3am, a woman and her broom…

3am this morning I heard a noise under the house…actually a prolonged something or someone noise under the house. So I went and had a look – pitch black, broom in hand and dressed in my pjs. Yeah…I am frigging insane. I have a problem. I fear nothing. I expect that will get me in trouble one day. Do you do dumb things like this? Nah, you’re probably too smart. Anyway, I went down stairs to ‘sweep’ whomever or whatever it was away. Naturally I expected another possum…a very large one by the sound of it. When I got downstairs there was nothing. I believe the sight of me in my pj’s with my feral hair was enough to scare whatever it was away. Yes, I will consider hiring myself out to scare people off if the money is worthwhile.

I am on a mission. Look out…get out of the way…woman with a tape measure…

So what's my mission? I have been slowly renovating the house. I have an old wooden house. Things take time. Things take money. Yeah, I know I'm preaching to the choir. Anyway, I have been thinking about getting the laundry, which is under the house, renovated. It's pretty bloody basic at the moment. I have a new washer but the rest is what I would call orange crate rustic. I have been looking at getting a carpenter in to do all sorts of things down there. Getting one of these creatures is hard. They say that will come but they never appear. Being the sort of woman I am - pushy, bossy and under the assumption I can do everything - I have decided to tackle this project myself. I am, after all the woman who nearly chopped her big toe off when I removed a wall. I am capable of inflicting great damage on myself in the name of renovation. I have the scars to prove it therefore I feel I have the experience to do this reno project on my own. Yes, blood will flow but I have decided I can do this job myself. I say myself because those who would be happy to help me realize it’s not a good idea. Why? Because I like certain things done a certain way and I am capable of working flat out for 24 hours to get something done right. Yes, I am exhausting so people tend to steer clear from offering help when I mention my latest project and I take no offense in that.

So I have been walking around measuring walls, cupboards and floors and scribbling copious measurements down. Can I put a wall in? Maybe, maybe not but damn it I am going to give it a try. What's the worst that can happen? I break another toe? Ha! I have steel capped boots now. And while I haven’t done tiling for a while I reckon I'll give that a crack too. Shelving is easy. Give me a cordless drill and I am capable of anything. Now I just have to find the time…ah yes…time. Apparently though, as I am single I have time. Someone told me this was a fact. This person, who will remain nameless, said single people go to work and come home and then do nothing. Possibly some do. Possibly they live on Mars. I have not met a single person who finishes work and does ‘nothing.’ What do you reckon ‘nothing’ looks like? Do they come home and sit on the sofa and stare into space? Do they wish that had a partner so they could do nothing with someone else? That’s what nothing suggests to me. I put it to you that martial or partnered status has stuff all to do with the ‘nothing’ quotient in life. I also suggest that people who make these statements need to either pull their heads in or look at what they fear in life. Perceptions in life huh?

Daffodil by Anny Cook – it’s hot and it’s out now. Click on the cover to buy – oh and it’s an adult excerpt…

Bart’s interior sleeping chamber Pansy woke alone, shivering with cold. Her tattered dress hung on a hook across the room repairing itself with the regeneration spell she put on it when they went to bed. Back then Bart’s warm body was wrapped around her, providing a blanket of heat. In the dark she patted the bed around her. No Bart. Softly, she called his name. “Bart?”
She heard a snort and then a puff of aromatic smoke wafted over her. “What?”
“I’m cold.”
With a heartfelt sigh, he reluctantly opened his eyes, illuminating the space between Pansy and him. “Well, move back over here. You wiggle around so much when you sleep it’s like nesting with a hummingbird. Jab. Poke. Try to be still,” he grumbled.
Pansy crawled over next to him as he tugged a heavy blanket up and spread it over her small body. She snuggled close, basking in the wonderful warmth he radiated. “Hmmm. You’re so hot.”
Bart grunted and shut his eyes plunging them in darkness once more. “Go to sleep.”
Her hands brushed against the smooth scales on his belly. Fascinated by the silky, slick surfaces, she rubbed her fingers over them in the dark, enjoying the way they felt under her touch. Caught up in her explorations, she didn’t analyze the strange urge to get closer. Rolling on her side so that her breasts and belly faced her dragon, she thrust the coverlet out of the way. With increasing urgency, she slowly surged against his chest dragging her turgid nipples across the pebbled surface.

He opened one golden eye. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I don’t know but it feels wonderful.”
Abruptly, he rolled her on her back, nudging her legs apart and shifted his heavy body down in the bed so that his head was between her legs. Carefully pinning each leg down with a heavy claw, he opened his mouth and gently puffed warm air across her mound. Then his long forked tongue snaked out and flickered across her tight nipples.
With a breathless shriek, she curled up and grabbed at the hard ruffles that lined his jaw. A chuckle rumbled in his chest and he flicked the hard tips again. “So you like that, my Pansy?” His tongue slithered down across her smooth abdomen and plunged in the damp valley between her legs. Her plump folds parted allowing the sweet scent of her cream to drift to his nostrils. He inhaled deeply before sliding the tip of his tongue in her slippery entrance.
Pansy whimpered and writhed on the soft bed. “Uh, Bart? Bart!”
He slid his tongue out and flicked it across her tiny clit. “That’s my name!”
“Bart!” she shrieked again as he slid one fork across her clit while slipping the other back inside her pussy. She wriggled madly beneath his ministrations, yanking on his jaw ruffles. Suddenly, her entire body convulsed as she came, drenching his tongue with her sweet cream. Bart’s busy tongue extended her climax as he eagerly searched out every drop until she shuddered and collapsed into a satisfied heap.
Sliding back up in the bed, he curled around Pansy’s limp body, carefully cradling her against his heat. A quick tug on the blanket spread it over his little faery’s body. He sighed with deep contentment. One thing he’d discovered for himself. Pansy was indeed a virgin. And that meant that he could take her as his mate. A low rumble of possession vibrated in his big chest as for the first time in his life his heart lifted with hope. He resolved to guard her closely. Nothing and no one would harm her in her search for Daffodil’s tooth.

**************

Yes – the contest closes Friday at the stroke of 12 midnight USA EST which is like 5pm my time…see right – that’s the prize. See below…thems the questions…page down a bit and you may just find that I put the answers on the blog…okay I did…

Question 1: What subject does lecturer Dash Lomard teach?

Question 2: How old is India Blake?

Email the answers to amarinda_jones@yahoo.com.au. Please put ‘Contest’ in the subject field of the email.

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

Of Men and Mr Potato head…

Am I likening men to Mr Potato Head? Sort of but stick with me as I have a point. The thing is, I have been thinking about this feedback I got from a fan. I still think it’s bizarre that I even have fans. Me? Seriously? Shucks…anyway I love reading the feedback they send – the good and the bad. I take it all under advisement as readers know what a book should and should not have. This one reader said she liked how my heroes were all ‘incorrigible’ in that bad boy way. Okay, I’ll admit, I like incorrigible, bordering on shameless men so I tend to write that kind of man. I did go through a phase where I had this thing for wild, Latin men but they’re exhausting…or probably more two
like forces exhaust each other. Anyway, I snapped out of that phase. Now I like quirky men. I’m not big on what someone looks like. I am attracted by what they say, how they laugh and the look in their eyes. Why do mention this? Am I shopping for a man? No. I mention it because I was thinking are all my heroes alike? The answer is probably yes. As a writer it’s hard to completely break free from your own beliefs, ideals, preferences etc. I know my heroine’s are all smart arses…can’t think why -but there it is. So preferences in men follow my own.

Anyway, my point is - what is the ideal man? I know - stop laughing – and I caught that eye roll…why I ask is that how do you write a man that is going to appeal to a broad cross section of women without coming across like every other hero? This is where the Mr Potato Head theory comes in. So, we start with a potato…I’m not fussy what sort – sebago or idaho – up to you – what do we put on the potato/hero to make him irresistible to women? I believe women always go for eyes first. There has to be that knowing, sexy look and sense of humour. But what colour? Blue, green…steely
grey? What the hell – give him hazel – that covers the spectrum. Hair? Does blond appeal most or the standard raven black? What about auburn? I know – give Mr Potato Head a mohawk and make it all the colours of the rainbow. This would also give him a quirky, bad boy edge. Nose? I know some women who swear that nose size, and not feet, is an indicator of penis size…not going there…so we’ll give potato boy an average snoz to avoid issue of inadequacy as heroes are never inadequate. Lips? Two I think – but thin, indicating an edge of bad boy or a thick suckable bottom lip indicating sensuousness? Do we give him piercings or tatts? How much can a potato stand before he becomes ridiculous in the quest for the perfect potato…er, man? And we haven’t even gotten the important stuff like feelings, thoughts and emotions. Do you stuff the man…I mean potato with extra cheese? Salt him? Pepper him? Slather him with sour cream? Mash him or fry his arse off in the deep fryer?

It’s bloody hard making up a man that is not real but you want to come across as real. Everyone sees something different in a man. So what do you want in your hero that will make him the one you want to fall in love with for a couple of hours? Writers –what do you do to make up a hero? And yeah, I reckon I do tend to fall back somewhat on my own preferences when it comes to potatoes… men I mean. What do
you think? Do you build a man using the Amarinda potato principle or do you write what you know? Can you ever go wrong with that? Is there a perfect man? I think not…only women are perfect. Okay, you’re right – not all…only 98% are.

Just finished reading….

Daffodil by Anny Cook – holy snapping ducks! What a book - funny, hot and amazingly I was agog at parts of it. I am rarely ever agog. Anny, I no longer believe your story about babies coming from cabbage patches now. Buy the book and get an education.

Rose Quartz by Sandra Cox – no one writes a sexy, lonesome, cowboy quite like Sandra. What I loved about this story is the contrast between the two main characters. This is what I would call an ‘aww’ book because you feel really nice at the end of it.

Contest you would be crazy not to enter… Ashley Ladd and Jacqueline Roth/Elyssa Edwards have excellent prizes up for grabs on their blogs. Hurry over and put your name down to win.

Lastly…what the?

I have a reminder in my email calendar thingy for today. It says ‘cone’. Yes, how very deep and meaningful…I just wonder what that means? Probably it’s an existential statement of something but stuffed if I know what. Ice cream cone? The cone of silence? Cone like breast ala Madonna in her Jean Paul Gautier phase? I generally like being cryptic but not with myself – then its just annoying….hmmm…cone…what does that mean? I just know someone is going to say something like “You have the cone right?” And I’m going to go “Well yes, like I could forget it…”

I suspect Anny and Kelly are not talking about potatoes so rush over and see what amazing words of information they have to impart.

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

Let’s talk about sex…

Anny Cook to me is one of the few authors around that can write romances that are both scorching hot and incredibly funny. That’s pretty hard to do. So how does she write what I call ‘gobsmackable’ sex and keep the romance as passionate and believable as the characters lust for one another? Well I asked her…

1. How hard it is to write realistic sex in a book? Actually, I try to be as realistic as possible. Sex is not usually some pretty scene with fuzzy edges like they do in the movies. It’s awkward and funny and messy. Do you concentrate more on the fantasy angle of what women really want or the technical specifics of body parts? I suppose if I concentrate on any fantasy angle, it has more to do with the man’s attitude than with technical specifics. I don’t usually write things that are physically impossible or really strange. Is there a guideline you use? Just my own imagination.

2. What wouldn’t you write about when it comes to erotica? I cannot ever envision writing extreme BDSM or things to do with body functions, such as golden showers, etc. Those are such a tremendous turn off to me that I don’t see any possible way to make them attractive. The same thing goes for sex involving children.

3. Do you set out to shock people when it comes to sex? Um, no. To amuse? To titillate? Actually, I sort of fumble along with the characters as they try this or that. If it’s amusing or titillating, then that’s in the eye of the reader. Personally, I don’t think that I do well writing “funny”, but there are frequently funny situations that pop up.

4. Have you ever had anyone totally disgusted in the explicit scenes in one of your books? I’ve never had anyone tell me they were upset with a scene in my book. In my own circle of acquaintances, they might not read the book at all because it had sex in it, but that wasn’t because of a particular scene—rather it was the entire idea of sex in a book. I respect other people’s right to their personal values. That doesn’t bother me.

5. Your sex scenes on the Flowers of Camelot and the Mystic Valley series’ make me laugh. Do you set out to be funny or is it an unconscious thing? I don’t ever set out to be funny. But sex is a pretty funny activity when it gets right down to it. I think we take a lot of joy out of it when we try to make it a serious thing. To me, sex should be one of the most joyous things we share with our partner. If it isn’t, we’re not doing it right.

6. Ménage is a hot genre at the moment. Why do you think that is? My take on that is pretty simple. Most ménage is two men and one woman. The idea of two men devoting all their attention to one woman is pretty attractive. And the idea of having two men to touch and explore isn’t bad either.

7. In the conquest to write good sex, do you think writers forget about the fact that it’s still a romance? Unfortunately, some writers forget that it’s not a “how-to” manual. Others seem to have a mental list in their heads... okay, last time they did it with the woman on top...this time we’ll do it with the guy on top... Do they forget about tenderness for passion? If the writer is truly one with the characters, then whatever those characters feel should come through in the scene. For example the love scenes I wrote for Arano and Silence in Cherished Destinies were far more gentle and tender than the love scenes I wrote for Honeysuckle, Dick and Peter. The circumstances were completely different.

So, tell me and Anny - what genre do you like best when it comes to erotica? Put a comment on this blog and you will go into the random draw to win a PDF copy of Daffodil. Now, as always, if I cannot track you down through your Blogger ID or you do not leave an email address you cannot win. If you are under witness protection you can email your answer to me on amarinda_jones@ yahoo.com.au. The contest ends midnight Wednesday April 2nd (EST USA) and I’ll email the winner and as always announce on the blog tomorrow. Keep watching for another contest coming to this blog soon.

Daffodil – the excerpt – warning – this is a very adult excerpt

Raulf gestured for her to stand up. “It’s warm enough for you to take off the clothes,” he announced matter-of-factly. “Then you can undress Timmy and me.”
Daffodil’s mouth dropped open. “I—”
“Immediate obedience is the requirement,” he reminded her coolly. She froze, staring at him like a trapped animal. After a moment, he clicked his teeth. “Timmy, obviously, she needs assistance. Can you help her undress?”
Before Timmy could get to his feet, Daffodil shot off the chair like Raulf had lit a fire under her ass. Hurriedly she peeled the blouse and skirt off, folding them neatly and placing them on the table. Disappointed, Timmy subsided back to his place next to the fire.
“Now undress me.” Raulf bounced to his feet and stood at the foot of the pallet he had arranged next to the fire.
He stood motionless while she knelt at his feet and unfastened the clips on his boots. They slipped off easily once the clips were undone. Then she stood and unfastened the zip fasteners on his zipsuit, peeling it from his strong familiar body as she moved downward, revealing his muscled arms and lightly furred chest, that flat rippled abdomen with the faint trail of hair that led to his cock. Her hands brushed over his firm flanks as she tugged the stretchy suit down past his ass. His cock bounced free, nudging her cheek.
She fought the weird urge to take the dark dribbling crown in her mouth. Oddly enough the only experience she had with cock sucking was a onetime experiment with Timmy in the barn. With brisk determination, she continued with her task, ignoring the plump heavy balls nestled between his thighs. Finally, tugging the last of the fabric past his sturdy legs until it pooled at his ankles, she waited as he lifted first one foot and then the other so that she could slip the cloth over his feet. With a silent sigh of relief, she stood, shook out the suit and folded it neatly, placing it with her clothes on the table.
“Now Timmy.”
Timmy was quick to take his place next to Raulf. Daffodil fumbled for a moment with his boots before yanking them free. Then standing in front of Timmy, she began to undress him. Raulf moved behind her, reached around and cupped her breasts, tweaking gently at her nipples.
She whimpered and froze.
Raulf’s lips brushed her ear. “Undress Timmy,” he murmured.
In a flash of old memory, she remembered the day she and Honeysuckle were stretched out on an old blanket in the barn loft watching it rain. “Raulf wants to share you with another man,” Honey said out of the blue.
“What? Are you crazy? Raulf does what I tell him to do.”
“Not forever, Daffodil. Some day, that will change. And when it does, he will share you. Count on it. He likes to watch another man make his woman come.”
“Undress Timmy, Daffodil.” Raulf’s low persuasive voice jerked her back to the cavern. With trembling fingers she spread Timmy’s zipsuit open, pushing it off his broad tanned shoulders that were lightly sprinkled with freckles. He helped her with the tight fabric covering his arms and then stood stock still as she brushed it down to his waist. All the time, Raulf was lightly tugging her nipples, sending pulses of heat to her excited clit and wet pussy.
When she tried to squeeze her legs together to relieve some of the building tension, she found that Raulf was prepared to prevent her attempt with his feet placed between hers. “Uhn-uhn-uh, continue. Finish it, Daffodil.”

Kelly is doing Kelly stuff on her blog and Anny, not surprisingly is doing Anny stuff…funny about that. And remember, it's day 3 of what pisses off the Grippers... challenge - check 'em out

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