Monthly Archives: December 2012

Happy New Year!

The last day of 2012 already. Wowzas. That happened quickly, didn’t it?

Personally this has been a great year for me. I have accomplished so many things and I’m looking forward to more books, writing, and promotions in the new year.

I’m not big on resolutions, but I am determined to be more organized, more healthy, and less stressed in the new year. I will find more down time to relax and enjoy life.

I hope, no matter what your resolution or plans, the New Year treats you well and leaves you healthy.

For tonight, be safe, be smart, and send the year out with a bang!

Em~

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New Contract…for my alter ego anyway

The best way to send out 2012 and ring in 2013? With a new contract. At least for one of me anyway. Marci Boudreaux, my sweet romance writing alter ego, just signed on with Secret Cravings Publishing to release The Messenger in May.

This poor book of mine has been through so much in its life.

The Messenger is the second full manuscript I wrote—about twelve years ago.  It was submitted to publishers, rejected like no book has ever been rejected before. Pulled out about six years ago, revamped, resubmitted, re-rejected, and re-shelved.

Finally, I pulled it out again after Unforgettable You was released and I had some editing experience under my belt. I reworked and rewrote and re-edited again. It was tentatively accepted by another publisher but with many, many, MANY suggestions. While I was doing that, I submitted another manuscript with the editor felt was too similar to this one but she liked the second submission more so The Messenger was again rejected.

Dismayed, I submitted to a newer publisher that I happened upon. I liked their attitude toward the authors (and their contract), so submitted and finally—after all it has been through—The Messenger is going to be published in May 2013.

What a journey these characters have had just getting this far, they haven’t even shared their story yet! I was beginning to doubt if they ever would, but am thrilled they are now starting down the path of editing (again), book art, and lots of promoting. I have to, after all this time, start thinking about the blurb and taglines, and the book trailer. This is where all the work starts, but I am so thrilled to be tackling this.

Though I don’t have a blurb yet, let me sum up the storyline: Evelyn Thomas, a green reporter, feel a bit entitled to being the star reporter since her father, is after all, the publisher. But instead, she is treated like a child playing grown up, especially by seasoned writer Wes Reilly, who is far more interested in her long legs than her investigative abilities.

 When she overhears her brother-in-law, Jerry, telling her sister that he suspects insurance fraud at the hospital where he is a surgeon, Eve becomes determined to write the story and prove herself as a serious reporter.  When Jerry is assaulted, Eve realizes she’s in over her head and has no choice but to ask Wes for help.

While Eve tries to prove herself, Wes does his best to keep her from getting herself in trouble. Sparks fly and danger lurks as they team up and they begin to realize there is more to the other than either had realized.

I hope, when it is finally released, you enjoy the story and the characters and appreciate all they went through to share their story with you!

 

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Hot steamy and…redundant?

I know there are a lot of opinions on what the most difficult part of being an erotic writer. Inspirtation? Marketing?

For me it is avoiding being redundant. Not redundant in using the same terms over and over (but, if you are a writer, please know there are enough velvet covered shafts out there, just call it what it is), redundant as in “didn’t the stud in my last book do that to his lady?”

Sure, I can twist and turn and describe it until it sounds new, which I suppose is what we all do anyway. Or perhaps this means I need to expand on my sexual experiences, which I’m sure Mr. Mancini will absolutely hate (says the Mrs. with a tone oozing with sarcasm).

Don’t get me wrong, there’s plenty going on there. Two dresser drawers and a locked box on the dresser worht of stuff going on. If the local adult book store had frequenty shopper perks, we’d have earned a life size blow up doll by now. But it may be time to move beyond our normal section into the ultra kinky section.

I wonder if I can write latex undies and leather whips off on my taxes…

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Sneaky little man of mine

I have two kids, two lovely little children who think Christmas is the greatest thing ever and start going crazy as soon as December arrives. (I’ve thankfully trained them well enough to know you can’t start celebrating until Thanksgiving is over.) Yet the most impossible one to handle is my husband. He always has been.

No gift is a secret. For him or for me. Every single year, as soon as gifts are under the tree he starts pestering me to find out what he got. As soon as he buys my gift, he starts taunting, “I bought your present. Want to know what it is? Guess. Just guess.”  I usually cave and let him tell me simply so he’ll shut up about it.

But that sneaky little man of mine has crossed the line this year.

His mother wanted to know what to get him and I suggested she get him bar stools for his mancave. There was absolutely no way he could have possible guessed this, yet I received the box today, wrapped it and dragged the damned thing behind the tree, and he didn’t bat an eye at it when he came home. He didn’t rush over to see who it was for or immediately start nagging me to tell me what was in it.

When I grew suspicious and asked if he noticed the gigantic box behind the tree, he casually said, “Yeah.” When I asked if he knew who it was for he said, “Me, I guess.”

Ah-ha! Suspicions confirmed. So I said, “You’ll never guess what’s in it.”

“Probably something for my mancave.”

That’s when I knew. I sat straight up, glared my meanest glare, and said, “You read my email to your mother! You sneaky, bastard.”

He smirked, “It’s your fault for leaving your inbox open.”

“It’s my fault you read my e-mail?”

“I had to fix something and it was open.”

Yeah…and buried under about two hundred other e-mails.

That’s it. Next year, I’m not only emptying my e-mail and clearing my cookies, I’m sending smoke signals to his mother so her sneaky little son can’t figure out what he’s getting and taking the fun out of the holidays for everybody else who likes to see him be surprised.

 

 

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Got my ejumication.

All the years of learning how to be a journalist and public relations..um…ist… may not be making me tons of money, but I am saving a ton with all I learned. I do my own book trailers and design some of my own ads.  I’ve even started doing trailers for other people making a little on the side.

I may not be the best, but get by. Here’s a few samples of what I’ve done this week:

 

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holidaysLLL

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ZUMBA!

In what have become awkwardly failed attempts to lose weight, my friends and I have started to go to Zumba class.

The first night, I expected for us to look like a drunk monkeys. We didn’t know the moves, the music, the beats. The second class, okay, still not so great.

This class, I think we all just gave up. My friend on the left was doing some kind of whimsical dance with her hands flowing as she spun around while friend on the right was throwing her arms up and down doing some clumsy version of the monkey. I don’t even know what I was doing but I have no illusions that I looked any better. One look at them and I got a serious case of the giggles.

That pretty much ended it for me, I just started doing my best not to step on anyone’s toes, including my own, and not punching anyone in the face.

Friend on the left (who frequently makes up her own moves based on a Zumba class she is taking on her lunch break at work) started laughing, which I assumed was at me, so I informed her she had no room to judge, she looked like a stoned fairy. Friend on the right began chastising us for not paying attention. The Stoned Fairy and I started debating who was to blame. This frustrated our friend even more and she proceeded to move between us and inform us that she can’t take us anywhere.

The instructor took notice of this and pointed out to the rest of the class that we had been separated. This only increased my case of the giggles and I spent the rest of the class dancing around out of rhythm, making faces at The Stoned Fairy while our self appointed mom lectured us on our poor behavior.

Finally the last song came on. This is one that we can actually do, it’s just a lot of breathing techniques. As soon as it wrapped up, we all could relax and let our giggles go.

“I wasn’t laughing at you,” said Stoned Fairy. “I was laughing at her.”

“Why?” demanded Self Appointed Mom.

“I don’t know. But she got all snippy.”

“I wasn’t snippy,” I insisted.

We then apologized to the instructor who told us the point of the class was to have fun so she wasn’t offended by our giggling and bad behavior. That was a relief but I’m sure she wouldn’t miss us if we didn’t return.

But I think we will continue with this latest attempt to get fit. No other class would have us.

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Deadline Schmeadline

I started this book in October. I was going to have it done by Thanksgiving. Then I thought Christmas. Now I think New Years.  Yes, definitely by New Years.

For some reason school, work, kids, family…they all think they are more important than these characters running around in my head.

I haven’t settled on a title yet, but I’ve been playing with one for a while.  Anyway, I’m throwing out a little tidbit for you. The first page of the yet to be titled WIP in which a poor little college boy finds himself infatuated with his roommate’s mama.

I write erotica books, so I’m sure you can guess where this goes.

Hope you like it,

EM

 

I looked up at the house where I’d be spending my first Thanksgiving away from home. The entire neighborhood reminded me of a Norman Rockwell Americana painting, but this house topped them all with the autumn wreath hanging on the door and various types of squash ornately placed on the porch.

As a transfer college student from Florida, I didn’t get home much during breaks so my roommate, Justin Ellis, had dragged me to his family dinner in Minneapolis.

We’d driven from Chicago crammed in Justin’s VW Beetle with our luggage stuffed in the backseat. The two-story brick house looked warm and inviting with the flowing lace curtains dimming the light that flooded out onto the immaculately kept lawn.

Stepping into the house, I inhaled deeply and my mouth began to water. I hadn’t had a homemade meal since transferring and hadn’t expected to until I went home over Christmas break. I was greeted not only by the scent of pot roast, but by décor that reminded me of an old country store. Photos were up in perfectly planned clusters on the wall and the furniture was positioned just so.  A bookshelf painted to intentionally look antique was filled with photos and keepsakes that looked like they’d been designed to fit the shelf.

It was then that I recalled Justin telling me his mother was in real estate and the modeled feel of the home suddenly made sense.

I stopped in front of it and had to do a double take. I’m not sure what I expected the woman to look like, I hadn’t put much thought into, but I wasn’t expecting to find myself looking at the image of a tall, slender beauty with pale skin and dark auburn hair. One photo in particular caught my attention; she was standing on a beach somewhere wearing a black bikini top with a towel wrapped around her waist. The man standing next to her had his arm draped across her shoulders, both smiling brightly for the photo. She had soft curves where the towel fell around her hips and full breasts that more than filled out her top.

I couldn’t stop myself from wishing I’d been there to rub lotion over her back to protect her pale skin from burning.

“Hey, Mom!” Justin called out, pulling me out of my daze. He dropped his backpack carelessly by the shelf and gestured for me to follow him.

I eased my bag down out of the way and, after taking another look at the photo, followed my friend. By the time I got to the kitchen, Justin was wrapped in the arms of a woman several inches shorter but considering Justin was just over six feet, she was still tall. When she leaned back, I felt my cock twitch. Even fully clothed her body looked amazing.

“Mom, Kyle,” Justin said. “Kyle, my mom, Kate.”

She was wearing just enough makeup to accentuate her long, thin face and though she had lines around her eyes, the only added to her beauty. Her hair was swept up in a wavy ponytail and, as she turned her bright green eyes to mine, my obsession was born.

 

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