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Guest Blogger Adrea Kore Flashes Us Today!!!

Social media is often criticized, but it is through it that I met my guest and friend, Adrea Kore. Adrea is luminous, and the first person I have known to do a right on American accent! She is a brilliant, brilliant writer of all forms–and today she is going to flash us! I mean prep us all to enjoy the art of flash fiction. Get comfortable, and savor every word of hers…

I’m delighted to be here with F. Leonora, as her guest blogger. As a regular contributor to her Friday Flash monthly meme, I want to share some thoughts on the short-short story or “flash.” Sometimes also referred to as micro-fiction, flash fiction is the quickie of erotica.

I started writing seriously, and getting published, in the erotica genre in late 2012 – so I still feel like a relative newcomer. My very first story accepted for paid publication was actually flash fiction – on a femme-porn and erotica site called For the Girls. Then Go Deeper Press accepted Dangerous Curves for their flash fiction anthology, Dirty Little Numbers. dirtylittlenos_cover2Of the twenty or so paid story publications in anthologies and online since then, about a quarter of them have been for my flash fiction. A fan of both short stories and poetry from way back when I was in pigtails, it’s no surprise that I succumbed to the allure of “flashing” as soon as I discovered that such a thing existed.

Although length definitions differ for flash fiction, most publications seem to opt for 500 words as the maximum word-count. Some insist on even leaner stories, cinching in the word limit at 200 or even 100 words.

The practice of writing flash fiction, with the restraints of that svelte word-limit, can hone your powers of description and storytelling in wonderful ways. Each word has to work harder to convey meaning and emotion – which inevitably makes us better writers when we return to longer fiction. Whether on the page or in the boudoir, it seems I’m definitely into restraint.

The more flash fiction I read, the more incredible variations I see in style, expression and tone. A lot can happen in five hundred words. The form seems to deftly distill a writer’s style and voice, so that the reader may experience it more vividly.

Flash fiction is a tablet and mobile-friendly fiction, a way to showcase your style to your readers, which is also why I’d recommend giving flashing a go and getting some on your blog or website. It’s fiction for the nomadic, distracted population with truncated attention spans that we have supposedly become. That said, as a reader, I approach them more like poems, preferring focused time to contemplate them. Writer Vanessa Gebbie describes them as “a flash of narrative lit up, then extinguished,” but also stresses that a good flash is “never incomplete.”

I’ve observed that a compelling flash embodies elements of both poetry and film.

Like a film, it may show the reader crucial narrative “beats,” as quick cuts from one image to the next in order to tell its story. These could be close-ups or wide shots, but not lingering or panning shots – you simply don’t have the luxury of wordiness and leisurely pacing for too much of the latter. The reader sees these images via a few crafted words and sentences before moving onto the next element, but the information lingers in the retina, the memory, gathering detail, momentum and meaning. Like a film, it may also utilize dialogue as a narrative device to progress the plot with fewer words than descriptive narrative.

Like a poem, flash fiction may harness imagery, word play and metaphor to convey narrative, subtext, and atmosphere in compressed form. Additionally, the use of poetic language allows for multiple layers of meaning, using the same cluster of words. This approach allows you to say and suggest far more than you may initially think is possible within that leaner number of words. Like a poem, pared-back language is desirable; part of revising drafts may be to eliminate excess words such as “the,” “and” and “now.”

I’m comfortable writing flash in the zone of 400 – 500 words. It’s amazing how much scope five-hundred words allows to create a story arc and some steamy erotic detail. A 200-word limit for me is like trying to make a luscious cake with only flour and water. Given a 100-word limit, I may as well (and more happily) be writing poetry. I’ll leave those shorter versions for more hardcore flashers. Give different word limits a try, and see what works for you.

I once read somewhere that the Chinese term for flash fiction translates as “the cigarette-long” story – something you can mull over on a cigarette break, taking about as long to read as it does to finish your smoke. As a non-smoker, and a lover of coffee, perhaps I’d rename it the espresso-long story.

Here are my tips for crafting compelling flash fiction. Like any “tips” list, they are not prescriptive, but rather intended to provoke thought; whether they work for you may depend on your style.

Work your verbs hard

Lazy, vague verbs such as “went” tend to immediately require adverbs to prop them up. Why write “He went quickly towards her,” when you can write “He careened into her?” Why write that your character “said” anything, when instead they can leer, whisper, insinuate, proposition? A specific verb can convey so much about a character – how they walk, talk and kiss. Sweat the verbs, and you’ll need less adverbs, and less words generally.

Choose adjectives like they’re gourmet chocolates


They’re expensive, so you want to choose the perfect ones with just the right flavors for your story. To choose too many will weigh your story down and make it too fat to fit the flash format.

Build atmosphere with quick shots of imagery and word-play

This is one of my favorite ways to write flash fiction – take your central themes and refract your imagery through the story, like different facets on a cut diamond. They’ll all sparkle in a slightly different way, but make the whole more dazzling. My latest flash, Hurdy-Gurdy Love, takes the carnival theme as a metaphor for a relationship and riffs on that in several layers. 

Start near the middle of your story, not the beginning.

I borrowed this one from flash fiction maestro David Gaffney. You don’t have space for preamble. Crash land the reader closer to the middle of the story in terms of action. You can make nimble references to backstory when necessary. See here for how that can be achieved.

Use dialogue to convey character and give narrative momentum

Some writers excel at using dialogue in this way. You could try writing a flash that is ninety-percent dialogue, if you’ve ever fancied yourself the screenwriting type. Or you can see how I use fragments of dialogue here, in Celluloid Dreams  to convey character, backstory and theme.

Maximise the function of your Title

Your title is a bonus few extra words for free, so make them count. Like a well-made poem, a flash title (the title of any work of art, really) can be employed to reveal another element of your story, or create the lure of a double meaning. I love a flash that, once read, has me returning to the title to ponder, and find something new.

The sentence fragment is your friend

One, two, three-word sentences seem right at home in micro-fiction. Micro-sentences. They can work well scattered through “proper sentences.” To convey fragmented perspective. Suspense. Movement, fast or slow. Futility. Finality. See, I’m doing it here, and it’s so much fun.

Pay special attention to the last line

David Gaffney beat me to it, but this tip probably shows up on all flash fiction craft articles. After readers devour your flash fiction, give them a final line that will linger in their senses; an aftertaste, an aroma that doesn’t make this a read they can easily forget.

Gaffney is firmly against flash fiction that deploys a punch line or last-minute gag ending, saying that a “story that gives itself up in the last line is no story at all, and after reading a piece of good micro-fiction we should be struggling to understand it, and, in this way, will grow to love it as a beautiful enigma.”

I agree, although I may have been guilty of writing at least one punch-line flash along the way. Sometimes, they are just fun, especially when the topic is playfully sexual.

Create some Negative Space

Just as if it were an abstract sculpture or a charcoal sketch, give your flash some negative space as part of its overall effect. One way you do this is to eliminate and pare back excess words, as I’ve mentioned. Another way is to play with ambiguity, or place some spaces in the narrative for the reader to enter. This is particularly effective, I believe, in erotic flash fiction. Let the reader catch a glimpse of themselves in a hotel room mirror. Let them recall that exquisite orgasm through your erotic detail of a mouth, a hand, a sensation. Vanessa Gebbie aptly surmises:

“A great piece of flash fiction creates a complete world in very few words, draws you in, and makes you complicit. You become the creator too, in partnership, filling in the gaps the writer leaves behind … And because it is, to some extent, ‘yours’, it has a lasting effect.”

There’s lots of great flash fiction available online to read, and I’ve provided a few links below. I love Leonora’s meme here , because as a writer I often respond well to an intriguing image as a prompt. If you’ve not done this before, give it a try. Writing a flash story can also be a good warm-up exercise after a writing dry spell, or to begin exploring an idea for a (longer) story.

So, take that spark of an idea, set that pen on fire and light up a little narrative with your own writerly brilliance.


Adrea Kore is a writer, poet, and developmental editor, focusing her lens on female sexuality and creative expression. Her erotic flash fiction, short stories and poetry have been published online and in numerous anthologies. Most recently, her poem “Made in Darkness” landed in Lustily Ever After, erotic re-tellings of myth and fairytale. 


Adrea enjoys being distracted from her long-term writing projects by short term pleasures such as this article. She collects corsets and antique tea-cups. Find her wearing one and sipping from the other here, and browse her flash fiction gallery from the menu.

Look out for her sexy story “Dance for Me,” featured in the newly-released erotic anthology For the Men: And the Women who Love Them (edited by Rose Caraway). Available on Amazon, Smashwords, iBooks and coming soon in audio-book format. 

Read Adrea’s latest post about her story in the anthology here.


Craft Articles

David Gaffney

Vanessa Gebbie 

Online Sites / Journals for Flash Fiction

Erotica Readers & Writers Association 

Malin James 

Flash Fiction 

Matter Press 

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

  1. 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.
  2. 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.
  3. 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.

  1. 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.
  2. 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.
  3. 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!


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 blogTwitter, 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.

Guest Blogger Eden Freed Teases Us with Violet Blooms!!!

BDSM Writers Con was AMAZING, mostly because I got to meet so many people who I am still in touch with. Eden Freed is awesome, we made instant friends and I was so happy about her first release Violet Blooms! I told her she had to come visit me, and she has…come to tease us a bit!

After meeting you at Charley Ferrer’s BDSM Writers Con I knew that you and your readers would love a little tease. My very first published story, Violet Blooms, was just released on Amazon Kindle Books  As a virgin to the world of romance and erotica writing this was as much fun to write, as it was to watch people adjusting their seat while they read it, but that’s just my style. I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of watching people squirm with pleasure. Enough foreplay! Here’s some information about the book.


A young aspiring actress, majoring in Theatre Arts, must overcome mediocrity and learn to take direction in time to be discovered by a talent scout during her final performance. Her new acting coach decides to teach her direction through a non-conventional method: an introduction to BDSM. Will Violet have what it takes to learn the art of role-play, or will she end up on the “casting couch?”

Now, before I give you some little snippets from the book, I have to say that everyone’s introduction to BDSM is unique and utterly unforgettable. It can lure you in like a burlesque show, make you slide out of your seat and if you’re lucky enough, you’ll find someone to play with over and over again. ‘Nuff said.

Here are some snippets picked especially for you:

“Frankly, you frustrate me Violet.  I could teach you,” he said and I felt Chase’s hand grip my wrist and pull it towards him. Something in his face changed from excitement to concern and he let go of me and straightened out his shirt. He sat back in his seat and blew out through pursed lips before he said, “There are rules.”

Without even hiking my jeans and underwear back up, I sat bare-assed on the cool leather couch and awaited my punishment. My lower lip was trembling with nervous anticipation. I could feel my breaths coming in short gasps keeping time with Blythe’s quick footsteps as he returned.


I loved each sub for who they were, but I wasn’t in love with them. Detaching myself from my subs a little made me a better master. I was more objective and able to exact obedience from them. One look at Violet pushed all of my reservation aside. I wanted to possess her completely and utterly.


“Love isn’t easy. It takes courage. There are days when you just want to walk away and call it quits because you feel as raw inside as you do outside, but you don’t go because it would hurt even more,” she said and sighed. I felt the same way. Georgette looked at me for a moment and asked, “Did you want me to make a collar for her?”

Hope you had fun with these. With BDSM practice makes perfect, you know. Have fun playing!

Oh, and don’t forget to stop by my blog, and visit my Liquid Friday Blog for fun authors and cocktails.

Eden Freed grew up in a busy city on the East Coast with a keen eye for observing people and a love of music. After moving to the quieter suburbs, she suddenly found herself with plenty of free time on her hands and a knack for writing and public speaking.  After college she tried many careers, including professional entertainer. Eden kept writing for her own enjoyment until she decided to write her first book, a YA fantasy novel, as a gift for a dear friend. After that Eden has tinkered with several genres, but has a soft spot for BDSM erotica and women’s fiction. 

A bookworm, Eden always has something to read with her. She has a lust for knowledge and enjoys the title of resident geek at home with her husband and children. When Eden isn’t enjoying treks through nature or time on the beach, she’s shooting her traditional bow at field targets or gaming.

Look for more of Eden’s books, and some of her favorite authors on her blog www.EdenFreed.com   

Doubling Your Pleasure With Where I Found My Heart by C. E. Hansen!!!

Sooooo happy to have my friend, fellow Chemical Sex author (and chocolate lover!) C. E. Hansen on my blog today!!! She is a fantastic writer with an amazing new book, Where I Found My Heart. And she is generous too! She gave me not one, not two, but THREE excerpts from the book to share with you! Enjoy!


Reny unable to face life head on, effectively shut out the world beyond her windows. Closing off anything that would remind her of her past – a smile, a laugh, a touch. She lived in a world of pain and sorrow, remaining safe in her cocoon, barely existing.

Libby was plagued by a desperate need to comfort Reny, needing to help her heal. Knowing without Reny’s recovery, she herself would not find peace.

Mark was searching for someone, he didn’t know who, but felt a strong need, a determination to keep looking…he had to find her.

Three people…three worlds collide, leaving behind the true path to happiness. Maybe you just have to say goodbye before you can say hello…


I learned real fast the pain is mine. All mine and will stay with me, whether I want it to or not. And no one, and I mean, no one, will or could ‘shoulder’ it at anytime. It’s mine. I paid for it and I own it.

I’m okay with owning it. What I’m not okay with is why.

Why did it have to be Dylan?

Why couldn’t it have been someone else, anyone, even one of those who wanted to shoulder it? One of those assholes who pretended to be heroes.

You don’t know how many times I wanted to say ‘You know…that’s a good idea. I wish you could take the pain. I wish you were dead instead of him.’ But those words never left the tip of my tongue. Instead they stayed there, lingering, turning sour like bile in the back of my throat. Simmering into a stew of malevolence until I had nothing nice to say to anyone…about anything.

Damn you Dylan. Why did you leave me?

I swiped at my tears. Still amazed I had any left after so many countless swipes.

“I’m so tired Dylan.” My words drifted up into the ether.

I left the half drank coffee cup on the table, stood and before I knew it, I was back in bed, under the blanket wishing I could fade away, disappear into sleep.

I rolled over and my eyes immediately fixated on the pill bottle prominently standing on the surface of nightstand and right next to it a gold band.

“Fuck you.”

They both had a power over me. I needed them to remind me of what I was, who I was. Those little blue pills were the only thing I had that could dull the ache. Lessen the emptiness, and the band…well, that’s why I needed the little blue pills.


He traced the bottom of my bra with his fingers until he got to the center. Then he slowly—achingly slow—walked them up until he reached my nipples, which were tightening into oversensitive nubs.

I took a deep breath, trying hard to get air into my lungs so my head would stop spinning.

“Jesus Dylan.”

He pulled me back to him, until my body was against his and I could feel him conform to me.

His body actually molded to mine.

It was hot as hell.

He was hot as hell.

It was like we were one. I really think sometimes we were.

“No, just Dylan. Or sugar lips, or honey pie.”

I laughed out loud.

“You are so corny sometimes. You sound like a character in Gone with the Wind or something.”

“I do, don’t I?”

He cupped my breasts, and I immediately put down the spoon I was stirring the sauce with, and turned around to face him.

His eyes literally twinkled and I almost lost it. His amazing, light hazel orbs with the golden specks surrounded by thick dark lashes were my undoing. No. Actually, it was that damned smile of his. Gut punched me every time he used it. And he used it a lot.

“I think you need a break.”

“Oh, do I?”

“Yeah, you been slaving over that stove for um…” He overzealously looked at his watch, “twenty minutes now. I think you deserve a break.”

“Mmmm. I think you’re right.”




“Can you do that thing you do?”

I smiled. I was pretty sure I knew what he was referring to, but I was going to make him say it.

“What thing is that exactly?”

“You know.”

“No. I do a lot of things. Which ‘thing’ are you referring to?”

“The one where you put your mouth…”

I blushed. Yes, I still blush, but quickly recovered.

“Oh that thing.” I smiled.

Before he could ask again I scooted down to the end of the sofa and unzipped his jeans. He was musky from working out in the sun all day, but it was sexy. You know? It was sexy. It was Dylan and I’d take him any way I could get him.

He quickly stopped me from lowering his jeans, but moaned. I felt his erection under my fingers.

“Why are you stopping me?”

“I need to shower for that ‘thing’”

“Then what ‘thing’ did you mean exactly?”

“The thing where you lay on top of me and let me hold you close.”

“Oh, that thing.” I was as confused as you are now. I crawled back up his muscular body and lay my body over his. He crushed me to him with his strong arms and I sighed. I felt him kiss the top of my head and inhale deeply.

“Love the way you smell.”


He squeezed me.

“Love the way you feel.”

“Mmmm.” I was liking this.

“Love the way you feel against me.”

“Me too.”

I listened to his chest and heard his heart beat quicken. But not soon enough…and I wasn’t prepared. In one smooth move, he stood up, tossed me over his shoulder like I was a sack of potatoes, and walked with me squirming into the bedroom, then through to the bathroom. He leaned inside and turned the water on. All the while I’m flailing and yelling. Then he carried me, fully dressed—so was he—into our large shower and let the water cascade over both of us. I screamed then laughed so loud I was afraid I woke the dead.


He laughed, as only he could, and believe me, it was contagious.

“Oh, you!” I cried out in feigned indignity.

“You got me thinking.”



“Bout what?”

“Bout your offer.”

“What offer…” Oh, I got it. “And you thought you’d bring me in the shower with you so I can do what I offered.”

“Figured I’d kill two birds.”

“Oh, and how did you figure that?”

“I figured I’d help you with the laundry too.”


Wanna read more? Get your copy of Where I Found My Heart here:

Visit the Where I Found My Heart Goodreads page as well!