunday, 7 March 2010

Plain sight…

I was talking to male friend about what another woman, a mutual acquaintance of ours, had said to me. She was annoyed that men didn’t take her seriously because she has blonde hair and big boobs. I pointed out to her that I’m plain and average and men only take note of me when I open my mouth and speak. I’m a shrew and proud of it.

I asked my long suffering male friend why were men so stupid. His response was to describe his thoughts about how this woman looked. Um no, that’s not what I asked but it answered the question anyway. Men only seem to see the outer person and it seems to take them a bloody long time to see inside to what makes up the person. No some wonder women jump ship and bat for the other side…
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Friday, 5 March 2010

Robbing Peter to pay Paul…

There is a company I used to write for. I don't any more. I don't trust them. They started out as good and solid. They appeared to know what they were doing. Appearances as we know are deceptive.

Now I'm not someone that trusts easily but I trusted them up to a point ...for a while. Then cracks started to appear. I got emails from other authors who told me about the scary things that had happened to them. Royalty payments were very late or terribly, terribly wrong and when questioned the company would suddenly ‘find’ missing money. Now, I work with money every day. That’s my job. Losing money indicates two things. One, you suck at managing money and two, you are using it for purposes of which it was not meant. What could they be? In my accounts experience I would say dodgy dealings like shoring yourself up against other debts.

Anyway, in the past as none of this was happening to me, I thought maybe other authors were exaggerating. Then it started to happen to me. Then I started to ask questions. Then my royalty payments stopped showing up on time – or at the moment not at all. They arrived weeks late and they were very, very wrong. When I questioned this half arsed way of business I was told it's because you're in Australia – ‘it takes months for stuff to arrive.’ Uh huh, sure, maybe when Captain Cook was on the Endeavour but when I send stuff to the US if takes no more than 7-10 days. I also find it odd that until I started questioning things my cheque payments were spot on with never a complaint from me. Funny about that…

This is what I know and believe. You should ask questions. You must. People who are doing the wrong thing hate to be asked questions but fuck it, do it anyway. Yep, the questions will probably be difficult and the response will be things like you ‘suck as a writer’ - and while opinion like that doesn’t bother me - saying that and not backing it up with logic makes me realize there is no logic. I refuse to accept unethical business ethics. I refuse to deal with wankers.

If you are a newbie writer and if you are looking for a publisher - ask around - email some established writers and ask what they think. They’ll tell you.
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It’s all about friction…

I asked a really smart male friend, who always gives an honest opinion, about sex. It’s his forte and I feel you’re never too old to learn stuff. I also believe when you find a man who believes in giving you the unvarnished, unromantic truth then take it and learn from it.

So I asked him what men really think about having sex in water…specifically a pool. The pool thing came about as I was swimming yesterday arvo and I was thinking about a story set at a pool and the doability of sex in a pool came up. No, I’ve never had sex in a pool so I thought I’d ask the master at all things sexual. Its good having someone you can ask dumb questions.

His answer? It’s all about friction, baby. Well, yes, of course. But water and friction don’t work well in this scenario. He explained it in the most graphic terms. Hmmm, I see. Needless to say, I will not be writing pool sex now…or any water sex… as even if I wanted to the extra squishy-ness factor has completely turned me off. And, despite his sweet offer, I’ll pass on trying it this time.

So ask stuff…people will always tell you…and airplane/loo sex…not comfortable…yeah I asked about that too. If you don’t
ask you don’t get.

And yeah – these two pictures are my latest covers. I love ‘em.
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Thursday, 4 March 2010

Hard Man...

Hard Man is due out today. This story is inspired by a romance convention I went to. I have a firm belief that some people are convention goers and others should go shopping and claim the trip on tax anyway. If the spirit moves you, click on the cover to buy.

“You broke your heel! Oh my goodness what happened? Miss Marx’s head is going to explode when she finds out.”
The possibility of her employer’s head exploding was the last thing Ashbea Somers cared about.
I just had sex with a man I have never seen before and I feel amazing. It was so wrong and naughty but damn it was good. Hmmm, how could anything like that be bad for me? Her ass burned and her legs were weak but despite that it had been the best fuck of her life. Not that she could tell Ida Stubbs, personal assistant to Mitzi Marx, that. Ida’s world revolved around kissing their mutual employer’s butt. Or maybe I should rock her little world and tell her. “Well Ida, the heel shattered when I slammed my foot down in shock when the hottest guy I ever saw thrust the most divine cock into my ass. I was so full and overcome I nearly lost my balance.” Luckily the man had kept her and himself up. It had been the best fun she had found at the convention so far.
“Our heels never break.”
Ashbea wasn’t surprised that the only word her colleague had made out was “heel”. Ida was an officiously loyal employee. She called Mitzi “Miss Marx” and not “bimbo brain” like the rest of the employees did at the office of Princess Mitzi shoes. Being a non butt-kisser herself, Ashbea still couldn’t work out why two days ago Mitzi had pointed one acid yellow talon at her and demanded that Ashbea attend the Melbourne come-fuck-me shoe convention representing the Brisbane company of Princess Mitzi shoes. Oops, beg your pardon—the Shoe-Me convention. Shoe-Me, do me, fuck me—whatever. It was all the same as far as Ashbea was concerned. The shoes were trashy and designed for one reason only. For men. No woman in her right mind would wear six inch gaudy heels unless she was Barbie or a drag queen. And, as much as Ashbea admired the longevity of the ambitious doll and the flamboyant style of the queens, they were about as plastic as Princess Mitzi shoes and her boss’s boob implants.
Ashbea was a nobody in the Princess Mitzi kingdom. She worked as an admin assistant for Louise “the Barracuda” Radcliffe—so named for her ability to sell shoes to people at funerals and other devastating life events. The Barracuda had no conscience. “Shoes cheer women up,” the Barracuda would tell Ashbea as the order forms from places like Silent Moment Funeral Parlor landed on her desk. And sure the Barracuda was recovering from that embarrassing accident when she fell into the open grave at the Holman service and hit her head on the shiny brass memorial dual bocce ball set that adorned the casket of Bernie Holman, but it was still weird Mitzi’s bloodshot eyes singled the redheaded Ashbea out.
“Well, the heel broke Ida, so get over it.”
“Oh my goodness.”
And there it was. The catchphrase of a woman who had probably only ever seen a cock of the two legged variety roasted and stuffed and sitting on a platter with vegetables for dinner.
“Goodness had nothing to do with it.”
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Wednesday, 3 March 2010


How do you reckon that word became part of our language? The word came up today…never mind how…and I thought once more what a weird word it is especially as it basically means striking or hitting. I know - it’s probably used most when it comes to sex.

bonk ~

v. bonked, bonk•ing, bonks
To strike or cause to come into contact: She bonked her head going through the low doorway.
To collide against something: His head bonked against the wall as he fell.
1. A blow to the head.
2. A hollow thud.

Bonk ~

1) reference the act of sexual intercourse
2) to bump into or hit
3) old video game, featuring bald prehistoric boy, that killed enemies by head butting

Bonkers ~

- adjective
1. irrational, crazy

So, when you think about it sex and bodies colliding make sense, sex can drive you bonkers sometimes and the ‘bald prehistoric boy? I dunno… that’s just weird. Bonking. Interesting word. I wonder who was the first human to say ‘bonk’? Yeah, I ponder on a lot of odd things.
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Tuesday, 2 March 2010

Wet, wetter, wettest…

After a crapacious day at work, I decided to go swimming rain or no bloody rain. I needed to swim some laps to relax. I got to the pool and no one was swimming. The attendant said to me "It’s raining.” I responded ‘yes it is’. He said “people don’t usually like to swim in the rain.” I pointed out I was a unique brand of person who pretty much did as they pleased. He said “well, as long as you know you’ll get wet.” Hmmm…well yes, it’s a pool. I love deep and meaningful conversations after work.

I don’t get it…

I’m pretty picky who I do the naked thing with so I don’t understand why you’d want to do this – but whatever floats your boat.

So, there you go…bums for miles.
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Monday, 1 March 2010

Casual sex…

That’s the thing. Can sex be casual? I was watching this doco on TV and they were talking about how more women are getting into casual sex. As always there were two opposing views. One group said it was great and empowering and as long as the woman was careful and protected herself then she could do what she wanted. Okay, I agree with that. The other side said no, it wasn’t possible for a woman to have casual sex unless she really hated the man and knew in her heart she could have no connection with him whatsoever. It was their contention that women really wanted happy ever after and sex leads to that. Uh huh

My two cents…I have to say since starting this writing gig 4 years ago, I have seen a significant change in what women want in sex. How do I know? Feedback from readers and reviewers. The hotter the sex the more the book sells. Yes, yes, yes, of course romance writing is all about ‘the journey’…is that not one of the most over-used phrases in the world? It’s not about money. Yeah right. And how many of us openly admit to changing direction and writing dirtier, more wildly graphic, no holds barred stories that are bad, naughty and nothing a good girl would write let alone know about? Very few. Most romance writers that I know will tell you it’s not about the sex at all. It’s about two (three, four, five) people falling in love. Yep, sure, but 9 times out of 10 wild off the wall sex will get them to the whole declaration of love to tie the story up neatly. And seriously aren’t people writing about multiple lovers for the titillation factor and their own economic benefit?

And then there are those ‘happy for now’ books that are making a huge resurgence. Once upon a time a woman went on ‘a journey’, fell in love and then it was ‘the end.’ Now, we have books where a woman has great sex, she’s not looking for a happy ending and her latest lover will do her for the moment. This trend in itself indicates women want way more than the vanilla-journey sex. It also indicates casual sex is of more interest than some will admit to or allow.

Casual sex…it’s what makes the romance writing industry thrive.
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