How Charity Sunday works: for every comment made on this blog post, I will donate money to the charity named. The same promise is made for every blog site listed in the group–click the Linky Links link at the bottom of this post to see the list of participants and read/comment on any of them to see a donation go to that blogger’s charity. We’re all different! Thanks for your help and your participation!
Imagine being an American trapped in a war-torn country and fearing there is no way out. Now imagine there is a way out. With so many Americans in Israel and Gaza looking for an escape, I am focusing this month on Special Operations Association of America. SOAA is “a voice for special operations,” and one of their current missions is to evacuate Americans from areas of the Middle East currently in conflict. “We advocate for all past, present, and future members of the Special Operations community and their families. Fighting for those who fight for us to ensure the mission success and lethality of those that bear the greater burden.” In today’s environment, SOAA is working to rescue Americans from where “…the fighting and terrorist regimes are causing havoc in the region of Israel, Palestine, the Gaza Strip and surrounding areas.” Please comment and help me support the SOAA. Thank you!
Blurb: Dr. Margaret Amis-Hollings, professor of women’s studies at a small New Jersey college, is a woman who confidently knows who she is and what she expects of life. Until she loses her teaching position, and her well-ordered life gets turned upside down. Then, in a subtle stroke of whimsy, fate tosses her a gift in an historic home and property in Virginia.
Harboring visions of Gone With the Wind, she determines to use River Peace as a temporary reprieve from her troubles. Images of Tara quickly evaporate when she arrives to discover the reality of her inheritance, however.
River Peace has history, grace and style going for it. After only one night, Margaret discovers that it also has a ghost. She’s visited by a male spirit from the time of the War Between the States, who knows how to make a woman feel special. And very loved.
Aaron Belton meets Margaret when she first arrives in Virginia. He’s renowned for historic renovations on a multitude of properties, but he’s got a special place in his heart for River Peace. He and his family believe the property always should have belonged to them. In fact, Aaron will do almost anything to make that happen. When his passion for the house changes to a passion for the house’s owner, Aaron’s as surprised as anyone. Can he gain both, the woman and the house? To do so, he’ll have to face a spectral being.
Excerpt: “What do you mean I’m being cut?” Dr. Margaret Amis-Hollings, professor of women’s studies in the sociology department at Hardis College, shot out of her chair and stared at the dean, Sally Smith, who remained seated.
“Calm down, Margaret.”
“Calm down? Calm down? You just told me that I’ve lost my job.” Pacing, she raked her hand through the tangle of auburn hair that never seemed to stay contained in barrettes. A million things went through her mind, not the least of which was how she would make her rent, her car payment, buy food.
“Oh my God, how am I going to live?” Collapsing in the chair she’d just vaulted out of, she turned to face her friend and boss. Her expression was half despair, half anger, all shock.
“I’m so sorry, Margaret. The board has ordered more budget cuts. It hasn’t been easy. You know how we’ve had to scrimp for the past few years. Now we even have to cull courses we think aren’t serving the full interests of the students.”
“But—but…” Tears choking her throat, she couldn’t at first finish her sentence. “But the women’s studies classes? They’re vital.”
In fact, she had thought the reason for meeting with Sally was to discuss the addition of a new offering: Women Villains. She’d been so proud of the catchy and intriguing title and even had the hook for the course description. “What makes ‘Jane the Ripper,’ and how do her contributing factors differ from Jack’s?” She’d anticipated sharing the materials she’d already prepared, and hearing Sally’s happy response when she revealed the number of students who’d already indicated an interest.
She’d planned for questions of course, but anticipated support and excitement from Sally. The last thing she imagined was being let go.
Author Dee S. Knight:
A few years ago, Dee S. Knight began writing, making getting up in the morning fun. During the day, her characters killed people, fell in love, became drunk with power, or sober with responsibility. And they had sex, lots of sex.
After a while, Dee split her personality into thirds. She writes as Anne Krist for sweeter romances, and Jenna Stewart for ménage and shifter stories. All three of her personas are found on the Nomad Authors website (www.nomadauthors.com). Fortunately, Dee’s high school sweetheart is the love of her life and husband to all three ladies! On the last Sunday of the month, look for Dee’s Charity Sunday blog posts, where your comment can support a selected charity. Sign up for her newsletter for exclusive access to free novellas, poetry, and stuff.
When a woman atoning for past sins heals the human avatar of an ancient god, she’s drawn into a perilous dance of destiny and desire. From the first, Dr. Elena Navarro senses that the wounded man she discovers outside the gate of her rural clinic is not an ordinary mortal. With his chest ripped open, Jorge Pélikal still demonstrates unnatural strength and power. Elena is irresistibly attracted to Jorge, although he warns her their coupling could open the gates of chaos and cost her life. Despite his dire predictions, they fall in love. Gradually Elena comes to understand that Jorge is a supernatural player in a cosmic drama that will determine the fate of the earth and of mankind—and that even if he triumphs in his apocalyptic struggle with his nemesis, she may lose him forever.
Note: Serpent’s Kiss was previously published by Totally Entwined. This new edition has been re-edited, revised and expanded. Reader Advisory: This book may not be appropriate for individuals with a fear of snakes.
Excerpt: “Doctora!” The voice rose out of the darkness—the voice of the man who had vanished that morning from a sealed room, leaving no trace but a brilliant, multi-colored feather. As if conjured by her thoughts, Jorge Pélikal emerged from the shadows. He waited at the foot of the steps, mutely requesting her permission to ascend.
He looked far healthier than when she had seen him last. His step was firm and strong, with no indication that he was in pain. His hair cascaded over his shoulders, gleaming in the light of the rising moon. She could not see his face—he was still too distant—but she could smell him. Vanilla and wood-smoke—the same scents that were evoked by the mysterious token she had found under the bed.
He was dressed in rough-woven trousers and a peasant’s cotton tunic, all in white. His skin, in contrast, was a deep cocoa-brown.
Elena’s heart rose into her throat. He was beautiful. He was dangerous—she sensed this—not because of what he might do, but because of who he was. But who exactly was he?
“Jorge! Why did you run away?” She gestured for him to join her on the porch. In an instant, he stood in front of her, a half-smile on his full lips.
He grasped her hands. His skin was cool now, and moist like the jungle night. His fever is gone, she thought gratefully. Joy bubbled up in her chest. She almost laughed. She had thought that she would never see him again.
“I had no choice. I was in grave danger. And by remaining in your clinic, I was placing you in danger.”
“Moving when your chest has been ripped open and is held together by nothing more than a few feeble stitches wasn’t exactly the safest thing to do,” she scolded. “But I’m happy to see that you’re so much better.”
“Much better, thanks to you…Elena.” He squeezed her hands. Desire raced through her, sharp, irrational, irresistible. “I’m sorry that I had to return and place you at risk once again. But I left something behind. Something important.”
“I know. I have it, hidden safely away.”
He searched her face, apparently trying to determine how much she knew about the feather. “Give it to me, then, and I’ll leave you in peace.”
“No.”
“What?”
“No—I don’t want you to go. I’ll give you the feather, but only if you promise to spend the night with me.” Listening to herself, Elena was appalled. What was she saying?
She had not planned this. She was keeping the feather for him and had honestly intended to return it. But now she wanted him, with a single-mindedness that drove out all reason. She would do anything to satisfy this uncharacteristic craving. She could not let him escape again.
He cupped her cheek in one of his strong brown hands. Elena nearly swooned.
“You don’t know what you’re asking. It’s not possible.”
“I know what I want. What I need. And I won’t return the feather until you give it to me.”
He removed his hand, leaving her mourning for his touch. “I could force you.” Though his voice was soft, his words rang with power.
“Go ahead and try.” Elena’s words were defiant, but there were tears in her eyes.
“You don’t understand what you ask. If we couple, you and I, we will open the gates of chaos.” He hovered close, leaning over her, gazing into her eyes. His scent made her dizzy.
“I don’t care. So be it.”
“No. I dare not, Señora.” Taking a step backward, he glanced around the porch, as if seeking a way to push past her and enter the clinic. She moved to block the door, legs apart and hands on her hips.
Perplexity marked his handsome features. She didn’t doubt he was strong enough to physically overpower her, but he seemed reluctant to do so.
“Please.” Now his voice held a note of supplication. “Be reasonable, Elena.”
“Don’t you want me?”
“What I want does not matter. I must do my duty and refuse you. The tasks before me will be difficult enough without the distraction of love.”
Love? That wasn’t what she was asking for, was it? The desire that raged through her seemed as far from love as a fierce hurricane from a gentle spring shower. At the same time, her intuition told her that a single night in Jorge’s arms would never be enough.
Introductory Essay: Embracing the Shadows
What makes paranormal romance so popular? I’ve been pondering this question for a while. Readers, it seems, are happy to consume as many tales about vampires, shape shifters, ghosts and psychics as we authors can produce. You’d think that they’d get bored, but that doesn’t seem to happen. Why not?
I’ve got a theory. We’re all tempted by the dark side.
The realms of paranormal romance are vast, but most books offer characters with dual natures, torn between normal humanity and―otherness. The “other” aspect conveys special powers―unnatural strength, heightened sensation, hidden knowledge―but always at a price. The characters suffer because of their power. Blood-drinkers and half-beasts are ravaged by conscience because they maim or kill. Immortals bear the weight of lonely, isolated centuries and the pain of watching mortal companions wither and die.
In my novella Fin d’Espoir, vampire Etienne de Rémorcy haunts the forest around the ruined plantation of his former mistress, guilty, bitter and alone. He has sworn to never again taste human blood, but when the woman he rescues begs him to take her, he cannot resist. My prescient hero Kyle in At the Margins of Madness can see the future but the fury of his visions drives him insane. In my new release Serpent’s Kiss, Jorge Pélikal is the incarnation of an ancient god but each time he makes love to his human mate he comes close to killing her.
In the paranormal genre, power and darkness go hand in hand. Yet somehow, we are attracted to the darkness. We brush the suffering aside; we want to feel the power. A vampire isn’t sexy when he’s fighting against his blood craving. Only when he sweeps his victim into his arms and buries his fangs in her flesh does he make us breathless and moist.
How many books have you read where the human hero or heroine willingly submits to “the change”, the transformation that will make them “other” as well? How many characters, in contrast, manage to resist the pull of the dark side? Not many. Normal mortal life seems absurd, bland and empty after you’ve tasted power. This is especially true because sex on the dark side in erotic romance is always more intense, more extreme, transcending the limits that bind ordinary humans.
Even a villain with supernatural powers tempts us. A well-written antagonist should invite enough identification that the reader can understand what moves him to do evil. The best bad guys are ambiguous, able to justify their deeds so well that they draw our sympathy. They dazzle us with their logic and their beauty, until we can’t see their wickedness. Lucifer still looks like an angel as he bargains for your soul. Stefan Aries, my villain in At the Margins of Madness, is handsome and brilliant enough to make Kyle want him, despite his being a murderer. Jorge’s evil twin Teodoro Remorros is suave, handsome, and terribly convincing as he tries to persuade Elena to abandon Jorge and the world he’s trying to save.
We’re drawn to the dark side, I think, because it’s an escape. Sometimes the real world leaves us feeling so powerless―we can’t help wanting the ability to take control, to bend the world to our will the way our paranormal characters do. Who wouldn’t want to leave the dirty dishes and the unpaid bills behind and slip away into the night, to slink through the shadowy streets scenting for blood or to howl, unfettered, at the moon?
The dark side calls to us in paranormal romance. Every time we open a new book, we flirt with the possibility of ecstatic surrender.
About Lisabet
Lisabet Sarai became addicted to words at an early age. She began reading when she was four. She wrote her first story at five years old and her first poem at seven. Since then, she has written plays, tutorials, scholarly articles, marketing brochures, software specifications, self-help books, press releases, a five-hundred page dissertation, and lots of erotica and erotic romance – over one hundred titles, and counting, in nearly every sub-genre—paranormal, scifi, ménage, BDSM, LGBTQ, and more. Regardless of the genre, every one of her stories illustrates her motto: Imagination is the ultimate aphrodisiac.
My latest book, Serpent’s Kiss, is dedicated to my father. He has been gone for for nearly fifteen years, but I still feel his presence, every day. During the time since his passing, the pain of loss has healed. I’ve come to understand that he’ll always be with me, in my memories and in my heart.
More than any other individual, it was my dad who inspired me to read, and to write. He had the gift of words, and passed it on to his children. I recall him reading aloud to my siblings and me, folk tales, fairy stories, adventures like Treasure Island and Robinson Crusoe. He told his own stories, too, inventing worlds and characters for our pleasure. There were the Gulkons, terrible demons who lived in the fire on the hearth, and Houligan, the god of snow. (I grew up in chilly, stormy New England.) I still remember sitting spellbound while Dad recounted his story of the hapless wizard Thomas Carl Sefney who had to touch his wand to every one of the monster’s thousand tentacles before it consumed him.
Both my parents encouraged me to write. My first poems date from about third grade. During my childhood I wrote fantasies about Martians and ghosts, and plays about the Beatles and politics. In my adolescence, too shy to speak to any of my crushes, I poured out my adoration in anguished free verse. In my twenties and thirties, I wrote science fiction and first tried my hand at romance. Finally, in my forties, I actually managed to publish something (other than in my high school newspaper). My first thought was to call my father.
My dad and I shared favorite books, characters and authors. When he and I got talking about Sherlock Holmes or Frodo Baggins, H.P. Lovecraft or Edgar Allen Poe or Anne Rice, the rest of the family would roll their eyes and leave us to our obsessions. I never had any difficulty figuring out what gift to get him for his birthday or Father’s Day. There was always some book that I had seen or heard about that I knew he’d love.
I never did introduce him to my erotica, though. I was so tempted to show him the pile of paperbacks with my name on the cover, the multiple volumes I had penned or edited. I wanted to autograph him a copy of my first novel, telling him how much he had contributed to my literary endeavors. I wanted him to be proud. However, I didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. I recalled the way he reacted when I gave him Anne Rice’s BDSM classic The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty – an embarrassed grin and a “oh, that’s interesting”. We didn’t discuss that book much. Though I would have welcomed the opportunity to open up to him about my own pursuits in the world of sex and sensuality, dominance and submission, I sensed that he would rather not know.
I guess that there are just some things you can’t share with your parents, no matter how close you are. But at very least, I can acknowledge him as my lifelong inspiration.
