Wednesday, December 19, 2007

A Great Review for A Scandalous Arrangement

Jennifer from CK2S loved "A Scandalous Arrangement," available now in A Rose Of Any Colour, Book 2: Maledom, from Freya's Bower.

" Kayleigh Jamison is one of those writers who, if her name is listed as the author I know I want the book. No question about it. With A Scandalous Arrangement, she delivers what her fans have come to expect – a sexy and spirited tale roiling with numerous emotions, not the least of which is unbridled love and passion."

Read the entire review, and buy the book!

Saturday, December 15, 2007

Leading Her to Heaven Available Now!


Kayleigh Jamison

Tease Publishing

ISBN: 978-1-934678-44-2 (electronic)

ISBN: 978-1-934678-45-9 (print)

Leading Her to Heaven

As the eldest daughter of an English earl, Lady Susanna Cavendish has led a sheltered life of privilege and leisure. She has been taught that her northern cousins, the Scots, are barbaric heathens with no regard for culture or civilization.

Notorious warrior Blair Ruthven is laird of the fiercest clan in Scotland. Born into a society rife with blood feuds and an engrained hatred for the English, Blair learns at an early age that trust and love do little more than damn and disappoint.

Forced into marriage by feuding kings in order to forge a political union between their countries, Blair and Susanna must learn to find peace between themselves as they battle ages-old prejudices – and vie for one another’s hearts.

If you are looking for a lyrical voice, superb characters that draw you in, and fascinating out of the ordinary historical adventure with an erotic twist, I cannot recommend Kayleigh Jamison enough.

-Emma Wildes, #1 bestselling author and 2007 Eppie winner

"Jamison carries us through a range of emotions throughout the story, at times inciting laughter and at other times bringing us to tears with the depth of these characters' commitment and sacrifice." -Jennifer, C2KS, 5 Klovers

"This book is a hot and exciting ride!" -Regina, Coffee Time Romance, 5 Cups

"Kayleigh Jamison takes the reader back in time for a fun-filled action adventure…" -Angelica, Erotic Escapades, 4 Stars

"This reader would highly recommend LEADING HER TO HEAVEN for those who enjoy their romances set in Scotland. The author pulls the reader into her story from the get-go. With a charming lead couple, great supporting characters, and an action-packed storyline – this was an all-around winner!" -Susan, Love Romances, 4 Hearts

"...Leading Her To Heaven is sensual, well written, and as a historical romance, one of the best books I have read in a long time." -Talia, Joyfully Reviewed

"Page after page gripped my imagination, and vivid scenes opened up in my minds eye. EXCELLENT!" -Cranberry Kisses, Cocktail Review, 4 Flutes

“I absolutely loved it!” -Brenda, TRS, 5 Hearts

“Exciting action and thrilling suspense joins with the passion of romance to make LEADING HER TO HEAVEN a book a highly recommend.” -Anita, Romance Junkies, 4 Blue Ribbons

Wednesday, December 12, 2007


This is the e-pub/small press community:

This is the e-pub/small press community off its meds:

And I'm not kidding. The wtfery levels are downright toxic at the moment. Check out Karen Scott's blog to fill yourself in.

Sunday, December 09, 2007

Happy Birthday, Katrina Strauss!

Not only is Katrina one of my closest friends and a strong influence on my own writing, she's an amazing author in her own right.

Uh-oh, weren't you aware it was her birthday? No? Don't have a present? Well, here's a thought: Buy a present for yourself!

Katrina's dark, epic trilogy The Eldritch Legacy is a must-have for any romance fan. Pick them up here, and enjoy! Also be sure to keep an eye out for Katrina's new yaoi series, Blue Ruin, coming next year from Loose ID.

Saturday, December 08, 2007

Chat Tonight!

Talk to Tease Authors Saturday Dec 8th

at 8pm EST at

Be there or be square! LOL
But seriously you never know what you might win!

Thursday, December 06, 2007

"A rare glimpse of an insular culture..."

From Yahoo! News:

NEWPORT BEACH, Calif. - A dispute between two Gypsy clans over control of the fortunetelling trade in this Southern California city has spilled into court, offering a rare glimpse of an insular culture that has long settled scores according to its own Old World rules of honor.

The turf war in well-to-do Orange County has unfolded like a gangster movie, with allegations of death threats, a graveside scuffle, and nicknames like "White Bob" and "Black Bob" — details revealed in a police report and requests for restraining orders.

"The older Gypsies are pulling out their hair, not wanting the courts in our business because they'll find out too much about us," said Tom Merino, who is distantly related to one of the clans but has spurned his heritage. "Ignorance is the Gypsies' weapon against the outside world."

The Stevens and Merino clans, like other Gypsy families, have run numerous fortunetelling businesses in Southern California for decades.

The trouble started two years ago when Edward Merino and his wife, Sonia, opened fortunetelling parlors in two trendy resort sections of Newport Beach, not far from where the Stevenses did business.

Members of the Stevens clan promptly broke in, stole a credit card machine and threatened to kill the Merinos if they didn't shut the places down, the Merinos claim in court papers. Since then, the bad blood has only gotten worse.

The Stevenses "are very territorial," Merino attorney Tom Quinn said. "This is crazy stuff."

At the root of the conflict lies a delicate system of intermarriage and social customs that has defused tensions among Gypsy clans for generations, said Anne Sutherland, a University of California, Riverside anthropologist who has studied Gypsies.

Gypsies trace their origins to India more than 1,000 years ago. They migrated to Europe in the 1300s. For centuries, Gypsies were enslaved and persecuted in Europe, where they were scorned as nomadic thieves and con artists skilled primarily at palm reading.

Gypsies — also known as Romany — began arriving in the U.S. from Romania toward the end of the 19th century. Experts believe there are now about 1 million in America, one-fifth of them in California, where they dominate the fortunetelling and psychic shops in funky beach communities and other neighborhoods.

The Stevens and Merino clans adopted an Old World custom of uniting families through marriage to cope with intense competition, much as European nobility once did to avert war. A Merino married the Stevens patriarch, George Stevens.

But the family bond did not prevent tensions from flaring when, the Merinos say, the Stevenses demanded they pay $500,000 up front and $5,000 a week to open their fortunetelling businesses in the Stevenses' back yard. The Merinos refused to pay, and went ahead and opened their parlors. The alleged break-in soon followed.

Gypsies have traditionally resolved disputes in front of a secret council of elders that can impose fines, make territorial decisions or order someone shunned. They don't like to involve non-Gypsies, who are considered impure.

The Merinos, though, went to court after the alleged break-in and obtained a restraining order in 2006 requiring George Stevens to stay a safe distance away.

That the dispute wound up in court reflects an erosion of tradition among the Gypsies, said Ian Hancock, an expert on Gypsy language and culture at the University of Texas.

"It used to be that the Romany world was absolutely insulated from the outside world," said Hancock, a Gypsy himself. "But it's very hard to resist the pressures of MTV, and people are beginning to see alternatives."

He cited cases in which Gypsy women in Houston hired lawyers to get their ex-husbands to pay child support — something previously unheard of.

Things were calm for months until the Stevens patriarch died of a heart attack at age 53 last May. Edward "Davie" Merino showed up at the funeral, pulling up at the cemetery in a limo with what was described as a menacingly burly chauffeur.

Merino says members of the Stevens clan attacked him and screamed, "We will make your life a living hell!" But the Stevenses claim that Merino flashed a gun and threatened to "come back and kill all of you." Both sides agree that before speeding off, Merino shouted that he wanted to make sure "the mother-(expletive) was dead."

Merino declined repeated requests for an interview through his attorney and calls to his home were not returned.

After the scrap, someone left ominous phone messages and threatened to kill Sonia Merino and the couple's children, ages 9 and 11, Edward Merino claimed in court papers.

Edward Merino filed for restraining orders against four Stevens men and two Stevens women. Over the summer, a judge granted such an order against just one person, the new Stevens patriarch, Ted Stevens.

Stevens' nephew, the only Gypsy directly involved in the feud who spoke to The Associated Press, said the Merinos concocted the allegations and are using the courts to try to drive their rivals out of Newport Beach.

"They beat themselves up and then they testify that we hired people to come to their house and beat them up," said Steve Stevens, who goes by the nickname "White Bob" to distinguish him from his swarthier cousin, "Black Bob."

Stevens, who owns two fortunetelling parlors and a deli, added: "I feel like they've made me out like a character on `The Sopranos.' I'm a businessman. I'm a family man. That's all I am."

It's true, that the Rom are a very secretive culture; it's what made research for my novel Svetkavista so difficult. If you're curious about what's so interesting, check out the book!

Saturday, December 01, 2007

Accusations of Plagiarism Against Well-Known Ebook Author

Several days ago, a fanfiction author named Amanda posted on reviewer Elisa Rolle's LiveJournal that JJ Massa's book, The Edge, is a plagiarized version of her fanfiction piece, Another Time, Another Place.

Rites of Romance owner Ash Arceneaux was the first to blog the news, and within the last few days more allegations have surfaced regarding Massa borrowing work from other fanfiction authors and even New York Times Bestseller Christine Feehan. Amanda has also posted on Ash's blog.

I may get myself in trouble for this one, but...I have read and compared the fanfiction with Ms. Massa's book. I have spoken with Amanda, the fanfic author. At this point, I believe her. If it's a hoax and I'm wrong, I'll willingly eat crow. But this seems legit to me. And what personal stake do I have in this?

Other than the fact that plagiarism makes my blood boil, and I see it as something that every author should be vigilant about and fight against, nothing. It affects us all, because it could happen to any one of us. In fact, Amanda didn't even know about this until very recently. Someone read her fic and the book and has been trying to reach her for a year to let her know. It could have already happened to me, or you, without us knowing. As writers, our books are more than simple diversions - they are us. My writing is me; my heart, my soul, my blood poured out in black and white. My characters are my happiness and my joy; my sorrow and my pain. They are both a part of me and real to me. I am never more vulnerable to a person than when they are reading my work. Nora Roberts has related her experience of being plagiarized to "mind rape." Katrina Strauss, who was also plagiarized, has said the same thing.

A plagiarist is the lowest of the low. Bottom of the barrel moldy disease-infected pond scum. We as writers have a duty to police ourselves against this creative vampirism, and to stop it when we find it. To ignore it is, in a sense, to condone it.

A few bad apples spoil the bunch, as they say, and I can only hope this doesn't undermine the credibility of the small press industry as a whole. (okay, overreacting? Maybe. Maybe not.)

Not every scene in The Edge was taken from Another Time, Another Place, but some of it is word for word. Some examples are below.

JJ Massa's Book, now pulled from Linden Bay

Amanda's Star Trek AU fic

Philadelphia—the city of brotherly love. Yeah, I feel the love. Tyler winced and slung his backpack over his aching shoulder. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself off the teeming sidewalk and up the battered stairs of the old, red-bricked precinct house.

The inside foyer was even more chaotic than the busy street he'd just left. The room he found himself in was peopled with glowering teens, screaming whores, a few stumbling drunks, and a plethora of independent chemists and their staff.

Tyler dropped his backpack onto the desk letting the noise of its landing grab the attention of a surly looking officer who'd been flicking through a magazine.

"You want something?" he growled, "Just get in line."

Tyler eyed him coldly, nodding his head at the motley mass of human chaos assembled. "I'm not here to sightsee. My name's Tyler Baker."

The cop's lip curled in an outright sneer of contempt. He looked Tyler up and down rudely. "You're late. Lieu expected you a couple hours ago."

"My plane was delayed. I've only been in the city an hour," he began to explain patiently.

"Look deep into my eyes, Baker," he said scornfully. "See any give-a-shit in there?"

Tyler folded his arms across his chest. "You got a problem with me, officer?" he demanded icily.

New York, New York. So good they named it twice.

::Yeah, right::

Tom hoisted his knap-sack higher over his aching shoulder and stared with ill-disguised disgust at the crumbling red-stone exterior of the precinct house until the impatient bustling of passers-by forced him to mount the steps and walk inside.


The foyer was more chaotic than the street he'd left behind. The room was filled with screaming whores, sullen teens, a couple of blood-splattered drunks and someone curled up on the floor in one corner in a puddle of vomit. Tom wasn't sure whether the huddled body was a homeless guy sleeping in the station or a corpse.

At the desk a couple of burly uniforms had some crack-head pinned against the wall while a third cop performed a public strip-search.

He slammed his knap-sack down on the desk and the noise startled a bored-looking cop to belch and frown in his direction.

"What the fuck's your problem? Join the queue."

Tom curled his mouth into a sneer of derision, cocking his head mockingly at the bedlam that purported to be a 'queue'. "I'm not part of the entertainment. My name's Tom Paris."

The cop returned his sneer, sliding his eyes up and down Tom's body with obvious contempt. "You're late. The Cap'n expected you two hours ago."

"My plane got delayed. I only arrived an hour ago and I had to drop off my luggage."

"Tell it to someone who cares, Paris."


Chapter 3 excerpt:

At Chakotay's greeting, Torres straightened up, tore the blood-soiled latex glove off her right hand with a loud snap, and pushed her hair back out of her face.


Chap3 Excerpt

At Paytah's greeting, Medical Examiner Lida Amanda straightened up, pulled the bloodstained latext glove off her right hand with a resonating snap, and pushed her abundant hair off of her face.


Tuesday, November 27, 2007

Moonlight Romance Authors

There's now a new place to find me! Moonlight Romance Authors is a new blog with a nice cross section of authors from all walks of the genre. Stop on over and see what we've got to say.

Friday, November 23, 2007

The Newest Jamison

Well, I went away for Thanksgiving, and returned with a new edition to the family.

Shmuckers the rat.

I know what you're thinking. A rat? Yes. Are you insane? Possibly, but hear me out.

I love any and all animals, with one significant exception. I call it the legless exception. If it moves on land and doesn't have legs, I don't like it. Snakes, worms, snakes and worms...I'm deathly afraid of them. My sister and her husband have a pet snake, a ball-nose python named Dino who is, according to them, an idiot. Two weeks ago they put a rat in his cage to feed him. When I was there for Thanksgiving, the rat was alive and well, living in the cage with the snake. In fact, at one point he was sleeping ON the snake. My sister finally started feeding it cat food so it wouldn't starve.

Yes, it's well past time for Dino to eat.
Apparently, he has done this in the past. He won't eat rats that have black or brown spots on them.

He's a racist snake.

My brother in law stated that in another day or two he'd have to take the rat outside and let it go. That or let it be eaten. Me? I couldn't stand any of those options. So this morning I went to the pet store, bought the supplies, and when I drove back home this afternoon it was with Shmuckers the rat packed up in the front seat.

The cats are quite naturally curious, but so far they're taking it in stride.

Tuesday, November 20, 2007

The Muse is Back!

There are lots of reasons why the Muse stalls out from time to time. Writer's block, of course, which every author faces is the most commonly cited reason. More often than not for me, though, it's so-called "external factors," like law school stress, life stress, publishing stress. Those are what in turn lead to writer's block. I've had a bit of all three over the last two months or so, and because of that there's been little to no progress on Reckless Liaisons, much to my dismay.

But, I'm pleased to say, the Muse is back. Some of the external stress factors have been resolved, and the ideas are back. I haven't actually written anything yet, but Sebastian is rattling his cage in my mind, bombarding me with what he wants me to let him do.

To get back into the flow of the manuscript, I've been reading back over the chapters I wrote. And, forgive my moment of arrogance/self-confidence:

This book is good.

Really. Aside from an apparent love affair with adverbs in chapter 2, I keep impressing myself with both the story and the writing. Ideas spark from the oddest things. It could be the flash of an image in a movie (which led to Svetkavista), a dream with a bit of dialog and a snippet of a scene (Leading Her to Heaven), a what if question (Unspeakable). Reckless Liaisons started with one line: Sebastian never expected to see an unconscious woman slung across a horse running through his garden. It evolved, became something a bit more sophisticated, but the premise stands. And thus we meet our hero, and our story begins to take shape.

Here's an excerpt from Reckless Liaisons. Enjoy, and Happy Thanksgiving!

Sebastian Cade had seen many things in his two and thirty years. A massive black stallion trotting across the gardens of his estate with an unconscious figure slung across its back was not something he’d ever expected to witness.

Sitting behind the large oak desk in his study, sipping brandy and attempting to chase away the headache that had formed after a seemingly endless day of reviewing accounts and answering correspondence, he had glanced up at the rush of movement in his peripheral vision, highlighted by the light pouring from the kitchen on the opposite side of the manor. He shook his head and looked a second time, expecting the strange vision to have disappeared. But no, there it was again; the horse slowed, lowering his head, and began to nibble with enthusiasm on the perfectly manicured bushes hedging the northernmost garden path. The rider, who had been slumped against the animal’s wide neck, slid forward at the loss of support and toppled, face first, unceremoniously to the ground. Though dressed as a man, he deduced the rider was female from the tangled mass of long black hair, blended almost seamlessly with the nighttime darkness. Her mount seemed unconcerned – after a brief shake of its head in her direction, he returned to his grazing.

“Bloody hell,” Sebastian muttered, rising to his feet and moving to the door of his study. He supposed the situation required investigation. He was exhausted, and in a rather foul mood after seeing how much money his younger brother had spent on gambling last month, but he couldn’t very well leave a comatose girl sprawled in the midst of his roses.

“Milord.” One of the maids met him in the hall. She was new, had only been in his employ a week, and he had yet to learn her name. “Yer not going to believe this,” she said.

“There’s a girl in my garden.”

“Aye, milord. Did ye see ‘er too, then? I’d stepped out o’ the kitchen t’ fetch some wood an’ there she was. We couldn’t find William, so Mrs. Holland said to fetch ye post haste.”

“Tell Mrs. Holland not to fret, I’m going to investigate.”

“She also said to tell ye to be careful, Yer Grace.” The young girl handed him her lantern with a coy smile.

He grinned in spite of himself, rubbed a hand across his face, and took the lantern. His scar throbbed, as it often did when he was frustrated. “Do tell Mrs. Holland that I can take care of a small slip of a girl perfectly fine, especially one that is unconscious.” The older woman who served as his head of household had been his nurse maid as a child, and was the closest he’d had to a mother growing up, his own having died giving birth to Sebastian’s brother. She’d been wildly protective of him in his youth and little had changed now about her opinion of his ability to care for himself.

With a final nod to the serving girl, he turned and headed for the back door of the manor, then out into the gardens and towards the crumpled heap that was barely visible in the milky blackness. The large black stallion lifted its head and snorted at his approach. It was an impressive animal – ridiculously large for such a small girl, clearly bred for racing. He’d have it cared for, as soon as he saw to its rider.

“Well,” Sebastian murmured, crouching down to brush thick black hair from the girl’s – no, woman’s – face, “this makes things interesting.”

She was indeed a woman, he realized as he set down the lantern. Gripping her shoulders, he gently turned her onto her back and a pair of deliciously full breasts swayed into view beneath the torn fragments of her shirt, snared by the rose bush’s thorns. The rest of her figure was slender and girlish but the swell of enticing porcelain flesh which rose and fell with each ragged unsteady breath proved his damsel in distress was certainly not a child. Her clothing was crude, simple tan breeches and the now soiled, torn shirt, but on her feet were dainty women’s slippers embroidered with green and gold. It was almost humorous and had the circumstances been different he surely would have laughed. Her skin was pale and flawless, not the tone or texture of a servant or peasant girl. What the devil was a woman such as her doing face down in his garden dressed as a stable hand, let alone riding unaccompanied across the English countryside?

His eyes came to rest on her face, tilted to the side and resting against one slender shoulder. Fine, sculpted brows arched above eyes protected by lashes so long and full they brushed the apples of her cheeks in a graceful fan. He wondered what color her eyes were, and hoped, irrationally, they would be blue. High cheekbones and a tiny button nose gave way to a full pouty mouth and small chin which lent her face a heart-like shape. Turning her chin, he surveyed the left side of her face, and discovered the source of her unconsciousness. A vivid, purple bruise marred her pale skin, just above her left temple, and a jagged cut had leaked blood down her cheek, now crusted to a dull brown.

Skimming his hands along her form, Sebastian performed a cursory check for broken bones and was relieved to find none. He stood and lifted her into his arms, surprised at how light she felt cradled against his chest.

Mrs. Holland waited for him at the door, worrying her bottom lip and wringing her hands together.

“I need water and bandages,” he ordered. “And clothes. I believe my sister has some night gowns in her old room. Someone locate my wayward valet and have him tend to the horse.”

“Shall I send for the doctor, your Grace?”

“Not yet.” With a shake of his head he started for the back staircase. “Help me tend to the wound, and then we’ll decide how bad it is.”

“Who is she?”

Sebastian paused and again shook his head, glancing down at the bundle in his arms. In the warm light of the kitchen she looked even more beautiful than his initial assessment had deduced, lips slightly parted, the ugly mess on the left side of her face the only indication something was out of sorts. Her chest rose and fell in a gentle rhythm, drawing his attention lower, back to her breasts once more. An angel? He bit back a laugh. Where had such an absurd thought come from? It reminded him of the things he’d once said to… Don’t. “I’ve no idea.”

Thursday, November 15, 2007

Thursday Thirteen

Thirteen Reasons to Buy Svetkavista

1. Remember the scene from that otherwise awful mutilation of a film, The Queen of the Damned, wherein Stuart Townsend as Lestat plays the violin with a pair of gypsies on the beach? Brishen's character was inspired by that one little, memorable, scene.

2. Learn about a new culture. The Rom, more commonly known as gypsies, are complex, fascinating people. Find out why they're not what you think.

3. Like historicals but tired of Regencies and Scottish heros? (You better not be!) Explore something a little different! Set in 1760's Hungary, Svetkavista offers all the fun of an historical novel with none of the cliches.

4. Do you like music? Of course you do. Svetkavista is filled with it, the soulful sounds of the gypsy violin woven through the pages in a way that will make you want to rush to iTunes and buy yourself some Bartok. Which you should do anyway.

5. Kelly from AORAOG reviews called Svetkavista "sensuous, heartfelt, and truly of the best romance reads of the year" in 2006. Julianna from TwoLips "couldn't stop reading it and really didn't want it to end." Caro from Coffee Time Romance calls it "absolutely stunning." Cathie at Euro Reviews found it "extraodrinary" and "unique." Find out why. Do you really want to miss out on that?

6. Learn how to curse like a gypsy. They do it better than sailors.

7. Discover the book that put Kayleigh on the map. Initially published in July 2006, Svetkavista is Kayleigh's first published full-length novel. The buzz was immediate. Hop on the bandwagon and say you knew Kayleigh way back when.

8. Show your support for the new publisher everyone is talking about. You've heard about Tease Publishing, the new, women-run, exclusive publisher that is already developing a name for itself with its quality books, gorgeous covers, and creative marketing strategy. Show your support and satisfy your curiosity.

9. #1 Bestselling author and 2007 EPPIE winner Emma Wildes loved it. You love Emma. Therefore, you will love it too.

10. It's a KJ book. So you know it's gonna get hot.

11. Do you like coffee? How about coffee on the go? Keep your eyes peeled here for how to get your own FREE travel mug, just by answering a question or two.

12. Anyone who emails Kayleigh their receipt of purchase ( by November 30th will receive a press packet from me filled with fun goodies.

13. The first 25 people to email ( their receipts of purchase will be entered into a drawing to win a signed copy of Svetkavista in print when it is released February 15th of next year.

Wednesday, November 14, 2007

Svetkavista Now Available!


Kayleigh Jamison

Tease Publishing

ISBN: 987-1-934678-42-8


Print: Coming February 15, 2008


Trapped within a life where she has always been an outsider, Karina dutifully follows the wishes of her father by day, and secretly pursues her dreams by night. Raised within the strict, patriarchal society of the Rom at a time when discrimination and fear are at their peak, she is forced to hide both her love of music and her passion for those who encourage her dreams.

She seeks comfort in the arms of her dearest friend and mentor, who shows her that love and lust rarely confine themselves to the ill-conceived notions of normalcy.

When a lie, spoken in a moment of desperation, threatens to shatter everything Karina holds dear, she must choose between those she loves and her own reputation. Will the truth set her free or destroy her? Does she have the courage to follow her own heart?

If you are looking for a lyrical voice, superb characters that draw you in, and fascinating out of the ordinary historical adventure with an erotic twist, I cannot recommend Kayleigh Jamison enough.
-Emma Wildes, #1 bestselling author and 2007 Eppie winner

Ms. Jamison has penned an absolutely stunning and adventure tale that drew me in from page one, to the point that I forgot everything but the story unfolding before me.
-Caro, Coffee Time Romance, 5 cups

Svetkavista…is a wonderful novel of love and revenge…grabbed me at the start and wouldn’t let go.”
-Amelia, Joyfully Reviewed

Rarely does a novel come along with the ability to capture passion and pain, honesty and love so completely. Sensuous, heartfelt and truly beautiful, Svetkavista is one of the best romance reads of the year.
-Kelly, AORAOG Reviews

…a riveting story; I couldn’t stop reading it and really didn’t want it to end.
-Julianne, TwoLips Reviews, 4 stars

Wow, just one extraordinary, unique story!
-Cathie, Euro Reviews, 5 stars

An Excerpt From Svetkavista

The night air was damp and cool on her bare arms as she approached the flickering light of the bonfire, a distant beacon lighting her way across the field. A gentle breeze was blowing off the waters of the Tisza, its banks hidden just beyond the swell of small hills at her back. Her feet sank into the moist, soft mud as she gingerly picked her way through the meadow, the ground swamp-like from the foul weather that had lingered for the better part of the week. It had rained throughout the day without reprieve, upsetting the horses and making travel both difficult and exhausting, but Karina was not too tired to engage in her nightly ritual. She paused in her trek to readjust the threadbare wool shawl she had casually looped through her elbows, pulling the material up over her shoulders to guard against the chill. The garment was old and ragged, but not out of place when paired with the rest of her outfit; the entirety of her meager wardrobe consisted of clothes donated, crafted, or stolen from piles of trash left in the streets of the various settlements through which they traveled.

She was Romani, a gypsy, like her mother, and her mother’s mother before her. Her family wandered the land, living outside of society, on the fringe. Some called them vagabonds and vagrants, others called them thieves and heathens, but they were none of these things. They simply…were. Their way of life was misunderstood, their values misconstrued. The nomadic people were viewed with distrust and distain all across Eastern Europe, and lately the movement to convert or enslave them had increased in popularity.

The noose was tightening around Rom across the Kingdom of Hungary. New laws had been enacted by Empress Maria Theresa, requiring all Rom children over the age of five to be removed from their parents’ care and taken to be raised by peasants in the distant, remote villages of the countryside. They were then being forced into the Christian faith, with the relentless diligence of religious dogmatism. Rom were also forbidden to marry amongst each other, and their nomadic way of life was summarily outlawed, though they were not allowed to purchase land, and they were not permitted to own horses. Because of this, the Rom were on the run, avoiding large cities such as Pressburg and Fahlendorf, left with no option but to hide in the hills and the mountains. They were a stubborn people, and would not bend to the will of a sovereign they did not recognize as their own. The Empress, far away in Habsburg, could not impose her will on people she could not find, and political instability with the remaining Turks in Transylvania had required her to dispatch most of the Kingdom’s military forces to control border skirmishes. There was simply not enough manpower to chase the Rom.

Karina’s family was comprised of Argintari—silversmiths by trade. According to tradition, and law, she was expected to marry Argintari, and raise her children to be the same, if she ever married at all. But Karina’s dream was to be Lăutari. She would wait until mashkari rat, long after her family was asleep, and she would sneak across the camp to where the Lăutari stayed up until the early light of dawn, laughing and playing the lavúta, the flyèta, and the tambal. And then Karina would dance, twirling in frantic circles, skirts flaring, bracelets clinking until she was breathless and giggling.

Karina’s father despised the Lăutari. Music was an important part of Rom life, but he viewed the musicians and dancers as lower-class, without any useful, material skills. They were fanciful, frivolous, and at times downright promiscuous. Tales were reaching Hungary that in Russia the nobility were using Rom to form private choirs, which they would display at parties and society events. There were even rumors that such practices were now being adopted in Pressburg. The Lăutari who received special privileges from the Hungarian nobles were thought of as traitors. It was considered worse than being common slaves, to be mere entertainment for outsiders; it was considered, by most, a fate worse than death.

Not so for Karina. Her father called her impractical and foolish, but the Lăutari with whom she spoke in secret called her gifted. She would hum and sing to herself when she was alone, repeating the melodies she’d heard the night before, and would feel her hips start to sway instinctively. It was as if the music overcame her when she danced. She no longer thought, or worried, about anything. She let the song wash over her, closed her eyes, and gave in to the rhythm.

Karina did not have the look of a traditional Roma. Her dark blonde hair and pale skin were evidence that at least one of her ancestors had been gajè, non-Roma. Her sisters used to tell her that her eyes were too close together, her nose too aquiline, and her lips too thin—they said she looked like a hawk that had caught a sick mouse for its meal. Neither her two sisters, nor her brother, all younger than she, shared her gajè characteristics, and they had teased her about it their entire lives. It was a forbidden subject in the presence of her parents, and the one time Karina had broached the topic with her father he’d told her that God had not chosen to be kind to her, in more ways than one. The answer had frightened her so deeply that she’d never asked again.

The music drifted to her across the plain as she drew closer to her destination; the delicate clink of the bells within the tambal, and the deep, sonorous melody of the lavùta. Brishen had the violin tonight, she could tell even from this distance—no one else played quite like him. His flesh seemed to meld with the black, polished fingerboard, to fuse with the catgut strings stretched taut across the bridge. The instrument was an extension of his body—wood of his flesh, of his blood. When he played, he owned the music; he was the music.

The other musicians called him an angel. Karina thought he was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen when he was playing. When he wasn’t, well, that was another matter. Though Karina did not have much interaction with him other than to dance to his music, she’d heard the stories of his arrogance, his insolence, and his frightful temper. He was the epitome of the Lăutari stereotype. In fact, he was precisely the reason her father forbade her from associating with the musicians and dancers of their tribe.

Sometimes, she thought she saw Brishen watching her through slitted eyes as he played. Often, she was certain that she could feel his eyes on her back as she danced or moved about the camp. But each time she turned to face him, his attention was elsewhere.

Finally, she reached the small clearing where a bonfire had been set, the wet grass pressed down by the trample of horses and boots to create a circular stage. Wooden crates had been unloaded from the wagons and placed on the ground as makeshift chairs. Brishen stood atop one of them, violin tucked under his chin, eyes closed, lips slightly parted, body swaying to the rhythm of his song. His shoulder-length hair, rich brown in color, was tied loosely at the nape of his neck with a slip of twine. He had a strong, masculine jaw, angular cheekbones, and a light brown complexion that had been dramatically darkened by the sun’s rays. He was tall and broad-shouldered—larger in stature than most of the other Lăutari men in the tribe—but the violin suited him perfectly, nonetheless.

It was a traditional gypsy dirge that he played, one normally accompanied by a female voice, but no one dared sing. Not when Brishen was playing. The melody began slow, the horse-tail bow drawing across the G and D strings in a leisurely glissando that transitioned into a grating, dissonant chord. He held the notes, drawing them out, tormenting his audience with the unsavory sound before sliding his ring finger up a half-step, reconciling the note with harmony once more. Karina swore she saw him smirk, but his eyes never opened; his expression never changed.

Without warning, the mournful tone disappeared as Brishen’s tempo increased. He played faster with each passing bar until all traces of the mulengi djilia had disappeared, transforming into a fast-paced cante jondo. His fingers danced across the strings, his right arm a blur as he moved the bow in frenzied, staccato strokes. Several members of the informal audience began to clap in time. A few were inspired to stand and dance.

Karina caught sight of her friend, Papusza, on the other side of the clearing, and picked her way through the crowd. Papusza was two years older than Karina, and had been married for nearly ten years before her husband was killed by the Hungarian militia, several months ago. He had resisted them when they’d tried to take away his son. His body had been hung from the gallows in Pressburg as a warning to other Rom, and Papusza’s son was taken anyway.

“Karina, we weren’t certain we’d see you tonight,” Papusza commented, approaching her with a grin. She embraced the younger girl with one arm, and offered up a flask of liquor with the other.

“But we’re glad for it,” one of the older men interjected from his crate, not far away. “Papusza’s dancing isn’t half as entertaining as yers.”

“And your singing, Uncle, is about the worst thing I’ve ever heard!” the tiny woman shot back, but she was still smiling, and so was her tormentor. Her name meant “doll” in Romany, and it suited her perfectly. She had long, raven-colored hair that framed her face in tight corkscrew curls, offsetting full, red lips that reminded Karina of a heart when she pursed them together.

Karina smiled broadly and accepted the proffered flask, taking a tentative swig of the rich, brown liquid before passing it to Papusza’s uncle, Vesh.

“How long have ye been associating with us, shebari, and ye still can’t hold yer liquor?” he grunted, downing a considerable portion.

“If Dat suspects I’ve been to see you, Kako, he’ll have my head,” she explained, shaking her head at his offer of a second draught.

Li' ha' eer, Karina, we need to find you a husband so that you won’t have to be so frightened of your father anymore!” Papusza exclaimed, earning a sharp glance of reprieval from her uncle. A woman had no place saying such things, certainly not in mixed company.

Karina blushed and dropped her gaze. Papusza was constantly talking about arranging a suitable marriage for her, and the subject was a sore one.

Much to her family’s dismay, Karina was čhaj, unmarried, despite her age. Her younger sisters had married at twelve and thirteen, and her brother took a wife at fifteen. She was now twenty-three, and still under her parents’ care. None of the young Argintari men of her tribe had ever expressed an interest in her hand, and her father had not, to her knowledge, done much in the way of finding her a husband either. Her family blamed her misfortune on prikàza, a form of karmic backlash. Cosmic bad luck. But, in many ways, her unmarried status was fortunate. It kept her safe from the harsh legislation of the Empress.

Dosta!” Vesh said, raising his hands firmly above his head. “Leave her alone, Papusza, and let her dance. She doesn’t come here for yer scheming.”

The two women smiled at each other, and Karina nodded her head slightly in the direction of the fire, where several women were already dancing, the gold and silver of their jewelry flashing in the reflective light of the flames.

The music’s frenetic pace began to subside; the song winding down, growing softer, fading to a piano, then to a pianissimo, and then…to nothing. Brishen froze, eyes closed, bow poised in midair, fingers curled around the neck of the violin. The crowd paused also, turning to acknowledge him, waiting anxiously for his next song. The performer seemed to savor the temporary silence before lowering the instrument to his side, cradling it under his arm. Then he raised his bow and pointed it directly at Karina, singling her out amongst the dozen or so women that watched him.

“Bring me the rakia!” he bellowed, and his voice was deep and melodious, much like the sound of his violin.

For a moment she simply gaped at him; in part because he’d singled her out, and in part because to give orders to a woman not your daughter or wife was just not permitted.

“Here,” Papusza said, pressing the flask of brandy into her hand and giving her a nudge on the shoulder with the other.

“No, Papusza!” she hissed, digging her heels into the mud.

“Just take him the drink, girl,” an anonymous voice yelled. “Or else we’ll not hear another song tonight!”

Karina bit her lip, drawing blood, and closed her fingers around the neck of the flask, shooting her friend a dismayed look before stepping forward. She kept her gaze lowered, studying the ground, and stopped in front of the crate upon which Brishen stood. She raised the flask above her head, waiting for him to take it from her.

Strong fingers closed over her hand and she looked up, startled at the brazenness. Brishen bent down and brought his face close to hers.

Chindilan?” he asked softly. Are you weary?

She shook her head slightly and mumbled, “No.”

“Then dance for me.” He winked and raised the flask to his lips. “And I’ll play for you.”

“I’ll dance,” she said curtly, suddenly angered by his arrogance.

“For me?” he pressed.

“No, it won’t be for you.”

“I think it will be,” he replied with a grin, before straightening and tossing the flask of liquor into the crowd.

Svketavista, © 2006, Kayleigh M. Jamison

Friday, November 09, 2007

Reader Feedback

In the last week I've heard from three different readers personally telling me how much they have enjoyed "A Scandalous Arrangement," and my other work. This makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. I know some authors are too busy to respond to comments or don't care what readers think. I am not one such author.

I love hearing from readers because I am an attention whore I like knowing that I have some. As a general rule, we authors have large, fragile egos. I try to give other authors feedback when I have enjoyed their work, since I know how important it is to me.

So, next time you read a book and you like it (one of mine, perhaps? ;)) drop the author a note and tell them so! We don't bite, and you will probably make his or her day.

Thursday, November 08, 2007

Thursday Thirteen

Kayleigh's 13 Biggest Pet Peeves

Yes, I admit I'm in a crappy mood. So this is going to be a passive aggressive bitching Thursday Thirteen. Deal.

1. Ignorance

2. Immaturity

3. People who can't voice their opinions

4. People who complain constantly about a situation and then, when given an opportunity to voice their distaste to the very object of their suffering, back down. Goes to #3.

5. Dishonesty. Goes to #3 and 4 as well.

6. Bad table manners.

7. Clueless drivers.

8. Tom Cruise. I didn't like him before he went off his rocker, and I sure as hell don't now.

9. Divas. You know the ones.

10. When people stand over my shoulder. Or, when someone stands in the doorway watching television rather than just sitting down on the sofa.

11. People who have personal, intimate conversations on their cell phones in public. I'm really sorry you were abused as a child, random lady, but I don't see why I've got to hear about. (Yes, when I worked retail I actually heard that one - twice)

12. Passive Aggressive behavior. Except, of course, when I do it. Then it's fine.

13. People who drive the wrong way down one-way lanes in the grocery store parking lot. Seriously, there are big ass arrows telling you which way to go. How hard can it be?

Wednesday, November 07, 2007

4 Champagne Flutes for "A Scandalous Arrangement"

Cocktail Reviews had a chance to check out A Rose Of Any Colour Book Two and Lovely Butterfly gave "A Scandalous Arrangement" 4 Flutes!

Anna has been sent to work for a madam. Given the new name of Rose, she is thrust into a whole new way of life. Lily, another girl, has been instructed to get Rose prepared for her first night. An amusing exchange about the removal of pubic hair and the fact that two women could pleasure one another made me smile, for Rose is shocked by Lily’s blasé approach to what she does for a living, and Lily obviously doesn’t see what she does as anything but normal. Hilarious.

Rose is put on display for the gentlemen that visit Madame’s establishment. Uncomfortable and out of her depth, Rose is surprised when one of society’s prominent males, Vere Fane, selects her. He ‘purchases’ her, and Rose is sent to his home, where she is to become his submissive. Though shocked by this turn of events, events out of her control, Rose learns that her predicament isn’t quite as alarming as she first thought. That feelings and emotions that she has kept hidden are encouraged to run free. At last, Rose is able to be the real Rose.

I enjoyed A Scandalous Arrangement because it shows the character arc of Rose very well, that she literally blooms from a bud into a beautiful flower.

From the Desk of Mr. Darcy

"Bitches. This world is full of them. Unrepentant bitches I tolerate, indeed respect. But protesting bitches - those who deny their nature, I find repugnant."

Wednesday, October 31, 2007

Happy Halloween and Some Announcements!

Happy Halloween! My favorite day of the year, in my favorite month of the year, in my favorite season of the year (though here in Florida it's little different from my least favorite season, summer). Unfortunately, I am sick today and unable to enjoy Samhain in all its glory, but I do plan to watch a few scary movies and enjoy the fact that it's Halloween!

On the announcements front:

As you've seen, "A Scandalous Arrangement," a BDSM Regency short is now available in Freya's Bower's A Rose Of Any Colour anthology. I wrote this piece in a mad whirlwind of musely inspiration. The hero, Vere Fane, literally kept me up for three days straight writing his tale. He's very demanding, as you may have guessed, and at the moment he demands you buy his book. Oh, but don't let that be your only motivation, dearies: the fabulous Katrina Strauss also has a story in the book, "Efflorescence." Set in the 1920s, Katrina's tale explores the friendship of a young model and a Russian painter, with a special guest appearance by Anais Nin. It's an excellent story, and for those of you familiar with Katrina's Eldritch Legacy, it shows a softer side to her writing that is no less effective.

Aphrodite's Apples Press has unveiled its new website. To celebrate, all titles are currently 10% off.

And if you really want to scare the pants off yourself this Halloween, then I highly recommend Adra Steia's Swamp Baby. Zombies, cannibalistic swamp-dwelling freaks, and one seriously pissed off spirit, this book creeped the bejesus out of me, and I do not creep easily.

On to more me-centric things...

Svetkavista's 2nd edition will be releasing in electronic format November 15th, that's just two weeks away! Print release is scheduled for February 15th; more info on print as it gets closer. Yes, there will be contests.

Svetkavista's new cover is up for the November New Covey award. Please do get your ass over there some time in November and vote! Stella Price deserves a win for this one!

Leading Her to Heaven 2nd edition will be releasing in electronic format December 15th, and March 15th in print. The new cover is to die for. Again, contests. Many.

For those of you on the lookout for press packs. Yes, I have them. Yes, they're awesome! Wanna know how to get one? Well, here's the first way:

Stella Price will be at the Small Press Expo in NYC December 1st and 2nd. She will have some of my press packs in her hot little hands. T-shirts and coffee mugs are first come first serve, but it's in your best interest to hot foot it on over and pick one up. Why? Because inside one random coffee mug, along with the other press pack materials, is a special hidden prize. I can't tell you what it is, then it wouldn't be special or hidden. But free, signed print books and jewelry are involved.

If you can't make it to the expo, or you don't find Ms. Stella in time, never fear. After each release over the next few months I will offer to mail you your very own goodies first come, first serve. More details on that to come later.

I think that's all for now. Boy, this sounds like a newsletter. Time to take my sniffling self off to the couch and watch some horror movies.


Tuesday, October 30, 2007

Now Available! A Rose of Any Colour Book 2

Featuring "A Scandalous Arrangement" by Kayleigh Jamison

A well-bred lady and a rakish earl escape the ton and shed their inhibitions in A Scandalous Arrangement...

Sold into the service of a brothel madame to satisfy her brother's gambling debts, Lady Anna Boscawen finds herself catapulted into the scandalous, seedy underbelly of the ton when she is given a new name and her virginity is auctioned off to the highest bidder. Vere Fane, Earl of Westmorland is rich, powerful, and devilishly handsome, known throughout society for his carnal inclination and the pleasure and pain he inflicts upon the women he alternately ravages and worships. Bound together by unusual circumstances, Vere leads Anna through a whirlwind of emotions, teaching her to find the ultimate freedom - in submission.


Anna heard the riding crop cut through the air a moment before the blow landed on the small of her back. Another struck her, this time lower, followed by a flurry of strikes to her buttocks and the soles of her feet. Her eyes filled with tears and she cried out; the pain radiated outwards from her abused flesh and warmed her skin.

"Why?" she shrieked, the harsh surface of the rope cutting into her wrists as she attempted to twist out of his reach.

"Why?" Vere repeated, slightly out of breath from the exertion.

"I did what you asked, milord!"

"You did," he confirmed as the crop landed with another thwack, "you did very well."

"Then I don't understand!" The tears ran freely now, cooling her flushed cheeks and splashing onto her breasts, her breathing erratic and labored.

"Your job here is what?" he asked patiently, circling around to face her. He removed his shirt and she took in the sight of his strong, muscled arms, the crafted perfection of his chest. Even bound and at his complete mercy, she found him heartbreakingly attractive. The tongue of the crop touched her chin and lifted her head, forcing her to meet his gaze. He traced her jaw with the slip of leather, but paused to brush a strand of hair from her eyes.

"To obey you, milord," she whispered.

"Yes, and what else?"

"To please you, milord."

"Precisely. And it pleases me to see you this way, sweet Rose." This time, the crop dipped lower over the swell of her breasts. He traced one nipple, then the other. The pebbled flesh tightened traitorously, causing her to shiver. "Does it not please you as well?"

"N-no, milord," she stammered. Liar, her heart whispered.

Vere leaned forward and murmured in her ear, "It will."

Buy it here.

Copyright 2007, Kayleigh M. Jamison

Thursday, October 25, 2007

Thursday Thirteen

Thirteen Horror Movies Kayleigh Loves

1. Night of the Living Dead

2. The Exorcist

3. Halloween

4. Ringu

5. Suicide Circle (aka Suicide Club)

6. Session 9

7. 28 Days Later

8. Battle Royale

9. The Abandoned

10. Friday the 13th

11. The Hamiltons

12. Rosemary's Baby

13. Infection

Tuesday, October 16, 2007

Things That Rock. Things That Suck Part 2.

Things That Rock

1. Jane over at Dear Author posted this blog, which I found thanks to Karen Scott. I typically do not read Dear Author, because a lot of the things Jane says piss me off. (Sidebar: Opinions about Jane seem to be polarizing. My shockingly novel solution, unlike the traditional bitching and moaning about her, is to not read her blog. Imagine that.) I've noticed that a lot of authors are also lawyers, for some reason. But most aren't. Still, I believe there are several areas of the law every author should have at least a working knowledge of. One, of course, is copyright. Another is defamation.

2. I got a new cell phone, FINALLY! It's charging at the moment, but I can't wait to play.

Things That Suck

1. Loop chats. Just in general.

2. Authors who come in and promote at a loop when an author/group/publisher is featured that day. It's just rude, ya'll. Don't do it.

Monday, October 15, 2007

Things That Rock. Things That Suck.

Things That Rock.

Loose Id, a well-established and respected e-publisher (and home of Katrina Strauss' Blue Ruin series) announced last week that they have bid on the contractual rights to novels tied up in Triskelion's bankruptcy proceedings. If successful, Loose Id will then release all contracts at no cost to the author. According to Treva Harte, some authors will receive offers to contract with Loose Id. If they decline, however, they will also be released with no charge.

Loose Id's intentions in bidding on the contracts are fourfold: (1) to
facilitate the unencumbered acquisition of works offered to the company by
former Triskelion authors; (2) to assist authors in securing release or
reversion of rights to their work; (3) to potentially acquire and
re-publish top flight manuscripts that match Loose Id's publishing
guidelines; and (4) to reassure authors pursuing e-publishing careers of the
sound business practices and corporate ethics of reputable e-publishers.
I applaud Loose Id for this kick ass gesture.

And for another thing that rocks, check out my new cover, for Reckless Liaisons. Adra Steia rocks, and the cover rocks. Oh, and the book rocks too. Yay.

Things That Suck.

This wanker's blog entry about how to write your own novel. Apparently genre novels are easy peasy. Apparently there are also novels that don't have a genre. Apparently all one must do to write one's own book is to read someone else's book, take notes, and emulate. I won't even bother going into why that's a pile of horse crap, since I believe my own readers to be far more intelligent than said wanker apparently does.

Sucky thing no. 2 is the unconfirmed news that Twilight Fantasies, another small and relatively new e-pub, has closed its doors. That makes...well, a bunch so far in 2007: Triskelion, Mardi Gras, Venus (or was that 2006? hell I don't know), Stardust, and at least one other I can't remember at the moment. Plus Lovestruck Books, while it is not closing, is not releasing any new books from what I've heard. This is even more reason to commend Loose Id's maneuver. E-pubs are dropping like flies. I suppose it's unsurprising, considering the ease with which they open. You know what they say about that. Whoever they are, of course. Which is an entirely different blog post all together. But for now, I have to go back to my easy as pie genre novel writing.

Thursday, October 11, 2007

Thursday Thirteen

Thirteen Places Kayleigh Loves to Visit

1. Edinburgh, Scotland

2. Cajamarca, Peru

3. Moscow, Russia

4. London, England

5. Barcelona, Spain

6. Bermuda

7. The Bahamas

8. Bermuda

9. Montana

10. Moab, Utah

11. New Orleans, Louisiana

12. Grand Junction, Colorado

13. Savannah, Georgia