Monday, September 9, 2019

An unexpected journey of the heart - #Travel #Memoir #Giveaway @spicytraveler


Fragments of French cover
Blurb

After a harsh brush with her mortality, shadowed by a premature divorce, Wanda St. Hilaire pledges to be true to her primary passion—living ardently through travel. On the fateful day her life intersects with Jean-François, a charming Frenchman, on a bustling street in Lisbon, every fiber of her being feels as though she has finally entered the doorway to a magical world that she knew existed since she was a young girl.

St. Hilaire turns a complicated romantic ballet full of missteps into a collage of people, places, and cultures. Fragments of French is an exquisitely detailed travelogue of Portugal, Canada, France, and Mexico, filled with minor characters who delight with their humanity. However, what really makes this tale a standout is a gift for pacing and description to rival Tom Wolfe.

The hero’s journey is not only for the characters of our favorite stories or mythical legends. At some point, each of us receives the call to adventure. Fate summons the hero; we can refuse the call, or step into something that will turn our lives upside down, and potentially change everything we know to be true.

From feeling “completely disarmed, no fortress standing”, to embracing her untethered strength, the author turns this account of living life out loud into lessons for us all.




Excerpt

My internal time clock askew, I awaken before dawn, eager to investigate Lisbon. With only one night booked in this over-priced hotel, I will search for another room in the heart of the city. Taking my breakfast and a frothy cappuccino on a vine-shaded terrace, I then wander the busy streets. I find a suitable room that is antiquated and stark, but larger than any of the others. Although I don’t need space, I like it. Retrieving my bags, I make my way back to the pensão near Rossio, the center of the action. The rotund owner is a cheery and welcoming man, and I feel that I am in safe hands.

Collapsing on the small bed, I find the room warmed by the unseasonably high temperature today. I daydream about what I shall do on this trip, my brain swinging from thought to thought. Slowly, my monkey mind settles into meditation. Relaxed, I drift into a blurry theta state.

Like a bud unfurling, an intense longing begins to push its way up my body and into my consciousness. Forming a prayer, I am cognizant of its power - a force that can be generated only from fervent desire and clear intent, unified in a deeply contemplative state. I pray that I will meet a man - not a typical holiday fling soon forgotten - but a real romance.

A man who will rock my world.

About the Author

Her prime passion is the thrill of travel—of experiencing other cultures, traditions, lifestyles, and languages—thus expanding her perspective.

Wanda St. Hilaire has a predilection and passion for all things Latin, and she believes life is too short not to do what you love, where you love. She spends time writing in Mexico for inspiration, and to escape the frozen landscapes of Alberta.

Through writing, St. Hilaire shares what she’s learned from the high peaks of adventure and love, to the dark valleys of illness and heartbreak. Her mission is to help people overcome the self, and tap into their wise inner guidance system. Her wish is to inspire others to live true to their unique and beautiful nature.



Companion Poetry Book, Of Love, Life, and Journeys


(Inspired during the story of my travel memoir, this collection of poems and verse was first published in 2004 and became a Canadian bestseller for poetry. This second edition was created as a companion book to Fragments of French,)




Twitter: @spicytraveler (https://twitter.com/spicytraveler



Wanda St. Hilaire will be awarding a ribboned beret & Paris coin bag with an E-book of Fragments of French to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. (International offer)


a Rafflecopter giveaway

Sunday, September 8, 2019

Sizzling Sunday: Singapore Fling - #romance #Asia #crossdressing #SizzlingSunday


Sizzling Sunday banner
 
For today’s Sizzling Sunday, I’ve got an excerpt from Singapore Fling, the first volume in my Asian Adventures series.

I’ll be releasing Asian Adventures Book 6 soon. Stay tuned!

Blurb

In the cleanest city in Asia, things can still get messy.

Thai entrepreneur Ploy Kaewkornwattanasakul has come to Singapore to close a deal. Ploy needs to convince tech whiz Jason Chow to license his ground-breaking innovation to her company on favorable terms. The future of her startup depends on her negotiating skill. When she meets Jason, though, she realizes she wants not just the invention, but the inventor, too.

Jason Chow is a brilliant engineer, a successful businessman and a bit of a rebel. He’s attracted to Ploy from the moment he sets eyes on her. However, he doesn’t dare respond to her advances, for fear she’ll discover his secret vice.

Ploy doesn’t understand why the sexy CEO has rejected her. She figures she’ll have to content herself with the cold comfort of a signed contract—unless the strength of Jason’s desire overwhelms his shame.

Excerpt

They’d reached the center of the park, where the trees grew more densely. “This way,” said Jason, speaking for the first time since they’d started up the hill. He slipped through a gap in a wall of mature bamboo. Ploy was amazed to find herself in a grassy clearing. A concrete wall rose opposite them, completely covered by vines. A tiny waterfall trickled down through the vegetation in one corner, into a moss-lined culvert.

“This is my favorite spot,” he continued. “Tucked away next to the reservoir. Sometimes I come here by myself, to think.”

“It’s beautiful,” Ploy replied. “But why—?”

Jason cut her question short. He grabbed her shoulders, dragged her into an embrace, and glued his mouth to hers, forcing his tongue inside. The shock paralyzed her for an instant. Then her lust roared back, hotter than ever. Tilting her face up, she opened herself to his frenzied kiss, confused but more than ready to meet him halfway.

He clutched her to his chest, holding her tight, as if she’d keep him from drowning. She slid her palms down his back, all hard muscle under his business shirt, until she reached his ass. Gripping his butt cheeks, she pulled him closer. Because of his height, his swollen cock pressed against her belly, halfway between her navel and her pubis. That wasn’t going to work.

She dragged at his shirt, urging him downward. He broke the kiss and sank to his knees, taking her down with him, then rolled onto his back, with her on top. The bulge in his groin slotted into the gap between her thighs. He ground that lovely bulk against her clit. Even through her skirt and her underwear, the friction felt delicious.

“Oh, Jason,” she murmured, her cheek against his chest. His heart was going so fast she could hardly separate the beats. Meanwhile his hands scrabbled at her clothing, trying without success to tug it out of the way.

“Wait! Wait a minute!” Ploy sat up, opening her legs so she could straddle him, his hardness snug against her pussy. She gazed down at him. Behind his geeky glasses, his eyes were unfocused. He panted through parted lips. Already there were grass stains on his white shirt.

“Are you sure about this?” she asked.

With a vigorous nod, he reached up to unbutton her blouse.

She swatted his hand away. “Wait! What if someone comes along the path? What if we’re discovered?” She was pretty sure public sex was illegal in Singapore. Almost everything else was.

“I don’t care,” he answered, his voice breaking with emotion. “I want you, Ploy. I need you. I can’t hold back any longer.”

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Saturday, September 7, 2019

Get Bedeviled -- for FREE! #RomanticSuspense #FreeBook @MadisonMichael_



About Bedeviled

If you build your love on lies, you’d better run faster than the truth.

Newly appointed Finance Director, Charlotte Roche escaped dangers lurking in Boston by moving to Chicago. A new name, a new beginning - all built on lies. Believing she is safe, Charlotte drops her guard and sets her sights on her ruggedly handsome and wildly sexy running partner, Alexander Gaines. Can she advance their relationship from the track to the bedroom and still maintain her charade? or will Alex's probing questions pierce her carefully rehearsed story?

Alex, with unrevealed secrets of his own, struggles to hold the irresistible Charlotte at arm’s length. But when Charlotte sustains a suspicious injury, Alex seizes the opportunity to cuddle up to the sassy beauty. Does he dare risk his reputation, his fortune, his friends, and his heart by letting her get close?

How can they build a bond with deceit on both sides? With exposure imminent, their freshly forged relationship is in jeopardy and so are their lives. Can their love survive or are they bedeviled?

Join Alex and Charlotte, in this steamy romance, the third in the five-star rated Beguiling Bachelor series. The suspense builds as the characters you’ve met and loved in “Bedazzled” and “Beholden” help tackle the maze of half-truths and cover-ups threatening the lovers.

ASIN: B06WLQL2FT
Genre: Steamy Romantic Suspense

Amazon Buy Link: https://amzn.to/321d24H




Excerpt

Keeping his mind on the topic always took all of Alex’s effort anyway. When Charlotte sat hip-to-hip with him as she had today, he felt the heat of her skin, saw the long length of thigh exposed in front of him, heard her heavy post-run breathing until he was in sensory overload. She smelled so good, not stinky and sweaty like he must. She smelled classy and expensive with all those clean, floral scents. She smelled like a woman he could trust.

More like a woman I want to trust.

Thinking back, Alex recognized that she had been hiding something all along. When he wasn’t lost in a sensual fog, he was able to zero in on where the conversations lagged, when she got testy with his probing or tried to change the subject. It had something to do with her life in Boston before she moved to Chicago and it was something that had been going on for a while. 
 
She was practiced at her excuses by the time she used them on him. She was making too many trips back East for ‘Harvard stuff.’ She had met Regan Howe through this same ‘Harvard stuff’ yet Regan went back to her alma mater only once or twice a year, if that.

Oh yeah, Charlotte is definitely up to something and I intend to find out what. I have been patient long enough.

Sitting waiting now for Charlotte to arrive at Starbucks, Alex promised himself that he would get to the bottom of this or walk away.

Since she had declined his offer of a ride, Alex currently sat at a shady outside table enjoying the last of summer, waiting for her to walk over and speculating on her possible secrets. He was planning his subtle interrogation during the few minutes Charlotte would need to make her way across the park,

Stubborn. She should have just accepted the ride.

You driving over or walking?” she had asked him, once they caught their breath.

“I have the car if you want a ride?” When she hesitated, he tried tempting her. “I have the new car.”

Alex was the proud owner of a brand new Mercedes AMG. The sleek, luxury sports car suited him despite most people’s image of him as logical, conservative and staid. The need for speed was actually deep in his blood. “You will love it, tight on the curves, fast and quiet. She purrs,” he had bragged.

Charlotte hesitated on his last remark and Alex had been sure she would accept.

“The new car, huh?” she sounded intrigued. “I am excited to see it at last, Alex. You have certainly been talking about it long enough.”

“I need to walk off this tight hamstring, so I’ll have to pass this time,” she had replied reluctantly. “Meet you there in five.” Of course, Charlotte had been Charlotte, and that included being unpredictable.

Charlotte, leaving Alex standing there, had taken off across the park without a backward glance. Alex stood dumbfounded a moment, watching her slow jog-walk toward the trail across the grassy lawns of Lincoln Park. She was heading directly toward their usual post-run Starbucks and if he didn’t get moving, she would be there first.

Still he stood, willing her to look back and flash him that smile that changed her whole face. She didn’t, of course, and Alex was left standing there, admiring her lithe figure and the smooth bunch and release of her muscles in those tiny running shorts as she moved into the distance. Reminding himself to close his gaping mouth, Alex jogged to the parking lot, trading an extra moment of admiring a beautiful woman for a few short moments admiring his beautiful new car.

Arriving at the coffee shop several minutes before Charlotte, Alex was forced to cool his heels. He spent the time piecing together anything he could think of to uncover Charlotte’s deep, dark, secret. Admittedly, he needed the ten-minute head start away from her to give his overheated blood a little cooling time too. He kept envisioning the two of them in that sweet ride, sitting close with their sweat-slicked bodies. The image had intensified the jolts of.electricity already coursing through his veins from running beside her scantily clothed body.

Too bad she turned me down. One of these days we will be in tight quarters, all alone, and I will make my move. I have resisted too long already.

Since the mention of her tight hamstring, all Alex could think about was massaging her leg, and moving up from there. Did the woman not understand what she was doing to him? After all, he was a healthy red-blooded man. How long was he supposed to watch her round little ass wiggle in front of him, or the glide of muscles in those incredible legs – or OMG – her breasts bob up and down in those little running tops. The woman was killing him. He wanted her so badly he could taste it.

He chided himself to stop thinking of her that way, as he always did when he lusted after her. He would catch himself wanting her and repress the overwhelming sexual response that had plagued him since the beginning. She was so much more than just beautiful and sexy. She was a brilliant woman, funny, witty, complex and delightful. She considered him a running partner, and a friend…

…but that body, oh, that body. Stop it!

Alex determined to stay focused on what she might be trying to cover up and got his desire under control. He reviewed the signs – when she changed topics or failed to make eye contact. He carefully dissected her words while he waited for her to arrive. He knew she was being intentionally elusive. Alex resolved again that today would be the day he found out what she was concealing, beginning as soon as she arrived.

Speaking of arriving, Charlotte should have shown up long before now. She would have, unless something had happened. How long had he been sitting, pondering? How much time had passed?

Heart racing like a freight train, Alex ran into the park. Unsure why, he was terrified of what he might find.



About the Author

Madison Michael is an indie publisher, blogger and the author of the Beguiling Bachelor Series as well as the novella Desire & Dessert, from her sizzling B&B Billionaire Bachelor series.

A Chicago native and hopeless romantic, Maddy was raised on Chicago culture, fairy tales, great literature and swashbuckling movies. Maddy employs that history, writing steamy contemporary romance novels set against the sumptuous backdrop of Chicago’s elite society.

After receiving a BA in Journalism from the University of Illinois and an MBA from Loyola University of Chicago, Madison abandoned her writing to find her way in the corporate business world. Daughter of a librarian, it was inevitable that she would return to the world of books.

Maddy writes from high above Chicago where she can stare at its gorgeous skyline or the shores of Lake Michigan surrounded by feline assistants. When she is not writing,, Maddy can be found lost in a book, fighting for the rights of the mentally iil or dining on Chicago’s famous cuisine. Hot dogs and pizza, anyone?

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Friday, September 6, 2019

Illya, Mon Amour - #Crushes #ManFromUncle #DarkPoet


Illya Kuryakin
 
Who was your first crush? Not necessarily your first love, but the first person you craved from afar? The person who populated your fantasies, your dreams, your poems and stories (if you were like me)?

When I ask myself that question, I have to go 'way back, practically before the dawn of history—okay, before color television at least! The intriguing thing about this crush is that it prefigured the sort of person I'd continue to be attracted throughout my life.

In 1966 I was in ninth grade, thirteen years old, and madly in love with a guy on TV. The spy series “The Man from U.N.C.L.E” was hugely popular in those Cold War years. Each week super-agent Napoleon Solo from the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement matched mind and muscle with the evil minions of THRUSH (the Technological Hierarchy for the Removal of Undesirables and the Subjugation of Humanity) as they plotted world domination.

Solo had a lot in common with his contemporary James Bond (not all that surprising, considering the fact that Ian Fleming contributed to the development of the character). He was handsome, muscular, sophisticated, witty, and what would now be termed a chick-magnet. He was clearly the hero of the series—in fact the original title was “Solo”. But I wasn't in love with Napoleon Solo, despite his many positive attributes. The man I adored, whom I would do anything to meet, who I was ready to die for, was his slender, brilliant, and enigmatic sidekick, Illya Nikovetch Kuryakin.

Except for the fact that he was blond, Illya Kuryakin was a classic example of what I now call the “dark poet” type. You never knew what the taciturn Russian was thinking, but there wasn't any doubt that it was deep. He evaded questions about his past but he was rumored to have Gypsy blood. He smiled far less often then his extrovert partner Solo. His motivations were normally obscure. Although Illya was an explosives expert and sharp-shooter, and excelled in practically every style of martial arts, his intelligence was his most potent weapon. According to Wikipedia, he earned a Masters degree from the Sorbonne and a PhD in quantum mechanics from the University of Cambridge. He played the bass viol, the English horn and guitar, and spoke French, German and Japanese (among other languages).

I truly had it bad for Illya. I had pictures of him on my wall. I dreamed about him. I recall that once I thought I saw David McCallum, the Scottish actor who portrayed Kuryakin, in a restaurant. My parents had to hold me down to stop me from rushing up to the poor guy (who was probably just a look-alike) , begging for his autograph or volunteering to have his children. Nevertheless, I harbored a secret excitement for days after that close encounter, as if he and I had managed a secret tryst.

“The Man from U.N.C.L.E.” was canceled in 1968. Eventually I outgrew my infatuation with the lithe, mysterious spy. But he was only the first of many dark poets to hook my heart.

You know the kind of guy I'm talking about? He's usually on the thin side, possibly because he spends his time in cafés or bars, drinking black coffee or straight vodka rather than eating. His hair tends to be long, maybe even scraggly. He might have a mustache. He's stronger than he looks, with a wiry power that makes your breath catch when he uses it.

He'll hold forth with astounding eloquence on philosophical issues like the nature of time or the question of whether one can truly understand another human being, but he's far less forthcoming about his own emotions. He fills notebooks with heart-piercing poems or incandescent prose. He stays up until four AM. He improvises the blues. He'll take you to bed and to the moon, give you pleasure so acute it brings tears to your eyes, but he'll never say he loves you.

I'm a sucker for that kind of guy—moody, creative, intelligent and intense. It's a pity, because they're often not particularly good with relationships. I've got pages of poems bemoaning the fact that you never know what this sort of man really feels, even while you're ready to surrender everything to be with him.

There's a kind of glamor to this type—Illya's type—glamor in the original sense of the word, a force to bewitch. Part of the attraction, I think, is the desire to break through those emotional walls. It's a kind of conceit: “I'm the one who loves him enough to make him open up.” We all had those fantasies about Mr. Spock, didn't we? (another crush, a similar type) I'm the one who sees beyond that Vulcan mask, the one woman who can evoke true, overwhelming emotion from the man who lives by logic. It's a potent aphrodisiac, an assumption of erotic power. Let me just bed him and he'll love me—he won't be able to shut himself off from me, his soul mate...

I've had several men who fit this mold as lovers. None of those attachments ended all that well. Fortunately the man that I married has little in common with Illya Kuryakin, at least on the emotional side, though he's easily as intelligent as the U.N.C.L.E. operative. My husband is cheerful, easy-going, relatively relaxed except when he's focused on his work. He loves me and doesn't hesitate to say so.

I've spent nearly forty satisfying years with my honey. Nevertheless, I still dream, sometimes, about slender, intense men with prodigious intellect and Gypsy blood. Maybe, after all, I never did get over that crush.

Illya, mon amour, wherever you are—I love you.


Wednesday, September 4, 2019

#MFRWHooks: Exposure - #thriller #erotic #MFRWAuthor

MFRW Hooks banner
Greetings! Welcome to the Wednesday Book Hooks blog hop, brought to you by Marketing for Romance Writers (MFRW). I’ve got another romantic excerpt this week, this one from my erotic thriller Exposure.

Be sure to check out the other others in today’s hop. You’ll find a list of links at the end of this post.

Blurb

Sex, blood and betrayal: it's all in a day's work.

Stella is just minding her own business and having a bit of fun, working as an exotic dancer at the Peacock Lounge. Through no fault of her own, she witnesses a double murder and gets pulled into a shady dance of deceit with political bigwigs, mob bosses, dirty cops and scheming widows. Now she's everyone's target; her only chance is to sift through the lies and expose the truth.



The Hook

I know I’m being weak, but I’m really too excited to care. Fifteen minutes. Just enough time to change. Should I put on those black satin lounging pajamas I got on sale at Victoria’s Secret? Or maybe the embroidered silk kimono? On the other hand, maybe that’s coming on too strong. Jimmy finds me scary enough already. Perhaps the long hippie dress of Indian cotton is the right look. It’s casual and understated but still kind of exotic...

In the end, I don’t have the energy to climb the stairs to my closet. I figure that Jimmy’s an old friend, and he’s already seen me naked. I don’t have to put on a costume for him. I sit there on the sofa, wearing the lightweight summer bathrobe I put on when I got up from my nap. It’s that peach color that sets off my skin so well. It will have to do.

There’s a soft knock. I hobble over to the door and peer through the peephole to confirm that it’s Jimmy. It seems to take hours for me to unfasten the chain and retract the bolt, but I finally get the door open.

“Hi, Stella.” His voice is soft, concerned. It feels like a caress. “I didn’t want to ring the bell.

Figured your nerves were kind of shot, the last thing you need is the jangling.”

Jimmy looks a bit rumpled. His sandy hair is in his eyes. His white business shirt is damp, wrinkled and untucked in the back. He needs a shave.

He looks good enough to eat.

“Come on in out the rain. I’m so glad to see you.”

“Not as glad as I am to see you.” Jimmy wraps his arms around me in what begins as a brotherly hug. He buries his face in my hair, breathing deeply. “I’ve been so worried about you, Stella. This whole thing with the murders...”

“Shush, let’s not talk about that.” I am enjoying the feel of his lean, strong body pressed against mine. I ignore the dull ache from my bruised ribs. I want him to be my only reality. He smells clean, despite his disarray: soap, menthol, some kind of lemony aftershave. Just a hint of sweat, enough to blend the other scents into something organic and distinctly Jimmy. Breathing him in, I feel a bit light-headed, like he was some kind of drug. My knees go weak, and I hold onto him more tightly.

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Tuesday, September 3, 2019

Review Tuesday: Pigs in Heaven by Barbara Kingsolver #NativeAmerican #Family #ReviewTuesday


Pigs in Heaven cover

Pigs in Heaven by Barbara Kingsolver
Harper Collins, 1993

Taylor Greer never wanted children. In the small Kentucky town where she grew up, it took serious effort to get through high school without getting pregnant. Then, as she was driving west, fleeing the bleak prospects in her home town, fate dumped a three year old Indian girl in her lap, and she found herself embracing motherhood despite herself.

Three years later, she and Turtle have settled in Tucson, where she has a job, friends, a lover, and an altogether richer life than she ever expected. Then Turtle witnesses a freak accident, saves a man’s life and winds up on the Oprah Winfrey show. Her appearance attracts the attention of a lawyer for the Cherokee Nation, who sets out on a campaign to return the child to the tribe – even if that means tearing her away from her adoptive mother.

Pigs in Heaven, a sequel to The Bean Trees, is both deeply moving and hilariously funny. It would have been easy to make the female lawyer into a villain, but the author shows us that she has valid reasons for wanting to Turtle to grow up within the culture of her ancestors. Ms. Kingsolver treads delicately, exploring both sides of the question. The portrait she paints of Heaven, Oklahoma, doesn’t shy away from the grinding poverty or the desperation of its Native American inhabitants, but at the same time reveals a community deeply embedded in the natural world, where everyone is viewed as family.

The Bean Trees was told almost entirely from Taylor’s perspective. Pigs in Heaven has a much larger set of characters and voices. This is both a strength and a weakness; it adds complexity and interest, but undermines, to some extent, the structural unity of the novel. The book has a bit of a rambling quality at times. Still, things knit together in the end, in a satisfying if not totally surprising manner.

Barbara Kingsolver writes lovely, evocative prose that can literally bring tears to my eyes. I picked up this book and read the first chapter. I found it so astonishing, so gloriously observant, so subtle and emotionally true, that I immediately went back to read the entire chapter again.

Though it has some flaws, overall Pigs in Heaven is a gem.

Sunday, September 1, 2019

Who You Gonna Call? #ghosts #paranormal #vampires

female ghost

Image by cocoparisienne from Pixabay

For some reason, today I’ve been thinking about ghosts.

Ghost tales are the poor cousin in the paranormal sub-genre. For every story of visitors from beyond the veil, you'll find dozens featuring vampires and werewolves. Ghosts are not nearly as trendy, at least not these days. That's one reason I enjoy writing about ghosts. An author has a great deal more freedom.

A long tradition constrains vampires and lycanthropes. Everyone knows how they behave, their strengths and their weaknesses, how they can be killed, and in the romance/erotica genre at least, why they're sexy. One can only tweak the conventions so far before readers will cry foul. I've actually read posts on discussion groups where readers complained that a vampire “couldn't really eat a steak” or “couldn't sire children on a human woman”. In “Vampires Limited”, published in the altruistic vampire erotica volume ComingTogether: In Vein, I have a member of the undead community who can walk about in daylight, as long as it's cloudy, and who is more endangered by electromagnetic radiation from a cell phone than by garlic or crosses. As I wrote that story, I really wondered if I was pushing things too far, whether I would incite angry protests from vampire-loving readers.



With ghosts, there are very few givens. A ghost represents some manifestation, in the physical world, of a person who has died. The author has fairly free rein in deciding the characteristics of that manifestation. A ghost may be ethereal, a permeable fog taking a human shape, or corporeal, able to interact physically with flesh and blood creatures. (The latter is perhaps more useful in erotica!) Specters may appear only in dreams, or only at night – in certain locations, or associated with specific natural phenomena. Some ghosts may not appear at all, making their presence known only through their effects on the environment, messages scrawled on mirrors, or clues leading to the discovery of secrets. Some of my favorite ghost tales, such as Henry James' The Turn of the Screw, are sufficiently subtle that they leave open the question of whether the ghosts actually exist at all, or whether they are projections of the character's imagination.

Ghosts' emotions and intentions can be at least as varied as their physical characteristics. They may be sorrowful, vengeful, compassionate or horny. A widely accepted belief is that ghosts hang around in the physical realm because of some sort of unfinished business: a murder to be avenged, a mystery to be revealed, a treasure to be guarded, a child to be guided and protected. On the other hand, some ghosts seem to exist purely for the sake of causing trouble, from simple mischief to genuine malevolence. A ghost can be a character as rich and full-bodied as a living being. The chains that tether a spirit to our world can provide a start on a riveting conflict.

In my ghost tales, the human character often doesn't understand that the ghost is a visitor from the grave until quite late in the story. “Twentieth Century”, which is included in my dark paranormal collection Fourth World: Erotic tales of monsters, myths and magic, is a tale of a woman more at home in the past than in a modern city, whose love of things antique draws her into an encounter with history. Only near the end of the tale does she realize that her lover is in fact long dead. 

 

Tomorrow's Gifts, part of Total-E-Bound's “Christmas Spirits” collection, draws on the Dickensian concept of the “ghost of Christmas future”. However, Michael really has no idea exactly who or what Thorne is, other than a hot stud who understands his submissive needs, until the last scenes.


“Twentieth Century” has a bittersweet conclusion. Beth loses her ghostly lover forever, though she learns something about herself. Tomorrow's Gifts, an erotic romance, has a happy ending, but it does not involve the ghost. This highlights a bit of a problem with using ghosts as main characters in romance. How, when a human loves a ghost, to you engineer a happily-ever-after? No matter how deliciously corporeal and carnal a spectral lover may be, a long-term relationship is not likely to be very satisfying. On the other hand, what are the options? One of my readers wrote, in response to a question I posed in a contest:

I hate endings where the ghost just disappears/goes to heaven/finds peace and the heroine then meets a guy who reminds her of/is the reincarnation of/is the great-grandson of the hero. It doesn't count if he is not the hero, I don't want a reincarnation or any substitute, I want her to find happiness with the hero. But there is one ending that is even worse, where the heroine dies too so they can be together forever.

Herein lies the rub. A romance author can ignore this problem by simply offering a “happy for now” ending, where the human protagonist(s) and the ghosts are busily getting it on and not worrying about the future. This is not likely to be effective in a longer work, though. If the reader cares at all about the characters, she is bound to be frustrated, wondering how things will turn out them in the future.

This may be a partial explanation for the popularity of vampires as opposed to ghosts, at least in the realm of erotic romance. The same reader above said:

Funny, it doesn't bother me when a vampire hero turns his heroine into a vampire, but I don't want to have two ghosts living happily ever after.

As my followers have probably realized, I don't necessarily require all my stories to end happily, so this structural problem with ghosts doesn't really bother me. I love the other-worldliness of a ghost tale. There's not much mystery left in vampires. I also appreciate the fact that ghosts are not necessarily monsters. They may have supernatural powers, but fundamentally, they are as human as my living characters – heroes, villains, creeps and clowns. Ghosts offer a wide scope for the creative imagination.