A Page Straight From Lisabet Sarai - #apagestraightfrom

Exposure (An Erotic Mystery)

 by

 Lisabet Sarai







 We’re shy afterwards. We hardly talk on the way back to my house, but his kiss when we arrive is heated and fervent. “Do you want to come in for a while?” I ask, wondering how it will feel to have a man in my bed after such a long time.



He shakes his head. “I’m done in,” he says with a mischievous grin. “Somebody really put me through the blender.” He kisses me again, more gently. “And maybe now you’ll get a good night’s sleep. I’ll call tomorrow.”



“Thanks, Jimmy. For everything.”



“Anytime,” he laughs, then turns toward his car.



I’m careful to lock the door behind me, but I’m still high from the evening’s events. Only when I come out of the shower do I notice anything strange. I open my lingerie drawer to get out my silk kimono, and find that all my lovely things are jumbled together, without any order. I was nervous and fussy while dressing, I remember, but I can’t imagine that I would have left my underwear in this state.

I check the other drawers. They are equally muddled. Most of the sweaters and jerseys are folded, but clumsily, and my usual organization by color and season is totally upset. Whoever rummaged through my clothing tried, without success, to disguise that fact.



Someone was in my house, while I was out with Jimmy. An intruder into my personal space. My haven! I sink down on the bed, shaking with mingled anger and fear at this violation. After a moment, I regain control of myself.



Someone had been here. Someone might be here still. I fish around in my purse for my Mace. I retrieve my haircutting scissors from the bathroom. Donning my terry robe, I creep into the hallway, a weapon in each hand.



Across the upstairs hall is my den and office, formerly my father’s bedroom. I stop and listen outside the door. All is silent. Reaching inside, I flick on the light. The room is empty. There’s no closet, nowhere to hide. But there are signs of disturbance. My desk drawer is open. My checkbook is on the writing surface as if someone had been reviewing the register. And my yellow pad, with my attempts at analyzing the events around Tony’s murder—I know that I left it on the desk. Now it’s gone. I search the rest of the desk, the cubbies and the file drawer. It’s simply not here.



Somehow I’m not surprised. I feel cold, cold and clear as arctic ice. Someone was here, someone who knows something about Tony’s death. Someone who thinks I know something, or have something that will lead me to the truth.



Shivering, I inch my way downstairs and check the front parlor. All is quiet and empty, though the burglar left his mark here, too. Knickknacks misplaced on the mantel. My father’s humidor left half-open.



Finally, I make my way to the kitchen. Here, there’s the clearest evidence: a tumbler with remnants of scotch, and a cigarette butt snuffed out in a saucer. By this point, it seems, my unwelcome guest didn’t care if he left traces.



The back door, I discover, is unlocked. I’m one hundred percent certain I didn’t leave it that way.

Carefully, keeping my body behind the door, I scan the yard. The light filtering from the kitchen windows is bright enough for me to see that there is no one in my little square of turf. It also shows me crushed tomato plants and bean vines torn from their trellises, clearly marking the intruder’s escape route.



At that point, my rage finally overwhelms my fear. I pour myself a finger of scotch and sit at the kitchen table, simmering in helpless anger and vowing some kind of revenge.



Then a horrible thought crosses my mind. Jimmy knew I would be out tonight. He was the only one who knew. Was it possible that he was involved in all this, somehow? Is it possible that smiling Jimmy might have betrayed me?



The balance shifts again. Shudders shake my body. Sitting alone under the fluorescent lights, gripping my drink, I am paralyzed by the realization that I don’t know who I can trust. If anyone.



Buy Links:

http://www.amazon.com/Exposure-Books-Erotic-Mystery-ebook/dp/B00BGTQS14/

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Exposure-Books-Love-Erotic-Mystery-ebook/dp/B00BGTQS14/

I Blog-jacked Lisabet Sarai's Post...

“Independent Body Parts”: A Defense

A few days ago I reviewed the second round of edits – what my publisher calls final line edits – for my upcoming release Challenge to Him. In general, I had no problem accepting the suggested changes to wording and punctuation. I didn't necessarily agree that the one POV problem the editor highlighted really was a problem, but if she thought it would be clearer if modified, I was ready to go along. For the most part I don't view my words as sacred, so I rarely object to reasonable changes.

I've noticed, though, that each editor has pet issues she tends to focus on. I had one editor who insisted on striking every instance of the word “that” introducing a dependent clause after a verb of sensation or thought. For example, if I wrote:

Henrietta thought that she'd never recover from Harold's treachery. 

This editor would revise the sentence as: 

Henrietta thought she'd never recover from Harold's treachery. 

I agree the two sentence are equivalent in meaning, and the second is more concise than the first. However, sometimes the rhythm of a sentence requires the additional beat of that extra word. Furthermore, I like some variety in my sentence structures. So I accepted most of her edits, but retained a few “thats” where they seemed to fit.

Anyway, my most recent line editor really had a bee in her bonnet concerning “independent body parts”, often abbreviated as IBP. 

In case you've never met the dreaded IBP, this term refers to sentences where some part of a character's body becomes the subject of an action verb. For example:

Her eyes followed him as he strode across the room.

His fingers crept up her thigh and under her skirt.

His tongue poked rudely into her mouth. 

Some novice authors overuse this kind of sentence, often to the point of silliness. Because of this tendency, editors have become hypersensitive to these constructions, brandishing their red pen whenever one appears.

However, there is nothing a priori wrong with using a body part as a sentence subject in this way. This is an accepted category of  figurative language. It even has a name:synecdoche.  Synecdoche is the practice of referring to a part when you mean the whole, or vice versa. 

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Synecdoche

Sentences that are labeled as IBP are not intended to be construed literally. Of course her eyes stayed in her head as he walked across the room – no reasonable reader would think otherwise. Yes, most likely he was in control of those fingers – they weren't acting on their own -  but the synecdoche focuses the readers' attention on the stealthy progress of those digits, perhaps even as their owner continues to converse in a normal way.

An occasional “IBP” sentence is not a flaw, in my opinion. When I construct my paragraphs, I do so deliberately, with an eye to diversity and flow. The alternative to using IBP is often to have every sentence beginning with a name or pronoun. This gets boring after a while. 

The so-called rule about avoiding IBPs may be helpful to novice authors. The trouble is, it's really not a rule, anymore than the guidelines about avoiding passive voice are rules. English is a gloriously rich language with an enormous repertoire of sentence structures and rhetorical devices. An accomplished author should not shy away from using the ones that she believes her story needs.

Note from Ginger:  I shared this on my FB already, and my comment was go ahead and throw your hands in the air if you want.  If readers can't surmise they remain attached to your character's arms, then Houston isn't the only place where problems linger.  *smile*  I, like Lisabet, believe too many editors are focused on what they perceive as problems and forget that  sometimes an extra "that" here and there does improve the flow and make the reading more melodic than flat.  This is a great post, in my humble opinion.

Friday's Few Lines From...

EXPOSURE, an erotic thriller by Lisabet Sarai

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00BGTQS14

The back door, I discover, is unlocked. I’m one hundred percent certain I didn’t leave it that way. Carefully, keeping my body behind the door, I scan the yard. 

The light filtering from the kitchen windows is bright enough for me to see that there is no one in my little square of turf. It also shows me crushed tomato plants and bean vines torn from their trellises, clearly marking the intruder’s escape route.

At that point, my rage finally overwhelms my fear. I pour myself a finger of scotch and sit at the kitchen table, simmering in helpless anger and vowing some 

kind of revenge.

Then a horrible thought crosses my mind. Jimmy knew I would be out tonight. He 

was the only one who knew. Was it possible that he was involved in all this, 

somehow? Is it possible that smiling Jimmy might have betrayed me?

The balance shifts again. Shudders shake my body. Sitting alone under the 

fluorescent lights, gripping my drink, I am paralyzed by the realization that I 

don’t know who I can trust. If anyone.

Visit Lisabet's Fantasy Factory:  http://www.lisabetsarai.com
Venture Beyond Romance:  http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com

Please come back next week for a Few Lines From Rita Karnopp.

Welcome Lisabet Sarai to Dishin' It Out

 Warning:  This may be considered a little spicier than most are used to.  After all, Lisabet is the queen of sexy writings, but she does it with such class.

Helping Vampires to Save the World

Let's face it. Vampires are sexy. Something about the undead stirs up our juices. Perhaps it's their irresistible power. Even when we know the danger, we're so very tempted to surrender to their all-consuming lust. Maybe we want to comfort them, to save them a lonely, bloody eternity. Maybe we secretly crave immortality ourselves.

Vampires are frequently portrayed as evil or at least amoral, viewing humanity from the jaded perspective of centuries. Now, though, vampires are doing their part to save the world.

Coming Together: In Vein is a brand new collection of vampire-themed erotica and erotic romance edited by Lisabet Sarai. All sales of this novel-length volume support Doctors Without Borders (Médecins Sans Frontières). MSF works in nearly 70 countries providing medical aid to those most in need regardless of their race, religion, or political affiliation. Right now, despite being barred from the country, MSF doctors and nurses are in Syria, working with patients from both sides of the civil war. They're performing surgery in caves and sneaking into refugee camps to distribute desperately needed medications.

You can help MSF in its life-saving mission, simply by indulging your passion for vampires. Buy a copy of Coming Together: In Vein in ebook, Kindle format, or print. Enjoy! Then help spread the word! Every copy we sell has the potential to save someone's life.

The list of contributors includes many names you'll recognize. Every one of these authors has provided his or her work free of charge, to support the charitable aims of the project. Furthermore, the editor is giving away a free copy of her short story collection Body Electric  to everyone who buys a copy of Coming Together: In Vein. (For details of this offer, click here.)

You'll find an excerpt below – just to whet your appetite.

Sink your teeth into Coming Together: In Vein. Help our vampires save the world. 

Tell me about Barbara,” she asked finally. “The woman in the photos.” As soon as she saw his ravaged face, she was sorry for the question.

“I was stupid, inexperienced. And we were so much in love. When I realized what I had become, I crawled to her on my hands and knees and begged her forgiveness. I was so terribly sorry to have ruined our plans for a life together. Barbara, though, had other ideas. She pointed out that, according to all information, we could now share eternity. All I had to do was turn her, make her into a vampire too.

“I was reluctant, but she convinced me. She was so beautiful, I couldn’t bear the notion that she would eventually age and die while I’d live forever.

“We planned the ritual carefully, almost as if it were our wedding ceremony...”

“The photos–” Lara interrupted.

“Right.” Jim laughed bitterly. “I set up the camera to record it all. The initiation of my beloved into the realm of the undead. But it all went terribly wrong.” He choked back a sob. Lara felt a sympathetic lump in her throat.

“What happened?”

“Everybody knows how you make a new vampire. First you drain the victim’s blood, bringing her close to death. Then you allow her to drink your blood. That’s what we planned. That’s what we did. It was incredible, terrifying and ecstatic.”

“But?”

“But she died. I couldn’t save her. I couldn’t turn her. Since then I’ve learned the truth.”

Lara was silent, waiting.

“To create a new vampire, you must suck the victim’s blood while you’re physically connected. While you’re having sex.”

“You’re joking!”

“No, it’s no joke. That’s why I ended up this way. That girl at the party—all she really wanted was my blood. But one thing led to another, and eventually we were fucking. I don’t think she really understood either.”

No wonder his little demonstration had produced such an intense effect. For him, blood lust and sexual desire were inextricably entwined. The instinctive drive to reproduce, to bring more souls over the boundary of death into the shadowy world that he inhabited, this was something he could not deny, and could only imperfectly control.

Lara knew she should be frightened. She should get out his seductive presence before she made a final, incorrigible mistake. The risk, the pure reality of it, only made her want him more.

 He was watching her. She could feel his eyes on her lips, on her throat, on the rise and fall of her breasts as her breath quickened.

She glanced around the bar, filling up now that it was after five. Donnie’s was not known as a “blood” bar, but still, she noticed half a dozen men wearing capes and pale make up, plus two or three women in slinky black dresses and wigs. It was pathetic, the way they all craved a fleeting taste of inhuman power, a brush with immortality. And here she sat, thigh to thigh with the genuine article.

“I don’t fully understand it,” Jim said, obviously catching  her thoughts once again. “Why would they want to be me? Power’s nice, but overall, I live a pretty lonely and miserable existence.”

“Maybe—maybe I can make you feel less lonely. For a little while.” Lara cradled his cheek for an instant, then pulled his mouth to hers. His lips were soft as any flesh, warm and muscular as they met and molded to her own lips. She tasted the wine he had been drinking, with background flavors of iron and salt. His tongue, too, felt human, jousting against hers, exploring, questioning.

Her rigid nipples pressed rudely through the stretchy fabric of her top, pleading for his attention. Of course he knew what she wanted. Without breaking the kiss, he cupped both breasts, tracing symmetrical circles around the tips. Her pussy clenched. Her thighs opened involuntarily. She rocked back and forth on the bench, rubbing her clit against the hard wood.

“Please,” she moaned against his open mouth, and then was silent, realizing that she did not have to say anything. He broke the kiss to throw a twenty pound note on the table, then pulled her to his chest.

“Imagine your apartment,” he said, close to her ear. “Think about your bedroom. And hold on tight.”


To get your own copy:  http://www.amazon.com/Coming-Together-Vein-Lisabet-Sarai/dp/1479125555

Welcome Lisabet Sarai

Today, our (my) guest is Lisabet Sarai, a good friend and well-accomplished author.  She's sharing a story she wrote some time ago, but the message is so appropriate for right now, she's agreed to let me share it:

Child of the Digital Age

“Auntie Lisabet! Tell me a story about the old days.”

“Okay, settle down then.”

My nine year old grand-niece Ellie sits down cross-legged next to my chair. She removes her ear-buds, strips off her haptic glove and flips up the VR screen on her glasses. I'm flattered that she's willing to give me her full attention. But then, I'm her exotic, glamorous aunt, who lives half a world away and visits once a year, who has lived through things Ellie can only begin to imagine.

“In the old days,” I start, “all books were paper.”

“Yes, I know! My mom has four paper books. She keeps them locked up in a glass case. She won't let me touch them.”

“Well, paper books tend to fall apart easily, and old ones are worth a lot of money. Anyway, back then, I wrote paper books. I had eight print books of my own. Plus I had stories in lots of other paper books.”

“Wow! You must have been rich. And famous.”  These days the release of a paper book is a rare event. Only Pulitzer Prize winners and heads of state author are literally in print.

I laugh and run my fingers through her blond curls. “No, not at all. Back then there were millions of paper books. When you signed a contract with a publisher, you would get what was called an 'advance on royalties' - a few thousand dollars at most, at least for me. Each copy you sold would be deducted from the advance. You had to sell thousands of copies in order to start making any money. Only one of my paper books ever 'earned out its advance', as they used to say back then.”

Ellie looks perturbed. “But – I've read some of your stories. You're a great writer. How come you didn't sell more?”

“Thanks, sweetie. I don't know if I'm great, but anyway, remember, there were millions of authors to compete with. And it took a really long time for a book to be published. My first novel took more than a year, from the time I submitted the manuscript to the time it was actually printed. I had one book that the publisher kept for nearly two years. Then they decided not to print it after all.”

“That's a drag! After all your work!” 

“That book turned out to be one of my first digital publications. So everything worked out in the end.

Anyway, with print books, even if I wrote full time (which I couldn't – I had a full time job), I couldn't publish more than one or two books a year. Everything was so slow – you wouldn't believe it. You had to send a printed version of the book, by postal mail, to the publisher. Then it would usually be months before they read it and gave you their opinion. Then another month or two while you worked out the details of the contract. Months for editing, typesetting, galleys―printed versions of the book that you had to correct by hand, with a red pen, and send back by snail mail... By the time the book finally arrived on the shelves, the excitement was almost gone.

“Also, simultaneous submissions – sending the same book to multiple publishers at the same time―was considered to be unprofessional. So if a publisher rejected your book, you had to start all over again.”

“Bummer. Is that why you began to publish digitally?”

“Not really. I had a regular publishing company, and they were taken over by another publisher who wasn't interested in what I wrote. I tried sending my latest novel to some other print companies, and they didn't even send me an acknowledgment. At the same time, digital books were beginning to become popular. A e-publisher contacted me and invited me to submit some of my writing. After that, more and more of my publications were electronic―even though print books were still common at the time. I discovered that with an e-publisher, I could publish almost as quickly as I could write. The whole cycle was so much faster. The first year I was digitally published, I had four books released. The second year, it was seven. It went up from there.”

“So that's when you started to get rich?”

“No, there were still millions of books coming out. In some ways it was even harder to get noticed. But the money was more predictable, royalties every month or every quarter. And of course, the more titles I released, the more opportunity I had for sales.”

“I don't know why anyone would want a print book anyway.” Ellie does a quick check of her comscreen then sticks it back into her pocket. “You can only read them in one order. You can't add comments or bookmarks. And there's no sound or video or 3-D graphics. Boring!”

“Back then, Ellie, most e-books were just words, too. No multimedia.” Ellie clearly has a hard time getting her mind around this concept. “You had to use your imagination about what things looked and sounded like.”

“But at least you could carry the books with you on your comdev,” she asserts. “And you didn't have to worry that they'd get torn or wet. Or lost. Plus I heard e-books saved the forests.”

I sigh. Ellie has never seen a real forest―only parks and tree plantations. The last remaining natural forests are off-limits to everyone except the scientists.

“Very true. I have to admit, though, that for a very long time, for me, an e-book didn't seem like a real book. When my first novel came out, and the publisher sent me my author's copies, it was like a combination of Christmas, Halloween and my birthday all together. I was so excited!  There it was, in my hands, a real book, with a real cover that had my name on it! I could thumb through the pages and read the words that I wrote. Unbelievable! When I received author copies for my e-books, there wasn't the same thrill. After all, it was just an email attachment.”    

Ellie nods.  She remembers me telling her about email, which has become nearly extinct with the rise of real-time messaging and tele-presence.

“Getting published became too easy―or that's what it seemed like to me. Thousands of e-books were released every month. Some of them were good, but some of them were awful. Everybody wanted to get on the e-publishing bandwagon.”

“What does that mean?”

“Oh, that it was the latest trend. Everybody thought they could make money bringing out e-books. Every week a new publishing company opened its virtual doors. The world was flooded with e-books, and the average quality went down, at least in my opinion. I was still proud of my writing, still excited, but getting published seemed like less of an accomplishment. Practically anyone who could string a dozen words together could get published.”

“Like now,” Ellie says wisely. “My friend Judy published a book last week, all about her new dog. She sent me a copy. She's really bad at spelling. But the pictures were fun.”

“Actually, hon, it was not at all the way things are now.  Back in the old days, the publishers still controlled the purse strings. These days, most of the publishing companies are gone. People publish on their own and then offer their work, for free or in exchange for other content, or on a sliding scale of payment. You can still make a living as a writer, but you have to have a community to support you―people who really like what you write.”

“Can I see one of your paper books, Auntie? Mom won't let me touch hers.”

“Here's my first novel, published in the year 2000―just a few years after your mom was born. This is a first edition.”  Ellie doesn't hear the irony in my voice.

“Wow!” She reaches for the fragile volume. “This is really old. Can I read it?”

“Of course not. You know that my books were written for adults.”

“Auntie, don't be old-fashioned. I know all about sex.”

“I don't think your mom would approve. She's always been a bit embarrassed by my literary career. Anyway, you wouldn't understand this book yet, even if you do know the physical facts about sex.  Erotica isn't just about sex. But I'll tell you what. I'll give this book to you, autographed, for your sixteenth birthday.”

“Oh, Auntie. That's years from now.” She notices my wistful expression. “But thanks. And thanks for the story. Things were really weird in the old days.”  Her comdev gives a barely audible beep. She checks the screen. “It's Judy. Got to go. I'll talk to you later.”

“Okay.” As she scampers off, donning her various sensory prostheses as she goes, I wonder whether I'll still be around in seven years.  Will she'll remember how to read at that point?  And even if she can read, will my maiden tale of a woman's sexual awakening will make any sense at all to a child of the digital age?  

Visit Lisabet's website at http://www.lisabetsarai.com and her blog Beyond Romance, http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com.

Note from Ginger:  For anyone who thinks that erotica is all about sex...it may well have lots more heat, but there is an important message Lisabet delivers in her every work, and she does it extremely well.  She's well-traveled, and I'm fortunate to call her friend as I often seek her wisdom which far exceeds my own, amazing as that may seem.  *lol*






  

Welcome, Lisabet Sarai

Superstitious Behavior

By Lisabet Sarai

Happy Friday the 13th, everyone! When Ginger offered me this date, she was concerned that I might refuse because of being superstitious. Heck, no, I told her! That's a ready-made blog topic!

I've led a very lucky life. Not that I tend to win lotteries or anything, but I've enjoyed almost unadulterated good fortune:  a supportive family, a top-notch education, challenging and fulfilling work, an awesome husband, devoted friends, robust good health, the opportunity to travel―pretty much everything anyone might want, other than great wealth (and I'm not sure I'd want that anyway).

Anyway, I'm generally not what you'd call superstitious. I'd rather not walk under a ladder, but that's simply because I'd be worried that the ladder or some paint might fall on my poor head. I've got no problem with black cats; in fact, as you can see,  I'm the proud slave of one gorgeous jet-black puss. Breaking a mirror is obviously bad news simply because one has to clean up all the slivers of glass, but it doesn't make me expect bad luck.

The one area where I do tend to indulge in just a bit of superstitious behavior is in the realm of publishing.  I will not announce an acceptance until I've actually signed the contract. Somehow I feel that celebrating prematurely is tempting fate. I even have a bit of a problem talking about a book until it's actually available.

This is partly superstition, partly based on sad experience.  I had a publisher sit on one of my novels for nearly eighteen months once before canceling the contract (and, I have to admit, paying me the remainder of the advance as specified, so I couldn't complain too much). In another case, I had a story accepted for an anthology I was really enthusiastic about, only to have the publisher decide that they no longer wanted to print GLBT-themed books. (The book did finally come out from a different publisher, thanks to the efforts of the editor, but it took almost four years.)

So when I talk about an upcoming release, there's always this niggling doubt that just maybe it might not happen. And that maybe by talking about the book at all, I'm inviting the universe to step in and make trouble for me.

Needless to say, this superstition makes pre-publication promotion difficult for me. I find promotion  rather agonizing anyway―I just can't get used to constantly yelling “Me! Me! Me!”--and the fear that somehow I'll queer my release by talking about it ahead of time just makes things worse.

Now I'm a modern woman, scientifically trained, so I'm working to combat this silly fear. That's why I'm including the blurb, below, for my book Fire in the Blood  which is supposed to be released next Monday. The book is a vampire ménage (M/M/F) erotic romance set in Jamaica. It was originally intended as a Halloween release, so it has something of a gothic aura.

Maddy and Troy hope that a carefree vacation in tropical Jamaica will re-ignite the passion in their five year relationship. On a scenic mountain trail ride, Maddy's horse bolts and carries her deep into the jungle. Injured and lost, she is saved by a seductive giant of a man whose mere presence kindles unbearable lust. By the time she understands his dark nature, it is far too late for her to escape.

Bitter and alone, Etienne de Rémorcy haunts the forest around the ruined plantation of Fin d'Espoir. He has sworn to never again taste taste human blood, but when slender, raven-haired Madeleine begs him to take her, he cannot resist.

Troy is hugely relieved when Maddy makes her way back to their hotel after her ordeal in the mountains. But he finds her greatly changed―fiercely passionate in bed, restless and disturbed at other times. The tall, elegant stranger he meets on the beach holds the key to her transformation―and soon has seduced Troy as well.  Even Etienne's most potent magic can't extinguish the fire in Troy's and Madeleine's blood.

Assuming that the universe cooperates, you'll be able to buy the book on Monday the 16th of August from Total-E-Bound.  Meanwhile, you can read excerpts from this and all my other books, as well as nearly two dozen free stories, at my website, Lisabet Sarai's Fantasy Factory. 

I want to thank Ginger for inviting me to be her guest. I'll be off now, with my rabbit's foot in my pocket. Don't step on any cracks in the pavement!

Welcome Back, Lisabet Sarai

The True Test of Love
By Lisabet Sarai

As authors of romance, we know that every love must be tested. When our hero and heroine fall for one another, we can't let them have it too easy. There needs to be some challenge, some obstacle to their perfect connection. It might be an evil ex hanging around, trying to lure the heroine back into his arms. It might be a near-fatal disease, or a plane crash, or an attack by hostile natives. Or the conflict might be internal, the characters fighting demons from their own pasts, trying to surmount the barriers to trust.

Readers know that, whatever the nature of their trials and tribulations, the protagonists will eventually pass the test and receive their reward: each other. That's the comforting aspect of romance. In the real world, though, things are a bit more iffy. We face the same sorts of trials, but there's no guarantee that our love will survive them.

To help Ginger celebrate Valentine's Day, I thought I'd share my experiences with what might be the ultimate test of a relationship. I've been married for nearly 28 years. They've been happy and fulfilling years, but practically every day my husband and I deal with a uniquely difficult challenge.

It's not, thank heaven, a health challenge. It's not the specter of the numerous other relationships we both enjoyed prior to our marriage. It's not a natural disaster. No, it's far more extreme...

My husband and I work together.

We're both software engineers. We share an office. We have a software product that we've developed and we also act as consultants for other companies. We are together almost twenty four hours a day, working as well as playing. And we don't always see things the same way.

He's the inspired one, the one who has flashes of insight and who likes to experiment. Hardly a day goes by that he doesn't propose some new project that just might make us rich. I'm the disciplined one, who prefers to plan, to limit the risks, to keep things simple and stick to the familiar. I like to think that I'm the practical one, though that's probably not fair.

He's a multi-tasker, keeping twenty windows simultaneously open on his monitor. I'm lucky if I can keep track of two. At the same time, he's very sensitive to being interrupted. If I ask him a question while he's thinking, he'll growl and complain about my bothering him. Yet he thinks nothing of querying me about some entry in the checkbook when I'm deeply involved in debugging some software routine. Fortunately I don't find that nearly as disruptive as he would.

Other couples argue about money or sex or who left the toilet seat up. We argue about programming languages, software architecture and new technologies. We do a lot of design work together, and our sessions can get pretty heated―each of us completely convinced that our way is best.

Sometimes things get out of hand. He will accuse me of being patronizing or of not listening. I might feel the same way about him. Once in a very great while, one of us may even stomp off in a huff.

Fortunately, we have managed to survive this test. When things get tense, I remind myself how smart he is and how much I respect him―even when I don't agree with him at all. The fact is, our disparate approaches produce better results than either of us could create alone. We balance and complement each other. Our work, at its best, incorporates our individual strengths while limiting the impact of our weaknesses.

We almost always find our way past the areas of disagreement. The key, sometimes, is to deliberately adopt the other person's point of view. And to listen. We're both passionate about our work. When I feel that I have a solution, it's easy to become blind to other options. So I force myself to ask him questions, to get him to explain his position, and then to evaluate it objectively.

We've had colleagues tell us that we should write a book about “our secret”. “How do you manage it? My wife and I would tear each other to shreds if we had to work together,” they say. We smile and pretend that it's easy. But of course it's not.

The bottom line is that both of us view our relationship as more important than any bone of contention. Spirited disagreement is fine, but when we feel ourselves stepping over the line, saying things that might damage that relationship, we almost always recognize this and pull back.

It's the true test of love, but so far we've passed with flying colors. This Valentine's I'm celebrating the fact that my lover and husband is also my valued colleague and collaborator.

Note from Ginger: I always love when Lisabet visits. I learn something from her every time. I'm just now reading one of her "very erotic" offerings, Fire: Short Stories, and despite my prudish self, I'm discovering her stories have a deeper meaning beyond the steam and passion. She certainly titled this collection aptly.

LISABET SARAI has been writing, editing and publishing erotica since 1999 and has six novels, two short story collections, and three anthologies to her credit. Her stories have appeared in more than two dozen print collections. Recently she ventured into epublishing erotic romance with Total-E-Bound, Eternal Press and Phaze. Lisabet also reviews erotica for the Erotica Readers and Writers Association and Erotica Revealed. Visit her website at http://www.lisabetsarai.com.

Welcome, Lisabet Sarai

Thank Heaven He's Stubborn

By Lisabet Sarai

The topic of gratitude is dear to my heart. I have been blessed in uncounted ways in my life. I have enjoyed the benefits of a loving and supportive family, an excellent education funded mostly by scholarships, generally good health, and work that is challenging, worthwhile and fun. I'm grateful for having had the opportunity to travel to a wide range of exotic places. I'm humbly thankful for whatever writing talent I have and for the persistence required to turn that talent into a semi-career.

When I think about it, though, what I am most thankful for is the fact that my husband didn't give up when I tried to brush him off.

Let me explain...

Romance is the realm of love at first sight, but when I met K., I tried to discourage his obvious interest. The last thing I needed was another man in my life. To start with, we lived 3000 miles away from each other. He lived on the east coast, where he was studying towards a PhD. Meanwhile, on the west coast, where I was working at my first job out of graduate school, I was juggling three different lovers.

I know that this may sound a bit shocking to some readers, but at the time I was exploring my sexual self and trying to figure out what I needed in a romantic relationship. I wasn't lying to anyone; each of the men I was seeing knew about the others. I was just having some difficulty deciding which if any of them was Mr. Right. In fact, I wasn't sure that I subscribed to the concept of one perfect mate.

Anyway, K. came up to me at a scientific conference on the east coast, where I had just made a presentation describing my research. He asked me some intelligent questions about my paper, but I could tell he was more interested in me as a woman than as a colleague. I liked him, but I was already reeling from the complications in my love life. I definitely didn't think I could handle yet another lover. I was polite but distant. K. joined me at the welcome cocktail party that evening. I pointedly ignored him, flirting instead with the cute British guy who was also part of the crowd.

K. did not give up. He invited me to lunch the following day. I accepted (hey, I had to eat) and found him to be articulate and unpretentious. He was quite a bit older than I and had led a fascinating, unconventional life. As I recall, we talked about relationships. What was most remarkable about our interactions was the level of comfort. I barely knew him, yet it seemed as though we had been friends a long time.

Still, I held back. He took the offensive. He was driving up to Boston (my home town) from the conference that afternoon. Would I like a ride? Certainly it was better than going by bus as I had planned. The three hour trip was filled with sexual tension. He was beginning to win me over.

He dropped me at my parents' house and asked if I wanted to have dinner that evening. Of course I agreed. We dined at a Burmese restaurant where he regaled me with tales of his travels in Europe and Asia. I urged him on, eager to hear more. Near the end of the meal, he looked me in the eye and said,
“You know, I'm looking for someone to travel with.” I was more or less hooked.

I flew back to California the next day. For the next six months we wrote and called each other. The other men in my life transformed themselves from lovers to friends. When I came home to Massachusetts for Christmas, it seemed completely natural that K. would return with me to the west coast to share my apartment. After the holidays, we set out together on a three week cross-country odyssey. We were still relative strangers, yet traveled together as if we had known each other for years.

On that trip, in a motel in Taos, New Mexico, K. proposed to me. I told him to wait a year and then ask me again.

That was twenty seven years ago. I'm grateful every day for his love, his support, his companionship, even his criticism. We are not only lovers but also partners and collaborators. We work together as well as play together. I am amazed by the strength and longevity of our connection.

When we met, I thought that it was unlikely that I would ever marry. I couldn't imagine that there existed one man who could keep me interested over the long term, and I didn't want a string of divorces like my aunts.

I was wrong. And now I'm eternally grateful.


Lisabet Sarai writes erotic romance and erotica for a variety of publishers. Visit her website at
http://www.lisabetsarai.com and her group blog, Oh Get A Grip

Lisabet Sarai's in the house!

Contests as Market Research

by Lisabet Sarai

I can't begin to represent myself as an expert on promotion. Like most authors, I struggle, trying to figure out how to best allocate my scarce time in order to increase name recognition and ultimately sales. One promotional trick I've tried which has ancillary benefits is running contests that also provide me with information about my readers.

Every month I publish a “newsletter” which includes information on latest releases, acceptances, reviews and so on. A regular feature is my contest of the month. The newsletter is actually a page on my website, so it is easily accessible throughout the month. I've experimented with various types of contests: trivia contests, scavenger hunts, review posting, prizes for joining my email list and so on. One thing I've discovered is that anything that requires much work will not generate a good response! My most successful contests (in terms of response) have involved asking readers to send me an email with their opinion about some question.

I've asked my readers to tell me what Yahoo groups and review websites they like the best or visit most often; whether they like M/M romance and why; whether they enjoy F/F romance and why; what kind of paranormal themes they like best; and so on. I gather entries throughout the month (I have a special email address just for contests), then I randomly select one participant to receive the prize (usually a free book).

I have no idea whether these contests improve my sales. However, they offer other benefits. For one thing, I get some feedback on what readers are looking for in the books they read. I've received some thoughtful and detailed replies to my questions. I won't necessarily tailor what I write to match readers' preferences (for one thing, they don't all agree!), but a commonly held opinion will definitely influence my choices to some extent. Another positive aspect of this contest format is that it gives me the opportunity to engage my readers in email conversations. (I try to reply personally to every entry.) Finally, the responses give me fodder for blog posts and other articles. For example, I wrote about M/M romance on the Total-E-Bound blog last April and quoted from some of my readers' comments (with their permission).

I'm running a contest this month asking readers to describe their pet peeves in reading romance. The prize is the winner's choice of my two most recent releases, Getaway Girl, M/F light bondage romance , or Monsoon Fever, a historical multicultural M/M/F menage romance. I'd love to see some reader of Ginger's blog become my winner! Details are available at http://www.lisabetsarai.com/news.html

I Cannot Tell A Lie

I received the "I Never Tell A Lie" meme from my dear friend, MaryAnn Miller...boldly posted on her It's Not All Gravy blog. I suppose I must abide by the following rules provided:

Sometimes you can learn more about a person by what they don’t tell you. Sometimes you can learn a lot from the things they just make up. If you are tagged with this Meme, lie to me. Then tag 7 other folks (one for each deadly sin) and hope they can lie.

I'm not a very good liar, and neither is my youngest son, even though he tried to perfect it for years. I can still tell by the look in his eyes when he's being untruthful. Most of the time his eyes are brown...but sometimes they're a crystal clear pool allowing me to see right into those turning wheels in his brain. He thinks he can fool me...in what century? I really have nothing to lie about. My life is an open book as evidenced by my blog.

Pride: A pack of lions... or what I feel at having been a runway model at the age of 20. Maybe it's that bursting feeling I had when I was crowned Miss California a year later. Nah, it had to be appearing in the swimsuit issue of....oh, the name escapes me.

Envy: Something I never feel. The ten commandments tell us not to covet, so I stifle those feelings when I see a thin woman with good hair, someone flashing a huge wad of cash, or another new book by that damn Nora Roberts who gets away with head-hopping in all her novels.

Gluttony: I can honestly say I'm no longer a glutton. In 1991 I had my stomach stapled and I eat only small amounts or else I throw up. So, it's not HOW MUCH I eat...it's become WHAT I eat. I stick with what I think is safe and won't get stuck, so my diet sucks. I eat potato chips, mashed potatoes, pop corn, and all those things that go right to your butt. I lost over five hundred pounds, but over the years it's creeping back despite my vow to never be fat again. My diet is even more complicated since I started taking blood thinning medication. I'm limited on eating leafy greens because the vitamin K interferes with the dose. You know how I realized I was fat again? The elastic band on my underwear used to say HANES....now it says HAAAAANNNNNNNEEEEEEES! *lol*

Lust: What really lights your fire?
Nothing....I don't care if Tom Selleck and Mel Gibson wrestled for me on my living room floor. I've reached the age where lovemaking is a chore and not worth the leg cramps and painful friction. Of course, as my doctor so kindly pointed out to me when I mentioned my lack of interest, "The grass needs to be mowed occasionally," so I try to be considerate on occasion. But honestly, nothing can light this fire...sort of like trying to ignite wet kindling in the middle of a rainstorm. And as for those products that purport orgasms like erupting volcanoes or fireworks, may I say...bullshit! (oops, did I say that?)

Anger: Oh, absolutely nothing angers me. I'm the calmest person you'll ever meet. I'm so very happy with our current president and his administration. I love the fact that our elected officials see their posts as careers rather than a term in office, and I couldn't be more elated about the questionable people that have been appointed to cabinet posts. I also think it is so admirable that network news reports only the positive things, and we enjoy all that promised TRANSPARENCY in everything our new president does.

Greed: Name something you keep from others. I have nothing anyone wants, I'm sure, so I've really never been greedy. In fact, when I divorced my husband of 32 years, I made sure to leave him with all the furniture he needed and took only the spare stuff for myself. I think I would have re-considered when he moved out and left it all behind. I need to work on my greed skills. Okay, okay...so I do hide a candy bar occasionally.

Sloth: What's the laziest thing you've ever done?
According to my family, I have become a sloth. Since my sister moved in, I do absolutely nothing. She does all the housework, most of the yard work, and more. She's a perfectionist so I dare not try to interfere. You have no idea how hard it is to sit in the recliner with my laptop while she's frittering back and forth, vacuuming, dusting, plumping pillows. Yesterday, I tried to help out, and actually mowed 1/4 of the front yard before I felt faint. Later, I rolled the empty trash can back from the curb (actually, we don't have curbs...just a place where the grass ends and the street begins), but then I had to go in and rest for a bit. I think I spend most of my time polishing my crown and wasting my time on the computer. At least that's what they think I do. :)

I apologize, but as I said...I absolutely cannot lie! It was I who chopped down the blasted cherry tree. Bwaaahhhaaaa!


Now I'm supposed to inflict this on seven more people. Maryann stated she didn't believe I own a gun. Well, I do. I just bought one. Let's see who shall I pick on....who might actually do this: Anita Davison, Diane Wylie, Anna K. Lanier, Tabatha Shay, Clare London, Lisabet Sarai, and Cheryl St. John. Sorry Ladies, but if you actually take the time, it's great blog fodder. Remember, don't come stalking...I'm armed and I know how to shoot. *lol*

Rolling Out The Red Carpet Again

My Thursday Tourist this week, hopefully making an appearance tomorrow on cue, is Lisabet Sarai.

I had the good fortune to meet Lisabet through our mutual publisher, Eternal Press. She's quite a talented and fun person, even though I can only attest to that through virtual contact. As I've said before, Internet relationships can be as tangible as face-to-face, and I'm happy to host her on my blog anytime.

From her website, it appears she's led quite an interesting life, obtaining a master's degree, globetrotting, and spending more than twenty years with a husband she seems to adore. The pair lives with their two cats in Southeast Asian, and Lisabet still plans to do more traveling. Her writing leans more to the 'sexy' side, and I'm sure hubby doesn't mind at all. I checked her list of favorite authors...and darn, I wasn't listed. My content is probably far too bland for her. *smile*

If you don't believe her books are steamy...just check out this cover:

Please make her feel welcome.

Friday Fiction - Newest Review

I'm so thrilled with the peer review I received from fellow author, Lisabet Sarai. It's very touching that someone who writes so distinctively different than I picked my book to read, and the best part of her review is that she totally GOT the story and characters. I cannot tell you what a wonderful feeling that is.


Reviewed by Lisabet Sarai

Seventeen year old Ellie Fountain hates being a girl. She is sure that her father would have preferred having a son to help him run the family ranch, Fountainhead, perched in the beautiful Cumberland Hills above the town of Sparta, Tennessee. Ellie can’t even remember her mother, who died when she was an infant. Her dad is all she has, and she wants to prove to him that she is as capable as any man.

However, Tyler Bishop, the ranch foreman, keeps interfering with her goal. Ty is her father’s favorite, monopolizing her dad’s attention and admiration. Ellie suspects that Ty is scheming to steal her birthright by ingratiating himself with her father. Even if his intentions are honest, he doesn’t take her seriously, viewing her as “just a girl” despite the fact that she has grown up in the saddle and can ride, rope and handle a shotgun as well as any of the ranch hands.

Ben Fountain needs all the help he can get. Newcomer Dude Bryant and his twin sons, Jeb and Joshua, are putting pressure on him and the other locals to sell their land. When persuasion isn’t sufficient, the Bryants appear quite willing to use intimidation and other unsavory tactics. Secretly, Ellie buys herself a pistol and teaches herself to use it, in order to assist in defending Fountainhead. When Ty and her father discover her ambitions, though, her father scolds her and Ty belittles her.

Despite his dismissive behavior, Ellie can’t stop thinking about Ty. The feelings that he evokes are puzzling, disturbing and thrilling, even though the two of them spend most of their time in each other’s presence arguing. When her father convinces Ty to invite Ellie to the annual harvest dance down in Sparta, Ellie’s excitement at the prospect of being close to Ty overwhelms her annoyance at her father’s meddling. The night of the dance begins as a romantic idyll. However, misunderstandings between Ellie and Ty make her vulnerable to the evil plans of Jeb Bryant.

I greatly enjoyed reading Sparta Rose. Ellie is a fabulous character, distinctive and believable. She’s brash and funny, sometimes silly, sometimes strong. Her conflicting emotions and volatile moods fit in well with her tender age. Ms. Simpson does an excellent job showing us her growing maturity in the face of danger and blossoming love.

I loved Tyler, too. He’s not the perfect, stereotyped romance hero. Sure, he’s handsome and capable, but he’s almost as confused and vulnerable as Ellie. He’s constantly putting his foot in his mouth and making her angry. The author doesn’t tell us how old Ty is, but he’s obviously pretty young and inexperienced himself, especially when it comes to women.

These two characters really carry the novel. Their banter comes alive on the pages. They reminded me a bit of Spencer Tracy and Katherine Hepburn. Their sharp words never completely hide their tender feelings for each other.

The plot of this novel somewhat predictable. Jeb Bryant is portrayed as such a thorough villain, you know right away that he’s going to do something extremely nasty. On the other hand, I didn’t completely anticipate the resolution. Ms. Simpson gives us a happy ending par excellence, with the wicked punished and the good rewarded.

Sparta Rose is a sweet romance. There are some intense kisses, and some lustful feelings, but nothing more explicit. I tend to write much more graphic romance myself, but I was not disappointed at all by the lack of sex in this novel. It fit with the main characters, both of whom were new to love.

If you like sweet romance with a western flavor, I highly recommend Sparta Rose. The cover is a perfect image of Ellie: slender and feminine, strong and proud, loving and defending her Tennessee home.