Category Archives: contest

Smut Marathon 2019—Don’t Forget to Enter!!!

This is the second time I am entering the Smut Marathon! I did not get as far as I would have liked the last time–but I am excited!!! My lovely friend Marie Rebelle runs it, and that is all I need to say–I will let Marie say the rest!

The Smut Marathon 2019

I am delighted that Leonora has invited me to tell you more about the Smut Marathon. I am sure the 2018 edition has not gone unnoticed, but I still want to tell you all about it.

What is the Smut Marathon?

The Smut Marathon is a writing competition that has the likes of a marathon. When you sign up for it, you have to be prepared to be writing for ten different assignments, starting at the end of January and only stopping at the end of November. But, don’t worry, you have more than enough time to write for each assignment, and they start out short and grow longer the further in the competition we are, and the less writers there is. You see, the Smut Marathon is a knock-out race. Only at the end of the first, third and fifth round no writers are knocked out, but in all the other rounds writers have to leave the marathon when they have the least votes from the public and jury combined. Those votes are cast by the public and jury, not knowing who the authors of the stories are.

What kind of assignments do you get?

Assignments are different every year. Some assignments might sound similar, like when I ask the writers to include a certain amount of dialog in their stories, or when I give the first sentence of a story and ask the writers to take it from there. Sometimes you might like an assignment, and sometimes not, but I encourage everyone to write for an assignment regardless. You might just surprise yourself and discover new things in your writing.

You might want to look through the different rounds of the Smut Marathon 2018 to see what kind of assignments you can expect.

What’s in it for you?

Fun!

To me that is the one thing I want you all to have, even though I do know that the competition element is there too. Approach the Smut Marathon as a positive, fun experience and I promise you, it will be just that! Furthermore, you will learn more about yourself and about your writing.

Other than this, I contact sponsors for prizes for the writers who reach the final and end in the first, second and third place. When a marathon starts, I have no idea who the sponsors will be, but try to have a couple of prizes for each. Last but not least, all writers have a chance of being published in the annual Smut Marathon anthology, which will be published by Sexy Little Pages. We are working hard on the first one!

So what do you have to do now?

Sign up for the Smut Marathon 2019 (http://smut.rebelsnotes.com/2018/12/sm-2019-entries/) of course. Come on, challenge yourself! Yes, there might be a chance you drop out at the end of the second round, but then at least you have tried. However, you might surprise yourself and make it to the final round, or even win the 2019 edition. How cool would that be!

I look forward to see your entries appear in my inbox! Be quick, before you know it’s the 20th of January 2019 and then the entries close. Enter today!

Much love to all.

She’s Picture Perfect #FreshlyPolished Entry

This is my entry for Sex Blog of Sorts’ #freshlypolished contest–you can read the other entries on her blog. You can read my third place story “Polished,” for her prior competition here.

Marion hated her feet, and even more so, the color she was modeling for this photo shoot.She’s Picture Perfect.

The pale lilac was not quite dry on her toes, and that was what Devin wanted.

The wet look.

Marion sulked at her feet. She was a foot model–she had perfect and insured feet. They were her meal ticket. Her feet filled glossy magazines all over the world. Her feet were featured on an independent press foot fetish magazine. She was assured that enthusiasts came all over images of her feet.

But those feet were the bane of her existence. Marion felt like no one looked at any other part of her. She could not remember hearing that she had a nice smile, perky boobs or a great ass. Just her feet. She might as well be invisible above her feet, like that Magritte painting, The Red Model.

“Marion, you cannot sulk like that! It will affect the picture!” Devin said looking at her. The flecks in his cornflower blue eyes, reflected the wet lilac on her toes.

“No one sees my face, it does not matter!” she said, and stuck her tongue out at him.

Devin was her favorite photographer. He teased her all the time, but he made her laugh during the shoots. He made her feel like she was more than just a set of feet.

“Do you want me to make you?” he asked in a sinister tone. “Make me what?”

“Smile!”

“Oh stop it, and just take my picture!”

Marion pointed her toes like a ballerina, and looked at him. Devin caressed the center of her sole–he knew that she was ticklish there.

“Stop!” she cried.

“Smile!”

“No!”

She tried to get up, but he put his hands on her thighs.

“You cannot move and smudge the polish! You have to be picture perfect!” he taunted.

His hands remained on her thighs, and Marion smiled despite herself. She looked up at him, and looked down immediately again at his hands.

“I’ll stay still,” she said.

The way he had looked at her when she looked up at him, made her flush all over. Her feet even grew heated. Secretly, Marion had always had a crush on Devin. But the way that he teased her, she figured that he did not see her like that at all.

But that look, she had never seen that on him before, and the way that he made her feel just then…

“You promise?” he asked, in a husky whisper.

“Yes.”

The breathy sound of her own voice startled her.

Devin walked away, and got behind the camera.

Marion stared down at her feet.

“Marion, look up at me…”

When she looked up, her eyes did not reach Devin’s eyes, because she saw a bulge in his pants. When she looked up at his eyes, he held the camera toward her face and looked at her in silent recognition.

“I’m sorry M, I couldn’t help it. I never lost control like this with you before…” Marion looked again at the impressive bulge.

“What do you mean? You mean you have a foot fetish then, and my feet get you off? Don’t worry, I got fan mail from a guy who sent me a picture of my feet caked with his come…”

“No, you turn me on. All of you, I touched your thighs and you were sticking your tongue out at me and…” “Wait,” she said, touching her throat. “You mean you think I am sexy?”

Devin stared at her.

“Are you serious? You are a bombshell, every time I take pictures of you…until today. This is the first time I lost control.”

Marion lie back on the chaise lounge she was on, and lowered her eyelids.

“So are you just going to talk about it?”

Devin stood up, still holding his camera. No one had ever really taken a picture of her face, so she was startled when he did. But then she realized that it was just as easy to pose with all of her body for the camera. She preened for him like a total ham. She was only in a shift dress and when her dress came up over her thigh, she felt Devin’s hand where she revealed the flesh.

She had not even heard him put down his camera, had not even felt him come closer to her. Had not felt the heat of his body coming closer to her, that now made her feel like she was on fire.

Marion sat up, and with one hand on her thigh and the other on the small of her back, Devin kissed her. His soft touch ricocheted throughout her body, with the force of lava that threatened to erupt.

But she liked the heat inside.

Devin stroked the length of her legs, and she almost felt fetishized. Like he was pouring all of his attention to just that part of her body. But it felt nice, and she closed her eyes until he stopped. He got up and she watched him, his ass making her want to fetishize it framed by her lilac polished toes.

He walked over to her, and handed her his phone.

“Scroll…”

Marion took the phone, their fingers touching and that micro touch almost sent her off the deep end. She looked at the phone, and gasped while she scrolled like he told her to.

There were pictures from every photo shoot she had ever done with Devin. Outtakes that showed more of her than her feet. Plenty of thigh, sometimes breasts, once her backside, a glimpse of her belly.

“That one was the hardest to get because I was afraid that you would notice.”

In the picture he indicated, her obscured face was his treasure apparently. You could barely see her features, just a suggestion of them and her smile.

“I took these because I could not resist, I wanted to capture more of you.” he continued.

Marion looked up at him.

“Like homemade porn?” she said, not sure how she felt about that. She knew that men had jacked off looking at her feet, but Devin had captured much more than that.

“No! This is art, you are beautiful…but I cannot say I have not thought about you…”

“I think you have said enough…”

She pulled off her dress, and as Devin scrambled toward her, she pushed her hands out.

“First, take a picture. A good one and get my face, and then…”

Devin knelt to take the picture, moving back to get all of her.

Marion grinned,

“No feet.”

Guest Blogger Delilah Night Blurs the Lines Between Fiction and Reality — and a Contest!!!

It is with so much pleasure that I host Delilah Night! Delilah is a writer’s writer, every time I read something of hers I am moved, and want to run my fingers over her words. She is also such a cornerstone of the community, she engages with everyone and I am honored to consider her a friend. Read below to be blown away by her like I have been–and a chance to win her latest!!!

I’m so excited to be on your blog today, Leonora! I’ve gotten to know Leonora on my blog and in the Twitterverse, and she is a delightful friend. I always look forward to seeing you in my feed! If you’re not following her photography 365 blog, you should be! I hope your readers will enjoy my post, and stick around for the contest!

For my guest posts this week (check out Malin James’s blog on Thursday!) I thought it would be fun to talk about how much of myself and my husband can be found in the characters of Meg and RJ.

Ways in which Meg and I are similar

Meg is a teacher, and I also used to teach sixth grade math. There’s an anecdote that Meg shares during breakfast that I lifted from my own experiences.
Meg is a photographer, and I’m a photographer. Almost every photo that Meg takes can be found on my hard drive. The photo above the excerpt is one of mine, and you can see how I worked it into the story. Alas, I did not have a naked photoshoot in Preah Khan—those are fictional photos.
Meg is really frightened of being hurt, emotionally, again. When I first began dating my husband of ten years, I told him I wanted to be “just friends” after our first date because I was so frightened of being that vulnerable again.

Ways in which Meg and I are nothing alike.

She’s a natural red head. I remember watching The Little Mermaid and desperately have wanted red hair since. I have spent many a pretty penny on attempts to get red hair, but you can’t get that natural red shade out of a bottle. Sad face.
I don’t have an ex who haunts me in the way that RJ haunts Megan. My exes are—at best—fodder for bad boyfriends in fiction. I’m looking at you guy who helped me move to NYC and then, while giving my college roommate who had also come down to help me move a ride back to Boston, asked her out before we had even broken up. Among others.
Meg has an awesome sister (Rachel is one of my favorite characters, ever). I am an only child, although I dreamed of having a brother or sister.

*Exclusive Excerpt*

Angkor Wat was such a massive temple complex that, even with hundreds of other tourists on site, Meg and RJ were often alone as they explored. Rather than enter the main temple through the front entrance, they walked along the left outer wall. Their footsteps echoed as they wandered along a covered gallery. The wall on their left was covered in a bas relief carving depicting a battle scene. Lines of marching soldiers looked as though they might step out of the stone at any moment. Generals directed them from the backs of elephants. Meg stroked the trunk of an elephant, her finger following a gleaming path made by countless fingers before hers. Small, sporadic chunks of the image were missing, leaving only scarred stone where art had once thrived. The right side of the gallery was open to the elements, supported by a series of columns, allowing a cooling breeze to provide a brief respite from the intense heat outside.

“The holes?” RJ asked, his voice barely above a murmur.

“Thieves. My guidebook said the missing pieces had inscriptions that people thought held magical powers. It’s also why there are so many missing or headless statues, too. At least they couldn’t steal all of the wall carvings.”

The geometry of the empty hallway they’d just walked down with its repeating doorways, dark stone carvings on one side, and the light filtering in between the columns opposite, called to her.

Click. Chiaroscuro.

“Show me?”

Tilting the camera so they could both see the screen, Meg pressed a button to bring the picture back up.

“I just saw doorways. How did you see that, Meg?” RJ asked.

“That’s because you glance and I watch,” she answered.

“So you’re saying I should take more time to see what’s right in front of me before I move on too quickly?”

Meg switched her camera back to shooting mode. “I was talking about photography.”

“So was I.” His expression was neutral.

Sure you were.

You never forget your first love…

Meg and RJ were passionately in love. But that was six years and a broken engagement ago.

Meg has only one day in Siem Reap, Cambodia, before she must leave for her sister’s wedding in Bali. She fulfills her dream of taking a photograph of the sun rising behind Angkor Wat, one of the oldest temples in the world. But her joy is short-lived when she turns around to see RJ standing behind her.

RJ threw himself into work after Meg ended their relationship. He’s built a successful business, but it’s a hollow victory. He’s come to Siem Reap to win back the woman he’s never stopped loving. But first he has to convince her to spend the day with him.

Meg is as physically attracted to RJ as she ever was. Maybe the secret to finally getting over him is a one day only, no strings attached fling.

Can RJ win Meg back, or will she love him and leave him?

Capturing the Moment is on sale everywhere!

Bio

After 30 years of snowy New England winters, Delilah Night moved to steamy Southeast Asia. While she doesn’t miss shoveling snow, she does miss shopping for bargains at Target.

In 2014, Delilah visited Cambodia for the first time and fell in love with Siem Reap. Many of her misadventures from that vacation (including the one with the monkey) made their way into this story.

Connect with Delilah on her blog, Twitter, or Facebook

Contest—Win a free copy of Capturing the Moment!

Which fictional character do you most identify with? Leave a comment, and I’ll pick a winner on Monday, May 9, 2016.

Créme In Your Coffee

This is my entry for the latest Sex Blog (of sorts) contest. The last time it was a nail polish color–my story Polished was in the top three! This time it is lipstick. My color was créme in your coffee…

Dinah put on her lipstick, licked her lips and as they were pressed together could not help but notice that the lipstick was the exact color as her nipples. Smiling to herself she kissed the mirror before her, admiring the imprint of her lips on it.
She was in the mood, she knew it as she hesitated putting on her clothes and applied her lipstick naked. Looking down at her breasts, she pressed them together and lifted them up so she could see the color of her nipples close to her mouth. Looking at her own full breasts got her even more aroused, and she pulled one close to her lips and rubbed it with her tongue. The soft skin excited her and she pulled both breasts to her mouth, alternately caressing her lips with either nipple. There was lipstick all over her nipples, which let her see that the color really was the same. Dinah kissed her breasts in earnest then, moving over her coffee cup that was on the dresser to sat on top of it so she could kiss her breasts and suck her nipples. She saw her reflection in the mirror out of the corner of her eyes—her créme in your coffee-colored lips, kissing her tight as rosebud nipples.
Letting her breasts fall, Dinah saw her hard nipples in the mirror. She put her finger in her mouth, before circling one nipple with it. At the same time, she slipped her finger into herself. She used that finger to circle her clit. Tilting her head up, she closed her eyes and let those tiny circles expand until they blended together and she came on top of the dresser.
Dinah opened her eyes, and she saw he was using his binoculars.
She had been playing this game of show and tell with her neighbor for a while. This morning, she had just wanted to play like usual. But knowing that he was home and could probably see her, made she want him. At least she wanted that she had seen of him through the window. Her heartbeat pumped inside her like the sensation of her orgasm, as she slid off of the dresser and walked out of her room.
And then she returned to her room, to retrieve her cup of coffee.
Her cold cup of coffee.
Dinah walked into the kitchen, and placed her mug in the microwave. When the doorbell rang, she assumed it was the package she was expecting and walked into her room to slip on her robe. She could not resist looking to see if he was still across the way—maybe hoping for a curtain call?
But he was not there.
“Coming,” she grinned to herself, thinking she had just come.
When she got to the door and saw him on that side, she pressed her back to it. Patrick, her neighbor stood there with a measuring cup.
They talked, but never inside of each other’s homes. Their game had been accidental. When he just moved in, she did not know he was there and was fully naked when she saw him across the way. It was their joke to “accidentally” be naked, in some state of undress for the other. But then one day, he pulled himself out of his jeans. To top him, she walked around without panties. Each one of them had upped the ante. But the show that she just put on? Well she did not know what he thought.
She opened the door.
“I was just wondering if you had any cream? I need for my coffee…” “You do not have cream for you coffee?” she questioned, pressing her head against the doorjamb and grinned.
“No, it spoiled. And I have not got any sugar either. Have you got sugar?”
“Yes, I have cream and sugar. But I drink my coffee black…” Patrick walked in, and closed the door behind him.
“So do I—“
They walked into the kitchen.
“Someone’s in the kitchen with Dinah…” he sang behind her.
“You didn’t—“ She turned around to face him for singing the line from the infamous song.
Right then he did kiss her. So soft and sweet. Dinah showered him with soft kisses of her own. When they parted, her créme in your coffee lipstick was all over his collar.
He pulled her close, sitting her on top of the kitchen table. She knocked over the mug of coffee she had just heated up, and Patrick slapped her bottom hard. When she opened her mouth to protest, he pressed her nipple that he had been caressing her lips with into her mouth.
Dinah was in the kitchen with Patrick and sucked her own nipple hard for him, filled with anticipation of what was the come.

Read more entries here.

This Prompt Got Picked for Fourth Place!!!

I was on the train, and took this picture based on a comment that sub-Bee made on this post. I cautiously took this photo, because it reminded me of the image that she described:
There is something truly hot about being on my knees in front of a man in a suit.

I was not planning to enter this contest, but with that inspiration, and since my friend Oleander was lovely enough to host it–I did!
Congratulations to Julia Von Rist the winner, read her story here, and find the rest of the results here!

For an encore…here is my story–with a new filter on my photo!

Veronica wanted him so bad, sometimes she couldn’t breathe.
It wasn’t because he was one of the top executives in her company, she had ached for him before that. When he was an architect just out of grad school she had, and now he was a partner at the firm. She started as a receptionist, and now she was an executive assistant.
His.
Their careers were in very different directions, but they had known each other the entire time. He did not have that air about him that so many of the others at the firm did. He was always accessible and warm to her. Whether he was going to a meeting and wore jeans á la business casual–the way only he knew how–or he was in a three-piece suit, his affect on her was almost fatal.
He had a particular passion for watches, his one excess, his one vanity and she admired it. He had catalogs from all of the auction houses on a shelf in his library. She got them all, either walking to the one that was near them or having them messengered over.
Veronica bid for him over the phone. He never had a limit, he just expected her to win it and she always did. Including one for his former fiancée. It had been hard for her to look at the delicate diamond piece that he had selected for her. Veronica knew he did not ask for it back when they ended their engagement, and that made her crush on him even harder.
If that was possible.
Her fingers moved languorously over the red tab that marked the pocket watch that he had his eye on. She let her finger linger over it, imagining it on his lightly haired wrist. Veronica especially wanted to win this watch for him. He was moody since he had broken up with his fiancée, and it was would cheer him up.
Veronica waited on the phone, while she was looking at his schedule. Being his right-hand also meant that she was responsible for all of the administrative staff, so when a literal fight broke out between two of her admins…she had to run to break it up.
When she came back to her desk, she had underestimated the time it would take for his lot to come up. Damn it! She had missed the lot! His lot!
It was with a heavy tail between her legs, that she knocked on his door. He sat inside facing it.
“Can you close the door, Veronica?”
She nodded, her tight chignon even tighter as she did.
“You were not at your desk, and you missed the lot.”
“How did–”
She wanted to snatch back her words, how dare she question him? Nervously, she tugged at the edge of her silk blouse first, then her pearls.
“How did I know? I just happened to get off of my conference call early, and was going to tell you I could do it for a change. When I buzzed you, you were not at your desk…”
She twisted the pearls, and bit her lip.
“You’ve never disappointed me before V, this is uncharted territory for us. You are always perfect. How are you going to make me feel better…about this?”
The length of his gorgeous tall frame was slouched in his chair.
“So much is going wrong around me V, and now even you…”
“I always want to please you–”
He raised an eyebrow at her. His desolate expression shifted, as he studied her face.
“I usually please you don’t I?” she asked.
He sat up straight, and suddenly in her silk dress that was only sheer on the top and the edge of the skirt, Veronica felt transparent.
“You always please me V, you always have…”
Veronica was unable to breathe, as he stood up and walked toward her. His finger caressed a tiny polka dot in the sheer area of her dress.
“There is only one thing I want more than that watch, and it cannot be bid on. You do not have a price tag do you Veronica?”
“What do you mean?!” She huffed, her breasts rose between them.
“I phrased that clumsily, I meant you are not for sale. But I want you…I’ve always wanted you.”
Veronica saw that iconic scene from Butterfly 8, when Elizabeth Taylor writes “No Sale,” on a mirror with lipstick.
“But what about your fiancée?”
“I wanted you first…”
“But you never…”
“We work together so I never, but now only you can make me feel better…”
He kissed her, and she pulled away from him panting. He caressed her scalp and loosened her chignon, before he steered her back gently against the door. Veronica held his hand, her finger slipping inside the band of the gorgeous watch he wore today. He took her hand and put the watch on her, slipping it up along her arm until it fit.
“That’s all I want you to wear right now…” he said pulling at his tie.
Veronica took his hand, and kissed it.
“You can leave your suit on, and tighten your tie.”
“Why?”
“It’s how I always imagined it when I fantasized about you…”

Pick a prompt, any prompt…

I was not planning to enter this contest, but my friend Oleander casually mentioned she would like it if I did. Well right after she said that to me, I was on the train and took this picture based on a comment that sub-Bee made on this post. I cautiously took this photo, because it reminded me of the image that she described:

There is something truly hot about being on my knees in front of a man in a suit.

I chose prompt number eight (spontaneous office sex) for the contest:
You can enter too!

Veronica wanted him so bad, sometimes she couldn’t breathe.

It wasn’t because he was one of the top executives in her company, she had ached for him before that. When he was an architect just out of grad school she had, and now he was a partner at the firm. She started as a receptionist, and now she was an executive assistant.

His.

Their careers were in very different directions, but they had known each other the entire time. He did not have that air about him that so many of the others at the firm did. He was always accessible and warm to her. Whether he was going to a meeting and wore jeans á la business casual–the way only he knew how–or he was in a three-piece suit, his affect on her was almost fatal.

He had a particular passion for watches, his one excess, his one vanity and she admired it. He had catalogs from all of the auction houses on a shelf in his library. She got them all, either walking to the one that was near them or having them messengered over.

Veronica bid for him over the phone. He never had a limit, he just expected her to win it and she always did. Including one for his former fiancée. It had been hard for her to look at the delicate diamond piece that he had selected for her. Veronica knew he did not ask for it back when they ended their engagement, and that made her crush on him even harder.

If that was possible.

Her fingers moved languorously over the red tab that marked the pocket watch that he had his eye on. She let her finger linger over it, imagining it on his lightly haired wrist. Veronica especially wanted to win this watch for him. He was moody since he had broken up with his fiancée, and it was would cheer him up.

Veronica waited on the phone, while she was looking at his schedule. Being his right-hand also meant that she was responsible for all of the administrative staff, so when a literal fight broke out between two of her admins…she had to run to break it up.

When she came back to her desk, she had underestimated the time it would take for his lot to come up. Damn it! She had missed the lot! His lot!

It was with a heavy tail between her legs, that she knocked on his door. He sat inside facing it.

“Can you close the door, Veronica?”

She nodded, her tight chignon even tighter as she did.

“You were not at your desk, and you missed the lot.”

“How did–”

She wanted to snatch back her words, how dare she question him? Nervously, she tugged at the edge of her silk blouse first, then her pearls.

“How did I know? I just happened to get off of my conference call early, and was going to tell you I could do it for a change. When I buzzed you, you were not at your desk…”

She twisted the pearls, and bit her lip.

“You’ve never disappointed me before V, this is uncharted territory for us. You are always perfect. How are you going to make me feel better…about this?”

The length of his gorgeous tall frame was slouched in his chair.

“So much is going wrong around me V, and now even you…”

“I always want to please you–”

He raised an eyebrow at her. His desolate expression shifted, as he studied her face.

“I usually please you don’t I?” she asked.

He sat up straight, and suddenly in her silk dress that was only sheer on the top and the edge of the skirt, Veronica felt transparent.

“You always please me V, you always have…”

Veronica was unable to breathe, as he stood up and walked toward her. His finger caressed a tiny polka dot in the sheer area of her dress.

“There is only one thing I want more than that watch, and it cannot be bid on. You do not have a price tag do you Veronica?”

“What do you mean?!” She huffed, her breasts rose between them.

“I phrased that clumsily, I meant you are not for sale. But I want you…I’ve always wanted you.”

Veronica saw that iconic scene from Butterfly 8, when Elizabeth Taylor writes “No Sale,” on a mirror with lipstick.

“But what about your fiancée?”

“I wanted you first…”

“But you never…”

“We work together so I never, but now only you can make me feel better…”

He kissed her, and she pulled away from him panting. He caressed her scalp and loosened her chignon, before he steered her back gently against the door. Veronica held his hand, her finger slipping inside the band of the gorgeous watch he wore today. He took her hand and put the watch on her, slipping it up along her arm until it fit.

“That’s all I want you to wear right now…” he said pulling at his tie.

Veronica took his hand, and kissed it.

“You can leave your suit on, and tighten your tie.”

“Why?”

“It’s how I always imagined it when I fantasized about you…”

TIE ME UP BOOK CONTEST & READING!!!

Already there are five-star reviews for TIE ME UP, there is still a chance to win a copy of the book or to see it come to life right before your eyes…well not that way!

If you want to win a copy of the book, you can leave a comment with a bondage-themed photo or scenario for me, make it HOT…or you can win it in a raffle tonight at the Between the Covers reading on the Lower East Side! We will be reading tantalizing excerpts as you have seen on my blog…

You know you want a copy…enter and win!!!

A Break From Fiction, But Still a Prompt!

The truth of the matter is this post is a challenge.
I had looked at my blog lately and kept thinking, insert non-fiction post here–but nothing came. I wanted to be witty about the reading that I did for the Between the Covers, and the beautiful corset that I won there. I have only ever read my stories in public twice. Both times happened this year: once in Bristol at Eroticon and Between the Covers in the Bronx. The fact that they were both cities that started with the letter B, and that both stories had chocolate in them seemed like a slam dunk post wise!
But I did not write it.
I went to Paris, and if you have ever read my non-fiction posts you know I am a committed Francophile. I had every intention of writing a post about it…but somehow I never got around to doing it…I’ve written about my obsession with gadgets, yet did not even mention that I got a new iPad.
I respond well to challenges, to prompts to be more specific. I faithfully write entries for Wicked Wednesday, Sunday Snog and A Darker Flame. They are things that have to be done by a certain time. I am never tardy, I always eek my entry in right before it is due. I am doing NaNoWriMo this month, I have no trepidation about it, because I have won it before. If there is a deadline, I will meet it.
Charlie from Sex Blog of Sorts, who seems to be the only person who has wrangled me to do all of her contests, got me again! She wanted non-fiction posts and tagged me so I am doing it. A prompt, a deadline–I am up for it!
Maybe this will inspire me to make sure that I do one non-fiction post a week, I don’t know. I feel like writing–particularly on a blog–should be a labor of love. This is mine, this represents me and what an injustice it would be for me not to give genuine me. To go through the motions with a post that is not from my heart.
That being said, as a writer, I have writer friends who I wish that I was doing the things they do. That I was full of the innovation they have, and the stamina. I can proudly say I am getting there. I posted today on Twitter from Brain Pickings, Neil Gaiman’s rules for writing. I cannot agree with him more. I have never read one of his books, but I can understand why people read him if that is the discipline that he is following. All the time I have been a writer, if you asked me I would tell you that I was a writer even before telling you I was an editor. Well I was a writer long before I was an editor! Yet I was always happy to beat myself up about all kinds of things deterring from getting done what I said I would not be able to live if I wasn’t doing it.
Writing.
In the past few months, I have written a great deal more than I have in the past. I am a ton more disciplined, and my writing style has improved in ways I cannot even have imagined. Writing more improves your ability to do it, amazing! You will be able to see an example of this in the upcoming Chemical [se]X anthology edited by my friend, Oleander Plume. Again it was a prompt, she asked me to do it. So I did write a story, called Chocolate Covered.
It is amazing to me that the drive to write can come so strongly from outside sources, I am working on strengthening it from the inside.
Okay, I am going to make the deadline! I need to return to NaNo! The NaNo challenge is going very well, and then a little later I have a snog to give you for tomorrow…well a Sunday Snog!