Beware the Ides of March Madness

Being a writer is  hard, right? We all know this. It's not the writing that's difficult - at least not for me. It's all the other shit that goes into it like publishing, marketing, getting repeat readers, all that good stuff.

I'm not good at it. It requires me to be social which ugh.

But I am good at the making of content portion. I just wish y'all could find it on your own. Since you won't...

1. Let's talk about erotica. 

    Do you know how hard it is to market that shit? Everyone reads it but nobody wants to cop to reading it. So they won't join your mailing lists or want to be advertised to. 

It's a pain in the ass I tell you. 

So I took down my erotica books (aside from the collection) and transferred the stories to Ream. You can read them there, at your leisure, just as long as you subscribe. I promise never to send you any mail or look at your names...unless you tell me you want updates.

I'm currently writing a very unhinged mafia paranormal postapocalyptic gay romance there. It's fun. I update weekly. That's in addition to all my other erotica tales which are now on there. Bonus, I will be adding a new every month. Personally I think the subscription fee is a steal. 

Go see for yourself. 

I think this will be a good home for them. 

2. New Podcast Episode

As you can see from the links on the side of this blog, there's a new podcast episode about suicide. You should listen to it if only to see whether you relate or not. I think you will. I surprised myself by doing so. It gets rather philosophical in places so I hope you bear with us. 

3. New Harlequin

I told you about the romance that I'm writing didn't I? The man is Palestinian and I'm a bit worried that Harlequin will reject it on that premise alone. I know we all like to pretend that Palestinians are the villains. We'll see how it goes.

It's nice to be writing something new again. Marcus Devereux has kind of stalled as I try to get over my intimidation of my own writing. 

That girl who wrote the first ten chapters was on a roll. 

She was cooking. 

She ate down.
I don't know if I can match her level of badassery. You're supposed to look back on your writing and cringe (at least according to so-called writers on twitter) but me I look back on my writing and I'm like whoa girl! slow down.

Self belief has never been my problem.

Anyway I got work to do. I have provided you with news, so click on link, click follow, enjoy the content.

And the Winner is...

So I had this little promotion for;

The Post-Apocalyptic Demon Hunter’s Reintegration into Normal Society 

First of all, I gotta tell you about that name. See I was reading this fan fiction about Demon!Dean...or was it BoyKing!Sam? I'm old, it was a while ago. 

Anyway so in this story they were trying to get through the apocalypse and I think someone, my instinct is it was Crowley was making snide remarks about their ability to have a life after hunting....

And, he sarcastically said someone should write a book about it, with the above title.

So I did.

It's just a working title though. I'm not sure if it will survive final edits. I'd like to hear your thoughts about that. For one thing, it's a little difficult to remember no? Talk to me.

So anyway, I'm writing, and my beta reader is editing. And we're really enjoying ourselves as we race to that deadline at the end of this month.

Will we make it?

Will we fail?

Tune in next week...

So we had the small promotional competition where the reader was asked to reimagine what happened before the excerpt given in a picture. This picture.

The writing wasn't very clear, deliberately because I need to know that you love me enough to make the effort to read it. :)

I got a few replies. Thank you very much to everyone who took the time to write something. Most of them were one-sentence type things. I get it, it's hard to go out on a limb and just give a blurb on someone else's story. Which is why Lesley Awino wins. This is what she wrote.

The sun seemed to be scorching the life out of everything they had passed. People had been dropping dead since long before Kevin and Alec even thought to pass this way. Even here, in the Acadia National park, rows and rows of bodies with malformed skin lay everywhere, and the stench was unbelievable. None of these poor souls would have passed for a melanated child of the sun. And so the sun scorched them out of existence.
Kevin and Alec's story was wildly different. They were simply trying to get back home to Kenya. It had been bad when all this started, but now there was barely any way to go straight home. Every form of land transport with metal or plastic or rubber had rendered unusable because of the heat. And so the two walked. From New York, all the way to Maine. They had made it this far on the hope, no, belief that there had to be a ship they could use to get home. For now, they were both exhausted, and needed rest. And then Kevin spotted one of those rare pools of clear water.

I mean...you gotta admit, it's very good huh? The description almost has me dying of thirst and seeing rotting bodies everywhere. And it fits in the story except for the fact that they're on the wrong continent.
Can we all give her a round of applause?

 I almost feel shy to post what ACTUALLY came before...but here it is for your edification and comparison. Oh and p.s. on my beta's advice, I changed the names.

“Tell me you see those, too!” she exclaimed, turning back to face her brother and Ben.Anders squinted. “Looks like an oasis,” he said.Zawadi whipped her head round to look at him. “So, you see it too?” she said, her tone urgent.Anders nodded slowly. “Yah, I see it.” They stopped, staring at the oasis, waiting to see if it was a mirage or not. Then Ben walked around both of them, at a fast clip, heading for it. Anders and Zawadi followed reluctantly behind. So thirsty.So ready for something good to happen. The oasis did not disappear.As they drew nearer, the sand under their feet gave way to tufts of hard yellow grass, which became greener the closer they came to the oasis. The more they saw evidence that they were nearing a water source, the faster they walked.

As I write, I'm also looking for the right cover for this pioneering genre. The first two contendahs are below. Do tell me which you like. Or even if they both repulse you terribly...

This post apocalyptic gay African romance, named 'The Post' is slated for release in September. Sign up for updates to receive other excerpts, news, and information.

Leo Won An Oscar

I feel like my work here is done... Okay, no I don't but it's like a major achievement of mine personally that this has happened. I haven't even seen the +Oscars yet. Just scrolling through my twitter feed and facebook page and every single post about the Oscars is either about Leo winning or...Leo winning. It's kind of an anticlimax though. Like we just wore the Oscars down with our perpetual disapproval and they wanted to appease us seeing as they are doing so badly at everything lately. Still.
Congratulations!

I'm still salty though. He totally should have had one ten years ago.
Meanwhile +KanyeWestVEVO went from letting +Kim Kardashian make all his pronouncements on social media to bombarding us with his presence. It's not an improvement. Nobody needs that much Kanye in their lives. Like seriously, can +Twitter please just listen to Kim and suspend his account? He's made me rethink my posting habits too. I think something that's even a little funny and I feel the need to post it for the world to see. Now, I'm like What Would Kanye Do? Then I pause. And think. Does anyone need to know about how I'm dancing around in my super short shorts and inventing a new dance to Desperado on +Rihanna's Anti while I find the fastest way to rustle up some cooked food? I mean...does anyone except potential stalkers really need to know that? Ain't nobody interested bih...

Also this week, the site where I publish my books, sent me a lovely promo pic for Child of Destiny. It tells you where my books are available and shit. I was stoked because I've been trying to think how to get all the sites in one place and failing. Yay Pronoun.

And finally...it's the 29th of February which only comes around every four years. If you're a Celt, you can ask your man to marry you today and he can't say no. Good luck with that. I've been bombarded lately with examples of just how far women will go to get that Mrs. in front of their name. I've been pondering why that would be because I likely wouldn't be able to parade around in my short shorts doing choreo for Desperado if I was under some man's disapproving stare. It always puzzles me why men feel threatened when a woman is a free spirit. Anyone have the answer? Free copy of Child of Destiny to the first person with an answer.

New Release: Child of Destiny

My book goes live tomorrow; happy birthday to me.

This is a typical love story. Boy meets Girl. Boy’s girlfriend falls in magic pool, almost drowns and has to be saved by spell done by Girl. Only catch is, Girl has to have experienced passion to perform spell so naturally Boy obliges. And they live happily ever after…or do they? A couple of snags are hit along the way including the fact that Boy’s girlfriend is a borderline sociopath who happens to have all the money Boy could want. Girl on the other hand, does not; furthermore she lives on the fringes of society and practises magic. In other words, she’s weird. Boy is not weird; he is popular and handsome and the star basketball player of the school. Under ‘Most Unlikely Couple on the Planet’ in the yearbook, is a picture of these two – Leo and Mya. Yet; where did the pool come from? How strange that a piece of magic involving this unlikely pairing had to be performed. Is everything as it seems or is there more bubbling under the surface than previously imagined? At the end of the day, the question on everyone’s mind is…’does magic really exist?’ Even more pressing is the question of the potency of that most mysterious and most powerful of all magic…Love.

New Release: The Swamp is Full of Mystery

Leyla met Matia at the grotto, picking her herbs.

“Was this what you meant?” she asked tearfully, “When you said my loved ones were in trouble?”

Matia straightened up from her digging, “I am so very sorry for your loss”, she said softly, shaking her head, “I wish I could tell you definitively that the danger is past…but I can’t.”

“No!”, Leyla shouted, tears streaming down her face, “You can’t just give me vague warnings and then….and then…not..”, she choked as her crying overwhelmed her. Matia sighed deeply, and watched her sob her way to silence.

“You have no idea what I would give to not have had this happen. And it was my food that was poisoned…I don’t understand at all. Some bad juju was at work here”, she murmured mostly to herself.

“So now what? What do we do? Do we just go about life like two people weren’t just fucking…killed?”Leyla asked.

Coming soon on smashwords.

Child of Destiny - The Summary

The story is set in a small fictional town near New Orleans named Le Marais, which is predominantly populated by descendants of French immigrants who settled in the area in the seventeenth century. The African American residents are a serious minority and even though racism is not blatant, there are definitely different classes of citizens. It is set in 1990.

Leo: He is a seventeen year old high school basketball superstar with unusual athletic prowess and of Caucasian persuasion. He lives with his mother who is a drunk, mourning her abandonment by Leo’s father nine years ago. Because of his depressing home life, he wishes to escape Le Marais and go to live a more secure and successful life in New York City using his rich girlfriend, Charlotte. 

He comes off as a selfish asshole who cares for no-one but himself but really he’s just a victim of circumstances who has received very little love in his life, and is doing the best he can with the tools he has. He comes together with Mya, in desperate circumstances in which Charlotte is close to dying as a result of having fallen in a mysterious magic pool. Nobody knows how or why the pool appears, but Mya is the only witch about that anyone knows, and so they turn to her to help. 

Mya, who lives with her grandmother, is descended from two separate lines of witches, whose origins are in Africa. She can save Charlotte, but only if she has passion from a lover’s embrace. An ingredient which Leo reluctantly provides. Much to their horror, the kiss turns into something else altogether.

Release Date: August 8th 2015

Excerpt -Between Death and Heaven; Out Now.

Gerrit, read it, love it, review it, reap the free sequel, share...

Outtake...Child of Destiny

This is an outtake from Child of Destiny, the third book in the series a preview of which can be read here.
Enjoy!

"Psst!", Mya called from inside the janitor's closet. Leo turned around to see who was calling. I mean, of course he knew that voice even when it was hissing but still. His eyes fell on her, head peeking from the closet like a character in The Lion The Witch and The Wardrobe or maybe more like a fugitive from high school justice. He couldn't help smiling to see her there but tried to hide his amusement.

 Mya was unpredictable these days; she just might jump down his throat if she thought he was making fun of her.
"Hey. What are you doing?" he asked moving closer to her and trying to keep the laughter out of his voice.
"Its lunch time. We have a whole hour", she hissed back as if that explained everything.
"A whole hour for...?" Leo asked though he suspected he knew. Pregnancy hormones apparently made one very horny. Mya's hand darted out of the closet and pulled him closer; Leo almost tripped, he was so surprised. Almost. Because his lightning reflexes were working just fine thank you very much. Mya pulled him into the closet and slammed the door, plunging them into relative darkness. The closet was not meant for human habitation hence no need for windows, or even a light bulb. Leo had no time to point these facts out to Mya because with the unerring accuracy of familiarity her lips were on his and he forgot all about everything.

Mya's tongue explored his mouth, mapping it lovingly as her hands trailed down his torso and began to pull his shirt up. As her own nipples had become super sensitive to touch, she'd seemed to develop a liking for touching his. It was a little disconcerting but Leo was not in the habit of refusing Mya anything she wanted; not these days anyway. Who knew what Ms. Mood Swings might do if he did? Plus if he was being completely honest, she made him too happy to refuse her anything. Especially a bitty thing like his nipples; besides, whatever she did to them went straight to his dick, and just like that, his jeans were too tight at his crotch. Mya seemed to divine this probably by some witchy sixth sense because her hand was cradling his dick in loving caress before he could so much as gasp. He pushed against it, wanting her to unzip him so he could feel her on his naked skin. Instead the hand reached up and circled his wrist where his hand was inching up to touch her breast, and pulled it down to her own crotch. He wasted no time in unzipping her and plunging his hand into her wet warmth. She was readier than the roadrunner for him and he pulled his hand away so he could unzip his own damn fly.

"Lean back", he ordered, grasping her legs and widening them. She hastened to obey, smiling happily. There was some sort of hoovering device behind her that she could lean on and he took advantage of that to lift her legs and put them around his waist.

"Hold on", he said plunging her depths without further ado. She spread her arms out so she that one was on the wall the other on the door to steady herself. He took hold of her ass, rutting against her and groaning; not really remembering to keep his  voice down.
"Shh, you're going to get us expelled", she breathed even as she threw her head back and arched against him, encouraging him to go harder, faster. He listened to her actions not her words; he was enveloped in her heated softness and there was absolutely no blood in his head for rational thinking  or consideration of consequences. There was only her. and him. In his bubble of lust and love and need and want. Nothing else mattered and no-one else existed. Someone banged on the door as if in warning; probably Miles...and Leo tried, he really did to keep it down. But then she stiffened, and convulsed; internal muscles gripping him so tight he almost screamed.
Then he was pouring himself into her and she was milking him for everything; taking his heart, his soul and his spirit into her along with his sperm.

"God", he whispered afterwards as he slumped against her.
"Tell me about it", she replied.

Hashtag Procrastination

Thoughts become things. I said I was going to put some smutty smut in my story, and voila! It just wrote itself. I was not prepared. Anyone who knows me will not be prepared. I'm thinking about using a pseudonym.

But that's not what I wanted to talk about today. Remember about two posts ago when I said I don't like to leave the house because it really makes me tired and I can't work? (I'm paraphrasing) well...I haven't done a lick of work all weekend and the problem with procrastination is once it overtakes you; its difficult to escape. Like, I'm just like, "Annemarie! get to work. Now!", using my sternest voice. So far it hasn't taken yet.

I did write a bit more on The Swamp and I'm very excited about where that story is taking me. It should be done by week's end. After that, well its up to you.

Hi. My Name is...

I was supposed to give myself a day off today. I had a meeting to attend on the other side of town; might as well be the back of beyond it was so far. So I figured what with cramping and shit; I would be good for nothing for the rest of the night by the time I got home.

 Yet. Here I am, its 1am and I still haven't gone to sleep. Been 'updating my information' on the book sites, writing a post on facebook about it, and now, here I am on what is fast becoming my writing diary, updating you on what a writing addict looks like.

Addiction runs in my family; its usually the bad kind with alcohol and shit. I guess I missed that boat. I thought I'd escaped it entirely until I started writing. Now I write until my arm is aching so much I can't write anymore. I'm thinking about getting that technology in that movie starring Tom Cruise or Denzel Washington...some hollywood big wig playing paralysed; he had this microphone thing he used to type things into the computer by talking.

 I think that would be such a handy device to have no? Though my voice would sooner or later go hoarse too I suppose. So I'm thinking maybe I should write just two sentences before I sleep. I've told myself that before. Usually I end up writing until 6am and then forcing myself to sleep. Its a problem.

I've decided I'm definitely making The Swamp an R-rated feature. Some kinky supernatural sex and definitely some violence. 

Its only fitting. I'm an adult after all; my fave is Rihanna. I owe it to myself. Bitch Better Have My Money.

Excerpt From The Next Book

“I can’t believe you brought me here to be healed by some wild-haired crazy old lady!”, Roy Lestrange complained to his mother as she pulled him impatiently along.

“I told you, she’s not just some old lady; she’s a witch and she can make you better.”

“The fact that you believe in witchcraft ma…I mean this is 1989”, Roy complained even as he followed her through the trees to the ramshackle house he could see through it. It looked like it was standing strictly by the Grace of God or maybe some magic the witch was using to hold up her residence. Roy didn’t get it; if she had access to all this magic and shit, why didn’t she just magic herself a mansion and a fortune? Why live like an animal in the middle of the bayou with her equally crazy granddaughter?

His mother reached the door and knocked tentatively. They waited nervously for someone to come to the door. It was opened by a wizened old woman with a halo of grey hair; she smiled at them in welcome as if she’d been expecting them…

“Come in”, she said and led the way into her house. Roy was expecting to see the skulls of babies decorating the mantelpiece, maybe with snakeskin covering the walls. But no, the furniture was threadbare but neat. An aubusson rug, clearly old but well kept lay on the living room floor. The couch was covered with throw pillows and a crocheted cover. There were old school pictures on the wall of men and women dressed in old fashioned clothing. A tantalizing smell of freshly baked something emanated from behind the wooden kitchen counter. Roy’s mouth watered and he wondered if the witch would offer them something to eat before the day’s business began.

She led them past the living room however, toward some narrow stairs. The led up to an attic where all the good stuff was. Animal skulls, and chicken feathers, an altar with some sort of statue on it surrounded by offerings of rice and tobacco, black coffee and yams, a straw hat and a cane, pennies, palm oil and roses. This was more like Roy was expecting.

“What can I do for you?” the witch asked her voice surprisingly soft and compassionate.

“My Roy is sick Nannane. Could you heal him?” Roy’s mother asked diffidently.

The witch held out her hand to Roy and he understood that she wanted him to put his hand in hers. He was scared though; he didn’t want to do it. But his mother narrowed her eyes at him and he stretched out his hand and tentatively touched the witch’s with it. She closed her eyes, humming softly under her breath. A warmth suffused his hand where she touched it and then spread outwards towards the rest of him. He felt himself become languid, relaxed and at peace. His eyes closed of their own volition. It was like receiving the gentlest massage in human history.

“You have the wasting disease”, the witch intoned, “What are they calling it…AIDS?”

Roy jumped in shock. Nobody knew that; nobody said that. His mama didn’t know, she couldn’t have told. How had this witch guessed? He opened his eyes and pulled his hand out of hers, standing quickly to leave. His mother was watching him; a sad look in her eyes. The witch’s eyes were serene. She sat watching him, waiting for him to do what he would.

“How do you know that?” he whispered.

The witch just smiled slightly and held out her hands, “I don’t know if I can heal you; that is not in my hands. But I can make you feel better”, she said.

Roy just stared at her, “You can’t…tell anyone. You can’t…”, he stammered.

The witch shook her head, “My work is just as confidential as any priest…or doctor. You need not worry that anyone will know of your illness from me.”

“What can you do for me that the doctors can’t?” Roy demanded.

The witch shrugged, “The doctor gives you medicine for your body. You should continue to take those. I deal with a more holistic approach – your soul, your mind and your body – I call on the healing spirits to help you to feel better, and give you herbs to help your body and soul open up to that healing spirit.”

“I don’t believe in that mumbo jumbo”, Roy said belligerently.

“Indeed”, the witch said, seemingly unperturbed.

“Roy, will you just sit and let the lady do what she can for you?” his mother cut in irritably.

Roy stared back at her with a frown but the habit of obedience was long ingrained and he sat back down, “Okay”, he said.