Being a romance author entails so much more than just writing a book. It’s an entire lifestyle. So before you put fingers to keyboard, here are some essential things you will need in order to be a proper romance author.

Have a Harem of Gorgeous Men

(This should be you)

This is absolutely the most important one. We all know that the only reason anyone buys romance is for the sex. In order to create the most believable, passionate and erotic chick porn out there, you need to do your research. Therefore, you need a harem.

Travel to Exotic Locations

(Here looks good)

Romance simply cannot flourish in a banal setting. The backdrop to your epic tale must be as intriguing and dazzling and jet-setting as your characters and their whirlwind love affair.

Have a Tragic Love Affair

(There cannot be happiness without sorrow)

You can’t know (and hence write about) the beauty and power of true love without having thought you were in love in the past only to either lose that love or realize it wasn’t love at all. This could be because you were blinded by lust and infatuation or maybe you picked the wrong man who wasn’t worthy of you or you might have even had a nice man that wasn’t very good in bed. Whatever the reason, a tragic – and preferably tormented – romantic past is a must.

Know How to Kick Some Ass

(He could TOTALLY teach me a thing or three)

It doesn’t matter if you are writing historical, paranormal, erotic or scifi, your hero needs to be a total ass-kicking stud even if he doesn’t actually kick any ass at all. Find yourself a weapons expert, a personal trainer and/or a hand-hand combat specialist and convince them to tell you all their secrets. And then add them to the harem.

And remember to always, always have fun!

Blog — Twitter — Facebook — Sculpting a Demon at Ellora’s Cave

Martin Luther King did not only ‘have a dream’, he could describe it. He conveyed his dreams with the use of words, stories, and imagery. In doing so, he catalyzed social movement.

We may have earned the right to free speech, but speech is not entirely free. There are always consequences for what we say, regardless if we create impact or not.

The success of an author is in part due to how creatively he/she uses the power of words. Through stories, the diversity of experiences are put into simple linear form by the writer. Ironically, life is not arranged all neatly in a straight line. A multiple story reality with conflicting plot lines is closer to the truth of human behaviors.

When words are read not only as groups of characters, but as thoughts or emotions, the real power of words can help inspire, encourage, and motivate us.

‘I’m Proud of You’ these four simple words seem to have a very simple meaning, yet when spoken, have the impact of something far greater. One never knows how our words will impact others, and when it feels like the whole world is against you, a ‘cheerleader’ can make all the difference.

I’d like to share the inspiration behind this topic. Last night I checked my email before bed and found this note from my 16 yr old daughter Richelle.

Take the time to listen to one of my most favourite poets

Maya Angelou on the topic of ‘The Power of Words’.

.
Click on Picture

Today I got back from two weeks away and GOD am I glad for the solitude!

This past week, I vacationed with family. Siblings…parents…that sort of thing. You know what I remembered as I spent twenty four hours a day, seven days a week with my family? I remembered why I do not live with, in, on, around, or in the vague vicinity of my family. Don’t get me wrong–I do love them! I do…but…but…well, there’s only so much family I can handle. This week, I went a little overboard and now I’m feeling the consequences.

It feels a lot like a hangover.

The week before last, I stayed at my girlfriend’s house. I love her too. I do…(can you see where this is going?)…and I can spend much more time with her than with my family before I peak in annoyance…but…but…well, Sweet’s house is very much her house. It isn’t my space. If I’m loading the dishwasher the wrong way, I’m going to hear about it. And, “Why are you chopping the onion like that? No, no. Give me the knife. I’ll show you how…”

*sigh*

I do know how to chop an onion. I’ve done it before, with relatively minor consequences.

Anyhoo…today I’m in my own home, where I can chop onions however I damn well please and load the dishwasher…well, actually, I don’t have a dishwasher, so I don’t need to worry about that part. But the point is that I’m back in my own space, and not a moment too soon.

I love the people in my life. I love my friends, my family, and most of all my pernickety girlfriend who must have onions chopped just so. Even though I love all these people, I don’t want to live with a single one of them. Call me a hermit, but I would go crazy without my solitude.

Virginia Woolf had her room. I have my bed. Yes, I do share it with cats, but cats are much less annoying than people. I’ll tell you a secret–I’ve never liked sharing a bed with anyone. I much prefer sleeping alone.

Waking up beside Sweet is pleasant. I do enjoy watching her dream. Her face is so perfectly beautiful when she’s at rest. All the same, I could do without the snoring, the excess body heat, and the ridiculously bad music they play on the radio station she insists on waking up to.

Lone wolf…hermit…crazy cat lady…call me what you will, but I believe in having a bed of one’s own.

Hugs,
Giselle Renarde
Canada just got hotter!
gisellerenarde.webs.com
twitter.com/gisellerenarde

Are you a crossword fan? There’s only one I regularly attempt and that’s the Sunday Telegraph Enigmatic Variations.  If I get to solve the ‘problem’ (it’s not a straightforward crossword) I feel made up for the week. (And by the time I have solved it, the next one has usually dropped through the door.)

What I’ve noticed is that when I’m stuck on a cryptic clue, if I sleep on it I often find the solution springs straight to mind the next day. Is my unconscious mind mulling it over while I snore? I wouldn’t be at all surprised. It’s the same thing when I’m trying to remember the name of an actor I’ve seen in a film, or the answer to a quiz question—leave the query alone and it’ll come home, dragging the answer behind it. My poor tired brain cells must have been working overtime on the problem.  

In the same way, I’ve taken to letting my subconscious solve my plot problems. Rather than pondering over some tricky point and getting into a lather, I find it easier to sleep on it/go and do some gardening/leave the document for a few days/employ other ‘getting my mind off it’ activities. Then I often find that either the solution springs to mind while I’m watering my petunias or I open the mss file and the words flow from my fingers like water off the proverbial duck’s back.

I also find it useful to let my characters solve something for me. There have been times when I’ve been doing a Cambridge fellows story when I’ve included a piece of information because it seems vital. I have no idea why it’s vital, I just know it is. It’s only later, as Jonty and Orlando are discussing whatever mystery it is they’re trying to solve, that I understand the significance of a picture on a desk or a piece of fake jewellery. Sounds mad, doesn’t it? I just can’t write a story if I have the entire plot worked out in advance (Jonty would never let me, anyway—he does have a habit of haring off hither and yon.) There needs to be some sense of mystery and discovery for me if I’m to convey that same feeling to the reader.

Sometimes I’ve sat down to write a tale with nothing more than a pair of characters and a conversation in mind. No story arc, no plan, just an absolute trust that the back of my noddle and two ‘hot’ gentlemen can, between them, spin a yarn. It usually works—the examples where it hasn’t are still stuck in my ‘work in progress’ file, waiting to be cannibalised (or quietly put out of their misery!).

Hello!  I’m KC Burn, and I’m a (new) Flirty Author Bitch.  For my first post, I thought I’d take the Pirates vs. Ninjas debate and put a little twist on it – Pirates vs. Ninjas as Romantic Tropes.  I know ninjas aren’t typically considered romantic tropes, but how else can I have my first Romantic Trope Cage Match?  So, we’re gonna pretend, okay?

Pirates vs. Ninjas isn’t exactly an ages-old debate (I don’t think) but as a geek who is friends with a number of other geeks, this topic has raised its head periodically over the years.  Even the “I’m on a horse” Old Spice guy has an opinion - CLEARLY this is a timely and relevant topic. 

Generally, my friends’ discussion involve which one is cooler or more dangerous, not which one you’d rather boink.  Or in the case of this post, which one you’d rather read about as they boink in your romantic fiction.

Now, I honestly don’t recall any instances of ninjas as romantic heroes, but that might be due to an utter lack of ninja romances.  Is there such a sub-genre?  If you know of any ninja romances, share some titles!  If not, you’re all witnesses – I invented it here and now.  It’ll be bigger than steampunk!

Ahem.

I think most people would probably pick pirates over ninjas as romantic heroes.  Dashing, lawless, manly, and as it’s my fantasy, maybe they all look a bit like Johnny Depp.  But then, my own personal reality check steps in.  The escapism fails as I start to think:  months on a boat… no showers… no toothbrushes… I bet ninjas have MUCH better personal hygiene.  After all, how can you sneak up on someone when you smell like an open sewer?  And ninjas are fit, right?  Totally buff?  I bet a lot of pirates have beer bellies and brewer’s droop.  That’s not even considering the scurvy!  So, the more I think about it, the more I’m leaning towards ninjas.

There’s another consideration, though.  I write m/m romance – my first book was released earlier this year – and I should probably forget which would make a better romantic hero, and start planning how I can get a pirate and ninja to hookup!  Have I mentioned I’m constitutionally incapable of making decisions?

What do you think — Cage Match or Hot Hookup?  Who do you want to win?  Which one’s your favorite romantic hero — Ninja, Pirate, or both together?  No cheating by suggesting other types, because I just might have a couple more cage matches planned!

Welcome….I’m Lyncee and this is my first time blogging at Flirty Bitch Authors. In the months to come I have some topics I’m excited to blog about but I thought start with my view on writing…and with the heart of what I write – romance. Be it a suspense or paranormal romance is at the center of my writing. So let me ask what is……romantic?

Flowers?

Candy?

Candlelight?

A bubble bath?

Some would say all of the above while others would have their own ideas. In writing romance, there are many definitions that a writer must deal with. So – what is….romantic?

Often, the same scene can have a double meaning. For example….
The shrill buzz of the doorbell shattered the silence. Darla glanced at her watch as she sat her book down. Twenty after nine. Who could it be? She stood and walked to the front room. The low rumble of distant thunder echoed in the night air as she opened the door. Michael stood in the pale yellow porch light.
“I thought you were still stuck in Colorado.” Darla’s pulse raced as she tripped over the words. “They said all flights were still ground.”
He held out his hand, offering a rectangular box with a green silk bow decorating the top. “It’s your birthday. I couldn’t miss it. So I rented a car and drove. Here, your favorite chocolates.”
“Oh, Michael,” she stepped outside and into his embrace.
OR – same scene and props but totally different outcome -
The shrill buzz of the doorbell shattered the silence. Darla glanced at her watch as she sat her book down. Twenty after nine. Who could it be? She stood and walked to the front room. The low rumble of distant thunder echoed in the night air as she opened the door. Michael stood in the pale yellow porch light.
Darla’s heart skipped a beat, panic surging through her. “What are you doing here?”
He held out his hand, offering a rectangular box with a green silk bow decorating the top. “It’s your birthday. I couldn’t miss it. Here, your favorite chocolates.”
“No, Michael,” she stepped inside and tried to shut the door, but his fingers stopped it.
While these examples are very basic, they show how the same thing – a box of candy – can mean two entirely different things. One scary the other a sweet gesture.

As a romance writer, I realize it’s more than a simple prop that makes romance. It’s the characters, their relationship and the setting and I have to use all three if I’m going to create a romance that will pull the reader in. I’ve read great romantic scenes set in places I’d never have thought of as a romantic place yet through skilled writing they were.
So tell me, what are some of the more ‘off-beat’ romantic settings you’ve read? Glad you stopped by.

Why? Because some day you might be able to use them. Now bear with me, people. We’ve all written a sentence, a paragraph, a page, etc., and then decided it wasn’t what we really wanted to write. It didn’t work. So we hit delete and moved on. Right? Wrong. Make sure you keep a file for all those words. You never know when you might be able to use them.

I was talking to an author a few weeks back and she happily announced to me that she’d cleared her files of all those books she’d started where she’d only gotten down a chapter or a couple of hundred words on, and then abandoned. I almost cried.

I keep everything. And everything I keep also sits in my brain and as I’m writing, suddenly I’ll remember something I’d written somewhere else and filed away and pull it up. Voila. It fits beautifully with the new work when it hadn’t with the old work.

Not only that, but just because an idea for a story you had last month, last year, a decade ago didn’t work out then, doesn’t mean you can’t look at it now and find something of value there. I’ve got shorts, novellas, and books a plenty sitting in my files. A major stockpile. LOL

A stockpile that’s paying off it seems. I received an offer of contract on one from Ellora’s Cave. And I was very happy about that. It started out as a freebie read, but the characters wanted something bigger and they got it! Such a sweet little Valentine’s Day tale, so it won’t be available until 2011.

In the meantime, I’ve dusted off a couple of more in my files, tweaked and fiddled with them a bit and off they went. One of those books came about as a result of an exercise on the Avoid Writer’s Hell Workshop group. I asked writers to work up a five-hundred-word excerpt in which they described a character’s job without actually naming the job. The purpose was, of course, to make sure the writing was clear and concise. We had a lot of fun guessing. That five-hundred-word excerpt of mine turned into a fifty-thousand-word novel. But more about those lost books on a later blog and what happens to them. *wink*

So don’t throw away your words. Keep them safe. You never know what publisher might just think they’re worthy of publishing. And those little snippets you save always come in handy when you’re blocked!

I hope everyone is happily writing!

Sorry I’m a little behind posting this morning but I woke up to internet problems. Timely actually, since I’d planned to post about the things we do on the internet to promote ourselves. As a newbie writer, I had a million questions about how the whole business was done. For years, I’d been writing and only saw as far as getting that first book published. Once I’d made it and I found a publisher, the rest was gravy…right? Um. Not exactly. Like I said, I had a million things to learn.

Several brand new writer friends told me that I needed to get my name out there and that the best way to meet other authors and potential readers was to join lots and lots of yahoo groups. Now, I’ll admit I’ve met friends through these groups. Hell, I’ve lost count of how many I actually belong to but from just about all of them, I’m made a friend or two. But over the years have I sold any books from my presence on these loops? Hm. I don’t know about that. A few maybe but there is really no way of knowing.

Years later, as an established writer, I wake up every morning to a gazillion ‘group’ things. They have multiplied like bunnies, dominating my inbox to the point roughly 30 minutes of my day is spent deleting everything. I’m really questioning whether or not there is any benefit to belonging to so many groups. I mean, it’s nice to get on a low-keyed friendly group of friends…that’s an entirely different animal. I even have my own readers/writers loop but we don’t do much self-promotion there. We chat, say hi, talk bullshit. To be quite honest, I have made far more friends lately on Facebook. Would it be such a bad thing to unsubscribe from most of these loops and just chat on facebook? Facebook (unlike Myspace) is far more user-friendly and there is just so much you can do in the way of networking. So yes, I’m beginning to think that life is confusing enough without all these damn loops. Are they a benefit? Maybe. Maybe not. Perhaps I should let my fingers do the walking and unsubscribe. There has to be an easier way to promote.

Coming from Ellora’s Cave on August 4

Trouble in a Stetson

Book 2 in the Sequins, Saddles and Spurs series.

 Lola Lamont leaves Vegas with two pals never imagining they’d break down in smalltown Texas. So what’s a former showgirl to do when she runs smack dab into the hottest sheriff south of the Mason Dixon line? Why, jump his bones, of course! Sam is more than ready to handle some sass, spunk and sex with her but is he willing to gamble on love?

 Sam Campbell takes one look at the Vegas Bombshell and knows damn good and well she belongs under him in bed. She probably has the word goldigger tattooed to her ass but he’s ready to take what the sexy blonde has to offer. Vowing to protect his heart, Sam rocks her world. Too bad she’s rocking his right back. The stakes are high and the only thing Sam has to lose is his heart.

Chapter One

 Lola Lamont gave her poor old pink Caddy a baleful look through the plate glass windows of Blue Belle’s Café and heaved a giant sigh. Her sweet baby had pretty much bitten the dust and her current companions at the table were right, she needed to be put out of her misery. Lola and her friends, Roxie and Emily, had rolled into the tiny town of Mesa Blanco, Texas with the old monstrosity of a car gasping and wheezing like a two pack a day smoker.

Refugees from Vegas, the three friends had, in a moment of madness, said to hell with it and loaded up for a grand adventure with only pennies in their pockets and the good sense of a trio of pigeons.

What the hell had they been thinking?

The sad truth of the matter was they hadn’t been thinking at all. Roxie had lost her job as a security expert for high stakes gaming at a Vegas casino and Emily had been a victim of downsizing in her corporate office. And herself? Lola sighed, still feeling the pain of it all. She had been fired from her show Pink Flamingo Girls for being too old. All those years of dance lessons and keeping her body in primo shape had turned to nothing just days after her thirtieth birthday. Then to make matters worse, her boyfriend Nick had dumped her days after that. Talk about a double whammy. Lola had never been one to have little pity parties for herself but she was about as blue as the décor of Mesa Blanco, Texas’ only café.

They’d stumbled into the place, exhausted, stressed and dying of thirst only to be met by three of the hunkiest, rope-’em-up, tie-’em-down cowboys they’d ever seen. The place had been practically empty except for them and, gallant gents that they were, the men had treated them to soft drinks, lord love ’em. Wyatt Cavenaugh, a local rancher, had already offered Emily a job as a cook of all things. Dang woman could barely boil water. Together they’d driven off in the man’s big truck. Roxie was, at the moment, caught up in a low conversation with the handsome owner of the local honky tonk.

Tension ratcheted up a notch when the other dark, hunkalicious man moved closer to her and leaned in. The scent of him filled her head. “Want another Coke?”

Lola felt that deep, gravelly and oh-so-sexy voice roll over her body to settle in her pussy. Uh-oh. Trouble in a Stetson, for sure. Ever a sucker for a rough, smoky voice, she nodded. “You’re sweet but no thanks. Sam, is it?”

He tipped his big, black Stetson, his dark eyes burning with a look she’d come to recognize from just about every man she’d ever met. Hunger. Desire. Lust. Definite interest. Ooh boy. Did she ever know that look. “Sam Campbell, county sheriff.” His kissable lips turned up at the corners and Lola’s heart thumped hard in her chest. Late afternoon sunlight beamed through the window near the table to settle on the lines of his bronzed, weathered face and glinted on dark hair that she was dying to get a better look at.

“Lola.”

“Yeah, Lamont, a Vegas damsel in distress.”

Arching a brow, she gave him a considering look. “And you’ve come riding in on your big white horse?”

“Looks like it.”

“My hero. Nice to meet you.” Smiling, she held out her hand which he immediately engulfed in his. The warmth of his touch was sudden and unexpected and Lola felt the loss when he finally released her.

Damn if he wasn’t the sexiest man she’d seen in a long, long time and that included Nick Mantucci whom she’d thought was awfully handsome. Nick was a smooth operator who wore designer suits like he was born to them. Not this man. Sam Campbell could’ve stepped out of a scene from one of those old shoot-’em-up movies she used to watch late at night when she couldn’t sleep. Tall, at least six-four or five of brawn and yummy goodness, he not only wore the authority of the sheriff’s badge pinned to his black shirt but carried it on his broad shoulders. The chest beneath that shirt was mounded and muscular practically making her fingers twitch with the need to touch. The man oozed testosterone and wasn’t this a hell of a time to notice such a thing?

Mentally rolling her eyes at her silly turn of thoughts, she glanced away regretfully thinking wrong time and wrong place. Besides, she was just done with men. Especially those who made promises they’d had no intention of keeping.

“So what are you gonna do, Miz Lola?” Sam quietly sipped his coffee.

Sighing deeply, she jabbed her straw into her now empty beverage glass making the ice cubes rattle. “Look for a job, I figure.” Feeling more tired than she’d felt in years, she leaned back in her chair and sent her gaze around the room as she tried to think. Her eyes lit on the fluorescent orange “help wanted” sign in the window. Straightening suddenly, she started to get up then remembered her manners. “Excuse me a minute, Sam.”

Feeling his gaze on her back, Lola grabbed up the sign and walked up to the taciturn, gray haired woman standing behind the counter. The heels of Lola’s cute high heeled sandals click clicked out a warning and the matronly lady glanced up with a frown.

“Can I help ya, Miss?”

Lola set the sign on the counter. “Looks like you need help and I’d like to apply. Can you tell me who I need to talk with about a job?”

“You’d need to talk to me. I’m Belle Warren.” Belle, all of five two and built like an army tank, looked her up and down slowly and Lola got the feeling she didn’t like what she saw. Figured. Lola was pretty much used to that reaction. “Where ya from, little missy?”

“Vegas, ma’am.”

“Bull dung,” she said matter-of-factly. “That ain’t no city voice you’ve got there, girl.”

Lola opened her mouth to speak when Sam walked up and set his coffee cup on the counter. “Can I get a refill, Belle?”

That got a smile from Belle as she grinned and reached for the coffee pot. “Sure thing, Sheriff.” Seeming to forget Lola’s presence for the moment, she finally turned back to Lola and planted her fists on ample hips. “No sirree. You’ve got the deep south stamped all over you. Where you from?”

Sam propped his gorgeous denim-covered butt on the nearest stool and listened unabashedly. Though it was damn hard, Lola tried to forget about him and focused on Belle.

“I’m from a little bitty town just outside Jackson, Mississippi.”

“You grew up there?”

“Yes’m. And I waited tables too. From the time I turned sixteen. I’m a really hard worker, Belle.”

“Hmph. Well, we’ll just see about that, I reckon. Now this ain’t permanent. Got that? Merrylee Hawkins just had a baby and she’ll be back for her job in about six weeks or so. That’s all I’ve got to offer.”

“Oh no, that’s okay,” she rushed. “I just need to make enough money to get out of town.”

“Why? You have somewhere you need to go?”

Lola had to think about that.

No, she really didn’t but she just couldn’t see herself staying here. The sleepy town of Mesa Blanco was far too similar to the town where she grew up and she hadn’t been able to leave that place fast enough. Nope. She wouldn’t be staying. Finally she shook her head and sighed. “Not really. I guess I just need some time to figure things out.”

“Okay then, I’ll try you out for awhile, Lola.”

Relief swept her and then she thought of something else. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Shoot.”

“Someone mentioned something about a rooming house?”

“Staying there requires money,” Belle said. She pursed her lips and then seemed to come to some kind of conclusion. “Listen here. There’s no need for that. I reckon you’re pretty much busted.”

“You’ve got that right. I’m a downright pauper at this point.”

“I figured. You ladies rolled in here without two plug nickels between you considering the three of you were gonna share one drink. Hell, I was prepared to contribute to the cause until Sam here, Wyatt, and Cliff jumped in to spring for the drinks. It’s clear ya’ll are pretty broke.”

“Pitiful.”

“Ain’t it just.” Belle shook her head. “Tell ya what. I’ve got a little apartment out back behind the café. I lived there when I was younger, back before I married and started a family. Over the years I’ve rented it out but it’s empty now. It’s not much but it’s furnished and clean. You can stay there until you get on your feet. How’s that sound?”

Lola was so overwhelmed she wiggled around in celebration and impulsively ran around the edge of the counter to give Belle a hug. Belle Warren was a sweetheart despite her gruff demeanor. Lola knew a little something about being judged on the basis of appearance. She should’ve known better. “Thank you. Thank you. Lordy! You won’t be sorry, ma’am.”

Belle stiffly patted her back. “Hell, I’m already sorry.”

And I wound up writing erotica. As a college pal of mine once said, when I questioned all the sex talk, “I like having sex. And when I’m not having sex, I like talking about sex.” It’s hard to argue with that logic.

I don’t talk about sex so much, what with being a product of my repressed Southern Baptist childhood, and an introvert to boot, but I sure like having it–and writing about it. So when I started writing erotic romance, I naturally drew on my own experiences, as everyone does. When I wrote stories about group sex, or swinging in particular (Queen Bee, or The Wild One) I drew on my more specific experiences with those things. Experiences which both were, and weren’t, what I had learned to expect from years of reading Penthouse Letters and other descriptions (real or imagined) of what sexual adventures were like. I learned things.

So, just in case you’re ever invited to an orgy, some observations from personal experience:

1. Respond To The Invitation! You wouldn’t think this would have to be said. Alas, you’d be wrong. It’s amazing how many people, lucky enough to have been invited to an orgy, can’t be bothered to let the hosts know whether or not they’re going to attend. Waiting until the last minute to RSVP is rude, and suggests (perhaps correctly) that you’re waiting to see if you get a “better” offer. It’s hard enough throwing a party when you don’t know how many people will be there, and doubly so when you’re trying to balance the number of men and women attending. That kind of behavior will not get you invited to a second party.
2. Not Everyone Is Hotter Than Blazes. In real life, most of us are not the equals of the gorgeous young eye candy to be found in Hollywood, in either mainstream film or porn. Even if we start out that way, all of us will get older–if we’re lucky–and most of us will get heavier and lose…definition. What we generally don’t lose, or at least much more slowly, is our sex drive. We still want it, and we still get it. Real world sex parties are full of people who don’t meet the Hollywood criteria for beauty, but they’re still attractive, and still capable of rocking your world if you give them the chance.
3. Sex Parties Are For Sex. Or, in the immortal words of one playmate, when we were the only ones getting busy, “Those silly people in the next room. They’re out there talking when they could be fucking.” That said, you don’t have to have sex with everyone–or anyone, if you don’t want to. I’ve known nervous first-timers who feared that they would be subjected to pressure to participate. I wasn’t one of them. I was the nervous first timer (and I was nervous, but also excited) who hoped to be invited to participate. I’d been wanting to try it for years. I was, and I did. It was great.
4. No Means No. This is pretty self-explanatory, I think. If invited to have sex (“play”) with someone, you can always decline. Furthermore…
5. You Don’t Have To Make Excuses. And you’re well advised not to make excuses. If you’re approached by someone who doesn’t turn your crank, float your boat, or some other euphemism for making you want to get physical with him, you don’t have to explain why you don’t want to play with him. A simple “No, thank you” is sufficient. Maybe you’re tired. Maybe you’re thirsty or hungry. Maybe you’re actually involved in an interesting conversation with other partygoers. Maybe he just doesn’t do it for you. Whatever the reason, you don’t owe it to anyone to explain yourself–and a transparent lie (telling someone you’re too tired right now to take up her offer of sex, then immediately inviting someone else to play, for instance, as I’ve seen happen) is just rude. It’s almost as bad as telling someone outright that he’s too old, too fat, to unattractive to interest you. It may be true–but you don’t have to say so. Be kind; it could be you on the receiving end of a “no, thank you” next time.
6. By The Same Token, Don’t Keep Asking. If you’ve asked someone to play with you and she’s said no, don’t keep asking. Not at the same event. If you meet again on another evening, I don’t think it’s unreasonable to ask again–though a second (or at most, a third) rejection should make it clear that you’re just not her type. Don’t ask again. If she ever changes her mind, she’ll let you know. She may tell you why she’s saying no (though she’s under no obligation to do so), or suggest asking again later. Or she might approach you later that evening, or at another event. But understand that nobody is everyone else’s cup of tea–name the hottest Hollywood celebrity in history and there are people who just don’t understand what all the fuss is about. You’re not going to be catnip to everyone you fancy either.
7. No Touching Without Permission. Just because someone is scantily clad or naked doesn’t mean you can walk up and touch him. No, not even if someone else is doing so. No, not even if he’s having sex right there in front of you with two or three other women. Or men. Or men and women. You weren’t invited. They were. Or at least, that’s what you should assume. If you want to join in, ask. Chances are they’ll agree. If they don’t, see Rule # 3. (I have to confess, however, that in my personal experience, this rule tends to be observed less strictly than all the others. It annoys me, especially when it happens to me. I’ve participated in my share of threesomes or group gropes, though I prefer to concentrate on one playmate at a time. Going into a threesome is one thing, having a third party invite himself or herself into the action midway is something else again. Don’t do it!)
8. This Is Not A Date. Don’t monopolize another guest. If you’re only interested into getting together with one another, get your own room.
9. Don’t Be An Ass. Some of the rules above are simply specific ass-like behaviors to avoid, but the rule is also broader than that. Sex aside, a swing party is like any other–behave like you would at any other gathering. Be polite, be friendly. The swinging community, in any given locale, is a small one. If you behave like an ass, or a boor, people will notice. And they’ll talk. And you’ll find your opportunities for partying drying up in a hurry.

There’s more I could say, but really the best way to learn what such an event is like, is to try it yourself. At worst, you’ll have a new experience to draw upon for your writing, if you’re a writer, or a great story to tell your friends. At best, you’ll have lots of great sex and meet some new friends.

I have a weird brain that memorizes song lyrics without me even knowing it.  And they pop up at the strangest times.  Did you get this one? Here’s a video with sound and lyrics.

This song was apt, though, because I write of otherworldly things.  So, please allow me to introduce myself and my world of kick-ass women and sexy Alpha males–vampires and werewolves and who knows what else?  But let’s start with the vampires …

Several years ago, I decided I didn’t like what was happening to vampires in the current genre literature, both paranormal romance and urban fantasy. They were being turned into sensitive guys who drove Volvos (a Volvo? Really?), who hated what they were and only drank blood (ewww) because they had to. They were full of angst and torment and wanted only to do good.  Ick.

So I decided to write about the real vampires, creatures who had ascended to the top of the food chain through blood and violence and who reveled in what they’d become, building empires that spanned human generations and living according to their own rules and no one else’s. My vampires are lethal predators–deadly, aggressive, territorial and, of course, sexy as hell.

In my world, the vampire hierarchy centers around the Vampire Lords. These very few and all-powerful vampires hold the lives of every vampire within their domain. No vampire exists but that he (or she) is beholden to one of the Lords or is powerful enough to be a Lord in his own right. In all of North America, there are only eight Vampire Lords, each controlling a separate territory with rigidly maintained boundaries. The Vampire Lords are fiercely competitive with one another and tolerate no trespassing.

Each of the books in my series, Vampires in America, focuses on one of the territories and its Lord. The first book, RAPHAEL, introduces the Lord of the Western Territory. Raphael is almost 500 years old and controls the largest of the eight North American territories. He is scarily powerful, possibly the most powerful vampire alive. When someone near and dear to him is kidnapped, Raphael hires a human investigator Cynthia Leighton, to track down the human kidnappers.

And the rest as they say, is history.

Book Two continues the story of Raphael and Cyn, but with the introduction of JABRIL Karim, a vampire who values no life but his own, who enslaves those he desires, steals whatever he covets and destroys anyone who stands in his way. When he sets his sights on Cyn, he crosses a line which can only end in someone’s death.

And my newest book is RAJMUND, Book Three of the Vampires in America series. Due out from ImaJinn Books on July 30th, it introduces Rajmund (RYE-mund) Gregor. Rajmund is a younger and more modern vampire as compared to Raphael. He is the Master of Manhattan, New York, which he controls on behalf of his Sire, Krystof Sapieha, who is Lord of the Northeastern Territory. Krystof is very old. Too old. He is going slowly mad and the territory is crumbling around him. Power in the vampire world rarely passes without violence.  Of all Krystof’s vampire children, only Rajmund is powerful enough to destroy his Sire and seize the territory for himself.  But first, there is the matter of some missing women and the human police who suspect their disappearances are the work of a vampire.

And that leaves my werewolves. This is a new series for me. Just released from Siren Publishing, HEART OF THE WOLF introduces the universe of my wolves with the story of Renjiro Roesner and Kathryn Avinger.

Kathryn is the daughter of the North American Alpha. Young, beautiful and obedient, Kathryn was married off at the age of eighteen to a much older and wealthy human, finding herself neatly trapped in an abusive prison of money and privilege.

Renjiro is a powerful and charismatic wolf, an enforcer for Kathryn’s father and, once upon a time, Kathryn’s promised husband. Returning from a mission to find Kathryn married and gone, Ren left the country, bitter and betrayed. But when someone tries to murder Kathryn at her husband’s funeral, Ren comes home to protect the only woman he ever loved.

What’s next in my world? I don’t know for sure.

But I’m thinking . . . demons.

Visit me at http://dbreynolds.wordpress.com for free Vampire Vignettes, contests and more.

See you in August!

DBR