Svetkavista



Available Now!

Caro of Coffee Time Romance says,
"Ms. Jamison has penned an absolutely stunning and adventurous tale that drew me in from page one, to the point that I forgot everything but the story unfolding before me. Not only was the plot extremely well developed, the passion between the main protagonists was sizzling hot! This is one of the most titillating pieces of erotica that I have read in some time. Every secret fantasy played out for optimal pleasure."

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 chose 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?

Svetkavista is a haunting, sensuous tale that explores the blurred lines between love and lust, truth and loyalty, and one woman's journey to understand her own heart.

Excerpt:
She made her way down to the banks of the Tisza to quickly bathe in private. Stripping down to her white undergarment she stepped gingerly into the water, moving forward until she was knee-deep in the icy current. She paused to allow herself to adjust to the chill before wading out farther.

Half a dozen more steps, and the water was up to her elbows. Karina dipped her head back, soaking her hair, and closed her eyes, enjoying the feeling of weightlessness as she rested in the water’s embrace. When she began to shiver from the cold she straightened and glanced down at her torso – the white slip was plastered against her pale form, the flesh underneath covered with goosebumps.

She gazed at her reflection in the water, murky and imperfect, and sighed. Papusza had said that Brishen liked her. How could that be? She was a half-breed, and an unattractive one at that. Her one redeeming feature was that she could dance; and if her father had his way she’d never dance for anyone, except in secret, midnight rendezvous’ with people she was supposed to look down upon.

She slipped back down into the river with a sigh and relaxed her arms, allowing them to float on the buoyancy of the water. She drifted this way for a time before standing and glancing up to the sky. The first rays of sunlight were peaking out from between the hills. The others would be waking soon.

Karina waded back to the bank, pausing to wring out her hair and undergown. She laid down on the grass, stretching out beneath the creeping warmth of the dawn sun. There were clouds just beyond the horizon, suggesting that the day would soon turn gloomy and damp, and she wanted to enjoy the sun for as long as it lasted. She would go and dance tonight, Karina decided – for herself, for Papusza, and to prove to Brishen that she wasn’t unnerved by him. Maybe, to prove it to herself as well.

When she was dried, she stood and shuffled over to where she’d left her clothes. She pulled the skirts up over her hips, and was about to shrug into her shirt, when she heard a voice behind her.

“Droboy tume Romale.”

Karina whirled around and saw Brishen leaning against a tree, not far away, with his arms crossed loosely over his chest. She narrowed her eyes and looked away, but stayed silent.

“I offended you last night,” he stated, without remorse.

“You did,” she answered curtly, avoiding his gaze.

“It was a compliment, wanting to watch you dance. Truly.”

“Then there are lies more believable than the truth,” she quoted.

He grinned. “I don’t believe I’ve ever known a woman who couldn’t accept a compliment before.”

“And I’ve never known a man with such a perverse notion of compliments,” she countered, gathering the rest of her clothing in her arms. She made a motion to walk past him, to get back to the camp where he wouldn’t dare try to speak with her, moving with a calm that belied her nervousness.

Brishen’s hand shot out as soon as she was close enough, latching onto her elbow and halting her progress. His grip was firm.

“Let go of me!” she exclaimed, twisting away from him. In response, he brought his other arm up to circle her waist, pulling her against his body. Her armful of clothes was the only thing separating them.

“I’ll scream,” Karina whispered. “I’ll scream at the top of my lungs, and they’ll all come.”

“No, you won’t.”

“Yes, I will.”

He pulled her even closer, crushing her against him, and brought his face within inches of hers. She could feel the lean, hard muscles of his chest through the thin fabric of his shirt, could feel the strain of his forearm against her waist. His other hand released its grip on her elbow and came up to stroke her cheek.

“Then go ahead and scream,” he murmured.

She opened her mouth to do just that and he covered her lips with his own, kissing her hard and fast. His tongue pushed into her mouth, tracing the line of her teeth, and thrusting with a rhythm that, to her horror, her body seemed to recognize.When he released her he was smiling.

“I told you you wouldn’t scream,” he said with a smirk.

“You are a pig!” she spat, wrenching free of his grasp.

His chestnut eyes sparkled. “A pig? Perhaps, but a pig that you like.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Brishen. I’d sooner kiss a real swine than kiss you again!” she said, turning away from him before he could respond. “Next time, I will scream,” she called over her shoulder.

Svetkavista © 2006 by Kayleigh Jamison
All works © Aphrodite’s Apples Press, LLC, 2005-2006

Aphrodite's Apples is looking for junior editors to work on short story anthologies and longer works. If you are interested, please email hskinn@aphroditesapples.com or kjamison@aphroditesapples.com. Ms. Kinn is author liason and Ms. Jamison is Aphrodite's Editor-in-Chief.

A Great Review for Svetkavista!

Check it out! Five Cup from Coffee Time Romance!

With her pale skin, blonde hair, and blue eyes, Karina could not be more
different from her Romani family if she tried. Although her father, of the
Argintari branch of the Romani’s, considers the Lautari branch a lower class,
Karina is inexplicably drawn to the neighbouring camp’s music each night. More
importantly, she is drawn to both her best friend, Papusza, and the violinist,
Brishen.

Brishen is audacious, fiery tempered, and proprietarial in his
pursuit of Karina. He has no problem flouting the rules when it suits him,
especially if this will bring even greater pleasure to Karina, and thereby
himself. She is the motivating force behind his most beautiful and sensual
music.

Brishen has spent so long wanting Karina from a distance that it has
become second nature to him. Not until he faces losing her to another does he
step forward to claim her as his bride. Karina is unable to choose between the
two people she loves and desires. Can Brishen alter his preconceptions about who
Karina is and learn to give her the freedom she needs to be happy, or will he
lose her to his jealousy? Karina must also decide if desiring sexual
satisfaction from these two very different people is fair, or just plain greedy.
Can she choose between the two if it becomes necessary?

Ms Jamison has penned an absolutely stunning and adventurous tale that drew me in from page one, to the point that I forgot everything but the story unfolding before me. Not only was the plot extremely well developed, the passion between the main
protagonists was sizzling hot! This is one of the most titillating pieces of erotica that I have read in some time. Every secret fantasy played out for optimal pleasure.

Svetkavista will be available July 28th from Aphrodite's Apples Press!

Progression of Prose

I have been asked many times in the past (by non-authors, because those of you who share the passion for writing with me, know damn well) where my ideas come from. That is far too esoteric a question for me to answer; however, I can explain how I put them down on paper, mold them, and give them shape.

In my latest novel, I am currently writing a scene where my hero, Blair, becomes what may seem uncharacteristically dominant with his heroine and now wife, Susanna. The first half of the scene is told from Susanna's perspective, which describes Blair's actions but does not explain them. Now we've shifted to Blair's POV, and we'll get more into the whys.

I start with a stereotype: proper ladies do not enjoy sex. We've all heard it, but how and where? Blair is in 16th century Scotland; he certainly didn't pick up the phrase on pimpinhos.com. So let's think, how would Blair have come to believe such a thing? Word of mouth, most likely. Alright, let's try this:

When he was a boy, Blair had caught his father sneaking out to the taverns of Perth one evening, seeking the company of one of the local wenches whose charms were available to any with a pocketful of coins. He'd asked, with the curiosity and bluntness of a youngster, why a man would go to a whore when he had a wife at home. "Because, lad," his father had told him simply, "wives are to be cherished. When ye take one yerself, ye must always be gentle with her and no disturb her modesty. When a laird needs satisfaction, he must find a whore. A woman who would please ye well does no have the breeding to be the wife of the laird."

Hm...ok, good. Weaving the stereotype into a story, rather than simply stating: Blair had been told that proper women did not enjoy sex. But wait, in Chapter 8, didn't Blair tell Susanna that his father had married his mother for love? Had even fought battles with a neighboring clan over her?

Uh oh, plot hole! A man who would wage a war for a woman isn't likely to be whoring around in the middle of the night. Alright, can't use his father. Let's try:

When he was a boy, Blair had caught his grandfather sneaking out to the taverns of Perth one evening, seeking the company of one of the local wenches whose charms were available to any with a pocketful of coins. He'd asked, with the curiosity and bluntness of a youngster, why a man would go to a whore when he had a wife at home. "Because, lad," his grandsire had told him simply, "wives are to be cherished. When ye take one yerself, ye must always be gentle with her and no disturb her modesty. When a laird needs satisfaction, he must find a whore. A woman who would please ye well does no have the breeding to be the wife of the laird."

Yes, much better! Someone Blair would have listened to, certainly. Now that we have the presentation of the stereotype, we have to outline why Blair has decided to buck the trend. The first thing that comes, I write down:

Blair hadn't seen the sense in that. He especially didn't now, with his wife's supine, naked form shuddering beneath him, her breath coming in soft, shallow pants, hair fanned out across the pillow in a fiery shock of red curls.


He would never harm her. Despite her protestations, she raised her ass ever so slightly against his palm, pushing into his caress with the last bit of strength she had. Every bone in her body was passion incarnate, and he resolved to show her that she could, indeed, withstand more pleasure.

I like it. But, it seems to need more elaboration. Sure, she's sexy and he's horny, but there has to be more to it than that, no? So after a few moments of thinking, I start typing again. Our two paragraphs become:

Blair hadn't seen the sense in that. He especially didn't now, with his wife's supine, naked form shuddering beneath him, her breath coming in soft, shallow pants, hair fanned out across the pillow in a fiery shock of red curls. She brought out the beast in him -- that part of his warrior soul that coiled deep within, the part he'd spent most of his life trying to tame and to keep dormant. It was the beast that fought on the battlefield, the beast that wielded his broadsword with deadly precision, the beast that had scarred the treacherous Spencer for life. And it was the beast that reared its head now, demanded he take her, demanded he possess her
completely. Though if he were being completely honest with himself, Blair realized that the man, too, wanted no doubt in his mind, hers, or even his clan who no doubt could hear his wife's desperate, orgasmic cries throughout the entire castle.

The one thing that the beast refused to recognize was that she was as much his master as he was hers. He would never harm her. His hand fell away from her hair and smoothed the silken curve of her back in a gesture that was both soothing and sinful. Despite her protestations to the contrary, she raised her ass ever so slightly against his palm, pushing into his caress with the last bit of strength she had. Every bone in her body was passion incarnate, and he resolved to show her that she could, indeed, withstand more pleasure.

Gives a more solid explanation for his actions. But it's not very polished. I use "no doubt" twice in one sentence, and I hate the word "orgasmic", it doesn't seem to fit the piece. So now we tweak - and we ask Katrina Strauss for suggestions to replace "orgasmic". "throughout the castle" is clunky, and probably unnecessary. Always avoid loading a sentence with more than it requires. So let's kill it. Also, balance out the description of Susanna. Since I used "her breath", I should use "her hair" as well, rather than simply "hair..." We end up with:

Blair hadn't seen the sense in that. He especially didn't now, with his wife's supine, naked form shuddering beneath him, her breath coming in soft, shallow pants, her hair fanned out across the pillow in a fiery shock of red curls. She brought out the beast in him -- that part of his warrior soul coiled deep within, the part he'd spent most of his life trying to tame and keep dormant. It was the beast that fought on the battlefield, the beast that wielded his broadsword with deadly precision, the beast that had scarred the treacherous Spencer for life. And it was the beast that reared its head now, demanded he take her, demanded he possess her completely. Though if he were being completely honest with himself, Blair realized that the man, too, wanted no doubt in his mind, hers, or even his clan who most assuredly heard his wife's desperate, rapturous cries.

The one thing that the beast refused to recognize was that she was as much his master as he was hers. He would never harm her. His hand fell away from her hair and smoothed the silken curve of her back in a gesture that was both soothing and sinful. Despite her protestations to the contrary, she raised her ass ever so slightly against his palm, pushing into his caress with the last bit of strength she had. Every bone in her body was passion incarnate, and he resolved to show her that she could, indeed, withstand more pleasure.

There, now that's worlds better still, don't you think? Writing is a progressive art. We write, then we re-write, then we revise, and revise again.

Class dismissed!

Hello Darlings!

Long time no update, I know. Things have been rather out of control here of late, so I do apologize for not keeping you abreast of, well, me. A few important announcements:

1. Aphrodite's Apples Press will officially open its doors July 28th!

2. In relation to AA's launch, Svetkavista will be released July 28th! I had originally announced September, well, boy was I off by a few months. My debut novel will be for sale in electronic format in less than a month's time, and available in print later this year.

Several reviewers currently have ARCs of Svetkavista and I am experience heart palpitations on a collosal scale.

3. I took a break from my WIP, Leading Her to Heaven, to write a short story for an upcoming AA Anthology. Caging Kat follows the antics of one fiesty, sarcastic art thief who finds herself on the opposite end of a pursuit for once, and the man who has his eye on her isn't just any man - he's Ares, Greek God of War and Manliness. How long do you think Kat can hold out? Longer than I could with a testosterone laden god seducing me at every turn, I'll tell you that much.

4. Aphrodite's Apples is still accepting submissions for its Masquerade Anthology. If you're a writer who enjoys a touch of intrigue, a dab of anonymity, and a boatload of sexy fun, why not check out the Invitation and see what your imagination conjures!

While you're waiting for Svetkavista's release, and pondering the many suggestions of your Muse, why not check out Aphrodite's Apples Bites? A free ebook teaser with sneak peaks of upcoming titles from AA, you can read an excerpt from Svetkavista, not to mention whet your appetite for Katrina Strauss's Secrets Revealed, HS Kinn's Immortal Reveries, and much more!

And if you get bored with all of that (what, do you never sleep?), I demand you check out the Sexy Authors With Attitude and treat yourself to some of the new titles released by my dear partners in sexiness, including recent releases from:

Emma Wildes - the woman writes so fast I can't keep up (I still love her!!), just go to her website to check out her fifty nine new books;

Jamie Hill - I Dream of Eugene is available and she also has a short in the newest Whiskey Creek Press Torrid anthology, Summer Sizzlers;

Darragha Foster - Teaching Old Gods New Tricks, Book One is for sale, and people it is GOOD;

D. Musgrave - Performance Review

Jude Mason - An Acquired Taste

then read some older, but still great titles by the rest of the SAWAS:

Cheri Valmont - Sweet Summer Rain

Skyler Grey - Chamberlain's Knight

Nicole Getridge - Shielded Heart and Captured Heart

Michele Houston - Another one who has too many damn books to list. ;)

Alright, done with all that? Well it must be July 28th by now, go buy my book!

-K.

Alberto, Apartments, and Excerpts

Ok, so I didn't manage three "As" like I was planning, but I'd kindly ask ya'll to give me a break. I got home last night around 11p.m., after spending a long weekend in sunny Florida, which will be my new home come August. Our flight was delayed thanks to Alberto, and it was quite a bumpy, lightening-filled ride, too. The only plus side to the unpleasant flight was that I spent the duration editing a wonderful manuscript that I've fallen in love with - part of Sacrilegious by Savannah Jordan. This will be one of the first releases from Aphrodite's Apples, and I strongly encourage everyone to read it. This lady is going places.

Back here in Maryland it is cold and wet. Actually, it's not terribly cold, probably low 70s, but after spending the weekend in Florida where it was in the 90s, I'm experiencing some shock.

I really liked Jacksonville. I no longer throw up in my mouth (a little bit) at the thought of moving down there. My new apartment is, to quote H.S. Kinn, FAAAABULOUS. They are renovating the units now, and as such I was able to choose my carpet, paint, cabinets, etc. There is a screened in porch which the cats will love, and have much fun chasing those little lizard things that fascinate me a good deal. I did not see any gators, but I asked every person I met about them. I mean everyone. I may have made a bit of a name for myself by being obsessed with them and the "gator pits" as I call them - the little drainage ponds that are everywhere in Florida.

And now, to make up for being remiss in my updates, I shall give you an excerpt from Svetkavista, which will be released later this year, only from Aphrodite's Apples!

Karina woke at dawn the next morning, before her family, and long before the rest of the camp would be up to make breakfast, pack, and depart. Normally, she would be sneaking back to her tent at this time, hoping to catch an hour or two of sleep before breakfast. In happier times, the kumpa'nia would not travel quite so much, staying in the same place for a week, or perhaps two, before moving on. They couldn't afford to do so now. The tribe also used to be much smaller, but varying factions of Rom had banded together, united in disgust and fear of the Empress' laws.

She made her way down to the banks of the Tisza to quickly bathe in private.
Stripping down to her white undergarment she stepped gingerly into the water,
moving forward until she was knee-deep in the icy current. She paused to
allow herself to adjust to the chill before wading out farther.

Half a dozen more steps, and the water was up to her elbows. Karina dipped her head back, soaking her hair, and closed her eyes, enjoying the feeling of weightlessness as she rested in the water's embrace. When she began to shiver from the cold she straightened and glanced down at her torso -- the white slip was plastered against her pale form, the flesh underneath covered with goosebumps.

She gazed at her reflection in the water, murky and imperfect, and sighed. Papusza had said that Brishen liked her. How could that be? She was a half-breed, and an unattractive one at that. Her one redeeming feature was that she could dance; and if her father had his way she'd never dance for anyone, except in secret, midnight rendezvous' with people she was supposed to look down upon.

She slipped back down into the river with a sigh and relaxed her arms, allowing them to float on the buoyancy of the water. She drifted this way for a time before standing and glancing up to the sky. The first rays of sunlight were peaking out from between the hills. The others would be waking soon.

Karina waded back to the bank, pausing to wring out her hair and undergown. She laid down on the grass, stretching out beneath the creeping warmth of the dawn sun. There were clouds just beyond the horizon, suggesting that the day would soon turn gloomy and damp, and she wanted to enjoy the sun for as long as it lasted. She would go and dance tonight, Karina decided -- for herself, for Papusza, and to prove to Brishen that she wasn't unnerved by him. Maybe, to prove it to herself as
well.

When she was dried, she stood and shuffled over to where she'd left her clothes. She pulled the skirts up over her hips, and was about to shrug into her shirt, when she heard a voice behind her.

"Droboy tume Romale."

Karina whirled around and saw Brishen leaning against a tree, not far away, with his arms crossed loosely over his chest. She narrowed her eyes and looked away, but
stayed silent.

"I offended you last night," he stated, without remorse.

"You did," she answered curtly, avoiding his gaze.

"It was a compliment, wanting to watch you dance. Truly."

"Then there are lies more believable than the truth," she quoted.

He grinned. "I don't believe I've ever known a woman who couldn't accept a compliment before."

"And I've never known a man with such a perverse notion of compliments," she countered, gathering the rest of her clothing in her arms. She made a motion to walk past him, to get back to the camp where he wouldn't dare try to speak with her, moving with a calm that belied her nervousness.

Brishen's hand shot out as soon as she was close enough, latching onto her elbow and halting her progress. His grip was firm.

"Let go of me!" she exclaimed, twisting away from him. In response, he brought his other arm up to circle her waist, pulling her against his body. Her armful of clothes was the only thing separating them.

"I'll scream," Karina whispered. "I'll scream at the top of my lungs, and they'll all come."

"No, you won't."

"Yes, I will."

He pulled her even closer, crushing her against him, and brought his face within inches of hers. She could feel the lean, hard muscles of his chest through the thin fabric of his shirt, could feel the strain of his forearm against her waist. His other hand released its grip on her elbow and came up to stroke her cheek.

"Then go ahead and scream," he murmured.

She opened her mouth to do just that and he covered her lips with his own, kissing
her hard and fast. His tongue pushed into her mouth, tracing the line of her teeth, and thrusting with a rhythm that, to her horror, her body seemed to recognize.

When he released her he was smiling. "I told you you wouldn't scream," he said with a smirk.

Some updates

Hello, lovelies! It has been a busy couple of weeks for me, and I wanted to take a moment to fill you all in. Time refuses to slow down and cut me some slack, and my move to Florida continues to race at me in all its anxiety-producing glory.

Svetkavista is finished. I've gotten the manuscript back from my fabulous editor, Alisha Vosper. I'm about half-way through my final read-through, and yes, I have made some minor changes so far. Once that is done, I'll be sending the final manuscript on to the layout coordinator. We also have a tentative release date of December for the printed version of the novel.

I've started my next project, which at the moment has no title. Set in 1534, amidst the political turmoil of the reign of Henry VIII, we get to follow the adventures of Lord Blair Ruthven and his bride to be, Lady Susanna Cavendish. Put a prim and proper English lady with a rugged Scottish Laird, and what do we have? Hot sex, for one thing. The story itself is a rather classic, archetypal one, and I freely admit as much. Therefore the making or breaking of this project will be in the telling. Oh, I do love a challenge.

I've also teamed up with an absolutely amazing group of ladies and become the newest Sexy Author With Attitude! You've heard me rave about Emma Wildes and Skyler Grey, who are both Sexy Authors. I'll be blogging with them, partying with them, and hell, being the slightly scary eccentric that I am. :)

Girlphoria

Hey, all! My short story, Dinner Party, will be featured in the June Rebirth issue of Girlphoria. Look for it!

Just Checking In

I've been insanely busy this week, having reached the point in my novel where the Muse takes complete control and I write like a fiend until completion.

I've also been reading a great deal.

Which brings me to the latest addition to my blog layout - the Recommended Reading Box. I'll add to the list as I read new wonderful things. And by "anything by ..." I mean just that. I've read numerous works by that author and would recommend each and every one of them. So enjoy!

ARCs for sale on ebay?

I need to call attention to something going on that, quite frankly, disturbs the fuck out of me. Fellow novelist PC Cast stumbled onto several ARCs of her novel being sold on ebay. For those of you who don't know, ARC stands for Advanced Review Copy. These are advanced copies of novels - sometimes unedited - that are sent to various readers at no charge so that they may read and review the work. You know how sometimes you'll see quotes on a book jacket of this person or that person saying "This book was a nonstop thrillride!"? ARCs.

ARCs are not for sale. They're not meant to be sold later, either, because the author herself has made no profit from the ARC whatsoever. Even more infuriating is the fact that these auctions are closing at $30, sometimes more. One woman said she saw an ARC of a Janet Evanovich book go for over $600. That is $600 of pure profit for the asstard who created the listing. Ms. Evanovich will not see one single penny of that.

Some of you may say, "well, that's capitalism for you".

No, it's not. It's theft. A rather nasty debate on the subject arose over at Smart Bitches Who Love Trashy Novels. Some people were claiming that just because the cover of the book says, "ARC - Not for Sale" doesn't make it illegal to sell them.

Bullshit. It's called Copyright violation.

So please, folks, if you happen across an ARC for sale on ebay, lend a hand. Report the sale to the publishing company, or to ebay, or both. If you can't be arsed, at least don't bid on the damn thing.

We authors are not greedy people. We aren't. I don't write for the money, and I don't know of any author who does. We write because it's who we are. But that doesn't mean it's okay to let this bs continue.

Look At Me Go!

Yes, the website was updated again today. I've added a complete short story, Dinner Party. Enjoy!

Monday Update

Yes, I am an Author Pimp extraordinary! (Note: I do not receive any monetary remuneration for said pimpage and therefore cannot, technically, be dubbed a pimp, oh you investigators of ethical compliance for admittance to the Bar)

This weekend I read three novels (yes, I have been quite busy).

Sword of Rhoswen by Brenda Williamson was my favorite of the three by far. Ms. Williamson mixes elements of fantasy, history, and romance in such a way that I was drawn into the novel and read it nearly all at once, staying up past 3am on Saturday to finish it. Her writing is clean and refined, her descriptions vivid without being overkill, and her character development satisfyingly thorough. Rumor has it there is a sequel in the works.

Magic in the Blood by Silvia Violet is another novel from Samhain Publishing. The plot is intriguing and the characters moving, but the novel ends up being "your typical vampire erotica" more often than not. There were some places where I feel very strongly that Ms. Violet's editor steered her wrong, or just plain did a piss poor job. Her writing lacks a refinement of sorts, and there were typographical and grammatical errors that an editor should have caught, but it is by no means a bad read.

I was speaking with H.S. Kinn the other day about critical and editorial reading. I find it nearly impossible to turn off "editor mode" when I read these days, correcting things in my head even when I am reading something for fun. It's frustrating.

Don't take my overly critical opinions too seriously. When I say that a book was poorly edited, I'm not faulting the author. Each and every one of us has "bad habits". Me? I love adverbs. It's a love/hate relationship, in truth, because I hate that I love them. But I am madly in lust with them and use them desperately as I fervently write my novels. My characters say things quickly. They kiss greedily, hungrily, desperately. Yes, adverbs.

I also, according to my own editor, like circles far too much. "He circled her breasts with his hands". "She moved her hips in tiny circles". Alisha tells me someone is always circling in my sex scenes.

Oops.

This is why an editor is crucial. This is why Anne Rice is, in my humble and impoverished opinion, a moron when she says that "novel writing is a virtuoso performance". I counter that with a familiar saying amongst us actual virtuosos: "There is no such thing as a perfect performance". My violin tutor used to tell me that all the time - an incessant perfectionist, I would beat myself up endlessly over even the smallest error in any given audition, performance, or hell, even practice. I thought he was just trying to keep me calm. Then I took a master class from Daniel Heifeitz, grandson of Jasha Heifeitz (considered by some to be the violinist of the 20th century), and he told me the same thing.

When I took a master class with Scott St. John and played Paganini's Variations on his Stradavarius, guess what? He told me the same goddamn thing. I think that was when I started to believe it. There is no such thing as a perfect performance. Hell, we could take it one step further and say nothing in this world is perfect, and I could begin a discourse on Plato's Forms and you'd all hate me forever.

My point is this: An extra pair of eyes is never a bad thing, and no matter how many times an author reads over her own work, she's never going to catch everything. It's too close to her, too personal. So if given the opportunity to have someone help her to improve her writing, she should always accept, with open arms. Always.

*puts away soapbox*

I found out today that I won this month's Sexy Authors With Attitude Contest! My prize is a free copy of Chamberlain's Knight by Skyler Grey. I haven't read anything of Skyler's yet, but if she's anything like her fellow Sexy Author Emma Wildes, I know I will love it!

My website has been updated. I have added a much longer excerpt from Svetkavista, and updated my links page. If you aren't on there and would like to be, please drop me a line. I love to pimp. It is my destiny.

Pre-Caffeine Musings

Good morning, faithful readers, of which I believe there are now a grand total of...

...two. Including myself.

Not to worry, Ms. Kinn, when I'm famous in ten years, you can say, "I read her Blog back when nobody else did".
"Well what did she write about in her blog?" Barbara Walters will ask.
"Not a whole lot," you'll respond.
"Was it interesting at least?" Walters again.
"Not particularly."

"I want to be a saint."

That is the first sentence of Anne Rice's latest (and supposedly last) Vampire Chronicles novel, Blood Canticle.

"I want to be a saint. I want to save souls by the millions. I
want to do good far and wide. I want to fight evil! I want my
life-sized statue every church."

Well I am not Lestat de Lioncourt. I'm not three centuries old. And I don't want to be a saint. I don't have any interest in saving souls, I don't have anything against evil, and I certainly don't want my statue inside every church.

I can relate, though. I want to be famous. I want people to know who I am. Oh yes, I want my name on everyone's lips. Statues in churches? No. Statues in town squares? Now we're talkin'. I want someone, two hundred years from now, to stand before my statue in Highland, Maryland and announce to a crowd of eager, camera-clutching tourists, "This is where Kayleigh Jamison, one of the most prolific authors of the 21st century, grew up."

I admit that I'm afraid of a lot of things. Snakes, worms, spiders, accidentally eating moldy cheese, heights, bridges, airplanes falling flying vomiting death loneliness...

but my all time Number One biggest fear is Mediocrity. To die and have no one attend my funeral. To have someone say, "who was she?" or "what did she do?"

No. I want the fame. I want to be heard. I want people to come forward, saying, "I knew her when..." I want someone to find my battered notebooks, filled with incoherent, handwritten scribbling. To stumble across the journals I've kept since I was 12. To find the collection of napkins, torn envelopes, and paper scraps covered with things like, "What is the deal btwn Vesh + N? Why the hate? What is mys of B's past?" I want these things in a museum, or a library somewhere, locked within a glass case with an engraved plaque that reads, "miscellaneous writing of Kayleigh Jamison". I want scholars in far off centuries to study these things as if their lives depended on decoding them.

I want bumbling, eager college students to write their theses on me. I want someone to make a movie about my life. (The tagline could read: Brilliant. Beautiful. Tortured.)

I want to be famous.

One More

I came across another Blog Skin today that I must use, but I promise that I will stop the incessant changes after tonight. One more and I'm done.

Really.

Ok, probably.

More Fabulous Reads!

It's official; I am in love with Emma Wildes.

The Manuscript came out today from Siren Publishing, and The Switch is available from Whiskey Creek Press Torrid. Not only can she crank out novels at an alarming rate, she writes quality fiction. I haven't read either of them yet, but having read four of her previous works, I have no doubt that they will be wonderful.

As for what's going on in my life, Svetkavista is coming along very well. I'll be posting some excerpts for your reading pleasure soon.

Recommended Reading

While you wait with bated breath for the official launch of Aphrodite's Apples and some wonderful new novels like H.S. Kinn's Immortal Reveries, Ivana Peter's The Gods Will Play, Katrina Strauss's Secrets Revealed, and Candice Gilmer's Unified Souls (not to mention my own novel, Svetkavista), I'd like to recommend some authors that I have read and enjoyed immensly.

Emma Wildes' newest work, The Letter, is now available through Venus Press. This novella is a delicious historical centered around the Duke of Tellbourne, Jared Warren, and his unruly new bride, Patricia. The story is engaging, the erotica is... engaging, and the entire story is well-written. You all know how much I love historicals.

Then once you've finished The Letter, since you'll no doubt want to read more of Emma's work, I recommend The Arrangement. Another short historical piece, this time we follow Serena Prentice in her quest to seduce her soon-to-be husband, Rayne Talbott. Talbott is strikingly handsome, stubbornly independant, and none too pleased about the imminent nuptials. And, as if this tale needed any further endorsing, I'll just add one more note: girl sex. *squee!*

Teresa Wayne is another very talented writer, and I urge you all to check out her novella, Ghostly Possession, available now through Silk's Vault. This paranormal mystery has sex, mystery, intrigue, and just enough darkness to send a chill up your spine.

Stuff & Things

So what's going on in my world? More than I can handle, as per usual.

My website has been updated, and there is now a very short excerpt from my novel. I'll add more when/if/etc I get the time.

I have been following a muted (and possibly obsessive) fascination the story of one Ms. Lori Jareo, the fanfiction author and supposed professional editor who saw fit to self publish her Star Wars novel, Another Hope, and list it for sale on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Powell's Books.

Several other authors, including John Scalzi, have already provided lengthy discourses on the subject, and all of it stated very well, so I'll spare you. If you aren't familiar with Ms. Jareo's tale of woe and extremely large cojones, where have you been?

At any rate, the rampant discussions on copyright violations prompted me to write a small FAQ on copyright, which can be found here for now. When/if/etc I get the time, I'll put it on my site.

Have you any idea the number of published, erotic authors in the world?

My friends, it's quite daunting. I'll freely admit to being slightly paralyzed by the sheer volume of aspiring and accomplishing writers in this field. However, I must confess an awful secret...

...a published author does not a talented author make.

There you have it. The secret is out. The publishing industry is based on 99% networking and 1% talent. I've read some published erotica that I found to be downright godawful. No, I shall not give names, as that would be above and beyond the level of catiness I'm willing to stoop to. But my message to unpublished writers is simply this: Don't be intimidated by the amount of published authors out there. Their names on ebooks somewhere doesn't make them better at the craft than you. It makes them luckier than you.

Think outside the box. Seek out smaller, more tightly focused companies. Go visit Aphrodite's Apples. Do it now. This new company will have some of the best romantic and erotic literature I have read in a long, long while. If you really want to know if you can cut it in this business, send them an inquiry. They'll tell you.

Welcome!

Welcome to le blog, deluxe edition, wherein I shall bring you ramblings, bullshit, and possibly, on occassion, something worthwhile.

Enjoy...