A Rose By Any Other Name (#pseudonym #erotica #lesbian @EmilyByrne)

By Emily L. Byrne (Guest Blogger)

When I first began writing erotica, I opted not to use a pseudonym. I was temping at the time, Google didn’t exist and nobody really cared what I did in my off hours (AKA: The Good Old Days, more or less). Periodically, coworkers or acquaintances would find out that I wrote and had published work in various genres and they would occasionally bring it into work to have me sign it. It didn’t happen often, so it stayed flattering and fun, right up until it was very much not the book of mine that I would have suggested to that particular colleague at that particular job.

By then, Google was very definitely a thing, as were workplace computer network filters of various kinds and my temping days were behind me. For about three minutes, I sat there and blinked and wondered what to say next. All I could see was a potential HR moment that would not end well for me. I think this is probably a thing that happens to a lot of erotica writers with day jobs: maybe you're not ready for the PTA or work or the neighbors to know what kind of writing you do. Or maybe you'd just rather pick the right time to share your fabulous erotica-writing self. There's a lot to be said for coming out in your own time in circumstances that you can more or less handle.

As it happened, no unpleasantness ensued with my "No, not that one!" coworker, but I went home later on that week and created Other Me, Emily L. Byrne. Honestly, the situation did me a favor, since Other Me should have been around a long time ago for marketing purposes. Like many writers, I write in multiple genres, including erotica, romance, fantasy, science fiction, horror, literary and nonfiction, even the occasional mystery and what I found was that people who weren’t fans of erotica tended to be wary of buying my other work. And, of course, fans of my erotica read my dark fantasy novel about menopausal werewolves and politely yelled at me for months after it came out because there was no sex in it. So marketing definitely played into my decision as well.

As to why picked the name I did, I’ve always fancied the name ‘Emily,' ‘L’ is for the first letter of my last name and Byrne is an old family name, and voila! Emily L. Byrne was born. I did my due diligence and verified that no other writers of erotica or erotica or erotic romance were using the same name. A new (at least to me) writer did pop up soon thereafter with a similar name and genre, which is something to bear in mind when choosing an Other You. You want a good pseudonym if that's the direction you looking to go, but it's challenging to get that balance between unique, findable and odd. I freely admit to not being keen on the more “obvious” pseudonyms, in part because I wanted something that I could be comfortable talking about in the context of my other work. Emily was someone I could live with, someone I could trot out on a writing panel or at an author reading with an breezy "And if you're interested, I also write hot smutty stories as..." and not feel silly.

The flip side of that is building up an equivalent amount of name recognition. I published everything under my own name for over a decade so getting Emily up and running as a recognizable name in a changing genre was a tad challenging to start with. But I'm optimistic that readers are starting to find "Other Me." And with that, here's an excerpt from my new book, Knife's Edge: Kinky Lesbian Erotica.

Hope you enjoy it!

If you do, and you'd like a free copy of the book, just leave me a comment! I'll randomly draw one winner. Don't forget to include your email address so I can find you if you win!

Except from "Reunion at St. Mary's”

Bridget Marie Riordan O’Halloran was depressed. It wasn’t so much that work was insanely stressful, though that was part of it. Or that Vic and all her friends seemed to have forgotten her birthday, though that didn’t help. It was the clipping from the parish newspaper, sent courtesy of her mother, that put her over the edge. Sister Agnes Mercy Byrnes had been taken up to Heaven, or so it said.

From what Bridget remembered of her, she was more likely to be torturing the Devil below than hovering on a cloud above but where she was didn’t matter so much as the fact that she was gone. It was the passing of an era. Sister Agnes had been the terror, among other things, of Bridget’s high school years. It was hard to forget the hours she spent over the years masturbating over her memories of the spanking the nun had once given her in the principal’s office. Imagining those firm hands on her young flesh gave her a thrill even now. She pictured Sister Agnes going even further and pulling down her white virginal panties and…Vic walked in a moment later to find her with her hand between her legs.

“Hi sweetie. Ooh, that looks like fun. What triggered this?” Vic grabbed the little clipping as Bridget jerked her hand out of her pants. Vic gave her a look of pure disbelief. “You’re jilling off to Sister Agnes’ obituary?”

Bridget turned bright red and tried to come up with a good explanation. Then she gave up and went on the attack instead. “You forgot my birthday! Some girlfriend you are.” She crossed her arms over her chest to hide the nipples poking through her shirt. Sister Agnes’ hands had been pretty amazing in that last fantasy.

“I knew you were going to say that,” Vic grinned triumphantly as she dropped onto the couch. She ran one hand down Bridget’s thigh with a possessive pressure that never failed to make her pay attention. “I’ve got a little surprise for you, babe. Kind of appropriate too, given your new ghoulish hobby. We’re going to your tenth high school reunion. My treat.”

Bridget’s jaw dropped. No way. Sister Julia and Father Williams would run them out of Sacred Heart parish at the head of a torch-wielding mob. Vic just didn’t understand how things worked at parochial school. But before she could say a word, Vic had her in a liplock that soon turned to other things. Once Vic was holding Bridget down and pounding her fist into her wet and desperate pussy, going home for the reunion sounded just fine. Besides, it was two months away; she had plenty of time to change Vic’s mind.

But somehow, they never got around to talking about it. Every time she tried, Vic was too busy or was all over her so she gave up, resigning herself to the trip from hell. It would be even worse if they ended up staying with her parents. She just hoped her mother wouldn’t say the rosary over them when she thought they were sleeping again.

Despite all her worries, she did start to wonder if some of her old friends would be there. Monica came out after graduation. That was inevitable. If James Dean was ever reincarnated as a Catholic high school girl, Monica was it. Then there was Mary Eileen. She’d never forget that one sleepover party where they all decided to practice kissing. From what she could remember, Mary Eileen wanted to practice a few other things too, but they’d all been too scared to try them. As for the rest of the girls who ran around with them, well if Bridget knew her budding Dykes on Bikes chapter, they were it by now.

By the time they got ready to leave town, Bridget was pretty much resigned to the trip. It made it easier that Vic was so very obviously up to something. That was usually a good thing. Bridget even resisted taking a peek in the toy bag when she loaded it in the car. No point in spoiling the surprise, whatever it was. At least they were staying at a hotel and not her parent’s, so no matter what, there was a bright side.

Vic wasn’t letting anything slip, though. She was too tired for sex in the hotel they stopped at halfway there, which was weird, and she wasn’t talking much during the drive, which was weirder. Bridget was getting antsy and it brought out the pushy bottom in her. She wheedled, she whined, she sulked; anything to get Vic to do something with or to her. Anything at all. She squirmed against the fabric of the car seat imagining a few of those things. But for the first time in years, Vic wasn’t going for it. She smiled when Bridget pouted and stonewalled when she whined until her girlfriend thought she’d go nuts before they got there.

About the Author

Emily L. Byrne is a geek who lives in Minneapolis with her wife and the cats that own them. Her stories have appeared in Bossier, Spy Games, Forbidden Fruit, First, Summer Love, Best Lesbian Erotica 20^th Anniversary Edition, The Princess’ Bride, The Nobilis Erotica Podcast and The Mammoth Book of Uniform Erotica. She can be found at http://writeremilylbyrne.blogspot.com/ and @emilylbyrne.

Knife’s Edge: Kinky Lesbian Erotica by Emily L. Byrne is available from Amazon, Smashwords and the Queen of Swords Press website in other formats.

For Better Or Worse

By Ashley Ladd (Guest Blogger)

Have you ever found out that one of your favorite authors uses a pseudonym? Have you ever wondered why an author might choose to do so?

I’ll come forward. I’m one of them. “Ashley Ladd” is my pseudonym for my erotic romance novels.

I, like many other authors I’m sure, have several good reasons for using one.

First, my mother’s family is very straight-laced and religious. I couldn’t envision telling my very sweet aunt or my very prim and proper uncle that I write graphically explicit male-male-male love scenes. As it turns out, one of my children is now transgender female, and when I admitted that to them, they couldn’t, wouldn’t accept her.

Secondly, I work for a religious ministry full-time. I have a suspicion that my employers wouldn’t look favorably upon my extra-curricular activities. I might very well end up unemployed if they were to learn about my erotic romance novels. Unfortunately, I can’t afford to retire and write full time. Not yet anyway.

Unfortunately, one of my coworkers discovered my alter ego. One day we were friends and the next she unfriended me on Facebook and ran away from me at lunch. When I got up the nerve to ask why she’d unfriended me, she admitted she was disappointed in me. She’d found out I wrote erotic romance.

Additionally, I don’t want my activities to adversely affect my family. The mother of my son’s best friend stopped allowing her child to play with mine because my husband had made and displayed a ceramic dragon. She was very religious and thought we’d joined a satanic cult because of a silly figurine. I can only imagine that she’d look even less favorably upon what I write.

I’m sure other authors have other good reasons to hide their identity as well. I’d love to hear them.

Deciding to use a pseudonym was only the first step in the process. Next I had to choose a pen 

name.

I was watching a Cheryl Ladd movie during the decision-making process, thus it was one of many last names on the list of possibilities. Next, I wanted to choose a first name that was popular with the twenty-forty year old crowd. After that I made a long list of possible combinations and asked my critique group which one they liked. Ashley Ladd won the vote.

However, I wasn’t done there. I didn’t want to use another author’s or famous person’s name, or even a name I found on the Internet. Then I googled the name. At that time, no one else named Ashley Ladd came up on a Google search. So I adopted the name. When I googled Ashley Ladd to find mentions of my recently released romance novel Cooking Up A Storm, however, I found at least five other people named Ashley Ladd. Worse, a few years ago I received an email from another Ashley Ladd accusing me of stealing her name. By then, I had several books published as Ashley Ladd, and hopefully a following.

I don’t know if it’s possible to choose a unique name. I work with a large data base at my day job and very often see two or more people with the same “unusual” name. Most of the time when I speak to someone like that they presume they are the only person on Earth with that name, so I know it’s not a family member.

Should I have made up a really unusual name like Swanzetta to use for my pseudonym? It probably wouldn’t have helped. I’ve seen this name for a real person.

For better or worse, I am Ashley Ladd. To date, Ashley’s name is on seventy plus books, the most recent being a contemporary male-male erotic romance Business or Pleasure just made available today (July 25) for download at Totally Bound. It will be available on Amazon, ARe, and other booksellers as of August 22.

Blurb

Guy Rogers is extremely attracted to his new realtor, Tom Beaudreaux. As a passionate vegetarian and animal activist, he’s ecstatic that Tom is a kindred soul. He could never be with a carnivore. Unfortunately, Tommy isn’t really a vegetarian or animal activist. He never said he was either, he just didn’t eat meat when he was with Guy. And maybe he emptied his house of all meat and dairy products before inviting Guy over. In fact, Tommy’s family owns the most popular barbecue restaurant in town and if his family has their way, he’ll manage the new location.

When Guy finds out that Tommy eats meat and his family owns a restaurant that is a monument to eating meat, he’s livid and doesn’t know if he wants anything else to do with Tommy.

But then Guy’s life gets crazy –his dad’s paranoia blossoms into violent dementia, he gets arrested for picketing a doggy mill, and then he winds up in even more legal trouble. When Tommy sticks by him through all his trouble and does everything he can to help him, Guy wonders if he’s been too militant and narrow-minded. Perhaps he can learn to live with people who have opposite views.

Excerpt

Gunshots rang out as they turned onto Guy’s street.

Tommy looked at him and mouthed, “Shit! You don’t think…?”

“I hope not. I don’t know.” Guy pressed the gas pedal to the floor and the car shot forward, fish-tailing.

Tommy fisted the door, hanging on tight. “I hope we’re wrong.”

Guy’s intuition told him he wasn’t. His knuckles turned white they held the steering wheel so tightly. Unafraid for himself but scared for his dad, he pulled into his driveway and jumped out of the car, with Tommy close on his heels.

The woman next door ran outside screaming, tearing out her already tattered hair. She pointed at her front door. “Your father’s shooting up my house and is holding a gun at my dad’s head. He’s going to kill him. You’ve got to do something.”

Tommy yelled as he began dialing on his phone, “I’m calling the police.” As if on cue, police sirens blared in the distance and grew louder by the second.

“I’m going in. I have to stop him.”

“Wait for the police. Don’t put yourself in danger,” Tommy ordered forcefully.

“I have to take the chance. He could kill someone before the police get here. I can’t let that happen.” He put himself in harm’s way for animals, so certainly he could risk his life for his own father and other fellow human beings. He had no choice. It would be his fault if someone got hurt.

So he ran through the open door flailing his arms, hoping he would be in time. “Dad! It’s Guy. Don’t do anything. I’m here. You’ll be okay.”

“He’ll be okay? What about me? He’s got a shotgun pointed at my head threatening to blow it off,” the elderly neighbor cried.

Buy Link

Publisher’s website: https://www.totallybound.com/business-or-pleasure

Ashley’sAmazon page

Contest! Leave me a comment with your email, telling me what you think about Guy and Tom. I'll give a $10 bookstore gift certificate to one of you!

About Ashley

Ashley Ladd lives in South Florida with her husband, five children, and beloved pets. She loves the water, animals (especially cats), and playing on the computer.

She's been told she has a wicked sense of humour and often incorporates humour and adventure into her books. She also adores very spicy romance, which she weaves into her stories.

You can find Ashley at:

http://www.ashleyladd.blogspot.com

https://www.facebook.com/AshleyLaddAuthor

https://twitter.com/ashleyladd

https://www.goodreads.com/AshleyLadd

https://www.totallybound.com/author/ashley-ladd#books

Who Am I?

By Ashe Barker (Guest Blogger)

I just spent a happy half hour or so signing some swag for an event I’m at next week. Easy enough work, not rocket science and it makes a change from edits. Except it’s not, I have to really concentrate because when I sign things as an author I’m not signing my real name. I have to remember who I am. It’s a whole other identity.

I know this is common to a lot of authors, many of us – the majority I suspect though I’ve never tried to check – write under a different name. Some under several names. I call that ambitious, and impressive. So far I’ve just stuck to one pen-name, and that gives me enough to think about.

For example, although I have separate email addresses for my two personas, I only have one phone. Ashe Barker doesn’t get that many calls, but it has caused confusion from time to time. My local paper wanted to interview me, they called back twice before we all realised what was going on.

I have to keep my Facebook and twitter accounts very separate, and the two Wordpress blogs I run. One is for Ashe Barker in all her decadent glory, the other is for the parish council in the village where I live. The elderly ladies down at the church social probably don’t want to be treated to spanking excerpts or a discussion on the joys of figging. Or perhaps they do – I’m not especially familiar with the going-on down at the church social. Best not to risk it though.

Most people I know, my family, friends, colleagues who I work with a lot are aware that I’m an author of erotic romance. It raises an eyebrow or two sometimes, but has never caused me any problems so it wouldn’t be a major disaster to mix up my identities. It would be messy though, so I try not to.

The question of identity is one of the dilemmas faced by Freya Stone, heroine in my current trilogy The Hardest Word.

This is the story of a submissive who is mute following a childhood illness. Her attempts to negotiate with Doms have not gone well, and safe words are a real problem. In desperation she attempts to purchase the services of experienced Dom Nick Hardisty, whose blistering reaction makes it clear he is not for sale. He does agree to help her though, but on his terms not hers.

However the silent little submissive is hiding a secret. She won the lottery. The Euro-millions lottery. It was a rollover week and there was only one winning ticket. Nick knows she won some money, her fancy car and posh apartment give that much away, but he assumes she blew the lot straight away. As time goes on and their relationship develops, Freya finds it harder and harder to conceal her other identity. The sexy sub who strips and drops to her knees on command is also a multi-millionaire, an entrepreneur wanting to build her business empire and with the means to do just that. She even owns a racehorse. Freya’s forgotten why she ever kept all this from Nick, but as time goes on the truth becomes harder and harder to reveal. And when, inevitably, it does all come out, the results are explosive.

The third book in the series, Hard Choices, went on general release on 6 June. To celebrate, I’m offering a free ebook from the series to one lucky winner. Just leave me a comment below. Have you any stories to tell about mistaken identity? Or perhaps you have some advice for Freya on how she might tell Nick the truth? Did you ever pretend to be someone or something you’re not?

A winner of the giveaway will be selected at random next Wednesday, the 18th of June, and he or she can pick any book from the series.

I’d be delighted to know what you think of Freya, and of Nick – we authors thrive on feedback. I can be found on my blog, and on the Totally Bound site. I’m on Facebook, and twitter and I’m on Pinterest too, and Goodreads

Here’s the series blurb:

The Hardest Word charts the sensual journey of Freya North and Nick Hardisty. Unable to speak since early childhood Freya’s fortunes change dramatically when she finds herself holding the winning Euromillions Lottery ticket. Over forty million pounds richer, she still can’t buy the one thing she really wants—a skilled Master to train her in the fine art of submission. 

Her first ill-fated approach to Nick Hardisty, a Dom who comes highly recommended, earns her a punishment spanking at his BDSM club. From the outset Nick is able to find ways around and beyond Freya’s communication issues to release her innermost submissive instincts. Fascinated, intrigued, and hopelessly attracted to Freya, Nick does agree to train her, but on his terms not hers. 

Freya moves into his home for one month. The deal is total obedience, and absolute submission. But while her body, and her emotions, are an open book, she doesn’t reveal to him the true extent of her wealth. 

As their relationship develops and deepens, how long can Freya keep her secret from the powerful Dom who insists on total honesty from her in every respect? As her two separate lives threaten to collide, Freya is torn between the stern Master she has come to adore, and the opportunities her wealth provides, to grow into the strong, independent woman she longs to become. 

And here’s an excerpt from Hard Choices:

“I’ve managed to keep my hands off you so far. That won’t last much longer. And when I touch you, it won’t be just about helping you in and out of the bath. You do understand that, don’t you?”

These are the words I’ve been waiting for. My response—I arch my back to shove my breasts above the layer of soapy suds floating on the surface of the water, my wordless invitation as plain as I can make it.

He gets my message and leans in to nuzzle my neck as he trails the fingers of his left hand across my shoulder then down towards my breast. He uses his middle finger to make a circular pattern in the soapy water on the underside of the soft mound before slowly tracing the outline of my areola. I gasp and stiffen as the familiar tingle connects my breasts to my groin, then I relax as he takes my nipple in his fingers and caresses it lightly. His touch is all about arousal, almost a form of worship as he strokes my breasts reverentially. His right hand joins in the fun, and he presses my breasts together, the nipples now swollen and stiff, pebbling under his careful ministrations.

“How long is it since you had an orgasm, Freya?” His words are soft, murmured into my ear.

I shrug, although I know exactly how long. It was that morning, the horrible day he asked me to scene with Dan and eventually ejected me from his house. That day, which started so beautifully—if you discount my failed attempt to master caning. That day that started with a lovely, erotic spanking then an intense orgasm, and ended in total disaster for me. So yes, I do remember. It might as well be tattooed onto the inside of my eyelids, the image is so vivid.

“By my reckoning it’s about two weeks. Unless you’ve been playing any games of your own while you’ve been away from here. Have you, Freya?”

Current Dom or not, I know I can’t evade a direct question from Nick. I shake my head.

“But you were at the club. No one there take your fancy? I know you had offers.”

Christ, he would. And if he’s been monitoring my movements he must know that I didn’t scene with anyone. Still, I shake my head.

“What about a little DIY action at home? I know you’re a randy little slut, I can’t believe you’ve been going without for a fortnight.”

Well, I have. And even if I hadn’t I’m not sure that makes me a slut. But this conversation is getting beyond what I can manage with one hand or nods and shakes of my head. I try to sit up, intending to get out of the bath, but his arm tightens around me.

“Stay there. I intend to end your little self-imposed famine now, Freya, if you want me to. Do you? Do you want me to make you come, my sexy little slut?”

I may not be his submissive, or so he says, but he’s giving a fair imitation of a Dom right now. I decide I must be a slut after all, and go with it. I nod as I relax back into his arms. He kisses my ear before reaching down with his left hand to slip it between my legs. He eases his way through my folds to find my entrance then circles slowly, his fingertip just inside my pussy. I turn my face towards his, subconsciously seeking his lips. He brushes his mouth over mine then deepens the kiss, plunging his tongue into my mouth at the same time as he thrusts two fingers deep into my cunt. I thrust my hips upwards out of the water to meet his hand, gyrating my body to increase the friction. He adds a third finger, and the motion of his hand quickens as he sets up an insistent rhythm.

For a moment I recall the ‘rules’ of our most recent such encounters, but surely none of that applies now. He said he’d make me come, and I’m taking him up on that offer. Now. It doesn’t take long before my pussy starts to clench around his fingers, and I reach up behind my head to tunnel my fingers through his hair. I’m writhing in the water, squeezing my inner muscles hard as I hurtle towards my climax. It hits me hard, and I jerk violently, knocking my sore arm in the process. I feel it, it hurts, but nothing’s going to derail this fabulous experience. I seem to have waited so long to feel his hands on me, in me again, as I shiver and tingle and soar through my orgasm.

As the tremors recede I sink back into the bath, before lying motionless at last but his hands are still on me. His fingers remain buried deep inside me, the other hand caressing my swollen nipples. He lifts his head, breaking the kiss at last, and I’m looking into his deep grey eyes. I smile, nervous suddenly. Have I done something wrong? I’m not certain of our ground rules anymore.

His answering smile dispels any concerns. “Christ, Freya, your orgasms are so fucking beautiful. I really will need to do that again sometime very soon. Will that be all right with you?”

I nod, and he smiles again, straightening now as he finally slides his fingers from my pussy, trailing them across my clit as he watches the reaction in my eyes.

He winks at me. “Ah yes, very soon. Now, your water’s going cold. Let’s finish rinsing your hair and get you dried off.”

Author Bio:

Until 2010 I was a director of a regeneration company in Leeds, in the UK, before becoming convinced there must be more to life. So I left, and at last I’ve been able to realise my dream of writing erotic romance. I’ve been an avid reader of fiction for many years, erotic and other genres, and I still love reading historical and contemporary romances – the hotter the better. But now I have a good excuse for my guilty pleasure – research.

In my own writing I tend to draw on settings and anecdotes from my own experience to lend colour, detail and realism to my plots and characters. An incident here, a chance remark there, a bizarre event or quirky character, any of these can spark a story idea. But ultimately my tales of love, challenge, resilience and compassion are the conjurings of my own lurid and smutty imagination.

When not writing – which is not very often these days - my time is divided between my role as resident taxi driver for my teenage daughter, and caring for a menagerie of dogs, rabbits, tortoises. And most recently a very grumpy cockatiel. I’m a rural parish councillor, and I’m passionate about evolving rural traditions and values to suit twenty first century lifestyles.

I write for Totally Bound and now have twelve titles on general release, with several more in the pipeline. I’ve completed a fourth trilogy in the Black Combe ‘family’ which is due for release later this year. I also have a ‘May to September’ style novella out and a short story in the Paramour collection, as well as a stand-alone novel in the ‘What’s Her secret?’ imprint. Another short story in the Jolly Rogered anthology is due for publication in July 2014.

I have a pile of story ideas still to work through, and keep thinking of new ones at the most unlikely moments, so you can expect to see a lot more from me.

Buy Links:

You can get your hands on The Hardest Word trilogy from all the usual places:

Amazon.co.uk  

Amazon.com  

Totally Bound  

Barnes and Noble 

All Romance

The Plusses, Perils, and Pitfalls of Pseudonyms

By Sue Swift/Suz DeMello (Guest Blogger)

A lot of writers use pseudonyms. But everyone knows that—everyone is pretty sure that Rhiannon St. Cyril is not someone’s birth name.

When I started publishing books, I didn’t use a pseudonym. My first book, Hopelessly Compromised, bore “Susan Swift” on the cover. Why? Well, that’s my name, and as one of my writer compadres put it, “I don’t see the point of writing a book if people don’t know I did!” (Sweetie, the point is the royalties. And the joy of creation.)

I got that—we want folks to know that WE DID IT. We climbed the mountaintop—i.e. wrote the book, which was pretty dang hard.Then we had the onerous work of finding an agent or a publisher. Also difficult. Damn straight we want people to know!

However, my first book-signing prompted a change in my pen name. “Susan Swift” is really long to write out a hundred times. At least it seemed like a hundred. Okay, maybe twenty. Okay, a couple members of my family and some friends showed up. Whatever.

In any event, my next books were published as “Sue Swift,” which was fine. They were light, sweet Silhouette Romances, and though “Sue Swift” is not a really romancey name—certainly not like, say, Adriana Featherington—it worked fine. Sue Swift fits nicely on book covers. It’s easy to remember and fast to write at a signing.

Then I started to write erotic romance. And not just any kind of erotic romance. My erotica tends to be dark, the heroines explorative and the heroes more than a bit wicked—but in a very hot way.

My sweet romance readers needed a pseudonym. Or so I was told by my writer buddies. That way fans can tell which books are gentle romance and which are over the top, and make their purchasing choices accordingly.

But what did I want to be called?

I’ve always been a busy, energetic, somewhat anxious person, and my name, Swift, reflects that. But it’s healthier to be relaxed.

So Suz deMello was born. Sue the mellow—just the person I wanted to become.

But a pen name is not all sweetness and light. Sure, it’s good for the reader, but what about me? I have to have two sites, which are linked by a common portal page to allow cross-pollination—you know, so readers who might want to read both styles can find all my books. But when it comes to promotional efforts like, say, a Goodreads presence or a Twitter feed—what do I do? Have TWO Twitter feeds? I can hardly keep up with one! Two blogs? No thanks, one’s enough.

So with every promo effort, I have to decide who I want to be: Sue or Suz. That’s hard since I am Sue and Suz, and I don’t like living with a divided self.

Suz has been very successful. Her most recent book is Queen’s Quest, which is now in its third printing—fifth if you count the number of times it’s been released in both e- and print formats. If you like futuristic erotica, this is the book for you. But be warned! This novel is not for the fainthearted. If your fantasies are a little rough-and-tumble and your fantasy lovers are true men, then maybe, just maybe, you can handle Queen’s Quest.

What’s it about, you ask?

Janus is a planet which lacks both tilt and spin, and its Shadowlands are the pewter band of dusk dividing the violently hot Lightside of the planet from its Darkside, imprisoned by eternal night. Because of the peculiar conformation of the planet, birthrates are low and indiscriminate mating encouraged.

Audryn, Queen of Shadow has reached that time in her life when she must choose a King to rule with her or fail to bear an heir, casting not only her realm but all of Janus into chaos.

Despite her duty, she is reluctant to share power, even a bit distrustful. Janus’ nobles vie for Audryn’s hand. Although she enjoys trysting with all her suitors, none seize her heart.

Then Storne, the warrior Prince of Darkness, arrives to claim her as his bride.

Will his masterful ways allure or repel the willful Queen?

And here’s a little bit about me.

Best-selling, award-winning author Sue Swift, a.k.a Suz deMello, has written seventeen novels, plus several short stories and non-fiction articles. She writes in numerous genres including romance, mystery, paranormal, historical, contemporary comedy and erotica. She’s a freelance editor who’s worked for Total-E-Bound, Liquid Silver Books and Ai Press, where she is currently Managing Editor. She also takes on private clients.

Her books have been favorably reviewed in PW, Kirkus and Booklist, attained the finals of the RITA and hit several bestseller lists.

A former trial attorney, she resides in northern California. Her passion is world travel, and she’s left the US over a dozen times, including stints working overseas for many months. Right now, she's working on her next manuscript and planning her next trip.

Her blog is at http://www.fearlessfastpacedfiction.com. Find her reading picks @ReadThis4fun on Twitter, and befriend her on Facebook (http://www.facebook.com/SueSwift ). Her sites are at http://www.sue-swift.com and http://www.suzdemello.com.

Writing in the Shadows

Thirteen years ago, I published my first novel. I still recall the incredible thrill that swept over me when I opened that box from Black Lace/Virgin Books and picked up one my author's copies - a physical book, the product of my imagination and sweat, with my name, or at least my pseudonym, on the cover! I wanted to tell everyone I met on the street: I'm a published author! Look! See here? That's me! I wrote this, all two hundred eighty one pages, and a well-known company actually bought it! Paid me an advance and everything! I wanted to send autographed copies to my friends and family, and urge them to spread the news to their friends, acquaintances, relatives. Buy Lisabet's book! I wanted to shout the news to the skies.

I couldn't do that, though. My celebration was restrained and private, just my husband and me. I shared the book with my two siblings, but I didn't dare send a copy to my dad, even though he and I had been bound all my life by our mutual love of the written word. I knew he'd feel proud, but uncomfortable, too, because Raw Silk, my pride and joy, wasn't just any old book. It was an erotic book. And not just a sensual love story, but a kinky book, which featured desires and activities even some adults might find disturbing.

A dear writing friend claims that we don't pick our genres - they pick us. When it comes to me and erotica, I have to agree. I've been writing fiction, poetry and drama since I learned to hold a pencil, but I didn't seriously try to publish anything until a Black Lace book from another author triggered my ambition to create something in the same general style: intelligent, diverse, edgy fiction that explored one woman's search for her sexual self. The book flowed so naturally that I wondered why I'd never tried this before. I didn't really believe it would be accepted - I sent it to the publisher almost as a lark - but after the fact, I wasn't as surprised as one might expect. This may sound conceited, but I knew that it was a good book, because it grew out of the fevered heart of my own fantasies.

Since Raw Silk I've produced six more novels and four collections of short stories. I've contributed to more than three dozen anthologies. With one or two exceptions, everything I've published is either erotica or the closely related sub-genre erotic romance. My name is strongly associated with arousing, explicit fiction. And because of that, I have to write in the shadows.

I have a highly "respectable" day job. Furthermore, I live as a guest in a foreign country. If anyone were to associate the outrageous Lisabet Sarai with my real world persona, I'd have serious problems. So I have to think very carefully about the content of every blog post, every promotional email, every marketing push. I don't want to give too much away. At the same time, readers (understandably) want to know about the lives of their favorite authors - and I certainly don't want to lie. So I walk a tightrope between self-protection and self-disclosure.

Many of my online author friends write in non-erotic genres: mystery, science fiction, young adult, sweet or inspirational romance, historical fiction. In some ways, we all face the same challenges in producing new work, selling it to publishers, and getting the word out to readers. To be honest, though, I think it's harder to be an author of erotic fiction. I can't hand out bookmarks or business cards at the supermarket checkout. I can't do readings or signings at my local bookstore. I can't post excerpts on some lists or blogs - including this one. I have to be constantly on the alert so as not to offend or shock the casual passerby. And I have to endure the scorn and disgust of some readers who condemn my fiction without ever having read it, just because it deals with sex.

My brother and my aunt tell me that I'm an excellent writer and want to know why I don't write a "serious" book. My husband has urged me to try my hand at a mystery. Personally, I'm tempted by science fiction, a literary love that goes back to my childhood. I know myself, though. Any attempt I'd make at another genre would end up being liberally laced with erotic content. Nothing intrigues or inspires me as much as the multifaceted experience of desire and the way it shapes our lives.

I don't mean to complain. I love writing. I'm proud of what I produce. I accept the fact that I need to be extremely particular about who I expose to my work, for my own sake as well as theirs. Occasionally, though, I wish that I could come out and openly claim my tales, without fear of repercussions. People I care about don't realize who I really am, or what I can do. I have to keep a major part of myself hidden away.

It's safer here in the shadows. But it's a bit lonely.