Wednesday, October 29, 2014

My Favorite Places to Write

By Amy Armstrong (Guest Blogger)

Thanks so much for welcoming me onto your blog today, Lisabet!

When I was younger, I never appreciated living in the place where I grew up. Coming from a small village in Wales which is surrounded by mountains always seemed boring to me. I craved the excitement of big towns and cities ― the sights and smells, the noise and traffic ― the people. But as I’ve got older, I’ve begun to appreciate it more and more. I see the beauty now where I never did before. Lots of writers talk about the places where they write or where they’d love to write. It’s surprising how many authors say they’d like to be able to look out to a view of the hills. When I read an author discussing that dream location now, I realise how lucky I am. Wales is a beautiful country. It’s lush and green with an abundance of mountains and forestry. If you’ve never visited, it really is worth a visit.

At home I write from an upstairs bedroom that has a window looking out at the type of vista I’m sure most authors would envy and I’m grateful for every second I spend in front of it. Would I want to write in any other location? Of course I would. There’s nothing quite like change and variety to get the creative juices flowing. At least once or twice a week I try to get out to write. I go to coffee shops, to hotel bars, to quiet little country pubs. 
I live close to the coast and several times I’ve parked up in front of the beach and worked on a novel while looking out to sea. I did this while working on my current release, A Merman in Miami. Because the novel focuses on the merpeople’s secret underwater realm, I found it beneficial to write whole chunks of the book while looking out to sea, imagining their realm somewhere below the surface. The two previous books were based in Texas and oh how I would have loved writing the books while visiting the state and soaking up the atmosphere.

There are many places I’d love to write. A cafe in Rome or Paris would be wonderful, but there’s one thing I know I wouldn’t get in a place like that which I get here in Wales. Peace and quiet. The perfect writing location for me is somewhere with no noise. In an ideal world it would be somewhere with a view of the sea or ocean, but hey, we can’t have everything, right? I know many writers who have to have music playing when they write and even create playlists to go with their books, but personally, I prefer it to be quiet. The background music in pubs distracts me and I even find it difficult to block out the conversations in cafes and coffee shops.

What would your perfect writing location be? Would you like to look out at the sea like me or would the green vista of fields and mountains be more to your taste. Would you prefer to have music playing in the background or would a quiet room be preferable?

Thanks for taking the time to learn a little bit more about me. I hope you’ll enjoy the short excerpt from A Merman in Miami.

Mia Harding has been hunting vampires since she was sixteen years old—almost as long as she’s been in love with her overzealous hunting partner Drew Caine. Unfortunately, the only thing Drew seems passionate about is his job. Tired of longing for someone she can’t have, Mia makes the heart-breaking decision to find a new partner and cut all ties to Drew. But before she can make the request to the council, Mia and Drew are sent to Miami to retrieve one of the lost grimoires. Mia is determined to make it their last mission together—but first they have to survive it.

Drawn to the dark magic of the book, vampires and warlocks begin congregating in the city adding extra pressure to an already difficult mission. When the marine biologist thought to be in possession of the book turns up dead, the trail leads to the highly secretive merpeople. Entering their underwater realm will be problematic, but getting back out will be nearly impossible, especially when the merman king decides he wants Mia as his queen. Lonely and unhappy, Mia at first warms to the advances and the magnetic allure of the king, but maybe Drew isn’t as far out of her reach as she has always believed.

Excerpt from A Merman in Miami:

In the ten years since Drew and I had left the training school, we’d never encountered any angels or demons and I had no idea what to expect. Any preconceived notions I’d had, however, disappeared the very second Malaki walked into Drew’s motel room. It might have had something to do with the fact that he was an angel, but I’d expected him to be holy in some way—to be somehow otherworldly or divine.

He wasn’t.

Malaki looked like the lead singer in a rock band.

He was dressed head to toe in leather and the faded black T-shirt underneath his waistcoat proclaimed that ‘The Screaming Skulls Are The Shit’. He had dyed black hair with neon pink tips that hung down partly obscuring his eyes. They were just visible enough that I could tell he was wearing eyeliner—lots of it. I must have stared at him for a full ten seconds before I remembered to close my mouth. He was handsome and I’d be surprised if he didn’t have his pick of women, but he wasn’t my type—not that I had one. Maybe I wasn’t the best person to judge. I’d been in love with Drew since I was fifteen years old and as a result, I was blinded by him. I barely noticed other men.

If it hadn’t been for the way Malaki was dressed, that preconceived idea of mine would have still gone out of the window when he cast a lascivious eye over every inch of my body.

Drew cleared his throat noisily, and when I switched my gaze to him, he was glaring at the angel.

Can we get this over with?” he huffed. “Mia and I have got a plane to catch.”

Like the sound of A Merman in Miami? Buy it here!


Amy Armstrong is a Brit that loves chocolate, prosecco, and sunshine. She lives and breathes paranormal romance and urban fantasy, but is also a fan of the classics and pretty much anything else she can get her hands on, including but not limited to contemporary romance, thrillers, horror, dark fantasy and young adult fiction.

Amy writes stories filled with heart, heat and passion. She loves to read about strong woman, but believes heroes come in all different shapes and sizes. She is happiest when writing or soaking up the sun with a pina colada in one hand and her kindle in the other. Her family and friends are an important part of her life and she loves meeting new people with similar interests. She is a full time, multi-published author and loves to hear from readers. She writes M/M romance under the pen name Lavinia Lewis.

Sunday, October 26, 2014

Sunday Snog #147: Rendezvous

It's almost Halloween, and so I've got a paranormal snog for you today, from my All Hallows Eve tale Rendezvous.

For Rebecca, Halloween has always been special, an opportunity for her to cast off her sensible, ordinary self and assume a new look and a new identity: someone extraordinary, sensual and seductive.

When Halloween night finds her stranded by a breakdown in a seedy motel nearly a hundred miles from her friend's annual party, she's terribly frustrated and disappointed. Then she discovers that her room is haunted by the invisible but unquestionably virile ghost of a rake who seduced local women nearly half a century earlier. Gradually, the ghost unmasks Rebecca's secret desires, fulfilling every one.

By the time midnight tolls, Rebecca has come face to face with more magic than she had ever imagined.

After you've savored my snog, head over to Victoria's for more sexy (and possibly spooky) oral delights.

So eager! You've got to be patient. I'll fuck you too, don't worry. But first I want to play a little.” There was a strange whistling sound, somewhere above me. Chills crawled up my spine.

What was that?”

That? Oh, that's my little whip. Just a toy, really.” The air whooshed again, and a line of bright pain stitched up my inner thigh.
Caught off guard, I sucked in my breath rather than crying out. The sting of the blow intensified for a moment, then faded. In its wake, my sex grew hot and heavy with blood.
I released my gathered breath, just in time for the next stroke. It landed high on my other thigh, a mere inch from my pubis. This time, I screamed. The fire of the lash raged through me. My nipples tightened to aching knots of sensation. My clit throbbed as if it would burst. I thought that I couldn't bear any more, and yet, as the fires banked, I found myself waiting eagerly for the next cut of the invisible lash. I felt a cool hand on my brow. “Are you all right? Should I continue?”
I nodded my head to the empty air. The whip swirled again, searing the sensitive outer area of my breast. The next stroke struck fire on the ravaged tip of a nipple. Pain exploded like a sunburst, momentarily blinding me. Heat flowed from the point of contact, melting me into a sloppy puddle of desire.
I moaned and closed my eyes, concentrating on the paradoxical sensations racing through me. The whip danced over my flesh, leaving its stinging kisses on my thighs, my breasts, my belly. The effects of the individual strokes began to merge. My entire body sizzled, kindled into extraordinary sensitivity by the fierce bite of lash.
My cunt contracted each time the leather hit home, overflowing with the proof that this pain truly was what I craved. I was mortified to realise that what I wanted most was to feel the whip slicing across my tender labia, snapping at my clit. It would take only one or two strokes, I knew, to send me spinning into orgasm.

Open your eyes.” Tony paused in his exertions. “Look at yourself.”
With some difficulty, I raised my head to examine my splayed form. I caught my breath at the sight before me. My breasts and abdomen were criss-crossed with red streaks, as if I’d been grilled on some devilish barbecue. Some of the traces had formed into raised welts of a darker hue. From what I could see, my lower body was similarly scored.
I should have been horrified. Instead, all I could think of was that I wanted more.

You look so beautiful, with my marks decorating your body. My beautiful, well-whipped slut, all pink and white, ready to do anything for me.” Two lightning whip strokes zipped symmetrically along the outsides of my breasts. I screamed.

That's true, isn't it? You'll do whatever I ask?”
Intoxicated with lust, I couldn't speak. It didn't matter; I knew he understood. I wanted his hands, his cock; my cunt was a wet, hungry void dying to be filled. But if he wanted to beat me, I could wait. Every time the leather bit into my flesh, I knew that I was pleasing him.

Such a sweet whore. I won't make you wait any longer.” The whip clattered, tossed into the corner. The bed creaked as he climbed on, straddling me. I sensed his bulk, even as I stared out at the empty space.
There was rasping sound of a zipper coming down, then pressure against my lips. I stuck out my tongue and swirled it over the smooth bulb of flesh that seemed to be positioned above me. Of course, there was nothing there, nothing to see, at least. The situation was bizarre, but incredibly arousing.

Suck me now. Get me nice and wet.” I opened wide and he thrust his invisible but impressively solid cock down my throat.
Lying on my back, I had no control. Fortunately, he was more gentle than he might have been, though I still had to work to keep from choking. I swept my tongue over the silky smooth skin sheathing his erection. I could feel the pulse of his blood in the shaft, even though I knew he had no blood, no heart. It was too strange to grasp. Finally, I forgot the strangeness and simply sucked, savouring the taste and smell and feel of him, as real as any man.
I was in some kind of dream state. I could have gone on sucking him forever. Then I felt his fingers, dabbling in my juices, and a fresh pang of desire shook me. I wanted him there, deep inside me, fucking me the way he had promised.

Saturday, October 25, 2014

Support: Nice or Necessary?

By Beth Wylde (Guest Blogger)

For me writing is a very solitary endeavor, as I suspect it is for most authors, though I can only truly speak for myself. Except for occasional events like signings and conventions, and the few times I have co-authored stories with a partner, writing is best done alone.

I can’t write when there is a lot of noise or activity going on around me, which means I often end up writing late at night when everyone in the house is asleep or early in the morning before everyone wakes up. I spend large amounts of time working at my computer or, when I get blocked on an idea or the kids have taken over the desk and/or laptop, I break out the pen and paper. I have imaginary worlds and people inside my head fighting for me to tell their stories. It’s a creativity that few understand, which brings me to my question. Can writers function without a support system? Are partners, friends and family that encourage creativity just a nice thing to have or a necessity?

I’ve lived for years with the lack of a support system when it comes to my writing and lately I’ve really felt the strain. My family despises my chosen profession. My previous partner hated it. I’ve been all but disowned by some friends because of it, but still I persist. Why? I ask myself this question all the time.

Part of the answer is that I’m just freaking stubborn. When someone says I can’t do something, I have to prove that I can. The other part is that writing is not just a hobby for me. It’s a way of life. I’m a writer. I HAVE to write. I’ve been doing it since I was very young. I began with poetry and song lyrics then I moved on to short stories and longer novella pieces. In my early twenties I discovered erotica and I’ve never looked back. When I go long periods without working on something I become almost intolerable to be around. I get moody, angry, cranky, and often dangerously depressed. My writing gives me an outlet for my emotions. It lets me work out things that I often don’t even realize are bothering me until they appear in a new storyline. It’s a way to vent, to figure things out, to entertain and sometimes educate readers too.

Even though I write fiction bits and pieces of my personality shine through in all my stories. My wants, my needs, my dreams. The sex scenes often involve acts that turn me on or pique my curiosity.

I think of my writer friends that have spouses or friends that either write with them or critique their work afterwards. They have people handy to talk with about current ideas or to brainstorm with when they need a new perspective. I can’t imagine how amazing that must be. How freeing not to have to hide all my notebooks or files, not because of my young children, but because my family would find the work gross and disgusting.

I’m in the process of working on a new collection of lesbian erotica for Desert Palm Press, plus a few shorts for several upcoming anthology calls. Now that I’ve had to move out of my house and in with my mom, finding time and space to write is harder than ever. I’m not allowed to write in the house so I go to restaurants or coffee shops or sit outside with the laptop. It’s a depressing situation that I look forward to remedying once I find a place of my own for me and the kids. I still won’t have anyone there to talk shop with but I won’t have to stress about finding a place, outside of my home, to create either.

I’m interested in everyone else’s perspective on this. In the long run, is support necessary or just nice to have? If the people you love are constantly criticizing what you want to do with your life will the creativity eventually cease to exist? Thoughts?

Personally, I’m proud of what I write. Despite the obstacles I’ve had to face, I still keep managing to get stories written and published. That has to count for something, but I keep wondering what it would be like to have someone to share my passion for writing with.

~ Beth Wylde October 2014

Beth’s newest release is a collection of her favorite personal lesbian erotic stories, previously available only in print, now together in ebook format for the first time from eXcessica. Get Women Gone Wylde at:

eXcessica -

Amazon ebook –

Print from Createspace –

And keep an eye out for Beths upcomingname her new collectioncontest with DPP. Details will be announced on her blog at

Erotic author/editor Beth Wylde writes what she likes to read; which includes a little bit of everything under the rainbow. Her muse is an equal opportunity smut bunny that believes everyone, no matter their kink, color, gender or orientation deserves, love, acceptance and scalding HOT sex!

Her stories tend to span the spectrum. Beth's books range in genre from paranormal to contemporary and more. In pairing they are predominantly lesbian but she also has some bi, het, menage and beyond available.

For up to date info on new releases, signings, contests and more join her yahoo group at

She also keeps print books on hand. To order an autographed copy direct from her just email Beth at: b.wylde [at] yahoo [dot] com

Dedications can be added from Beth, just ask.

Her home online can be found at

Wednesday, October 22, 2014

Confession: I Broke Writing Rule #1 and I’m Not Sorry

By N.N. Light (Guest Blogger)

I admit it, guilty as charged. My name is N. N. Light and I broke the first rule in writing: never ever write about yourself or real life in a novel. The truth is I am happy I did both and here is why. I was inspired to write Princess of the Light through a chance encounter.

I first got the idea for my book one chilly morning back in 2012. It was a cold wintry morning and I was walking to the grocery store. I happened to look across the street and what I saw made me stop in my tracks. A homeless man was sitting on a curb next to the gas station. He wasn't holding a sign or asking for money. His eyes were closed and his head was uplifted to the sky. There was such a contented and happy look in his weathered face. It took my breath away.

I wondered to myself how he got to be homeless and if there was some way I could help him. I continued on with my day but my thoughts were filled with him and his plight. Could I help him? Who is he?

As the days and months passed, I saw him every day. He kept to himself and never begged for money. He walked. Yes, he walked the length of the town. Every time I saw him, I nodded and said good morning. The simple act of kindness didn't seem like a big deal to me but to him, it was as if I had given him the sun. I started leaving food and clothing for him. The more kindness I showed, the happier he appeared.

I knew in my heart it was my calling to tell his story. He isn't some nameless face; he's someone's son, brother, grandson, uncle, father, husband, and/or friend. If I had the power, I would be his protector and free him from the darkness keeping him prisoner. He would no longer be the forgotten man.

I made a promise to myself to donate part of the proceeds to food banks if my book got published. I am keeping my promise and through my marketing, people are donating to food banks on their own.

My motto for my book and for my life is spread the Light. It doesn't matter to me what your spiritual beliefs are for everyone has the Light inside them. Spreading the Light comes in many forms but it starts with being kind.

I also wrote about myself. Gasp! I know you’re in shock and hoping I brought smelling salts. Stick with me for a moment and let me explain. The romantic story between Mary and Joe is simply based on my own love story.

I met MR N back in 2001. We actually met online in a Buffy the Vampire Slayer yahoo group and hit it off right away. We both adore Buffy and it was one of many things we had in common. We started out as friends but soon it blossomed into love. Through some uphill battles and insecurities on my part, I broke his heart not once but twice. It pains me to admit it but the second time I was truly cruel.

I thought it was over and I had moved on. I joined another Buffy yahoo group in 2003 and as fate would have it, MR N was there. He and I got to talking one night off-list. I asked for forgiveness and he granted it. We took it turtle-slow and before I knew what happened, I was in love with him. I mean, true love (the hills are alive with the sound of music) and my walls came tumbling down.

Long story short, I moved up north and married him in 2004. This past July, we celebrated our tenth wedding anniversary. Every day, I thank my lucky stars he forgave me and loves me unconditionally. This is my love story and every time I tell it (or MR N tells it), people swoon and say how utterly romantic it is. So I incorporated our love story into Princess of the Light

Gabriel, the Archangel and Messenger of God - yeah that Gabriel - visited Mary Miller. He told her, as the key she is destined to spread the Light and vanquish the Darkness. Her first assignment is to restore the soul the Walking Man. Sounds simple enough until she’s thrown in the face of evil, and then Joe Deacons enters her heart. This battle just got a lot more complicated. She must complete her mission without losing all she loves.

Here is an excerpt from the scene where Mary and Joe meet:

The Information Counter sign was to the left just through the doors. No one was at the desk at the moment, but there was a woman wearing a red suit over by the periodicals. She looked a little over average height, but I noticed she was wearing heels. She had thick, long, dark red hair that encircled her face and flowed past her shoulders.

She was stunning.

I hoped she worked here not only so I had a reason to talk to her, but also so that I could get my books without having to do too much unnecessary leg work. That nap was still calling my name.

As I approached, I noticed that she barely wore any make-up at all. Her fair skin looked like it had been touched by the sun recently, too. She glanced up from the newspapers she was replacing from yesterday. She had incredibly animated brown eyes that had an unusual light that seemed to emanate from within. Her nose was small, her lips were full, and her skin looked so soft...

Can I help you with something, sir?” The woman’s voice quivered slightly and she leaned a little, as if she suddenly needed the wall for support.

Whoa, I couldn’t help but think. I frankly felt like a moth to the flame. All I wanted to do was have a reason to get closer to her. The fact that her eyes seemed to shine with an actual light didn’t help matters. I had never felt such an automatic attraction before, and I wanted to lean closer and see what was going on with her eyes.

She was either looking at me like I was the only man in the world--and quite possibly the sexiest one--or else my open gawking had freaked her out. Either way, I couldn’t have told her which it was, because my mouth felt like a cotton ball container.

Yes,” I managed to rasp to her. “Where is your Architecture section?”

Are you looking for anything in particular?” Yes. You, I wanted to say. “I could look to see if it is in stock.” Oh. Are there more of you somewhere?

The sound of her voice was starting to make my heart pound.

She had an earthly beauty about her. There was nothing extraordinary in her features, yet something about her just seemed to glow.

I felt my breath quicken. Joe, what’s the matter with you? Get a grip. You’ve seen girls before.

I shook my head to clear my thoughts without worrying what I looked like and said, “Please forgive my manners, but what is your name?”

Mary.” That just became my favorite name.

I’m very pleased to meet you,” I said as I extended my hand to her. “I’m Joseph. Please call me Joe.”

She hesitated for a moment before she shook my hand. Electricity bolted up my arm that I wasn’t prepared for. I wondered if she could hear my heart beating. Pretty sure these emotions weren’t winning me any bro-code points.

Her face was flushed and her eyes brightened with interest. Let go of her hand, Joe, I tried to coach myself. If I didn’t let go of soon, I might never be able to.

So I quickly let go of her hand but immediately regretted it. The whole room suddenly seemed cold and empty.

She probably thinks you’re some kind of wacko. Stop staring. You’re a logical guy... Be reasonable here. Besides, she’s probably married. I ran my fingers through my hair and tried to remember what we were just talking about. I looked up to see her glance towards the entrance. If she asked me to leave, I wouldn’t blame her.

I tried to act composed, while I glanced down at her left hand. I didn’t see a ring, so I cleared my throat and tried to act like a reasonable man again.

Well, it was a pleasure to meet you, Mary.” Even to me, my voice sounded unnaturally thick and hoarse. I cleared my throat and looked back at her.

Yes, it’s great to meet you, Joe. Let me show you where the section is.” She turned and simply pointed to the far left corner of the store.

Just when I thought she was through with me completely, she motioned for me to follow her.

As she led me to the back of the store, I tried to switch off my desire and concentrate on the task at hand. Focus, Joe! Decorum! The inner jokes weren’t helping. They just wanted to make me giggle like a schoolboy, and I doubted that would help matters much.


Sometimes breaking the rules is needed to tell a really great story. I hope you will see how weaving real life with fantasy makes for an irresistible book. More writers should rebel like me and add dashes of real life into their stories.

Buy Links (Available in E-book and Print):


October Contest

Donate to your local food bank and win a $25 Amazon gift card. Take a selfie at the food bank and tweet it to me ( ) using the hashtag #POTLContest.  I will also accept emailed entries (nnlight [at] outlook [dot] com).  Open to Worldwide Participants. Winner announced on November 1st and their pic will be spotlighted on the Princess of the Light website. Let’s feed those in need and spread the Light!!!

Sign up for my Princess of the Light newsletter to get exclusive content on all things book and writing related:

Author Bio
N. N. Light was born in Minnesota, lived in Southern California only to move to chilly Ontario, Canada to marry her beloved husband MR N. She is blissfully happy and loves all things chocolate, books, music, movies, art, sports and baking. Most of the time you can find her on Twitter or getting new ideas on how to spread the Light on Pinterest.

Part of the proceeds of Princess of the Light will go directly to food banks in order to feed the hungry and help those in need. With only 7,500 books sold, N. N. Light will be able to set up a monthly endowment for the local food bank.

I’d love to connect with you either via email or via these various social media sites:
Email: nnlight [at] outlook [dot] com

I wanted to thank Lisabet for having me on her blog today. You are so gracious and I am forever thankful!

Happy Reading!