Tag: romance

An explanation of why I’m bouncing off the walls Until May 2nd (Hurry up and preorder NOW)

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This is taken verbatim from https://mmgoodbookreviews.wordpress.com/2017/04/25/quickening-vol-1-by-amy-lane-blog-tour-guest-post-excerpt/

How It All Began

by Amy Lane

So I know for a lot of people, the “big deal” of Quickening’s release is sort of lost.

Amy writes lots of books. Lots of big books. So?

And let’s face it—this one’s got a girl on the cover, and, yes, well, girls on the cover of an author known for her gay male romance work does not inspire a lot of “HUZZAH!”

But, like with everything, there is a story…

So, once upon a time there was an English teacher who felt compelled to go back to school to get her master’s degree. Why?  Well, it was unclear even then. All of her peers were doing it, and it appeared to be the only way to get any income mobility and…

Whatever.

Everybody else was getting their MA in education, the better to become administration, but this particular English teacher wouldn’t touch administration with a barge pole. Ugh. Gross. No.

But learn more about her subject matter? Holy Goddess YES!

So she took a bunch of different classes—an entire semester on Hamlet, anyone? And finally decided that creative writing was where she wanted to be.

And she was in this class, loving it, when some asshole dropped a couple of planes on some buildings in New York, and she had a big epiphany: She’d left her two young children at home during her school time, and they were only six and eight at the time, and she didn’t want to spend her precious moments taking classes to make a quota, she wanted to spend her time with them.

So she dropped out of the master’s program—but she kept writing.

Three and a half years later she self-published the book she’d started during that time in the master’s class. It felt like self-aggrandizement mostly—the master’s project was a finished novel, and hey, she’d done that, so even if she didn’t have the piece of paper to prove it, she had Vulnerable.

This was back when self-publishing was in its infancy, and our English teacher made a LOT of mistakes—a lot of them surprisingly enough, in English.

This was back during a DARK period in language instruction. A time called “whole language” learning—when it was considered unprofessional for an English teacher to so much as request a grammar textbook to teach her students how to write English with any sort of proficiency. They were supposed to just “absorb” that knowledge from the books they read.

For the record—it didn’t work.

Also?

It destroyed this particular English teacher’s basic knowledge of grammar and punctuation—all she was reading at the time was student papers.

Which meant when her masterpiece came out, there were some really fucking embarrassing errors all over the goddamned manuscript.

But she didn’t care. Because seriously. How many people were going to read something she wrote?  She worked in an extremely misogynistic environment—none of the people in her staff room would so much as let her finish a sentence. She grew up with people who thought she was too stupid to finish college in the first place—and were really confused as to why she’d take master’s classes in something that wouldn’t get her more money just because she hated the job.  Her students thought she was okay—but it was an inner-city school, and the ones who didn’t think she was okay told her she was a dumbfuck twat on a daily basis, and her administration didn’t really think that was too bad on the whole.

Her children—whom she adored—both had their own difficulties in school. Obviously her fault, because what did she do wrong to produce a kid with a communication handicap and one with a skewed, Eyeore view of life, even at six?

Nobody would read this book. (Except her outstanding and wonderful Mate.) Nobody would care. It was her accomplishment, and hers alone, and she was really proud of it.

And she was proud of the next one, and the next one, and the one after that. For six years, her Christmas gift from her husband was a chance to self-publish the book she’d written that year between kids and school and soccer and dance and karate and, oh, hey, giving birth to two more children for a total of four.

And then, one day, someone on Twitter asked for a short fic—just a short fic—based on a video of some really hot guys and a dirty guitar riff, and she wrote it, just for fun…

And these people—this publishing company—loved it.

In fact, they had read her books. They loved her stories. They thought she was worthwhile—they wanted to see what else she could write.

And her love affair with writing purely gay romance began.

Now, the last thing she’d written on her own had been the fourth book in her first series—Rampant.

And she’d dropped a helluva bomb at the end of that book. A sort of, uh, BIG cliffhanger. Or two.

And just when her writing career in gay romance took off, her teaching career took a HUGE, devastating, killing hit—and yes, the two things were very closely connected.  So suddenly, writing gay romance became the thing she absolutely had to do.

It became her livelihood.

And finishing that series—ending that cliffhanger—that became the last thing on her list.

So… what does this have to do with Quickening?

Seven years ago I wrote a book that ended with a teeny-tiny-itty-bitty sorceress being told some VERY BIG GINORMOUS LIFE CHANGING NEWS.

And people have been waiting to see how that comes out. For seven years.

So I’m going to be writing some blog posts about this book in the next week—and I’m going to be WAY more excited about its release than I think my community is going to be.

But that’s okay—because the first book was something I wanted to do for myself. And this book was a promise I kept to all the people who thought that first book was something special, something that resonated with them, and took the time to tell me that my voice—the one that seemed to be raised desperately unheard for so long—was really important to them.

So it’s possible Quickening isn’t going to take the gay romance world by storm.

But I’m so happy that it’s out, I’m could actually cry.

If you’re interested in the books that started it all, start with Vulnerable—it’s been re-edited and recovered, as have all of the original books in the series.

If you’re a fan of the series already, and you’ve been waiting for the last seven years—you’re the best. Period. I couldn’t have done the last twelve years without you.

Amy

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Quickening, volume 1 Book Cover Quickening, volume 1
Little Goddess (Book 5)
Amy Lane
DSP Publications
(May 2, 2017)
316 pages

Little Goddess: Book Five
Volume One

Cory thought she’d found balance on Green's Hill—sorceress, student, queen of the vampires, wife to three men—she had it down!  But establishing her right to risk herself with Green and Bracken had more than one consequence, and now she’s facing the world's scariest job title: mother.

But getting the news that she’s knocked up takes a back seat when a half-elf hunts them down for help. Her arrival brings news that the werewolf threat, which has been haunting them for over a year, has finally arrived on their doorstep—and it’s bigger and more frightening than they’d ever imagined.

Cory throws herself into this new battle with everything she’s got—and her men let her do it. Because they all know that whether they defeat this enemy now or later, the thing she's most afraid of is arriving on a set schedule, and not even Cory can avoid it.  The trick is getting her to acknowledge she's pregnant before she gives birth—or kills herself in denial.

World Book Day

So, I think that absolutely everyone knows I am a Karen Chance fan.  I am a reader, so for me finding a great series is like finding a lost present the day after your birthday. Some of the series are one off’s-I will read them once and they will forever live in my head and one day a friend will say something about a series in which Mab owns a circus and I’ll be able to pull the title out of nowhere.  Some, Like Karen Chance become a large part of my life as I try to drum up support for their releases.  Some I support on Patreon, because the thought of a world without the next Kit Colbana book makes me want to cry!

 

There are lots of authors I connect with as a reader and I ask questions of lots of them.  Some like Karen answer me themselves, others have Media Minions who answer for them.  I treasure each of these interactions and can live off the excitement for days.  But there are a few who become my friends.  There is no one I respect more than Amy Lane.  I have been a fan of her works for what feels like forever.  I love her Little Goddess Series which she self published.  I warn you there is explicit sex with multiple partners.  Amy also writes m/m romance novels and she shys away from nothing.  Her books are real and there is lots of emotional reality.  There are lots of situations that will break your heart.  The characters are easily related to.

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CtD, ch27-28

windsurfingthroughhell:

The final countdown (spoilers):

– chapter 27 – As a general rule, I don’t like the ‘he couldn’t help himself’ trope when it comes to sex, but I think Pritkin losing control like that is understandable. I mean how long has it been since he’s fed that much? We’ve seen in some of the Pritkin shorts how the yearning to feed is still tormenting him very frequently, so while it’s freaky, I get why he was overwhelmed for a moment. The important part for me though, is that he did stop, before Cassie even had to tell him – it’s no wonder she trusts him not to hurt her in HtM. I love how this really intense sequence between Cassie and Pritkin is then balanced by the lighter scene where Dee and Cassie talk Pritkin into disguising himself in drag to escape. IMO one of KC’s greatest talents is the way she blends genres – in the space of two chapters we get drama, romance, comedy and action, it just never gets boring. Although how could we possibly get bored when we have Pritkin RUNNING UP FIVE FLIGHTS OF STAIRS WHILE CARRYING CASSIE. Once again, weirdly hot. Does this qualify as fan service?

– chapter 28 – Sal, oh Sal 🙁 I really liked her you know? Not just because she was introduced as something of a bimbo and then turned out to have hidden depths (love seeing that trope subverted) but also because poor Cassie, she doesn’t get that many female friends. I mean, that’s definitely being remedied, with the introduction of her court and Rhea and Tammy being more involved, but in the beginning at any rate, Cassie’s girl time was pretty limited. That’s why for me, Sal’s betrayal and death is a particularly hard blow. At least Cassie still has Françoise, whom I love.

I think it’s appropriate that Apollo’s ultimate end is fairly ignominious. As Cassie says later, they did the metaphysical equivalent of flushing him down a toilet, and they did it pretty quickly. But this is something that happens a lot in the Cassie books – you’ve got a grand standing, melodramatic villain and in the end, they’re beaten in some almost anti-climactic way, by someone who seems way weak than them (see also – Olga killing Dracula). It’s the classic David and Goliath, Frodo and Sauron story. In these books, power is no guarantee of victory.

Last thing: the Mircass conversation right at the end. So, I’ve made it pretty clear that I do not like the way Mircea and Cassie interact in this book, but this scene isn’t too bad. I like seeing Cassie laying down some ground rules, trying to tackle the communication problems at the heart of their relationship. On the other hand, if you read closely, Mircea doesn’t actually agree to anything. He asks Cassie if she wants him to ‘court’ her, but doesn’t say that he will. He asks her if she can get to know him in their current kind of relationship and she says, tellingly, “Not and keep a clear head.” Whether deliberate or not, the constant sexy times between the two of them does seem to be preventing Cassie from getting to know him. But he still doesn’t actually agree?? I mean, I know he’s a vampire and it’s not in his nature to be direct but for crying out loud, would it kill him to say, ‘yes, we’ll slow down, if it makes you more comfortable’? If he really cares for her, why can’t he just give her that, it’s not that big a request. When Cassie does imply that she finds their relationship too sexual for the time being, he deflects, and suggests that Cassie’s insecurities about their relationship are somehow Pritkin’s fault. Uh, wtf? You know what, I take it back. I do have a problem with this scene. Anyway. I love the ending – “You shaved my legs?” Iconic.

Ok, so here we go again.  All bad comments are my own.  Please know that I am not trying to tear anyone’s opinion apart.  I am just trying to keep a dialog going…

AS for Pritkin-here is my take.  At the start of the series he is a complete and total jackass.  I don’t know whether this is just his mad at the world vibe, or if his death wish hadn’t calmed down.  It’s pretty clear to me that he’s had a rough time of it.  I think that’s why so many people are so adamant in their love of Pritkin.  He’s just so damaged, and sigh worthy.  and his relationship with Cassie is something that pushes his boundaries and makes him look at his own growing feelings, but that is another day.  This is one of the first times he tries to sacrifice his life in service to Cassie.  Sometimes, I think that is Pritkin’s go to response.  Feel attracted to Cassie? Find a way to get her to leave him behind.  Find yourself taking cold showers after practicing swordwork?  Make a trip to Fairie and get nearly gutted…but I digress.  Here he tricks her, saying he can heal himself to get her to reswap bodies.  And then uses the mistaken belief from the mages to his advantage in the duel with Saunders.

I love the triple D’s.  From their first introduction, I adore them.  And boy do they come through!  And I love the fact that THOSE shoes are fitting, if they have to break her toes!

Sal, oh man.  Sal.  Just when we think Cassie is finding her feet, the rug is pulled out from under her.  Shouldn’t there be a limit to heartbreak?  Only so much before the bank is full…

I think that Cassie does excellent with dealing with the men of her life.  She may be married to Mircea, but damn it they are going to date!  She may need John all the time, because she know very little magic, but damned if shes going to let him control all of her life.  She’s got a good head on her shoulders, and despite the fact that they are several hundred years older.  Of course, Mircea’s going to have the upper hand in any discussion.  Despite that, I think she gives Mircea a challenge.  And here is this 20 something ball of fire who treats Mircea as a man when he is so very used to being the authority figure…

That’s it for now…gotta sleep

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Favourite Cassie moment

freespeechfandom:

My absolute favourite in the series has to be the revelation at the end of Hunt the Moon. It suddenly made everything fall into place and make sense, and rounded off a topic both highly relevant to the plot and very important to Cassie.

“My power wasn’t some alien thing, I thought, watching the sky in wonder. It wasn’t borrowed from another or stolen from a better candidate. There was no better candidate; there never would be. It had flowed away from Myra as soon as it saw me, like the tide when the moon comes out. Because it was mine—it was mine; it knew it was mine.” – Karen Chance, Hunt the Moon.

The revelation had such a cathartic, enlightening effect (literally enlightening too, note KC’s pathetic fallacy in relation to the Moon in the scene), and as Cassie’s thoughts summarize, she has finally understood her place in the world, accepted her role as her own, and found herself. Such an amazingly pivotal moment, coming so surprisingly late in the series (book 5!), it really raises huge questions as to what other major bombshells the series has in store.

I view the whole series as Cassie learning who she is.  i don’t agree with all the romance people who see the triangle and root for one person or the other.  Cassie is who I root for.  And Cassie has a completely unique viewpoint.  And as Cassie grows into her own, she going to keep making choices that make people mad.  But in this book she realizes, finally, that it isn’t about the party or the dress, or even who her mother is.  Its about her.  Its about finding that one place to stand.  If you die, you die.  But Cassie is the Pythia.  Period.  End of Report.  F*ck everyone else.  and we see more of that in the later books…I can’t wait to see what happens next.  And I totally root for Cassie when she says that she isn’t releasing anyone from their pledges and no one is dying for her damn it!

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“Fertile females are like gold in Faerie, Dory—rarer even. And the fey can smell them coming. It’s like…bees to honey. You haven’t seen it—I have.” “Well, so what? They’re all adults. If they want to—” “ Fertile females.” “Oh. Oh ,” I said, finally getting it. “ Is that what you’re—” “Yes! I know what it’s like to be caught between worlds. I wouldn’t wish that on…well, certainly not a bunch of helpless children!” “But even if…I mean, the fey are notoriously infertile, right?” “With their own women, yes. These are not their own women! ” “Okay, Claire, okay. Calm down,” I told her, feeling a little strange because that was her line. “You’re their commander’s I’ve kept them so closely confined? Why Heidar has? They’ll just sneak out tonight when I’m asleep. It’s like babysitting twelve randy teenagers, and I can’t watch them all the—” “So why not get ’em some condoms?” Ray piped up. Claire stopped. And then turned to look at him. “I…don’t think they know what those are,” she said doubtfully. “They don’t have them in Faerie. The birth rate is low enough as it is; there’s no reason to develop something to lower it even further.” “Well, it ain’t rocket science,” he pointed out. “They could learn, right?” Claire was nodding, obviously liking this new idea. “Yes. Yes, they can.” She looked at me. “How many condoms do you have?” “What?” “Condoms, condoms! You must have some!”“Why must I?” I didn’t think sex once a decade warranted it. And anyway, the only guy I was into at the moment wasn’t the type to need them. Not that we would have anyway, considering that I’d spent much of the last two weeks recuperating. And that probably wasn’t going to change, since it would only make it harder when— “Dory!” “I’m fresh out,” I told her. “Well, go to the store,” Claire said, grabbing her purse and shoving it at me. “I—I’ll take the food out. They’ll have to eat first. And by the time they’re finished, you’ll be back.” “With the condoms.” “Right.” “For the giant orgy you’re convinced we’re about to have in the backyard.” “Dory! Just go!” “I’ll go with,” Ray said, getting up. “I need a snack.” Which was how I ended up condom shopping with a vampire. the house in my old Firebird. “No. She’s just…under a lot of pressure right now.” “What pressure? Her kid’s okay, right?” I nodded. Actually, I had no idea what Claire’s problem was. Maybe it was just residual. In about a year, she’d gone from underpaid auction-house employee to fey princess to new mother to woman on the run with her endangered child, who also happened to be the heir to the Blarestri throne. It was enough to put anyone on edge. But Aiden really was okay, with the conspiracy that had threatened his life over and the instigator dead. And he was now in possession of a talisman that pretty much ensured that he’d stay that way, even if someone managed to get past the wards, the phalanx in the garden, and the tense, half-dragon mother. Frankly, I didn’t fancy anyone’s chances. “She’ll calm down eventually,” I told Ray. “So what are you doing here again?” “Living,” he said, which I’d have taken for a smart remark, except he sounded pretty emphatic. But I didn’t have time to follow up on it. The nearest store was only a couple blocks away, and we’d already arrived. Sanjay, brother to Bawa of the world’s deadliest curry, ran it, but he went home at six and some new girl was on duty. We skirted the aisles of Ramen, cards of press-on nails and towers of hairspray that constituted daily essentials in Brooklyn, and finally located the condom aisle. It also housed the diapers and the baby food. I wasn’t sure if that was random product placement or brilliant advertising, but either way, there was a good selection. “So what kind are we talking about here?” Ray asked, surveying a neatly stacked display. “I don’t know. Just pick one.” “Well, there’s a lot of choice. I mean, you got your flavored, your ridged, your pre-lubed, your thin, your super-ultra-thin, “It says it glows in the dark.” “So?” “So what use is that to anybody? I mean, what am I supposed to do? Write her name in the air with it?” “I’d rather not think of you doing anything with it,” I said honestly. “Besides, the fey already glow, so you gotta think it’s a waste of—” “Ray!” I glanced around, but there was nobody within earshot. “Well, excuse me if I’m not used to buying condoms for aliens,” he said more softly. “They’re not aliens.” “Well, they’re not human. I mean, they could have anything under those tunics, you know?” “Like what?” “Like…I don’t know. It could be barbed or something.” “Barbed?” “Well, I don’t know.” He slanted me a glance. “Do you?” I just looked at him. “No, of course not. You’re too uptight.” “I am not uptight.” “You’re the definition of uptight. I bet you and Mr. Muscle Bound haven’t even done it yet.” “Okay, enough with the personal—” “Nailed it.” He nodded. “You wouldn’t have freaked out on him this afternoon otherwise. ‘Oh, no, somebody’s in my head for five seconds, even if it did save my life—’” I scowled. “You don’t get it. He’s not supposed to be able to do that.” “He’s a senior master. They got skills.” Ray shrugged. “Anyway, I don’t know what you’re complaining about. As soon as a baby and that he better toe the line. There’s the senior vamps in the family, checking out the new talent, just in case they want to recruit him for one of their cliques later on. There’s the slightly older babies, trying to dig up some dirt to make sure he stays on the bottom of the heap, and so on. And they never shut up . Yak, yak, yak, yak, yak, yak, yak. It drove me crazy for years.” “Is that what happened?” “But I got used to it. So will you.” “Maybe I don’t want to get used to it,” I muttered, examining a box that promised to vibrate. I thought that was my job. I put it back. “Oh, you want it, all right,” Ray said. “The two of you practically melt the walls every time you get within three feet of—” “That’s not the same thing,” I told him irritably. It wasn’t the sex that worried me. I’d had sex; I’d never had a relationship with a vampire unless you counted Mircea, and look how well that had turned out. If I couldn’t even manage the usual father-daughter stuff, how was I supposed to handle something much more complex with someone I didn’t know half as well? Relationships weren’t my best thing. They never had been. Even the easy ones. And nothing about Louis-Cesare was easy. “It is when you’re dating a master. You gotta take the whole package, you know?” Ray said. And then he stopped, and turned to look at me. “Hey, that’s it, isn’t it?” “What is?” “You never dated a master before.” “I’ve been with vampires.” “Yeah, sure. Any regular old vamp—I can see that. I mean, you’re stronger than him; you’re the one calling the shots; you’re the one who says when you’ve had enough and it’s time to head out.” the door. He blinked. “Well, that oughta do it.” I grabbed the basket o’ condoms and went to wait in line, ignoring the looks from a couple people ahead of me, who were apparently not used to seeing someone buying twenty boxes at once. Ray went to lean on the counter, supposedly enthralled by an awesome display of toenail clippers, but in fact snacking on the salesclerk. And, predictably, my stomach curled into a knot. It was one of the things—one of the very, very many things—about dating a master that wasn’t going to work. Ray made it sound so easy, like this was just some kind of tug-of-war, some weird power play, that I needed to get past and I’d be fine. Like all the other humans who eagerly lined up to attach themselves to the great houses. Mircea probably turned away fifty a month, and those were just the ones arrogant enough to try. Louis-Cesare, as the longtime darling of the European Senate, could hardly have attracted any fewer. Ray probably thought I should feel honored to have caught his eye. That I should feel grateful. That I should feel…whatever those other humans felt. He forgot one thing. I wasn’t human. There had always been a love/hate—okay, mostly hate—thing going on with me and the vampire community. I’d tried to stay away; I’d spent years trying. Like Claire said, there were other things to hunt and most of them were much less likely to hunt me back. But there was nothing that made my blood sing, my senses reel, my heart pound quite like chasing my natural prey. to me; they never had been. There was this weird kind of yearning underneath it all, and resentment and jealousy and a bone-deep ache that I didn’t understand. Not completely. I just knew that, every once in a while, the craving got too deep and it was either fight or fuck, and mostly it was the former but sometimes…sometimes it had been the latter. Just long enough to get it out of my system, to keep myself from going crazier than I already was. And then, yeah, I moved on. Why the hell wouldn’t I? If I stayed around, it always ended the same way, and crazy or not, I didn’t particularly like the idea of staking a former lover. No matter how much a few of them had deserved it. But this wasn’t a one-night stand. This was…well, I didn’t really know what this was, since I’d been avoiding discussing it. Talking about it meant facing the fact that this weird little interlude or experiment or whatever the hell I thought I’d been doing had run its course. Because how could you care about someone when his very means of existence made your stomach hurt? Not that Louis-Cesare needed to snack on random clerks when he probably had a whole stable lined up and eager to be used. I knew that. But still. It was what he was . And I killed what he was. “What size you think they take?” Ray asked. I looked up, blinking, to see that it was my turn. “Does it matter? We have plenty.” “Well, yeah. But they’re all different sizes,” he said, piling boxes on the counter. “And what if the—what if they need something like extra small? You got enough extra smalls?” “They’re not extra small,” I told him irritably. “They don’t need extra smalls.” “I thought you said you didn’t know.” “They’re seven feet tall!” “Don’t matter,” he argued. “Plenty of big guys got a Tiny Tim. it counts, the ladies know. You don’t gotta advertise.” The mocha-skinned clerk, who could easily have made two of Ray, snorted. “Well, there’s no way to know,” I told him, “so we’re just going to have to chance it.” “You could call her and ask.” “Call—” I stopped. “You mean Claire?” “Well, it was her idea.” I had a sudden flash of Claire’s face if I called to ask what size condom her fiancé took. It was kind of breathtaking. “You want me to ring these up or not?” the cashier asked. “If they don’t fit, can we bring them back?” “No refunds on condoms.” “Just call her,” Ray said. “I am not calling Claire and asking…I’m not calling Claire.”“Okay by me. I mean, I don’t care. But you get ’em too small and they pop off, and you get ’em too big and they slide off, and either way, it’s pointy-eared babies all ar—” “Ray!” “I mean, I guess they’d go over pretty well at a Star Trek convention, but the rest of the time—” “All right! Stop it! All right!” “It’s not just Claire who’s a little tense,” he said, as I dug around for a cell phone I didn’t have, and then commandeered his. I didn’t waste time trying to figure out how to phrase this because some things are better just winged. “If you’re not buying anything, you gotta get out of line,” the cashier told me. “There’s nobody else in the store.” “Don’t matter—there’s rules. Somebody could come in, and I’m the only one on.” “Start ringing things up, then. This won’t take long.” “Why not those?” She glanced at Ray. “’Cause if that’s your man, I’d say you can leave these off,” and she pushed the three biggest sizes to the side. “Oh, no, you didn’t,” Ray said. “It’s your own fault,” I told him. She might have thought it, but she probably wouldn’t have said it if he hadn’t been snacking earlier. But that sort of thing puts some people in a bad mood—usually those with enough magical blood to recognize the theft but not to name it. And the anger tends to resolve itself into a generalized dislike of the vamp in question. And then someone picked up. “Oui?” Damn. I thought about hanging up, pretending to be a wrong number, as cowardly as that would have been. But I guess he recognized my breathing or something—which was disturbing enough right there—because he said, “Dory?” “What are you doing there?” I asked, harsher than I’d intended. “I was about to ask you the same. Where are you?” “Buying condoms,” I said, watching the salesclerk ring up a box of mediums and hand them to Ray. “Why?” “Is there more than one reason?” I asked, because “we have a garden full of randy fey” wasn’t on the approved-conversation list. There was silence on the other end of the phone. “What’s this shit?” Ray demanded, looking at the salesclerk. “Honey, truth hurts, but ain’t no way you’re a Magnum.” “Well, I ain’t no medium!” The clerk smiled. “Yeah, but I was being generous.” “Dorina,” Louis-Cesare finally said. “You do realize…I thought you had been with our kind before.” “I have.” voice had changed. “Who are they for?” “What are you doing?” the cashier demanded, as Ray grabbed another box. “I ain’t rung those up yet.” Ray pulled out a foil package and tossed the box back on the counter. “So ring it up.” She arched an eyebrow, but didn’t bother, maybe because she was watching him unbutton his fly. I caught his wrist. “What are you doing?” “Proving a point.” “Not in the middle of the store, you’re not.” “Ain’t nobody here,” the cashier reminded me, grinning. “And ain’t no way he’s filling that thing out.” “Dorina?” Louis-Cesare’s voice was loud in my ear. The one I had squeezed against the phone, which was squeezed against my sore shoulder, because I was using both hands to keep Ray’s point in his pants. “The fey, damn it!” I told him. “They’re for the fey!” “Which one?” Louis-Cesare asked, his voice going velvety soft. “All of them— No, Ray! Ray, cut it out!” “ All of them?” “No, that’s not what I—”

#Karen Chance, Fury’s Kiss
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The Chosen by Jr Ward- a review

I have long been a fan of Paranormal Romance and Jr Ward has been one of my authors.  All the readers out there know what I am talking about.  We each have a few authors whom we adopt.  We preorder their books months in advance and wait anxiously for release day.  We are at Barnes and Noble when the doors open or we order from Amazon to make sure we get the book on release day.  Sometimes we buy more than one copy to make sure we have the book no matter what happens.  JR Ward was one of my authors.  But something happened with the Black Dagger Brotherhood right around book 8 and they changed.  I wanted to love the books as they came out and with some of them I was successful, with others not so much.  The characters were there but the trials they faced were just so awful.  Some of it felt contrived.  And some of the stories had so many storylines trying to interact, it was easy to get lost in the shuffle.  In hindsight, I see that the books had to change and given the strong emotional investment we had in all the characters the jumping around was necessary.  Then things got worse.  The Happily Ever After endings stopped coming.  Some of the characters died and it was worse than the first time around.  It felt like the world in the books was every bit as bad as the real world.  Tragedy dogged the steps of our favorite characters and rather than resolution we got abdication. 

A lot of fans left.  And they were vocal about their defections.  And a lot of the fans that remained were more cautious.  Yes, we wanted to read it.  We wanted to see how our characters were doing.  But the excitement was tempered with trepidation.  What big bad thing was going to happen now?  So, I was ambivalent when I got my copy of the Chosen.  I have to say that after reading it I am cautiously optimistic for the series.  And JR Ward is back to being one of my authors.  I’m a little frightened for the next book because I think its going to be about one of my favorite couples and I don’t want anything bad to happen to them.  

I could write a long review of the Chosen, but since I am releasing this review on release day I will hold my tongue.  I will say this, though.  The Chosen has restored my faith in the BDB.  So, I will wait with bated breath for our next book and I recommend that the readers who defected recently over a certain death might be surprised by what happens in this book.

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chasin-thegoodlife:

appropriately-inappropriate:

hermionefeminism:

aneurysmsandanalogues:

the-courage-to-heal:

When I first encountered the literary classic Lolita, I was the same age as the infamous female character. I was 15 and had heard about a book in which a grown man carries on a sexual relationship with a much younger girl. Naturally, I quickly sought out the book and devoured the entire contents on my bedroom floor, parsing through Humbert Humbert‘s French and his erotic fascination for his stepdaughter, the light of his life, the fire of his loins — Dolores Haze. I remember being in the ninth grade and turning over the cover that presented a coy pair of saddle shoes as I hurried through the final pages in homeroom.

Although I remember admiring the book for all its literary prowess, what I don’t recall is how much of the truth of that story resonated with me given that I was a kid myself. Because it wasn’t until I reread the book as an adult that I realized Lolita had been raped. She had been raped repeatedly, from the time she was 12 to when she was 15 years old.

As a young woman now, it’s startling to see how that fundamental crux of the novel has been obscured in contemporary culture with even the suggestion of what it means to be “a Lolita” these days. Tossed about now, a “Lolita” archetype has come to suggest a sexually precocious, flirtatious underage girl who invites the attention of older men despite her young age. A Lolita now implies a young girl who is sexy, despite her pigtails and lollipops, and who teases men even though she is supposed to be off-limits.

In describing his now banned perfume ad, Marc Jacobs was very frank about the intentions of his sexy child ad and why he chose young Dakota Fanning to be featured in it. The designer described the actress as a “contemporary Lolita,” adding that she was “seductive, yet sweet.” Propping her up in a child’s dress that was spread about her thighs, and with a flower bottle placed right between her legs, the styling was sufficient to make the 17-year-old look even younger. The text below read “Oh Lola!,” cementing the Lolita reference completely. The teenager looks about 12 years old in the sexualizing advertisement, which is the same age Lolita is when the book begins.

And yet Marc Jacobs’ interpretation of Lolita as “seductive” is completely false, as are all other usages of Lolita to imply a “seductive, yet sweet” little girl who desires sex with older men.

Lolita is narrated by a self-admitted pedophile whose penchant for extremely young girls dates all the way back to his youth. Twelve-year-old Dolores Haze was not the first of Humbert Humbert’s victims; she was just the last. His recounting of events is unreliable given that he is serially attracted to girl children or “nymphets” as he affectionately calls them. And his endless rationalizing of his”love” for Lolita, their “affair,” their “romance” glosses over his consistent sexual attacks on her beginning in the notorious hotel room shortly after her mother dies.

This man who marries Lolita’s mother, in a sole effort to get access to the child, fantasizes about drugging her in the hopes of raping her — a hypothetical scenario which eventually does come to fruition. Later on as he realizes that Lolita is aging out of his preferred age bracket, he entertains the thought of impregnating her with a daughter so that he can in turn rape that child when Lolita gets too old

Lolita does make repeated attempts to get away from her rapist and stepfather by trying to alert others as to how she is being abused. According to Humbert, she invites the company of anyone which annoys him given that the pervert doesn’t want to be discovered. And yet, he manipulates her from truly notifying the authorities by telling her that without him — her only living relative — she’ll become a ward of the state. By spoiling her with dresses and comic books and soda pop, he reminds her that going into the system will deny her such luxuries and so she is better off being raped by him whenever he pleases than living without new presents.

Given that Humbert is a pedophile, his first-person account is far from trustworthy when deciphering what actually happened to Lolita. But, Vladimir Nabokov does give us some clues despite our unreliable narrator. For their entire first year together on the road as they wade from town to town, Humbert recalls her bouts of crying and “moodiness” — perfectly understandable emotions considering that she is being raped day and night. A woman in town even inquires to Humbert what cat has been scratching him given the the marks on his arms — vigilant attempts by Lolita to get away from her attacker and guardian. He controls every aspect of her young life, consumed with the thought that she will leave him with the aid of too much allowance money or perhaps a boyfriend. He interrogates her constantly about her friends and eventually ransacks her bedroom revoking all her money. Lolita is often taunted with things she desires in exchange for sexual favors as Nabokov writes in one scene:

“How sweet it was to bring that coffee to her, and then deny it until she had done her morning duty.”

Lolita eventually does get away from her abusive stepfather by age 15, but the fact that she has been immortalized as this illicit literary vixen is not only deeply troublesome, it’s also a completely inaccurate reading of the book. And Marc Jacobs is not alone in his highly problematic misinterpretation of child rape and abuse as “sexy.” Some publications and publishing houses actually recognize the years of abuse as love.

On the 50th anniversary edition of Lolita, which I purchased for the sake of writing this piece, there sits on the back cover a quote from Vanity Fair which reads:

“The only convincing love story of our century.”

The edition, which was published by Vintage International, recounts the story as “Vladimir Nabokov’s most famous and controversial novel” but also as having something to say about love. The back cover concludes in its summary:

“Most of all, it is a meditation on love — love as outrage and hallucinations, madness and transformation.”

“Love” holds no space in this novel, which details the repeated sexual violation of a child. Although Humbert desperately tries to convince the reader that he is in love with his stepdaughter, the scratches on his arms imply something else entirely. Because the lecherous Humbert has couched his pedophilia in romantic language, the young girl he repeatedly violated seems to have passed through into pop culture as a tween temptress rather than a rape victim.

Conflating love or sexiness with the rape of literature’s most misunderstood child is dangerous in that it perpetuates the mythology that young girls are some how participating in their own violation. That they are instigating these attacks by encouraging and inciting the lust of men with their flirty demeanor and child-like innocence.

Let it be known that even Lolita, pop culture’s first “sexy little girl” was not looking to seduce her stepfather. Lolita, like a lot of young girls, was raped.

Source: http://www.mommyish.com/2011/11/16/lolita-novel-sex-rape-pedophilia-541/2/#ixzz3N4PFEyex

I was going through this at age 11 when i got my hands on the book, and i never read it as sexual. I cried and related to her on such a deep level. Anyone who thinks lolita is a love story is gross.

Too real. Lolita means so much to me, because I was raped by an older adult man when I was 15 and years later when I came forward about it people said it was my fault because I flirted with him. A friend of his even teased me with the comment “weren’t you his little Lolita?” Lolita. Is Not. A love story. The continuous sexual abuse of a teenage girl is not love.

What chaps my ass is that NABOKOV didn’t see it as a love story. He found Humbert repugnant and went out of his way to make him so.

He hated that people saw it as romantic when he’d meant to write a fucking horror novel.

I hate when people call themselves Lolita or that fucking Lana del Rey song.This book is about a little girl being raped constantly and they make it seem like a seduction or tease.Please people read this article or read what the book really is this story makes my gut churn.I was being molested as a kid and had mental games played on me.Please Please Please to save another persons life stop romanticizing this story let people know this isn’t no old century love this is rape

Rape is never ok.  Nor is a relationship between an adult and a child.  I read a lot but it is imperative that this be a truth of our age.  Too many people refuse to stand up to protect that truth.  Many of my favorite heroines were abused as children.

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How to Make Lifelong Readers Out of Your Friends and Neighbors

wendeego:

1. Make a list of everyone in your neighborhood/city/college/elsewhere with a copy of any book in the Fifty Shades of Grey trilogy.

2. Visit each person in turn and give them precisely one (1) copy of Kushiel’s Dart, by Jacqueline Carey.

3. ???

4. Love literature…as thou wilt!

Expensive, but most probably worth it.

Just gotta say I really dislike the fact the 50 shades is supposed to represent all edgy romance.  It doesn’t even begin to touch the really GREAT books in the world–books that make you question everything and become a warm flame to warm you on the darkest night….Hey I made a Jacqueline Carey reference without meaning to…

I actually have a friend who does this with Laurell K Hamilton books whenever she sees them somewhere cheap.  She buys 30 or 40 copies at 1 or 2 dollars a piece and randomly gives them out to people.  She says it makes up for the fact she refuses to lend out any of her Laurell K Hamilton books…positive book karma

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Black Dagger Brotherhood The Chosen Book 15 is out on Tuesday!!!!

Xcor and Layla

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Best and the Worst of Books

I’m concerned.  I’m confused.  I don’t get it at all.  I have a number of authors that I follow religiously.  I use FictFact (www.fictfact.com) to keep track of my series and the release dates.  I know a bunch of other people are buying the books too.  But some of my favorite authors are facing a publishing crisis.  Someone has decided that paranormal romance is dead.  I want to know who that is-I have bunches of receipts to prove it isn’t!  Urban fantasy is on a downswing and fantasy is dead.  That isn’t the case with my friends and to be honest I am absolutely not going to let it happen! So whoever has decided that paranormal shouldn’t be published hasn’t looked at the right numbers or in the right places!  And nothing hurts quite so much as a story unfinished!

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