Let's get one thing straight: I am NOT back. Over the course of my illness-and-recovery cycle, call it the past year or so, I've declared my return several times, and each time, something bad has happened. Not always terrible, but always a setback, consuming time, money, and energy I'm quite sure I could better have employed in some other way. And, frankly, I'm sick of it.
Also, growing superstitious. "Once is chance, twice is coincidence, three times is enemy action"? Not unless the Universe doesn't like me anymore... Horrible thought, out of which such things as throwing spilled salt over shoulders is born! So, no, I'm not back. Really. I'm just posting. Saying hello. Maybe I'll do it again. But I am not back.
Even if you should happen to see me on a loop. Or in real life. Say hello, by all means, buy me a cup of coffee if you like, tell me about your new book--I'm always interested in that--or whatever's got you smiling or amusingly ranting. I miss you all, and I'd love to get caught up!
Just...don't, please, whatever you do, say "welcome___" to me.
K? Thnx.
pxj
Monday, August 11, 2008
...just casually sauntering by...
Friday, March 7, 2008
The e-hermit checking in
Still alive!
Figure I ought to start out with the good news. –G– As for the rest…well, the doctor didn’t say “recovered,” as he’s spent much of the week reminding me, only “recovering.” I spent the weekend now past and gone at a Celtic (Irish) music festival, and completely wiped myself out—though it was worth it, and not just for the men in kilts.
Although, you know, there were a few truly lovely kilt-wearing men around, some of them with arms full of bagpipe, some without… Oh, sorry. Am I drooling on the keyboard again?
So, not in much shape to post nor chat, but getting through the backlogged e-mail. Slowly. Relying on the Draft function so that I can make sure my messages actually say what I need them to say (for a change).
Hope you’re all celebrating Spring appropriately!
pxj
What? Details? Um.
Seriously eclectic music program, as always. It’s why we love NTIF! (Okay, that and all the men in kilts. Or out of them. If you ask politely, I might tell a tale or two…) Not sure what my favorite musical moment this time might have been, but probably from one of these three bands:
Matt and Shannon Heaton Band—with an incredible percussive dancer!
Brother—Men in pleather kilts. With didgeridoos.
Altan. What can one say?
Okay, back to e-mail. See you ’round!
Friday, December 7, 2007
Friday Flash: Home for Christmas
Early for Christmas, but appropriate for the date--this excerpt is from one of my very few military pieces. "Home for Christmas" is an erotic short with para elements, about 3,000 words all told. It first appeared in my "not-a-newsletter" infrequent mailing, with a contest: the story contains lyrics from several Christmas carols, and I gave a gift certificate to the first person who correctly identified them all.
And, yes, I will be sending another Message from the e-Garret this Solstice or thereabouts. In case you were wondering. -g-
pxj
Midnight, and quiet all through the house.
Jaci tiptoed into the living room, intending to dispose of Santa's snack, and to slip a few last surprises into the stockings. But what to her wondering eyes should appear—
Jill's playing tricks. Charlie's stocking had joined the others, displacing the angel. Jaci frowned. She'd chosen not to hang it, deciding it would just remind her that her love had to be away at Christmastime. Not that she could forget. But there it was, with a suspiciously shaped bulge in the foot that made her hope the kids wouldn't look too closely. The milk they'd poured so solemnly had been replaced with eggnog, complete with a dusting of spice, and there were fewer cookies than there had been on the plate. One even had a bite out of it, as though someone had heard her coming and just this instant slipped away.
She sniffled. The scene wasn't her sister's style. It was Charlie's. But he couldn't be with her this year. Damn it, I promised myself I wasn't going to cry. She ate a cookie instead. And then another, washing it down with a swig from the glass. The eggnog was well and truly spiked.
A little tipsy on sugar and sentiment and southern mash, Jaci toasted the star on top of the tree, and spoke. "Dear Santa, what I want this year..."
She inhaled to speak her wish, and choked. For the past few days, the house had smelled like evergreen and candlewax and cooking, with a little hint of dog.
Charlie'd been gone long enough that there was no hint of his scent anymore. Except there was. Her imagination, or just suggestion.
And then the touch of fur on her cheek. "Have you been good this year?"
"No. I've been very, very bad." Jaci opened her eyes to see Charlie in a Santa suit. Only Santa had never looked this good. No bowl full of jelly here! Ermine-trimmed red velvet did not hide the hard swell of biceps, nor the even ridges of muscle on his abdomen. The tunic ended mid-thigh, but there were leggings beneath, descending into black boots; the double layer of fabric did a slightly better job of concealing than only one, but not by much.
"You like?" Charlie smiled and struck a pose, and Jaci came out of her chair in a leap to hug him. Laughing, he pulled her to the doorway, tilted her chin up so she could see the mistletoe, and then bent to claim her lips in a kiss as tender as their very first, as long and passionate as any they had ever shared.
"Check the stocking," he husked when the need for air had grown too great. "I'll wait." He turned her and pushed her gently toward the mantel. She reached for her stocking, but, "No. Look in mine," he said, and, looking at the shape she was sure she recognized, she did.
He stole her laughter, and her breath, with another heated kiss, and pulled her down to lie before the tree.
"Unwrap me?" she whispered.
He took his time, using his teeth to undo the belt of her robe. Her unromantic flannel pajamas might have been precious silk, from the care he took, might have been tissue by the way she felt, his hands strong and hot through the material.
As he bared each inch of skin, he covered it in kisses.
"Charlie..."
"Aren't you going to model my gift?"
She had a bit of trouble finding it at first, the floor covered in discarded clothing as it was. But then her hand closed around a cool resilient column, and she smiled. Not looking away from Charlie, who had found his Santa hat and placed it—she giggled. "Damn, love, you're not that big!"
Charlie looked down, frowned, and scrunched the fur-trimmed hat up a bit, until it was obvious that he, did, in fact, reach the end. "I checked. Twice." He flexed his hips, and the bobble on the end of the hat bounced and jiggled. "You wouldn't believe how much trouble I had trying to find one that fit in all dimensions. Not something you can tell the elves you're looking for, you know."
She could almost imagine the conversation, and laughed until she spluttered, nearly choking before she gave up on trying to speak. He struck one pose after another, each funnier than the last, and though he made no sound, laughter shook his abdomen.
Her humor ran its course at last, and she sat up, reaching for him as he bent to her, the last few giggles still echoing as her lips claimed his.
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Thanksgiving
Thanksgiving. Also known as “Turkey Day,” though my own celebrations tend not to feature that particular food. I prefer the more formal name, not just because I’m not much for that native fowl, but because I do have things to be thankful for, and it’s sometimes nice to be reminded of that.
I’m thankful for e-books, that let me indulge my fiction addiction without giving myself hernias. I’m thankful for the publishers that offer me so much variety; for the authors who spin such delightful worlds; for the readers who appreciate my own odd fantasies.
I’m thankful to Gutenberg, Edison, Tesla, and a host of other inventors known and unknown for making this world and this time such a technologically awesome place to be. I’m thankful for friends and family (yes, even the ones I’m avoiding long enough to write this).
I’m thankful to Nature for creating diverse wonders like pecans, cranberries, and Ethiopian Sidamo coffee. And, I guess, even turkey. I’m extremely grateful for the sunshine currently beaming down upon me. For my e-Garret, whence I shall soon return, and for NaNo, that provides me with an excuse to escape the surfeit of congeniality.
Most of all, I’m thankful for a life filled with choices and chances and freedoms. And fantasies that can sometimes become reality. And can sometimes become books that others can read.
Happy Thanksgiving!
pxj
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Happy Hallowe'en from the Mad e-Garretteer
Hey, you try living the life of an electronic hermit, see how sane you are! And tomorrow is NaNo's official start, so any sanity I may have had will soon be vanishing...
Picture a crazy sea lily, pulling up her roots and wandering in sea-tossed circles. That's me! Well, if you add a costume.
Hmm. Excerpts are traditional. Okay, after the jump. Moderately work-safe, but just in case. I do write erotic fiction, you know.
from "Come As You Aren't Party"--available only from the e-Garret
(Terry wanted a new guy, and she's into vamps. This Hallowe'en, she might just get what she asked for...)
The last clasp came loose; she shimmied, and satin slid noisily down her body to pool at her feet.
“Kings have died for such a sight as this.” His voice was deeper than ever, melted chocolate and burgundy. “Happily, I am sure.”
She shivered, only half hearing his words, feeling the air stir with his speech. Moonlight lent a completely superfluous air of mystery to the scene, his clothing dark and silvered, his movements by turns hid in shadow and outlined as he stalked toward her. Stalked. Yes, like…a hunting cat. Or, no, a wolf. Something. A predator.
“Delicious,” he murmured. At what? She shook her head, uncertain, and he laughed, low, soft, intimate sound. “Can you imagine what I see?”
She looked down. Eager-tipped breasts, check; gym-toned physique, still there; thong so as not to risk a panty line; thigh-highs, yes; heels hidden by the dress on the floor like some downmarket Venus’s seafoam. Not a model’s body, maybe, but a good one, healthy and fit, and she was glad he approved. So, yes, she could, she thought, imagine what he saw: what she saw in the mirror when she bothered to look. She shrugged.
“Please--” he groaned, stepped back a pace “--don’t do that. Not yet.”
She had no idea what he meant.
“I want to look at you,” he told her, breathing the words as he came near, “want simply to look awhile. You are a dish that must be savored.”
Oh, vamping again. “Savor quickly, will you? I’m cold.”
“You are anything but.” He circled her, slowly, looking; she tried not to shiver, to moan. To faint. There was something so incredibly kinky about this, her more nude than naked, him fully dressed. Not touching. Once, twice. She lost count. His pace was deliberate, as he walked around and around, his gaze steady, his murmurs...alluring. She wanted to lean toward him, like a plant to the sun, soaking in the music of his voice. The words didn’t matter, only the tone: Awe and wonder and yearning.
Yearning? Excuse me! Right here for the taking, you know. Some dim part of her remembered the rules of the game, rules she had set, but she wasn’t about to hold him to them if he wanted to touch!
He moved like a snake striking--lightning fast. One single, darting lick to her breast, and gone. Not far, just back to his circling; she hadn’t even seen him bend. She gasped, her hands clenching as she tried not to jump. Too fast for the pleasure she’d felt. Was feeling, still. Again? Yes, a second. Damn. Did I blink?
“Magnificent. The moonlight loves your skin, my beauty, almost as much as I.” He stood before her, smiling that closed-lipped smile, his eyes shining silver. “Thank you,” he whispered, and knelt.
Leather creaked, and silk whispered. But for that and the sound of her own breathing, she might have thought it a dream, a handsome stranger kneeling to her. Even with her in heels and standing, his head was even with her chest, and he took full advantage of the fact. No more snake-quick lickings; now he was slow and thorough, learning each curve full well. By the time he sucked her nipple into his mouth, she was gripping his shoulders to stay upright.
And when he held her breasts in those wonderful long-fingered hands of his, pressing them together so he could suckle both at once, she fell against him anyway. He sucked and teased and nibbled, rolled her flesh between his lips, flicked his tongue-tip across them until she’d have screamed if she’d had the breath. All she could do was whimper and hold on.
His hair brushed the back of her hand, like satin, another cool texture like his shirt, his skin. His pale, glowing-in-the-moonlight skin. His vampire-pale, vampire-cool skin. His sexy-as-hell skin, and that’s all that matters now—oh! His suckling had changed rhythm, faster now, hard, promise of things to come. “Please.”
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
E-BOOK PROMOTIONS--EEK!
Reach Out and Touch Someone is available. Yea, yippee!
Time to promote that fact, for which I must venture forth from my nice safe garret—Sob.
It’s a well-ridden dilemma, this particular horned beast on which I’m currently impaled. (Not in the good way.) Frequently mounted or not, that thing’s nowhere close to tamed. E-book sales have hurdles enough that promotion’s even more necessary than with, say, small-press print. I know this; if I want anyone to know the story’s available, I have to tell them so.
So, fine, I’ve come down from my e-garret to promote. As briefly and painlessly as I possibly can, after which I shall retreat to cat and keyboard and caffeinated fantasies. For now, at least, I’m out in the virtual world, ready to speak my piece.
...Now what?
AS SEEN EVERYWHERE ELSE
I don’t belong to nearly as many chat loops as some people—hermits not being known for chatting, you understand—but even reading only my relatively few lists, the repetition of posts fairly quickly makes me grind my teeth. And I’ve seen enough complaints by more vocal posters to know that I’m not alone. It’s gotten to the point that these days if I see anything labeled “X-Posted” I skip past it, certain I’ve seen it before. And at that, I’m grateful for the poster’s courtesy! Seeing the same excerpt in several places on the same day doesn’t ring that “magic number” advertisers talk about for acquiring mindshare, at least not in my mind—it only annoys me.
So, what’s an author to do?
REPETITION = BAD but MINDSHARE = GOOD
Like many readers, I’m very author-centered—tell me an author I like has a new release and, resources permitting, I’ll buy it. All it requires is that (A) I recognize the name, and (B) you tell me where/when/how to purchase the thing. For authors I haven’t read yet, or those relatively few not yet automatically sorted into yes or no, occasional postings of different excerpts help. But in those cases where I haven’t made up my mind, repetition only serves to dissuade me.
Where’s the line between announcement and annoyance? Sure and certain, I don’t know—even the market researchers who spend their working days on the problem can’t seem to pinpoint it—but I know when it’s been crossed. And I hate the thought of inspiring that same feeling in readers that too-profligate promoters spark in me. But now I’m promoting my newest release, which means that I have to put on the marketing cap, itchy though it may be.
MONDAY MALAISE
I’ve been checking the rules for the various loops to which I belong (on which I lurk), and many of them allow promotions only on one day a week. The same day, too, for an astonishing number of them: Monday. Which is, of course, why the same posts show up in so many different places at the same time: it’s the only time they’re allowed!
Does this seem short-sighted to anyone else? Monday, the most hated day of the week. The start of the drudge-trudge workaday weariness. And you want to clog up the loops with promotions on that of all days?
Still, it’s not my job to criticize; I can barely run a blog, much less a chat loop. And in fairness, not all group owners set their rules that way. It just happens that several of those to which I belong do. Which leaves me with, for this new release, three excerpts I can post to many more than three groups and only the one day on which I’m allowed to post them with all the attendant promotional text.
Hmm.
I suppose I could divvy them up, posting excerpt #1 to groups A and B, #2 to C and D, etc. then switch for the next week—but if I do them one or two lists at a time, it’ll take forever and not reach many people, and if I cross-post them, I’ll get ulcers from the guilt and the fear of annoying people who might otherwise decide to read the thing. There’s always option #3, doing nothing, but then the readers won’t know the story’s out there. And wouldn’t that be a shame?
BRAND-NAME AUTHORS
Non-eremitic folks have a solution I really can’t match: they show off their personalities rather than their books. Posting daily to say hi, sending good wishes, writing essays, sharing pictures, just generally being friendly and accessible. Planting their name in people’s minds. It looks absolutely exhausting to me, but it works for them.
Might it for me? Well, I’m pretending not to be a hermit just now, so I thought I’d give this a try; wrote myself a new bio and posted it upon joining another loop:
Species: human; sub-species author.
Gender: female.
Allergies: limelight.
Distinguishing marks: bad puns, twisted humor, tendency to lapse into erotica and/or science.
Habitat: electronic garret. Occasional sightings in the blogosphere. Rumored to have been spotted at publisher chats and loops, too infrequently for verification.
Lung-chin's Guide to Impossible Beings says :
Tracked by the mysterious letter-string "pxj" (postulated to be either the creature's initials or an acronym suffering low self-esteem), this perpetrator of strange humor and disseminator of stranger information may be a hoax, though there would seem little point in that. More likely, "pxj" is, like the sea lily, inclined to retreat at any cost. Reproduction appears to follow no particular schedule, but new creations, i.e. books, arrive frequently enough to dispel any thoughts of this being's extinction.
Tacked on a .sig line with a buy-link and (one hopes) interesting tag for Reach above the usual blessing, and, feeling quite pleased with myself, began planning further posts in a similar line.
Until the reply came back:
“Are you published?”
So, okay; I’m not enough of a brand name yet to do name-only appearances. Sigh. Other options?
$$$ WELL SPENT?
Writers with better finances than mine hire promoters, but the companies with approaches I find acceptable are all out of my price range, and I refuse to pay someone to annoy me by cross-posting to every group in cyberland. The few a la carte services I both like and can afford don’t seem to be the ones that influence readers, at least according to the sketchy research currently available. Some people swear by bookmarks and magnets and pens, others recommend candy or keychains, still others offer only books; some people get fantastic results with, say, purchasing banner space on site X, while others see not a blip in sales... I’d consider a pay-for-results deal, but at present, when it comes to e-book advertising, there’s no guarantee.
This time, I’m putting my money into prizes. Which means that I’ll have to run some contests, through the e-Garret and during scheduled chats or author days. Will this translate into higher sales? And if it does, was it the allure of gift certificates that sent people off to Fictionwise or...did they really like me?
AND THE ANSWER IS...
What, you expect me to know? Darlin’s, I haven’t a clue! But I do have a plan. Sort of.
I like Romance Excerpts Only, think it’s a great idea. But not every potential reader belongs. Mondays and whenever else promos are allowed, I will be trying the sorted-posts approach, all the while trying not to overdo. There’s always the blogosphere with all its links, and web-rings, and the rest of the “passive promotion” options, but new releases are time-sensitive, so I’ll try some more active things as well: Contests and author days and live chats and maybe even a virtual or RL signing.
(Lions and tigers and bears! No, wait—those don’t bother me.)
All of this sounds like entirely too much work, but then, action isn’t really a hermit’s stock in trade. I miss the days of transoms, you know? A scribe could just toss a manuscript over one and go on about her anonymous day. Of course, she probably didn’t make enough money to buy new paper and ink. Or pixels and bandwidth, I suppose. And more even than the money, I’d really like Reach to be read! Which means that, somehow, I have to get the word out that the story’s out there.
Accent on the somehow. Cue the Buffy soundtrack, folks, and join in on the chorus:
Where do we go from here?
I don’t know about you, but I’m headed back to my garret. Just for a few minutes. Really. Maybe an hour or two. But I’ll come back! Have to—there’s no coffee in the place right now. Besides, I have to go schedule an author day.
peace and x-rated joy,
pxj
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Help! The Blogosphere has sucked me in
I never wanted a blog. Or maybe it’s that I wanted one too much. A place to air my frustrations, to share my thoughts, to be part of the world without having to leave my comfortable space? Sounds great! Only...who would keep me from saying the wrong things? Remind me that cyberspace is forever, that one cannot unsay the words one has sent out into the aether once one has hit Send?
No, no blog for me.
So, what’s changed?
Let’s see.
*I’ve sold a few books and disappointed several publishers—I don’t promote much, so people don’t always hear about my work. Including people who know and enjoy my writing, and would buy the books if they knew they were there to be bought.
*I’ve started ranting in themes, and am running out of places to put the resulting texts. There’s a small but delightful reader’s community called Realms of Love that takes the occasional short piece of mine, if it’s at least tenuously related to romance or eroticism. And a Yahoo group run by a fellow author where I post the odd science rambling. A few other places for stand-alone works, now and then. But there are limits, and I’m pushing them.
*Health issues have sidelined me recently, sometimes for as much as two months at a time. I can always manage one message, or two, but those don’t always get passed along, so people complain I’ve disappeared. Again. With a blog, I can post a message for anyone to find.
There it is: my reasons for putting up a blog. The title’s a reference to my lifestyle—I’m a self-described hermit and an old-fashioned sort of writer, despite the very modern lack of euphemism my writing may contain. This presents some problems. With e-books especially, publishers expect authors to promote slightly more than is humanly possible, but all I want is to sit in my garret and daydream, preferably with my fingers resting lightly on a keyboard until moved by some muse.
And, ideally, one or several living models of various heroes within reach, in case I should need to do some research.
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