Tuesday, January 31, 2012
My book Restless Spirit has gotten me a lot of "ooh, is it a ghost tale?" queries. In some ways, maybe. In a lot, no. The term restless spirit describes my main character Tuesday Cane. She's taken a leap in her life and started over, basically, at a home that used to be her grandmother's. Instilling herself in lake front life as a city girl isn't so easy. But she's determined.
A running theme in my work is big scary leaps. Starting over. Fresh beginnings. New chances. Accepting people into your life you might normally try to keep out. All that good mindfuckery!
Speaking of mindfuckery, this book comes out at the end of April and did you realize...TODAY is the last day of January? How the hell did that happen?
Anyway, on to my point. Given my reoccurring theme, I wanted to base a giveaway on it. If you'd be so kind, just share with me a time you took a chance. Threw caution to the wind. Did a big scary thing or tried something new to you on the off chance that it might work out for you-make your life better-make you happy-fulfill you.
I met the man after a very bad break up and a long string of rebound meh-en (yes, I spelled it that way on purpose). The first thing I said to my sister about him was: "He's not my type". (I'm pretty sure that subconsciously this translated to: he's not an asshole/not a hot mess/not a jerk/not going to mooch off me/not going to employ mental guerrilla warfare etc).
I took a chance and I met him that next night for a drink. And the night after. And when I felt myself falling for him, I let it happen. And when he told me he loved me (very soon after we met, yes, yes! You love at first sight/super fast falling in love haters, it can happen!) I told him I loved him. Because I did. Even though it made my knees knock. Within a year we were married. Right on the heels of that occasion I was knocked up. And...we started that family I swore that I never wanted. Only I did. I just needed to find the right co-captain to help me do it.
Comments will be put in a hat and a name will be drawn for a paperback copy of Restless Spirit and a copy of winner's choice of back title (providing I have it. If I do not have a hard copy, I will surely have an ebook format.) And probably some other little goodies will show up with your books.
I'll run this until the book drops in April. So spread the word. Tell your friends. Tell your neighbors. Tell your mom! Share your stories with me in the comments section. Tell me how you were brave and ballsy!
p.s. Please be sure to leave your email address should you win. That way I can get in touch with you for your mailing address. Thanks!
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Crispy/chewy homemade Gluten Free and Vegan chocolate chip cookies sans the chocolate chips. I just wanted cookies. No chips!
Score! Awesome GF snack. Wasabi Cashew clusters. Extra score for me as I have become sensitive to peanuts but adore cashews. There's only one word for these...*addictive*.
You should have heard the shameless woop I let out when I found these. I could wax poetic for quite a while over how much I have missed egg rolls and dumplings. But no more. These are To. Die. For.
Oh my god. The man made Korean beef on the smoker tonight. First time ever. And I have to give him kudos. It kicks serious ass over even the finest beef on a stick. I'll be begging for this often.
And first smoked salmon. To save time, see comments above. They apply to zee fish too!
Hmph. Girl child got me addicted to trying all kinds of apps. This is a photo app and I can't decide if I like "gritty" or...
"vintage" better. These are the things that amuse me late into the night.
Saturday, January 28, 2012
'...if you’re looking for a hot book to share with your lover, this is definitely the one to get you in the mood.'
Fabulous four raven review for Gritty: Rough Erotic Fiction over at Black Raven Reviews. You have to love a review that starts with:
This book is so raw that this reviewer was covered in blushes head to toe as she read it. My DH actually felt my head to see if I was running a fever…that’s until I shared with him.
And thanks to Alison Tyler for giving me the heads up on this. Somehow it totally slipped past me.
To read the whole review go HERE. I love a review where the whole book is broken down by story. So, thanks to Tamara for taking the time to do just that!
Friday, January 27, 2012
You curl up on the sofa and/or bed and watch a season of Monk, surrounded by books and your iPad because you are sick. Hmph. Stupid self-awareness and positive attitude.
But it is Friday, so yay Friday! Have a great end of week everyone.
Thursday, January 26, 2012
My goal this year has been to say yes, basically, to Big Scary Things. Things I have in the past avoided--even when they might have benefited me. So the first one came along and I said *gulp*...Yes. Not long after that BST something else good came along. Something I worked very hard for. Something I have been trying to manage but didn't know if the project would fly and/or if I was good enough and *sizzle*... It did fly. So again, I said...yes. That yes led to me having to--as we speak--embark on something I have avoided like the proverbial plague for over four years. And it is nerve wracking and definitely a B(ig) S(cary) T(thing), but I'm doing it anyway. And then today, after a lovely dinner party for my mother-in-law's birthday, I got an email. Another BST. See, I think if you get rolling along and face your fears and good things happen, you make room for more good things.
At this point, I just need to remember to breathe. And laugh at the BSTs. They seem less scary that way. I try to remind myself that most likely, one day I'll look back and wonder what the hell I was so scared of.
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Monday, January 23, 2012
to the man for passing his big scary certification test for work. I was teasing him the other day that it sounded as daunting as The Bar Exam. I hope I sounded like I was teasing...because I was sort of serious. But he passed (as I knew he would) so that particular stress is off. Yay, the man, go you!
And I have been up to my earlobes in a new short story for an antho sub, wrapping up the current book and editing this little ditty that...*gasp*...no lie, I cannot wait for it's release. (This is from final edits so forgive any boo-boos)
From RESTLESS SPIRIT by Sommer Marsden
Xcite April 2012
He shook his head. ‘Never mind. You’d have to live here to get it.’
His eyes were riveted to my red tee and I was starting to feel naked. ‘I do live here,’ I whispered.
I touched his beard. I couldn’t resist. Normally I despised facial hair but with him it fit so well. It was so aggressive and yet seemed like something he hid behind. I petted it with the tops of my fingers feeling its wiry yet soft texture against my skin.
‘Just for a while,’ he said. He caught my hand, stilling it.
I stood on tiptoe and kissed him. ‘I’d like to live here a long time.’
‘Maybe you should go,’ he said.
‘Why’s that? You don’t like me any more?’
‘I do. I like you too much. And I’m not a good pick for someone like you.’
‘What kind of someone am I?’
I tried to pull my hands free but he wouldn’t release them so I played the sneaky card and pressed my body tight to his. I rocked my hips and felt the press of his erection to the split of my sex.
‘A nice person.’
‘You’re nice too. What you did earlier was nice. And I want to be nice with you again.’
His eyes were so fucking dark. Impossibly dark. And full of lust so staggering I felt it run along my skin like an electrical current.
‘Take your clothes off.’
I stood up straight and did my best to meet him eye to eye. ‘You take them off,’ I said.
He bully-walked me back, trapping my hands between his much bigger ones at my chest. He nudged me along until the backs of my thighs met the lip of his table. In front of one of those big blind-eye windows. I wondered if people could see our silhouettes outside. I wondered if they could see what we were doing.
The possibility that they could sent a thrill through me and my pussy clenched up tight, wanting him, wanting this so damn bad I could taste it.
Shepherd pushed me back – rough enough to make me break out in goose bumps. He tugged my red tee over my head and dropped it in my dinner chair. He worked my button and zipper with ease, shocking for such big fingers, and tugged them down.
‘Black,’ he said.
‘What?’ My head was buzzing. From him, not wine. I stared up at him, relishing the feel of his palm sliding along my belly just above my panties.
‘Your panties are black.’ He stroked them. From waistband to gusset making sure to scrape along my clit. I arched up mindlessly, holding my breath and feeling my heart in my temples. ‘And silk.’
‘Satin,’ I laughed.
‘Same thing basically.’
He tugged them free and I was aware of every inch that scrap of soft fabric slid. Shepherd dropped those on top of my jeans and slid his hands under my ass. I felt shy and bold and so fucking light headed I feared I’d lose consciousness.
‘Open your legs for me, Tuesday.’ His eyes were already penetrating me. A wave of pleasure flooded through me at just his eyes on me. It felt like he was touching me when he stared that way.
I let my thighs fall open and his eyes were there. Between my legs. On a place I rarely even looked – but he was studying me the way I’d seen people study rare flowers or beautiful butterflies. I wriggled under his gaze.
‘Stay still,’ he said. His hands pinned my thighs wide and stilled my restless movement. ‘I want to look at you. Before I suck you.’
I moaned then. Just as if he’d touched me. I made that noise and waited to feel ashamed, instead I felt honest.
A man had never said that to me before. It was always lick or kiss or God help me one time suckle. But suckle made me think of distinctly non-sexy things. And all of that ran through my head as I tried so hard to stay so still but continued to undulate and sway like sea grass in a stormy lake.
His hands were huge, spanning my hipbones, anchoring me to the rough wood table. He dropped to his knees, so tall he still almost looked like he was standing from my angle. His head dipped, beard scratching my inner thighs and he took my clit in his mouth and sucked.
My fingers tangled in the placemats. My hair swished under my head as I moved it back and forth to try and find some kind of equilibrium. ‘Jesus,’ was the only brilliant thing I could think to say.
He sucked softly and then harder when his fingers, unimpeded by panties this time, slipped into me and began fucking me. Deep thrusts that he curled up perfectly on the upward motion. My hips tried to rise up and he used his forearm to shut me down.
I whimpered, frustrated but so, so turned on.
His tongue speared my wet hole and then his fingers slid back home, filling me and nudging me into a slow sweet orgasm that took all the noise from my throat and all the air from my lungs.
Shepherd stood, eyes glazed and darker than I’d ever seen them. The low ethereal light from his sconces backlit the bits of silver in his beard and his hair. He licked his lips and I reached for him.
He took a step back. ‘Don’t move.’
He unbuttoned his jeans and shucked his dark boxer briefs. His cock was big. I don’t know why that surprised me. He was big. All over. Easily six foot six, two hundred and thirty pounds, give or take.
Surely he could palm a basketball or someone’s skull if he was in the cage. And yet, I was still surprised at the size of him. The length and the girth. When he took himself in hand and stroked, my whole body rippled with desire. I became kinetic.
He toed off his socks and opened a door in the sideboard and pulled out his wallet. I watched him rip the foil packet and roll the condom on and all the time, his fingers on his own flesh was a mesmerising sight to me.
I spread my legs, baring my sex for him as he advanced – shameless, needy, restless, like I might die if he didn’t touch me.
‘Stop moving,’ he said.
I froze. It took all of my energy to keep myself still as he traced my labia with his warm fingers. He tested me then, thrusting deep, my pussy so wet we both heard the accepting noise it made when he fingered me.
My cheeks flared hot but I kept my gaze steady.
Shepherd pushed the head of his cock to my slit and gripped my hips. ‘Do you want this?’
‘I want this.’
‘It’s not too soon?’ he asked, looking both aggressive and sincerely concerned.
‘I’m learning there’s no such thing as too soon.’ I let my legs fall open just a bit more and he made a noise deep in his chest.
Shepherd didn’t drive into me. He inched into me. Slowly. The rough pad of his thumb pressed my clit as he slid home and I watched him. How his stomach muscles flexed and his biceps moved and his jaw clenched tight. He gripped my breast with his right hand and lightly plucked the nipple until it stood up straight. Then he bent his bulk over me and took the nub in between his sweetly sharp teeth and nipped me.
When I gasped and moved he slid all the way in, forcing his cock deep into my body. Making my cunt adjust and grip up around him. We froze that way, sprawled over the wooden table – face to face. His breath hot on my face, his hands rough on my skin.
‘Move,’ I whispered. ‘Oh God, Shepherd, please move.’
He started to rock into me. Languid even thrusts that inched me across the table top until he gripped me tight and held me still. I couldn’t remember being that boldly honest before. Not naked, not face to face, not fucking.
I had needed him to move, to quench the need inside of me, and I had asked for it in a raw and honest voice. It startled me.
His thumb pressed and rolled, spreading my own fluids over the hard knot of my clit. Shepherd drove deep, watching me as I watched him. His hips pistoning so the small cut muscles along his flanks stood out and danced.
He grabbed my ankles, bringing them up to rest on his shoulders before returning his thumb to rub me some more. I arched up some, using his broad shoulders for leverage and he never batted an eye. His cock slammed my G-spot repeatedly, brushing all the sweet spots along the way and he gave me one final press and rub and I was coming, trying so hard not to drum my ankles against his skin.
He didn’t care. ‘You ripple when you come. Like tight warm water on my cock.’ He laughed softly when he said it and then pulled free. Offering me a hand he said, ‘Up.’
I stood, holding his hand – and glad I was, because my knees felt weak and watery.
He turned me, bending me over the table, spread between our still present placemats: my body lying down the centre between the two colourful swatches of fabric. Shepherd kneed my legs apart a bit more and then leaned over me again. Placing my left wrist as far as it would go and then my right. ‘Grip the table,’ he said and I did. I curled my fingers around the rough wood and realised I was panting.
I was terrified, mortified and entirely turned on. I was being studied like some girl-specimen and normally that would make me run. For whatever reason, with Shepherd, it made me stay just as he’d placed me. I could feel his eyes on me and my heartbeat sped up to the point of dizziness.
Fingers pushed into me and thrust in and out so that I could hear the soaking wet evidence of my want between my thighs. He drove a finger gently but effortlessly into my ass and I bucked then. Not from pain, from surprise.
I pressed my face to the wood and waited to see what he would do to me. What I would let him do to me. The thought of that cock of his trying to fit into me there was enough to make my stomach buzz with anxiety. The realisation that I would let him try was enough to send an army of goose bumps marching up my spine.
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Well, my brain has taken off full speed and is already starting to put into place snippets of a book based on said song. See, I have very little control over what teh goo in my noggin does.
The video's pretty dark and unsettling to some degree. Just and FYI ;)
Friday, January 20, 2012
(Or be severely limited in the future)
I do not love self publishing. I don't get off on it, or get a rush from it, or feel like I am particularly awesome at it. I do it because I have work I want out there, I wanted to try my hand at it, people buy it and readers seem to love having a vast array of works to choose from.
That may be changing for me and December Ink.
Wednesday night I was just about to go to bed when I received an email from Amazon saying:
During a review of your KDP catalog, we have found that the content of some of the books you have uploaded is freely available on other websites.
...Please reply providing one of the types of information listed below to confirm your rights to distribute each of the following books...
Your entire catalog will be removed from sale on the Kindle Store within one business day until you confirm your rights to distribute these books.
I freaked out. I admit it. The first worry was them cutting all my works (something I shouldn't have bothered to worry about, you'll read why in a moment). The second, more screaming Mimi worry in my head was that someone was using my content. Without my permission. My words. My work. The stuff I spend all day doing and making myself nutso over.
So I responded to Amazon, trying to stay calm, trying to give them my statement and assure them it was mine and give them information that backed that fact up. I responded IMMEDIATELY...within five minutes. Despite the late hour.
Then I thought of something else and sent a second email. (Because I am mental and yes, I panicked. I couldn't decide if I was angry or upset or sick. I was all of them.)
Next, I went to Amazon and surprise, surprise...I did not need to worry that they *might* cut my content as stated. They *had* cut my content. Immediately.
All December Ink works still showed: covers, blurbs, ratings etc. But no pricing, and each one said CURRENTLY UNAVAILABLE.
I was sick. It was past midnight. I was supposed to be in bed...so I did what any sane woman would do, I sent *another* email. (((LOL)))
I slept for shit, as any of you who are writers can imagine. I tossed, turned, fretted and fumed and when I was up not much past six, my content had been restored. But no word from my buddies at Amazon. So to me, the issue was not settled. And wouldn't be until I had it in writing. Which as of this posting, still has not happened. So to me, I feel like at any moment my work might go poof again! Oddly, not so upsetting right now. I'm pissed.
Which brings me to my point. Is it worth it?
For some of he phenoms out there, the ones I read articles about who have self published and earned hundreds of thousands--in some cases millions!--of dollars, it might be. For me, not so much. My concern is the amount of time and bullshit I would have to go through for a fistful of dollars for some of these titles.
Wednesday night (which was actually the wee hours of Thursday morning) I was ready to pull the whole fucking shebang. December Ink? What December Ink? Gone, thank you very much. No need to look twice, it's gone, baby gone.
But there are a few titles that do very well. One of them has gotten a super nice nod in the erotica community from Violet Blue herself.I'm super proud of that book and the authors inside. And honored, let's face it, that they trusted me with their work.
So, my thoughts now turn to bullshit versus payoff. I am thinking that I will be taking a Reaper's scythe to my title list, at least on Amazon, seeing as how they choose to deal with things. (As one reader/twitter bud @CovertAlias said, they should suspend payment not sales. So if you turn out to be in the right instead of the wrong, you are not losing your sales. If you turn out to be a DIRTY STINKING WORD THIEF...*ahem*...you simply don't get your money).
What I'll be left with will be an enormous amount of previously pubbed orphans. But probably less worry and stress. So, unlike what I'm usually saying to you readers...I guess I'm saying: Keep an eye out for less of me in the coming year. At least the self pubbed part of me. Sigh.
If you have thought or opinions, or God help you, a horror story to share, feel free to do so in the comments section. I encourage you to do so.
p.s. Random Googling of snippets of both titles provided by Amazon as questionable revealed nothing more anywhere that I could find but several excerpts posted on blogs as promotional posts. One on another writer's blog (clearly labeled "By Sommer Marsden) and one on my former blog Smut Girl which is um...TITLED...Smut Girl / Sommer Marsden. @.@
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Hooray! Look at me, all over Sommer’s blog! Yes, I intend to make a mess. Yes, I intend to fling my socks about. Yes, I am v. happy to be here!
Isn’t Sommer nice for letting me be here, when you take all of that into consideration? Sommer Marsden: champion of the little writer, beautiful human being, long-suffering putter-upper of me and my socks.
So without further ado, here’s some stuff about my new steamy twin ménage, Doubled:
Bobbi has been friends with the Hoffman twins for one long, glorious year. They’re sweet, funny and kind, but there’s a problem…they’re also hotness personified. Times two. And when they lure her into a kinky little game involving a blindfold and some rather unexpected fondling, she finds them much harder to resist than she’d imagined.
It seems they want to be something other than just good friends. They want a hot, steamy ménage, and all Bobbi has to do is decide if she’s up to the challenge. One big, gorgeous guy is enough for her.
Two might be more than she can handle…
She tried to tell by feeling out their expressions at first. Sebastian tended to smile more, so that would have been one clue. However both of them kept their faces pretty straight, which left her with absolutely nothing.
He’d been right to test her like this. They both felt exactly the same—smooth skinned, good, strong bones beneath. Those soft mouths beneath the press of her suddenly nervous fingers.
She’d never touched them like this before, after all. It felt too intimate, too real, and with every second that passed the urge to tell them she wanted to stop grew stronger. They seemed to be barely breathing, as though the whole game was really about her uncovering something deadly and dangerous, and she didn’t like that. Not at all.
She didn’t like them suddenly stepping away from her either. For one horrible moment she found herself just reaching out into thin air, pawing through it like a kid playing a game of blind man’s bluff. And then one of them caught her hand and drew her back in, only to reveal something worse.
He’d taken his shirt off. Whoever it was had absolutely, one hundred percent taken his shirt off. She couldn’t even deny it, because he had hold of her hand and he’d put it right on his bare shoulder—all big and thick with bone and muscle.
She could almost hear what he was saying, without any words—Can you tell now? Can you tell who I am now?
How weird that she still couldn’t. She could have seen the difference between them even if they’d both been wrapped in burkhas with only their eyes showing, but nakedness revealed absolutely nothing. It just felt smooth and terrifying and it gave her flashbacks to them both, by the pool. In matching Speedos, dripping wet, asking her if it was cool for them to stop by later. Had she liked the race, and could they stop by later to talk about the work they’d just done in Professor Patterson’s class?
It had been one of the first times they’d talked, one of the first building blocks of their friendship, and there hadn’t been a single moment when she’d looked at their half-naked bodies and thought about them sexually. Of course she’d occasionally thought about them since, in a halfhearted wouldn’t it be nice if they accidentally rammed into one of my boobs sort of way, but nothing with this intensity.
She wasn’t sure what had changed. Was it the blindfold? The feel of one of them, all heavy and firm and then the slight roughness of the hair on his chest? Or was it just the idea that she was touching her buddies Seb and Tobe, really touching without any good or sane idea why?
She heard whispering and turned her face toward it, but it was no good. Massive, swirling, weird thoughts had taken over her brain, and she could no longer use said organ for anything like discerning who was who. She couldn’t even make out what they were whispering about, because something was buzzing between her ears and her face felt hot and God, God.
In a panic, she squeezed someone’s arm. Said Sebastian, even though most of her wasn’t at all certain. Sebastian would have probably been the one to drag her to him, and that was the twin on her right—the one she’s just identified.
But she had the sinking feeling that…
“Victory is ours. Try again, Bobbi,” one of them said, though infuriatingly she still couldn’t tell who it was. The minute she’d squeezed an arm the owner had stepped away, and now they were somewhere toward the dining table, mocking her.
She reached out one flaying hand for the guy she’d just grabbed, pointing and trying to laugh back that there were only two options. So the one on the right, well—it had to be Tobias. The other guy—the one who’d probably just spoken—that was Sebastian.
“Which one of us is Sebastian, again? We can’t tell unless you get a hold and say a name.”
Definitely Sebastian, though she couldn’t get close enough to tag him. She could hear them shifting around—of course she could, they weighed the same as your average Volkswagen—but they were quick. They were quick and annoying and fuck, fuck.
“Come on, guys, this isn’t funny now.”
“It was funny when you were winning.”
She dropped her hands down by her sides.
“Sebastian,” she said, but he just laughed. And for one horrible moment she honestly wondered if she’d gotten them all wrong. Maybe everything they’d shared together had just been building toward this—some nightmarish fraternity prank. Blurry phone footage of her stumbling around, trying to paw their half-naked bodies.
And yes, she knew how ridiculous that idea was. She really did. But knowing how ridiculous something was didn’t stop a little burr of pain catching in her throat.
“I tell you what, Bobs—we’ll throw you a lifeline. We’ll do one more thing, and see if it helps you separate us. How does that sound?”
“Can I take the blindfold off?”
Lord only knew why she was asking. Most of her just wanted to rip the blasted thing away and have done with it. If seventeen of the frat brothers they didn’t have were standing around watching, well, so be it. She’d have the memory of a lovely year with two guys who’d at least seemed protective and caring and good.
“No, no, not yet,” one of them said, but this time she knew for sure it was Tobias. The tone of his voice was too gentle, too full of an imploring sort of persuasion. Sebastian would have just said don’t.
Though he didn’t have to say a word for her to know it was him, when a sudden hand went around her wrist. It reminded her too much of the roof, when he’d held her so carefully like that—as though sensible of how long his fingers were and how huge his palm was, and how she might flit away if he didn’t touch her just right.
It felt as if someone had struck a gong inside her. It felt as though her body was reverberating. He had just one fingertip over the inside of her wrist, over her pulse, and the very edge of his thumb on some tender part of the back of her hand, and it was… She didn’t know what it was.
Though she knew it got worse when he put his other hand on her face.
He did it in exactly the same way—soft, so soft. Just a hint of his fingertips against the curve of her jaw and then his thumb stroking over her cheek, while inside the gong struck harder and the sound sung through her veins, heady and too much. What in God’s name was he doing? Was she supposed to guess based on the way he touched someone?
He had to know she couldn’t really judge something like that. She knew what Sebastian’s hand felt like, but she didn’t know anything about Tobias’. She had no basis for comparison, and even if she’d possessed one it wouldn’t have mattered.
She couldn’t think clearly enough to employ it. One of them was touching her, and after a long, long torturous moment in which she couldn’t think or speak or do anything at all, she felt this same person lean down and press his mouth to hers.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
at Geekink about Fox Mulder and the man and being a total X-Files geek girl. It was supposed to go up tomorrow, but I am not sure what my morning's going to bring. It was also supposed to be about space ships...but turns out I had zero to say on that subject. @,@
Go HERE to see why Fox Mulder is my homeboy.
Restless Spirit. A sneak peek if you will. Sadly there's a big black box over it. And even more sadly, this could be our future. Make your opinion known by contacting your representative. Keep the internet free.
Monday, January 16, 2012
4.5 stars from Booked Up. Super stoked! I think that is Long Lost's first official review-site review. Nifty. :) Made my day. If I wasn't already feeling better (which I sorta was), I definitely am now (bonus!).
"I just love Ms. Sommer Marsden’s paranormal books, they have suspense, action, love, and a lot of twists. And I can't forget about the humor she uses to flavor the storys. Her style is easy to follow and captivating. It fascinates and seduces you, making you automatically one of her fans." ~Dolce Amore for Booked Up
See the whole review HERE.
I had one today. That is not my gallbladder. I am too shy to show off my girlish internal organs, heh. But it is someone's. So three hours later, I'm cold, exhausted, starved and girl child made me lunch and...bam! Attack.
Shoot me now.
Oh well, I'm doing my best to ignore it.
In other exciting news, I gave away fistfuls of Lucky 13 this weekend. If you grabbed one and like it, be kind enough to float me a rating or a review on Amazon and/or Goodreads. Always appreciated.
Now once this stupid thing passes, I will attempt to write sexy scorching nookie scenes in my current book. Thank god I did some sexy scorching research yesterday so I remember how to write it.
Friday, January 13, 2012
Or at least my lucky number, that is. 13 is my lucky number, for ages now, so I want to celebrate. No machetes or masks or bloody murders here. Nope, just good old fashioned smut for your weekend reading enjoyment.
What do you have to do? Just send me an email marked FRIDAY THE 13TH (send to sommermarsden[at]gmail[dot]com replacing the parens with the appropriate symbols) and inside tell me if you are superstitious or not. And then tell me which electronic format you want. I offer multiple formats from pdf to html etc.
I'll leave this up/giveaway copies through Sunday.
Now make sure you watch out for the vengeful guys swinging sharp things. Good luck.
Thursday, January 12, 2012
I used to write poetry. That's how I started this whole "I want to be a writer" gig. I wrote it all through college and beyond. Some of it was even published, thank you very much, she said shyly.
But it's been a while since words started rolling through my head in that format. In the shower. And wouldn't stop. So I had to jump out naked and wet and run to the bedroom and pull out various bits of paper to find one with some white space. And fuck! A pen. I never have one, especially when naked it seems.
The result is below. And...you are forewarned. It may blow. It probably does, in fact. But it's the first poem I've written in ages so I'm going to hold it up in the light, shake it a little...look at it. ;)
Happy Thursday. Tomorrow is Friday. Thank-fucking-goodness.
By Sommer Marsden
I miss it
Just me with words
No plans and plots for publication
Cliché: blood, sweat and tears
Ink on a page of white.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Monday, January 9, 2012
Swamp Shark. I bought it. It's on my hot little iPad as we speak. And I'm watching it as I write this. It's been a pisser of a few days, this morning starting off with a raging gallbladder attack (the answer to my question "I wonder if I can eat just one piece of organic, no nitrate, grain fed, bacon" being NO!!!!!) and then went downhill from there.
But I feel better now. Because as I sit here, about to dive into my current project to try and get some semblance of a decent word count, I am watching a movie about a shark. In a swamp!
Other crappy day feel better movies include: Misery, Legion, Constantine, Lake Placid, Christmas Vacation, and The Princess Bride. How 'bout you?
Now back to my regularly scheduled sex scene...
Friday, January 6, 2012
like I am. I'm sticking with my journaling...BY HAND...in PEN! in a...book! resolution for this year. Tonight I wrote: "frustrated about the whole no running thing."
New shoes and a great few weeks of improving. And then bam! Sick-sick-sick. Can barely eat, certainly can't run. And I'm fucking frustrated.
But since page one I've been ending entries with THINGS TO DO. And it's not like: buy paper, get new socks, clean the tub. It's more like: focus, laugh, turn off the computer, read a magazine, look at the sky...
Tonight under THINGS TO DO--first item: BE PATIENT WITH YOURSELF
I'm not very good at it. I don't even try it often. But I'm going to try it now. This year. 40 is the time to master the patience with myself. So maybe you're feeling frustrated right now about something. How about you try it too. With me. Sometimes I'm pretty smart when I don't get in my own way. Those shoes aren't running off without me. They'll be waiting when I finally feel strong enough to lace them up and bust some asphalt.
Thursday, January 5, 2012
That's how much lipstick a woman eats per year. I've read it here and there, and obviously it's an estimate, but damn. A POUND. If you are a regular reader a)thank you and b) you know I'm GF which means gluten free. And I have found in the nearly endless research into this fun little bubble of existence called Celiac, that it's the stuff you're not paying attention to that is leaking gluten into your diet. Like your lipstick.
So last night, after catching up on a year of The Celiac Diva on my iPad (so much fun. Felt very decadent!) I decided to peruse Red Apple Lipstick found on her site. And...well, I paid the most I've ever paid for a tube of lipstick (thank you two glasses of wine and the ease of online paying). However, I'm a loyal lipstick kind of gal. I find a shade I love and just stick with that puppy until it's done.
My shade-to-be is SECRETS. Not sure what I love most: that it's gluten free, that it's pretty or...the name.
But it's not a secret, because I'm telling you!
So if you are GF like me or suspect you are gluten intolerant or whatnot, then check them out. Or maybe you just want a kick ass red. There is a red on that site that looks to die for. I can't war red, it makes me look like I'm bleeding out of my mouth, but those of you who can pull it off, go check it out.
When I get the shade in my hot little hands and on my greedy little lips, I'll report my final verdict. Very exciting. I feel all girly!
It's Thursday right? Yeah, it is. Happy Thursday! I have a book I'm working on among other things. As usual, I feel three steps behind, but thanks to my New Year's promises to myself I'm remembering to breathe and do what I can. Minus the spazzing and nervous breakdowns.
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
Recently, I bought myself brand new, smoking hot, honest to goodness running shoes. The kind I've been jonesing for the whole time I've been doing this on again, off again love affair with running.
The week they came I was so dizzy I couldn't run. My vertigo was off the chart. I was nauseous. (All gallbladder related FYI). So brand new pimped out shoes--no running.
And the Universe, she laughs.
I got an iPad for my 40th birthday and used Christmas money to buy myself a Bluetooth keyboard. The goal was to get the fuck out of this house several times a week and be mobile and write. But you say, "Sommer, you have a laptop!"
Yes. I also have a bladder the size of a peanut and do not trust people as far as I can throw them. So...I had to pack up my laptop every time I had to pee when working mobile. MUCH easier to do with an iPad and a tiny keyboard than a laptop. You can point to Aisling Weaver and a lunch we had one day as the devil that done made me do it.
I coveted. I got.
Now the part that's ironic. Since I got my hands on these nifty toys, I've been too sick to really go and work anywhere. I don't trust being out and about alone that long.
And the Universe, she laughs.
I was going to get both my kids in school and then be a full-time writer and stop homeschooling. That's why we moved here. And I managed it for a good stretch. But I am right now researching homeschooling for the oldest. The school he is at is worse than the ones we moved here to avoid. It's wearing on his health. I will be a full-time writer, a full-time mother and apparently now, a full-time teacher/school principal/warden
And the Universe, she laughs.
But! I wear my fancy running shoes on short walks of the wiener with the man for now. Tell myself I'm breaking them in. I am writing this blog from my sunny bedroom (where I am about to take a nap thanks to pain induced lack of sleep) for a change of scenery. Just me, my iPad and my tiny keyboard and a pool of winter sunlight. AND I am researching the final steps of setting up homeschooling to try and improve my son's physical and emotional and mental health.
The Universe, she may laugh, but me...I adapt.
This is the year for me to pull my shit together and focus. Not make myself insane but keep my mind clear on what I want. I spend a shit ton of time worrying about and explaining what I don't want. Fuck that. I'm just going for what I DO WANT and the rest will fall by the wayside.
Now if you'll excuse me, that bitch of a gallbladder is actually behaving. I'm going to roll over in this patch of sun and snooze for a few minutes.
Monday, January 2, 2012
I already have some woohoos. Go figure. Ready? Set...Go!
1. This spectacular review for COMING TOGETHER WITH SOMMER over at BlogCriticsBooks.org by Lucy Felthouse. Where...among other nice things...this is said:
"Overall, Coming Together: With Sommer is a fun, imaginative and sexy read. Marsden is erotica royalty and never disappoints, and this novella is no exception..."
Wow! To read the full review, please go HERE. And if there's one book I'd like to push right now, it's this one. Please buy this book. Not a penny goes to me or anyone else. Every cent of your purchase goes to The Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. Very near and dear to me. [thus ends sales pitch].
2. WE KILL DEAD THINGS made Stacey's Top Five for 2011 over at Sizzling Hot Book Reviews. Pretty awesome for a series I didn't think anyone would read. What with them being erotic novels that revolved around zombie hunters who killed already dead things for a living. Score! And thanks to Stacey, of course, for liking them! :)
3. I said it yesterday but I'll say it again. I fell ass backwards into being a finalist in the Xcite Awards. So vote for your favorites before St. Valentine's Day. Whether it be me or the stiff competition I'm up against.
4. Another December Ink short went up yesterday. An oldie but a hottie (and a fave in the humor department) called Get Me, Got Me, Good. This erotic romantic comedy is available at ARe, Bookstrand, 1 Place for Romance and on Kindle. Ta and da.
I think that's everything. Happy um...Monday. Yeah, see, I've lost track of time.
Sunday, January 1, 2012
Somehow someone/s voted me in for the Xcite Awards. And somehow I became a finalist for category two. First, thanks so much. You rock and roll! :) Secondly, just click the giant badge to vote if that floats your boat. Or go HERE.
Happy New Year, all. Let's hope this year kicks all kinds of serious ass-age.