I was actively seeking multicultural stories but unfortunately did not receive many submissions of those.  I was tickled to receive a submission from Dionne Galace, a long time member of the blogging community and author of some of the funniest reviews in the blogging space.  ”Tattoo” is not a funny story; however, but a tender one about a young woman seeking to find something of worth within herself.  An Asian tattoo artist helps her begin that journey.

Taking a deep breath, she approached the dentist chair, placed her legs on either side of it, and exhaled slowly as she lowered herself onto the chair. The leather felt weird on her bare parts, so she pulled up the hem of the robe from the back, slid it between her legs, and sat back down. It took her a bit to undo the knot on the belt of the robe because her hands were shaking so badly, but she managed it, sliding off the robe from her shoulders until the terrycloth was gathered around her elbows. She looked down at her bare breasts and covered them up before leaning forward to lay her cheek on the leather, wrapping her arms loosely around the back cushion. She forced herself to concentrate on how the leather felt against her skin as she began to breathe deeply: inhaling, holding it for three beats, then exhaling until all the air out was out of her lungs. Inhale, exhale. If there was one thing she got out of the obscenely expensive therapy sessions that she took after Eric filed for divorce, it was how to breathe properly.

“Don’t move,” Michael said. “You’re perfect just like that.”

Next up is Rescue Me by Meljean Brook.

Related posts:

1. Agony/Ecstasy Anthology: Introducing Edie Harris and her short “Shameless”
2. Agony/Ecstasy Anthology: Introducing Cameron Belle and Into the Red
3. Agony/Ecstasy Anthology: Overtaken by Sara Thorn

Keishon, at avidbookreader.com, is having a giveaway of the hardcover release by Julia Spencer Fleming, I Shall Not Want. This is the 6th book in the series and has a very strong romantic undercurrent so if you like romance and mystery, this is a good fit.

Dionne Galace, author and blogger, has resurrected the serial for romance readers. She first introduced us to Bettie Sharpe and is now running a serial of her own. I haven’t had an opportunity to read it yet, but look forward to doing so this evening.

Related posts:

1. New Online Serial by Aspiring Author Bettie Sharpe
2. All About Dear Author
3. Dear Author Announces Romance Novel Central Forum

But it was so good that I think everyone was salivating for Bettie’s release from Samhain. I suspect that Bettie is bound for New York. You heard it here first. (okay, maybe not here first since I think any number of people said that on Dionne’s blog).

***

Dear Ms. Sharpe,

Brace yourself. I’m going to French-kiss you-’I’m talking about serious, messy, slobbering tonguing-’and I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop at just that.

I’ve railed on my blog that although romance is largely a genre by women for women, there is a lack of memorable heroines that almost rivals that of Hollywood action flicks. This is, of course, one picky woman’s opinion. But I don’t think I’m at all alone in it. Romance, in its current state, is men-centered, full of matches between larger-than-life heroes and very nice but no-more-than-life-size heroines.

While I can enjoy that match-up as well as anyone, being a very nice, no-more-than-life-sized suburban soccer mom in real life, I’ve come to realize that deep in my heart, I don’t want to be a good girl and never have. My fantasy is to be the baddest motherfucking woman that ever lived, like Queen Elizabeth I, a woman who wields tremendous power with ease and surety and harshness when necessary, and who yet is respected, admired, and even loved. And if QE1 had had a worthy man to warm her bed nightly, why then, the fantasy would be complete.

You write my fantasies–my complete fantasies.

There is no other way to put it. I don’t know how you do it. It is as if you heard all the vague moaning and rattling in my head, laughed, and said "No, sweetie, pie, this is what you fucking want."

And like the limp and sore but oh-so-happy heroine in a ménage story who’d just experienced the man-sandwich for the very first time, all I can say is, "Fuck me again, Bettie."

Oh, I guess readers would want a synopsis or two here. This is Bettie’s own introduction to Ember.

Everyone loves Prince Charming. They have to-’he’s cursed. Every man must respect him. Every woman must desire him. One look, and all is lost.

Ember would rather carve out a piece of her soul than be enslaved by passions not her own. She turns to the dark arts to save her heart and becomes the one woman in the kingdom able to resist the Prince’s Charm.

Poor girl. If Ember had spent less time studying magic and more time studying human nature, she might have guessed that a man who gets everything and everyone he wants will come to want the one woman he cannot have.

Charm is a curse. Love is a fire. This story is no fairytale.

Ember is Tanith Lee on acid. It’s the bestest, baddest take on the Cinderella story and turns every last familiar element on its head with a "Ha!" and a fuck-you. One of my favorite such moments happens at the meeting of Ember and the Stepmother.

She paused when she saw me, and I couldn’t blame her. I knew what I looked like-’my cold expression, my red hair and freckled skin, my angry black eyes smoldering like hot coals. Her eyes flicked to the torches flanking our door, noting, I am sure, the way the flames yearned toward me though the wind urged them in the opposite direction.

Her face tightened beneath its façade of paint. Her white-powdered hand wavered on the verge of greeting me. In that moment, she realized my father’s tales of an innocent, biddable daughter were spun from the same wishful imagination that had let him believe her to be a noblewoman, and to believe the two hard-eyed whores (scarcely a decade her junior) who peered out of the carriage behind her were her daughters.

"Step-mamá!" I greeted her, taking her shoulders and kissing her powdered cheeks.

My lips came away white with a mixture of lead and lard, but it was worth it for the expression of surprise that crossed her face. When my father wasn’t looking, I wiped my mouth on the cuff of my velvet sleeve.

And it gets even better when the Stepmother and the Stepsisters, frightened of Ember’s power, tells her they would leave.

"Leave?" I said. "But my father needs a wife. The Old Wives say sheep dogs are descended from wolves, and the best thief takers were once thieves, themselves. You know how gullible my father can be, for you gulled him. Who better to look after him than one who knows his weaknesses?"

My new stepmother opened her mouth to protest, but the fire flared in anger at her interruption. She snapped her jaw closed and let me speak.

"Sylvia’s potion must be made and taken by the month. The price of my help, dear Stepmother, is that you stay."

"But I saw your sour face at the sight of us. You don’t like courtesans."

I laughed and every flame in the room danced with joy at the sound of it. "You mistake me, Sister. Whores are the better part of my business. A witch who shuns the custom of whores and courtesans will be a pauper. No. I dislike liars and cheats. I dislike deceivers and dissemblers.

"Now that the air is clear between us, I like you just fine. My father needs a wife, and as long as you care for him and do not cuckold him with other men, we shall get along as well as he imagined."

As I had predicted, we got along quite well.

Ember is a witch, not a nice one, but a true one, with a fundamental sense of fairness you could only hope that anyone wielding a large amount of power would possess. She is what she is, she loves as she is, and her love is as full of flaws and fascinating and dangerous as herself. She is, without a doubt, one of the best heroines (protagonists) I’ve ever read, anywhere. And the prince, he is every asshole Prince Charming you’ve ever wanted to bring to heel, and then some. And he comes to heel in the most satisfying way here.

And by the way, Ember is a free story. It was first serialized at Bam’s blog. And now available to be read online or downloaded in pdf at your website. How can anyone beat that?. An A+, for the orgasmic reading experience it was.

Like a Thief in the Night is not free, but that’s fine. I was very happy to pay my $3.50 ($3.15 in fact) for it, so as not have to go through ten long weeks, counting down the days till the next Thursday to read the next installment.

The blurb:

She’s a heartless assassin; he’s an immortal thief. In another life, they would have been lovers. In this one, he’s her target and she’s his prize.

Somebody would have a fit reading this story. It’s sex, violence, more sex, more violence, even more sex, and even more violence. And such language as would have fainted an entire population of Victorian ladies and exhausted the world’s supply of smelling salt. In Ember, the word "cunt" was thrown about like firecrackers at Chinese New Year. In Thief, you even used the word "twat". I believe I choked on my dinner at that and read on with even greater glee.

I love that Arden is a heartless assassin, truly a bad, bad, bad girl–and omg she likes sex too, looks for it, in fact, when she’s not killing. And I love that she’s finally come up against a man she can’t kill. And he’s caught her and is holding her in a super-secret, super-inescapable location. Mandatory sex, anyone?

I love the way Arden sees herself.

And how screwed up was she to check out the man who had stripped her naked and tied her to a chair in his basement? The answer to that question was all too obvious. She killed people for a living; she was a very sick girl. She would just have to add this newfound taste for high-stake bondage to her already long list of kinks.

And does she have kinks ever. Let me just say that though I’m not such an innocent girl at heart, this story had a good several "Holy shit!" moments for me, as in "I can’t fucking believe Bettie Sharpe wrote that"-’but in a good way, cuz I am obviously developing a taste for kink and sick and all that good shit.

Oh, and did I mention that it’s a pretty decent love story too?

Is it perfect? No. I would have liked for you to have explored the relationship more at length. And I thought the SF/fantasy aspects were slightly pat, in the sense that they made things too easy for our protagonists at certain points. But perfection is such a pale, silly standard before the force and vitality of your writing. A-

Your talent burns like a star gone supernova. I love your lean, potent prose. I love your bad-to-the-core and yet still-worth-loving characters. And I love your take-no-prisoner voice.

And I love how I feel when I read you: like someone finally understands me, understands the rotten, crazy, bad, bad, bad girl that I am at heart and loves me all the same. The. Best. Fantasy. EVA!

And because I love it so, and because you first instilled the idea of pay-it-forward in me, I’m going to buy three more copies of Like a Thief in the Night and give them away to three commenters to this post. Jane’s Note: I liked this book too and would be willing to chip in 3 more books

Let the fun begin. And I look forward to a long, and illustrious career from you, young lady.

Sincerely,

Sherry Thomas

P.S. And I just love that my spellchecker had no suggestions to offer when it came to the word "motherfucking".

Very Important Notice: I would like readers of this blog to know that my normal writing voice is as serene, radiant, and unsullied as a Renaissance Madonna. The tone of this post is entirely Bettie Sharpe’s corrupt influence. Oh, fuck me again already, Bettie.

Related posts:

1. New Online Serial by Aspiring Author Bettie Sharpe
2. REVIEW: The Smoke Thief by Shana Abé
3. REVIEW: Once a Thief by Michele Hauf

At the urging of Dionne Galace, a blogger whom I consider a friend, I purchased this book from LiquidSilver. It languished in my to be read pile because, like other readers, anthologies are often not my cup of tea. Because Dionne is a friend, though, I read it a few days ago and am reviewing it now. It’s hard to do reviews of books written by people you like or that you consider a friend, but the promise of the blog is that our reviews are as honest and as impartial as possible. With that caveat stated, we’re onto the reviews.

First up is Annie Dean’s Seven Days. Teresa has been training her whole adult life to become a bride of God. One week before she would take her holy vows, a handsome stranger appears to tempt her into sin. In a not very discreet manner, the stranger admits that she has done nothing wrong but Heaven and Hell engage in these battles for entertainment from time to time. Remember Job, is essentially his message. Teresa is determined to withstand his seductions though and be as successful as Job.

The story is told by days of temptation: Day One, the meet and greet; Day Two, awakening in the arms of future lover after an innocent sleep; etc. So each day brings Teresa closer to her decision but, of course, with more doubts than ever. Not only is the stranger handsome and seductive, but if she denies him, he goes back into the pit of hell.

Had the question of the story been whether it is more honorable and or strong to make a decision with knowledge of what your missing, i.e., Job enjoyed wealth, good fortune, and a good reputation before God and Lucifer engaged in a battle for his soul, the story would have been stronger; the setting more compelling. Instead, the story turned into Teresa being the seducer and giver of pleasure and somehow that was still abiding by precepts of her impending sisterhood which seemed common in the face of the unique possibilities of the religious overtones. In other words, the conflict was less about the religious struggle for Teresa’s heart and more about her saving this stranger from going to hell. C.

The Straw Man by Bonnie Dee.

This is my first story of yours. Your work has often been claimed as unconventional but transcendent. It could be a case of missed expectations, but I found this story to be ordinary and worse, lacking in plot. Marie is a woman who has a farm and in order to make the farm a going concern, allows visitors during the holiday season to supplement her income. She spends much of her time muttering to her scarecrow Sam who isn’t good for anything, not even keeping scarecrows out of the field. Marie engages in serious projection with Sam, accusing him of not responding to her insults, redrawing a sexier face on his tin visage, and wishing that he were a real man to take care of her sexual itch.

She wished at the right time because Straw Man comes to life for a night. Without any real thoughtfulness, Marie commences to have intercourse with the stranger throughout the night. The story was primarily a few sex scenes, unimaginative sex at that, strung together. Even the prelude of the story seemed contrived with Marie confronting the stranger at her door and thinking that he is some crazy yet her nipples harden and her crotch “clenched and released in a hard spasm that wet her underwear.”

There wasn’t any real plot to the story other than Straw Man serving as one who existed only to meet every need of Marie’s even before she voices it because Straw Man just knows what she wants. “Tonight has been just what I dreamed about. You’re exactly who I wanted.” He then ominously warns her that “Real men aren’t perfect.” But Marie doesn’t want a real man. She wants a dream man and that is what she gets. Essentially the Straw Man is her id. In a greater sense, Marie is essentially having intercourse with a giant fantasy vibrator. Self fulfillment taken to the nth degree. I’m pretty sure, though, that’s now how the story was meant to read. D.

Waking Kitty by Dionne Galace.This final contribution to the anthology was very disjointed. The opening scene includes showing that Jack, the hero, is kind of a slacker, man slut, drunk, and addicted to Vicodin. So we know this guy’s edgy. Different. Not ordinary hero material. Problem is that none of this is important for the plot. In fact, the Vicodin and sleeping around has no bearing on any part of the story. If anything, it serves as a point of irony because despite being characterized as an anti-hero, he acts like the standard romance hero.

He’s protective of Kitty, not willing to take advantage of her, and all around acts the good guy while inwardly protesting that being the good guy is really hard. Of course, he tends to treat Kitty as a child and I wasn’t sure whether the “stay here, Kitty” demands were an inside joke or whether it was to depict his mastery over her or whether Kitty was supposed to be treated like a dog or child.

Kitty’s best known characteristics are that she dresses like an anime character (or Sarah from Wienerlicious): short skirt, pink knee high boots, big rack encased in a filmy see through white shirt, and fishnet stockings and can’t remember anything before a month ago. There are strange goings on in the Chicagoland area such as ships appearing inside bars and pink ducks in the city parks. Kitty has a sneaking suspicion that she might be the cause of these strange occurrences but chooses to deny it.

Rather than reading edgy to me, I am just confused. The heroine is supposed to be omnipotent. What’s the point of having someone all powerful who doesn’t do anything but produce stone statutes and pink ducks?

I have no idea why Kitty would stay with Jack. There is a suggestion that he is real, as if the men in her past are not real which wasn’t the case. Kitty came off more petulant than strong willed and her month long escape more of a temper tantrum than a quest for a life change. Someone who wanted to get out of the life that she had and enjoy a new adventure. This new adventure included being sexually attracted to Jack but I couldn’t see them having more than a month of bed romping together before Kitty was bored again and moved on. The one sex scene I thought was tacked on and included so that this could be part of an erotic romance anthology.

I saw glimpses of the Bam wit that I know and love but it wasn’t enough to save this story for me. C-

Best regards,

Jane

Related posts:

1. REVIEW: The Average Girl’s Guide to Getting Laid by Annie Dean
2. My First Sale by Dionne Galace, Blogger Makes Good
3. REVIEW: Skin to Skin by Dionne Galace

I struggled with this review because I consider you a friend. I couldn’t tell if I was being too hard on you because I wanted to appear impartial or not hard enough because I am predisposed to like your material. Ultimately, I can only state my feelings toward the book and leave it to the readers to judge the fairness of the review for themselves.

Leilani, a mixed race beauty, lives next door to hot cop, Oliver Clayton. Since Ollie’s arrival in the neighborhood, Leilani has done everything she can to attract his attention from walking her neighbor’s dog by his house while Ollie was washing his truck to wearing nearly illegally short skirts, halter tops and lip gloss that made her lips the envy of even Angelina Jolie. Ollie has remained steadfastly dis-interested, even to go so far as suggesting to Leilani that the problem is she is too aggressive for his taste.

The truth is that Oliver is recovering from a gunshot wound in an inconvenient place and everytime he even thinks of Leilani let alone looks at her criminally hot body, he gets excrutiating pain. While he would have, at any other time, taken her up on her offers, right now he just wants to lay in his house like a wounded dog. The unrelieved sexual tension and the pain from his wound is making Oliver incredibly testy.

To top it off, the residents of San Diego are melting under a heatwave and Oliver Clayton has the only pool in sight. Leilani can’t seem to resist either Clayton or his pool but her unauthorized dip into her neighbor’s waters is not without retribution.

Leilani’s character was a breath of fresh air. She’s unconventional and proud of her body. Whether she had a life or interest outside of her physicality, however, seemed un explored. I did appreciate that she wasn’t a passive observer of life, but an active participant. Oliver read like a very authentic male and I appreciate the plot twist on his injury because I did wonder how he was going to recover in time to enjoy physical intimacy with Leilani before the conclusion of the story.

I did miss the humor and irreverence that I know that are a strong part of your blog voice. The biggest shortcoming was that I never felt that there was a strong emotional connection between the two characters. Most of the story was about their physical attraction and the consummation of that attraction. Overall, though, it was a refreshing and sexy story. B-

Best regards

Jane

This book can be purchased at Samhain.

Related posts:

1. My First Sale by Dionne Galace, Blogger Makes Good
2. REVIEW: Undressing Mercy by Deanna Lee
3. REVIEW: The Parson’s Pleasure by Patricia Wynn

* * *

When I sold my first short story (that would be Skin to Skin to Samhain), I didn’t want to tell a soul. I couldn’t. It was something I wanted to keep to myself for a while. I wanted to savor it. I wanted to wrap it around myself and roll around in bed with it. I sat down in front of a mirror in my underwear and watched my mouth move as I repeatedly said to myself, “I just sold my first short story. I am officially an author.” I think I did this for an hour. No, that can’t be right. I got the email from Sasha Knight fifteen minutes before I had to leave for school and spent the first five minutes jumping up and down and shrieking. Then I IM’d my BFF Syd and we shrieked and giggled about it on Yahoo Messenger for about five minutes, then I called Tim on my way to school and blew out his eardrums.

As soon as I got to school, I told everyone who would listen. And then I felt like an asshole. A braggart douchebag. I felt this way for about ten seconds, then thought, “Fuck you guys, I’m published! Woo-hoo!” I had a midterm that day and hadn’t studied as much as I should have and was pretty sure I flunked it (Yes, I did), but I couldn’t even care! I WAS A PUBLISHED AUTHOR! And then I called my mom and the first thing she said was “How much?” Oh, wacky Asian mothers! As soon as I got home, I sent a mass email to my buddies (namely: Jane, Sybil, Mick, Candy, Lili, Karen, and Mrs. Giggles). I couldn’t keep it to myself. I couldn’t be like The Fonz about it. I had to tell the world.

It was the first time in my entire life that I didn’t feel like a total slacker. I had never won anything before. I imagined some beleaguered editorial assistant going through the slush pile who was ready to slit her own throat, when she picked up my manuscript, thought it was the most brilliant thing she had ever read, and practically tripped all over her own feet trying to get it to the acquisitions editor. But that’s not how it happened, either. I sent the submission directly to an editor –" it was an open call for a summer-themed anthology –" who just happened to think that Skin to Skin was pretty kickass (thanks, Sasha!). Anyway, that was the beginning of my transformation from Dionne Galace: Aspring Author to Dionne Galace: Published Author –" which, I have to tell you, is pretty damned cool.

Related posts:

1. My First Sale by Meljean Brook, Geek Girl Makes Good
2. Is the Marriage Between Epublishing and NY a Good One?
3. Drop an Author, Adopt a Blogger