Writing is a job. It may look like a hobby to people who don’t know any better, but it’s a job, and a demanding one at that. You have to make time to write daily or at least a few times a week if you don’t want to find yourself behind. The problem is that some of us have our 9 to 5 jobs, and some of us are stay-at-home moms, while all of us have a house to clean and people, young or not, to keep in line. And that’s without taking into consideration the social life we have–and want.

I admit it’s not easy for me to make the time to write. Even though I love creating worlds and heroes and have them fall in love and be jealous, frighened, hurt until they reach that pot of HEA at the end of the rainbow, life gets in the way and I find myself staring at the screen forcing my fingers to type. Most often than not, I find reasons not to write because I’m too tired by all the other stuff going on to pull up my novel’s world from the archives of my mind.

I’ve found though that I work better under pressure and when I have people check up on me. If I’m given free rein and told “that’s okay, Lisa, don’t push yourself to finish the story. You’ll get there,” I’ll never get there. I need to have a short-term goal, something I can grasp, something real to keep me going and unfortunately the possibility of a contract doesn’t cut it.

So, do you have the same problem, and if yes, how do you fight against the torturous too fast ticking of the clock?

Infidelity was picked as a top read over at Dark Diva Reviews.
Read the review here: 

I’m hot. No, not that kind of hot, but hot as in my house is hot. Although, some of the heat in me came from reading Debbie’s WIP. That’s the second or third WIP I’ve read in the last week that just sizzled with sexual tension. Granted the others pretty much fell down on the job when it came to the follow through, which was disappointing and frustrating. Debbie’s hadn’t gotten as far as the sex yet, but boy, she sure ratcheted up the heat between the hero and the heroine! One of the other stories was supposed to be a semi-sweet romance although that news left me with my mouth hanging open in shock.

See, here’s the thing… that sweet romance gave me no indication that it was a sweet romance. The sexual tension was hotter than hot and had me panting to read more, thinking I was gonna get me a hot sex scene that would blow my doors off. Instead, the hero rips open the condom pack with his teeth and a paragraph later the heroine is eating breakfast. HUH? The explanation for the truncated sex scene is that the story is supposed to be sweet.

Now, I’m not bashing this author at all. I like her story a lot. She totally delivered some major sexual tension in a very expert manner. My problem is that to me major sexual tension in a book means major sex scene coming right up! To me, sweet romance means all the feelings you read about in the story are sweet emotions, not driving sexual tension. There should be mention of “wanting” or “yearning” but not “He made my panties wet.” That’s not sweet to me. There should be lots of things like “He’d been hurt badly in the past, but this woman made him want to trust again and give his heart into her keeping.” No thoughts of how the curve of her ass made his dick hard.

As a reader, I don’t want to be tricked. I want to have some idea of where the story is going so I’m not achingly disappointed. In real life, it works the same way. If you’re rubbing my thigh and brushing up against my breast, and nuzzling my neck for an hour in a bar, when we leave the bar I expect you to say something besides, “Had a great time, see ya!” as you climb into your car and drive away. Your actions gave me to understand that something else was gonna happen. I don’t like being let down. I don’t like it when my expectations aren’t met. That’s just bad customer service.

From the other side of the fence, as writers, we owe the public certain things, in my opinion. One of them is to fulfill or exceed their expectations, just like good customer service. If my book is filled with major sexual tension, you can bet your britches that I’m gonna deliver you a scene that rocks your sexual world. If a scene or book is going down the path of deep emotions where sex does not belong, well then, you’ll find things like Colin Granville in Hot Water, sliding into bed in his underwear despite the fact that he hadn’t done that since he was a kid.

Mary Winter is smirking now. She’s the one who pointed out to me that Colin shouldn’t get into bed naked when sex wasn’t what was on his mind. And she was right. When I read the scene with the ripping of the condom pack only to be faced with not one sexual word after that, the Colin scene came back to me. I had done the reverse and it jarred. Of course, in the final version of Hot Water, Colin does the right thing and leaves his boxer briefs on until things are squared away between him and Eden.

If you’re writing this amazing sexual tension, you should live up to or strive to exceed the expectations your readers are going to have from that tension. Give them the full on heart-stopping, breath-taking, heat inducing sex scene. If you want the reader’s eyes to dampen and their hearts to ache behind their breast bones, don’t rip the condom open with your teeth! Instead, don’t even go there with the sex! Have them talk and expose feelings and emotions, build some trust. ‘Cause in the end, when you deliver what you’ve been promising and meet or exceed the readers’ expectations with whichever kind of tension you’re building – sexual or emotional – you’ll have built a relationship with them… and they will trust you enough to buy your next book, knowing that you will once more deliver and not leave them hanging with reader blue balls.

Happy weekend smooches and licks!

Today was Brady Sutton’s day to blog. Being the Flirty Author Bitches we are we have been waiting patiently for a good dose of what Brady does best to women. But finally at the eleventh hour we realized he was not going to make the deadline and went looking for our resident bard. Lo and behold we found him propped up in front of his computer, in a hospital bed, out cold, his finger mere centimeters from the send button. After calling the nurse and getting Brady all tucked in for the night I took a quick peak at what he meant to send his lovelies.  And now I’m sending it on to the rest of you while I go find those rechargeable lithium batteries I bought last weekend. Our Brady aims to please the ladies and his arrow never misses the mark. Enjoy the post while I go hunt down my B.O.B. This was so worth the wait…

Touch it, please, Debbie and Alyce and Lex, touch it softly until by touching it softly you make it hard and I can feel the surge inside, my balls swelling, my cock awaiting the first mouth-lowering, mouth so lubricious that I begin to thrust with the greatest of need. As lips sup at the full red cap and draw the slightest nectar, until your mouths have brought me to the brink of bursting, such streams of cum as have never been felt, seen, or tasted as it splashes like a squirt of the best liquor into the shot glass of your mouths.

Oh, yes, yes, demonesses of the dark, suck me with your otherworldly mouths, poke me with your fangs, leave your incurible juices deep into my cock, juices that make my member stand erect all night and hungry for deep wet cunt all day. Juice that will never allow me to be sated. What glory to be taken and used and abused by all. I am hard and waiting. The male moisture seeps from the tip of my cock, needing to be suckled. Such need. Such desperation. The draining must come soom. Or I will have no choice but to explode! And so will go all the masterful work performed by that masterful surgeon.

Soon I will need you all, Alyce, Debbie, Lex, all others who will serve me well in such times as times as these. Suck the pain from me. Part my medical gown, spy my swelling, stretching excrusion, and use me as I will use you– OVER AND OVER AND OVER AGAIN, DEMANDING MAGIC FROM MY DICK AND CASUAL CRUELNESS FROM MY COCK.

Oh yeah, it’s starting. From the tip. Dripping. I touch it, spread it, let the head feel the honey as if squeezed from a honey bottle.

SQUEEZE ME.

PS: He talks like this on Lex’s Tales of the Darkworld Yahoo group all the time. If you don’t belong, and you like Brady’s prose, you need to join the group.

and

Yes, it’s the first installment of Humpday Hotness! Everyone needs hotties to drool over or use as muses or characters. My idea of the ultimate hotness is Marcus Schenkenberg, the first male supermodel. I post him on my blog Sunlight Sucks every Monday, to help make Mondays be not such a pain in the ass. I’m also a big fan of the hotness that is Kelly Monaco. The woman has tits that just do not quit. I don’t really play for the other team, but she could recruit me in a heartbeat with those boobs and that ass. Besides, her mouth looks like she could suck the chrome off a tailpipe. Old, bad joke, I know.

So what do I have for you to ogle this Wednesday? How about a few photos that I think are just as warm as a fire in the winter! Enjoy!

Nir Lavi, Israeli model

Christina Scabbia, lead singer of Lacuna Coil

And a Marcus and Kelly just for good measure!

Happy Humpday!

I need help flirting…okay so I don’t need help flirting. I’m happily married and well hmmm did I say…yeah okay, happily married and DH would probably frown upon me heading out to the bars and flirting with every hot young stud out there. Silly man won’t let me have any fun, but I digress.

As we’ve discuss, flirting seems to be a dying art form. Why?? It’s so much fun. The casual looks across the room, then quickly looking away or giggling with a girl friend. Then, the sustained eye contact. The type where you try to telepathically tell the object of your affection how attracted to him/her you are. Eyes can say so many things without ever a word having been spoken.

But what happens when he actually comes over to you and buys you a drink. Okay, thank you is a good start, but where do you go from there? Do you rely on the man to lead the conversation? If it were me, hell yeah. I have absolutely no idea what to say to the opposite sex, especially when I’m attracted to him. I stutter, talk about the weather, talk about my kids (yeah, how sexy am I).

And is it really fair to leave it all up to the other person, be it male or female. You should be able to hold your own in a conversation. What would you and a girlfriend talk about? Well okay you don’t need to tell him what a nice package he has after saying thank you for the drink. All flirting would be out the door along with you and Mr. Hefty. Out to the pick up for a quick BJ and a thank you ma’am. Where the hell does that leave you?

I think you need to know more about the world than what is in your tiny little circle so you have things to talk about. Music, art, books, movies…even if you don’t go see all the movies or read the latest books, how long does it take to read the reviews.

I think more expectations are put on a person flirting in public, than flirting like we do here on the posts. Obviously here we all know the score; we’re just looking for some fun conversation and a release of tension. So why can’t we do that in person without the other half expecting to get laid within the hour. And hey, nothing wrong with that type of release either, but that’s not flirting. That’s a whole nuther discussion. Maybe one for LEX, Sex without the quilt.

What was I saying…oh yeah, so read up on current events, practice conversations with the mirror, do what you gotta do so the next time this ridiculously hot human being walks ups to you and says “What’s a pretty little thing like you doing in a place like this?” You can come right back with “Did you know the Dow fell 3 points today?” Wait no that’s wrong… how about “Have you seen the latest slasher flick, all that blood and guts really gets my motor revving.” Hmmm, that’s not quite right either. Maybe “Oh, I’ve never seen eye’s the same color as swamp mud.” No? Well how about…..

PS: Oh Mr. Brady…cum out cum out wherever you are.

So, um, hello everyone! I’m new here. Blame Lex.

My name is M. Jules Aedin, but you can call me Jules. I write, and sometimes I get published. Anything else you want to know, ask; I’m not shy, but I’d hate to bore you my first five minutes here.

Hi, I’m Jules, and I’m a happy reprobate.

As for the subject line, well. The picture says it all. I found out today that I am so very out of practice at self-censorship I might as well not even try. A relative of mine is in town, and she’s very conservative and very religious. I am neither of these things. I did my best all day to keep my swearing and perving down to a minimum. (Stress! I had to take a break after lunch just to go ingest some high-quality porn.) Anyway, Mom and Dad, the relative, and my bff from high school (who is totally every inch as evil as I am, and sometimes more Machiavellan) all went to a basketball game tonight — our local pro-team. I spent most of the game drooling over the cheerleaders and making deals with J (my friend) over who would get to claim which girl. This isn’t why I am going to hell.

On our way out of the arena and toward the train to go home, a street preacher handed us a religious tract. It said, If you were to die right now, would you be good enough to get into Heaven? J handed it to me with a laugh as we walked away. I looked at it, looked up at him and said, “Well, it depends. Am I being judged on fellatio or cunnilingus? Oh nevermind, I’ve got it in the bag either way.”

Yeah, yeah, I know. Do not pass Go, do not collect $200…

I sort of wonder what the preacher would have done if I’d asked him that? I’m probably glad I don’t know. I’m probably glad my Dad didn’t hear me, either… my parents are pretty open with me, but he did used to be a minister, and… Well, you know what they say about us preacher’s kids.

Now it’s late and I need some sleep. I’ll be seeing y’all around!

Okay, so this may hurt a little. It’s my blog cherry being popped after all. I just hope, the only thing hurt is my head as I try to come up with something witty to say and not your eyes when you read said witty blog.

Anyway, so when Lex and I talked about setting up this blog, it got me thinking. Is flirting a lost–or soon to be extinct–art? It seems every day, fewer and fewer people, especially those of the younger generations, devote their time to flirt with the object of their lust. Or maybe I hang out with the wrong kind of crowd.

But I can’t help but notice that flirting–good, witty, I-wanna-cream-my-panties flirting–can nowadays mainly be found in movies and books. “Hey do you want to dance?” and “Hey, can I have your phone number?” don’t count. Is it because there’s no thrill anymore? No anticipation for the first kiss, the fist date, the first time you have sex…I dunno. Everything has become so easy that maybe people have stopped trying to impress the opposite (or same) sex. Women and men just lay it out there and if the other person doesn’t bite, hell, the next one will. Why go to the trouble of finding something clever and sexy to say?

Yes, some people are innately flirtatious, but they don’t count. It’s in their blood, they don’t strive for it.

That’s why when I come across someone who knows what he’s talking about–whether he’s a fictitious character or a flesh and blood person–I can’t help but be dazzled by his comebacks. I admit it, if I were a Southerne belle, I’d swoon.

So what do you think? Is flirting really out or do I just live in the wrong country?

However, here it goes! So, since this is my first post ever, and the blog is Flirty author bitches, let me address every one of those words.

First, flirty. I love to flirt. It makes me feel good. I mean, to have some guy(or woman) say they want you. Want to do the nasty to you, gets my juices flowing, and who doesn’t like their juices flowing, lol. None of us(I’m pretty certain) are married to cover models here, or the kind of alpha males from our books. So, we need a reason to…relax and unwind. To pretend we’re desirable goddesses and not…not.

Author: Well, self-explanotory, lol. Where I haven’t produced a ton of novels, I love to write, and really, isn’t that what an author really is? I mean, I know many of the authors here are going to hit it big someday, and li’l ol’ me will be left in the dust, but we are all authors who like to write and are fairly good at what we do. Maybe EVERYBODY doesn’t like our stories, but we do write good stuff!

Bitches! Oh baby can I be a bitch. Especially when people attack my friends. I do not like hearing my friends being bashed. When Lex told me that someone got in her face, I was way pissed. Anyway, don’t nobody mess with my friends. You won’t like me if you do. Not ever!

So to all you fabulous Flirty author bitches. Keep on being flirty, being fabulous, and being bitches! (and authors!) lol

To make my website a little more interesting I have been doing interviews. They are are NOT the “send me a list of questions-I’ll answer-you print them-we’re done” kind of interview. They are interactive thru yahoo I/M between my victim…er….subject and me. I do not ask the same bloody questions everyone else has asked. I do a lot of research and spend a lot of time getting to know the person I am going to interview. I look at old interviews, join groups that are fans of that person and talk to lots of people one on one before I jot down my questions, load them up in I/M and let ‘er rip. Simple really……Until today. And after today I might have to hang up my journalism shingle in the bathroom-never to be brought out again.

Six months ago I asked a very famous and well respected model if he would mind being interviewed for my website. He is a very talented writer as well as being drop dead gorgeous. He said yes, we’ll hook up blah,blah,blah. Being as busy as we both are we never found a time we would both be free to do this thing so I put it off. Until now. The interview is on the horizon- time to do the research. I dug into the deepest recesses of the internet, found old interviews-check. Joined some groups to get ideas for questions that people might want to ask him if given the chance-check. One on one talks with his fans-OMG!!! Who are these people and thank god no one knows anything about me. My last “chat” was last night and it went on for almost THREE HOURS-with one little old lady!!!!!

Now most of the people who know me know I am fundamentally shy. Yes I said SHY. I don’t like crowds. I don’t like people asking me personal questions. I don’t like celebrity at ALLLLLL. Being a DJ sorta cured me of ever wanting to be in the limelight. Another story for another day as Lex would say. SOOOO Granny what’s her name is a sweet woman with a very active life that includes keeping tabs on my modeling friend. She talks about him as if he were one of her 17 grandkids. This woman knows EVERYTHING there is to know about this man. Half the information she was offering me I really DID NOT want to know….talk about TMI. I may look at nude pics and drool like everyone else but this guy happens to be a friend, all be it a cyber friend, but someone I care very deeply for. And honestly there are some things I just do not want to know about my friends. But being the professional I am I let her go, dropping in questions every now and then because she really was enjoying talking about her favorite subject-sorry grandkids that’s what she said.

I spent the time jotting questions into the computer, absently making notes of possible alternate questions in the event the conversation took a left turn. Until she said “Do you want to know how long it is?” WHAT?? Coke all over the keyboard, papers went flying and if she hadn’t been on speaker phone I would have dropped the phone!

My mind was racing-please tell me that’s not what she said, please tell me that’s not what she said. “Dearie are you still there? Me and the girls were just talking about this the other day and we think he has the best looking ……..” NO!! WAIT. DON’T TELL ME! I was punching buttons on the new phone and reaching for the handset and she was cutting in and out. Stop laughing. I know you”d be anxious to find out that little tidbit of info. And maybe if it was someone I did not know on a personal level I probably would have been anxiously jotting down measurements. But he is a friend and I have no interest in what he has going on between the navel and the knees. So I hit a few more buttons and kept from hearing the pertinent info. Thanked Granny for her time and hung up.

It’s been about 24 hours now since I hung up with Granny what’s her name, replaced the keyboard on the desktop computer and transfered the notes from our discussion into a file for this interview. And sadly, I think I’m going to have to bag this interview. I’m really afraid I’ll be toast when he answers the question “I hear you have recently finished penning a romance novel.” Because with my luck he’s going to answer “As a matter of fact I have. Do you want to know how long it is?”

TTFN