Serious research

"... introductions began with an attractive young woman who said, "My name is Tracy and I'm into heavy pain, heavy humiliation, and I belong to John." The next woman, a pretty blonde, said, "My name is Gilda; I'm into heavy pain, heavy humiliation, and I belong to John." The next speaker was a short, middle-aged, bald black man who said, with a big smile: "I'm John." "

Charles Moser, Bound to be Free.

And while scribbling on in the New Book I came to wonder, what do guys wear when they ride, I mean I can wear anything, but then, I don't have balls... so after a bit of research I came across this funny thread where a fourteen years old boy had nearly gelded himself on the saddle when his horse unexpectedly went off at a canter. Various experienced riders suggested a jock strap or somewhat tight briefs to hold the package close to home, but concluded saying that in the end he'd have to stuff an hand down his pants occasionally to pull the good up. To which the young nearly-eunuch replied somewhat shocked, "I can't stuff a hand in my pants, my mom and girlfriend always come to see me riding!".

I don't know, but I never giggled so much while writing children books.

Baby Blues

"Sunrise" (unfinished) - K.W. 2006

"All of a sudden, with the perfect clarity provided by half a bottle of Chianti, I can appreciate the whole anatomy of my loneliness. I finished my painting and I feel lost, empty. An orphan.

While I was painting it, every brush stroke had a story, every highlight, every shadow had a complicated but familiar identity... now, even now, and I finished the painting only this morning, everything is lost, confused in the harmonious whole of the finished picture, and everything looks farther away, colder, and I am immensely alone, separate, away from his skin and his life, on the wrong side of the frame... until this morning, I was there with him, in the painting, and without me, he would not have lived, all the shadows, all the highlights, all his destiny was in my hands, without me, he would have never lived, the painting breathed my breath, if I had died yesterday it would have died with me, if I died now, the painting would remain... our lives are not bound anymore.

I finished "Sharp Edge" and lost it.

I finished "Sharp Edge" and I will never LIVE it again.

I finished "Sharp Edge" and I am alone, alone, alone."

(From my journal, 2005)

I always have a terrific bout of depression whenever I finish any really heartfelt creative project, and I still have not quite recovered from finishing my last story ("Head-shy").

I feel as if my characters kicked me out of their world, ok, thank you, we don't need you anymore now, go play somewhere else. Assholes.

Dreamweaver

"Dreamweaver", K.W. 2011

"He does not need opium. He has the gift of reverie." ~Anais Nin

Book title giggles

So, off I go to the Kindle store  to see if I can download "Bound to be free: SM experience", and what I find is "Bound to be Free: Evangelical Catholic Engagements in Ecclesiology, Ethics and Ecumenism"  (the second book is by far the most recent)... oh Lord, lmao!!

I wonder if the author of this thing ever bothered to google his chosen title before publishing or if he just found himself on the same Amazon page with the-really-naughty gang by surprise.

The Last Song

"Running from you" K.W. 2011

"Listen now, please
Because this is the last song, my love
The last time I call your name to the shadows

I am going now, my love
I am walking now
While I still can
While I still can smile, my dear
It’s the last song, the last verse
The last time I whisper your skin to the falling dew

I sing this song quietly
Humming your heartbeat to the forest
Telling the trees of your eyes and your brows
I sing for the silent oaks the ballad of your hands
For the last time
I sing a caress through your shoulder blades
Down the length of your spine

There is no music but the wind through the leaves
But that is the harmony of your haunches
Of your hips
It’s the music of your cat-like feet
Of your forearms, of your collar-bones

I whistle to the stones and the winding path
A tune for your jaw-line
And one for your throat
A tune along the ripple of your ribcage
And a long tender one down and down
Where my desire and yours converge
Untouched

It is the last song, my love
The last lines
The last rhymes
Before nightfall claims my voice
Before love splits my heart
Before the wind stops the chant of your lips
To intone a dirge to my lost soul

As I walk softly into the gathering dusk
Threading the silent way of the forest
Past the split oak
Over the fallen pine that will never shiver again
Down the whispering fern glade
The quiet song I sing for your eyes
For your searing eyes, my dear
Is the last song, the very last

My love."


("The Last Song" by K.W. 2011)

About rejection blues and the need for perspective

Some weeks ago, I finished my own edit of Black Carnival, at the same time as agents rejections for my other book, The Dragon Tree, slowly trickled in. My writing confidence flattened to an omelette by the rejections, despite the positive feedback from my beta readers, I took a solemn oath that I would never, ever submit my new novel to anybody. A-ny-bo-dy. Period. The world would have to live on as it could, scraping a sorry existence out of nothing, without the blessing of my scintillating prose. I was in a dead sulk.
Do you know these warty fishes that squat in the sand at the bottom of the sea, with a downturned mouth and a dead eye, looking like an inanimate weedy lump? Yep, something like that.

Luckily (?) I am blessed (?!) with a sort of multimedia creativity (one of my husband’s many nicknames for me is the Multitalentipuss) and I decided that since I was never, ever going to be a published author I could as well get my brushes out and do some painting. And in honour to both my unfortunate, tragically unwanted novels (did I mention that I was sulking?) I decided to paint The Dragon Lord. Dragon meets six pack, love sparks, HEA.

The Dragon Lord, K.W. 2011

And after spending three whole days away from the keyboard and the whole writing business and in the company of two such intriguing creatures, I suddenly emerged in the light of day a new animal, full of positive thoughts and energy. I blasted six paragraphs out of the Black Carnival query letter and synopsis, plonked the whole ms in an e-mail, sent it to Evernight, got accepted in four days, was on the author page in six, and voilà cover art is in, waiting for edits.
Dragon power! Attagirl! Sturm und Drang!

Mardi Reid, who is my 100% natural antidepressant, and who kindly let his gorgeous self be painted with my little green pet, is on Facebook, here:

Mardi Reid

Halloween special... or maybe not.

I wanted to take some nice-naughty pictures today, I had a great plan in mind, really, black flowing robes and cloak, black hell hound and corset, but the truth is, I am too cold to saunter around the woods in skimpy blacks. So maybe not. We shall see. There's still an hour of light...

In other naughty-news, I just finished reading “Lorenzo il magnifico”, by Tristram La Roche.
It was amusing and slightly surreal to read a story of this sort set in Italy, my native country; one gets so used to fantasy, S/F or period settings that it is almost shocking to read a sort of erotica-in-your-backyard book. A very realistic Italy too, dirty and messy, complete with Vespas, Alfas, dangerous drivers and obnoxious dog poops. Some details were not quite believable, like the perfectly punctual train, but I am a forgiving creature and will let that pass.

I really enjoyed the style of this book, quite a lot grittier than most romance I ever read, and almost harsh in places, but in a very engaging way. There is a wicked sense of humour (more of it in the next book, please!), there is a bit of a creepy thriller, heroes are mortal men, beautifully flawed and realistically shy of their own tenderness, and whether or not you appreciate the pitilessly honest urban setting, and somehow unromantic characters, you cannot fail to be involved in Luke’s doubts, fears and eventual happiness. So, yes, very nice, although I would have cut the plot by a half and doubled the naughty (very tasty) bits. What can I say. I am just smutty like that.