Enlightening Word Choices

Tags

7DS Books, A.T. Russell, adore, beach, books, choices, Chrissy Moon, Dawn Kirby, enlightened, ghost story, inspirational, inspire, Jess Russell, Kat Daughtry, life, Linger, love, Michael Hillcrest, paranormal, patience, plans, promise, Quincy J Allen, words, writing

“I can’t stand getting lost at home. I should know where I am. But, in new places it never bothered me. It was always alright to get lost in new places. If you don’t freak out, you’ll find yourself eventually.”

“Enlightening word choices. You said find yourself, not find your way or find what you’re looking for.”

 

This was an interesting portion of a conversation I had with a personal Yoda I call Dorothy.  Actually, it is a bit more than interesting. This conversation has been chipping away at my mind since the moment the words were spoken. I usually choose my words carefully but with her, I run with my thoughts and sometimes, I blurt.  When you take the time to choose your words, you have a certain control. You get to rest knowing you wrapped your mind around what other people might think about your feelings, emotions, fears, and hopes.

When you stop thinking and speak, sure, sometimes you might regret saying things you wish you hadn’t. But even worse than what other people may think of your words, is when you allow them to flow and you have to step back and decide how you feel about the words you didn’t censor or evaluate their depth before spoken.

I’ve been mildly frigid on social media lately. Not hiding. Not emotional. Not sad. Simply, scattered. I’ve been writing a decent amount. I’ve had another short story released in a 7DS Books Collaboration. A nice scary story. A haunting tale of a girl and her encounters with The Lady on Fire. There are many great authors on this book- to the point I smile each time I see my name with them on the cover. Look at those names. Yep, I’m smiling.

 

I am working on a few novels at once. I thought it would be near impossible to focus on more than one premise at a time. It isn’t. I’m able to toss ideas around for one while rolling in the words on another. It seems this process allows my plots and characters to evolve without the stress of not writing while the story mentally stews. I dig that. Hopefully I will have several releases soon. That’s the plan, and everything seems to be following the right path in the right time. I usually plan everything out in fine detail. I like knowing time frames and every little detail before I even dive in. It is how I’ve always worked. Like home base. But it seems every aspect I apply that same tried and true logic lately, it is tried but not so much true. It seems to have caused more chaos and I have felt very lost in the ways I set my own roots.  This is trying something new. This is taking a deep breath and rolling with the flow of how things unfold, slower, with less details plotted, and with me not time-framing every single thing.

It turns out, it actually rather sucks for my sanity. It feels like I am staring at the ocean looking for a perfect shell. The funny thing about that- the treasures of the ocean always roll in with the waves. You just have to hold the patience to wait for the next wave to crash and then grab the shell before it’s pulled away.

I guess I do find myself better venturing in new places… Eventually.

We are the legacy we leave. Nothing more.

We are a species so quick to self sacrifice.
It seems shocking to hear that considering what we show to the world.
We are quick to judge those we do not understand.
Our tongues are sharpened with hate towards anyone we do not agree with on any given subject.
We blame others, groups, systems, leaders- anyone we can before we will accept blame for something we have done or something we have not done.
We boast to our friends, family, and coworkers with details of every single accomplishment, even if it is something materialistic or trivial.
We cover and deny anything that is not worthy of boasting.
It hurts us to bend on the brand of water, coffee, or clothing. We hold our noses in the air if we are around the wrong cut of meat or in company we consider less than ourselves.
All of these things make us out to be the most vile and offensive creatures on this planet but…
We so easily brush aside our own dreams and needs for fear of what our peers or surrounding society may think.
Those needs and dreams- we make excuses as to why we are selfish for the thoughts, much less the actions of obtaining them. We push them aside as simple daydreams until we long for free moments in the day to escape to daydreams that could just as easily be our reality if we stop caring about those things that do not matter.
We wrap our hearts in silence to mask saying what we want and need that may only make us richer in soul, not finance or image.
If we changed that one thing; If we became the dream chasers and jumped for our truest desires, one by one, those things that make us these vile creatures would vanish.
Can you imagine the world if we only had the guts to live our short lives based on the legacy of dream chasing and not the legacy of our estate?

Why is a raven like a writing desk?

Tags

adore, affair, dominant female, faith, fate, games, giving up, jealous wives, jump, love, madness, mental, passion, plot twist, romance, snobbery, stalker, story, submissive lover, therapy, ultimatums

When someone can enter your life and show you the beauty inside splattered eggs against the ground and sees the fire within your eyes, you have to expect a certain level of madness to follow. Is that a horrible thing? What is madness? Is it something that sets the wild aside from the tightly woven?  I suppose the root of madness is judged by nothing more or less than the view point of the eyes in a position to oppose your emotions, thoughts, dreams or actions. When we connect with a like soul, we do not see their madness within and if we do, we embrace it. It is only those that carry a different madness that we consider truly mad.

 

Not horribly long ago, but not terribly recently either, “a friend”  stalked me out to call me crazy. Now, call me crazy but you have to be slightly crazy to prowl on someone and pounce to openly announce their madness. I wanted to be offended, but as I was warned of her being a total wrecking ball of sanity by others, I could not help but to giggle. I have a rather cute giggle. Ask around. I’ve also heard that fire in my eyes sparkle when I laugh. Maybe a sign of madness, for those that consider happiness to be madness. Some people wish to be miserable, you know?

 

All in all, maybe the madness inside, I was delighted to hear this friend had the need to attack me. For you see, this queen was holding my heart captive by holding the one that owns it. To know she needed to growl reassured my assumptions that she could likely see me each time she looked into his eyes. How very maddening that must be. To spend each day with someone knowing they were aching for the them they were with others that were banished for fear of heads rolling. To see a soul burn dreams to keep the peace. To know that the way life once was, will never be again, replaced by nothing more than an illusion of what illusion of trust and happiness once existed.

 

I had the view of strangers as well as those that knew her nodding along in understanding that this person was simply, totally, unmistakingly- mad. But, my own madness shown, and I began to question the authenticity of my own emotion questioned by the queen of hearts.  As per her advice, you know what I did? You got it. I went to a professional. If anyone was going to call me crazy, it was damn sure going to be someone certified to do just that- if I were to take them seriously, anyway. So I did just that. I have done it and done it and done it and done it. And I will keep doing it, too. I do it rather well. Most things I do rather well. I do not sew, nor bake. Because I do not do either well. Beyond that, I amaze myself sometimes in my much muchness.

 

So after much digging, chatting, opening up in total emotional nudity, I was made to separate emotion from fact. You see, emotions have a way of creating illusions in your mind, your heart and your path. If this was the case, I surely wanted to know. I backed up as I told the story, when emotions muddied the facts. I reworded events in a way that erased the emotional pull and only allowed the black and white of it all. The black and white of it all was truly a hard pill to swallow. My eyes were opened to the possible core of my need to feel safe and submissive, how I was only submissive in one aspect, the rest of me is a total dominant force, which I held solid on when it came to my wants and needs until the end, when it mattered, and I curled up like a sub, how I have a history of impatience and where the need to make things happen a..s.a.p. spawned from, how I cover pain with comedy to make people laugh before they can see me as weak in any aspect of life, and how I truly, deeply, allowed my walls to be torn down completely to only one man since the passing of the man that raised me as his own and kept me safe from the world. There was no doubt of my love. No question. But I had to ask, I had to know. Was I insane? I asked, bluntly, out of the two women in this story, was I the one holding on to illusions?  If I improperly held on, I wanted to know so I could try and figure out why I could not let go.

 

But no. Only the facts, that black and white shows not only no closure for me, but for many. Not typical. Not the norm, not what one would consider, of grounded mind. Throw in emotions, and it turns out, professionally seen, I make a rather good bit of sense, and- for the first time in my history, I was executing a huge amount of patience, which also shows the depth of how solid what I had before me really was. BUT, but – always one of those, it seems, an assy but. I rushed. I had everything from my dreams, I had fate in my lap, and in my own maddening fears and timelines, I rushed what was everything I thought never existed. I wasn’t waiting for it, because I never thought it could breathe beyond the pages of a story-book.  But as I also learned, what I considered as my missing piece, was also an entire puzzle trying to figure out the insides, as if the border had always been there, but those tricky pieces on the inside were still trying to find their spots. I was also something he never thought existed in reality, but there I was, and his life plan was locked in, no doubts, he was happy in the well planned mediocre life…until me. Until knowing I existed and in knowing me, he discovered the puzzle of himself held more pieces than he ever imagined, and not only did he not have time to process that fact, he especially had little time to take all the new pieces of him he found in me and connect them smoothly. So very likely, had I not been impatient me, things would not be as they are right now. I would not be just a longing in someone’s heart that reflects through their eyes. I have to swallow my own blame for that. It is thick and bitter and there is no chaser to make it go down easier. But now what? Where do I go evaluating this? My certified sanity. My unknown future. My dominant side pulling me to defend what I see as mine. My weak heart thudding after you take the comedy away that covers the #ache.

 

This is where the madness of my own self kicks in. What do I have to wait for? Have I spoken to him? Do I know if the wait is worth it?  Is there a plan? Does my story plot end here or is there a happily ever after around the corner. Well, as I drape on my Cheshire smile, I say this: I have everything and nothing to wait for or to hold me back from waiting. I hear his voice. Maybe it is a lullaby- maybe it is more or less. What is better than a lullaby? is anything more soothing? Would I speak of it if there were? Would I open the door to all with my eggs in one basket or would I leave the world to wonder just as much as I have in the past? Would I smile and type away sadness to secure the confusion just as I would weep and speak as if my heart is spoken for and solid? In every story ending there is happiness wrapped in the sadness of completion. The chase ending, the questions answered, the sinister scorned, the everybody-is-where-they-want-to-be syndrome. As a writer, I know this is no end. But where we are in the plot, as it thickens, well, you will just have to wait and see. Enjoy the madness. It is better than silence.

 

Welcome to my Wonderland. Would you like some tea?

THE Mother of THE Kat Daughtry. Ever pondered that one?

Tags

angry teenager, button pusher, combat boots, dark eyeliner, public restroom, steel magnolia

Kat Daughtry. Such an exotic creature. Not normal by any means. A button pusher. Bold. Blunt. Steampunk. Erotic. Beyond.

The main question I get is the famous, “What does your mother think of you and your porn writing?”

I love this question. I am sure such a thing like me existing in the bible belt of the South seems taboo. But, darling, all good things are.

First of all, my mother thinks lots of things of me. She has known me longer than anyone. She has seen me at my worst and some of my best. 😉 I was a good child. Spoiled, but good. I was a hell raising, down with tha man goth angry teenager. I am not really sure what I was angry about. My mother provided a damn good life for me. Maybe I was mad because I liked fishnets and leather and happy goths were unheard of in the 90s. My mother was always the definition of classy. She had a grand sense of humor, but she was always just a classy dame. She dressed well and carried herself with this southern Steel Magnolia manner that you just loved her. And beside her was this long hair, miniskirt and combat boots with a Marilyn Manson shirt and dark eyeliner pissed off because I like totally was hanging with my family that did everything for me and loved the crap out of me. Grrrr.

I was very OCD. I could travel up or down the east coast without using a public restroom no matter how clean they were- they were public, but I would demand and tantum to stay with friends that lived in filth. She couldn’t understand how I could do such. It was during these years, I learned to use the bathroom outside and I always carried tissues with me. (OCD, but hardcore.)

My mother dealt with me well. Better than most anyone could. The main time I remember seeing her southern scorn flame in full force is when anyone dared to mess with me. Be it a bully at school, a bad boyfriend or a holier than thou family member. I admit, I loved seeing that side of her- that mother instinct to protect me no matter how bad ass I thought I was. Funny thing, she is still the same now that I am grown.

I would say she thinks pretty highly of me considering I am well into my 30’s and those claws still come out with even the idea of someone hurting her baby.

Now, what does she think of me writing porn? First off, let us get clear on this. I do not write porn. There is not cheesy music or bad plots. I write around the theme of love. I do not believe in emotionless fornication. My first writings in erotica were written with a man I love dearly. I never hid this aspect from her. As a matter of fact she knew of the writing when it was nothing more than a possible idea. She read it and was highly impressed that this fella and I were so in tune, you could not tell the difference between the words each of us created. She became a fan of my erotic writing- a fan of his and a fan of us.

Yes, she is a bit more timid when it comes to the BDSM and the roles of Master and Submissive. Not that she judges my private choices, but my mother made sure she raised a dominant female and the thought of submission concerned her. She is my mother, that is understandable.

I recall leaving for a divine B&B to meet my former partner and I was supposed to call her when I got there to let her know I arrived safely. I was greeted at our suite door by a tall hunk of man with passion in his eyes and rope in his hand. It was wonderful. Much better than flowers. Some time into this adventure, my phone rang. I feared it was my mom, concerned that I had not made it, so bound to the bed, I insisted he check the phone. He ignored the call, as it was not from my mom- but I knew she would call anytime. I used my sweet eyes and had him dial my mother and hold the phone to my ear. I apologized for not calling her and explained as soon as I got to the room, I became tied up. She understood and went on to talk about things on television. I nodded along for a moment or two and then interrupted to explain to her that I was literally met at the door with rope and he was holding the phone to my ear since I could not move. She gasped and told me not to talk on the phone while doing such things. I told her I loved her and would talk to her soon. He hung up the phone for me and commented on how much more open southern women were than those he was used to. I am not sure all southerners are like that. Just the good ones.

Of course, being the mother that she is, the following weeks were filled with research on proper bondage and making sure I was aware that safe words should always exist and not be something commonly said during such interaction.

My mother is my source for bouncing around plot ideas and possible endings. My mom is the bouncer of my life and will quickly give her opinions on who is worthy of being a part of it and who is not. My mom knows I am anything but vanilla and I think she is proud to know that I have no issue not conforming. My mom is my support and she is my best friend. She is my fan and she is the only person that knows how to keep me in line. My mom is southern, sassy, classy, smart, and sexy. She is everything I thrive to be, only she is more of an old school southern belle as to my personality holds very little back. I am sure she is happy that I use my father’s last name to write the good and dirty, but she would support me even if I wrote under Lickety Dickety or Hickory Dickory. But thanks to her wonderfulness, and I did ask before coming out as an erotic writer, she was just fine with me owning my genetic name.

To wrap up this YAY MOM post, here are a few things I love about my mom:

*She used to wake me on school morning blaring oldies music and dancing at my door.

*I look just like her and I love it when people say so.

*She loves to cry. It doesn’t matter if it is a sad movie or something online about a soldier. She cries for love, for pain, for patriotism, for hope, for happiness. I have never been a crying sort. I pick on her for crying. But it shows how beautiful her heart is.

*She drinks coffee to the point that if I purchased stock, it would be in coffee.

*She cooks better than any southern woman you will ever know.

*She is strong and independent and nobody will ever change that.

*She learns and loves herself more each day and she has taught me to do the same.

Happy Mother’s Day to my mom- the surprisingly normal and beautiful, patriotic, God loving, Native American, hard working, bedroom eyes-having, strong, southern pearl that she is and inspires me to be. I love you.

 

Every night is exactly the same.

Tags

adore, dominate, dreams, fate, Kat Daughtry, love, lovers, Michael Hillcrest, promises, steamfate, submissive

Her head nestled inside the softness of her pillow. She stretched flat against her stomach. The sheets were cold against her barely covered skin. A giggle slipped through her lips as the goosebumps sent shivers across her spine.

He stood against the wall, amazed. His eyes floated from her head to her toes and back  again. He had no words. Silence was a skill. She didn’t need his words. Words were pointless. No matter how many he combined and sputtered, it would not erase the lapse or loneliness. She could feel him in the room. She could feel the way he adored her. Words were nothing.

She rolled the curve of her back until the black lace covering her bottom arched into the air and she lifted onto her knees. She could hear him sigh. Another giggle escaped her lips.

“It doesn’t matter.” she turned to make him lock into her eyes.

“Oh.” he wanted to look away, but couldn’t.

“Yesterday is dead. Just like everyday before. You can never give those back.”

He stuttered for an apology. She silenced him. He forced his silence on her long enough, she deserved a silence she could enjoy.

“Some people call them reasons. Some call them excuses. You told me to trust you. To wait. I did. And I did.”

“Oh.” guilt rattled his voice.

“Time zipped by, way too fast for what we wanted and needed. We were so afraid to lose it, we forgot to savor it.” She pushed her knees and rested flatly against the bed again.

He whimpered, watching her round ass fall from the begging position.

“I could feel your pain. Your sorrow. Your guilt. I could feel the battle in your mind and your heart. No bad days, I told you. Not because of me. I never wanted that. But I could feel them. Day by day. Hour by hour. I was content in my misery because it tangled around yours.” she bit her lip “Is that horrible of me?”

“No.” he smiled.

“There it is. That smile. Why I couldn’t hate you. I tried. I prayed for it. I closed my eyes and tried to fester inside the pain you caused and right as I would collect it, there it was. That smile. Not many people understood it because they never saw it. That smile. I could live forever on the memory of that smile before I could pretend to feel alive with anyone else.”

He smiled harder and kicked his feet against the carpet. “I have missed you.”

“I know. I could feel it in my heart. I asked God to let you feel mine as well.”

“I could. I feel horrible.”

“You promised me forever.” her thighs rubbed together, fishnets coating them like webs.

“I know. I just-” she shushed him.

“I know.” she shook her head. Her eyes flamed with completion as she watched him, wondering if he were there or if she was stuck in another dream.

“Today.”

“Today?” he adjusted his tie.

“Today. Tomorrow. Forever. We never said when forever started and if I wanted you forever, why would I close the door all the way? Ever? You just had to turn the knob.”

“I don’t know how to get back to where we were. I don’t know where to go from here.”

“We never forget the past. It made us both stronger. But there is no going back. There is today, tomorrow and forever. We start it now and we slowly savor every moment.”

“I can do slowly.”

“Our last kiss.”

“Yeah?” his mind wondered back to the rushed missed flight.

“That was the kiss of someone that you knew you would kiss again.”

“It was only supposed to be a few weeks.”

“So kiss me.” she rolled onto her side showing the full lace covering her.

Shakingly, he crawled onto the bed. He felt at home but he was afraid she would slap him at any moment. She was baiting him. He felt for so long as if there were no turning back. Each time he picked up the phone to call, but hung up, not wanting to hurt her more. He had hoped she understood that, but he knew that was unfair to expect. He deserved to be slapped. He leaned his face by hers, eyes closed tightly, waiting for the sting of her hand he so deserved.

The warmth of her full lips met his tenderly. His knees shook more with the feel of lace against his hand. Her finger met his cheek, sweetly. She pulled him into a deeper kiss. A kiss she had been owed for months. Never before had a kiss existed with such urgency and slow savoring. She moaned against his tongue. His body wobbled. She had a way of doing that to him. He pulled away.

His forehead rested against hers. “God knows how much I have missed you, darling.”

“Show me.” she smiled her sinister grin and rolled back onto her stomach.

Her legs spread open against the sheets. She knew just how much space he needed. He loosened his tie and burrowed between her thighs. She could feel him through his pants as she arched her back. He grunted as the lace pushed against him.

“I think we were wrong.”

“We were?” he paused.

“You want to be dominated but you want to feel the power. Had I not been submissive and waited for you to control this, you would never have missed a moment.”

“Twenty-two years.” he reminded her of how long he had been submissive.

“I can tell you what to do. I can make you feel in control while doing it.”

“How so?” he freed himself from his clothing as she spoke.

“I love you truly. Properly. I can read you. I will never tell you to do a thing unless it is something I know you want.”

He chuckled. “I’d like to see how that works.”

“Yeah?” she purred.

“Yeah.” he stood on his knees between her legs.

“Fuck me.” she demanded as her ass arched high in the air.

He popped the strap of her garter belt and slid her panties.

“Unless you don’t wanna.” she teased and lowered her body slowly.

He grabbed her thighs and pulled her back up to mount. His body trembled as he pushed inside her. She had been waiting. So wet and tight, made just for him. Her purr rolled into a scream as he fully consumed her. He stroked slowly, savoring her.

“Come to me.” she ordered with enough of a whimper to pass for a beg.

Her body fell flat against the mattress. His body followed. His arms slid around her shoulders. She turned her head and waited for his lips. He kissed her slow and long followed by short hard kisses. He sniffed her hair as she moved her face toward the pillow. A scent he feared would become only a memory until the day he died.

“Savor me.” she insisted as she bit into the pillow.

He knew what she wanted and he was more than willing to give into the submissive demands. He pushed deep. Hard. He held inside her as deep as he would go. She pushed against the wall against him. She held her position just as long as he did. His knuckles turned white around her shoulders. She growled into her pillow.

She gasped for air and he released his thrust.

“Again.” she whimpered.

Again, their bodies pushed into each other, holding firm. She clinched around him like a pulse. He buried his face into her neck and bit down. He could cum. She drove him insane with every bit of her. Her mind. Her heart. Her dreams. And the magical things she could do with her body.

He waited for her to gasp for air before he let the tenseness of his body rest. She reached her arm around and ran her fingers through his hair. Still, she pulsed her clinching hold on him. He grunted, fighting to let go inside of her.

“I knew you missed me, too.” she smirked.

He nibbled her ear. His lips traveled down her neck with kisses onto her shoulders. He stopped and studied the tattoo she got when he vanished.

“The new tattoo-” he waited for her.

“You know what it means. We wrote the existence together.”

“It means I am dead to you?”

“It means I wanted you to be. To my heart.”

“Oh.” he gazed at the gear on her back. A back that was supposed to be covered in tattoos of his own art. “Were you like Zona getting the tattoo?”

“Are you bluntly asking me if I got off getting a tattoo that was supposed to shut the door on you forever?”

“Yeah. I am.”

“Sweetness, I told the artist what I wanted. He drew it up and made me think on it a week so I would not regret it. A week later I came back. I explained what tattoos did to me and asked for a closed door private session just in case. I knew the pain of you would likely ruin the enjoyment.”

“So it hurt pretty bad?”

“Only emotionally.” she laughed. “The poor tattoo artist. I told him all about the book and our writing and our visits. Gummy Bears. No crime in that. Promises. Everything. Like a bartender or therapist. I cried. Like a baby, I cried over you. Topless, exposed to this stranger. Me, straddling a tattoo chair. And I thought about the scene in the book. And I pictured us in that scene. And as I cried, my hips started to rock. And I tried to hate you, but that smile. I told him about your smile. I told him about the first kiss. The fountain. The rope. Lavender. I told him everything as I sobbed and as my hips rocked. He followed me around the room on his stool as I rode the chair the harder my hips rocked remembering every inch of you. I scratched marks through the paint in the walls. I bit holes in the leather chair. I grind the chair as if it were you and I cried because I feared my legs would never feel you in between them again.”

He said nothing. He traced the tattoo with his fingers, half sad for the story, but just as equally turned on.

“I begged him to not be done. I knew when he was, I was supposed to be done loving you and I wasn’t. The pain of hate did not exist. I made him dig and drag the needle into my flesh- harder and harder, I demanded. I screamed. I bit one hell of a hole in the chair to muffle my orgasm as the tears rolled down my cheeks and I cried your name.”

“I am so sorry.”

She laughed. “Feel sorry for him. He had no clue what to do with me. I don’t know if he was amazed that the urban legend of the tattoo orgasm existed or if he was scared that I threw so many emotions out at once. I am just impressed with the job he did while I got off. You know how I move.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, considering, this is amazing.”

“Yeah.” sadness rolled over her face.

“What is it?” he kissed the angel tattoo above the new one.

“If you stay. If you give me forever- you will see everyday, a reminder of me trying to not love you.”

“Looking at this gear everyday would remind me of how wonderful you are and how lucky I am you couldn’t stop loving me.”

She pulled his tie and slid her tongue inside his mouth. He kissed her as if they had invented the kiss. She pulled away and bit her lip and she studied his eyes.

“I never feel as alive as I do when I look into your eyes.” he smiled as he brushed his hand against her cheek.

“You should always be fully alive.”

“I’m scared I will screw up and hurt you again.”

“I’m scared you will waste all this on that chance.”

“What if I do hurt you again?”

“You can walk away forever. That will hurt much worse. Or you could love me knowing you are going to hurt me and I am going to hurt you- at some time at some point but we will be okay because you promised forever.”

“We said no bad days. We’ve both had months of them.”

“We had bad days apart. Not together.”

He rolled her over and scanned his eyes across her body. “I missed your eyes the most. Always your eyes.”

She smiled and ran her fingers through his hair, memorizing the smile on his face.

“So what do we do now?”

“Until you fight for us all, make love to me now. Savor the memory.”

“I can’t do it alone.” he looked away.

“Nobody said you ever had to do this alone. We are all waiting for you to say you want us to help.” she pulled him on top of her body and wrapped his tie around her neck as well, placing his lips just above hers. “Make love to me until I wake up.”

He pushed himself inside her. His lips rubbed against hers without kissing. She moved with him, like Monday night poetry. She fought to memorize the lines on his face, her reflection in his eyes and the sound of his breath.

She could feel him fade. She held him tighter. Her legs wrapped around him until she could feel his flesh vaporize.

“I miss you, darling. I do.” she could barely see his eyes.

She tossed and turned until the emptiness woke her. The room, fully dark, left no signs of him.

“Dear God, let him love me freely or let me let him go.” she rolled over knowing she would lay awake and watch until the sun broke through the window shades. The echoes of every promise haunted her until she pushed herself out of bed to face another day without him.

Interview with Elizabeth Lang, Author of The Empire- Contest details inside!

Tags

About, author, blog, book, book series, contest, elizabeth lang, Empire Series, facebook, fantasy, Indie, interview, KOBO Mini, mystery, page turner, sci-fi, science fiction, The Empire, tour, twitter, website, Writer

Hello blog viewers. A happy weekend to you all. Today, I am thrilled to post an intriguing interview with Elizabeth Lang, author of The Empire Series as a part of her Page Turner Book Tour. Be sure to read the entire interview and check out the contest listed as well!

If you could be one character from this book, which one would you choose
and why?

It wouldn’t be the main character, Adrian, even though he is my favourite.
His life is just too hard. The one I would chose to be is Charles Sester,
the psychostrategist. He makes things happen and he’s slightly crazy.

If you could have one author that has inspired your life read your book,
which author would you ask?

Tolkien. His books left a lasting impression on me and may have influenced
my tendency to write multi-cast stories with epic scopes and strong themes.

What do you do to celebrate the completion of writing one of your books?

I usually write some more. Writing is my passion.

If you placed your favorite character from this book in a room with your
favorite character from your favorite book by another author- which
characters would they be and how well would they get along?

I would place Sester in a room with any character because he’s such a
slick, mind-bending character who makes things happen and always finds the
fun, albeit skewed fun, in any situation.

What is the best reader/fan response you have had so far in your literary
career?

The best was the one that started my professional career as a writer. Like
many, I consider myself very lucky.

I joined an online writing website and entered into one of their contests.
A writer liked one of my short comedy pieces and approached me, offering to
send it to his publisher. Sure, why not? What could it hurt? Up to that
point, a career in writing was some far distant goal. But having some, or
no feedback from a publisher might be instructive.

I was surprised when the publisher also liked the piece and asked if I had
a novel I might be interested in publishing with them. Of course, I still
had to go through the whole submissions process and I was still not very
confident about my own writing, but they loved the book and offered to
publish it. That was the best response so far apart from being a finalist
in the Next Gen Indie Awards.

Where do your story ideas come from? People watching, dreams, etc..?

My story ideas come from watching the world around me. Being a computer
person, I tend to analyse everything and have an innate need to understand
people, societies, technology.

Give us a once sentence hook for this book to suck us in:

How do you tame a man without breaking his spirit?

Okay, wow. That is one heck of a hook. I do thank you for stopping by the blog and answering a few questions. It has been a pleasure to have you in Kat-country! 

Page Turner Book Tours and Elizabeth Lang have teamed together to set up an amazing contest, be sure to enter today for your chance to win a KOBO MINI!!

Thank you for joining us and Page Turner Book Tours and Elizabeth Lang today on our stop.

About Elizabeth Lang: 

I’m a science fiction writer who started off life as a computer programmer with a love for reading, especially science fiction, fantasy and mystery.

Being in computers, I found my writing skills deteriorating so I decided to take up writing. It became a joy to create characters, stories and worlds and writing soon became a passion I couldn’t put down. As a writer, I like to explore, not only the complexity of characters but the human condition from differing points of view. That is at the heart of the Empire series, of which ‘The Empire’ and ‘The Rebels’ are the first two of a four books series.

You can connect with Elizabeth Lang at the following places:

Author Page on FaceBook | Blog | Twitter | Website

About Page Turner Book Tours:

Page Turner Book Tours is fronted by the face behind Read2Review Kate. Page Turner Book Tours has been put together to help promote authors and give something back to the writing world. Kate has put together a team of incredibly talented people to help with the project by incorporating their individual skills into making new, fresh and exciting promotional plans that we hope you agree are amazing. If you would like to book a tour with Page Turner Book Tours please check out their tour packages. If you would like to become a tour host with Page Turner Book Tours please check out their Tour Host page. You wont be disappointed!

 

Check out the rest of the tour stops listed below.

01/03/2013 – Read 2 Review – http://read2review.com – Guest Post
02/03/2013 – Pandragon Dan – http://www.pandragondan.co.uk/ – Interview
03/03/2013 – Tribute Books Reviews & Giveaways – http://tributebooksreviews.blogspot.com/ – Excerpt
04/03/2013 – Vixie’s Stories – http://vickiejohnstone.blogspot.co.uk/ – Excerpt
05/03/2013 – Decadent Decisions – http://wlynnchantale-decadentdecisions.blogspot.com – Excerpt
06/03/2013 – Reviews From Beyond the Book – www.reviewsfrombeyondthebook.blogspot.com – Excerpt
07/03/2013 – Great Alpha Speaks – http://atrussell.com/Blog/ – Excerpt
08/03/2013 – Dina Rae Writes Stuff – www.dinaraeswritestuff.blogspot.com – Guest Post
09/03/2013 – The Edible Bookshelf –  http://www.theediblebookshelf.blogspot.com/ – Excerpt
10/03/2013 – Independent Writers Association – http://iwassociation.com – Excerpt
11/03/2013 – Self Publish or Die – www.selfpublishordie.com – Excerpt
12/03/2013 – Natasha Larry Books – http://natashalarrybooks.com – Excerpt
13/03/2013 – Michelle Anderson-Picarella – http://shellypicarella.wordpress.com/ – Excerpt
14/03/2013 – Must Read Faster – http://mustreadfaster.blogspot.com – Review
14/03/2013 – Tony Graff – http://tonygraff.com/ – Review
15/03/2013 – JS Council – http://jscouncil.com/ – Spotlight
16/03/2013 – Finding Bliss –  www.laurahoward78.blogspot.com – Interview
17/03/2013 – Sheenah Freitas – http://sheenahfreitas.com – Excerpt
18/03/2013 – Castle Macabre – http://castlemacabre.blogspot.com – Excerpt
19/03/2013 – My World – http://stephsgrn.blogspot.co.uk/ – Excerpt
20/03/2013 – Reading, Writing And More – http://stephsgrn.wordpress.com/ – Excerpt
21/03/2013 – Ami R Blackwelder – http://amiblackwelder.blogspot.co.uk/ – Excerpt
22/03/2013 – Peace From Pieces – http://peacefrompieces.blogspot.com/ – Guest Post
23/03/2013 – The Kat Daughtry – https://thekatdaughtry.wordpress.com/ – Interview
24/03/2013 – Lorraine Nelson – http://lorrainenelson.wordpress.com – Spotlight
25/03/2013 – GMTA Paranormal/Young Adult/New Adult – http://gmtaparanormalyanewadult.blogspot.co.uk/ – Review
25/03/2013 –  A Diary Of A Book Addict – http://adiaryofabookaddict.blogspot.com/ – Review
26/03/2013 – Unwritten – http://www.mystiparker.blogspot.com – Review
27/03/2013 – Tink’s Place – http://myblog2point0.blogspot.com/ – Review
28/03/2013 – AhmadDarkside’s Musings – http://ahmaddarkside.blogspot.co.uk/ – Spotlight
29/03/2013 – Leanne Herrera – http://author-leanneherrera.blogspot.com/ – Review
30/03/2013 – Facebook Page/Goodreads – https://www.facebook.com/sohan.bansode?ref=tn_tnmn – Review
31/03/2013 – The Writing Network – http://thewritingnetwork.com – Review
31/03/2013 – GMTA UK – http://gmtauk.blogspot.co.uk/ – Review

Six Months. A Southern Scarlett Tantrum.

I’m going to get all of it off my chest right here and now because I am in the perfect southern belle tantrum mode. If you don’t like it, frankly my dear, I do not give one single damn.

Six months ago today, my life changed. To be honest, as strong as I am, I fell apart. I can admit this. Six months and one day ago, I was a freaking princess in the middle of a fairy tale. I took this huge leap of faith and put all my trust in this man, this man of my dreams, and I jumped and you know what? All of my dreams were coming true. I hated to sleep because the waking days were better than any dream I ever had, even that reoccurring one with Trent Reznor and Prince William in the bathroom stall at the Viper Room where Johnny Depp walks in. Yeah. Life was good. Grand, baby.

The moment I found this image *Sin* by NIN started playing. google those lyric, Hillcrest.

My best friend was also my writing partner was also my publisher was also my lover. I really did wrap my everything up around the pure perfect existence of him. I spent my time pushing him, his writing, his business and my nights telling him what a man he was. I made him feel like a true master in every aspect of his life. I adored him.

Fate

Fast forward and then on his birthday, POOF. Houdini is gone. Okay, so yes, at this point, he was still married, but big WOW, I took my Scarlet Letter as if most marriages don’t end. On this day, he had his meeting with a divorce lawyer and we already signed a lease on our sweet little house. And POOF. Gone. Vanished. No twitter, no facebook- all social media deleted. No answering email, text or phone. 

Not just me. Nope Friends. Authors. Family. All shut out. It was a pretty big wave of shock and everyone looking at me for an answer. Anyway, days turned to weeks and then a month. Nothing. Not for me. Not for friends, authors or family. 

Well, I take that back. A select few got the enraged bitter half and vows of family never seeing or speaking to him again. 

She never called me, nor answered when I called. Only email. I guess she was actually nicer to me than others in his family. Yes, I do say others in his family as if I was part of that, because… I was. Hell, now, I am more so than he is. At least I speak to them. I’d heard horror stories of this lady from multiple outlets and people warning me of her because they didn’t want me hurt. She was mean. isn’t that cute? People concerned about THE Kat Daughtry. I was honored to be seen as sweet, but come on, I am southern. When we say, “Oh hell naw” people run. I was one step away from Oh hell naw. But I tried being sweet as these other people saw me. 

I begged her. Just let him go. What is done is done. I can’t be erased. He is always going to think of me. My memory will haunt them both forever. When he spaces out and smiles, she will know I am there. When he moans in his sleep, she will know I am there. When his shower takes a bit longer, there I am. Every time he touches a rope, there I am. If he touches her, when his eyes close really hard, there I am. 

I promised her nothing would change. He hadn’t shared a bed with her in so long. All she needed was her life not to change. I promised, I would not get in the way of him helping her at anytime. No fuss on her keeping the house and her lovely lifestyle. I’d work my ass off- two jobs if needed, to make sure she kept her lifestyle- just let him go. Don’t make it hard. Don’t hold him where he doesn’t want to be. Don’t shut him away from friends and family. I begged. It hurt, but he was worth it. I loved him. He was my fate. She’d spent well enough time treating him like a paycheck. Not supporting his hobbies, career, passions… I even told her I hoped one day we could grow to become civil, if not friends. 

No. 

I died. A part of me actually died. My health took a nose dive, naturally and stress induced. My children, which he had already made promises to, ached beside me for our missing piece. Silence. 

Just before this, he made me promise to not let go. To hold on. No matter how rough it got- He loved me, he wanted me. This was not a question. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with me. He made me promise to not take anything to heart unless he flew across the country and looked me straight in the eyes and told me we were over. He also said he knew he could never look me in the eyes and say such things. I promised. I made him promise not to hurt me. To always communicate. We saw something like this coming. He promised. Silence. 

A family member asked me to hold on. Wait past the holidays. Give him time for that with the kids and to recollect himself. I promised him forever, so surely, this was no problem. My birthday, I ached. Christmas, i ached. New Years, I bawled. We had already discussed all these events and us doing them together. And Silence.

So, my health is bad. I am falling apart. My kids are confused and hurt. I sold most everything to move cross country. As the mistress, I lost my publishing contracts/promises/in written and verbal form- knocking my literary dream back several steps right along with the rest of my life. I was temporarily staying with my mother until the move in a small, made for one person country cabin and now- bad health, jobless, few possessions and even less money and needing to put a roof over our head- I kept my promise and he kept his silence. God, I was so lost. 

My friends and family had no clue what to do because tough as nails Kat Daughtry doesn’t crumble for any man. I may take one hot bath, cry it out and it is done. Not with him. I was a shell- an empty shell waiting. I hawked the internet waiting for a message. I slept with my phone and woke myself every hour to see if I had one of his messages. Silence. So I read all the old messages of love and our future over and over. 

Everyday, I dealt with emails and calls asking about his vanishing act. Even his own authors and all I can do is assure them all, he knows what he is doing, the wonderful, fantastic man that he is. Silence. For the longest time, I only blamed her. He was my sweet victim of her wrath. Do not misunderstand me, within the deepest roots of my soul, I think she is, pardon my bluntness, a snobby self-centered cunt bucket of bitterness. She is like Hillary Clinton without the endless adoration and respect of the republican party. (Note serious sarcasm)- I am a reasonable person- had *I* been locked out and they were truly working on them, okay. Maybe fate used me to better them. But no- She shut him away from everyone that loves him, less his children. If you in fact love someone, you do not block out those that also love that person. There is no love in that situation. Only control. 

I know the man has balls. God knows, they spent enough time in my mouth. He chooses to not use them. For six months I could not see this. He was a victim. Nothing more. But no, he is a grown man and he makes a living deciding the fate of other people, to be damn sure he could use those balls and claim his own fate. Every second he goes in silence is a second he chooses to hurt me and those that love him. There is no excuse. 

Six months later, here I am and I love him. I do. I love him dearly. I attempted a date with someone from high school. My youngest asks me, “Is this your boyfriend?” I tell her no and she relaxes and tells me, “Good. I am still waiting for “Hillcrest” to come back to us.” Ouch. We love him. Damn it. 

You know, the first time he kissed me, it was like an old movie kiss. Swooped back, in his arms. I fought to push him away, fearing he would regret me. He looked into my eyes with that smile of his and promised that could never happen and held me in his arms harder and gave me a Hollywood worthy kiss full of passion, need, fate-  He kissed me in a way that as I sit her, in a full Scaret tantrum, I stop, smile and sigh. I would call him a son of a bitch, but I love his mother. She is kinda my idol. 

So yes, six months later- Six months of radio silence. Six months of falling a part. Six months of feeling like I never existed to him no matter how many book dedications, emails, love letters, cards, drawings or texts I re-read telling me to hold on, he loves me- every second of the day his actions tell me he does not. But his eyes. I can still see the love he has for me when I picture his eyes. But his actions, show I am nothing but a regret. But his smile, God, the way he smiled when he was with me, for no reason- and then to hear from those that do manage to speak to him and tell me he sounds mostly dead, the life is gone in him, the spirit is missing. To see a new photo and hear people say he looks tired, aged and miserable- and to see it myself. And to know he sees it too, because just as fast as it is posted, it is replaced with one of his sweet eyes and smile during our time. And I feel the need to make it all better, to revive him and give the world back this amazing man. But there is no way for me to do this. I am used to him tying my hands behind my back, but it is so much more enjoyable with rope than with pain and silence. 

I pray for him. Every night I pray for myself and for him. Not that we be together, but that he provides us both with the strength for his will to be done. Be that the strength for him to stand up and claim me and his family- or just his family. Be that the strength for me to fall asleep and not find my only comfort in the thoughts of sleeping in his arms. The strength to stop waiting. Every night, I pray and I ask God to tell him I love him, since I cannot. Sometimes, I think I feel an I love you back. 

Six months has turned from the support and compassion of friends to the anger and seclusion of friends. I look weak. I look broken. I look pathetic. Nobody wants to hear how I love him. Nobody wants to hear what a good guy he is. Nobody wants to hear how I would rather wait forever than to settle for someone I would only wish were him. His name has become taboo. It hurts. It hurts like all levels of hell, but seeing it from the sight of friends, I suppose I would be done with watching them crumble for six months straight, especially when someone is not the crumbling type. 

I recall when my father died, I cried once when life support shut off. I cried a little in the shower after the service and for almost a year, i shed no tears until Christmas and I shut myself in my closet and cried myself sick, begging God why. Crying is a weakness I’ve never tolerated well. For six months, I have sneaked away when I could and curled up on top of my father’s grave and cried like a baby. Since my father died, Hillcrest was the only other man that I could look into his eyes and not doubt his love for me. That’s what makes it so hard. It feels like living everyday listening to life support shut down.

Probably why I hate the sound of silence…..

Six months. I deserve better. I am so abnormal, I know I deserve more than better. I am a rare breed of southern sweetness and sass with timeless passion and the wild streak of chasing dreams or die trying. I am a work of art. The artist knows it. Six months. 

To hell with you, Hillcrest. To hell with your broken promises. To hell with your poetry and German grunts. To hell with the closeness you created with my kids. To hell with sapphires and July 7th and all I did to build you up for your balls to shrivel and you watch me suffer for you. I hope every time you look at your reflection you see mine inside your eyes and I hope you see the ring of fire around my eyes- the anger, the passion, the hurt, the strength. I hope you settle into your chair each morning at your fuckdesk and I hope the sounds of my moans echo and make your heart shatter like a fresh gash filled with black pepper. I hope all of your books consider to sell like hotcakes in December. I hope you get that lit award and with every sell and that award I hope you tell yourself what a fuckery of friendship and love you created knowing how many of those books set on my shelf with a “if not for you” inscription and and knowing how you were nominated for that award. I hope the books that are not on my shelf you look at and think of our conversations about plotting them out. I hope you are ready for Steamfate. I hope you lay awake and wonder if I have fucked anyone and if we did our position and I hope you do fuck her and I hope, with every thrust, your blood boils because you don’t feel the roll of my hips and the thrust in return with the arching back and the word “Master” rolling off my hot tongue begging for harder- begging to hurt. No, honestly, I just proved my love. I know she trolls me. I just taught her a simple move. Maybe she will use it and you’ll get to grunt sweet profanities in german as you cum once again. Either way, the thought of me will be there. 

I may be no lady. But you, sir, are no gentleman. And you know it because I wrote this blog You read it. And face it, your heart is racing knowing how every word would sound coming from my saucy southern voice and your dick hasn’t been this hard since the rope bound blow job in the opal room…*pause* *play* And now that you have returned from that flashback, your dick is even harder knowing other people are reading this and your heart hurts so badly you are taking slower deep breathes and your head hurts because I was the best damn thing God ever gave you- A sweet, smart sexy woman. A kinky God loving southern belle that stand for what she believes and falls for your every word. A supporter of your every wish and desire. A laugh that intoxicates you. Eyes that burn through you. A hand that was made to fit inside yours. Other things, made to fit ever so perfectly. A girl much younger that loves you, your kids, your family, your dreams- A girl that will drop to her knees as you rest in a wingback chair and ask what her Master wishes of her, with wet pouting lips and begging eyes. A girl that will wear your favorite comic hero shirt, matching panties and fishnets just to see you smile and ride you like a rodeo… Sigh. 

You don’t have to call yourself a dumbass. Every man in the world is doing it for you. But don’t feel too bad. Every woman is about to call me a dumbass. 

You are weak. You are a coward. You are empty and everyone sees it. You hurt me. Everyday you hurt me. I deserve a million times better than what you could ever come back with. You said trust you. Have faith. Jump. You will catch me. You let me fall. You let me crash into the ground and shatter. No woman deserves that, especially not one like me. I am breaking my promise. I am done waiting, phone checking-waiting for a surprise visit. You broke your promise in silence. You allow yourself to be controlled and lock out those that love you. 

When you love yourself enough to stand up and own your life and choices, only then will you be capable of real love. I close this door. But you lucky fucking bastard, when you find your balls and man up- use the strength and knock that fucking door straight off the hinges. Not saying that is all it takes. I am simply stating, talk to me when you can man up and do that. I will still pray for you every single night. And if nothing else, maybe she will move a little when you fuck her now. Sweet ol’ me. Ya’ll are welcome…

Perfection.

 

Just know, I was truly the last one to feel sorry for you and consider you a victim. Now the only one in that club is….you. Bless your heart. 

Love Always,

Your Darling Kat-

THE REBELS by Elizabeth Lang BOOK TOUR Chapter 8 Tease & Kobo Mini Contest

 

Thank you for stopping by and joining us for our stop on the Read-A-Long portion of The Rebels by Elizabeth Lang virtual tour. We are excited to post this segment of the story and we hope you enjoy it too!

The Rebels – Chapter 8

    Determined rays forced their way through the canopy of leaves and icicles sparkled in rainbow hues as Bryce lifted a gnarled root and stared at it suddenly as a chuckle burst from his lips and he looked quickly at the cabin. The root looked like a lumpy carrot, with the Lieutenant’s face, or at least his nose. Long and stern, just the right kind to look down on lesser people.

    He chucked the root into a dented pail and dug his trowel into the dirt, clawing through the thick, withered weeds. In a previous lifetime, this must have been a pretty little garden. Fortunately a few edibles remained. At least Kali had declared them edible. Cold-roots, she called them, adapted for unforgiving temperatures. He knew nothing about growing things—he was a Domer back on Earth. Well, everyone was since The War a millennia ago.

    He hadn’t seen a real sun or breathed non-recycled air until he’d been shipped off to one of the New Colonies. But then he’d made the mistake of ‘borrowing’ some choice items from the wrong supply hold on the ship—a VIP diplomat returning home from assignment. The man had some fine things. Being a diplomat must have paid loads.

    The vindictive man made sure he was sent to a penal colony, for life, which Bryce thought was rather steep for two bottles of vintage wine and a few baubles. He never even had the chance to taste the wine. The Empire had been generous and offered to commute his sentence to fifteen years if he’d serve them in the military.

    And here he was again, a fugitive from justice. Life was very unfair to him. But at least he had a chance to taste a few good wines and ales on the Trykor. The flagship had been very well-equipped and an enterprising Personal Assistant to a Firster had special privileges he wasn’t afraid of using.

    The trowel jammed, firing a shock up his arm. “What the…” Biting his lips, he dug carefully, scratching the dirt away until a dry, knobby bulb appeared, attached to a long…

    Bryce yelped, dropping the trowel and staggered back, landing on his backside with a thump.

~~~

Kali knelt down, brushing away the surface debris from the skeleton. Bits of insect-eaten cloth clung to it: brown, splotchy animal hide formed a thick jacket, remnants of a cotton shirt in a checked red and brown, and tough black pants of an unidentified material that was mainly intact. The bones were dry and white, entirely stripped of flesh. “It’s only a body.”

“It’s only a body, she says.” Bryce’s face was pale. “I’m not like you. I don’t see dead bodies every day.” Even though he was a ship’s weapon specialist, death was something distant. The flashing trail of a phaser canon and a fiery explosion was all he ever saw of it.

    Picking up a long, thin bone, Kali turned it over. “From the placement…these are all faced down.” Her lips pursed. The bones had one arm stretched above the skull and the other bent under the chest. “I think…he was trying to crawl back to the shack. It’s hard to determine how he died with all of the flesh gone.”

“That burns,” said Bryce, “dying out here all alone.”

“Dying anywhere isn’t pleasant.”

“Yeah.” He ventured closer to the skeleton. It seemed more like a sad figure now, not a creature out of a horror vid that would rise from the grave. “At least we know why the shack was abandoned.”

    With care, Kali laid the bone down in the correct anatomical position. Her people had great reverence for life and for the memory of a person after they passed on. “We don’t have access to a crematorium, but we could bury him. I could say a simple Tellar service.”

“I doubt if he was Tellaran.” Bryce didn’t have to ask who would be doing the digging.

“Everyone deserves dignity. Even if we didn’t know who he was.”

“What if he was some crazed murderer?” he asked. Delaying the inevitable was his favorite pastime, especially when it involved digging holes. He figured he’d dug enough of them already. “I mean, he died and no one bothered looking for him.”

“You have a point.” As a medic, she knew all about skin and bones, muscles and sinew. Nothing told her if this had been a good man or not.

    She couldn’t use her psi senses on the dead.

    It did make her wonder. Who was this man? Most likely a loner, not unlike Adrian. She hated to think Adrian would end up like this, living and dying alone with no one to care. Not if she had anything to do with it. “We should still give him a decent burial. Maybe he liked being alone. Or he was hiding from the Empire. People probably misunderstood him.”

    Bryce peered closely into her unfocussed eyes. “Who are you talking about?”

“I…” Kali took a deep breath, letting the cold air clear her head. “I was just speculating.”

“Yeah, sounded like it,” said Bryce with a slight nod of his head.

    A loud crash made them jump, followed by a dull thud. In shock, they turned to each other.

~~~

    The door banged open as Kali rushed in, Bryce a step behind her. Adrian sat doubled on the floor, groaning, his jaw clenched and his right knee bent. There were grayish streaks on his patched jacket. Twisted metal lay around him, the pipes of the heating system that had once snaked across the ceiling.

    Grabbing the field kit from the counter, she knelt beside him. “Where does it hurt?”

“My knee,” he gasped. “I was…trying…to clear a blockage…in the heating system.” He made to get up but fell back groaning.

    Kali pressed down on his shoulder. “Let me take a look at it.” She reached in her bag, for a moment feeling for the medical scanner, until she remembered it lay dismembered inside one of the cupboards, its parts cannibalized. Rolling the trouser leg carefully, her sensitive fingers probed gently, feeling the bones and ligaments and bending the joint. She felt his leg stiffen but there was no other reaction. “How does that feel?”

“Fine,” he replied through clenched teeth.

    It amused her that many of her male patients equated physical injury with a personal weakness. “Fortunately, it’s only a mild sprain.”

    Adrian pushed to get up and Kali pressed on his shoulder. “You need to rest. I will apply an ointment to reduce the swelling and give you something for the pain.”

“The duct needs to be fixed.”

“Bryce can do it.”

    A loud groan from the other side of the room greeted her suggestion.

~~~

    That night, with Adrian’s leg raised on a double-pillow, Kali massaged more ointment into his knee. There was a slow burning sensation followed by a minty coolness sinking through the skin.

    He lay back, a feeling of well-being washing over him. Shadows played across the double-paned glass, casting strange dancing creatures on the walls. A shrill wind found holes that had escaped their repair efforts. The shack was so worn and weather-damaged that it would be less work to build a new one.

    Buying a prefabricated dwelling was out of the question. They had to save money and it would be difficult to explain delivery instructions to the middle of the forest.

    The truth was, he was bored. His mind was a highly tuned engine without a race and it was driving him to distraction.

    Produce. Think. Solve. It was his life, his obsession.

    Fixing the farming equipment had been a minor amusement more than a challenge. It took little effort to understand its function or what was wrong with it. He’d taken the liberty of increasing its efficiency using little more than a few spare wires and a wooden dowel. That had added a few mildly interesting days to an otherwise pedestrian exercise.

    Kali’s expert kneading of sore muscles had reached his hip, sparking decidedly non-medical sensations. She stared down at him with a teasing smile. “I was wondering when you would notice.”

“You’re hard to ignore.”

“I certainly hope not.” She leaned over and they shared an exploratory kiss. “Do you need more stimulation?” she asked, as she wriggled in beside him and rested a hand on his chest.

“I always need more stimulation,” he replied, not quite certain in which context she meant, but more than eager to find out.

“Why don’t you build a lab? That way you can carry out experiments, do the kind of work you like to do.” She drew a light pattern on his nightshirt, tracing a large cursive ‘A’ on his shoulder.

“A lab.” There was a faint note of disappointment in his voice, though the idea was an excellent one.

“You don’t think it’s a good idea?”

    Her tracing finger wandered past the confines of his shirt and touched exposed skin. A tingling shock of energy passed between them and he drew in a thin hiss. “It’s…good.”

“What’s good?” She followed the collar of his shirt, barely touching the skin, creating an irresistible itch.

    Conversation would be impossible if she continued her actions, not that he would object.

“This…” He rolled towards her, feeling the soft curves of her body fitting into his, his mouth seeking hers with growing hunger. His lips traced down her neck, tasting the sweet saltiness of her inviting flesh. Hot blood pulsed in the vein at her throat. If he were a vampire, he could bite down and drink in her essence and they would be one.

    What strange thoughts he was having.

“Are you content?” he mumbled, barely getting the words out before he returned his attention to her welcoming lips.

“We’re together and away from the Empire. That is enough.”

    His mind intruded with the alluring image of her on the jump gate ramp, but for some reason, instead of the severe lines of her black uniform, she was in a fiery red dress that heated his imagination.

“You deserve more,” he said. More than someone like him. He traced the outline of her perfect face, committing each silky stroke to memory.

    She was brave and human and he felt like neither.

“You are more, Adrian.”

“I’m a poor reward for your efforts.” Other than his mind, what else did he have that was of value?

    Kali smiled and snaked her hand behind his head, burying her fingers in his hair. Hot currents of desire connected them and her presence was a feather touch along the walls of his conscious mind. You are my greatest reward, she projected.

    He highly doubted that, but he resolved to give her more as she guided his head down for a deep, soul-searching kiss.

~~~

    Fluted marble columns rose from the sun-baked floor like silent sentinels, soaring high above Charles Sester’s head as if giants strode through its arches instead of puny mortals. Runes etched in flaming gold above the doorway didn’t quite translate into Empire Standard, the closest approximation being, ‘The Mind Ascendant.’

    The ostentation of it all amused Sester. For an organization that prided itself in subtlety, it was like being hit on the head with a power driver.

    Unconsciously, he tugged the ends of his three-quarter length jacket, the fringes edged in braided silver filament and the collar straight and wrapping around his neck.

    He looked up, letting the past blur into the present.

    Over the archway, twelve mythical creatures spread crystal wings to the heavens, one from each of the founders of the Empire, Earth being represented by a fiery phoenix, fitting for a race that barely survived its own civil wars.

    A niggling headache nagged at him, a bothersome pain with tiny teeth chewing at the base of his brain.

    The child Sester had looked up at the fearsome crystal creatures, a shiver of anticipation dribbling down his spine. The shadowy entrance yawned like a magical doorway, and even then he knew that if he passed through it, there would be no going back.

    The man and the child stepped over the line between past and present, life and death. Robed figures glided towards him, hooded guardians, their faces hidden in shadows. They surrounded him, hemming him in on all sides. 

    Their silence sucked up the air.

    A delighted sparkle lit up Sester’s eyes and deep behind it a touch of encroaching madness. “To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”

Also Elizabeth Lang has shared with us an exclusive picture from The Empire Series

To read more of the Read-A-Long please follow the tour schedule…

02/03/2013 – The Edible Bookshelf –

http://www.theediblebookshelf.blogspot.com/ – Chapter 1

03/03/2013 – Vixie’s Stories –

http://vickiejohnstone.blogspot.co.uk/ – Chapter 2

04/03/2013 – Decadent Decisions –

http://wlynnchantale-decadentdecisions.blogspot.com – Chapter 3

05/03/2013 – Independent Writers Association –

http://iwassociation.com – Chapter 4

06/03/2013 – Self Publish or Die –

http://www.selfpublishordie.com – Chapter 5

10/03/2013 – Reviews From Beyond the Book –

http://www.reviewsfrombeyondthebook.blogspot.com – Chapter 6

11/03/2013 – Great Alpha Speaks –

http://atrussell.com/Blog/ – Chapter 7

12/03/2013 – The Kat Daughtry –

https://thekatdaughtry.wordpress.com/ – Chapter 8

13/03/2013 – Sheenah Freitas –

http://sheenahfreitas.com – Chapter 9

14/03/2013 – Natasha Larry Books –

http://natashalarrybooks.com – Chapter 10

27/03/2013 – Castle Macabre –

http://castlemacabre.blogspot.com – Chapter 11

28/03/2013 – My World –

http://stephsgrn.blogspot.co.uk/ – Chapter 12

29/03/2013 – The Cro’s Nest –

http://p45crok.wordpress.com – Chapter 13

30/03/2013 – Tink’s Place –

http://myblog2point0.blogspot.com/ – Chapter 14

31/03/2013 – Reading, Writing And More –

http://stephsgrn.wordpress.com/ – Chapter 15

Page Turner Book Tours and Elizabeth Lang have teamed together to set up an amazing contest, be sure to enter today for your chance to win a Kobo Mini!!

Thank you for joining us and Page Turner Book Tours and Elizabeth Lang today on our stop.

About Elizabeth Lang:

I’m a science fiction writer who started off life as a computer programmer with a love for reading, especially science fiction, fantasy and mystery.

Being in computers, I found my writing skills deteriorating so I decided to take up writing. It became a joy to create characters, stories and worlds and writing soon became a passion I couldn’t put down. As a writer, I like to explore, not only the complexity of characters but the human condition from differing points of view. That is at the heart of the Empire series, of which ‘The Empire’ and ‘The Rebels’ are the first two of a four books series.

You can connect with Elizabeth Lang at the following places:

Author Page on FaceBook | Blog | Twitter | Website

About Page Turner Book Tours:

Page Turner Book Tours is fronted by the face behind Read2Review Kate. Page Turner Book Tours has been put together to help promote authors and give something back to the writing world. Kate has put together a team of incredibly talented people to help with the project by incorporating their individual skills into making new, fresh and exciting promotional plans that we hope you agree are amazing. If you would like to book a tour with Page Turner Book Tours please check out their tour packages. If you would like to become a tour host with Page Turner Book Tours please check out their Tour Host page. You wont be disappointed!

A ranting review about a flaw of an excellent book.,

Tags

author, book, literature, love, novel, series, writing

If you know me at all, you know that above writing, I am an avid reader. The indie wave has been a blessing to my mind and a curse to my poor warped bookshelf as it sets overloaded. I love the classics- many of my favorites I have read twenty times or more. Some of the indie authors are grabbing me the same way.. In that same breath, some classics I consider to be overrated rubbish that someone proclaimed to be a literary diamond and people nodded and agreed instead of opening the cover to see. I think the same thing happens in the indie world. There are some authors that have serious indie street cred, and I try- at least three times to find this ahhhhh-ha moment within the pages of their books and it is like a bad joke I do not get. I am not an official reviewer and amazon does not seem to think authors should read and review- I guess we just write blindly without looking outside of our own words. I am going to start blogging my own reviews and showing some author love but before I do this- I am going to talk about a nameless book.

It has a name, but I will leave it out. it is a great book- but I have some issues as a reader, writer and a woman….. First off, I do want to say that this author is one of my favorite indie authors and he is making a great name for himself. He is multi-genre and has a couple of wonderful series out. One series, I adore because the main female role does what I would love to do for a living. She is a M.E. She is darker, sarcastic, smart, sexy doesn’t deal with b.s. and a single mom…I can relate to all of these. LOL. 😉 This is not a romance book- the romance is back story- a side note- but it comes into play often. I highly enjoy that. A crossbred genre almost. What I don’t like is this MC, the male- is brilliant, sarcastic, and over thinker- an overall hell of a guy you want to be pals with. But…. It is like his penis leads him around dinging like a metal detector on the beach. You can tell this is not the core of this MC, come on, I write erotica, I am a firm believer that everyone thinks about sex more than they admit.. Except me. I am an A.D.I.D.A.S. chick all the way. Proud of it. It doesn’t mean I want to ride ever pogo stick in town. It means I don’t settle and I want the biggest fastest most bad ass pogo stick around and I wanna ride it all day and night. This MC, throughout the series, boings with every smart ass dominant woman in a skirt. Giggity Giggity. These recent release in the series, I am even more drawn to, as my Native American roots were thrilled to see leading roles in a novel. But this M.E., who is Native as well- another reason I love her- she is emotionally put through hell by the MC and is almost just a shadow of the book.

Basically, you know the MC adores her. You know it is where he finds his comfort, but he previously hurt her- so what does he do? He goes off her radar. Instead of swallowing his pride, he simply throws her into the realm of an ignoring silence.

Now this M.E. is sexy, strong, independent- she doesn’t NEED a man, but as hard as she tried to not,she did feel for this guy and was there for him in the first of the series- and in this book he states going four months without speaking to her- silence- because he hurt her- and honestly, used her daughter. Not something any single mom takes lightly, especially not one with a backbone and self esteem like this chick.

The MC thinks in the book of how well, he excuses himself for the silence of four months because he hurt her. He was scared, not of her, just scared. He hoped she understood that. He hoped she understood that. He hoped she understood that? How is she supposed to understand that? Not only is she the sweetest thing he ever knew, damned sexy, independent, a great mom, brilliant- but OH, she should read minds as well? 

He thinks of picking up the phone to call her- but doesn’t. Just silence. Oh yeah, she gets it. How does that possibly NOT make sense? She has to feel it every time he thinks about calling her and smiles even though she is not worth just doing it.

In his defense, he does come back around. He woos her. He is smooth and sexy, as we covered so when he comes back, all is well- but…but…. he comes back because he needs her. Not her smiles or her friendship but her professional opinion. Help on a case. Is that it? He just needed to reach out her to use after so many months? So what if he did not need her? Month five- month six- forever silent?

Unlike the first in the series where he has another woman and is hot for another as well, beyond her- at least in this book, he gives other men from her past a role. One happens to be a fun loving super sweet ex….Women tend to think of that sort and may be a possible reconnect. The other is super fine. Hotter than the MC. Oh, is he sexy and strong and sigh……. but oh yeah, one of them gets killed and the other turns out to be the bad guy. This poor female…. This romance…. and she is mad, she does ignore his call, but of course gives in. He only calls when the one guy with common sense, a mutual friend verbally high-fives his face, letting him know how dumb he is being and how unworthy of such an amazing woman he really is. This middle man, a cop….. a guy that sees her worth and tells his buddy how dumb he is being. Isn’t that man talk for, “If you don’t hit that, I so will.”?????

The book ends with them together. Happy. He knows he adores her, and bless her heart, she adores his self consumed ass. She even wants to go to a coffee shop with him just because he went there with another woman that gave him one of his instant hard ons.

Awwwww.

(Gag)

Don’t get me wrong. This is a GREAT series for the genre- the romance is just a background- a heavy background- but still not the main story. Maybe I am just bitter because I can relate to the character. I know what the silence feels like and I know women cannot mind read. I know with every day, this poor fictional character thinks of this ass. She knows he is cocky and self consumed, but she isn’t mad to the point of being done- she just wants to be done right. Here this guy is, knows her daughter, been a part of her life- someone to look up to- and he just goes about life like neither exist until HE gets ready? No nice gifts, no poetry- Just here I am, lady- You’re welcome.

I hope the next book in the series she bucks up- I hope she is like, “Sure, I loved and missed you but we are in the same circles- I know you went on with your everyday- so why would I be alone and waiting by the phone?” I hope it comes out that this strong awesome chick did break down, maybe she needed him and he was not there- but the mutual friend was – and she cried on him over how badly she missed this self consumed man and I hope this mutual friend took in her smell and before he knew it, he was in her, making her forget, if even for a night that this jerk was off getting rock hard over anything in a skirt while she ached for him. I hope mutual friend makes this chick scream. I hope she marks him so badly with scratches he claims it was from a rough housing drunk arrest. Above all, I hope it comes out that she put one hell of a tension release hurting on this mutual friend, like the MC would know she could and I hope from that point the MC has his own awkward moments around them and I hope he knows he best swallow that pill he created and then his stomach turns with the thought of the word swallow because he wonders if she did that as well. And yeah. She did. Like a boss.

Okay- there is my rant on a book I truly did enjoy. I would give it 4 stars if Amazon allowed me- but only take one for the crappy way this dude handles his heart because his writing is simply wonderful. Maybe it should be 5 stars for the reality aspect of a fucked up romance, but no- it is just proof of how easy things could be if people communicated. This MC has how much education and life experience and he cannot properly communicate… Yeah. that takes a star away. Now I am ready for the next in the series and my girl better get treated properly before I take another star from my review of the un-named book. LOL.

A Valentine Challenge from an Erotica Author

Tags

adore, candy, challenge, couples, dating, diamonds, erotic, fairy tale, fate, flowers, gifts, gold, love, lover, married, romance, sex, single, swoom, valentine, valentine's day

I will start this blog by saying how very much I do not swoon & sigh over the thought of Valentine’s Day. I am one of the bah-humfucks that see it is an event created by the greeting card and candy industry.

I see nothing romantic about a marked day each year to sweep each other off the feet or to woo thy love because a billion other people are doing so. I actually find it to be about the most un-romantic and un-swoon worthy attempt of getting some nook nook.

Yes, admit.. I may have hummed a bit when I opened my mail and saw a valentine from Hillcrest last year. But the man was three thousand miles away. I didn’t have to dress up or get my hair did. And the reality of love, where is he now.. Hold on, let me check. Nope. Not here. Sweet promises of a valentine easily become just more words sputtered out by a professional fiction writer. Honestly, the cards I received on random unsuspecting days are the ones that made my heart race. The ones that I knew every lady on the block didn’t get a card that day as well. Just me. The pornographic artwork inside didn’t hurt either- and noticing when cards went from friendly, flirty to hear filled. That is romance.

Now… Valentine’s in general.

Anyone with children can relate to this point. Babysitters on Valentine’s. Teenagers are willing to date anything to not be alone so they are all booked. If you snag a teen on valentines, you best believe she is sneaking someone in or she is in a bad mood and your kids will get the wrath of her unworthy appeal to even the head of the AV Club. If you assume a single person may be worth asking, you are assuming, to them, that they obviously have no love interest and if you ask a couple that never does anything, even if you know that man cannot get it up, you are solidly insulting their intimate relations. You could drop them off at one of these new age pay a stranger places, but odds are good they aren’t really watching them well or they will likely get lice or some other unromantic germ to bring home. Ah, romance.

Next- Flowers. I admit, I am not the normal chick. I am pretty fucking awesome. But what is the deal with paying so much money for some cut flowers? You realize these cut flowers die? Is that the message you want? You want this woman to think of you as the petals shrivel up, turn black and make a mess all about the vase. Another mess to clean. Every woman wants that. For the price of a dozen roses, you could get her a massage. for free, you could give her one and try not to poke her in the no-no hole when she moans. And Roses. Bless a rose. They don’t have some amazing scent. They come with blood inducing thorns and they are very much the messiest of the blooming deaths you could choose.

Next- Candy. I do like the conversation hearts. Generic words, but the concept, not bad. We all look for the special I love you or marry me or something but no, you always hand us 2 Sweet or something. Chocolates are even worse. Sure, they are yummy. No lie. But normally you guys get that sampler. You know if you get the 20 piece only 3 are really good and when we offer you one, you just know how to pick one of the good ones. Then we have nuts and tasty goo all in our teeth (not yours) and you want to kiss. Okay, and when we eat, should I also chew my food and spit it in your mouth like a baby bird? Ew, right? Ew. Think of that when you pick up that Whitman’s Sampler.

Next- Gifts (A) We know what you want. You don’t want a greeting card that plays Adele. You don’t want a stuffed animal that danced to Wild Thing. But we still feel the need to get something. We have to make up for the money you spent on flowers and the nuts in our teeth. It is hard, ya know? Shopping mushy like for a man. We really want to buy that cute nightie and those high heels, and we know you will love it- but the first time you get mad you are going to turn around and say how we bought you a gift for us on Valentine’s. So you get the Adele card and the horrible dancing stuffed animal. We don’t like it anymore than you do. Pleas know that.

(B) The greeting card for women. We know you struggle just like we do. We know you pick up that dirty card and laugh but think we will be offended. You read one that sounds like your mother would approve and put it back because you just thought of your mom and now you ponder why you wondered what card is most likely to get you head and suddenly a card makes you think of Mom.. You feel dirty. And not in a good way.. You freak out. You grab that card with all the writing. You know, the one that you read the first bit… Love you endlessly, soul mates….fate….blessing…You buy it. You run and you go to the electronics store just to claim some manhood back. But you see, we open this card and we see words…all these words. Like deep thoughts by Jack Handy. These aren’t your words. Adele wrote this card and it was too happy for a song. But still, we have to read all these words not from you and we hold our chest and poke our lip out and awww and look at you with fake tears and you think it is so moving you gotta get some serious head and we are thinking… I wish I had some floss this damn nut in my molar is driving me nuts. Ha. A pun.

(C) Jewelry. Le and sigh. Valentine bling. Somewhere there should be a law against this. Once again, recall I am not the average woman. I would be happy with a glitzy collar, some clamps or a nice harness system. The NORMAL lady is hoping for this. But not just any this. The bazinga of it all. But guess what? White gold, yellow gold,silver, platinum. Diamonds, pearls, gemstones, lab created or real. Honey, there is where you get fucked on Valentine’s. You have no clue what she wants. The over parfumed lady behind the counter claims she does, but she doesn’t. I happen to think diamonds are the stone of roses. Blah. But most women have it in their head that this diamond thing is it. And if you have dated this chick for any amount of good time, she does not want that diamond in earrings or a bracelet. You know what she wants. And oh hell no. You aren’t ready for that- and you know not a single diamond comes with a bj guarantee. Even if you do not buy jewelry, each time you reach in your pocket, her heart will stop. Don’t drop anything either, she will think you are about to get on one knee.

(D) Dinner. You gotta go to the best place around, right? You made reservations last March, right? Oh. Well, that 3 hour wait is a good time to talk. She could likely almost read the entire card you got her in that time. No, she is starving. She snacked before the dinner date- but 3 hours of smelling food will bring out her inner zombie. She must feed. Then, she is so hungry she downs it all. Don’t lose a finger over the bloomin’ onion. She is full she is tired and she is going to do what she can to silently fart so she can give you some loving, but guess what honey, she don’t want not one more thing to swallow tonight. Wa-Wa-Wa.

Truth be told, she wants you to drop her off and go home so she can drop a load. But no. You want that Valentine’s sex. So, she says she is gonna go freshen up. She wishes she had purchased that nightie and heels because you have seen her in everything else. and she is pushing on her tummy and spreading her cheeks begging God for a deflation poot. Now she has to throw on some lipstick just to make it seem like she did something during all that time you have been antsy on her couch thinking of the bj you ain’t getting.

Now if you are married, you know it doesn’t matter if you are in a nightie or your hole ridden sweat pants, his search for nookie won’t end til you sleep and the kids are hyped up on the sugar they got from the spiffy mass babysitting business. The youngest one is scratching their head, but not too much. You can check for lice later. And married man, you see that look in her eyes. That look of not making eye contact with you so you wont give her your Don Juan eyes. You ripped a loud one in the car, you are ready to go. Her hair is messed up from having to keep the windows down the entire way home. She wants to go to sleep and dream of the figure she had before you ruined it and she wants it worshiped by Johnny Depp or The Doctor. You are so there in the spirit of the greeting card holiday you would be happy if she would just breathe on it one time. Whip it out and wait. She will huff in a minute. Catch that warm breeze,

My point is…. yes, I kinda have one. This is not romance. These expectations. This trying to be the romantic you aren’t 354 days a year. Why not trash this day and bring the romance back? Not on the day we are told to do so- but on that random day you woke up dreaming about your lover all night and you woke up and rolled over to watch them sleep. Take them. Kiss them. Tell them how the world didn’t exist until they did. Remember the first time you made love- all that carnal passion and tension and take your lover and make that first time look like foreplay. Go to work and on lunch, make a card. Crappy drawing if you cannot draw- write just one thing that makes your heart race and mail it. Three days later- romance exists again.

You hate it when popular opinion tells you who to vote for or what good music is or what horrible fashion is making a comeback or what sports team is the best- Why the hell are you letting popular opinion ruin the art of romance?

ATTENTION COUPLES:

I challenge you. If you must allow Hallmark and Zales to tell you when the romantic day is- Do it without them. I want to hear the most romantic sensual tales of Feb 14th with no gifts with no cards with no 3 hour waits to eat. Reinvent Valentines. Fall in love all over again and hold on to it like the secret to life- because it is.