Tuesday, May 28, 2013

Valjeanne Jeffers stops by to chat

What is your main characters name?
My name is Priscilla Abigail Changeling

Does she have a nicknames/pet names?
My close friends call me “Butterfly”

What was your life like growing up?
I dont remember much from my childhood since Im not from this world. Many of my memories were washed away and remain very foggy. I did spend some years in an orphanage before I was later adopted by a maiden aunt, Gertrude Evening. When I was 18 while I was being educated governess, she disappeared into and another magical being took her place. . . watching over me from the shadows.

Before your story began, what were your hopes for the future?
I just wanted to be normalI wanted to be able to get angry or cry without strange things sprouting from my back! I wanted to work as a governess for family without being harassed by my male employers. After all, I cant help the way I look, now can I?

What changed that?
The day Mrs. Flanagan fired me a new world was revealed to me. . . a world of erotic delights and freedom. On that day the other Tishri came to me and showed me the path so that I could be reunited with those of my kind, those lost to me when I was a child.

How would you describe your personality?
I am an even tempered young woman, rather prim and prudish. . . except when I am aroused. Then I become a wild thing! Once I am unbound I cant control myself and I dont want to.

How would you describe your looks?
My long face is a comely shade of sepia and I have large hazel eyes. My beasts are full, my is waist small and my hips rounded. I try to disguise my womanly figure with loose clothing (because of my jealous female employers) but it never helps.

What’s your greatest talents?
I speak four languages, French, Italian, Swahili, and German. Ive been educated in Astrology, Classical Literature and Geometry. But my greatest talent is my love of life and willingness to learn and accept new things. I am strong toomuch stronger than I look.

Who are your closest friends?
The other, Tishri, and my lover, Luis. Both helped me remember who I truly am

Who do you love?
Luis, a man unlike any I have ever known. He found me in our dreams. . . and the author of my story, Valjeanne Jeffers.

Who do you hate, and why?

What do you think is going to happen next?
I will live with beings like me and visit Earth from time to time; whenever I chose to.

What do you think of your author?
I believe Valjeanne knows just what men and women desire most of all: freedom. . . and to love and be loved.

Did she get your story right?
She certainly did!

Do you want another story to show what happened next?
Hmmm, what an intriguing idea! Perhaps, so that human folks could know more about us but not too much. I would also like to see more of writings about me and my lover, Luiss erotic adventures. We might even decide to live as humans for awhile . . .

But that is another story.

Priscilla has reached a crossroads. Her spells are becoming more frequent. She can't continue to pass for human—not without making a decision that would turn her into a zombie. Does she embrace her unearthly power or turn her back on it forever? If she refuses her birthright, she'll be ordinary, human. It would also mean bidding farewell to the gorgeous denizen who visits her each night, taking her to otherworldly heights of pleasure.

Priscilla, a sepia-skinned young woman with large hazel eyes, leaned against
the servants' entrance of the brick house, trying not to cry again. Her bosom heaved
with conflicting emotions...outrage, anger and fear.
I did everything I could to stay out of his way! The man's been chasing me around the
house since I got here!
The young woman remembered the harsh words, from just minutes ago,
between her and her former employer, Mrs. Emily Flanagan. Their argument had
ended in Priscilla's tears and dismissal.
Priscilla felt her cheeks flame. An instant later, there was the familiar warming
sensation between her shoulder blades that always accompanied strong emotion. Her
shoulders bunched and seemed to grow in size, pushing against her corset. Priscilla bit
her lip hard and took deep breaths, trying to steady her nerves.
Mrs. Flanagan had found her husband, the honorable Judge Herbert Flanagan,
pinning Priscilla against the wall, trying to grope her. It wasn't the first time Judge
Flanagan had done this. But it was the first time Mrs. Flanagan had caught him.
Author's Bio
Valjeanne is the author of Immortal, Immortal II: The Time of Legend, Immortal III: Stealer of Souls, The Switch II: Clockwork (includes books I and II), Immortal IV: Collision of Worlds and several short works of fiction.
Her writing has appeared in numerous anthologies including: Steamfunk!, Griots: A Sword and Soul Anthology, PurpleMag, Genesis Science Fiction Magazine, Pembroke Magazine, Possibilities, 31 Days of Steamy Mocha, Griots II: Sisters of the Spear (in press), Drumvoices Revue, Say It Loud: Poems About James Brown, The Ringing Ear: Black Poets Lean South and Liberated Muse: How I Freed My Soul Volume I (also under Valijeanne Jeffers and Valjeanne Jeffers-Thompson).
Valjeanne Jeffers is a graduate of Spelman College, a member of the Carolina African American Writers' Collective and The Traveling Round Table of Fantasy Bloggers. She works as an editor for Mocha Memoirs Press and is also co-owner of Q and V Affordable editing. Preview or purchase her novels at: http://www.vjeffersandqveal.com

Monday, May 27, 2013

Excerpt from Jessica Housand-Weaver's upcoming novel, 'Siren's Smile'

Greetings! Today I'd like to offer a glimpse into my upcoming project, 'Siren's Smile', the prequel to my debut thriller, 'The Scream of the Siren'.  

This exciting thriller loaded with both passion and action delves into Alejandro's Salvadorian history, his childhood during the country's civil war, his relationship with his family including his father Jared Whitmore, the retired U.S. Special Forces veteran turned drug lord, and his estranged mother, Ana Santiago, a member of the Liberation Front and a fierce guerrilla fighter. It also chronicles his twisted love affair with a woman so captivating and even sadistic that she becomes the architect of the love-mad Alejandro's ultimate downfall. 

Below is a very brief excerpt.

Alejandro glanced briefly at the girl who had come in. She looked to be about twenty and of mixed ethnicity. Her short, choppy hair was dyed pink, and she was wearing knee high boots, a plaid skirt, and a white cutoff shirt with safety pins down the center. She had a big black bag draped over her shoulder with a white skull head sewn on the cover. She slipped into a desk diagonal from Alejandro, pulling out a pen and paper from her bag, the studded bracelets on her wrists gleaming. She glanced back at him, her eyes moving over the drawing on his desk. Her skin was a deep bronze reminiscent of acacia wood and her startling eyes were exotic, hazel-green, the way sunlight looks when it reflects into a troubled, churning sea.

She smiled in amusement at his drawing.

            He held her gaze, surprised by the feeling inside of him. He was no stranger to beautiful women; in fact, he was used to being with his father around women wearing less and with much more class on private Florida beaches. But there was something unusual about the girl, something beyond her punk gear and striking looks that excited him. She possessed a bewitching magnetism and yet there was something familiar about her, something natural and laidback at the same time. He couldn’t stop staring at her, even after an ugly look from the instructor forced her gold-flecked, olive gaze away from him.

He chewed the eraser on his pencil and tried to concentrate on his drawing, but he was agonizingly aware of her every movement. In agitation, he bit the eraser completely off, the metal tip cutting into his gums. Bleeding, he stared at the image on his paper and swallowed blood. The scrawling of the skeletal woman he had drawn made him suddenly uneasy—as if any moment the bones might materialize in front of him, the horrible skull-face with its pleading eyes turning to him in supplication.

It was the blood.

He shut his eyes, pressing his fists hard against his temples in an attempt to keep the old noise from intensifying and joining the ghosts and ghastly memories in his mind. In that moment, he desperately needed to crowd out the past with something—anything.

Then the young woman moved, and he opened his eyes. Everything—the noise, the faces, the blood, the whole world—it all fractured into meaningless splinters as his gaze fell back onto her. She was the only thing…

Tuesday, May 21, 2013

The Devil is in the details.

I recently had a space age, sci-fi, hybrid dystopian story pop in my head. I'm a bit of a nerd when it comes to all things sci-fi and was particularly excited that the plot was mulling away in my brain. I've been on a writing hiatus of sorts recently because life has been too damn busy. Not necessarily in a bad way but it has definitely put a cramp in my writing schedule. Therefore, the opportunity to do something new and creative had me jotting down notes excitedly.

Now here's a not so secret about me, I'm quite obsessive when it comes to story details. I think that's probably one of the leading factors in why I write such short stories. World building on a large scale has me obsessing in such minute details that it almost becomes a compulsion, more than an extension of my creation. It's all ridiculous of course because I'm building the world and thus it's just a figment of my imagination. Who cares if the effects of the second sun of the planet influences the crop formation of a desperately needed grain of the indigenous sentient beings of the planet that have been displaced by the new humanoid race? No one really.  Except me of course, and my methodical sociological prospective of things not important. What is particularly interesting is all of these facts never actually get included in the story. Their sole purpose is to make me and my obsessive nature happy. 

Yes, I know, totally cray cray. I just can't help myself, but this idea is SO good and I'm SO excited to get it written that I'm going to have to perform an exorcism and get that devil of details behind me....fingers crossed.

Sunday, May 19, 2013

Fredrick Book Festival

 I'm back and fashionably late with my blog post. I attended the event with fellow publishing authors, Serenity King, Stephanie Burke, and Reana Malori on behalf of Beautiful Trouble Publishing.
Of course, I had a blast and am now fully exhausted, but one of the things the festival taught me was the value of putting yourself out there--as an author and as a publishing partner. Most people know that Nicole and I work very closely at MMP, but most do not know how closely we work with other publishers too.
It's important to maintain those relationships and support each other. The festival taught me the value of planning and asking the right questions. Overall, despite the cold weather, I had a very good time. I grabbed a lot of ideas about marketing too. Let's hope we can put some of those into practice for both myself and for MMP.

Wednesday, May 15, 2013

Where's Your Hammer?

I've always said (and you know that I'm the ultimate authority) that songs are poetry set to music.  Depending on the song, you can find a lot of truth in the lyrics, which is why so many people have written and identify with songs over the ages.

On May 15, 1963,  the song  "If I Had a Hammer", won a Grammy for Peter, Paul and Mary.  Written by Pete Seeger and Lee Hays in 1949, it was a song that supported the progressive movement .  Like most folk songs, it was recorded by a number of people such as Johnny Cash, Sam Cooke, Trini Lopez, Aretha Franklin and of course, Peter, Paul and Mary.

The song was also an anthem of the Civil Rights Movement of the 1960s.

The power of the song , is how the lyrics so clearly state that each of us has the power within us to make change.  We don't have to wait on others to make the first move.  At first glance, though, that may seem like the case:

"If I had a hammer/I'd hammer out love between my brothers and my sisters all over this land...."
The use of the conjunction "if" creates a subordinate clause that says if the singer had such equipment, he/she would do the following things.  The song starts out talking about all the things the singer would do "if" they had a hammer, a bell and a song.

By the end of the song, however, we see that he/she does have the equipment needed and thus can go out and make a mark in the world.  

"Well, I've got a hammer, and I've got a bell, and I've got a song to sing.....it's the hammer of justice, it's the bell of freedom,  it's the song about love between my brothers and my sisters...."

Do you have a hammer?  A bell?  A song? All three? Then you are more than ready to effect change in your corner of the world.   

Do it.


Tuesday, May 14, 2013

Having the Tables Turned: A Writing Prompt from Siobhan Kinkade

So last month, after her interview, Siobhan Kinkade forgot to give me a writing prompt so we could properly turn the tables and put me in the hot seat. She has since remedied this, hoo boy...This proves that sometimes I should keep my big mouth shut!

So this month is kind of a part two of last month where I respond to her challenge and write a little something with the prompt she's given me. Sigh. I'll put her prompt in bold, and go from there!


It was a dark and stormy night and the fairies took over the stripper pole. It was the only recourse when Beltane fell on a moonless, rainy night and the last Maypole in town had been bulldozed decades ago to make way for a rest stop. It wasn't the best solution, to be sure, but tradition had to be kept and the local strip was closer to the Faerie mound than the nearest field. Quietly they emerged from what unsuspecting mortals took to be an over-sized speed bump misplaced in a back alley. Through the years they adapted to life in the city, so pixies and elves, brownies and sylphs, redcaps and trolls emerged from their underworld home, all dressed for a night in the seedier part of town.

They grouped together in a lump, all staring up at the flashing sign for Tit-tania's with eyes that were blue, green, yellow, orange, and black. Round and slit pupils widened and contracted at the convenient name. It was all the sign they needed that they were where they needed to be. 

The mortals inside never knew what hit them, especially when gold coins pelted the dancers into fleeing the stage. The elfin maidens that took their place may have been dressed in club wear, but they moved with the grace of the ages-old and whirled around the poles with a fire that no mortal could replicate. Pixies swirled about their heads like sparks of light, so fast that their movements burned a trail of an after-image around the dancers' heads,the streaks mingling with the long hair.  The brownies chugged beer since no ale was available, and trolls watched gaping mortal men out of the corner of their eye. The age of sacrifice and tithe was over, but if one of them reached a grubby hand for a Fae maiden, then they were more than happy to remind the humans why they were unworthy.

Businessmen, young men who were barely out of boyhood, old men with nothing better to do...they all gaped in awe at the display going on around them as the creatures in the audience joined hands and circled the perimeter in a dance as old as time. A particularly mischievous sprite cut off the blasting music and poised itself at the edge of the stage, pipes in hand. The sweet music drew the spurned human women back towards the stage to watch, tears streaming down their face as they viewed the grace that they'd never have. Their human audience stared, unable to reach for wallets. They didn't need to; their admiration was something the celebrating Folk hadn't had for a long, long time. 

Into the night they danced and celebrated, invoking envy, nostalgia, and a heartbreak for the old days. Troll and lawyers guzzled liquor together, brownies hit on strippers jokingly, and all celebrated and danced to the ancient music, enjoying the holiday though most couldn't even remember what it was. 

Just as fast as the Folk had arrived, they disappeared. Leaves were left where their coins had been thrown and none of the club's patrons could rightly remember what had happened or how much time had passed. They only had a strange memory of joy and an even stranger heartbreak of missing something they could not name. 

Whew, mission accomplished! As always, you can find me in the following places:

Next month I'll be back with another interview!

Monday, May 13, 2013

SK Presents: "A Healer's Bond" By Raelynn Blue

Good afternoon, my lovelies! It's Siobhan, back with a new book for your perusing pleasure. This month we're moving into a new category: Fantasy. Well, romantic fantasy. Just keep reading, because the more I talk, the less sense I'm going to make.


Q&A #3:
Erotic Romantic Fantasy

1. Adele saves Wyatt's life twice within hours. How?

2. Who is Horea and what's his reason for wanting Wyatt?

3. What are the noir oscuros?

4.What is Adele's connection to Wyatt's home?

5. What as the connection between Hyden and Greensboro?


The John Doe bleeding out on the ER gurney had to be the sexiest man Adele had ever seen. Too beautiful to die. As an ER nurse, she works to save him, but her bond–her connection–to him lingers long after he’s out of danger. What she didn’t expect was that before the night was over her life would end up in his strong, surprisingly capable hands. Wyatt Young’s exile had few perks—condemned to Greensboro, he had a steady stream of loud, cranky people, and lousy food. Constantly hunted by his uncle, he’s startled when he wakes up shirtless in a hospital, with his sword missing and his torso ripped apart. A beautiful healer helps him recover—a healer he can’t stop thinking about even when he passes out. A bond is formed between Adele and Wyatt—one they can’t fight. Wyatt’s uncle seeks to make Adele his personal healer—at any cost. Adele is the key to Wyatt’s salvation and his redemption. He won’t let her go without a fight. Ever.
This was definitely a sizzling hot read! Check it out for yourself and be sure to let us know what you thought.

Tune in next month for a new book and all new questions!

Saturday, May 11, 2013

Velvet Curtains, Love Muscle, And Other Embarrassments

E. A. Black writes dark fiction, dark fantasy, and horror. She writes erotic romance and erotica with the pseudonym Elizabeth Black. Visit her web sites at http://elizabethablack.blogspot.com and http://eablack-writer.blogspot.comFriend her at Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/elizabethablack


[Image from Punch an Pie, by Chris Daily and Aeire]

I've edited many books as exchanges for my own edits or as a favor. One thing I've noticed is that sex scenes are sometimes dragged down by the same old descriptive words: cock, pussy, cunt, willie, shaft, slit. Blah de blah de blah.

Sometimes you have to shake up the words, but you don't want to go overboard and end up writing purple prose. It's too easy to let yourself fall into Bulwer-Lytton Awards territory, like the 2012 winner, runner up, and dishonorable mentions in the Romance category:


“I’ll never get over him,” she said to herself and the truth of that statement settled into her brain the way glitter settles on to a plastic landscape in a Christmas snow globe when she accepted the fact that she was trapped in bed between her half-ton boyfriend and the wall when he rolled over on to her nightgown and passed out, leaving her no way to climb out. — Karen Hamilton, Seabrook, TX


“Your eyes are like deep blue pools that I would like to drown in,” he had told Kimberly when she had asked him what he was thinking; but what he was actually thinking was that sometimes when he recharges his phone he forgets to put the little plug back in but he wasn’t going to tell her that. — Dan Leyde, Edmonds, WA

Dishonorable Mention:

Tucked in a dim corner of The Ample Bounty Bar & Grille, Alice welcomed the fervent touch of the mysterious stranger’s experienced hands because she had not been this close with a man in an achingly long time and, quivering breathlessly, began to think that this could be the beginning of something real, something forever, and not just a one-time encounter with a good Samaritan who was skilled at the Heimlich Maneuver. — Mark Wisnewski, Flanders, NJ

Chain-smoking as he stood in the amber glow of the street lamp, he gazed up at the brownstone wherein resided Bunny Morgan, and thought how like a bunny Bunny was, though he had read somewhere that rabbits were coprophages, which meant that they ate their own feces, which was really disgusting now that he thought about it, and nothing like Bunny, at least he hoped not, so on second thought Bunny wasn’t like a bunny after all, but she still was pretty hot. — Emma DeZordi, Dollard-des-Ormeaux, Quebec

Their love began as a tailor, quickly measuring the nooks and crannies of their personalities, but it soon became the seamstress of subterfuge, each of them aware of the others lingual haberdashery: Mindy trying to create a perfectly suited garment to display in public and Stan only concerned with the inseam. — D. M. Dunn, Bloomington, IN

So you want to use words other than The Usual Suspects? How about some of these substitutions (From The Glossary Of Sexual Slang):


asshole, bung hole, butt hole


boobs, headlights, knockers, tits


ass, behind, buns, butt, fanny, rear


button, clit


cock, dick, dong, joy stick, meat, organ, pecker, peter, poker,  prick, rod, tool, wang, weenie


come, cream, cum, jism, load, love juice


balls, family jewels, gonads, gones, nuts

vagina (or vulva)

bearded clam, bearded lady, beaver, box, cunt, honey pot, manhole,  muff, pussy, quim, snatch, toolbox, twat

Other substitutions:

vagina (or vulva)

fiery slit, cleft, folds, velvet curtains


joystick, hammer, love muscle

You get the idea. There are all kinds of creative words you could use when writing your sex scenes. Just make sure you don't cringe when you use them.

Friday, May 10, 2013

10x10: A Haunted Birthday

I recently went to Disneyland and none was more astonished than I that I was inspired by, of all things, the Haunted Mansion. Below is the poem that came of the trip… In exactly 10 lines.

Haunted Birthday

Whirling, swirling
Dancing on air,
It’s an ethereal party
For Princess Fair.

Bright & light, candles
By magic appear,
Party unfurling,
Getting in gear…

Whisper of a kiss, caught with care
A ghostly finger traces a single tear.

Wynelda Ann Deaver

  You can find me at http://wynwords.wordpress.com/   where I blog books, writing and parenting. 

  You can catch my debut story, Dragon's Champion ,at Mocha Memoirs Press.

  Till Next Month!